"Anyone who has to fight, even with the most modern weapons, against an enemy in complete command of the air, fights like a savage against Neuroi, under the same handicaps and with the same chances of success." -Erwin Rommel

The convoy moved hastily through the dry, rocky cliffs of the small ridge that served as a divider on the front. One truck carried soldiers, crewmen, and engineers, another carried much needed supplies and the witche's striker units, and the other carried the 509th's new witches. They had left earlier that morning from a supply depot far from the front, with little evidence of the war around them, but as the trucks drew near their new base of operations, the fighting could be heard in the distance. This particular stretch of the front was one of the hottest, most active areas of combat, and many burnt out wrecks of tanks, trucks, and other vehicles lay on the side of the dirt road as proof. A Britannian Spitfire dug into the hillside that flanked the road still burned from a seemingly recent engagement. Captain Clare Abrams stood in the front of the uncovered truck, keeping an eye out for the enemy. While she did not wear her Striker Unit, she still carried her large 76mm Cannon at the ready. She turned and faced the witches in the back of the truck.

"Alright, listen up! As I've said before, I'm Captain Abrams, your second in command, we are just about to arrive at Farcer's Airfield at the lower end of this valley. There is where your commanding officer will be to-" she was cut off by an AA gun starting to fire from the leading armored vehicle. Suddenly the skies above erupted with combat as Neuroi and joint forces engaged each other over the convoy. The trucks began to speed up in an attempted to get out the combat zone as fast as possible, but one Neuroi had spotted them and began its strafing run. A red beam flashed in front of the witches truck, blowing up the lead vehicle and flinging it off the road, tumbling in a fireball to the valley below. The captain quickly reacted by bracing her weapon against the top of the cabin and taking aim. The Neuroi came in low again for another run, but as it got close, Abrams let loose three shots, the third striking the core and destroying the enemy. The convoy continued on, dodging enemy fire and attempting to flee from the battle raging over head. A flaming B-109 at one point streaked over them and slammed into the road just behind the convoy.

A half hour later, they were out of the combat zone and arriving at the airfield. The base was a rough site to see. Many of the "buildings" where either rusted sheet metal hangars or tents surrounding a cleared, flatten strip of sand that served as a runway. Surrounding the base where trenches and dug out AA positions. The only solid building was the air control tower and building, but even that concrete building was heavily scared by chunks of structure missing or burn marks from the Neuroi attacks. Heavily damaged aircraft were making emergency landings as it was the closest airfield to the battle. However, by the time the convoy pulled into the base, the air battle had ended. As the engineers began to carefully unload the witches' striker units, the witches themselves where directed to an area near the airfield. A camouflage tent covered a small row of chairs in front of a map on a stand. As the witches began to take their seats, a witch ran up to the front from the hangars and stood in front of them, waiting for them to be settled. She was a high ranking witch, based on her insignias, but her uniform was dusty and messy. Instead of the usual officers hat, she still wore her goggles on her head.

"Greeting my fellow witches of Africa! I'm Oberstleutnant Berunhauf, commander of the 509th Joint Striker Unit and your new CO. As you have probably guessed by your bumpy ride in here, this is a very active combat zone." She paused and motioned to the map behind her. "Farcer's Airfield is located here, only 20 miles from the enemy territory. Our mission as the 509th, is to keep the Neuroi from getting past us and to the more vulnerable supply lines the run behind this mountain ridge just behind us. We will also act as a base of forward operations for any offensive against the Neuroi along this front. Our key to success will be cooperation between the Flying and Land Witches here of the 509th! Now, due to our proximity to enemy territory, we may not always have plentiful supplies, thus in combat, conserve your ammo! Here at base, you will only be allowed to bathe once a week with current water supplies. BUT I don't want to see you rationing drinking water. Trying to lessen your intake of water out here in the desert will only get you killed by one of our many enemies from the desert, dehydration. We must maintain peak status in order to operate effectively against the Neuroi." Alivia paused for a moment, sighing as if she had just finished a very old routine. She looked at her witches under her command now with softer eyes. "Listen, I'm not one to lie to my fellow witches so I will be honest with you. This may be the hardest, most dangerous stretch of the front in the entire campaign. That Neuroi attack that you passed through was our third one today. Now when I was first given this command I was terrified. I don't want to loose a single witch, engineer, soldier, or anyone under my command to the enemy. But I have read everyone's files and let me tell you this, after reading them and seeing everyone in person, I feel much better now. All of you are the most capable witches this war has to offer. For some of you this may be your baptism of fire and for others, another day at war, but each one of you can and will hold back the Neuroi. Look out for each other, trust one another, and we will defeat our enemy. Now then! On to more practical points, Captain."

