“RAY-RAY! DON'T PUSH YOURSELF SO HARD!”

“I’m fine. I can still see with one eye.”

There was a heated air battle at the borders of Belgium. The Allied Forces have made a bold attempt to push their forces up the North in order to start breaching the Imperial German lines, in order to acquire a stronghold for their major offensive into the primary territories of the enemy homeland. The main focus was the battle in the skies, where the Allies and Central Powers deployed their best pilots. Pitting legends against legends, where life and death were determined by tilt of a wing and the squeeze of the gun trigger. One simple mistake could be the end of their long fought career.

Among the legends was a certain Canadian Pilot, who was well known to be an Ace among the Aces. His talent renown to the point where he was part of the main squadrons spearheading the aerial offensive. The captain of the No 10 Naval Squadron of the Royal Naval Air Service (now called RAF), designated Black Flight, Raymond Collishaw.

His beloved all black triple wing Sopwith Camel was on fire. It left behind three trails of black smoke. A wing axle was snapped, and one of its two guns ran out of ammunition so it only gave an awkward clicking sound. The pilot was no better than the ruined plane. Blood dripping from under his flight cap, fracture goggles, one right eye cut from loose shrapnel, and his one whole arm ripped up from stray bullet fire. And there was only so much muscle mass left in his other surviving hand to control a 1450 lbs plane (650 kg).

Yet the gunner in the back was unscathed. Although the girl with long black silky hair was covered in black gundpowder and residue from flying rockets, she was not at all damaged. It's as if the pilot used every maneuvering skills in his knowledge to prevent any mishaps from touching the girl behind him. Even though she was a Canadian Witch who specialized in magic combat.

“Ray-Ray! Stay with me! We need to land and treat your wounds.”

“We can’t do that. We’re deep over enemy territory, and the mountains don’t have a spare landing field for us. There’s still too many enemy fighters to safely set down without them shooting at us.”

“J-just hang in there, I’ll cast a Healing Spell to stabilize you and—”

“I-I’m fine. Just focus on the enemy magicians. They're shooting flame and lightning at our air forces, deal with them first! Cough!... I-is that an elephant on the ground o-or am I hallucinating?"

"Ray-Ray! Forget about the Ice Mammoth that's trampling the ground! You need to get to the nearest medical field base or you'll just fall asleep in the cockpit - forever! I seriously don't want that."

"Don't worry, Sleipnir. Even if I pass out, you're more than capable of flying a plane like this on your own."

"Are you listening to me, Raymond Collishaw!? That is not what I'm scared about!"

The fight in the Belgium skies and the ground was chaotic. As Magic existed, the enemy would surely gather their most talented arcane soldiers to form various platoons and divisions, to fight against the Allies who lack any magical defenses. Something as simple as a Mammoth made of ice and frost crushing British Mark V tanks, or even releasing a volley of Flame Lightning Arrows into the Allied defensive would be obvious.

Fortunately, the Allies have already assembled their own Magic Divisions. Canadian Witch Corp, American Warlock Unit, British Magicians, Australia Hex Platoon , French Paladin, etc. So it would make sense to see Gorillas made from Mountain Rocks clashing with such Ice Mammoths, or Bats made from mud and water colliding with the Flame and Lightning Arrows to protect the soldiers.

It would be common to see various Witches riding in the back of British Mark V tanks, or even in the gunner seat of their airplanes. Due to their secrecy, they must pose as male soldiers or pilots in the regular units. Not to mention, they were restricted to magic to magic combat, otherwise they cannot even defend themselves form shells and bullets. Hence why they were paired with a suitable candidate from the regular armies. Notably, a certain Canadian Pilot.

“RAY-RAY! RAY-RAY!”

“…Hm. Sorry, I fell asleep.”

“You’ve lost too much blood. Pull out of the fight and head back to base.”

“I still got about 328 rounds in the other gun, and two more bombs. The fuselage may be leaking, but I still have enough fuel to bomb one of their Ice Elephant things and possibly take out their forward command center. It should--Cough--H-help slowing down the German Offensive... Then I'll withdraw."

“Liar! You already used your two bombs to drop a bomber plane and you only have enough bullets to hit ten birds!”

“……………..”

“…RAY-RAY!”

“Hmm. How long was I out again?”

“YOU HAVE TO GO BACK NOW!”

The Canadian Pilot sighed at his partner. As much as she was sitting in the gunner seat of the customized Sopwith Camel he adored, she never touched a gun in her life. Heavens no. She wasn't even trained to be a professional plane spotter, a human style radar. Nyet, nein, no. She was just deadweight. Still, that doesn't mean her true value should go unnoticed. She could still use her hands to slap the bleeding Pilot awake from sleeping forever.

"OW! R-RAY-RAY! WH-WHY DIDN'T YOU TELL ME YOU HAD A PIECE OF GLASS IN YOUR FACE!?"

"Sorry Sleipnir... I can't even say glakk without slurring it into a swear word... Sorry about your hand."

“Ray-Ray. Please listen to me. I don’t care about who wins this war! That’s not what I’m scared about right now! If we lose you, the entire British Army will be jeopardy. No screw that, if I lose you I don’t know what I would do!!”

“Relaz, Sleipnir. If I crash here for good, you will definitely find a good partner. You have to trust yourself.”

“THIS ISNT’ EVEN ABOUT ME! I DON’T WANT YOU TO DIE! ARE YOU LISTENING!?”

“With one ear, yeah.”

“RAY-RAY!”

“It’s alright... Just deal with that bomber behind us... My vision... I can't tell between a cloud or a mountain."

"RIGHT! RIGHT!"

The all black Sopwith Camel that was on a beautiful crash course into the top of a Belgium mountain was averted. It dipped too deep to one direction and spun out of control. It lost a piece of its wing structure, but with enough screaming and pulling, it was able to stabilize itself before suffering a fatal accident. However, there was only enough fuel for so long. The rest kept dripping out from one hole like the drool of a dog in summer.

"Ray-Ray. We're going back."

"I still have my duty. I can't abandon my men."

"....................................... You [email protected]"

"Wh-what?"

The Canadian Pilot felt like this was it. The time where he had fulfilled his responsibility in the army and to his country of Canada. In his waning moments, he prayed that his nation will soar to new ranks and acquire a name for itself that would change the world forever. He so wanted to see if it could even reach its 150th birthday... however.

That cold voice he heard behind him, forced him to wake up. It forced him to turn. And it forced him to stare into the eyes of h*ll itself. The saying 'hell have no fury than a woman scorned' was too true.

"... Darling. If you don't drag your sorry @ss back to base -- I'LL F**KING DO IT FOR YOU!"

"Oh sh*t."

Indeed. This was the same reaction for the rest of the battle in the sky, when one all black Sopwith Camel screamed through the air. Any German magicians riding on Gotha G.V Bombers or Fokker M.7 Fighter planes were either swallowed up by a Boa Constrictor of Grass with a jaw power of 7000 psi, or stripped alive by a flock of Mud Seagulls. No one stood in the way, of this crazy Witch girl who flew a plane into her own Allied Base.

"...Check in... Now."

"Y-yes, M-Milady."

And the Canadian Pilot lived to fight up to even beyond the Second World War.