Bullets whistled through the air by the hundreds, and the sound flipped a switch in Geist. Moments before, she had been lost in her own musings, but now she reverted fully to a soldier: emotions deadened, her training and instincts driving her forward.
Fort Souville’s strength rested in its single armored turret. The path up to the fort, stationed on the stump of a hill, offered but one narrow avenue of attack. Enemies caught in the strait of fire could not hope to survive long, but the Germans were no fools. A second attack came from the left wing—three army corps hoping to circle around and overwhelm them.
Albatross pulled Geist and Percival to the second line of trenches, far from the front. Vergess followed with ease, the only one who didn’t seem on-edge in the midst of gunfire. They took up positions near the sharpshooter posts, their backs against the wood beams.
German, British, and French soldiers alike shot back and forth across the barren lands of war, attempting to snipe the opposing commander. The German officers, wise by now to the tactic, wore ordinary uniforms while the English officers still gave themselves away with their high leather boots and sword belts. Geist saw the cap of one Englishman fly off the head of its owner, a hole the size of a quarter torn through the front and back.
I guess that’s the price of etiquette.
Percival huddled close and squinted through the debris caught on the wind. “Why aren’t we fighting? Shouldn’t we run to the front?”
“Remember the mission,” Geist replied. “We’re here for the zeppelin, nothing else.”
And then, as if summoned by her voice, the infernal airships came into view. They were behemoths in the sky, black and ominous, each stretching over five hundred feet in length. Soldiers would whisper superstitions—getting caught in the long shadow of a zeppelin meant you were sure to die. And many of them weren’t wrong.
Albatross grabbed Vergess’s arm and gave him a nod. The two men left the safety of the post and charged toward an outcropping of trees and bushes, a straight line toward the zeppelin they had been ordered to bring down. German soldiers hid among the trees, but they kept their route.
Geist held her satchel of explosives close. One wrong move could get her killed. If the grenades were shot, she wouldn’t get a second chance. She grabbed Percival by the collar of his khaki uniform. “Keep this safe.” She ripped the satchel off her belt and shoved it into his hands.
“What’re you doing?” he asked.
“Clearing a path.”
“Wait, let me help you!”
Geist hefted her Springfield rifle. “Just protect the explosives until I get back.” She stepped around the sharpshooter post, but Percival jogged after, tying the satchel to his own belt in the process.
“I meant with my magic,” he said. “I can—”
“I don’t need any of your magic right now. Wait here. That’s an order.”
“But—”
A bombshell cut Percival off with a deafening explosion and ear-shattering after-burst. Her ears ringing, Geist took off to join Albatross and Vergess. Germans hiding behind trees didn’t frighten her, but the possibility of Abomination Soldiers was a real threat.
Percival hung back as instructed. Geist appreciated his eagerness, but she didn’t want his help—not yet, at least. Grenades went flying into the tree line from nearby French soldiers. Albatross hung back until the branches stopped raining down around him, but Vergess continued regardless, heedless to the dangers as though they couldn’t affect him. When he got near the enemy soldiers, he fired with incredible precision. When a tree collapsed in his path, he grabbed the branches and the vegetation rotted in mere seconds, crumbling into a pile of ashen flakes.
Albatross charged ahead the moment he could, moving with all the speed and agility of a much younger man. Geist took his flank as they made their way through the decimated grove. When a German rounded a tree, she fired. A second enemy soldier caught her by surprise, but his first three bullets whizzed through her sleeve and arm without making contact.
Geist cried out as the fourth bullet grazed her left wrist. She ducked back behind a tree, shock blanking her mind and thoughts.
How is that possible?
She stared at the injury—a cut above the waxy sheen of her misshapen wrist—but the implications staggered her. I was ghosting, she thought, trying to reason with herself. That bullet never should have touched me. Never.
But the GH Gas had changed her. Even thinking about it left Geist gritting her teeth.
