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

by Shami Stovall

  Fechner groaned and shifted. “Your colors are so… vibrant.”

  “You’re delirious. Get some rest.”

  He fell quiet. Geist fled the room before he could speak again.

  Vergess stood waiting in the hall, his gaze vigilant and scanning the surroundings. “What happened?” he asked, keeping his voice low. “I heard you speaking.”

  “It’s nothing,” she said.

  “Are you unharmed?”

  “Yes.”

  “Your heartrate is up.”

  Geist placed a hand on her chest. “I’ll be fine,” she stated. “What about the other rooms?”

  “Battery and I have searched them all.”

  “I have paperwork here. Information on the GH Gas.”

  “So do I. You need to read this.”

  Vergess handed her a single sheet of paper. It read:

  FORT DOUAUMONT – MEDICAL STAFF – MARCH 1916

  IN ACCORDANCE WITH THE KAISER’S NEW SCHIEFFEN PLAN, TESTING RESULTS MUST BE CONCLUDED BY JUNE. SPECIAL ATTENTION IS TO BE PAID TO GAS CONCENTRATIONS AND THE VIABILITY OF STANDARD COUNTER-MEASURES.

  UNLESS OTHERWISE INSTRUCTED BY THE KAISER HIMSELF, NO OTHER COMMANDS ARE TO TAKE PRECEDENCE.

  OBERSTE HEERESLEITUNG COMMAND

  “The New Schieffen Plan?” Geist asked, rereading the note a second time.

  “They plan to bomb Paris with GH Gas shells.”

  “What?”

  Geist momentarily lost her voice. The shock—the outrage—it coursed through her so thoroughly she felt gut-shot. They were planning to use the GH Gas en mass? After seeing what it could do?

  Of course they would target Paris. The sooner France surrendered, the sooner Germany could turn their full attention to the Russian Empire. One devastating blow to the heartland would cripple the French morale. Without an effective means of combating the gas, the French wouldn’t stand a chance.

  “We have what we came for,” Geist whispered. “We need to leave.”

  Vergess nodded. “I couldn’t agree more.”

  She couldn’t mention Fechner, nor could she bring herself to go and question the man. Seeing him left her uneasy—and what more could he tell her that the reports didn’t?

  I’ve left him to his fate. There’s no need to get involved with him any further.

  The trek out of the fort occurred in silence. Geist tucked the papers into her oversized uniform; Battery and Vergess did the same. They exited out the back, in front of the patrolling soldiers, and kept their gaze straight ahead. With confidence as her disguise, Geist walked out the back gate and nodded to the Germans manning the heavy artillery. So long as they were walking away from the front, the other soldiers paid them little heed.

  The moment they rounded the far bend, Geist, Vergess, and Battery made a wide loop around the forest doubling back to head for the western front.

  CHAPTER NINE

  FRATERNIZING

  THE STRAIN WAS GETTING WORSE.

  The bleeding, the injuries, the stress, the fatigue, relying on Battery just to move—Geist could feel her resolve slipping. For two days, they had traveled the back roads and military supply trains in an attempt to get closer to the French front lines. Casually approaching was out of question while they wore German uniforms.

  Vergess’s insistence on safety over speed meant longer routes than Geist would have taken, but fatigue took away her greater judgment. All they needed to do was get back to Fort Belleville. Could she make it? She was less and less sure with every step she took.

  Geist stopped walking and leaned against the post of a broken country fence. Once, before the trenches and aerial bombardments, farmlands dotted the hills. War changes everything.

  Battery took the opportunity to catch his breath. Although they had gone through the same ordeal, he hadn’t been bleeding from a bayonet wound—he still had energy to spare.

  Vergess, on the other hand, didn’t appear strained in the least. Geist knew apex sorcery could keep a sorcerer going far longer than normal human endurance allowed. She gritted her teeth and swore to her herself: I’ll have him teach me. Apex sorcery is in my bloodline as well. I need to be able to pull my weight.

  But developing the sorcery would take time. It wouldn’t help to start out on the road between frontlines.

  “Fort Belleville is on the horizon,” Vergess said.

  Battery breathed a sigh of relief. “If we surrender ourselves, we’ll be taken as POWs. With our identification tags, they’ll notify Major Reese, and he’ll straighten everything out. But there’s a chance the snipers might see us before we reach the soldiers. We can remove our tunics and cover the green of our uniform with mud and—”

  Geist slipped and fell to her knees on the packed earth, her body trembling.

  Both Vergess and Battery flinched. They stared for a moment, their brows furrowed.

  “Are you all right?” Battery asked, hovering close.

  Geist cringed away, her hand tightly wound into her tunic.

  Vergess glared at the smaller man. “Give him some space. He needs to breathe.”

  “A-all right.”

