June 18, 1917

Reims Allied Air Base, France

121 km from former Verdun Frontlines The British Expeditionary Forces are attempting to push

the Imperial German frontlines deeper away from Belgium

pronvince and possibly towards Luxemburg as a start.

This means they would be transfering members from both

the Royal Flying Corp and the lads from the R.N.A.S to take

station up at the airfield at Verdun. It's the closet take off

point to deliver air strikes to the Germans in the Trenches

while being able to refuel and rearm consistently.

We're all getting ready for the big move. We're packing

our things so we can board the train first thing tomorrow

morning, 6:00 AM sharp. However, I still have paper work

to do in order to prepare receiving new additions to the

Black Flight Squadron when we arrive at the Verdun Station.

Looks like I'm going to be burning the midnight oil again.

~~Collishaw

“H-holy sh*t, Ray-Ray. I-is that a whale fl-flying over London in the newspaper?"

"No, Sleipnir. It's a photo of a German Zepplin. Not a magical mammal. That would be too frightening if the later were true."

Raymond Collishaw was conflicted. First, he had an asburd amount of packing left to do, and he had to finish up all the transfer documents before being shipped to the Verdun Air Field. He regret having spent the last few days working with his squadmates and the local technicians in preparing their Sopwith Triplanes to board tomorrow's train. He realized, taking them apart and gathering the pieces in a way to make them ready for assembling when they reach the destination, was more taxing than he imagined.

That was why he wasn't sure if he should spend the remaining half of the day to stuff his clothing, uniform, and personal memoribilia sent from his family into several trunks, or use whatever typing skills he had to finalize multiple battle reports and transfer ledges.

.......He even had to flip a coin to make the choice. However, before it could land on heads or tails, a bolt of green light shot out from no where and knocked it out of the air. Like a gunslinger doing a trick shot.

It was obvious that the Canadian Pilot would turn to the source of that stupid stunt. A beautiful Canadian Witch who was curled up on his bed, a newspaper in her one hand and lazily playing around with her ivory wand in the other.

"Can't you just intercept my coin with your hands like a regular prankster."

"Oh please. I've finally find this position on your bed to be the most comforting. Don't make me waste my hard work by getting up from my @ss and wasting energy to physically tease you."

"In other words, you're downright lazy."

"Yes. And I'm not ashamed."

The Canadian Pilot wanted to groan, but looking at his half-written report that was wilting on his hand-me-down typewriter, there was simply no time. While he tried to adjust the length of the paper on the crank of the machine, he would hear rustling sounds coming from his bed.

As mentioned, the Canadian Witch was curled up on his bed as if it were her own. Obviously, she had her boots off and sitting nearly on the floor, which exposed her legs. They were long and full, a paradise for men who were into that part of a lady. She hide her pale skin under a pair of panty-hose that covered everything but the front of her feet and her heels (a bridal gauntlet for her feet, so to speak).

She would open and curl her toes, rubbing them together across the mattress, as if trying to entice someone. When really, she was rubbing an itch in her sole as she focused on reading the newspaper in her hand.

“Hmm. Says here the whale was part of a German Bombing raid on the 17th yesterday. They hit places like Therberton in Suffolk, England. You should have been there to help darling."

"You say that, but it was a sudden attack. And I'm still miles away from the Cliffs of Dover and in the middle of the Western Front. There is no way any pilot on this side of the war could instantly fly all the way back in a matter of hours. Fortunately, the German Air Raid was repelled, with Sir Robert Saundby of the Royal Flying Corp shooting down a Zeppelin."

"Oooh? Do I hear a dash of admiration for this fellow? Are you suggsting that he is your mentor of some sort?"

"Kind of. I haven't met him, but I have heard of his prowess and achievements while I was still in flight school in Toronto. Most of the techniques we learned came from his experience and books he's written. I'll tell you, he is a man of legend. I expect great things to come from him and the air force of the British Empire."

"Fu-fu-fu. Would you look at that, my darling Ray-Ray all starry-eyed for a celebrity. Is he cute."

"If he was still single, I will not introduce him to you. You'll ruin his life with how lazy you are."

"HOW RUDE!"

The Raven Witch sitting on the corner of the bed ended up hopping with a mad squawk. Raymond Collishaw didn't pay any mind to the noise she made and continued to tap on his typewritter, loudly.

"Hmph...but still, you should be proud of yourself more. You're practiclly one of the best pilots in this messy war. Surely you're a celebrity to some."