The crunch of boots on disheveled earth brought Geist back to the battlefield. She jumped back as the German soldier rounded the tree with his bayonet raised. Her back struck the tree trunk as the enemy screamed with bloodlust and plunged the blade through her left upper arm.
Geist couldn’t remain intangible forever.
Her incorporeal state lasted for fractions of a second—her clothes stayed on her body, after all—her magic maintained long enough for bullets and weapons to pass harmlessly through her, but then she became solid once again.
The bayonet, still in her body when her sorcery failed, pinned in the tree behind her, spearing through the flesh of her bicep. Geist reared back and kicked the German, sending him stumbling away.
Before he could pull his pistol, Geist shot him in the chest and sent him flying to the ground, one last groan escaping his lips before he died. She grunted and removed the bayonet from her arm. Holding back frustrated tears, Geist administered the bare minimum field medicine necessary to prevent blood loss—slapping Cellucotton over the injury and holding it in place with rough linen gauze.
Bullets pelted the trunk of the tree. She didn’t have time to mend her wounds further, not here. Geist gritted her teeth and pulled her rifle close to her chest. Her left arm worked. Hurt like a bastard, but it could move. That was all she could ask of it.
Running out from her safe position, Geist shielded her wounded wrist with the butt of her weapon. The Germans that fired upon her stepped back in surprise as she ran forward, brazen and heedless to the danger. Vergess had taken down the main group and those who remained were torn between two targets. Their indecision cost them their lives.
Geist fired with her rifle and, rather than reloading, she pulled her handgun and continued firing. She focused on maintaining her magic, but the pain of her injuries intensified the longer she fought.
“Get the kid,” Albatross called out once the trees were clear of hostiles. “The zeppelins are starting their run!”
Sure enough, the black behemoths had formed a line in the sky, their bay doors open and their payloads ready to be dropped onto the ground below. The zeppelins could kill all the French soldiers in one go if left to float through the sky unopposed. They didn’t drop bombs one at a time, but by the hundreds, blanketing the landscape with destruction.
French anti-air guns chattered, attempting to knock the monsters from the sky, but their shots were weak at best and embarrassingly off-target at worst. The head zeppelin, Geist’s target, actually seemed to deflect incoming fire. She saw bullets and bombs alike blown away from the engines by powerful winds.
Magic! A sorcerer is protecting that zeppelin.
Before the ships could begin their pass, Geist pushed off the shattered trunk of a tree and ran for the sharpshooter posts. Panicked looks were all around her. The men, their faces caked in mud, cowered like prey animals. Those in the back lines shivered in clumps. Those on the front fought through disorientating explosions to fire at the enemy, most barely bothering to aim.
War took its toll on everyone. Even Geist felt her focus divided.
She rounded the sharpshooter post and grabbed Percival by the shoulder. He took one look at her and paled. “Geist,” he said. “What’s going on?”
“We’re heading up,” she replied.
“Now? In the middle of the fighting?”
“Before they’ve passed. On your feet. Let’s go.”
He pushed away from the post and followed her toward the trees, his a
ttention on everything other than the path in front of him. Geist made it to the broken forest and spotted German soldiers moving into the area she had cleared. They would fill the gap in their lines and Geist cursed under her breath. They had nowhere to go but forward, which meant the Germans would cut off her escape route to the French.
Could she keep fighting if her magic failed her?
Geist made it to the other side of the grove and stopped. A wide dirt road separated her from Albatross and Vergess. They stood in the shadow of a half-shattered building, motioning for her to cross and join them. The corpse of a dead horse and a splintered cart stood in her way. Geist took a moment to lean against a still-whole tree and catch her breath. Dust caught in her lungs and she coughed.
Percival kept his hip to hers as he glanced around. The roar of the zeppelins’ engines rolled in like a bank of fog.
“Are you okay?” Percival asked, motioning to her arm. “I thought you never got hurt.”
“I’ll live.”
“I can help.”
I don’t need it, was what Geist wanted to say, but held back her words. She needed to assess his sorcery at some point. And would she have denied Cutter, Buttons, or Little Wick? No. She would have taken their aid without hesitation. She held out her right hand, palm up.
