Morina & the Switching Spell Ch. 03

Walking away, I realized I was carrying orders from Lord Ayresdon instructing me to work more closely with the RAF and Squadron Leader Porter. Great.

I reported to Colonel Drummond and gave him my orders from Lord Ayresdon.

"Do you know about these orders?" he asked after unsealing the envelope and reading them.

"Yes, sir," was my only correct reply.

"You're still with the 5-1-2 Squadron, but I'll need to work out a schedule with Squadron Leader Porter for you to spend time with the RAF," he explained.

"Yes, sir. Is that all, sir?" I asked.

"No," he said, picking up a large parcel wrapped in brown paper. "This package from home came for you while you were out yesterday."

He handed it to me. It was fairly light for its size.

"What is it, sir?" I asked. The military often inspects packages for security reasons.

"Why don't you open it? I'm curious about it myself," he said, smiling slightly.

I tore through several layers of protective paper and my first glimpse told me what it was.

I smiled as I pulled out a white quilt with black cats with green eyes woven into the design. The note attached indicated what I already knew. It was from my mother.

"Is that a blanket, Captain?" the Colonel asked.

"A quilt, sir. It's from my mother. It's kind of a family heirloom," I replied. "May I have your permission to keep it in my tent, sir?"

"Go ahead, Captain. I don't see the harm," he replied.

The Spellman Quilt was indeed an old family heirloom handed down since colonial times. I was told that my great-grandmother, Morella Spellman quilted it and then enchanted it in the early eighteenth century during the French and Indian Wars to keep in touch with and protect my great uncle Morten, her first born. He was 17 at the time, almost two years before he could acquire his full warlock powers and was one of the colonial volunteers to fight the French Canadians and indigenous warriors.

The enchanted quilt enabled great-grandmother Morella to keep in touch with great-uncle Morten and to reinforce his fledgling warlock powers to protect him from magical creatures and any stray musket bullets he might encounter in his travels through the North American woodlands.

The quilt has been in the family ever since, and to our knowledge, it is the only one of its kind. We've kept it secret from the rest of the magical world, lest it be stolen or destroyed by other magicals. I carefully tucked it away in my pup tent.

***

I rejoined my squadron in time for the morning debriefing before we were scheduled to take off. We spent the day doing a series of drills practicing air maneuvers and flight formations. In addition to its fighter capabilities, the "Thunderbolts" had bomb-carrying capabilities and we did a number of practice bombing drills using "dummy" bombs.

By late afternoon, we were nearly out of fuel, and we came in to refuel and grab a quick bit of supper before heading out again. The Army chow was a far cry from the bangers and mash I had last night, but I was too hungry to care, even if I could do something about it.

The sun was beginning to set when we took off again, this time to practice night landings.

By the time we were finished, there was just enough time to get back to our tents before "lights out." It wasn't until I crawled into my tent that I saw the quilt and remembered I placed it there that morning. As tired as I was, I waited for about 15 minutes after all camp fires and other lights were out, and I heard snoring in the tents around me before I pulled the quilt up and over my head.

"Mother?" I whispered.

"Lee! How are you? I'm so happy to see you, son," her feminine voice spoke from the quilt.

"Shhh! You'll have to whisper. I'm in a tent surrounded by GI pilots in nearby tents. I think they're asleep, but I don't want anyone to hear us," I whispered furtively.

"Are you alright? Are you eating enough?" her voice whispered back.

"Yes, I'm fine and they give us plenty to eat here. How is everything at home?" I asked.

"Well enough. Everyone keeps asking about you, especially Rebecca Wickham," she replied.

Rebecca was the witch who helped me get my full warlock powers. When warlocks "come of age" on their 19^th birthdays, they can only gain their full powers from a witch during intercourse. This is a dangerous process for the witch because she loses much of her magical power to the warlock when he cums inside her. She is able to get some or all of those powers back if the empowered warlock enables her to cum within 24 hours of his ascendency.

The amount of magical power transferred back and forth between witch and warlock depends upon a number of factors, including the intensity of the orgasms and how close they are to each other. 19-year-old warlocks who are immaturely selfish or just bad lovers tend to leave their witch donors left with little or no magical power.

