The Ethereal Squadron: A Wartime Fantasy (The Sorcerers of Verdun)

by Shami Stovall

  “Tell me when you’re done,” she said.

  Percival held the paperwork out. “We can read together.”

  “I don’t like people standing so close.”

  Percival took a step back and continued to read.

  Blick, on his way out the door, turned and gave Geist the once-over. She lifted an eyebrow.

  “You better bring my brother back,” Blick said. “Albatross might be team leader, but the commander paired Percival with you personally.”

  Geist nodded. “I’ll bring him back.”

  For a moment they stared at each other, and Geist couldn’t help but feeling that unspoken accusation again. She hadn’t returned with her old team. Did Blick still doubt that she’d stayed until the end? His gaze betrayed him, and his skepticism stung sharper than barbed wire.

  Percival kept his eyes on the paperwork. “I can look after myself.”

  “There are no certainties in war,” Victory stated as he walked over. “Watch yourself. Blick and I look forward to hearing about your first combat, but that won’t happen if you’re careless.”

  His demands made, Victory exited the room. Blick, hesitating for a long second, opted not to speak at all. Geist knew the three to be full-blooded brothers, and perhaps they were just concerned, but family politics were never simple. Especially sorcerer families. She didn’t want to fail House Hamilton and become a target for their ire.

  Thinking of families got her thinking of her own. Geist leaned against the far wall and stared at her boots, wondering whether her family had given up looking for her yet.

  Of course. It’s been so long. Why would they continue? The thought of her mother gave her pause. I should’ve left her a note. I shouldn’t have put her through that grief, not a second time.

  Vergess stepped into view, ending her parade of black thoughts. She stared up through the haze of smoke, one eyebrow raised.

  “I look forward to working with you,” he said.

  Geist nodded.

  After a silent second, Vergess sighed and continued to the door.

  Tinker snorted. “What a kook. All that posturing. What’s he got to be nervous about?”

  “I don’t know,” Geist muttered.

  It occurred to her that most of the Ethereal Squadron in Verdun likely hadn’t worked with Vergess before. He had been a prisoner from another division stationed at Fort Douaumont before it was captured by the enemy. And all those sorcerers were dead or reported missing. Vergess had no one among the soldiers here to call a confidante.

  “Hey. No need to brood,” Tinker said, grinning. “You’re makin’ the shadows look bright.”

  Geist couldn’t help but laugh. She shrugged. “Practice makes perfect.”

  “Don’t get funny on me. That’s my job.”

  The talking in the room ceased. On instinct, Geist and the others turned their attention to their commander. Major Reese stroked his peppered beard and took them in as a whole. Fear darkened the lines of his face, but determination shone in his eyes.

  “You’ll all take transports tomorrow morning to your designated destinations,” he said. “Reports are to be written and addressed to me until your objective is met. The rest of you are dismissed.”

  Dear Miss Ellen Luxton,

  I do not know how to start this letter. I write to you, regretfully, to inform you of Douglas Croft’s death. We knew him as Little Wick. I was not his commanding officer, but I was with him in the end. He spoke of you with his final breath, and I am certain he loved you with all his being. In confidence he told me that, despite his family’s wishes, he would return home and marry you—eloping if need be.

  I know this letter will likely bring you distress, but I thought you would want to know regardless. Douglas was a close friend. We were together most days of the year. I could trust him with my life and, when the odds were low, he would.

  The transport shuddered, and Geist’s pencil point snapped. She exhaled, staring down at her incomplete letter. With a huff, she crumpled it and threw it out the back of the truck, watching the horse’s hooves crush it into the mud.

  How could she write Ellen? How could she tell her anything? Nothing she could say would bring her anything but heartache.

  Geist ripped off her cap and ran a hand through her hair. Little Wick’s family would never want Geist to send such a letter. Wick, a sorcerer, had been forbidden from marrying Ellen Luxton, a normal human woman, one who didn’t even know about his power. Writing to tell her that Little Wick would have eloped with her regardless? It was too cruel.

