November 14, 1944: I wax a German ace.
The next morning, it's March 10, , 1942.
Confused? Welcome to my world.
I have no idea how that happened or what the hell is going on, other than the airfield I found belongs to the 138th , an all-female fighter squadron operating near Marseille, France.
I've managed to befriend a few of the pilots since arriving.
One even thinks I might find some answers if I can track down some witches in the region.
Like actual, magic-brewing, curse-slinging witches.
The catch is, no one is quite sure where they are, and apparently, they live in woods teeming with the most nightmarish abominations you could ever dream of.
But before I can get to that, I've got to teach these girls how to survive in the skies because I'm going to need some of them to vouch for me.
Easier said than done.
All the girls here are rookies.
Worse, they're dogfighting a Luftwaffe ten times deadlier than the one I ever knew back in 1944.
Things look bleak, but I think I can turn things around for all of us.
If not, I'll definitely die trying.
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