"Not really. As much as I have flown over 30 missions with decent results, I have no doub the higher ups in the Royal Flying Corp are mulling over the fact someone from the Royal Naval Air Service is one upping them. It would make sense they would cover my name up in black ink as a way to vent out their frustration."

"Y-you really don't mean it. That people of such high authority would be jealous of you doing all the hard work in this war?"

"Well, you still have to give credit to the lads on the ground, fighting in the trenches and in the Armored Division for getting the job done. My job like any other pilot is to keep the sky clear of the enemy, be they German, Austrian, Hungarian, or even the Ottomans. And besdies I'm no Billy Bishop if that's what you're suggesting. "

"Oh-ho, do I detect a jealous tone in your words, darling? Surely you must not be happy with your current situation in terms of popularity."

"To be frank, I was kind of jealous at first that Billy Bishop would be the one to receive a heroes welcome everytime he landed in an airbase whereever he went...but when I start to see how much crazy French and British fan girls faun over him, stalking his every move, hiding in the back of his plane before take off, or even stealing his clothing........ I'm very glad that I'm not that popular enough to have girls chase after me like zombies."

"..................Why do I feel like my existence has no meaning to you. Wh-what exactly the h*ll is this beautiful Witch to a young man like you? Am I just a rag doll that sits on your desk and collects dust!?"

"....................................................................*Type* *Type* *Type*"

"LOOK AT ME WHEN YOU'RE AVOIDING THE CONVERSATION, RAYMOND COLLISHAW!"

The said Pilot could hear his bed complaining as a certain Raven was hopping mad up and down the springs. Any more pressure, and he was sure something would shoot out from the mattress and hit someone like a bullet. He prayed to God that it will not hit his typewritter as he was almost finish with his 10th report out of the 15.

As if realiing her offensive to get the young man's attention had zero effect, the Canadian Witch ended up mulling over her own frustrations as she curled up on the bed. She then picked up someting that she had been working prior taking a break with the newspaper, making clattering noises as if to portray her anger, wrath, and frustations in a musical form.

“What are you doing, by the way? Sleipnir? You've been at it since morning when I went out to dismantle the planes. Are you playing crib with yourself?”

“Knitting. I’m knitting. Now shush, before I forget what number I’m reciting.”

“I thought you said you were knitting.”

“I’m preparing my Divinitation class magic by reciting the Lord’s Prayer. I easily lose count after 10, so I use knitting as a way to remind me what number I have recited at. Please, let me chant in peace. I’m at 739 and I still have a long way to go!”

“Magic sounds troublesome. Should I be happy that I’m normal.”

“Don’t make me punch you when I’m memorizing about the part about God giving us our daily bread!”

The Canadian Pilot sighed. He watched as the Raven Witch continued to fiddle with a pair of knitting sticks and spinning a rough looking wool. He didn't know what she was making, and he guessed she had no clue what the final product in mind was going to be. So he just watched her knit, and knit, and knit, while she mumbled under her breath again, and again, and again.

"...Ah. No good, I'm sidetracking myself. I have to finish the report...Wait no, I still have a cr*p tone of packing to do...Should I work on my valise, or should I finish the last five reports....Okay, one more two page report, then I'll start packing."

"La-la-la. Oh how I need not worry. I have several spells that help me store my belongings into a burse the size of a melon. Oh-ho-ho. Why, if I need extra room all I have to do is sing Bippity-Boppity-Boo on a pumpkin and I have an instant luggage carrier! Oh-ho-ho. It's a wonderful day to be a magician~♪."

"I'll cut your rations."

"Wait! No! I'm super, super sorry! I-I didn't mean to sound like a pompous rich b*tch! Y-you can punish me, th-that doesn't involve hitting my @ss, s-so please don't cut off my life line! I-I can't survive on my mana as food!"

The Canadian Pilot kept a frown on his face, so he that he doesn't show signs of weakness and break open a coy grin. Seeing how the Canadian Witch shattered her own pride and was begging for him to not remove her only reason to live (#FoodIsLife), he felt his heart had been satisfied for being pushed around. Of course, he wasn't an evil man. There was no way he would continue to take advantage of this foolish Raven Witch.

So he made her swear that she would be a good girl and either do her daily chores or offer charity to the local church every Sunday.

"Sniff...Ray-Ray is so cruel! M-my payroll in this war is already nonexistent!"

"Right, what should I begin to pack? I wonder."