“Let’s see what you’ve got,” she said.
Percival gingerly placed his hand onto hers. The feeling—it was like Cross’ healing—intense and comforting all at the same time. Geist closed her eyes. She had been close to exhausted before Percival touched her, but afterward she felt as if a whole new pool of energy had been dumped into her.
Standing straight, Geist took a deep breath and relished the new strength. Percival pulled his hand away. The vast well of energy disappeared, but the added power lingered. She wanted to place her hand on his again, to feel the full potent force that he could add to her magic, but she restrained herself.
“I can only maintain this for so long,” he said, almost apologetically.
Geist nodded. With his extra energy, like coffee fresh in the morning, she shook off her fatigue. She sprinted across the road and dove into the shadow of the broken building. Percival chased after and slammed his back against the wall as the zeppelins drifted overhead, their engines a constant hammering of sound.
Vergess glanced down at her bloodied arm. “What happened?” he shouted.
Geist shook her head. “I’ll be fine.”
“Stick close to me.”
“I can handle myself.”
“I owe you a few hits.”
Vergess motioned to his side and Geist smirked. He must’ve seen when she took the bullet for him. I guess he does owe me, she thought, her smile widening.
“This is how we’re gettin’ up,” Albatross yelled.
He pointed to the half of the roof still intact. Geist eyed the distance and frowned. Even with her newfound strength and energy, she wouldn’t be able to scale the wall in time to board the zeppelin. Hell—the longer she stared, the more she realized the roof wasn’t high enough to reach their target, not by a long shot. She knew Albatross would need to get them there, but she had never personally witnessed his tempest magic in action.
Albatross kept his eyes up on the black blimps. The shadow of the beasts swept over them as all four zeppelins flew overhead. They were colossal—the largest Geist had ever seen, each over a hundred feet across, longwise.
Geist gritted her teeth and placed her hand on her weapon. What could her rifle do against the giant machines above her? She had to get up and kill the crew if she were to have a chance at defeating such a monstrosity.
“Get ready,” Albatross said.
Percival glanced around. “Get ready for what?”
“Kid, listen up. I’m gonna get us up there. Stick close to me, and you’ll make it back in one piece. If we get separated, well… things aren’t gonna go well for you.”
“Oh, I get it,” Percival said with a forced laugh. “Like an albatross. But how, exactly are we…”
Albatross chuckled, Percival frowned, but before more words could be exchanged, Albatross threw his hand up into the air. Dirt swirled around his feet. Then…
Geist lost her breath as gusts of wind dragged her into the air, lifting her far from the ground in a swift ascent. Albatross, Vergess, and Percival followed soon after, the wind tunnel sending them straight for the zeppelin above. Albatross kicked off the dilapidated roof on his way up, increasing the strength of the wind so quickly it took Geist’s breath away.
“You’re gonna have to grab on,” Albatross shouted. “I’m not so good at landings!”
CHAPTER SIX
ZEPPELIN
GEIST DIDN’T BREATHE THE WHOLE time it took to clear the distance between the ground and the zeppelin. Her cap flew off as she drew near, spinning down towards the ever-shrinking scenery below her.
Geist attempted to grab the duralumin girder of the rigid airship, but with only one arm she flailed and missed her chance. Vergess latched onto the zeppelin and caught her by the collar of her uniform. He pulled her down onto the underside platform with little effort, then wrapped his arm around her while the wind continued to whip by, her eyes thick with water.
Percival’s magic maintained throughout the flight, and she vowed to compliment him on his focus once the mission ended. Focusing to maintain sorcery was sometimes a lifelong journey. Most sorcerers had to train their entire lives to maintain that kind of concentration, and she knew the youth had to be scared.
Albatross slid onto the platform, his gray hair disheveled, a wide smile across his face.“I don’t get to fly often,” he said through strained breaths, his voice barely audible over the engines. “Too flashy. It’s a kick, though. When we get back, I’m gonna ask the commander to put me in charge of an aircraft of my own.”
