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>>37907688

"So?" you ask him harshly. "What part of that pertains to me NOT LOOKING LIKE A FLAMING MARTIAN!?"

"Aw, yank, it's worse'n dat," the farmer ventures, his voice low and eyes shifty. "They be tellin' stories. Feller up north'o here says they're infilitratin the farms'n such, 'ay have 'em robots what look like billy goats 'n horses and stuff, so they kin gobble yah up when yah head to the milkin shed in do mornin." He gives you a wide-eyed look of real terror.

>... okay, the man's got a point, but why did you have a goddamn bobby holding the pig?
>AH HA HA BALDERDASH NO SUCH THING YOU'RE ALL PARANOID AH ha heh heh....
>other?

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Oh goodie.

>>37907702
>>AH HA HA BALDERDASH NO SUCH THING YOU'RE ALL PARANOID AH ha heh heh....

>>37907702
>AH HA HA BALDERDASH NO SUCH THING YOU'RE ALL PARANOID AH ha heh heh....

>>37907688
>>AH HA HA BALDERDASH NO SUCH THING YOU'RE ALL PARANOID AH ha heh heh....

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>other?

"They're not that bad once you get to know them..."

>>37907702
THIS!
>>37907825

>>37907702
>other?
"You're right, they could also be looking like a sheep fucking farmer and a pig fucking bobby."

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>>37907702
>AH HA HA BALDERDASH NO SUCH THING YOU'RE ALL PARANOID AH ha heh heh....
NO ROBOTS HERE MATE

>>37907825
This, then if they get suspicious, turn it around with this:
>>37907986

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>>37907688
>Finally caught up to SWQ
>3 year anniversary thread that night
>OH BOY.jpg
>Thread ends early, miss completely
>mfw
Finally a new thread, let's do this!

>>37908163
Well more like 1 year and a half.

>>37908230
Just because he didn't run for like two years doesn't mean it doesn't count.

>>37907702
>... okay, the man's got a point, but why did you have a goddamn bobby holding the pig?
I mean, that's stupid, even for the Welsh.

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>>37907702
>AH HA HA BALDERDASH NO SUCH THING YOU'RE ALL PARANOID AH ha heh heh....

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>>37907688
>>... okay, the man's got a point, but why did you have a goddamn bobby holding the pig?

>mfw Harder gets a harem of Japanese CL girls by accident/plots by the two admirals

"Yeah, that's, uh, that's total bunk, yeah," you inform the farmer earnestly. "Martian sneaky-beaky bots? Why would they be all creepin and crawlin in your farm, huh? They'd go for military targets, man, they wouldn't waste valuble robots sabotaging rural farms and such, eh?"

"Eh, true," the bobby says, sounding rather chastened as he – very, very cautiously – stands up, dusting helplessly at his soiled uniform jacket. "It's just this stress what's been playing merry hell with our minds of late." He helps the farmer to his feet with a rueful grin. "Lawd, we're startin tah sound like Irishman blathering about the wee-folk-"

"HOLD YER BLASTED TOUNGE!" you snap as your head whips around like a gun-turret, the bobby's face turning pale as he stares down the rifled bores of your glare. "D'yah be doubtin the terrible power and mighty wrath of the fae courts? Eh? Eh?"

"B-bb-but y-yo-you ss-ai-"

You snatch the bobby clean off the ground, his boots hanging in air as you press your forehead against his and try to PRESS the urgency of the truth through his thick bony English skull. "Witches. Y'know what a witch is, eh?"

He makes a tiny sound that might be an affirmative.

"GIRLS, WITH NO PANTS, WHAT FIGHT WITH MAGIC, SWINGY-SWOOSHY FLIMFLAM ZIP-ZAP LOLLIPOP SKIDDLY-BOP AY PRESTO MAGIC!?"

An even tiner sound, now.

"AN' THEY BE FIGHTIN WEE GREEN MEN FROM MARS, IS THAT FUCKING RIGHT, YA TOSSER?"

Almost inaudible.

"Then don't be doubtin they fae folk," you hiss, and drop him in his mud puddle unceremoniously. The pig grunts in solidarity.

"Mary, mother of God," the farmer warbles in terror. "He's a yank AND an Irishman!"

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"Mary, mother of God," the farmer warbles in terror. "He's a yank AND an Irishman!"

>>37908533
>"He's a yank AND an Irishman!"
Put some Scot in there and you have the ultimate Britbongbane.

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>>37908533
>"He's a yank AND an Irishman!"

Ahahahaha. Amazing.
NICE DYNASTY, SEAHAWKS

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>>37908533
>"He's a yank AND an Irishman!"

The world can't handle Sean!

>>37908533
After the two men collect themselves a bit while you silently fume at them, still well and truly aggrieved at your less-than-enthusiastic reception, you glance sidelong at the gigantic, huffing hog, and raise the obvious question. "So what the hell did you have a pig on a leash, for? You Limeys training them as attack dogs or something, now?"

"What? No, 'ell no," the bobby says in alarm. The man's slight waistline bulge is starting to remind you faintly of John Bull, the English Uncle Sam, and more and more he conveys the air of a middle-aged fatherly type pressed into public service by dire need. He's cracking open his Webley revolver, which you've returned to him, and is just now working out how to unlatch it before recoiling with a little surprise as breaking it open sends spent shells flying towards him. "It's on account of the government, y'see," he says placidly as he fumbles spare bullets out and daintily loads them one at a time, with a squint that implies he uses reading glasses at home. "They control the whole farm apparatus now, on account of the War."

"What? How so?"

>>37908833

"We're visited by inspectors," the farmer says sullenly. "They tell us what to grow, what mechanized whatever or new techniques we ought be using and give us a grade on how well we utilize our land. And if we don't make the grade - " he pokes his finger at the bobby, who shies away, carefully cradling his half-loaded revolver – "'AY SEND THESE FAT FUCKS 'TA THROW US OFFER LAND!"

You blink... and then, very, very slowly, you grin. "Awww, so you're telling me your farming practices are dictated by a ruthless and uncaring authority? Wow, WHY DON'T YOU GO GROW SOME POTATES ABOUT IT!?"