  The world shook with each distant bombardment. The horses whinnied in protest, but they were drafted soldiers, like the men around them, unable to shirk their duties. Geist pitied them, for they couldn’t even take solace in what few victories they helped win.

  The truck jerked to a halt and then lurched forward as the driver wrestled with the reins. Geist gripped the tarp hanging over the truck bed to prevent herself from spilling onto the feet of the other soldiers.

  Percival hadn’t been as agile. He tumbled about, apologizing to the others each time he collided with them. His gracelessness bordered on slapstick. Vergess grabbed him by the collar and forced him upright.

  “Sorry,” Percival said.

  Vergess snorted but otherwise gave no response.

  When the motor transport got close to their destination, the soldiers crowded the back, ready to jump. Geist moved away from the others as they bumped up close, the proximity of their bodies creating more anxiety than it was worth. To her surprise, Vergess put himself between her and the others, shielding her from the others. She glanced back at him through her eyelashes, but he kept his gaze locked to the war-torn countryside.

  “I never properly thanked you,” he said, keeping his voice low. “And after hearing what happened to the rest of your team, I realize the mission must’ve been difficult.”

  Geist almost choked, but she managed to nod regardless. It had been a trying mission.

  “I—” Vergess took a moment, his voice unsteady, “—once knew a spy. Someone like you.”

  A woman, by the sound of his shaky voice, Geist was sure of it. But was she a spy for the Germans or someone else?

  “What happened to her?” Geist asked.

  Vergess exhaled. When he spoke, he did so slowly and with strain in each syllable. “Isidora was a member of the Black Hand, a Serb fighting for her country. She… didn’t make it.”

  The raw emotion in his speech resonated with her. “I’m sorry to hear that,” Geist whispered.

  War took everything if you let it. Geist knew this, and Vergess’s words only made it ring truer. So many dead. It was her duty, as one of the few left with magic in her blood, to make things right. She wondered if Vergess felt the same way.

  “Let me help you maintain your disguise,” he said.

  Geist rubbed her neck. “No. We should pretend we don’t even know each other—for both our sakes.” She’d seen it before. Getting involved with another soldier, even to keep secrets, could lead to something… distracting. She had a mission to do, and compromising it was out of the question.

  Geist jumped out the back of the vehicle the moment they arrived. Albatross and Vergess were close on her heels. With her pack slung over one shoulder, she made her way out of the supply train and into the ranks of soldiers near the front lines.

  The dazzling beauty of France’s countryside captivated her as she walked. Thick golden dust hung on the orange rays of the sunrise. It gave the sky a delicate sparkle the likes of which she had never seen in America. Was it pollen? Dirt from the boots of the soldiers? Geist didn’t know. All she knew was the halo it gave the horizon—mesmerizing and utterly glorious.

  Stopping under the morning shade of a sessile oak tree, Geist threw down her pack and rubbed her chest. The bindings made it difficult to breathe. I secured them too tight this time.

  Albatross, Vergess, and Percival walked over to meet her. They, too, threw their packs down and sur
veyed the area. Albatross’s silvering hair hit the gold of the sunrise at the perfect angle, giving a hint of color to his otherwise wan complexion.

  “I thought Fort Souville was on the front lines,” Percival commented, his hands on his hips and his eyebrows knit together in confusion.

  “It is,” Albatross said as he withdrew a pack of cigarettes from his trouser pockets.

  “I figured there would be combat. Where are the Germans? Why aren’t we fighting?”

  “Kid, nine out of ten times you just have to pass the time. Hurry up and wait—that’s the military’s motto.”

  “What happens the tenth time?”

  “You try not to die.”

  Percival fell silent.

  Albatross clamped his lips on another cigarette and searched his back pockets, his hands patting around his body. Geist pulled a pack of matches from her pouch and tossed them over. Albatross offered a one-sided smile in thanks.

  “So,” he said, striking a match against his teeth, “we have to evaluate your sorcery, kid. What school do you practice?”

  “Potentia,” Percival replied, obvious pride in his voice.

