“Ray-Ray! Don’t move, I have a plan.”

“If it involves fire, ice, or even lightning, don’t. I beg of you.”

“…Okay… Sniff.”

Captured. It was the one thing solder would want to avoid running into in a Great War like the European Theatre. It was the second motivation to Death on the battlefield to work hard and fight the good fight in order to live another day. Because no one wants to face the horrors of interrogations, especially if the enemy didn’t care whether you lived or died. Once they grab your shoulder, it was over.

Unfortunately, a certain Canadian Pilot and a Canadian Witch were tied to chairs, back to back, and were sitting inside of an empty underground cell. Judging by the faint smell of Chardonnai and empty bottle racks, it used to be a wine cellar before it was refitted as an interrogation room. The Pilot in question was an Ace among Aces, but even he would experience moments where the enemy would down his beloved all black triplane Sopwith Camel marked Black Maria every now and then. Often times, he would crash land behind enemy territory.

On a good day, he could make a straight run to the nearest allied trench, or border to have someone pick him up to the nearest Airbase. If we wasn’t lucky, he would parachute down into a German machine gun nest. If he was lucky in being unlucky, they wouldn’t shoot him on sight. Hence why Raymond Collishaw and the girl from the Canadian Witch Corp were tied up in a cold and damp room. Maybe it really was a lucky day, they didn’t tie and gag the girl or hang her naked from the ceiling.

“…Th-this rope is too tight. I-it’s squeezing my breasts out in the wrong way. Guh. I don't want an Indian Rope burn!”

“Now’s not the time, Sleipnir. Now think of something that doesn’t involve using a wand or waving your hands to cast your powers.”

“…Unfortunately Ray-Ray, I’m not a Belgium Shaman or Japanese Onmyouji. I’m a Western Witch taught in the British Style – we always wave a stick or a hand to cast our magic.”

“Remind me to file a complaint to whatever magic school you go to.”

“Please don’t. They’ll remove my award for being the best student in Potion Making for three consecutive years from the trophy case! I-it’s the only scrap of pride left I had from that cold and lonely castle!”

The Imperial Germans have acquired both the Pilot and the Witch and have taken them to a bunker in the nearest prison camp on the war front. To the Witch's surprise, the camp were managed by members of the Imperial German Luftstrietkrafte, the air force division, and most of the guards were armed with rifles and pistols. If that didn’t scare the sh*t out of the girl, it was the horde of German Shepards they use as guard dogs that did.

“I don’t want to die here, Ray-Ray. If they throw my body to the dogs, they’ll surely violate me. I-I literally saw the lust in their eyes when we were shoved past them.”

“10 inches.”

“OxO”

“The fire alarm is 2 meters far and 10 inches above my eye level. If I can kick my boot off and hit it, I could cause it to sound the bells and cause a distraction.”

“ENUNCIANT BEFORE YOU START CHIPPING INTO A RANDOM CONVERSATION!”

The Canadian Witch was seething with maidenly rage for some reason. It was to the point where her panic and confusion was pushed to a breaking point and her long black silky hair was clinging from her lips in a menacing manner. Almost like those Japanese dolls that keeps growing its hair, but there's no reason to dive into that subject right now. This was the First Great War, not a fairy tale. For the sake of fighting another day, if not avoiding to mother cute puppies, she could be found kicking and screaming in her chair - like a regular woman under the stressful circumstances.

“Out! I want out! OUUUUUT!”

“…Are you talking about us getting out, or the dogs.”

“SHUT UP!”

The Canadian Pilot was a gentlemen, and someone who would rarely frown at the slightest of problems. For now, let’s be historicinally inaccurate and say he did frown and he had every reason to. He was tied to his partner in a chair, locked in a 5 meter by five meter cell. It was under the ground, so it was already cold and damp. Maybe it was part of an interrogation technique, to let the chill rattle their will and make the moisture blister their skin. It saves time and energy to give them bodily harm (hiting someone can be very tiring).

"...Ray-Ray. If they take me first, please know... I would always give you my first to--"

"Sssh. I'm trying to calculate the wind resistance my boot will encounter. If I get the math wrong, we'll be doomed for sure."