Clare nodded and stepped to the front of the witches, she now wore her full gear with her rifle slung on her back, In her hands she carried a stack of papers. "Everyone eyes and ears! I have here a list of whose staying with who in the tents, patrol cycles, meal times and training hours for our base." she gave the stack to the witch at the front left ans told her to pass it around. As the list was passed between the witches, Clare spoke, "Now we are on constant standby! That means you must be able to reach combat ready status in under a few minutes! You never know when the enemy may strike....... NOW GO GO GO! I WANT TO SEE YOU COMBAT READY IN TEN MINUTES NOW! STRIKERS IN THE HANGARS! BE LINED UP AND READY TO FIGHT IN FRONT OF THOSE HANGARS BEFORE I GET THERE! WHAT ARE YOU WAITING FOR WITCHES!? GO GO GO!" she yelled.

The story begins here in this forlorn airfield in the desert. These are the beginning of the 509th..... the Weary Witches of Africa.

Powers snapped into action upon receipt of orders, saluting and passing the paper over to the next witch before running to the open hangar. She'd shove her bag over to her tent later. The ride to the airbase was certainly "eventful", and reaffirmed Power's own concerns about putting her faith in someone else's driving. She hated being a passenger. Next time, she was wearing her striker to base so she'd at least have a gun. In the hecticness of the ride here, she hadn't had a chance to get to know her new sisters in arms yet either. Another failing she'd have to make up for after this inspection. Maybe over a stack of sandwiches? Food was always a good way to open up a closed bunch.

Sliding in front of her familiar Hellcat land striker, Powers started giving it a once-over seeing as the base mechanics hadn't gotten to it yet. Even if they had, she always did her own maintenance checks. Especially for some of the little tweaks she made to it for comfort.

Treads: clear
Radiator: check.
Binoculars: check
Goggles and filter mask: check
Cannon firing block: check.
Electrical vertical-stabilizer cannon-assist: check.
Ammo Stock: 5 MHVAP Rounds in gun mag, 15 HE in left hip ammo drum, 15 AP in right hip ammo drum. Top up ammo at supply depot ASAP.
Sandwich grill: dirty. Wipe, then grease after inspection for snack time.

Taking a cloth to wipe off some of the sand off a tread gear before clambering up the Striker bay to hop in leg-first to the tank destroyer chassis, she then gentlely picked her cannon off the waiting rack as she was waiting for her Striker's engine to warm up from its cold start as it started to draw upon her magic for fuel and make her lion ears and tail come into existance. Come to think of it, she needed to top up on fuel herself. A little fumbling through a shirt pocket produced a paper-wrapped pair of triangle sandwiches she made just for the occasion in case she needed a top-up.

Munching away on one of the still slightly warm melted cheese and spam concoctions (she wasn't able to find proper ham in the last base) with one hand as the other slung her trusty 76mm and ammo drum clips over her shoulder and on hip pouches, Powers began to gently skii over the sandy ground over to the designated assembly line to assume ready combat stance as ordered, and awaiting the rest of the unit to arrive. If it weren't for the obvious snacking, one would think she was a Karlslander in her precision of action.