"L-listen to this Witch darliiiiiiiiiiiiiing (TxT)!!"

Raymond Collishaw rubbed his neck as he focused on the open valise briefcase he had open on his desk. There were a lot of things to pack, other than his spare uniform. To put it frankly, he had been collecting various memorabilia that he had stumbled across the war.

Some gifts from the living, some articles left from the fallen, books or journals left in villages that were evacuated when the war broke out, to even a pocket book of the Adventures of Sherlock Holmes translated in German. Of course, all those alone was already worth one valise breifcase. What about his military equipment, books on flying maneuvers, standard issue Art of War - British Empire edition? Or even his Smith and Wesson Model-44 revolver and its .44 caliber bullets? ...What about his favorite desk lamp - wait, no that was already there when he moved into this officer quarter...But they wouldn't know...Naaah. That's not a Canadian thing to do. Most likely he'll just change the flickering light bulb for a new one and give it a good shine before leaving, yeah something like that.

At this point, he really wished there was a more convenient way to move his things. Maybe, after the war he’ll start up a moving company that uses automated machines or even robotic automatons… ah, no good, his mind was day-dreaming again.

“...By the way, Sleipnir. I don't really understand magic that well, but why is there a need to 'prepare' your powers. I thought Wizards like in the story books could cast their spells as convenient as shooting a pistol?

“Then tell me, my dear soldier, do you not need to load bullets into your rifle before you can kill the enemy.”

“…Ah.”

“You just realized that!? Seriously!? Wh-what have you been doing for the past three years in this war!?”

“Sorry. My bad. The airfield maintenance crew normally resupply ammunition to Black Maria while I either rest or tend to other matters… I haven’t load a belt for into a Vickers machine gun since my training days on the HMCS Niobe… I never really thought it now that you mention it.”

“The way you throw out everything unnecessary in your brain and focus on the fighter plane in front of you is frightening, darling.”

“…But that still doesn’t explain how you can acquire power to throw fireballs and drop ice hammers from knitting.”

“L-like I said! Knitting isn’t the ritual I’m trying to prepare myself with! It’s physical method to keep my attention from wandering when I’m doing long and repetitive tasks necessary to set up the magical formulas for my spells in battle! H-have you not been listening to me!?”

The Canadian Witch was hopping mad. With how she was yelling and throwing her knitting arms up and down, she could be seen bouncing on the flimsy springs of the Pilot’s bed. Somehow, it didn’t enhance the level of rage she was trying to express at face value.

It only made her look like a jack-in-the-box that no one bothered to shove back into the box.

“Magic isn’t about hocus pocus or alakazam. Those are cr*p grown-men use to trick little children at birthday parties with sleight of hand and simple distraction! We Magicians have to eat the right food, repreat specific chants every day, and often have to conduct research into the magical lore which we specialize. Sometimes, most Magicians or Alchemists have an annual evaluation where they have to show their superiors the level of research they acquired in regards to their magic. It’s like what normal people do to recertifiy their license to carry a weapon.”

“Oh, like an eye test.”

“Darling, come over here. My hands are occupied so I need to kick you.”

The Canadian Pilot stared at the Witch’s legs. She was wearing an expensive looking panty-hose stocking that covered everything but the front of her feet and the back of her heels, but everything else under her fluffy skirt woven from raven feathers. As a Gentlemen of the Canadian Expeditionary Forces, he stopped his imagintation at the point past her knees, right below the thighs.

“R—Ray-Ray! D-don’t stare at me like that! I-I’m not sure if I should squeal in fear or shiver with joy! D-don’t make my feelings so conflicted!!”

“Ah sorry. My bad. I was looking at he cockroach on your leg. But seeing how occupied you are, I’ll tell you later.”

“GYAAAAAAH! COCKROACH! KILL IT WITH FIRE! KILL IT WITH FIIIIIIIIIIRE!”

“Please don’t use your magic in my room.”

The Canadian Pilot was bored. He thought he should be working hard and packing, but somehow having used the whole morning to take aprt the wings and some parts of the Black Maria for easier storage on the train took a toll on his body and muscles. He ended up procrastinating.

To make sure he didn’t accitentally drifted off into a nap, he tried to keep himself busy. For example, poking fun at a Certain Witch.

“...Wh-where is the corpse of the cockroach.....Geh--!? Raymond Collishaw, y-you did that on purpose!”