"ANYWAY," the bobby says, much like a father simply overpowering his rambunctious youngster via sheer diaphragm power, "they require law enforcement to oversee all slaughtering of meat, given that it's a precious commodity."

You glance at the huge speckled hog, who glances right back at you.

“No wonder y'don't like 'em,” you inform the pig, who grunts affirmation.

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planefag!
Keine lewds when!?

>>37908973
When the Martians win.

>>37908989
Why the heck are they so insistent on murdering us anyway?

>>37909043
They find our meaty bits tasty. Actually they just want the planet and knew we wouldn't easily share.

>>37909043
Martian Manifest Destiny; kill them all, then get the hab-blocks ready.

>>37908852
I like this pig. Lets draft it. Can't be any worse a pilot than Young

>>37909104
We'll draft it when pigs fly...

>>37909089
>Actually they just want the planet and knew we wouldn't easily share.

You know, it's polite to ask before attempting genocide.

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Hey, quick question. How did the Martians get the Edmund Fitzgerald for their invasion if it wasn't launched until 1958?

>>37909127
So you're saying we need to get it onto a plane first?

>>37909127
Tesla will make it happen. Mark my words.

>>37909104
It's probably just as intelligent but smells far worse and lets be honest, pork is pretty good.

>>37909162
Time travel

>>37909162
How did they make a hissing robo-cow?
The answer to both is known only to the functionally insane Fap Angel.

>>37908852

“... anyway.” You look up at the overcast, and for the first time you allow a tremor of fear to zip through you – for both your comrades, missing somewhere in that muck. You know Ian jumped clear, but...

… he got out. Young ALWAYS gets out. It's one of the things you hate about the slippery little prick; how consequences just seem to slide off him. 'Course, he just uses it as an excuse to dive deeper under ever-increasing loads of them, but that's just poetic justice.

“I need a phone,” you say immediately.

The farmer shrugs. “Sorry, Yank. Never 'ad a phone line here. Closest one was at Billingson's place up the road, but I never talked to 'em much on account of being a transplant 'ere. Welsh,” he explains. “Anyhow what lines 're left were wrecked by squid shellfire 'n the rest are laid by and for the military, exclusive.”

“Fine,” you conclude. “You know where the closest frontline unit is?”

“Ay.”

“Drive me there.”

The farmer draws himself up to his full height, his eyes full of fire. “NAH LOOK 'ERE YA RUDDY FUKKIN eeep~” he finishes as you lift him clean off his feet – with one hand.

“Y'think you're the only one that grew up on a farm?” you snarl at him, your eyes ablaze. “Lookit me. LOOK ME IN THE EYE, ENGLEESH. ARE YOU LOOKING?”

“I'm looking,” he replies with a quaver.

“Can you see the Irishman inside?”

He makes a very, very faint little sound that you take as a 'yes.' You let him down onto his heels again, where he reels away from you, regarding you like a madman. He stumbles behind an outbuilding, and returns in -

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=j33DJk4-sMw&feature=player_detailpage#t=2332

“ -the flaming hell is that thing?” you ask. The vehicle before you looks like an average flatbed lorry, but a platform has been attached to the front that's carrying a huge cylindrical thing, almost like a boiler, that's linked to the exposed engine via some impropmtu piping.

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>>37909227
“Wood-gas,” the bobby replies. “Converted. All the petrol's saved for the Army, now.”

The bobby hops into the cab, and beckons for you to follow. You squint at him suspiciously. “Where's Triath gonna fit?”

Both men stare at you over the high-pitched, odd sound of the converted engine. “Who, now?”

You point at the gigantic hog, who's now rubbing against your leg affectionately. “TRIATH! KING OF THE SWINES!”

The bobby makes to step out of the cab, a look of conservation on his face. “Come now, lad, that is a valuable strategic resource and -” he freezes as the pig's hackles raise, his nose dropping to the ground in preperation for a charge.

“I'd say in the cab if I were you, *lad,*” you say with a wicked grin. “We'll ride on the back.”

>>37909162

The ship launched in 1958 was much bigger than the original WWII era freighter; the company was a bit miffed about the bad rap the original had gotten, so when they made the world's biggest, most impressive laker freighter they deliberately used the old name to kind of redeem it, in a sense.

No way that could backfire on them atall, no sir.

>>37909259
Hell Cow And Hell Pig
One's a martian Infiltrator that defected to protect his imoutos.
The Other is a British Partisan saved by an Irish Yankee Pilot.

Together, they save the Earth from Aliens

[Theme song begins playing]

>>37909300

I thought there might've been more then one of them. Couldn't find any record other then the 1958 one in what (extremely little) research I did, though.

And considering all the shit that's gone down in SWQ, the Martians hijacking a freighter from the future is fairly mild.

>>37909391
There wasn't an Edmund Fitzgerald built during the ww2 era in real life. Planefag made up a fictional one to hide that forgot this fact

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>>37909546

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>>37909621

And you would've gotten away with it too, if it weren't for us meddling kids.

>>37909621
The new guys might think you never screw up, but I've known you long enough to see otherwise fap angel.

Remember that

grabbin dinner, be back to writing in a few!

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>>37910075

>>37909621

Implying that's not the truth.

C'mon man. I know you better than that.

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>>37910139

FUCK OFF MAX I WAS HUNGRY

>>37910190

BUT WHY YOU GOTTA *SAY* IT DAMN

You and Triath, (who's standing on his hinds to peer over the front of the lorry, a piggy grin on his face and his big speckled ears flapping in the low-speed breeze) enjoy the English countryside, or however much you can see through the gloom of the completely overcast day. From the signposts you espy, you came down somewhere south of Tonbridge – which puts you very close to the GHQ stop line; the current front-line against the Martian beach landing forces. Afore long you're rolling up on the front itself; a section that stretches from one edge of a wooded glen to another, with a long, rolling downhill slope covered by an abandoned wheat crop leading down to a creek at the bottom. Tired eyes glance at you from inside foxholes and the hastily-constructed concrete pillboxes that now dot the English countryside; teenagers and old men alike lined up in half-dug trenches, clutching old Enfields, revolvers and pistols of every shape and caliber, and most of them seem to be in possession of something that looks like a thermos. In a few spots you see old M1917 75mm field guns – the same kind the Army set up on your own family's front lawn when the Martians were pushing your way, dug out of National Guard armories. Now they're defending another front, on another continent.