Christoph's trip in the convoy had been a little different from all the others'. While the armies of the world were used to the sight of female witches on the front lines of combat, the presence of a warlock was another matter entirely. Call it poor luck. Call it excellent camoflage. Or call it plain old bureaucratic sexism. But after disembarking from the plane into the harsh sands of North Africa, Christoph was herded into the soldiers' truck rather than the regular witches. There, he was a common conscript like so many of the others, but he couldn't bring himself to bring up the mistake made by the time he realised he was in the wrong vehicle. After all, they were already underway at top speed to the front. And besides, everyone in the truckbed was easily twice as big as he was, and he didn't want to make them mad just because he was a dumb kid.

The Neuroi attack was also an eye opening experience- one of the aliens' beams grazed the side of the truck and disintigrated a Britannian soldier into dust and ash just before the strike witch destroyed the enemy craft. The rest of the truck ride was very quiet.

It wasn't until the rear hatch was opened and Christoph spilled out the back did it become apparent that the mistake had been made. One of the witches at the main briefing waved him over to the line and Christoph slunk quietly into place, standing straight and at attention for his commanding officer. When the briefing was done, he took a step back and sprinted across the sandy terrain, avoiding the poorly paved roads and making use of his own latent power. Wolf ears and tails sprouted from his skin as he whipped up a sand-devil in his wake before arriving at the tent he would be bunking alone... with- Odilia?

The warlock dropped his satchel pack and glanced at the roster inside the tent, between the two cots. For good measure, he took it down and read the name next to his. Once. Twice. "Wait... I mean... aren't men and women supposed to... sleep separate?"

After serving on the south Britannian coast, Siobhan was no stranger to air raids. She would run ammunition to AA guns, evacuate the wounded or otherwise undertake some such vital background task; it had happened so many times before that she barely flinched as red beams scoured the scrublands. However, stuck on a truck and without a Striker Unit, Siobhan couldn't have been more helpless as the Neuroi wiped out the lead truck, erasing another handful of lives in an instant. For a moment she thought that the beams might find them next, but as the shadow dove, their new 2iC downed it with a precision triple shot; quite impressive considering the relative speeds of both the truck and her target. A small part of Siobhan felt the need to resupply the Captain, but she managed to rein it in... Old habits died hard.

During the briefing she took the time to check out her new wing mates, hoping to find at least one person she could get along with... The 509th had a bit of an odd makeup for a Witch unit; most seemed to be in their late teens and presumably approaching the end of their magical careers. It seemed a bit odd to have so many older Witches assigned to such a new formation... Regardless it was the addition of a boy that galled Siobhan most. Warlocks were more of an urban legend than anything else, one that she was quite certain to be fake. Perhaps he was a maintenance tech..? So distracted was she by her new comrades that when the order came to suit up, Siobhan fumbled, staggering out of her chair and tripping head over heels... She didn't wait for the others to mock her however and took off at all speed to the hangars. A passing thought registered that she hadn't been assigned sleeping quarters, but that was hardly an issue. She preferred to rough it anyway.

A couple of minutes later she stomped heavily out of the hangar, still uncomfortable in her newly issued A15 Crusader Unit. To date she had only ever used recovery or transport units, nothing remotely powerful as an actual combat unit; it was like going from a truck to a tank. Siobhan reached their fall in position just after another Land Witch who seemed to be... eating sandwiches..? She checked the rank insignia on the Witch's arm; Sergeant, likely Liberion from her uniform. 'Feeling peckish, Sarge?' Siobhan tried to sound both friendly and respectful; chances were she was one of, if not the lowest ranked Witch present... Might as well get used to talking with deference.

Anette, well... this wasn't the first time she had seen a battle. So even as they were driven there, and there was a Neuroi attack, well... even if it had only been a single previous dogfight, it wasn't a shock to the Gallian Witch. At most... the burning determination inside her grew. There were pangs of sorrow at seeing vehicles destroyed and crashed... but she had told herself long ago that things like that wouldn't defeat her. No. Anette would stay positive, and she would stay determined. The recent liberation of Gallia, that had pushed her spirits higher. And now... well... now, regardless of how dangerous this front of the war was, regardless of what could happen, there were no doubts in her mind that they would win this! ... And cheer on her fellow Witches. And cheer up her fellow witches, if they needed it. As things calmed around them, Anette could focus on calmer things. She had every intention, even here, of making sure that things were nice and positive. Shortly before arriving at the base, she had cast a warm smile and wave around to her fellow Witches. There was no point in sitting there and being grim, now was there?