I wasn't raised that way. My mother made sure I was well-educated and trained in the many ways of pleasuring a woman, so that when Rebecca transferred her magical powers to me, I was able to give her a powerful orgasm almost at the same time during that physical act of power (and orgasm) transference. Rebecca's powers were actually enhanced by the time we were finished. We've been close friends ever since.

"Please tell Rebecca I said 'hello'," I whispered fondly.

"Of course," she answered.

"How's Morina doing?" I asked.

"Oh Lee, you would be so proud of your little sister! She earned her pilot's license in the WASP program, and they've asked her to join the Air Transport Auxiliary with Jackie Cochran. She's been flying all sorts of planes from the factories in Michigan and St. Louis to air bases in Texas and here on the east coast," she whispered proudly.

"Reena has a pilot's license? At her age?" I asked.

"She's one of the youngest pilots in the WASP program and as far as I know, the only witch to do so," she cackled back.

"I'm surprised you're taking this so well, Mother. We both know what a daredevil Morina can be," I whispered.

"I worry about both of you all the time. Those charmed pendants I gave you can only do so much," I could hear the anxiety in her voice as she whispered.

"I'll do my best to keep out of harm's way. I'm in a strong squadron and we're trained to watch out and protect each other," I whispered reassuringly.

"Have you met any other magicals there?" she asked.

"Yes, several witches with the London Coven and a few warlocks including some British Lords on the Albion Warlock Council. But you were definitely right about the Nazis. They do have witches and warlocks who are driving the war effort against us," I replied.

"I'm not surprised. I'll speak to the Warlock Council and the Salem Coven and maybe we can get a few more witches and warlocks here to volunteer over there," she said, determinedly.

"Let them know I've already made two kills. Maybe that will inspire them," I said.

"Oh, now you've got me worrying about you again. Maybe you can bring the quilt on the plane with you. I might be able to put a stronger protection spell on you and your plane," she whispered.

"I'm sure the Colonel won't permit that," I whispered.

"Then let me reinforce the protective spell on your pendant," she said.

"I really don't think that's necessary," I replied.

"Don't argue with me! Hold your pendant against the quilt," she insisted.

"Fine. Here it is," I whispered back as I held my black cat pendant against the quilt. It was late and better to agree with her than to argue and have her worry about me.

"Ward-Guardian!" she incanted. "There, that should help you dodge a few more German bullets."

It's late here, Mother and I need to get some rest," I yawned. "I'll talk with you tomorrow,"

"Alright, I'll let you go. Good night, son. I love you. And please be careful," she whispered, but I heard her trying to hold back a sob.

"I will, Mom. I love you too," I whispered back and quickly lost consciousness soon afterwards.

***

6 May 1944, Saturday.

Rain.

It was bad enough fighting the Nazis, but we seemed to be fighting the weather as well. The ground crews did their best to keep the landing strips operational, but the rain and the muddy ground was hampering their efforts.

Meanwhile, fresh troops were still pouring in from home. Whole battalions were arriving every day and the number of new pilots joining our squadrons made our ranks swell.

All of these new troops needed to be trained and fed. But with the rain, it was difficult to construct the various buildings and temporary structures needed fast enough to accommodate them all. Supplies were coming in at irregular intervals, hampered not only by the rain, but also by the narrow English roadways, which didn't have the capacity to allow the large trucks, or lorries as they're called here, to pass each other in opposite directions for two-way traffic. Efforts were being made to widen the roadways, but with the rain and the close proximity of the cottages to the roads, this was taking far longer than Allied Command anticipated.

The delays were also putting a strain on counterintelligence. Everyone, including the Nazis, were expecting the allies to establish another front in Northern Europe. Word had leaked out from the Tehran Conference last November that Stalin wanted another front to relieve the strain on St. Petersburg and Stalingrad. But no one knew where or when that second front would be established.

The logical landing area would be someplace in or around Calais since that was the closest point between England and France. But that area was heavily guarded by the batteries and airfields Rommel had constructed. Even the Fuhrer had boasted about the strength of those defenses. Other landing sites were being considered, including much further down the coast in places like Normandy. But wherever it would be, it was absolutely vital that the landing location be kept as secret as possible.