Percival steadied himself against the metal railing, landing hard on his shins but otherwise managing to stay upright. Albatross allowed his magic to fade, but steady winds washed over them regardless.
Vergess kept his protective hold, but Geist jerked away and took a few ragged breaths. “I’m fine.”
He said nothing.
The underside platform, a mere five feet wide, no more than a loading area when the airship was on the ground, sat between two gondolas filled with German soldiers. The blimp above contained eighteen gas ballonets carrying over nine hundred and fifty thousand cubic feet of hydrogen—Geist’s target. She motioned for Percival to pass her the satchel of incendiary bombs. He handed the satchel over as fast as he could untie it from his belt.
The rumble of bombs and the chattering of machine guns filled Geist’s ears. She winced at the cacophony and pointed to the ladder and catwalks between the gondolas.
Albatross gestured to the bow. “Vergess and I will head for the pilots and the captain.” He pointed to the rear gondola. “You two clear the back. We meet in the middle.” With a jerk of his head, he motioned to the blimp above.
Geist nodded.
Ernest Meier captained the ship, an Abomination Soldier who studied the same school of sorcery as Albatross—the school of tempest magic, the ability to control winds, lightning, and the occasional blast of hoarfrost. Albatross had made it clear that he and he alone would be the one to confront Captain Meier.
But Geist worried. Yes, Albatross had been practicing his magic for decades. He could keep up with the best sorcerers in combat, but Geist wondered if it would be enough.
Before Vergess turned to follow, he gave Percival a stern glower. “Don’t get in Geist’s way, Deadweight.”
“That’s…” Percival clung to the railing, his breath short. “That’s not going to be my codename!”
Vergess snorted and headed for the front gondola. His confidence was infectious, and Geist admired it from afar. We can handle this. We can.
The wind rushed past and Geist gripped the railings to stay aboard. She realized then that the bullets and bombs must be missing the engines of the zeppelin because of C
aptain Meier’s magic. The wind acted as a shield—perhaps it knew she had come to harm the ship, as with each powerful gust she felt her grip slip a little further towards oblivion. We need to get inside.
Geist steadied herself and traversed the narrow catwalk toward the rear gondola. The farther she went, the harder the gale attempted to wrench her from the underside of the airship. The short path between gondolas became a deadfall unlike any Geist had ever experienced.
Once at the end, she grabbed the handle of the gondola door and yanked hard. The door didn’t budge. Locked. The wind intensified. Percival strangled the railings, half doubled over one, but still, his focus and magic held strong.
What am I going to do? Geist thought, her eyes scanning the ground. Trees exploded into deadly splinters with each bomb that fell. Giant fireballs lit the sunset battlefield—no doubt Big Wick’s contribution—and German soldiers stormed toward the fort with gusto.
And below her, the drop…
Thoughts of falling the three thousand feet to her death nearly overwhelmed her as Geist yanked on the stubborn door handle a second time. She hefted her rifle, intent to shoot her way through, but she stopped the moment Percival placed a hand on her shoulder. He motioned to the door with a grunt, unable to hold onto her long before returning his hand to the railing.
Does he want me to use my magic? It’ll never work. I can’t pass through a solid metal door. She couldn’t fade longer than a flicker, which meant she would get caught in the metal of the door once her magic failed to maintain. Or is Percival saying I should try it now with his help? she thought. Will I be able to maintain my intangibility longer?
Geist held her breath and focused on using her newfound strength. She suppressed a gasp when the magic came effortlessly. Within an instant, she shifted and shimmered, her whole body becoming incorporeal—even her clothes were caught up in this new power.
Fearing the wind might succeed in throwing her off the zeppelin, Geist plunged her right arm through the metal of the door—it went straight through and continued to remain intangible. By sheer instinct, she reached around to unlatch the lock.
The Ethereal Squadron: A Wartime Fantasy (The Sorcerers of Verdun) Page 6