“R-Ray-Ray! Please, hold me tight!”

“Letting go of you will be the end of me. I’m not stupid.”

Please don’t misunderstand, this wasn’t exactly a romantic bedroom scene (thank god). Rather, it was somewhere high in the mountain ranges in the Belgium forest, possibly close to the borders of the Netherlands and Imperial Germany. There was a thick column of black smoke coming from an American Glenn Martin two seat reconnaissance-bomber plane that was half buried, half mangled, and completely messed up in some of the trees as tall as skyscrapers. It flew the American colors. But the pilots were from the British Royal Naval Air Service (now called Royal Air Force), the Canadian Regiment.

Namely a certain Canadian Pilot and a Canadian Witch. They could be found hanging off the ledge of a cliff, dangling off from an a long thick leg of root growing out from the side. It was the type where eagles would lay their nest in such high altidtude. Now it doubled as a last minute lifeline that could be held on for dear life. To best picture it, the Witch was grabbing the root. The pilot was grabbing the Witch.

“Oh god! R-Ray-Ray! Your hand is slipping to my dangerous parts! I-I know this is difficult, but please think about my purity!”

“I don’t want to breach my own personal principles or make my mother upsetting for toucing a woman without permission - but I can’t move without slipping! If I so much as try to climb up now, I'll fall!”

“Y-you say that, yet your hands are getting closer and closer to my womanly pride… Nyaaah! I-it’s tightening over the bump! D-don't squeeeeeeze!”

“I’m sorry! I’m really sorry!...(d*mn, they're soft)”

"What did you say, Ray-Ray?"

"Cough. Cough. Don't sneeze."

"Impossible! Pffuuu! D*mn eagle feathers are all over my face! Pffuuu-pffuuu!!"

The Canadian Pilot was, to summarize, a well known Ace in the Royal Naval Air Force. Close to Billy Bishop and rivaling the Imperial Red Baron, he was a gentlemen on the land as well as the air. So he wouldn’t take advantage of others, regardless if the opponent was an enemy in the war. For example, he went through the proper process of borrowing the Glenn Martin Bomber plane from the United States Air Force for a specialized reconnaissance mission. Due to the sensitivity of an upcoming offensive, the British hoped to hide their true air strength until the last minute. So they planned to borrow an American plane as part of a counter-intelligence strategy. The rest of the important details could be drowned out with wonk wonk wonk. Rest assured.

"...Ah....Ah...Aaaaah."

"Sleipnir! NO!"

"NYAAAH! R-Ray-Ray. D-don't, g-grab me so h-haaaard. Th-they're going to breaaaaaak. Gnnhh?"

"Please don't make those kind of noises, it's conflicting with my state of panic!"

This self-placed rule of being a proper gentlemen also included in this situation where he was hugging onto the Canadian Witch’s stomach to keep himself from falling to his doom. Dying in Belgium as a Belgium waffle is the last thing he want in his obiturary.

“Is there any way you can climb up, Sleipinir? Don’t you have magic to fly us out?”

“What do you think I am, an old geezer who can transform into a [email protected] eagle by talking to a moth!? I need my hands to coordinate the right command and signals to control my magic, and they’re both busy clawing into the roots that keep us in aloft against he Law of Gravity! A-also, there’s nothing that looks remotely like a broom for me to enchant into a flying object! It’s impossible.”

“And you call yourself a Witch.”

“Darling. I can let go and take you as my otherworldly groom.”

“I’m sorry. What I said was uncalled for. Please don’t let go.”

"...O-okay. O-only because you asked nicely--Kyaaa! M-my belly is being squeezed so rouuuuugh!!"

The reconnassaince mission was successful. They were able to take some pictures of the enemy base that was preparing for an air raid for a local Allied Airbase holding Italian and French planes as a reinforcing station. There was also another Allied controled city in Belgium nearby that was a primary distribution hub for supplies, munitions, and the necessary Red Cross supplies for the sick and wounded.

If it weren't for a sudden appearance of a German Fokker Biplane making a random pass, the Canadian Pilot and Canadian Witch would have been landing back in base right now with the photo. Since an American craft was caught flying over by an Imperial German plane, of course there would be a heavy battle between two airplanes in the sky. Casaulties were expected. Although the Canadian Pilot was commandeering an American bi-motor Glenn Martin bomber, he was successful in dropping the enemy plane out of the sky. At the cost of forcing it into a spiral, slashing through on of the bomber's wings. The results were obvious after that. Too bad their parachute got torn up by shrapnel however, so they had to bail out with a leap or faith. Else, they would have been flattened out like Italian Pizza dough.

*Grrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr~*

“………………..”

“…. Sleipnir.”

