“Sleipnir, we have to hurry with the loading!”

“I’m coming! I’m coming….Oh god that sounded wrong.”

There was a hidden airfield near the border of Germany, somewhere in the French hills. It used to be a farm that was converted into an Allied Base, mostly to survey movements between the fighting fronts of against Germany and the Ottoman Empire. As the war was raging at an all time high, it had pushed their boundary to the closest inch possible to the enemy territory and were right up to the French-German borders.

The farm was then re-purposed, again, to an active airfield for Allied planes to station, repair, and refuel. Among the many figher planes stationed there, were members of the No, 10 Naval Squadron, of the British Royal Naval Air Service (now call Royal Air Force). They were designated as the Black Flight, as all of the customized planes carried the same gunmetal black color that looked like a sable green than black of the night.

The one who led them was a certain Canadian Pilot, an Ace among the Aces, and was recognized to be ranked closely to the RAF Billy Bishop and the German Red Baron. A man who was born and raised in a small town on an island off the mainland of British Columbia. His name was Raymond Collishaw.

“Sleipnir, we need to move the crates of ordinances to the airfield. It should cut down on our time in running back and forth from the strip to the hangar. Our trucks broke down in the last raid, and all the mules are used to haul some of the tanks that fell into a ditch over yonder. We need to pick up the pace.”

“Uh…Which boxes it? The one with the 1000 pound bombs or the 1000 pound bullets? Th-they look exactly the same!”

“Both.”

“Th-that’s o-over 100 000 pounds! I-I can’t even hold an iron cooking pan without two hands, this is beyond my maximum capacity I as a witch!... I’ll be in the barracks, cleaning up the rooms. I-I'll call you when d-dinner is ready.”

“No can do, Sleipnir. The air field commander has gave the all hands on deck order. Even the nuns from the chaplain unit are loading the chain belts onto the planer’s machine guns and the chef crew are already attaching the payload to allied bombers.”

“…D-don’t compare me to them. I-it’ll make me feel guilty… Sniff.”

“...Sorry Sleipnir. I don’t have time to wipe your tears.”

“Tch.”

Raymond Collichaw was a captain of his fighter squadron, the leader of the Black Flight. He had many talented fighter pilots and technician crews that have stuck together in various campaigns, so they were already working hand in hand in preparing for an upcoming skirmish.

However, there was one member among his flight that didn’t really belong there. She wasn’t a soldier, definitely not enlisted. But she was crucial in the upcoming battles where her ‘expertise’ was most valuable on the battlefield. Believe or not, she was a member of the Canadian Witch Corp.

“H-hold up, Ray-Ray. I-I really love to help b-but I’m physically useless! L-look at my thin arms, look at my long legs! Look at my frail hands! I’m pitiful when it comes to manual labour. B-but, but, I can definitely help in preparing charms to cast force field spells, or enchant the planes to increase in air speed and reduce w-wind drag, e-even add in an emergency hex which will slow the plawn down if it ever ends up crashing.”

“Sleipnir, I know you can’t handle this and I'm sorry for dragging you around, but we have no choice. The Germans caught wind of a hidden air field right across their border. It’s only a matter of time before they find us, so we have to prepare both a counterattack and relocate our base to another location.The last thing we need are enemy bombers turning this place into cheap fondue.”

“Now that you mention it, we've been working since morning...So hungry.”

“Please pay attention.”

The Canadian Pilot sighed. He genuinely felt bad for making the Canadia Witch help him haul crates of armor piercing bullets and artillery shells around, she was truly not fit to be a combat solider. She was a magician, a member of the Canadian Witch Corp, who were in charge of counter magic combat against the enemy who harbour magicians in their ranks. Magic exists. Even if he didn’t believe it, he had many run-in with German Spellcasters in both his flight skirmishes and on ground intelligence work.

The two main fronts of both the normal battlefield and the magical realm were extreme. It was already too much for even the Witches who volunteers to learn how to refuel their allied planes or even repair several tanks in the hangar. Seeing some of those young witches getting a crash course in managaing the anti-air machine gun mounts or safety handling for a mortar also made his stomach turn.

“…Sleipnir, if you want you can stay here with the other Witches. We’ll be fighting the Germans head on once they locate this secret base, and might send in more than several squadrons of fighers and bombers. Regardless if they have a magician, I don’t want you get caught in the crossfire.”

“…R…Ray-Ray.”

“I’m serious. I'll take to the skies. You sit this one out. Help the Chaplains or the Witches with the anti-air guns, or artillery. Maybe even take part in the evacuation. You don’t need to—”

“You’re leaking.”

“…What?”

“Guh! I-I meant your plane! Your plane is leaking of fuel!”

“...Son of a b*tch.”

"H-heh? Y-your beloved Black Maria i-isn't my child!"

Indeed, due to the rushed repair and under-experienced adjustments, one of the trainee technicians accidentally shoved his screw the wrong way and it pierced the rusted fueld tank of his beloved triple wing Soptwith Camel, carved with the name Black Maria. Another repair crew were trying to weld onto new metal plating to fix another plane’s wings. The embers and sparks were getting close.

“Nope! ICE WALL!”

“S-Sleipnir!?”

Fortunately, the Canadian Witch found an opening and did what she was trained to do. Create a wall of ice to block off the oil from being touched by the random sparks and ember.

“Ha-ha! Aren’t I a smart girl, Ray-Ray? You are free to praise me.”

“You’re on fire.”

“I know I am… If you want, tonight, I could be even hotter in be—”

“Hair.”

“…Heh?...Ah.”

IF only she had made the ice wall high enough to block that one stray ember from leaping over the defenses and landing on the Witche's long black silky hair. Since it was a dry day, it light up like a candle.

“NYAAAAAAAAAAAAH! MY HAIR IS ON FIRE, MY HAIR IS ON FIRE! MY HAIR IS ON FIIIIIIIIIIIIRE”

In the end, Raymond Collishaw and several other witches came to the rescue with some fire extinguishers (the girls just finshed their crash course to smother emergency fire). The Canadian Witch on the other hand… let’s say those fellow memebrs of the Canadian Witch Corp became excited in applying the new modern skills they have just learned. They kept smothering the source of the fire, overzealously.

“…I-I’m all wet. Sniff”

“It’s just powder. It’ll wash off.”

“Uuuuuuuuh…It’s so sticky... Take responsibility for all the white cr*p on my body, Raymond Collishaw!”

"Th-the h*ll! D-don't put it like that, and in such a loud voice! P-people are going to misunderstand the context of your--"

"I - DON'T - CAAAAAAAAAAAAAARE!"

In the end, the disaster was averted, and the Witch had her shower.