  Geist and Albatross exchanged questioning glances. Potentia? Geist thought. What the fuck is that? She knew, at one point in history, there were hundreds of schools of sorcery, each guarded by a family hell bent on keeping their magic a secret from all others. Over time, families combined and married while others died off—or they simply bred amongst themselves, keeping the secret intact no matter the terrible price.

  Geist couldn’t be expected to know them all.

  “I should’ve known you would have something bizarre,” Albatross said, exhaling a line of smoke. “You Hamiltons collect all sorts of weird magics into your bloodline.”

  “Useful magics,” Percival corrected.

  “All right. Impress me. What’s so useful about this potentia?”

  “I heighten the magics of other sorcerers.”

  Percival made his statement with his head high and his thumbs hooked in his belt loops—the dictionary picture of smug. Again, Geist and Albatross exchanged dubious glances.

  “So,” Percival continued, “I was thinking… my codename could be Enhance, or Surge, or—”

  “That’s not how it works,” Albatross interjected. He took a long drag on his cigarette. “You earn your codename through combat. It’s a rite of passage.”

  Geist crossed her arms over her chest and examined the tiny man in front of her. “You said you heighten the magic of others, but what can you do?”

  “So—” Percival stopped himself short and took a quick breath. “Not much. Potentia is a difficult magic to learn. It’s the only sorcery I know, but it’s very useful.”

  “You always need another sorcerer to use your magic? There’s nothing you can use on your own?”

  “I—well, er… No.”

  Albatross laughed. “I hope you like Deadweight as a codename.”

  Geist and Vergess chortled.

  “Don’t laugh,” Percival said in a heated tone. “We can’t all be Victory. Some of us have to develop other kinds of magic. I’m still a valuable asset to the Ethereal Squadron.”

  “Keep your britches on, kid. If your magic is useful, we’ll see it when the fighting starts.”

  “You already think I’m worthless.”

  “Geist, Vergess, and I can handle this mission with our magic as is. Whatever you bring to the table is extra. No need to get worked up about it right now. This is the time for breathin’ easy.”

  Major Reese always gave the men one battle to get comfortable with their abilities. Geist knew it was why Percival had been assigned to her—this was his first time seeing actual combat. She needed to keep him safe so they could assess his abilities for use in later missions.

  Their intimate and quiet setting was assaulted with the exuberant energy of Tinker’s arrival. The taller sorcerer jumped into the group, a bandolier of ten grenades hanging loosely from his gaunt shoulders. With a wicked grin, he pulled a fatter grenade from his trouser pocket and tossed it end-over-end in the air.

  “If it isn’t Team Teensy-Weensy, led by Captain Old Man,” Tinker said. “Who here wants to see a Mills bomb go off?” And he tossed the grenade straight into the hands of Percival.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  FORT SOUVILLE

  FLAILING, PERCIVAL THREW THE BOMB onto the road. He dove for cover behind the oak tree, hitting the dirt on his knees and covering his ears. Geist, Vergess, and Albatross remained standing, the two men watching Percival roll in the dust with obvious amusement.

  When no explosion came, Percival stood and glanced around the trunk of the tree. Tinker roared with laughter. Geist sighed. The stunt had been fun the first time, but Tinker’s antics grew stale after the fifth go-around.

  “You can get up,” Geist said at last. “It won’t explode.”

  Slowly, Percival stood, recognition, then anger rising on his face. “You… you…” he spluttered. Tinker only laughed harder.

  Vergess, unamused, walked over and snatched up the fat grenade from the ground. In the next second, the device rotted away in his hand, disintegrating into fine dust. Geist stared. Her briefing notes told her he had destructive powers, hence his codename, but she had never seen sorcery do that before.

  “Okay, okay,” Geist said, noting Percival’s growing resentment. “Tinker, why aren’t you with Trilogy and Big Wick?”

  Tinker wiped tears from his eyes as he walked over to Geist and pulled a heavy satchel off his shoulder. “The commander ordered me to make these special for you.”

