Editing Strike Witches:Afrika Chapter5

As I was looking at the signpost, a car's horn suddenly blared out from behind me. I turned around, and saw an idling Morris truck with Britannian Eighth Army markings. The Eighth Army, eh? Must be one of those Desert Rats tasked with holding the African front.

"Heading to the Marseille squadron? Would you like a lift?"

I climbed into the passenger seat gratefully.

The driver was a lance corporal in the Britannian Army. When I told him I was a war correspondent from Fuso, he immediately asked if I could take his picture as well. I took out my Leica II and snapped a photo of him smiling, hands on the steering wheel. Wherever I go, everyone wants to get their photo taken. Well, I brought plenty of film, so it didn't matter. I just had to be careful of the heat. 

The photo captured the image of a boy who had only just become a young man, with a laugh free of any worries. He told me how he idolized the Witch squadron when I asked. When the subject moved on to Marseille, his smile widened.

"Oh, Oberleutnant Marseille, she's a stunner, isn't she. Slim and tall, long legs like a model, that long white hair, and beautiful eyes as blue as the Mediterranean. She's that gorgeous, and on top of that is the top ace here in Africa, she's like a dream."

His expression looked like he was talking about a goddess he idolized. Perhaps that's what everyone did.

"Yes, of course. There are less than 30 Witches here in Africa, and you can count the number of air infantry among them on one hand. And yet, she protects the sky above every region of Africa."

When I asked him what he would do if one of the Witches was in an accident, he gave a very spirited reply.

"None of them, especially Oberleutnant Marseille, would ever get shot down! But, if for some reason that happened, all 12000 Britannian soldiers here in Tobruk would move out immediately to rescue them! Not just those in combat posts either, but even every last cook and cleaner! Even if it were deep in enemy territory in Alexandria, we would charge right in without any hesitation, and definitely rescue our ladies!"

He spoke with such force that he even let go of the steering wheel. Although there wasn't much of a problem considering how straight the desert road was, without any opposing traffic, I still broke out in a cold sweat for a second. When I pointed that out to him, he immediately faced the front again and gripped the steering wheel, flustered. But even facing the front, he continued on.

I asked if he had ever thought of dating any of the witches, but he promptly refuted that.

"Since they're our, well, the saviors of the entire world. A regular enlisted soldier like me would never make a good match for one of them. That's just too far-fetched to ever hope for. I'm happy enough just catching a glimpse of them every now and then."

Is that so.

I've been to war zones all over the world, and asked the same question to all kinds of soldiers and officers, but I get the same answer no matter where I am.

Witches were scarce. They were the only ones fighting on the very front lines, holding back the enemy invasion.

However, here in Africa and on the Eastern Front, empty plains stretched all the way to the horizon. Under the right conditions, any enemy could be detected and engaged from far off.

The renowned Acht-acht, Karlsland's premier 88 mm anti-aircraft gun, could fire on a horizontal trajectory up to 10600 meters, and could hit an enemy unit from several kilometers away. It was not out of the realm of possibility for it destroy small land-based Neuroi. With luck and skill, an 88 could destroy an enemy beyond its firing range, before any risk of counterattack.

That's why Africa was one of places where male forces were still continuing the resistance. Perhaps that was another reason why there were so few witches supporting this battle.

Men like this Britannian soldier were fighting on the front, and together with the help of the Witches, they were defending the world together.

The youth interrupted my thoughts.

"Look, it's right over there."

I turned to look where he was pointing, and in between two hills, I could see several canvas tents.

"Right in the middle, that biggest tent, that's Oberleutnant Marseille's."

I jokingly asked if he could bring me all the way, but apparently without permission, male soldiers were forbidden to head along that road.

I had a special press permit, but it was unfortunate for him. I promised I would develop an extra set of photos for him once I got the chance, and he brightened again. Of course, he wanted Oblt. Marseille's photo.

Well, I suppose that was understandable.

Smiling, I jumped down from the truck. I waved back at the driver, and headed towards the tents.






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