  Battery took a few steps back and tucked his hands into his armpits, his frown deepening. “I can’t,” Geist forced herself to say. “Leave me and—”

  “We’re not leaving you,” Battery said, cutting her off. “We can make it together. We’re so close.”

  Vergess knelt by her side and reached for her, but Geist shoved him away as hard as her arms would allow. Her heart beat a mile a minute, sweat drenched her clothing. Vergess slid one arm behind her trembling shoulders, but Geist shook her head.

  “Don’t,” she hissed.

  He got close, his breath on her ear. “Relax. I already know.”

  “I…” Even in her exhausted state her heart reacted to his closeness. Knowing he could sense it brought a flush to her face.

  “I’ll keep you safe. I swear it.”

  “I can’t go back like this,” she rasped, straining to speak through the weariness. The siren song of sleep haunted her thoughts. “What if… what if someone…”

  I can’t go back. The first field medic who examines me won’t hesitate to inform command of my disguise. I have no choice.

  “I won’t let anyone discover you.”

  Vergess’s voice came as sweet relief. Geist hadn’t realized how afraid she had been of discovery. Having one other person—just one—who was looking out for her made a world of difference.

  “Wilhelm,” she whispered. “Please. I need Cross. Only Cross. Promise me.”

  “I promise.”

  “I… well…”

  She couldn’t articulate the urgency well enough. The helplessness that came from being unconscious frightened her. Unable to control her fate; the frustration ate at her willpower. Hot tears burned the corners of her dry eyes.

  Vergess effortlessly lifted her into his arms. His body—so solid, so warm, so comforting—helped Geist relax. He held her close to his chest, allowing Battery to take the lead and guide them through the war-torn French countryside.

  “I’ll keep you safe.”

  Thank you was what she wanted to tell him, but the words never came.

  Geist took in a handful of deep breaths and closed her eyes. .

  The bustle of a full medical ward woke Geist long before she wanted. Nurses, medics, wounded soldiers, and delivery servicemen crowded the cramped Fort Belleville hall just beyond her private recovery room. Simple cots were assigned to men with minor injuries, but the sick and diseased were kept separate to prevent outbreak.

  Geist fumbled with her heavy blankets, confused and covered in sweat. Taking in even shallow breaths proved difficult. The bandages over her chest were numerous and unforgivingly tight—thick enough to obscure curves. Her arm had the same treatment.

  The door opened and closed, revealing a bag-eyed Cross. Even in her worn state, she held herself with ladylike grace, as always.

  “Geist,” Cross said, her eyes widenin
g. “You’re awake.”

  Geist’s dry throat made it impossible to speak. Her chapped lips clung together; the pounding headache that followed didn’t help, either.

  Cross brought over a short glass of water. Geist threw back the beverage and motioned for more. Cross gave it to her slow, one cup at a time, and observed with a critical eye.

  Cross’s magic mended wounds, but it couldn’t refuel a tired body like Battery could. Hunger still clawed at her belly.

  “Cross,” Geist muttered, her throat wet at last. “Why are these so tight?” She rubbed at her chest and grimaced.

  “I’m sorry. Percival refused to be kept out of the room. I figured with enough gauze, no one would be able to tell. He was by your bedside until thirty minutes ago.”

  “No one found me out?”

  Her heart raced the moment she asked. Vergess had promised, but perhaps he had been negligent in his duties. And what if Battery figured everything out simply from close proximity?

  “Percival said nothing to me,” Cross replied. “But he’s been quite chatty since he’s returned. Way different than when I first met him.”

  Geist smiled and pulled at her medical dressings. “And what about Vergess?”

  “He refused to stay in the room while I treated you. He’s been standing out in the hall.”

  “Hm.”

  When the bandages didn’t loosen, she stared up at Cross. “Can I get rid of these now?”

  “I told Percival you left your injuries go untreated too long—that my sorcery could only help a small amount—which is why I kept the bandages on you.”

  “Is that true?”

  “Of course not. I also told him you had a chest wound, which is how I bound you without further question. Keep that in mind if someone else asks.”

  Geist breathed a sigh of relief.

  Cross took a seat on the edge of the bed and sighed. “Percival insisted that he use his sorcery to empower me. His magic is incredible—I felt as though I could heal anything, even your wrist. But it wasn’t enough. I’m sorry.”

  Geist ran a hand over the distorted skin. “It’s fine.”

  “You’ll be back to combat shape in no time.”

  “Thank you, Cross. For everything.”

  “No need to thank me,” she said. “I’m just glad you’re not dead.”

  “You can thank Battery for that.”

  “Battery?” Cross asked.

  “Percival.”

  “Ah. It all makes sense now. I wondered who the others were talking about.”

  Geist rotated her arm and smirked. Cross is amazing. That bayonet wound would have sent a normal soldier home. She settled down and stared at her blankets. Most men would give anything to go home—even an arm. And here I am, celebrating staying on.