Your ride deposits you near the trenches and speeds off in a cloud of ill-smelling smoke, happy to be rid of you. You look around for a moment, hoping to spot someone who knows what they're about, when something seems to whiff by you, like a thrown stone.

You jerk around, annoyed. Another whiffing sound passes your ear, and you twirl about again, even more vexed. Even Triath grunts in irritation.

“Who's throwin that shit!?” you demand.

“Blood 'ell yank,” someone says lazily. “They're shootin at ya.”

>OI FUCK, GANGWAY, COMIN INTO THAT TRENCH
>OH BASTIDS, GIMME DAT RIFLE
>OI SUMBITCH, AWAY FROM THAT HOWITZER

>>37910467
>OI FUCK, GANGWAY, COMIN INTO THAT TRENCH

>>37910467
>>OI FUCK, GANGWAY, COMIN INTO THAT TRENCH

CLEAR WAY

>>37910467
>OI FUCK, GANGWAY, COMIN INTO THAT TRENCH

>>37910467
>OI FUCK, GANGWAY, COMIN INTO THAT TRENCH
What other sane choice is there? "I'll stand out in the open and try to shoot things I can't even see"?

>>37910467
>OI FUCK, GANGWAY, COMIN INTO THAT TRENCH
For the sake of our sanity, I really hope that wasn't the pig talking.

>>37910467
>OH BASTIDS, GIMME DAT RIFLE
TIME TO SHOOT SOME FUCKERS

>>37910467
>>OI SUMBITCH, AWAY FROM THAT HOWITZER

LET NO INSULT BE UNANSWERED.

>>37910467
>OI FUCK, GANGWAY, COMIN INTO THAT TRENCH

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>>37910467

>OI SUMBITCH, AWAY FROM THAT HOWITZER

>OI FUCK, GANGWAY, COMIN INTO THAT TRENCH

>>37910467
>OI FUCK, GANGWAY, COMIN INTO THAT TRENCH
Move ya limey fuckwits

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>>37910467
>OH BASTIDS, GIMME DAT RIFLE
Sometimes you oughta be divergent anons.

>>37910467
>>OI FUCK, GANGWAY, COMIN INTO THAT TRENCH

>>37910823
It's Young who's the crazy bastard with no capacity to judge risks adequately, not Sean.

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>>37910856

Really now?

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>>37910467
>OH BASTIDS, GIMME DAT RIFLE

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>>37910856
No, see man, Sean bailed out after a near-death dogfight, crashed into a bunch of lowlifes who thought he was an alium, and is now in another crazy situation.


He should be broken by now, all things considered.

>>37910878

hes got a point...

>>37910878
Why do you still have your name on?

>>37910467
>OI SUMBITCH, AWAY FROM THAT HOWITZER

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>>37910955

What a great question.

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You process this information and respond like any sane man would; namely, you turn for the first visible foxhole and dive in head-first.

And you land in tits.

Four about four-fifths – MABYE seven-eights of a second you are able to savor the majesty and the mystery of large, perfectly-shaped breasts barely restrained by the soft, fluffy wool of a knit pullover sweater pressed against your cheek – and then Triath joins you in the foxhole at a dead gallop, knocking all three of you to the earth. You catch yourself with your palms, preventing your combined weight from crushing the poor girl trapped beneath you.

You find yourself hovering over Major Miles herself, the tank witch you briefly saw at Barin getting into a tizzy with Perrine, That One Time. She's just as blonde and buxom as ever, her dazzling blue eyes staring up at you with complete shock. Triath shifts a bit to look down over your shoulder, from where he's resting on your back, and gives a grunt that could pass as a greeting.

“W-wh-wat.”

>wat say

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>>37910286
>mffw
Fuck you, now I want to see a Doomguy in Makai crossover, gapanelf.

>>37910286
>>OI SUMBITCH, AWAY FROM THAT HOWITZER

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>>37911076
>Oh don't mind me ma'am, just getting cozy while carnage lets loose around me...

>>37911076
"Well, I jump in a trench for salvation and find an angel. I guess it worked."

>>37911076
"Got a extra rifle?"

>>37911076
"You are in the presence of the King of the Swine, show some respect!"

>>37911076

"I'm in a bit of a bind here, got shot down, bailed, landed in a field, accosted by a farmer and a bobby. Where is the nearest telephone?"

>>37911166
This
>You are in the presence of His royal porkness King Triarth. Show some respect

>>37911076

"Funny, I didn't know they installed airbags in tanks."

>>37911076
>"Idiot got his stupid ass shot down, and I dont have anything to kill martians that isnt a pig. How's your day going Major?"

>>37911147
This.

>>37911076
...so uh...hows the weather?

>>37911076
"come here often?"

>>37911209
>>37911166
If these two were somehow combined, I would be a happy man.

>>37911316
This.

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>Dat upper glacis armor

>>37911316
>>37911147
I feel I should remind you that Mio will not hesitate to cut our ballsack off if we cheat on her.

>>37911076
"Introductions. Major Miles, Triath the king of the swine. Triath, Major Miles. Okay, that's over with. Do you have a telephone? My fuckhead of a pilot got us all shot down."

>>37911346
I can't tell if that on dude on the tank is trying not to laugh or crying in shame.

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>>37911346
>Matilda-chan
>Not going full PANZER IS LIEF Yukari
St. Gloriana plz

>>37911435
Well you should know, Desert Pink was a legitimate combat camo back then. Just look at the Pink Panther jeep.

>>37911473
But major miles does not wear panzer. She wears matilda chan.

>>37911362
we are in a hole in the ground with a busty half nude blonde. people literally DREAM of such things. i say: worth it.

>>37911508
>Desert Pink was a legitimate combat camo back then
>The military actually told them to paint the tank like that
Trying not to laugh it is.