“D-don’t look at me with those judging eyes! Do you know how hard it is to keep this body frame ratio exactly to the numerical values necessary to use my magic! I-I skipped last night's pot roast dinner and this morning's egg and sausage breakfast. It can’t be helped if my stomach is forming a rebellion inside of my body!”

“N-no. Yo-you’re dress. It’s tearing apart.”

“…Heh?”

The Witch wasn’t a combat soldier, not on record exactly. She was a member of the hidden Canadian Witch Corp and was in charge of anti-magic warfare against spellcasters in the Central Powers. To match her origin and her purpose in the war, she didn’t wear standard issue uniform that were rugged enough to endure any harsh terrain. No, she wore this very fancy and showy dress made out of 1000 raven feathers. Maybe it was because of the fact it was woven together magically with raven feathers, the stress of being pulled at with a human weight was starting to force the ‘seams’ to break. So in exactly 10 minutes, the Canadian Witch will be stark naked by the time the Canadian Pilot slips off her.

“No! R-Ray-Ray! P-please don’t pull down so hard! A-at this rate, th-the world is going to see more than my cleavage—OH GOD THE BUTTON IS POPPING! M-MY PRIDE IS GOING TO FALL OUT!”

There were no buttons on the Canadian Witch’s dress, but the action of something snapping open over her (amazing) chest started to react. Bit by bit, holes appeared across her dress made of 1000 raven feathers, showing more and more skin much like how the tear in pantyhose begins to grow. It was to the point the girl was showing more skin than she would allow, even when walking into a battlefield.

“…Sleipnir. Don’t cry. The more you shiver your body from emberassment, the more your dress will tear from the added microscopic stress. I-if this thing comes apart, I’ll definitely fall.”

“I don’t care anymore. I’m going to be naked when I hit the ground. No, I don’t want it. I don’t want some guy with a fetish for corpses to take advantage of me.”

“Th-that’s too graphic—Uwoooh!”

“NYAAAAAH!”

The root branch the Canadian Witch held onto for dear lift was wilting. Such bad timing. Maybe it was due to their added weight that was causing the root to bend. At this rate, they will both plummet to their dooms to become human Belgium Waffles... one of them possibly naked.

“…Sleipnir. When you get back to the base, make sure the photographs are handed over to Melville Alexander in the Black Flight. He is aware of our mission and knows what to do with the intelligence data we acquired.”

“R-Ray-Ray? Wh-what are you talking about? Wh-why does your tone sound like you’re going to give up your life to let me live.”

“……………………….. And please don’t pick on your new partner. Cut him some slack.”

“RAY-RAY! DON’T LET GO! DON’T LET GO! I FORBID YOU TO COMMIT SEPPUKU AT A TIME LIKE THIS! NO MAN BEHIND! I’M NOT GOING HOME WITHOUT YOU!”

“It’s no use, Sleipnir. Magic, no magic, this branch isn’t going to hold both of us long. And I’m heavier because I’m a guy. So it’s only right, I give up my mass to save yours.”

“This isn’t the time to be sexist, Ray-Ray! We’re going home together or… be eaten by a bear together!”

“I-I think there’s some wolves waiting for us down there.”

“Good god, they’ll rape me! (O///O)”

The Canadian Pilot made his decision. He was going to let go and free his partner from the burden of gravity. He only hoped that the SOS he gave out prior the crash was received by a local allied airbase. If someone from the American Air Force arrived, she will be saved to fight another day. If by the off chance another Fokker Scout came by, at least they’ll keep her alive long enough to interrogate her. This war already had enough dead heroes. As much as he wished to live through it, there’s no point to dragging down an innocent girl like the Canadian Witch. So, he chose to let go… or at least he thought he was going to.

“Hmm. Nnng...”

“S-Sleipnir? Wh-what’s the matter?”

“S-sorry, Ray-Ray, i-it’s just that your face is in my… b-bottom an-and your hands…Uugh…is where the baby is going to come out.”

“I’m out. Good bye.”

“NOOOOOOOOOOOOOO! (O?O)!!”

And so the Canadian Pilot let go. The Canadian Witch didn’t have time to even catch him. Watching the Ace among Aces fall down from sky scraper height, she wept, like a heartbroken maiden she was......… Until he landed upon a loft branch from a tall beech tree nearby.

“…RAYMOND COLLISHAW! YOU PLANNED THIS FROM THE BEGINNING, DIDN’T YOU!?”

“N-not really. I was still waiting for the wind to change direction. It was a 50/50 chance.”

“YOU [email protected] PERVERT!”

Please note, the Canadian Pilot was a gentlemen through and through. He really was waiting for the cardinal winds to change course to allow him to decelerate enough at a 45 degree angle to land in the cluster of branches. End of story.