All of this planning depended upon how quickly the allies could assemble the necessary troops and supplies to establish the greatest amphibious invasion force the world had ever seen. The timing was important, because the beaches and harbors of Northern France were heavily mined, and the allies wanted to take advantage of the lowest tides to minimize troop casualties and equipment damage during the landings.

Since the tides depended upon the phases of the moon, today was one of the best days to launch the invasion force known as D-Day. But the multiple delays caused by the weather made that expedition impossible.

Allied Air Command decided they were going to make a show of it, anyway. The English Channel was way too rough for landing craft to cross, but command headquarters wanted to launch a combined air and sea attack on several locations in Northern France to throw the Germans off. Perhaps when the real invasion force was launched, the Germans would think it was another feint.

The 4-0-6 Fighter Group/Advanced Landing Group wouldn't be ready to participate in the feint for another week, shorter if the weather cooperated. But the RAF 6-5 and 1-2-2 Squadrons were ready. So, I and a few other American pilots were detailed to join the RAF for an escort and bombing mission around Calais as soon as the weather permitted.

We spent the morning inspecting and preparing our planes for the mission and the afternoon in the briefing room detailing our formations and plans of attack. Lord Ayersdon himself showed up at the beginning of the briefing to give us a pep talk and remind us of the importance of the mission. He scanned the audience and seemed to nod knowingly when he saw me.

I was assigned to Squadron Leader Porter's escort squadron along with Martin and Browning. Nigel Porter didn't seem too pleased about having me under his command and made sure my position was in at the rear of the formation where I would be less likely to distinguish myself.

The briefing went on late into the afternoon and after we got out, we were told to get an early supper and rest as we would be flying out at sunup, weather permitting.

As I emerged outside, I caught a glimpse of Agatha beside her staff car, holding the door open for Lord Ayresdon, who was just stepping into the back seat. I stood there, hoping she would see me, until I heard a voice behind me.

"Ahem. Don't you have someplace you have to be, Captain Spellman?" the voice said.

I turned around and saw Squadron Leader Porter giving me a stern look. He followed my gaze and spotted Agatha.

"Remember my warning. Stay away from her if you know what's good for you," he reminded me.

"I heard you the first time, Squadron Leader. But what I do on my own time is none of your business," I replied before walking away.

***

7 May 1944, Sunday.

It was a crisp, cool morning and the skies were remarkably clear. After all the rain and fog, the fine weather seemed miraculous. One final check on the planes, fuel, weapons, ammunition, flaps, and engine, and we were off.

Our target was a Nazi air base southwest of Calais. The first wave of fighters, mostly RAF Supermarine Spitfires, led the sortie. I was part of the following group assigned to protect the flanks and rear.

We crossed the Channel undetected, but the minute we were over French soil, we were greeted by two squadrons of Messerschmitts of the Bf 109 class. Our leading planes scrambled and attacked in groups of two as we had trained and planned, downing several Bf 109s, but losing an equal number of our own.

I radioed to Squadron Leader Porter, offering to assist, but he ordered us to stay back and protect the bombers.

Fifteen minutes later, a second wave of Bf 110's approached us from our right (southern) flank. That's when our covering force scrambled to intercept. This was a mixture of RAF Supermarine Spitfires and USAAF P-47 Thunderbolts.

The Nazis hit a number of our bombers and Spitfires before we were able to battle back. Browning and Martin were better positioned in the starting formation and they each downed an attacker. When I was finally able to get into position and had a Messerschmitt in my crosshairs, I pressed the trigger to my machine guns, but they failed to fire!

I tried working the firing mechanism several times and even worked a magical spell to get the guns to work, but those attempts were blocked by an even stronger magical force.

"This is Spellman, my guns aren't working!" I radioed.

"You should have checked your equipment before you left the airfield," Sqn. Ldr. Porter radioed back.

"I did, sir, but they're not working now," I replied.

"Captain Spellman! There's a Jerry coming up behind you!" that was Captain Hastings, the RAF pilot I was assigned to pair with during an attack.