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>>37911602
It makes tanks very hard to be seen in the desert nighttime. It's actually pretty effective.

>>37911602
>http://worth1000.s3.amazonaws.com/submissions/761500/761830_bf2c_1024x2000.jpg
Hmm, apparently some british formations still used LDPG Pink well into the Gulf War.

>>37911673
Doesn't change the fact it looks really silly.
Also, that guy's scarf is inexplicably amusing to me.

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You search for appropriate commentary, but there's only one thing really worth commenting on.

“Damn, girl, you got some glacis armor,” you say with a grin.

Major Miles turns beet-red as she fings her arms over her ample bosom. “Y-y-you p-pig!”

“PIG!” you declare, letting your voice boom from your diaphram. “YOU GAZE UPON SIR TRIATH – KING, OF THE SWINES!”

“I'LL KILL YOU!” Miles shouts, squeezing her eyes shut.

“SHIT, BITCH, WE'RE ALREADY SIX FEET UNDER!” you shout back, and that's when you finally begin to laugh.

>>37911726
It looks really silly set against the forests of England since that's all green and shit. Put it in the desert, it looks fine.

>>37911362
Besides, we;re playing Sean right now. it's SAKABROTO we should be worried about.

Though I'm not she she wouldn't just WAH HA HA at us and join in.

>>37911076
>>37911142
>>37911147
This

>>37911756
She gave him a black eye for flirting with some WAACs. Mio's the jealous type.

>>37911742
>That's when you finally behin to laugh
We're done. We've broken.

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>>37911742
>and that's when you finally begin to laugh

Then my work is done here

>>37911807
>Implying we haven't been broken since Fitzgerald

>>37911805
Thanks, it's been a long time since I've followed the quest. DIdn't know Fap Angel had returned, so it was an early morning archive binge, I only just caught up.

PRAISE TO PLANEFAG, HARVESTER OF TEARS!

>>37911851
Fair point.

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Man, I wish Miles had this lady as a teammate.

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Somehow, you manage to extract yourself, Sir Triath, KING OF THE SWINES (as you make a point of correcting everyone, every time they fail to invoke His Royal Porknesses full title,) and Miles from the foxhole without sticking your head up too far for the Martian clown with the slugthrower some thousand yards off to take potshots at. Once safely out of sight of the front-line, you politely ask Miles for a field telephone so you can let Barin know that you're alive, and start looking for your scattered crew.

“Your who?” she asks, slumped against a low stone wall that used to demarcate a farmer's field. She looks completely exhausted; her pullover sweater marred by dirt and dried streaks of mud, hollow dark circles forming under her eyes; the works. Her Striker is similarly dinged and dented; the paint is scorched near the “shins” with the telltale sign of small-arms maser fire, and minirocket shrapnel has left its mark elsewhere. Her helmet is long-missing, and even her blonde hair is tangled and flecked with dirt kicked up by close artillery strikes.

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My face when.

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“How long've you been out here?” you ask her.

“How long've they BEEN here?” she asks you pointedly. “Once this overcast rolled in...” she sighs, and shakes her head. “No close air, but... they seem whipped out as well...?” Her voice is wavering; even her pretty blue eyes seem to be glazing over.

“We bailed out,” you inform her, trying to keep it short and sweet. “I just need a phone-”

“Bailed?” she says, her eyes focusing on you for a moment. “Oh, a parachutist did come down... few miles down the line... they've got a MASH unit heading for that sector to service the 101st Panzer; they've been stuck-in for a while. It's our turn, after that.”

You squint at her, then glance at the all-infantry Home Guard company and their hand-me-down howitzers. “Miles, where's your unit?”

“Uhgh,” she says with a shrug. “Gone. Gone!” She begins to giggle at that as a few tears begin cutting clean streaks through the soot and dirt smeared on her pale cheeks.

>This won't do. She needs medical attention – she's coming with us! But how?
>PIGGY-BACK CARRY
>Literal piggy-back riding - TRIATH, THE STEED
>Piggy-chariot
>GRAND THEFT you pick the vehicle

>>37912276
SO MANY CHOICES DAMNIT

>>37912276
>>Literal piggy-back riding - TRIATH, THE STEED

He approved earlier, by all accounts.

>>37912276
>Piggy-chariot
I must see how this works.

>>37912276
>>Piggy-chariot
She has a goddamed Matilda strapped to her legs, let's ride her (no, not like that your perv!)

>>37912276
>Piggy-chariot
I'm curious.

>>37912276
>GRAND THEFT Martian Walker.

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>>37912276
>GRAND THEFT LORRY
>If she struggles, BRIGHT SLAP

Also damn, what the hell are the Martians packing for her entire unit to be lost like that?

>>37912276
>PIGGY-BACK CARRY

His highness already has the burdens of the realm, we shall not burden him further.

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>literal piggy back riding.

STRIKE FORWARD MINE VALIANT STEED!!

Sweeeeeeeee!!!

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>>37912333
We must ride the best witch (who's soul is bound by gravity) to the mash unit!

>>37912276
>>PIGGY-BACK CARRY
ONWARDS TO GREATER INSANITY!

>>37912276

>Piggy-chariot

>>37912276
Her entire unit of dem tonk witches? GONE gone? the martians are stepping up their game.

>PIGGY-BACK CARRY

>>37912276
>other because why not
1. Find a mirror.
2. Go to a dark room.
3. Look into the mirror.
4. "Hellcow, hellcow, hellcow."

Is this a joke? Is this serious? The world may never know.

>>37912276
>GRAND THEFT JEEP
>ASSIST ME NOBLE SWINE IN SUBDUING THE PATIENT

>>37912276
>>Literal piggy-back riding - TRIATH, THE STEED

>>37912276
>>PIGGY-BACK CARRY

PIGGY-CHARIOT CONFIRMED. Also while I'm waiting, you guys get to name my first dorf fort in three years. HAVE AT IT

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>>37912427
>best witch
>not erika
TWQ when?

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>>37912427
>soul weighed down by gravity
>mfw

>>37912276
>piggy back carry!
It would be insulting to his porkness if we rode him

>>37912486
CASTLE BARIN

>>37912486
Porcine Palace

>>37912486
Bovine Infernohall
The mayor is Gapbeard Elfbane.

