June 10, 1917

Operation in Messine

West Flanders, Belgium The offensive in the Messine plains is still continuing, however

my squadron is forced to withdraw from the action in order

to refuel, rearm, and to rest up. We've been flying around for

almost 12 full hours, with very little breaks in between.

Due to the rise of pilot death caused by exhaustion and sleep

deprivation, Allied High Command had set a new policy that

every pilot in both the Royal Flying Corp and the Royal Naval

Air Service needs to have a mandatory 6 hour break. Of course

as we're almost driving the Germans out of their Oostaverne

Defensive line, our rest time is not cut down to 4.5. It's merciful.

Once we get a quick sleep, we'll be right back into the fray.

I feel uncomfortable, sitting on the ground with my hands tied.

So I just keep telling myself: I have to rest up, or else I'll end

up falling asleep on the console and dive bomb into Allied Trenches.

I honestly don't want that to be the end of me, or anyone.

~~Collishaw

“Sleipnir. Eat your peas and carrots. You’ll never know when you'll ever get to eat fresh vegetables again, especially in war with limited rations and supplies.”

“Nein! A hero always eats her salmon dutifully! Never peas, carrots, or lima beans! Only villains do that!!”

Raymond Collishaw didn’t like eating alone. Normally he would like to spend his evening meals with his squadmates, or possibly with another squadron group he will be working with after his resting shift. He felt it would establish a bond outside of the battlefield, not to mention warm food and hot coffee always seemed to open the road to communication and understanding from each other.

However, the moment they touched down everyone in his squadron skipped their dinners. Once they walked out of the showers in the field bases, they just tripped and fell on their bunks. Not even the artillery from the surviving forces of the German 4th Army that were blown up by a previous mine explosion could make these tired pilots flinch in their slumber.

Then there was the fact that most of the pilots that took off in the morning, never had the chance to come back. Either shot down, crashed, or captured. So there really wasn’t much people left in the mess hall of the British occupied air base. If there was, there were only members from the British Royal Flying Corp, or the American Air Force.

Raymond Collishaw didn’t knew any of these foreign faces, so he had no choice but to take his meal to his personal officer quarters. In the end, he still had company for his dinner but somehow it just spoiled a bit of his appetite.

“You know Sleipnir. If you don’t eat your peas and carrots, you’ll never grow up to be a beautiful girl.”

“Nice try darling. But both of my mothers have used that same attack on me too many times in my youth. I fell for their trap for the first two years, but once I’ve done my research and saw no correlation of the vitamins in peas and carrots to the application of a woman’s beauty, I called them out on it.”

“Wow. You must really hate your greens.”

“Brocolli is alright when boiled down. But Brussel Spouts are my greatest nemesis…They're bitterness distorts the inner flow of my mana. Cough... Speaking of which, looks like I’m not the only person who fears this small round enemy. You haven’t once touched your own brussel sprouts, Mr. Hypocritical Ace Pilot.”

“… My jaw is sore from doing loops all day. I can’t bite through them.”

“Likely story.”

Raymond Collishaw turned away. He didn’t really want to look at the clouds in the night sky outside of his window. He just wanted to avoid the judging stare from the Canadian Witch sitting across from him. As his private quarter didn’t have a table like in the mess hall, he converted his office desk into a makeshift dining table. All of his reports, typewriter, and volumes on flight techniques were sitting neatly on the corner of his bed.

The Canadian Witch sighed, giving up her staring attack, and cut into the food of her plate.

“Again. Why are you eating your salmon raw?”

“Don’t you know. The nutritional value in food is at their highest when eating them raw.”

“Yet, I do not see any restaurants that happily served uncooked pork as a lunch menu. Not even the French eat their escargot without some spices and cooking wine flambe to make it edible.”

“That’s different. Those are blood meat, of course they have to be thoroughly cooked to remove the pestilence and the parasites that are lying inside of their muscle layers. The only kind of people who eat their Angus Beef 100% bloody are the Druids. Even Necromancers have standard when it comes to their steak being well done."