  He handed the satchel over and Geist threw back the flap to inspect the contents, half-expecting to see another gag. To her surprise, the satchel contained two thermite charge incendiary grenades: dangerous devices all their own, but if Tinker had meddled with them, they weren’t to be trifled with.

  “You read your packet?” Tinker asked. “You gotta get these suckers up near the hydrogen in the zeppelin. Pull the pin and they’ll bake for two whole minutes before they’re ready. Pretty good, right? Longer than any other. You don’t want to be on the ship when it goes down. You should have plenty of time.”

  Geist ran her fingers over one of the incendiary grenades. The device had no magic, but she couldn’t help but wonder, What if? The Germans had somehow constructed a device that married sorcery and technology—why couldn’t Tinker?

  What did the Germans have that they didn’t?

  “You like them?” Tinker asked.

  “Yeah.”

  “Good, because I named them Cross and Geist’s Little Babies. Look there, I even gave them faces.”

  Geist turned one over and rolled her eyes. The device had a crudely drawn happy-face on the side of the metal casing. Drool dribbled from one corner of the lip and a pacifier hung from the other. Where does he get the time to do all this? I swear he never sleeps.

  Tinker fell into another fit of laughter.

  “I even made this one stumpy,” he said in between chuckles. “So there’s a family resemblance!”

  Sure enough, when Geist examined the grenades, one was shorter than the other. She smiled in spite of herself. How long had it taken him to craft one grenade smaller? Had he been giggling the entire time? Geist didn’t doubt it.

  Albatross finished his smoke and tossed it to the ground. “You and Cross, huh? I thought that was a rumor. Did you speak to her family already? Do they know you practice specter magic?”

  Geist tied the satchel to her belt and held back an exaggerated sigh. Goddammit, Tinker. There were no secrets in the Ethereal Squadron. If one person on the team knew something, it was a mystery. If two people knew, it might still stay secret. But if three knew, everyone knew.

  “Back in my day, they didn’t let young sorcerers mingle until it was time to seal the deal,” Albatross said. “You were lucky if they let you see the girl once or twice at fancy family functions. There wasn’t much romance to it, ya see. Marriages were bargaining chips
—for alliances and such.”

  Vergess gave Geist a quick glance before crossing his arms.

  Tinker’s continued laughter turned into a coughing fit. Once he straightened himself, Geist asked, “Is there anything else?”

  “No,” he replied, one last chuckle escaping him. “That’s it.”

  “Then we’ll see you once our missions are complete.”

  “Yeah. See you on the other side.”

  He slapped Geist on the shoulder and took off toward the fort. The fortification, though intact, had shattered trees and roads riddled with craters all around it. Bombs left scars on the land, but the squadron’s engineers kept the fort alive.

  Percival watched Tinker until he disappeared out of sight. He turned to Geist with a frown. “Is that really how sorcerers treat each other in the Ethereal Squadron?”

  “Yeah,” Geist said. “What of it?”

  “It doesn’t bother you? I don’t know if I can handle being around someone like him for very long.”

  “If that’s how you feel, you should resign now.”

  Percival snapped his gaze up. “How could you say that?”

  “If you can’t handle that, you’re not suited for war. It gets a lot worse out there.”

  The look he gave in response took Geist by surprise. Indignation? Worry? Shame? Percival turned away before Geist could identify his expression. She wanted to say something more, something poignant like Cross would say, but the words never came. Instead they stood in silence. Albatross, a few yards away, kept to himself, and Vergess seemed lost in deep thought.

  Nothing like my old team.

  Morning turned to day, day to late afternoon, and soon dusk settled onto the horizon. Geist would have been content to have a day free of worry, but no one rested well during wartime.

  The tremble in the earth heralded the attack. Warning bells followed soon after.

  Geist, Albatross, Vergess, and Percival got to their feet and scanned the skies. Pillars of fire from aerial bombardments lit the battlefield at sporadic intervals. Enemy biplanes roared overhead, their wings marked with Germany’s black cross. The pulse of warfare thundered on, spurring each member of the squadron to hoist their weapons. It was time to fight for their country.