“Oh. Sorry. I mistaking that swinging pocket watch on your hips as a cockroach. My bad.”

“……….Oh… right.”

“Hmm?”

Something changed in the tone. The pilot was expecting to receive an artillery barrage of insults, curses, or maybe even a pseudo-hex. Instead, he gained silence. As if the cannons on the hills behind the trenches were about to fire… but nothing happened for two hours. That moment no one was sure if a ceasefire was called or they ran out of ammo.

Raymond Collishaw turned his attention to the Canadian Witch. She was quiet, staring in fact. She was holding onto the small pocketwatch she had clipped to her belt over her raven dress. It looked ull, as if well worn over time with noticble scars and scratches. What kind of scratches – bullets, shrapnel, swords, or even plasma burn from flame magic – the Canadian Pilot wasn’t sure. If he was a Forensics officer, he wouldn’t be a pilot now would he.

The Witch gently held the pocket watch in her palms, staring longly at it. As if it were her lover.

“Do you need some private time with your trinket?”

“……………………………………………………………………………….”

“Wow. It must be very important to you to not react to that.”

“It’s an heirloom. From my two mothers.”

“…...............Right.”

When the Raven Witch suddenly mention the word 'Mothers' the Canadian Pilot started to think about his own family...No, he didn't have two mothers. One father, one mother. Otherwise, the boys or men in his neighborhood would have thrown stones at him out of jealousy.

He brought up familiar faces in their mind, even touching a hand to his heart as a way to reaching out to them. Of course, they were thousands of miles overseas back in his home nation, the Dominion of Canada.

Being by himself in the Western Front, he would often try and imagine scenarios if he was back with everyone's side... watching them grow, how they would laugh with him - or at him depending on their preference - maybe he might get one of two of his siblings to go into flight school and become a commercial pilot...No, that's too far into a future where aviation technology was just starting.

At the very least, Raymond Collishaw would try to write to his mother back home. However, due to the fluctuation of the Great War, what used to be an Allied Front could be occupied by the Central Powers and vice versa, it was difficult to provide a stable address for his loved one. Not to mention, the price for postal has hiked up to 50 cents!!...That's a lot on a pilot's salary in 1917!

... Also, his family like to write in 10 page lengths. By the time he replied with three, his hand was already cramping. Sigh.

“Hey, Sleipnir. Could you tell me more about your family?”

“Alright darling. But I hope you don’t mind if I wipe your brain from the sensitive information afterwards. We are Witches after all. Your government won’t like it if you end up believing we magicians are real.”

“……………………………Sleipnir.”

“Pffft. You caught me. I don’t have that kind of absurdly powerful magic. I can’t even clean the memory of a squirrel's brain from what it had for breakfast. Oh-ho-ho.”

The Canadian Witch giggled and she curled up across the bed with her back to her wall, cradling the small and worn out pocket watch in her dainty fingers. A small smile rolled across her lips as she pulled up her legs to her lovely chest. From one angle, she looked like a fetus seeking the warmth of her mother’s wombs… or… both mother’s wombs. From another angle - gravure.

“I was born on Bell Island, in the independant colony of Newfoundland. Although I wasn’t born as a Canadian, my family ended up moving to Prince Edward Island to raise me.”

“Why? Were they like my parents who hoped I could go to Britain to receive a college degree?”

“No. It was more complicated than that. They had one too many drinks, got hot and heavy, and they ended up shooting more than magic all over the town. Worse, they picked the night holding a festival as their wedding anniversary... Ahem.”

“………………………….”

“Yeah. They said it was a messy night, and I was only what 5 years old while I watched them from the front porch. The second they sobered up and realized the damages they’ve done, they just up and swept me into their arms and booked the first steam ferry from St. John to Sidney, Nova Scotia and fled.”

“…………….D*mn… That sounds exactly like how my parents had my baby sister, Inez”

“Our parents are a bad influence, Don’t you agree?”

Raymond Collishaw felt like giving her a high five. However, she was on the bed and he was at his desk. The distance between the boy and girl was about a good 2 meters. Both of them were too comfortable in leaving their seats, that or they were too lazy to move and touch each other’s hands... Most likely the latter.

“And you grew up in Prince Edward Island. How was it like there?”

“Cold. It was so cold. Every day, I would wake up to see these icicles hanging from the corners of our room. Despite how sharp they look, the way they magnify and bend the light around them always caught my eye. At that time, they were the cheapest Kaleidoscope I could play with during the cold season.”

