Morina & the Switching Spell

Chapter 17: Morina's special dessert.

2 June 1944, Friday.

It was a gloomy day and promised to get worse before it got better.

Last night's bombings appeared to go well, but I hadn't received any word from the French underground about the condition of the targets of the bombing. The lack of news didn't necessarily mean there was a problem. Underground radio messages were often delayed while those agents are waiting for the right moment to broadcast. On the other hand, there was always the possibility that they were killed or captured. The only thing we could do was to wait.

Because of overcast skies, it was still pretty dark when the mission debriefing meeting was over. There was the distinct smell of rain in the air. That would mean a lot of mud from the constant trampling of boots from the many soldiers, pilots, messengers, and ground crew who had worn down paths in the grass in the course of their daily routines. Apart from headquarters, nowhere was path more worn than in front of the communications tent.

I sighed thinking about all those wet boots tracking mud into the tent. That radio equipment was sensitive to just about everything, especially dust and moisture. I could use magic to clean it of course, but with all the increased activity with the approach of D-Day, it would be increasingly difficult to explain the sudden transformation of the spotless floor after it had been a muddy mess only a few minutes earlier.

There was still some time to grab a cup of coffee before the start of the administrative meeting, so I headed for the coffee urn. There was a line, and I took a cup and waited my turn.

"Too bad about those lack of reports from the underground," a voice from behind me said.

I turned and looked at Nigel Porter, who was holding an empty coffee cup, waiting his turn in line behind me.

"I wouldn't put any significance to that lack of information, Squadron Leader. We've been lucky to get what we have so far and hopefully it will continue," I responded.

I tried to keep my voice neutral, but the Squadron Leader picked up on the icy edge in my tone.

"We are on the same side you know, Miss Spellman. Please don't let my passion for military protocol get in the way of a cordial relationship," he replied.

"Don't read anything into my tone of voice, Mister Porter. I'm just a little tired, that's all," I said, hoping to disguise my suspicions about him as I stepped in front of the urn.

"You know, someone rummaged through my tent last night while I was out on the mission. They somehow had the ability to break through the

, ahem

, security precautions I had in place. You don't happen to know anything about that, do you?" he asked.

"Are you accusing me of stealing, Squadron Leader?" I asked, after filling my cup.

"Not at all, Miss Spellman. In fact, I found nothing missing. I was hoping you might know something because of your particular background and because you are the communications officer," he replied.

Magicals are well-versed in coded language when we're around the non-magical community and the veiled references to witchcraft were not lost on me.

"I can assure you Squadron Leader, as charming as you may find me, I know nothing about your tent or who might have been able to rummage through your things," I answered truthfully.

I turned on my heels and headed for the administration tent. Nigel Porter quickly followed, being careful not to spill his coffee.

"Miss Spellman, maybe we got off on the wrong foot, but believe me when I tell you that I've never meant you any disrespect. I'm just as grateful as everyone else in Britain that you Americans have joined us in our fight against the Nazis. Especially someone with

our

abilities. Can we at least declare a truce?" he asked.

He sounded sincere, but given what I knew about him, there could never be a "truce" between us. But it was in my best interest not to let him to know that.

"I will give it my most careful consideration, Squadron Leader," I said, smiling as amicably as I could, hoping that my smile would more than adequately cover my non-committal response.

Agatha was already inside the administrative tent when I walked in with Nigel Porter. I sat next to her in the seat she had saved for me. She looked as gloomy as the weather.

"What's up?"

I whispered.

"It's happening. HQ wants the entire airfield searched for that radio that's been broadcasting information to the Nazis,"

she whispered back.

"That's great news! We'll finally be able to prove Porter is our mole. So why do you look so-- oh,"

I whispered, guessing the answer to my question right after I asked it.

"You still care for him, don't you?"

"I don't know. Part of me keeps hoping we got it wrong. Maybe we won't find the radio on him and that it's someone else, even though I know it's him,"

she whispered glumly.

"Everyone be seated please. Let's get started," Colonel Drummond announced.

Officers and staff began taking their places when Lord Ayresdon entered the tent.