“And yet, you’re eating a raw fish. I don’t see how this is saving you face.”

“Fu-fu-fu. Haven’t you heard? Seafood is completely different. They are raised in the sea, which is 99% salt content all around. Why, they’ve learned to thrive in such a sterilizing environment, no other virus or parasites exist in their fat content! Ha-ha.”

“As a former First Officer of the Canadian Fisheries Protection Services, I know that’s not true. There is so much cr*p left in the water from the effluent of boat exhaust and sunken ships, you don’t want to know what kind of bacteria are evolving at the ocean floor.”

“Then would it not be rude to tell this young lady about such horros of the ocean! Take that back and let me eat my salmon in peace! M-my magic depends on ingesting certain foods to keep my mana flow circulating! O-otherwise, my powers will eventually drain itself out from over use. It’s like recharging a battery with a Ledyen Jar!”

“You keep saying that, but I had no clue what a Leyden Jar is.”

“You can’t be serious! Someone born in the reality of science is trumped by a simple girl who was raised in a secluded society of magic!? Hah! My dear Ray-Ray, you’re already going senile.”

“Hmm. I heard this breed of salmon often has parasites that can turn into tape worms when ingested.”

“Guh! D-DON’T RUIN MY DINNER! D*MN IT, I CAN’T EVEN LOOK AT MY FOOD WITHOUT FEELING MICROSCOPING ORGANISM VIOLATING MY INTESTINES!!”

Raymond Collishaw stared at the Canadian Witch who was more or less playing around with her food. She had a dish that essentially had this large fresh slab of Atlantic Salmon top, garnished with some chives. No matter what angle the pilot would look at, it was 100% raw.

He was wondering if because of the way the girl was dressed as a raven, that she would instinctively act like one. As much as he wanted to make a long series of raven related puns, he stopped himself when he actually saw the Witch quickly sliced a piece of salmon muscles from right under the pectoral fin and bite it. The small sound of slurping spaghetti could be heard.

“I know there’s this saying that’s it’s rude to chew on your food like a wolf, but did you just swallow the thing whole?”

“What? It slides down the throat easier. Also, the texture as a whole piece is quite comforting. Oh-ho-ho.”

“…Aren’t you worried about choking on bones?”

“Please. Only dogs and Druids choke on fish bones. If you know the anatomy of the aquatic species, you can avoid all those critical places that would involve hitting their rib cages.”

“…Why Druids?”

“As much as they excel in animal transformation and nature magic, they have zero table manners. Personally, I dislike them. Period.”

“Are you sure you’re not just jealous of them having more convenient magic than you.”

“Oh? Is my darling trying to pick a fight with this sweet little witch?”

“Eat your peas and carrots.”

“I told you once, I shall tell you again—NEIN!”

The Canadian Witch broke whatever grace she had left by slamming her fists onto the table—er, office desk. With the way she held the fork and knife in her grasp, she looked exactly like a baby throwing a tantrum. The Canadian Pilot wasn’t exactly amused, so he took his frustrations out on his roast beef.

“...Say. Sleipnir. Aren’t you worried about the other girls?”

“What other girls? Guh! I-Is Ray-Ray two-timing behind my back!? I-it hasn't been what, a full week since we became partners and you're already thinking about another woman at the altar!?”

“...No...I mean the other girls in your Canadian Witch Corp. Are they here for the operation in Messine as well?”

“Oh...I see. My apologies. I misunderstood you. Next time, please don't slur."

"........"

"As you mentioned before, tt’s a definite thing that some of my fellow Witches on here. Our Magical Warfare Protocol dictactes that there should be at least one Witch or Magician to support key army divisions deployed in the Western Front. For example, there should be a team of 10 Witches hiding amongst the 1st Canadian Division, pairs of Magicians for the 3rd British Dragoon Guards, to even a squad of Wizards hidden amongst the 50th Prince of Wales Field Artillery Regiment.”

“Why hidden?”