"I'll try to maneuver him in front of you and give you a shot at him," I replied.

I did a series of loops and barrel rolls to avoid strafing and to put myself in a position where Hastings could get a shot. I heard the sound of tracer bullets behind me.

"Got him!" Hastings announced over the radio.

"Look out, Hastings. There's one behind you!" that was Martin radioing in.

"Let me see if I can draw him off," I said as I worked to maneuver behind Hastings.

"Don't be stupid, Yank. You have no weapons," that was Hastings over the radio.

The German pilot saw me and switched his target to me.

My plan was to weave and get in front of Hastings to give him a shot at the German, that is until I spotted a second Bf 110 in front of me approaching quickly to cut me off.

I slowed the throttle to allow the Nazi plane behind me to get closer while I weaved a bit while still flying towards the other Messerschmitt in front of me. Bullets flew past me in a crossfire from both Messerschmitts firing from in front and behind. I felt my pendant glowing beneath my flight suit as it worked its protective charm to deflect enough bullets away from the fuselage and other vital parts of my P-47 to keep me in the air.

With their superior air speed, the two Bf 110s quickly closed in. Then, at the very last second, I quickly hit the air brake and nosed the plane downward. My P-47 quickly dropped like a stone, and I heard a loud crash above me as the two Messerschmitts collided in mid-air.

"Oh, wow!" "Holy shit!" "Did you see that?" Reverberated over the radio airwaves from my fellow pilots.

But I couldn't pay much attention to it as I was nosediving towards the ground below. My engine cut out when I hit the air brake, and I made several hurried attempts to restart it.

My focus on restarting my engine was interrupted by the sound of bullets racing past my plane as there was yet a third Messerschmitt following me down, determined to make sure I didn't escape.

The g-force increased as I struggled to turn the engine over. Below me, the fields and trees of Northern France got closer and better defined. I tried to restart the engine for a fourth time, but it still wouldn't turn over.

With time for only one more attempt left to restart the engine before it would be too late to pull out, I incanted a spell and the engine roared into life.

I had power!

I quickly pulled back on the controls and the plane leveled off, barely brushing the treetops of the French countryside below. I heard a crash as the Messerschmitt chasing me down pulled out too late. The Thunderbolts may not be as fast as the Bf 110's, but they were definitely more maneuverable.

I looked to rejoin the squadron, but by the time I regained cruising altitude, there was no sign of them. I tried the radio but heard only static. I later discovered that my radio antenna had been damaged in the attack.

Alone and with no working radio, I returned to Ashford.

The full squadron, or what was left of it, was already back on the runway. The bombers had dropped their load on a secondary target and returned to base with the fighters in tow. It turned out that my return was the biggest surprise of the mission.

As I stepped out of my plane, Browning, Martin, and Hastings surrounded me.

"We thought you had crashed," Browning exclaimed.

"We saw that Jerry follow you down and then the crash and thought it was you," Hastings exclaimed.

"After the crash, the Krauts broke off the attack, the bombers dropped their load and we all headed back. We radioed you, but when we didn't hear back, we thought we lost you and headed back. We had no idea you had survived," Martin added.

"That was a very foolish thing you did up there. Were you trying to get yourself killed?" Hastings added.

"Not at all, I was just trying to draw fire away from you, since my guns weren't working," I explained.

"I'm not talking about that, Yank. I mean painting the underside of your wings a bright yellow. You seemed to draw the attention of all the Jerries up there," Hastings replied.

"What are you talking about? I never painted my wings," I replied.

"I saw it, too," Browning added, "You looked like a big neon sign up there."

I looked over at Martin and he nodded in agreement.

We all went back and looked at my plane. There were bullet holes almost everywhere. The wings and tail were riddled with them, and my radio antenna was completely missing. Fortunately, most of the fuselage was spared, which I attributed to my protective pendant charm.

We all looked under the wing, but there was no sign of any paint, and definitely no neon yellow.

"I swear, I saw bright yellow paint under your wings," Martin said.

"Same here," Hastings and Browning echoed.

"Maybe you saw the reflection of the sun," I postulated, although I suspected it might have been magic.