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 8th Army markings. The 8th Army, tasked with holding the African front, and also known as the Desert Rats.
"Heading to the Marseille squadron? Want 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.
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