As they filtered out of the vehicle to take their seats in the tent, Anette stretched. It, well... it was good to be out of the cramped vehicle, really. Even if they were going to be sitting back down a few moments later. Anette's smile faded as her determination swelled, showing in her expression, when the Karlslandian witch in charge began her speech. And she was absolutely right. Things were tough out here, but that didn't change that they would win! No matter how hard things got, no matter how bad they were, it didn't matter, because they would always, always win. There was one thing that caught in her mind, though...

Only bathing once a week?!

That... that was terrible! Everything would feel all... all unclean, and... and... well... regardless of how unpleasant that news was, it didn't change that they would win! Even a lack of baths wouldn't give the Neuroi any advantage! And it looked like she would have some interesting people to share a tent with... A Fuso Witch and a Liberion?

... Well there wasn't time to focus on that. It was time to get to the hanger and get ready for combat. Anette sprinted to the hanger and began to give her Striker Unit a rapid check. It was stable, it was undamaged, nothing had gone wrong with it at all... patting the side of her Striker, Anette climbed up onto the Striker bay and thrust her legs down as she hopped into her unit. She swiftly snatched her machine gun off its rack and raised it gently, The Striker Unit felt warm through her leggings as it began to power on, her magical power making her cat ears and tail swiftly pop into existence. And then... she stretched again.

"Ahhh..." Even with their hectic arrival, well... perhaps because of it, this felt almost relaxing by comparison. "It's good to be out of that truck. Today's our first step to winning the war on this front, too."

It didn't really occur to her that some of the others may think her cheerful, conversational attitude at this time might seem juuuust a bit strange.

"We'll beat the Neuroi, even with one bath a week!"

Lennon79 said
.A couple of minutes later she stomped heavily out of the hangar, still uncomfortable in her newly issued A15 Crusader Unit. To date she had only ever used recovery or transport units, nothing remotely powerful as an actual combat unit; it was like going from a truck to a tank. Siobhan reached their fall in position just after another Land Witch who seemed to be... eating sandwiches..? She checked the rank insignia on the Witch's arm; Sergeant, likely Liberion from her uniform. 'Feeling peckish, Sarge?' Siobhan tried to sound both friendly and respectful; chances were she was one of, if not the lowest ranked Witch present... Might as well get used to talking with deference.

Powers turned to look at the Britannian girl as she spoke up whilst chewing down a bite of spam and cheese. She looked young, fairly new to the frontlines too. Her gut reaction was to give her the cold shoulder, but a sharp reminder from her conscience kept her from falling in that old habit and make her try to make conversation instead. She's a fellow Witch Powers, not a grunt. Treat her nice. Your going to be fighting alongside her too.

Swallowing, Powers shrugged in response to her statement. "Can't help it corporal, my magic runs on my stomach. Besides, few things are better than starting the day with a nice bite to eat. Something I hope we can get despite the looks of this place." Powers said, trying her best not to sound like a flat machine with audible effort. The usual Liberion swagger was rather forced, and anyone who was listening could tell. Better divert focus before she started questioning. "The name's Sergeant Rosa Powers. Formerly attached to Rommel's panzer-witches on tank destroyer auxiliary duty. You?"

As she said that, she took the other half-sandwich out of her pocket and held it out in offering to the young girl. Best way to bond was food in Power's opinion, plus there wasn't exactly time to have a snack on the road with that Neuroi attack.

Nanami had mostly kept to herself during the truck ride over. Despite being possibly the greenest of the whole wing, she didn't seem to shaken by the Neuroi attack; although that might have been because she'd already been through that phase when the carrier group she'd come over with had been raided off the Horn of Africa, and she'd had to deal with her fears then instead.