“You've always been told that magic doesn’t exist, remember? We’ve been hiding our entire society from the normal world so we don’t have people getting riled up and start shoving torches and pitchforks up our @ss. My Witch ancestors weren’t into that kind of thing. To make matters more convenient in this war, only certain commanding officers or experience soldiers are told of their magical partner's identity. They are to swear never to share it with even their own fellow troops."

“...Now that you mention it, I do recall signing a stack of papers I was given the moment I was promoted to Flight Lieutenant of my own Squadron...Hmm...Maybe I should have paid more attention to the fine print...…So, how do you keep yourselves hidden.”

“You ask that question, yet you’re staring at my breasts.”

“You do realize your dress stands out rather boldly, no? You look like a walking chicken that fell into a tar pit. Poor creature.”

“ARE YOU MAKING FUN OF ME, RAYMOND COLLISHAW!?”

The Canadian Witch shouted those words with her hair flapping all over her face. Almost like a real raven bird flapping its wings to show discontent. Somehow, it just made the namesake Pilot worked very hard not to fall out of his seat and laugh on the floor.

“Ahem. As I was trying to say. We still like to pretend we magic users don’t exist to the modern society. What better way to serve the regular army in secret than pretending to be a another soldier, or even an officer amongst their unit. Despite the false badges and medals, they won't be given any real authority over the situations in the trenches. At most, they carry a pistol which they could occassionally use against a normal German Soldier. But once a Kraut Magician shows up, they will take action and provide full magical support."

“And the women? I highly doubt some are as bold as you. Or, try to Mulan it.”

“Darling. You’ve been reading too much North American fairy tales. Of course most of us girls poses as nurses or nuns in the military chaplain. In our training back in Nova Scotia, we were given a crash course in medical care and even received more or less basic training for young nuns. That way, we can keep up the ruse, and carry out both our regular duties as well as stand on guard and fight enemy magicians at the drop of a veil.”

“…Um...Do you know anyone, who are supporting the British 4th Army right now?”

“Possibly. I have met one of my fellow sisters who trained with me back in Peggy's Cove. She's fine, and working for the Medical unit in this operation, However, I keep telling her nuns shouldn't be in the trenches. I think she mistaken the nun robe for the nursing uniform by accident...Although, it’s not that common for the British Empire to employ Canadian Witches.”

“Oh? Why is that?”

“We’re all colonials, are we not?”

Raymond Collishaw was in the middle of eating his beef steak and baked potatoes. The moment he heard those words, his teeth were stuck biting the fork he had in his mouth.

The Canadian Pilot was born an raised in a small town, on an island off the coast of British Columbia. The pronvince he belonged to was connected to eight other provinces across the coast. At this time, the British colony of Newfoundland was independent from the Dominion called Canada.

No matter how large the land was, no matter how abundant the environment was, and no matter how civilized the entirety of Canadian Society had been – it was still a colony that flew the English Union Jack, not its own. No Maple leaf defended by two large red walls. That small story will be told at another time.

Although it was one of the prized gems in the British Empire, it was still just a colony. Those born or existed outside of the country of Great Britain, were not true Britons. Even their standing compared to true-born British was substantially lower. In the beginning, every World Power in Europe didn’t think a 50 year old colony like Canada would survive the war. Some may have betted they wouldn’t last more than five days.

“...The Canadian Corp still won the Battle of Vimy Ridge."

"Amen to that, darling."

To make themselves feel better, the Pilot and Witch from that young colony shared high-fives with each other.

“Now eat your peas and carrots. It’s rude to waste food, especially when our rations are so low.”

“Nein! All I need is love, magic, and salmon to keep my body going. We Witches will never surrender!”

“I see. Maybe I shouldn’t tell you about this new parasite that had evolved to eat out the tongues of fishes.”

“GUUUGGGGGG! R-RAYMOND COLIISHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAW!”

On that night of June 10, 1917, even with all the drumming of the cannons in the distance and the ghostly echoes of explosions that rung in the air… somehow, all that laughing at the folly of a certain Witch gave the Canadian Pilot a peaceful, peaceful sleep.