“R-Ray-Ray! Y-you’re staring at my body too hard! P-pull up! Pull up!”

“That’s only because you’re in the way of the telescope, now buzz off!”

“So mean! It’s only because you ignore me when I properly tap your shoulders!”

World War 1. The battlefield that was called France was reaching an all time high. The Imperial German forces were pushing their tank columns up the valley and were gaining ground across the meadows. Land that were once used to make fine wine beloved by all over the world, were easily trampled by the catapillar tracks and the ton-like weight of the iron behemoths that were tanks of the enemy forces.

Even the sky was scattered with Fokker Biplanes and some Friedrichshafen G.III bombers. Their plan was to push up the offensive into Allied Territory, to claim the area of Versaille and to establish a series of artillery battery. The goal was to flush out British, Australia, and American soldiers held up in trenches within that territory.

And all of this was meticulously examined through a narrow brass telescope view about more than 300 meters from nearest column. The one who was doing the scouting was not a soldier, but a pilot. An Ace among the Ace. He wasn’t British, but came from one particular Commonwealth Nation who wanted to prove their mettle.

A Canadian Pilot by the name of Raymond Collishaw.

“This is strictly a reconnaissance mission, Sleipnir. So don’t do anything stupid. One wrong move, and those 30 mm cannon rounds will be grating that flat stomach you’re so proud of.”

“I’m fully aware of that. As much as I am a Magician of the Canadian Witch Corp, I’m not authorized to fight a regular soldier with arcane means. Let alone, there’s no way I can stare down a f**king tank with a Burning Gaze spell. My only reason why we’re here is because the enemy has a Magician amongst them. We need to annihilate him.”

“Aren’t all Witches girls?”

“How old school are you, Mr. Sexist?”

The Canadian Pilot wasn’t flying his beloved all-black Triplane Sopwith Camel with the named Black Maria. No, he was on the ground, on foot, and was by himself. Well, by himself as a soldier, but was accompanied by a girl who claimed herself to be a member of this secretive Canadian Witch Corp. She was not dressed for the occasion of battle, her elaborate and showy dress made out of 1000 raven feathers made her stick out like a sorethumb on the mountain they were hiding in. Not to mention, she was showing more skin thant standard issue dress code would allow – ever.

“Are you sure you not cold in that, Sleipnir? The French Winter get’s pretty bad, I have some friends in the trenches who lost their hands and feet from the winter.”

“Don’t worry. I have a Fire Cloak spell activated. It will distort the thermal radiation in the air to keep me warm—ACHOOO!”

“…Don’t worry. I have a bandsaw ready to handle frostbite.”

“G-Guh! I-I’m not listening! La-la-la-la-la!”

Raymond Collishaw may not have done this in history, but right now, he had a frown on his face. He ignored the so-called Witch who was cupping her ears and singing a random tune as if to ward of some bad curse. She was considered a non-combat personnel in her profile, but she was more than ready for battle on a different stage. Especially against another magic user among the Central Powers.

“Listen to me, Ray-Ray. The Kraut Spellcaster must be hidden in the tank group. It’s only obvious to prevent any random snipers taking a clean shot at them. The last thing they want after devoting their entire lives to the mystic path, would to have their brains raped by a bullet within a matter of seconds.”

“So graphic.”

“I tell myself that story every morning to motivate my survival on this messed up battlefield. Why do you think I'm fit and ready to hide away from danger.”

“Then why don’t you wear a helmet like I told you.”

“Ew, no! You have no idea who was the last person to use it! I’ll get helmet hair and don’t get me started on the concept of lice.”

“What are you, a five year old?”

“H-Hygiene is very important! Ever since I was transferred to Europe, I have two showers every day.”

“Apologize to every man holed up in the trenches. They’re fighting off rats the sizes of cats just to make sure to keep their sanity together.”

“Guh!? N-not listening. La-la-la-la-la!”

Whether it was considred tabbo to talk about cat-sized rats, or it was her natural instinct as a woman, the Canadian Witch closed her ears and sang randomly to close the cruel world around her.

“Hey not so loud! We may be over 300 meters away, but there’s a river in front of us! Sound travels farther on water than on land, if this keeps up—”

“La-la-laaaa! N-not going to listen to your horror stories of zombies or liches! La-la-la!”

*Pang*. The sound of a distant cannon echoed across the field and over the river. By the time the Canadian Pilot and With heard it, half of the mountain was ripped up from seven cannon shells. The time from launch to time of impact was exactly two seconds.

“NYAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH! (@[email protected])”

“WE HAVE TO TAKE OFF! PICK UP YOUR LAZY @SS AND RUN TO THE BLACK MARIA NOW! THEY’LL SET UP THEIR ANTI-AIR GUNS IF WE’RE TOO SLOW!”

“A-AT LEAST PICK ME UP LIKE A MAIDEN WHO TWISTED HER ANKLE! MY LEG CAN’T MOVE IN THE MUD!...A-AND WHY ARE YOU SHOVING THAT TELESCOPE DOWN MY CORSET!?”

“DOES IT LOOK LIKE THIS FLIGHT JACKET HAVE THAT BIG OF POCKETS!?”

“SEXIST! SEXIST!”

Despite the screaming of artillery showering the mountain over the river, the shrieking of a woman who had her pride scorn - even though she was carried off like an eloping princess - was louder.