She stayed quiet as she dropped her seabag in the tent she'd been directed to, before heading out to line up at the initial roll. She barely had enough time to gather her thoughts together before the entire wing was sent running for the hangar.

She certainly found herself feeling less apprehensive as she climbed the back of her standby cradle, kicked off her shoes and dropped into her waiting Zero. She sighed happily as it chugged into life, causing her marten tail to worm its way out of the back of her swimsuit, and her ears pop out of her hair.

After giving her engines an experimental throttle-up, she picked up her cannon from its cradle to her right, released the clamps and slowly hovered out to the front of the hangar to join everyone else.

(OOC Note: Yes, I know I said she had a Shiden when I wrote her sheet, but then I remembered those didn’t start entering service until 1945 and this probably takes place earlier. So she has a Zero now instead.)

'The only things to eat out here are scorpions and Neuroi, Sarge and I've heard both are a bit on the crunchy side.' The witch wasn't what Siobhan had come to expect of a Liberion; she hadn't once been slapped on the back, nor been called a Brit. In fact it was rather refreshing after the labourious time she had spent with Liberion witches based in Britannia. 'Honoured, Sergeant Powers. I'm Corporal Siobhan of... well, I don't really have a surname but my documents mark me as 'of Connacht'. I served as a powder monkey in the 7th Armoured before it was transferred here.' She took the sandwich politely, offering a small curtsey as thanks; upon inspection Siobhan found it to contain... God only knew what meat but cheese possibly..? She paused for a moment, clearly having second thoughts. A tossup between potential food poisoning and offending a superior... The girl took a deep, bracing breath and bit down into the mystery triangle, unsure of what she was eating and unsure if she really wanted to know... To her pleasant surprise, it didn't taste that bad; Siobhan had expected rat meat or some such thing... Her warning orders had stated that rations were a bit thin on the ground in Africa.

'... Very nice, Sarge. I confess, I was a bit dubious... but yes; thank you. I shall have to bake some crubeens for you in return. May I... ' She steeled herself, determined to ask the question. 'May I ask where you got... t-the meat?' As she stood in trepidation, Siobhan noticed a few of the others making their way out of the hangars toward them. One in particular caught her eye, perhaps due to her ethnicity; a Fuso girl in a flying Strike Unit of a design she had never seen before. Siobhan was about to say hello when she noticed the distinctive looped insignia on her uniform; a bloody officer! The land witch snapped to attention, rigid as a board and pulled off her best salute; she had known that flight witches tended to be commissioned, but hadn't expected to run into one so soon. 'Good day ma'am!' Another witch followed close behind; luckily this one was an NCO too... although she still outranked Siobhan, the girl noted with a sinking heart.

"The meat? Just canned Spam. Can't get any decent ham in this battlezone. The Karlslanders get a couple cans every once in a while as part of their iron rations, but they really don't like parting with them." Offhandedly remarked Powers, before taking a closer look at the young Brittanian's face to realize what she was really asking. "No, that isn't rat meat. Not that there are many rats around here to begin with. But no, I have standards when it comes to sandwich making, no rat meat or raw meat of any kind. In fact, I've got a portable grill right on hand and can make wonders with even basic supplies." She gave her Striker's rear radiator a slight pat to point out how well cleaned off it was. Like a iron griddle. "Only issue is butter. Can't get much of the stuff. If you find any, point me to it pretty please? I can cook a lot better than a army kitchen."

When the other officer Witches started flying out, Powers reflexively snapped to attention. Less a practiced motion than a simple body reaction. Powers was used to formality after hanging around Karlslanders, but she tried to slouch a couple centimeters against her usual habit so she could get a look at the other's coming out of the hanger. Certainly an international bunch, with witches from across all of the Allies. And naturally she was at the bottom of the totem pole like miss Siobhan. Fun. It took effort to show even a small grin to match those thoughts though. Smiling wasn't something she naturally did often now.

I REALLY need to loosen up a little. She inwardly screamed, giving up on Liberion boisterism and standing rigid straight at attention in the presence of officers until called upon.