World On Fire: Shadow Ops [a Fantasy WWII Quest]

[><] Impressive, but not unexpected.

You have to visibly and physically restrain your enthusiasm at the sight before you. This... this is game-changing, in your opinion. A squadron of these, you imagine, and you could fly up to Hitler's doorstep and shoot him yourself.

"Impressive, but not really... unexpected," you say at length. For his part, Milo seems far from truly disappointed. Either he thinks the same way, or he caught you forcing your own excitement down. He shrugs.

"General Electric seems to think they won't be able to outfit the entire Witch Corps, both Army and Navy, until around this time next year, and that's if they rush production. There's no teething problems - not anymore, anyway - but they still need to build the factories... and find suitable tree branches. There's no real way to standardize that. Not without a lot more witches."

You nod, your shoulders slumping a little. There was always a catch, but at least this time it was the obvious one. Only certain kinds of trees could serve in magical purposes, and they needed magical care. Brooms already required more care than a wand, and the branches needed for these brooms would have to be big. Big, and from healthy, well-maintained trees, the type matrons liked to keep for their own purposes.

You check your watch - a surprisingly complex Swiss chronograph for the Army, which was given to you along with your Army Air Corps uniform. Allegedly they're working on a replacement for your uniform, too - like the British, your own country started out with simply modifying the flight uniform, but as you yourself have noted, said uniform requires a fair bit of tailoring to fit a woman.

"I better head over to the barracks," you say. "Who's the base matron?"

Milo does a double-take at you, as if seeing you for the first time. He frowns, then rubs his head, sighing.

"That's right, she left for Australia last..." He shook his head. "Major Diane McKinsey. Real piece of work. Normally she "likes" a gift to get her working relationship gears turning, but I'm not sure one bottle will be enough for you."

You raise an eyebrow. "Racism?"

He shakes his head. "Despite the name, she's from an old as sin Puritan family out in Massachusetts. While they didn't come over on the Mayflower, they may as well have. I don't think it's the Saitou part of your name you should worry about."

[ ] Get a bribe from the quartermaster
- [ ] Food (what?)
- [ ] Booze (what?)
- [ ] Something else?
[ ] Don't, head straight to the barracks

[ ] Play: Barracks scene
[ ] Skip to June 4

[><] Gin and Cigarettes

The thought of getting wine - a white wine, to go with all the fish you've no doubt they serve here - enters your mind for a fleeting moment, before leaving with a silent laugh. You're on a Navy base in the middle of the ocean - the closest thing you'll get to white wine here will require siphoning fluids from the business end of one of the latrines, or trying to rob a general officer.

The small pack of Camels you got with your ration soon proves their worth. You trade them in for a more regular-sized pack of Pall Malls, and still manage to keep one for yourself. Seems the guy in charge really likes Camels. Sadly, keeping one for yourself means you have to pay for the booze part of your bribe, and with what you have on you, all you can get is gin. Nothing wrong with gin, but you personally prefer to drink it mixed in a 2:1 ratio with vermouth. It's not good gin, either, but it's better than beer, or nothing.

Being as remote a base as it is, the witch barracks aren't all that different on the outside than the other barracks. Smaller, maybe, but otherwise identical on the outside.

Inside, besides a wider main hall, the addition of a plant-"filled" common room, and one large single room for use of the matron, it's likewise identical.

The common room is typical for one meant for mages, and especially for witches. A few tables, a few benches, and space for a whole bunch of potted plants. However, this being a fairly forward base (and out in the middle of nowhere), there's only a very sad-looking sapling in a large pot, in the middle of the room.

Six pairs of eyes turn, almost as one, to you.

As you look at the six other witches currently present here - the rest, you assume, are either on patrol, training, or have already gone to the ships - you are forcibly reminded of a Norman Rockwell painting. Apart from the uniforms (which, in some ways, actually help), the six women before you could have been taken from any picture of "wholesome Americana."

Well, apart from a few frowns. And the oldest one, with the golden oak leaf of a Major, has the biggest frown of all. She's downright glaring at you. You snap to attention.

"First Lieutenant Saitou-Williams, reporting as ordered."

She continues to glare at you, as if she hopes to stare you out of existence, before sighing and holding a hand out for your bribe, which you give her.

"I ask for another ace, any ace, I say. 'I don't give a shit what color she is,' I even say. And what do I get? A goddamned Williams." She produces a tongue of flame with a snap of her fingers and lights up a cigarette almost immediately. She takes a puff, then blows it almost, but not quite, directly at your face. Far enough off-angle that it could be argued as accidental.

"I normally watch newbies to my motley crew train, but your file says you've killed enough Krauts I shouldn't have to worry about that. You probably won't be flying with us much, anyway, and the less I have to see you, the happier I'll be. Have you ever done any flights with Navy witches?"

You nod. "On board the Gettysburg, ma'am. Some patrols, some mock fights for training."

"I suppose that's good enough for the Navy," she says. "That said, I want you training just as hard as the rest of the Army witches here. If you're not eating, sleeping, or doing paperwork, I want you doing PT. Not like you have time for anything else."

You have roughly a day and a half before you need to go to the Enterprise.

[ ] Physical training plan (Write-in. Due to being pressed for time, it will only be a d10, with a 5 and above being a success and a 4 or lower just making you sore.)