>>37912486

"The trigger pull of a MG 42 is about 3 kilograms"

>>37912450
I thought an entire unit is maybe one or two witches but a lot of standard tanks?

>>37912486

WITCHMURDERED

>>37912486
Castle Barren

>>37912486
Sparklemadness

>>37912486
SwineGrinder, Carpbane, 2Cat, Lava lever

Good names

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>>37912548
>>37912563
>>37912570
>>37912576

>>37912552
you can go die

>>37912486
PANZER XI KRIEG SCHWEIN

>>37912486
Bouncemurdered.

>>37912486

Treeslaughter. Just to mess with the elves.

The Hall of the Bouncing King

>>37912486
Not a good idea.

>>37912636
when do we EVER do the good idea?

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>>37912576
Two cat......

>>37912552
http://www.mediafire.com/download/3uctjy05au343l5/Mg42_Field_Manual_'43.zip

>>37912656
Hmm? No that's the name of the new dwarf fort.

Although I can see why the name is a little confusing.

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You leave the exhausted witch slumped against the stone wall, the chilly, damp spring air sapping her remaining strength as you make a beeline for the run-down old farmer's sheds nearby. Whoever worked this land is long gone, with the war come to his very hearth – but perhaps some of his implements remain. In one half-collapsed shed, its corner obliterated by a Martian mortar shell, you locate a small hay cart, sized right for a small pony, the kind farmers keep around for riding to town and light tasks not requiring the more valuable draft horses – sometimes, they even pull them by hand.

It seems just about right for Triath.

Within minutes, as the utterly baffled members of the Home Guard look on, you've got the little hay cart loaded with 1. Mile's striker, 2. Hay atop of that, 3. a very much asleep Major Miles atop all of that, and the whole contraption has been strapped firmly to King Triath, who's snorting and pawing the ground, eager to get going already. According to the Home Guardsman, the 101st set up shop not a mile away; though it's probably more like two with the god-damned English country roads being what they are. Still, you should make good time.

You and Triath set out for your date with MASH.

>>37912899
NEXT TIME ON STRIKE WITCHES QUEST?

>>37912946
NEXT TIME? HELL! I JUST GOT HERE!!!

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>>37912946
HELL NAW WE JUST GETTING STARTED!

Next time

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>>37912969
>>37912946
>>37913013

I work a midshift tomorrow, not a morning shift

>>37913054
Ura!

>>37912946
NOT A BLOODY CHANCE

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>>37913054
THEN LET'S GET THIS TANK-WITCH TO THE MASH ALREADY, SAVVY??

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>>37913054
Meanwhile, I'm gonna have to be up at 7 tomorrow...

>>37912946
my first live SWQ thread...if it ends early I will murder someone (unless theres good reason. then maybe just a senseless beating)

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>>37913135
Go ahead bro, this is standard fare.
But you must know, pic related

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>>37913135
You don't know what true suffering is, comrade

>>37913135
You have no idea.

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Daily reminder that we should go out with Yuuka Kazami some time in our lives.

>>37913527
AWiY hasn't updated in years, and even then we are waiting on Keine lewds so... No Yuuka, unless Yuuka is to the Wizard as Cupkakeisnki is to Young...

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>>37913548
I know man, it was merely a hypothetical suggestion towards a rather archaic subject.

>>37913548
>>37913648

I imagine the last conversation Wizard and Yuuka had ended with Wizard nailing Yuuka TO THE SKY

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>>37913678
Double Spark Plz

Also, Mima-sama is Life
>www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZkDT-OlkYTI

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Some thirty minutes, several “sunken lanes” and a few strange looks later, you find yourself guiding Triath and his burden through the arched gateway guarding a run-down country manor that's seen better days. Ian has explained this artifact of the English countryside to you; it doubtlessly belongs to some young chap who sometimes speaks to his old family friends about oh How We *Used* to have Money, and looks down his nose at others with a kind of natural, low-key disdain locally referred to as “breeding.” You see the long, green-camouflage painted schoolbus that's been converted to a MASH unit; head Triath up the road.

As you approach, a young man in a worn tweed coat comes striding towards you, a vague look of low-key disdain on his face. “I'm sorry, sir, but this is private property-”

His objections are cut short by the blade of your claymore as you unsheathe it in one wide swing, the tip neatly bisecting the end of his pipe. “FAUGH A BALLAGH, BITCHBOY!” The poor chap blinks once, then promptly passes out. You charge the doorway, where the gardner is briefly contemplating making a stand; as you thurst your claymore forward and Triath picks up velocity, he decides he wants to live, and dives into the peony bed, heavy blossoms bouncing and flying everywhere. Triath crashes clean through a moment later, flower petals flying everywhere as his thick skull crashes into the double doors and flings them open.

“GANGWAY, AMBULANCE, EMERGENCY, GANGWAY,” you scream at the top of your lungs as you pursue Triath. He hangs a hard right, following some porcine instinct, and comes skidding to a halt in the middle of a beautiful old parlor, thick, expensive rugs piling up before him as he and his cart skid to a stop.

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>>37913870

In the sudden and very abrupt silence, only the steady metronome of an old grandfather clock fills the air. Reclining on a sofa, staring at you, is Ian, one foot propped up on a cushioned stool. A man in RAF standard uniform is attending to Ian's ankle, wrapping it in medical tape – or was, till you came thundering in.

“DOCTOR!” you cry, before pointing at the quite-unconcious Miles. “THIS WOMAN REQUIRES TENDER, LOVING CARE!”

Ian casually looks over his shoulder, checking the time on the grandfather clock, then cracks his neck and smiles down at the poor fellow in the RAF jumpsuit. “And you doubted me, Mr. Harriot?”

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>>37913903
>Ian knows Sean will come
Goddamit, are gnomes linked by some sort of Newtype nuerolink network as well?

>>37913945
And Young's brain is the Nexus of the Network.
That would explain why they are acting more and more like him.

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>>37913945
No they're just gay.

>>37913903
Wait a minute.
Where's mum?