"Your Lordship!" Colonel Drummond said in a surprised voice.

"Carry on, Colonel. I think you know why I'm here. I'll just have a seat over here," he said, taking a chair close to where Colonel Drummond was standing.

After a few routine announcements, Colonel Drummond paused and scanned the faces of the people in the tent.

"We have reason to believe there is a Nazi spy among us. It was brought to my attention a few days ago that someone has been sending information via radio to the Germans. The strength and clarity of the signal suggests that whoever is sending these signals is very close by. I have relayed my concerns to London HQ, and they have directed me to conduct a thorough search of this airfield. If anyone is sending information from Ashford, we will find him, and let me tell you, there will be no mercy for traitors," he said.

Major Locke shot his hand up.

"Sir! How do we know that the signal is coming from inside the airfield? Isn't it possible that the signal is coming from withing the city of Ashford itself?" he asked.

"It is possible, Major, but Miss Spellman reports that the date of D-Day was relayed to the Nazis on the same day we received the news from HQ. That strongly suggests that our spy is within our ranks and could very well be one of you sitting here right now," he explained.

Military discipline gave way to the low murmurs as everyone in the tent started whispering to each other wondering who on the airfield was the spy. My daily reports to Colonel Drummond included my observations of those transmissions in German, but until now he had given me no indication about what he would do about it.

"Silence!" Colonel Drummond commanded.

"All of you, including members of my staff who live on the airbase, will accompany me while we conduct the search. The only exceptions are the female secretaries who live off-base and have been under my direct observation at the time those radio transmissions were sent," he stated.

The two MPs standing guard at the entrance of the tent opened the flap and signaled outside. Two more MPs came in and stood at the entrance.

"You four will remain here and guard this tent," he said to the MPs, "Everyone else, come with me."

We followed him out of the tent. Of course, it started to rain.

Outside the tent stood twenty MPs, all armed and ready for whatever command Colonel Drummond had to issue. He headed towards the communications tent, stopping first at the two tents used by HQ staff as their sleeping quarters. The MPs tore through their personal belongings, searching through footlockers and duffle bags, often throwing clothes and blankets outside the tents, into the rain.

The rest of us stood by in the rain guarded by the MPs, watching the Colonel, Lord Ayresdon and two MPs rummage through the personal belongings of Lieutenant Fisher and other administrative staff. Finding nothing, we moved on, leaving the blankets and clothing out in the rain.

The Colonel was more careful with the communications tent, since the radio equipment inside was delicate and could not take the type of abuse the MPs displayed in the first two tents. Amanda was asked to wait outside while the colonel and Lord Ayresdon did the search. She looked frightened by the sudden intrusion, but she did manage to give me a slight nod after the Colonel and Lord Ayresdon emerged and declared "Nothing" to the group.

From there, we marched across the airfield to the American camps, which were closer to the communications tent than the British camps. The Colonel had every member stand outside in the rain while the MPs did a tent-by-tent search of all three American camps, starting with the officers' tents.

The rain was coming down harder and we were soaked by the time the Colonel was satisfied that there was no radio among the belongings of any of the American officers or GIs.

Next came the search of the "hangar areas" on the American side. There were no actual hangar buildings at Ashford, but there were a number of large tents set up for storing the equipment needed to repair the planes. Because those tents were in constant use, no one expected to see radio transmission equipment there and care was taken to avoid getting the many spare parts and repair tools wet. As expected, nothing unusual was found.

After that, we headed towards the RAF camps, where the same procedure was followed. The British airmen and groundcrew stood at attention in the rain while the Colonel, Lord Ayresdon and two MPs entered Squadron Leader Porter's tent. They spent more time there than they had on the American side. When he emerged from the tent, Colonel Drummond pointed to Squadron Leader Porter.

"Arrest that man!" he shouted.

Nigel Porter looked shocked. Two MPs grabbed and held him. Behind Colonel Drummond, Lord Ayresdon and the two MPs followed him out of the tent, one of the MPs was holding a bulky-looking piece of equipment with a few visible tubes showing.