“Already at a young age you were a crafty girl. That explains who you can hide so many things in your clothing. Like your wand and your pouches.”

“Darling. I’m in a good mood right now. Don’t make me leave my comfort zone and drop kick you.”

“Hmm. I’ll do my best Milady. Yes, I will. Hmm.”

“…Ray-Ray…you’re still bullying me.”

The Canadian Witch looked like she was going to cry, but the look of her dreamy smilie made it difficult to believe if she was upset or reliving a heartfelt moment.

“I never had any friends. I was born a Witch and my parents taught me magic. Even back in Newfoundland, I couldn't show my powers to other people. I wasn’t allowed to use even my Healing Spells to cure wounds or sickness in others, no matter how much good I wanted to. But...”

“Hm. Looks like your rebellious spirit was an early bloomer.”

“You’re right. I went behind my mothers back and helped a little old lady who lived in a cottage down the hill from us. Her cat got bitten by a stray dog. I ended up using my Presdigitation Spell to zap that mutt.”

“…Wait. You killed a dog? Y-you were that violent at that age!? A-and I haven't shot my first deer until I was 12!”

“What are you talking about, darling? Presdigitiation is a level 0 spell that I can use to shoot sparkling lights or clean up dirty tables. It’s not at all lethal, you didn’t know that?”

“Sorry. The last time I attended magic school was….. I don’t know, a previous life. Yes, the Aeon Dynasty of the Fourth Burning Sun and Red Sister Moon. But I'm a different man now in this new world, I've reincarnated as a Pilot from the Dominion of Canada in the 20th Century's Great War!!”

“Har, har. Very funny. Wait until I level up and create an Ice Automaton to Judo throw you!”

“Then what happened… to the cat and the old lady?”

“Well. When she saw I used magic to scare off the dog, she wanted me to do something about her injured cat. I was naïve, I ended up using a healing spell to cure the poor creatures wound. That was my mistake.”

“She called the Constables on you?”

“Worse. She used my body! The old woman coerced me with her sweet smile and god-d*mn addicting apple pie to help her to fix everything in her house! The heat stove with the loose steam pipe! Splitting piles of wood for her with an axe that could swing itself! Repairing the cracks in the water well and clearing out the loose leaves and pigeon droppings around the well edge! Leaks in the bath tub and sink, changing her lightbulb--She practically treated me as a convenient tool that could automatically cure all of her problems....uuuh."

"S-Sleipnir. Y-you're shuddering...D-don't tell me, after you did all that she...Oh no."

"Yes! She did! She made me wear all sorts of emberassing dresses she made for her granddaughters! Th-the old granny told me they all ran away everytime she pulled it out and hoped before she left this world she could see them being worn...I-I don't know what was her profession before retirement, b-but now that I look back - those 'dresses' weren't at all appropriate for woman of any age to wear as a hobby!"

"......................Oh."

"Why do you have this diappointed look on your face, darling? Should I really crawl out from my comfy spot and scratch your eyes out?"

"Sorry. Sorry. I was thinking of something along the lines of Hansel and Gretel."

"If she stuffed me with her ridiculous amount of apple pie to fatten me up for dinner, do you seriously think I would be talking to you in the middle of the Western Front in 1917!?"

".....................And then?"

"D-don't avoid my judgment! Tch! What else do you think!? The moment the wrinkly old lady had her way with me, she sent me back without so much as a penny for candy or ice cream! I was so tired, so exhausted from being a good Samaritan, that by the time I came back home to have my mothers yell at me, I passed out before reaching the front porch! Gug, I was out cold for five straight days!"

“…………….How old were you again?”

“6 and a half. My mana pool was sh*t at that time.”

“Yikes.”

The Canadian Witch groaned, yet she kept her smile al the way through every ounce of air released from her throat. It was as if the memory was so bitter, she ws going to cry with twisted laughter.

“I then realized that if people didn’t hate you for magic, they will take too much advantage with my abilities… My parents ended up using a strong memory wipe spell and undid my hard work to make sure nothing restarted her memory... And did me a service of burning those emberassing clothing that no woman should ever wear...Well...save for one see through robe that one of my mothers had a liking to.”

“…........They must have been very mad.”

“Yes. They locked me inside a closet, stuffed it in a cave in Thunder Cove beach, and put a boulder over the entrance. They thought the bad ending for Merlin was a good enough punishment for me to reflect on my actions. Along with the weather at Prince Edward Island, being trapped inside during the Winter months was hard."