>>37914059
I feel bad for any brain hooked up to Young's.

>>37914076
better yet, why isn't this a house of ill repute?

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>>37914059
>>37914068
>Entire Hotel Ghostrider crew are Artificial Newtypes

I can explain my theory!
>They've all experienced some sort of psychological trauma
>Have above-normal skills and capabilities
>Possibly enhanced by witch magic
I rest my case.

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We arrive.

The Unbound ask for forgiveness for their lateness.

We also wonder of the fate of the Ian Bound persona.

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Five minutes later, Triath has been unhitched from his little wagon and is grazing contendedly on the decorative houseplants, the estate's young master is out cold on a couch of his own, and one Mr. James Harriot, RAF Airman, is dispensing medicine liberally – most of it brandy right from the parlor's own wet bar, and the first few shots were quite rightly proscribed to himself.

“He just twisted his ankle landing, is all,” he informs you as he eyes the huge pig in the corner. “Blimey, but isn't he a swell fellow?”

“Isn't he just? I named him Triath,” you inform him proudly.

“The... isn't that the great big boar King Arthur and his men had a go at?”

“Yes!” you exclaim happily, slapping the poor man on the back in your glee.

He smiles at you. “I've an eye for 'em. I'm a vet by training, actually. They decided that was good enough to make me a corpsman, with a little brush-up.” He shrugs. “I've stitched up enough cows, all right, and they make more noise than some of the lads I've seen too already.”
You glance out the parlor's big glass windows at the MASH truck. “Don't those have full operating theaters in them?”

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>>37914076
>>37914104

wait for iiiiit

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“Yeah, and surgeons as well,” he confirms. “Most of these are students, though – young lads.” He frowns, looking confused. “.... rather handsome young lads, the lot of them, too. They're no good for surgeons quite yet, but they're fine corpsman in a pinch.” He glances askance at Triath and pours himself some more brandy. “We're supposed to be meeting a shot-up unit of tank witches here, though – they've been on the front lines for weeks with no rest, apparently.”

“Who's replacing them?”

“Yanks, actually,” he says, emptying his shot in one go with the grimace of the infrequent drinker. “The tank units are slow to arrive – they're unloading convoys in Ireland, now-”

“-haw, they finally got over that, did they?”

“Indeed. Guess the Martians helped convince them when they bombarded Edinburgh. Anyhow, their armored units are finally trickling in and plugging gaps as exhausted units are rotated out. Don't know how you Irish-American lads feel about it, but we're happy as hell to have any of you Yanks here – especially when you've got your own homeland to defend as well.”

A sound of many dragging feet echoes in the hall, and you look up to see a tired, soot-stained young woman being helped in by a sixteen or seventeen year old “handsome lad” in a corpsman's uniform. “Ah, there's our charges now.”

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>>37914397
Wait a minute, we didn't happen to drop into the same All-boys school Shirley is in, right?

... RIGHT?

>>37914498

No.

No, this is an entirely separate stock of victims.

>>37914498
Some-one needs to reign her in.

Why not us?
Insert growling Sakamoto

>>37914137
Pls go

>>37914547
Oh good. Wouldn't want to accidentally interrupt her fun.

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>>37914352
So it comes? At long last.

The Unbound eagerly wait for the event.

>>37914547
Barin: not actually a fortress, but a prison.

Is Mr. Harriot supposed to be that famous veterinary guy?

>>37914609
Sounds like it.

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>>37914609
Seems that way.


>>37914547
>No, this is an entirely separate stock of victims.
>mfw

>>37914624

Not that I mean to be a killjoy, but it was spelled Herriot. And that was actually his pen name. His real name was Wight.

>>37914672
The ISLE OF WIGHT?!

Wrlp, he's young's problem then.

>>37914599
No, it's a hunting ground.

Helpless men are realised and the witches hunt them for Lewdness, including hand holding

>>37914672
>His real name is Wight
The circle is now complete.
>Heavy breathing

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The tank witches are in bad shape – the young corpsman set about removing their blood-soaked field dressings and rebandaging them fresh. The witches visibly slacken as morphine is slipped into veins and their faces are wiped clean with warm cloths. None of them look exhausted, like Miles – rather, they all seem high-strung, twitchy, hypervigilant. You hear a few mad titters floating through the air as those morphine ampules make themselves felt; laughter a little too close to the brittle edge. Some of the girls are quite young, and some of them aren't – full-grown women with faint scars from past battles marring their arms and bare legs. They rub at the dark circles under their eyes as they hover over their younger witches like mother hens.

You glance out the wide front window and over the shaggy lawn, where the gardner is having a loud row with yet another tank witch, this one still wearing her strikers. The gardner is pointing vigerously at a quartet of sixty-pounder guns being lined up right behind his property-bordering hedgerow fence as crews industriously labor to free the two draft horses, old tractor and deuce-and-a-half that apperently dragged them in.

“Any word from Young, yet?”

“I was hoping you'd have some,” you reply. “How'd you land so far away, anyhow?”

“I tried crawling out of my canopy to his hatch, thought I could pull him out and pull his cord for him,” he replies, leaning back in the sofa and looking at the ceiling to avoid your eyes. “The spin threw me right off before I could, though.”

“Nobody's reported a smoking crater anywhere in the countryside yet,” you tell him. “He's probably okay.”

Neither of you say any more about it – it doesn't bear thinking about.

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>>37914762
>“I tried crawling out of my canopy to his hatch, thought I could pull him out and pull his cord for him,” he replies, leaning back in the sofa and looking at the ceiling to avoid your eyes. “The spin threw me right off before I could, though.”

YOU SEE? THEY DIDN'T RUN AWAY, YOU FAGS.

THEY WERE TRYING TO SAVE US FROM A TERMINALLY SPINNING AIRCRAFT.

>>37914835
LIES, THEY ARE COWARDS BOTH OF EM

>>37914835
LIES!

>>37914835
>TERMINALLY SPINNING

They shouldn't have lacked faith.

>>37914835
WE ARE YOUNG! THE GREAT WITCH-BOUNCER AND WIDOW TAMER!