"We found this in a box hidden in the ground under your footlocker. Would you care to explain that, Squadron Leader?" the Colonel asked.

"Sir! I've never seen that before in my life, I swear!" Nigel Porter said. He looked horrified, as if he had seen a ghost.

"Take him away. The rest of you can go and get dry," the Colonel said, sternly. There was a touch of disappointment in his voice.

John gave me a knowing look before joining the Colonel.

I made my way back to the communications tent. Inside, the radio equipment was intact, but my footlocker was open, and my clothing was strewn about, mostly on the cot but also on the floor, including a lacy pink bra I had never seen before.

"I had just enough time to disguise our contraception potions when the Colonel and the MPs came in," Amanda explained when she saw me looking at the bra.

"Revealatia!" she chanted, suddenly whipping out her wand and pointing it the bra.

It morphed into the jar of amber-pink, contraception potion.

I peeled off my wet clothing and changed into the dry uniform that was scattered in various locations on the cot and floor, hanging up my wet uniform as far away from the radio as possible where it wouldn't drip on the equipment.

"They arrested Nigel Porter," I told Amanda as I was getting dressed.

"Finally! I'm glad that's over," she replied.

The search took up the entire morning and it was 1300 hours before the mess tent was ready to serve lunch. Lee stopped by and we filled him in about Nigel Porter, confirming the rumors he had heard that were already circling around the various camps. He and Amanda went to lunch while I stayed with the radio.

Lieutenant Fisher and the corporals who served as messengers were coming in and out of the tent as news of Nigel Porter's arrest was passed along to London and other air bases in Southern England. In return, instructions were received to be passed back to Colonel Drummond about Porter's disposition as well as scrubbing tonight's bombing mission because of the weather.

John also stopped by in the middle of it all to ask if I was alright. He expressed his regrets about not having lunch with me but felt confident that the Colonel would allow me to leave the airbase for a few hours a day, now that the spy had been identified and captured.

After John left, I felt sad and gloomy. Maybe it was the rain, or not being able to see John this afternoon. I should have been elated, now that Porter was captured, but I definitely didn't feel that way. The whole thing felt anticlimactic.

When Lee and Amanda came back from lunch, Agatha was with them.

"Mind if I join you for lunch?" Agatha asked.

"Not at all, in fact, I'd love the company," I explained.

"Good, because I need to talk with someone and these two are too preoccupied with each other to pay much attention to anything else," Agatha replied, indicating Amanda and Lee.

"I'm sorry, Aggie. What is it you want to say?" Amanda asked, taking her eyes off of Lee for only the second time since she came back from lunch.

"Never mind, you two go about your business. I'll talk to Morina," Agatha replied.

"Lee, maybe you'd better leave, too. Amanda's going to be busy for a while if the last hour is any indication," I said, as I put on my raincoat and left the tent.

"Are you okay?" I asked Agatha as we walked towards the mess tent.

"I'm not sure. Now that Nigel's been arrested, I should feel relieved that's it's over and done with. But I feel so uneasy about all this," she replied.

"It's funny. I've been feeling the same way, although I'm sure you're feeling much worse. Maybe it's just your emotions all coming to the surface now that it's all so final," I suggested.

"Perhaps you're right. I keep thinking about all those times we had together before the war started and how innocent we were. Now, not only is all that gone, but now it seems like it was all a lie, a mockery of that innocence," Agatha said sadly.

She stopped walking. Tears were flowing down her cheeks, which were already wet from the rain.

I hugged her, whispering in her ear,

"I'm so sorry. So sorry."

"Help me, Morina. Tell me something that will take my mind off of him," she sobbed.

"Let's get out of this rain first. Then, let's go someplace private and I'll tell you about my last date with John," I said.

Lunch in the mess tent was good for my figure, beginning with the smell. It was so bad it usually took away my appetite. Then, as if there was any doubt, the taste would confirm the aroma. I wouldn't eat much unless I was desperately hungry, and I emphasize the word desperate.

Agatha and I ate just enough lunch to kill our appetites. We each grabbed a steaming cup of tea and made our way to a nearby tent used for private conferences. There, we warded it off from prying ears and I told her of my afternoon with John where we briefly exchanged bodies while his chef Olga took my place with a transmogrification potion.

