“Look Ray-Ray! I’m the King of the Woooorld!”

“..Sleipnir. I can see your bloomers. Everyone down here can see your bloomers.”

“I-IMPOSSIBLE! I’VE APPLIED THE MAGIC SKIRT SPELL, NO ONE SHOULD BE ABLE TO SEE MY FORBIDDEN ZONE - SO WHY IS EVERYONE GAWKING UP UNDER MY DRESS!”

The was several major campaigns going on in the land of France, the battleifled of World War 1. So far there have been various aerial and land sorties to repel the Central Powers, as well as pushing back the German forces from overrunning allied Italian borders. All of the necessary brainwork and command issues came from an airfield that was built some distance between Paris and Orleans.

It was an Allied Airbase, flying a mixture of French, British, and American flags to identify its allegiance. It used to be just an old wine farm, but for the war purposes it had been bought and refitted as an major key point for aerial interdiction in the airzone. Stationed there was a certain Canadian Pilot, an Ace among the Aces. His partner wasn’t a soldier, but claimed to be a magician of the Canadian Witch Corp (which he believed doesn’t exist).

They were currently present at this airbase that was sitting in between Paris and Orleans. They were there to refuel the pilot’s all black Triplane Sopwith Camel plane carved with the name Black Maria. It had suffered heavy damage from a recent air raid on a hidden German fighter base. He and the members of the No. 10 Naval Squadrron (callsign Black Flight) gave them a good beating, but German air forces reinforced the defenses and had to push them out. They plan on coming back for a swift attack before they repair and solidify their anti-air guns.

But as mechanical repairs take time, there was nothing for the Canadian Pilot to do but to nap and eat something. This also meant his partner from the Canadian Witch Corp was also unoccupied. So, she spent her lazy afternoon walking around the top of the air-traffic control tower.

“I believe that one day, Canadians will have the ability to fly up high and walk on tall towers like this! Yes, I can see tourist daring themselves to look over the edge, maybe even bungy jump for sport! Hee-hee, it has to be located in Toronto!”

“Sleipnir. I don't understand what you're talking about. There's no such thing as a big@ss tower sticking up like a sore thumb in the middle of Canada. It would look stupid.”

“D-don’t ruin my dreams! J-just wait and see, 1973 will change your mind!”

"You just made up that number didn't you, Sleipnir?"

"... I give up."

The Canadian Pilot’s name was Raymond Collishaw. 50% of World War 1 fanatics know him, many others don’t. Let’s say he was an Ace among the Aces, close ranked to British Billy Bishop and had legendary dogfights with the notorious German Red Baron. A man of pious nature and dreamt of joining the Royal Canadian Navy, but didn't get a reply and ended up finding an opening in the Royal Naval Air Service (now Royal Air Force).

This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

As much as he was interested in women, he wouldn’t look at them with improper eyes. But the reason why he was looking up at the witch girl who had her under bloomers showing under the bell of her skirt: was to ensure she didn’t do anything stupid like saying 'YOLO!' and jump. This war already had too many casualty, no need to see another innocent soul disappear after landing on their face from 30 meters high. Even if she proudly stated she could turn into a bird with her magic, Raymond Collishaw still saw her as a child with sophisticated delusions.

“I don’t get it, Sleipnir. You hate flying, wreching your guts out every time I do a barrel roll. Yet you have no issues walking around a 65 feet air traffic control tower. It’s a miracle you can even hear me.”

“Th-that’s only because I’ve established a Telepathic link between our minds. Only what you want to say lout loud could be heard and I can hear you muttering how old fashion my bloomers are! Th-they used to be all the rage b-back in London in the 1850s!”

“How old are you again?”

“D-don’t make me transform into a Hippo and sit on you.”

“Wouldn’t that make you fat?”

“S-shut up! I’ll do it! I’llf**king jump and smack you like a Walrus!!”

"...Sure."

"WIPE THAT SMIRK OFF YOUR D@MN FACE!"

Raymond Collishaw was a nice guy (historically). He would rarely show what he was thinking on his face, especially to his commanding officers on a bad day. But since it was the irresponsible Witch girl who wore a showy dress made out of 1000 rave feathers, he had no need to hide what he was feeling. On the flip side, he felt comfortable to express his inner thoughts when needed.

“If you’re going to jump. Jump.”

“H-how cruel! Wh-what if I was sick of this war and this cruel world! That I had enough and I want to end everything!”

“You’ll just use some hocus pucs to summon a marshmallow cushion to break your fall. You used that when we got shot down and were about to hit the ravines in Ypres, remember?”

“D*mn it, are all of my secrets exposed!? What's next, someone from the enemy's intelligence department is starting to record my three sizes... God-D@mn it why did I say that!”

The Canadian Witch pulled at her long black and silky hair. It wasn’t hard enough to make her instantly bald, but it was emotional enough to tell everyone 25 meters down below her (muttering how outdated her bloomers were) how upset she was. Soon, she genuinely looked depressed and the setting she was in didn't improve her innocent image.

“I’m sick of this war. This world is cruel. No one is my friend. No one cares if I become a stain on the dirt. H*ll, even in a busy airbase like this, no one will turn to my body when it hits the ground… sniff. Good bye evil world.”

“I’ll be sure to tell the coroner to reconstruct your face afterwards.”

“Kyaaa! I-I forgot how physical impact can smash in my skull! I-I don’t want that! I don’t want people seeing my brains blown apart. I change my mi—Ah.”

“Ah.”

The Canadian Pilot and the Canadian Witch let out a small sound in unison. The girl was not suicidal, at least not anymore, because because she was reckless with her footing (stiletto shoes), she slipped off the ledge and fell over the air traffic control towe. She shouldn’t have snuck in that bag of potatoe chips during the break, she lamented to herself.

Since it was a 3000 ftdrop, she had time to delay her scream by 10 seconds before going full throttle.

“…Hmm. Sh...She’ll be fine with a Marshmallow cushion. Yeah.”

“I’VE ALREADY USED UP ALL OF MY SPELL SLOTS FOR THE DAY! SAVE ME! SAVE MEEEEE! GYAAAAAAAAAAAAH!”

“…Sh*t.”

To summarize the ending of the story, the thought of a mosquitoe being swattered by a fly catcher did not come to mind. Rather, a certain Canadian Pilot threw his body down in the line of fire, to catch a beautiful girl who fell from the sky.

“…R-Ray-Ray. Y-you’re so bold. Shudder shudder. You’re touching my butt.”

“No. Your @ss is crushing my skull. Get off and call the medic. I can’t feel my back."

Don’t worry, Raymond Collishaw lived to fly another day in history.