A TERMINALLY SPINNING AIRCRAFT IS WELL WITHIN OUR POWERS TO CONTROL!

>>37914835
BUT THATS FUCKING WRONG, THE FUCKERS DID RUN AWAY! God damn pussy cocksuckers. They didn't BELIEVE, they didn't TRUST!

>>37914900
They did not Trust and Verify

>>37914835
SHUT UP IAN, GO CRY TO YOUR MUM, SHE'S RIGHT BY THE DOOR!

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>>37914835
The Unbound do not understand how the Bound can abandon their ships.

... Although, it is significantly easier to do so when you are not One with your Ship.

>>37914900
>>37914873
>>37914848
If there's one thing I love about this quest, is how fucking in-character we are.

>>37914835
>>37914884

>TERMINALLY SPINNING
>TERMINALLY

If you can control it, it's not terminal.

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Hey, another really dumb idea: maybe Young pulls another Tom Sawyer to get back at the cowards?

>>37914960
. . .I'm fairly certain Young is the subconscious of /tg/ questers. Or he's become that subconscious.

>>37914960
I don't even consider this a quest anymore. It's more like bouts of insanity strung together, barely coherent. It's a hell of a ride.

>>37914979
Young's criteria for a terminal spin is a tad different from the sane criteria.

>>37915057
Young's criteria for just about anything is a tad different from the sane criteria.

>>37915030
we are young's mind

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“Well,” Ian says, sitting up suddenly. “Enough of this bullshit. Let's get back to base.” He gets his hands under him, manages to get to a half-standing position, and then he's pulled right back onto the couch by a gorgeous young blonde with a bandage taped to her side. She glues herself to Ian's arm and just hangs there like an anchor. Without his feet under him, his noodle-arms betray him, and he is drawn into the cushions again.

“Heya, babe,” she slurs, the morphine shining clear in her eyes. “My name's Barbra. What's yours?”
“Fuck off, you wench!”

She giggles. “Dat's a funny name, but you're sooo handsome~” She flops up and over Ian, bearing down on him. She has an athletic build, but tank witches are pretty much solid muscle; she presses him into the cushions easily. “Itz okay, girls chan't pressur boys, right?”

You look around the room briefly and find that the rest of the witches are setting upon.... well, they're setting upon the “handsome lads” just like a room full of wounded soldiers might flirt with a bunch of pretty nurses, but between the morphine and various social biases, the witches are taking an altogether more aggressive approach.

You briefly consider moving in to save Ian, but after watching him fend off Perrine, you know you'd be denying yourself some prime-time entertainment. You settle onto the window seat and scratch Triath behind the ears as you wait.

>>37915030
The ride never ends.

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>This thread

>>37915127
Perrine/mum strike inbound.

Brace for impact!

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>>37915127
>Sean's face when

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>>37915127
Oh boy, Operation British is a go.

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>>37915127

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>>37915127

>filename

>>37915202
Too late Hex, we saw that.

>>37915127
I wonder if Ian is gonna even bother trying to use the rape whistle

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>>37915434
Why bother?

>>37915448
But does he know that it is useless?

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>>37915448
Well, actually...

>>37915127
Maybe we should rent out that boy's school Shirley landed in for this lot of witches.

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>>37915434
We believe that the innate sense of a Mother about her children's whereabouts rends such unnecessary.

The Bound would not believe that this one still answers to his mother.

>>37915421
I got a warning from the mods for saying TWQ was going to happen ;-;

>>37915507
I can't tell if you're serious or not. Either way, I'm laughing.

>>37915507
>laughingtankwitches.jpg
serves you right for flaking on running it so much, i cant even remember the last time it ran.

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As the witches collectively set about pulling their erstwhile nurses into less-than-wholesome embraces, you see the woman from the lawn come staggering in. She looks almost as bad as miles did; dark circles under her green eyes, and twigs tangled in her long aburn hair. She has very impressive glacis armor, well-sloped – but she's also the oldest of them all, by far, faint crows-feet at the corner of her eyes revealing her age. A half-healed scar runs down the right side of her face, from the corner of her eye to just over her ear. She surveys the debauchery in the room briefly, and smiles, leaning against the doorjamb as she closes her eyes in relief.

Ian waits till the blonde girl has basically pushed him between two cushions before making his move, bringing his good knee up into her crotch and shoving her shoulders away at the same time. She emits a brief yelp as she flies over the back of the sofa and lands on her fanny.

“OUT, DAMNED SLUT,” Ian bellows, thrashing his way out of the sofa. “WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH WITCHES!?” The entire room freezes as Ian draws himself to his full height, playing over them a gaze so cold the glass in the grandfather clock might well frost over. “WHAT KIND OF SICK, TWISTED, HALF-BAKED SLUTTY BITCH-WITCH WOULD CONDONE SUCH ACTIVITIES!?” He's fairly trembling with suppressed rage at this point, his face ruddy with pulsing rage. “Overpaid, that's true. Over here, that's necessity. But over-sexed!?” He levels his finger at the entire room, half of which is actually paying attention to him for a moment.

>>37915564
That makes three of us.

>>37915586
shiiiiiiiiiiit!

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>>37915586

“THAT'S ON YOU, YA ENGLISH TARTS. YOU, AND YOU, AND YOU, AND YOU,” he snarls, jabbing his finger at each guilty witch with their arm-full of dazed young man, “AND ABOVE ALL, ESPECIALLY, THE GOD-DAMNED RINGLEADER OF THIS DEBAUCHED YOUTH-CORRPUTING THREE RING CIRCUS – YOOOOOOoooo o oo o o u!?”

>>37915586
Brace for impact.

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>>37915621
Wait for it...

>>37915621
*Nuclear Missile Launch Detected*

>>37915621
This is what you get for running away.

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>>37915621
>Inb4 it's mum he pointed at last
RIP in peace Ian, we knew you well...