"You mean you showed him the switching spell?" Agatha asked.

"Yes, and I screwed him in the ass afterwards," I explained.

Agatha laughed, picturing the scene in her head.

"What was it like? How did it feel to put a penis in an ass, and not just any ass but your ass?" she asked.

"It was so different, Agatha. As a guy, I felt like my whole being, everything and anything that mattered was that cock. It felt so good in that tight ass that I just wanted to keep thrusting inside him faster and harder. I felt like I was no longer in control, but my cock was," I explained.

"Oh my god, Morina. You're going to make me wet," she responded.

"That's what Amanda said when I told her," I replied.

"I'm surprised she didn't finger herself while you were talking," Agatha said, smiling.

"She tried to, but I told her I'd stop if she didn't keep her hands where I could see them," I said, giggling.

Agatha laughed with me until she suddenly stopped.

"Thank you, Morina," she said, giving me a serious look.

"For what?"

"For cheering me up. I needed that," Agatha said.

She came over and hugged me and I hugged her back. She was in a much better mood when I made my way back to the communications tent.

The rain continued until late in the afternoon and then on and off again during the night. Canvas canopy shelters had been constructed near campfires to allow wet blankets and clothing to dry after so much of it had been left out in the rain during the camp-wide search for the radio.

As predicted, the bare dirt area at the entrance to the communications tent turned to mud, and the canvas floor inside our tent was a mess. At Amanda and my request, Colonel Drummond had a tarp erected over the entrance to our tent and a large mat underneath it to minimize the mud and water tracked in. That allowed Amanda and me to use our magic to clean the floor without attracting too much suspicion.

***

3 June 1944, Saturday.

More rain.

The mood at the airfield was mixed. D-Day was only two days away and there was the excitement of impending action. More troops and equipment were pouring into the area, despite the rain. We still didn't know where the landing would be. Most of us thought it would be Calais or one of the ports nearby, although with all this rain, there wasn't much of a chance to launch our bombers to soften those imposing defenses. There were rumors that maybe the landing would take place further west, like in Normandy, but with so few usable ports, that location was thought to be more of a diversion.

But the weather was so bad, it was doubtful any landing craft could cross the Channel. Those boats were so low in the water that the choppy waves would easily capsize and sink them before they reached any of the possible destinations discussed. This accounted for the other mood, the dismal nature of the pessimists who doubted there would be a D-Day invasion anytime soon.

It was this second, somber mood that seemed to preside over the administrative meeting. Colonel Drummond welcomed Captain Hastings of the RAF to the meeting, replacing Nigel Porter. I sat beside him to welcome him to the meeting and to try and calm his nerves, but that only seemed to make him more nervous.

I'll never understand men. They'll get themselves into the worst fights and fly planes into the teeth of a storm or against an overwhelming enemy. But ask them to speak in public or sit next to a pretty girl and they seem to fall to pieces.

The only significant news that came out of that meeting was HQ's consideration about moving the D-Day invasion back a day to June 6

th

.

I hoped that wasn't the case since that was the day after the full moon and I'd have to deal with my period and all the cramping and bleeding that goes with it. It was bad enough that I had to fly a B17 across the Atlantic Ocean during my last period. At least then I could bitch and moan to myself, sitting alone in the cockpit. But I didn't want to be sitting in front of a radio directing communications for the allied landing during my next period.

The rain reduced to drizzle and fog for most of the morning. Lee stopped by for a visit. When the three of us were alone, he complained about the weather and wondered why Lord Ayersdon wasn't doing something about it. John was the "Warlock of Air" on the Albion Warlock Council, and as such could exert some control over the weather. He had a point, but as a witch, I had no idea that any warlock could be so powerful as to be able to control the weather.

I asked John that same very question when he stopped by just before noon.

"Not you too! The Council has been harassing me about that since yesterday," he complained.

"I'm sorry John. I didn't mean to upset you. My brother thought you could exert some control over the weather because you are the Warlock of Air," I replied.