“……………….Months?”

“Long story, but my two mothers were really, really mad that I used magic behind their backs.”

“……..”

“Sigh...Sniff...… Okay. Your turn now.”

“For what?”

“Show and tell, silly. I mean, this beautiful woman just opened up her heart and her dark past to you. Would it not be fair for you to tell her something about your childhood?”

"...................................................................."

“…Ray-Ray?”

"................................................... *Type-Type-Type-Type-Type* *Ding* *Type-Type-Type*."

Raymond Collishaw suddenly woke his 'day dreaming'. He suddenly felt invigorated to push aside his procrastinating half, and go back straight to work. Packing can wait, he still had a number of reports to write. It will take hours, but that's fine.

So long as it could act as a wall to hide his own insecurities, then it was just fine--

"NYAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!"

"GUWOOOOOOOOOOH!?"

Unfortunately, pretending nothing happen and continuing to work on his typewritter wasn't as effective as a 50 meter stone wall that surrounded a city. Of course a certain Canadian Witch would pounce on him like a raven to a salmon in the river.

"Raaaaaaaay-Raaaaaaaaaaaaaay."

"W-wait! S-Sleipnir! L-let's n-negotiate a truce first! I-if someone walks in an-and sees you sitting on my waist, wh-what would th-they think of me!? D-don't give us Canadians a bad name!"

"I. Don't. Care."

The Canadian Witch sat on the young man's waist to lock down his center of gravity. To make the atmosphere even more violent, she had his wrist pinned down to the ground with her own hands. A dangerous glint sparkled in her eyes, her long black hair slipping off her shoulder like a menacing shroud.

She had the look of a crazed lover peeking through a mail slot in the door or something just to say good night... shudder, shudder.

"...You will tell me. Everything about yourself. From when you were a fetus, to the day your mother spend hours in labour, how you grew up, what your life was, where were you raised, and how you eventually achieved the status of Lieutenant."

"..............I...if I wrote this book for you, e-every tree in Canada w-would be in jeopardy, S-sleipnir."

"I DON'T CARE! TELL ME! TELL MEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!"

"UWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOH!?"

In the end, the Canadian Pilot who have flown over 30 missions and shot down a considerabe amount of enemy planes, was powerless to an angry beautiful woman - a weakness amongst most men really.

If this was an interrogatoin, there were only three things a capture soldier or pilot could share with the enemy. Name, rank, and serial number.

"No! D-don't try and b-bite my neck! I-it will leave a mark and it's super awkward to explain to the lads when there's no girls around here o-other than the local nuns! I-I am Raymond P. Collishaw! B-born in B-British Columbia, Do-Dominion of Canada! M-my father is J-John Edward Co-Collishaw and he started his life in the Yukons as a g-gold miner! M-my mother is Sarah C-Collishaw, formerly Jones and she keeps refusing to tell me her profession on account it being not interesting to tell!"

"AND!? AAAAND!?"

"Gueegh!? I-I have six siblings! Stanley, C-Cicely, H-Howard, I-Inez, Clyde, Herb! W-we all grew up on a small farm a-at the e-edge of town and the local neighbor love to drop by to buy 5 cent c-chiken eggs from Eliza, th-the family hen!!"

"WHAT WAS YOUR DREAM AS A CHILD! GO ON! I WON'T LET YOU GO UNTIL YOUR MEMORY STRIP DOWN TO THE LAST IMAGE!"

"I-I ALWAYS DREAMED OF BECOMING A MAN IN SPACE, B-BUT THAT WAS TOO EXPENSIVE! SO-SO I WANTED TO BE IN THE ROYAL CANADIAN NAVY, BUT THEY DIDNT ANSWER MY LETTERS! TH-THAT'S WHY I ENDED UP BEING A PILOT!"

"MOOOOORE! GIVE ME MORE! MOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOORE!"

"PLEASE DON'T MAKE IT SOUND LIKE THIS IS A TORRENT LOVE AFFAIR! I SURRENDER! I SURRENDER TO YOU ALMIGHTY WICKED WITCH OF THE WEST!"

Please don't give up, Raymond Collishaw! You still have World War 2 to fight in!

"WHAT THE H*LL DID YOU CALL ME YOU LITTLE BRAAAAAAAAT!?"

"NICE WITCH OF THE NORTH! NICE WITCH OF THE NOOOOOOOOOOOOOORTH!"