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>>37915621

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>>37915621

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>>37915621

>>37915621
>identifyinghappening.jpg

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>>37915621

There is a moment of crystalline beauty as Ian levels the accusing finger of slut-shaming at his own battle-hardened mother, who's staring at him like he's a talking whale with a war bonnet on. You've seen Ian freeze solid, like a statue – that incredible willpower that girds his flesh like a steel mesh and keeps his raging autismal bullshit from tearing him asunder, that strength that redirects his tightwad-asshole-lunacy into a terrifying singularity of purpose (and lets him convincingly mimic entirely stationary display armor at times,) but this is something different. He seems to be vibrating faintly like a drawn bowstring – he's about to burst into violent and immediate action.

And you happen to be between him and the window.

>Intercept.
>Abide.

>>37915728
>>Intercept.

>>37915728
>Intercept.
NO MORE RUNNING

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>>37915728
>>Abide.

>>37915728
>>Intercept.
Oh no, he get's to explain to his momma what he's ranting about

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>>37915728
Take it easy and
>Abide.
Have some tea and watch warmly for maximum effect.

>>37915728
>Intercept.

>>37915728
>Abide.

>>37915728
>Intercept

This must be resolved here otherwise she'll show up later even angrier.

>>37915728
>Intercept.

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>>37915728
>Abide.

>>37915728
>>Abide.

Be The Dude.

>>37915728
>Call Perrine

Operation fuster cluck is go.

>>37915728
>>Abide.

>>37915728
>Intercept.
he's going to get loads of "THANK GOD YOU'RE ALIVE" sex from Perrine after this so he'll be fine

>>37915728
>>Abide.

Let's watch this plane crash in slow motion.

>>37915728
>Intercept
Our folklore-literate new doctor friend just spent a lot of time stitching him up, and we are not going to let him jump through a window and get MORE injured.

>>37915728
>Intercept.
YOU WILL NOT WORM YOUR WAY OUT OF ANYTHING IAN.

>>37915728
>>Intercept.

>>37915728
>Intercept.

>>37915728
>>Intercept.

>>37915728
>Intercept.
Not this time.

>>37915728

>INTERCEPT

NO MORE RUNNING. TAKE IT LIKE A MOTHERFUCKING MAN.

... That came out wrong.

>>37915728
>Intercept.

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>>37915728
That has to be the best_ in the whole world.

>Intercept

INTERCEPT WINS. WRIIIIITNG

>>37915728
>Intercept.
Trip him with His Porkiness

>>37915728
Gotta interdict!

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>>37915866
yeees

>>37915872
we are keeping that fucking pig

>>37915866
Damn, I was hoping that Perrine would walk in right at that time just to complete the cluster fuck.

Not /that/ would be something to watch.

>>37915866
Hey Planefag, what name did you pick for your dorf fort?

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>>37915866
>Scotsman this is tower, you're clear to vector on intercept course, 1-1-0 true. Good hunting cowboy.

>Scotsman here, acknowledged tower.

>20mm fire intensifies

>>37915866
I suspect he is not going to be pleased with our betrayal, assuming that whatever is left of him after this is capable of forming a complete sentence.

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>>37915728
Prepare thine sides

>>37915728
Would Ian even have been able to escape with his ankle booboo?

>>37915941
we can say it was "young controlling us from the grave"

>>37915911

SWINEGRIND!

And the best part is, it's located in a mountain valley with steep canyon walls and a brook running down the center.

So it's basically an automagical goblin grinder!

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>>37915866
Dis gunna b gud.

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>>37915888
Hellcow x Triath OTP

>>37915910
>UNHAND HER YOU... YOU ENGLISH WENCH!!!
>Tornerre intensifies
>Meanwhile Ian is pic related

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A brief, glorious vision shines through your head – you can see, almost precognativley, the glorious outward shower of glittering glass as Ian smashes through the window to make good his escape; his mother's amazing tits bouncing and jouncing splendidly as she takes the windowsill behind him. Ian's mad dash for freedom, his heart and soul yearning to escape the priveliged upbringing he always loathed; so poetically mirrored by the run-down country estate that surrounds them. If this was penned into a book, they'd shower you with awards and accolades; if you let it happen, they might well write epic lays about it worthy of any Irish bardic tradition.

But, in the end, you are a simple country boy, and what you really want to see is a loudmouthed know-it-all jackass trip over a pig.

Ian moves like lighting; only a tardy afterimage of his slender frame visible as he streaks towards the window, a bolt of pure intent – and then he hits the mighty iron sides of Triath as the huge hog comes bolting out of nowhere, oinking in surpise at your gentle slap on his hindquarters. Ian's nse slams into the carpet and his head slams into the base of the window-seat, and then Katherine Kent, his long-estranged mother, is clearing the sofa with a one-handed vault. She falls to her knees and seizes her son, pressing him against her chest, already bawling her eyes out. It would be a touching scene, except for the squealing of Triath, and, of course, your own helpless laughter.

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>>37916153

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>>37916153
>But, in the end, you are a simple country boy, and what you really want to see is a loudmouthed know-it-all jackass trip over a pig.

>It would be a touching scene, except for the squealing of Triath, and, of course, your own helpless laughter

>>37916153
that will do pig

>>37916153
That's true motherly love right there.

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>>37916153
Glorious

>>37916153

This... it's beautiful...

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>>37916153

>>37916153
Triath, High Lord of Hogs and Mender of Families!

>>37916153
Perrine MUST be sensing the ENGLISH woman holding HER man.

*Striker sounds intensify*

>>37916195
Cao Cao was so based in that series

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>>37916153
Masterfully done.

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>>37916153
Brilliant.

>>37916237
>Perrine suddenly jerks alert
>Trude asks her what's wrong
>"I have a sudden desire to beat the ever-loving petunias out of an Englishwoman. And it's not even noon yet"

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>>37916153
>But, in the end, you are a simple country boy, and what you really want to see is a loudmouthed know-it-all jackass trip over a pig.

>>37916153
This is pure awesome

>>37916237
>Her French-sense is tingling
Everyone knows the one unifying trait of all French girls is to feel when their entrance will be the most dramatic and lead to the most indignant slaps.

>>37916346
Char Dunois begs to disagree.

>>37916346
>>37916373
So does Georgette.

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>>37916373
>>37916465
Shush.

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>>37916465
>Forgetting best French
Ah, time to sudoku then.