"Pay attention to a girl in sad times like this... Sob."

The enemy hoped to acquire some information, regarding the pilot’s knowledge of several Allied air bases and tank divisions. Obviously, he only gave them his name, his rank, and his serial number. The Witch on the other hnd, he was worried for. Despite not being a combat personnel, the girl behind him was also trained to resist interrogation, both physical and magical. So he trust she would not break sooner than him and give them vital Allied information, even if they do feed her to the dogs (not as lunch).

"Stop it with the dog jokes! My legs are trembling and I don't want to mistaken it for another bad reason! Make it stop! Make it stop!"

"... Sleipnir. I didn't say anything."

The fear in his gut, was the fact the Germans who captured them didn’t know she was a witch. They all thought she was some random civilian who stumbled onto the crashed pilot, fell in love with his messed up body, and tried to save him. They found her dragging his body from the plane wreck, shouting ‘don’t die on me you [email protected]’.

Maybe she was trying to get the Iron Cross for saving someone, the Germans thought, but doing so meant helping the enemy so they thought she was an enemy too. The friend of our villains type of analogy. So they captured her under the impression she was a deluded civilian. Raymond Collishaw had to keep it that way, until their magicians identify her. Then, it would be more than a nightmare for both of them.

“Sniff.. Sniff. I-I don’t want my first born to be a German Shepard hybrid (TxT).”

“How about stop being depressed about something impossible and focus on the possible. We only have at most an hour before they call in their senior officers and interrogation specialist to break us for information. If they somehow get wind you know magic, this will make it even more difficult for us to escape.”

“I know, I know. They’ll use all sorts of messy Mind Manipulation Spells to get me to sing my heart out. Heck, even if it’s a fellow witch she’ll try and get me to share my three sizes… Good god, if she founds out mine are bigger than her’s she’ll definitely saw them off with a Iron Sand spell!”

“…Sleipnir, focus.”

“What the h*ll do you think I was trying to do!?”

The Canadian Pilot and the Canadian Witch struggled in their binds, but they were too strong. It was made from a hemp rope and it was double bounded with various other materials of bindings.

“Nyaaah! D-don’t lean forward so deeply! The rope is cutting into my body, a-and m-my breasts are about to pop!”

“Um…About that.”

“Hmm?...Ah.”

Something popped out from the open cleavage of the Canadian Witch. It jumped out of her deepest valley, bounced across her lap, and cluttered on the floor next to her foot.

“…Raymond Collishaw. What is that?”

“…That… would be my grandfather’s Swiss Army Knife.”

“HOW THE H*LL DID IT POP OUT OF MY BREASTS!?”

“I kind of slipped it inside while you were dragging me out of Black Maria after she went down. If the Germans found it on my body, they’ll surely confiscate them.”

“WOULDN'T THAT GIVE THEM MORE REASON TO STRIP SEARCH ME INSTEAD?”

“Enemy or not, they don’t dare to do anything to a woman. I’ve met Germans like the Red Baron, they can be gentlemens through and through.”

“…..”

“….And I’m sorry.”

“YOU BET YOUR @SS YOU BETTER BE SORRY FOR SLIPPING IN YOUR SWISS ARMY KNIFE IN MY VALLEYS!”

So with some random flailing and kicking, the Canadian Witch was successful in passing the Swiss Army knife over to the Canadian Pilot. Whether or not Raymond Collishaw was ever captured during his participation in the Great War, that would be left for a heated debated between historian advocates. The only fact remained was that he would survive this dangerous ordeal to become a Flight Instructor and Air Commander in the Second World War.

“Just because you’re free from the Krauts doesn’t mean you’re free from my rage! Now get back here and apologize to my body, Raymond Collishaaaaaaaw!”

“Sl-Sleipnir! Y-you’re forbidden to try and strangle me with my own safety harness! P-put it down and surrender!”

“NEIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIN!”

“YOU’RE NOT A GERMAN!”

Don’t worry. He WILL live through this war to participate in the Second World War. Count on it.