  Cross touched her shoulder. “How did this happen? I thought your specter sorcery kept you from harm?”

  “I couldn’t use my magic. I lost my focus.”

  “Lost your focus?”

  “It happens.” My wrist will never be the same.

  Thoughts of cutting her flesh away and removing the tainted fabric-skin hybrid crossed Geist’s mind. Another part of her wanted to keep it forever—to remind her of everything that happened.

  Cross turned away. “I see.” She stood and smoothed out her frazzled blonde hair. “I need to go. You should rest for the remainder of the day. If anyone asks, you’re still injured. I’ll be back to check in on you.” She turned to the door, and without another word, she exited.

  Geist knew something was wrong. Cross was always so positive, despite the often grisly nature of her work. She’d seen the worst war had to offer, and nothing had cracked her resolve yet. At least, nothing Geist had seen.

  So why is she so somber now?

  Shaking her head, Geist allowed the questions to fade from her mind. She had a million other things to worry about—from the New Schieffen Plan, to Vergess, to Battery—and sitting around in a bed wasn’t going to get her any answers. She threw off her blankets and slid off the mattress onto firm legs. Cross works miracles.

  Geist found her uniform in the standard hiding place, folded neatly and ready to go. Another one of Cross’s many favors. Geist dressed with mechanical efficiency and headed for mailroom. The grime of three days’ worth of field travel clung to her skin beneath the clean fabric of her uniform, and Geist craved a shower.

  The lull between major battles allowed soldiers from the front to return and change places with a fresh batch of men. The crowding in the fort got to the point of claustrophobia, but there was nothing to be done. Geist waded through the soldiers with her gaze down and her mind elsewhere.

  The mailroom swarmed with activity. All soldiers loved delivery day, each praying for a letter from a loved one or a parcel from home, and the static trenches at the front lines meant that soldiers were easy to track down and deliver to.

  Geist approached the counter and veered off to the side. There was no point in asking if she had any mail. Charles Weston didn’t have family—and nobody would be writing Florence Cavell out on the German front.

  The backroom, a narrow storage space behind the mailroom, was reserved for the members of the Ethereal Squadron. The sorcerers of Verdun had their own lockers and couriers, their parcels handled a little more delicately than the rest. This impromptu space was all Fort Belleville could spare on short notice, though the room served its purpose, given how few sorcerers Verdun actually had scurrying about.

  Geist walked into the back, surprised to see three others rummaging through their lockers.

  “So it’s true,” Tinker said, slamming the door of his locker and fiddling with a small brown paper-wrapped package. “You’re already up and moving.”

  That’s already common knowledge? Geist thought with a side-smile. Of course it is.

  Tinker rubbed a thumb over his nose. “I knew you’d live. You’re like a weasel, ya know that? We had a weasel problem back home. Damn things never go away.”

  Yeah. Thanks.

  He continued, unabated: “I’m surprised you even got hurt! Cross said you got stabbed in the arm and the chest. Shows what a bruiser you are, though. Most men choke to death on blood when they get a bayonet that close to the heart.” Tinker punctuated his statement with a quick smack across Geist’s chest.

  She recoiled, bright red in the face, and pulled her uniform collar close to her neck. Goddammit, Tinker!

  “Oh, fuck,” Tinker said, holding up a hand in apology. “I’m sorry. Cross said you were still injured, but I just, well, didn’t believe her. You know how some nurses get. It won’t happen again, I swear.”

  Geist glared, still flushed with embarrassment.

  He held out his package and shook it, the sound of a hundred small objects tumbling inside. “You wanna share my cookies? My gal back home made them special.”

  “I don’t want your cookies,” she stated, her mouth salivating at the mere mention of homemade treats. I’ll eat later, once everything gets sorted out.

  “Suit yourself.” Tinker pulled the box back. “My gal is cute as a button. These are gonna taste like heaven. Plus—and this is the best part—she said she sent me photographs.”

  “Wow. Fantastic.”

  “Heh. Don’t get too jealous. You can still change your mind.”

  “I’m not changing my mind.”

  With a crooked smile, Tinker pushed away from the lockers. “Okay, well, I’ve got important cookie-business to attend to.” He strolled out of the backroom, his brown paper-wrapped parcel tucked under his left arm.

  As Geist turned to glance back at her locker, she noticed Caveat staring. His round face, set in a frown, drooped more than usual. Geist couldn’t help but sigh and engage the man.

  “Is Tinker’s gal even real?” she asked with a forced chuckle. “I wouldn’t put it past him to bake his own damn cookies.”

  “Oh, she’s real,” Caveat replied. “They’ve been betrothed since they were children. You know how it goes.
”

  Geist snorted. She knew all too well about arranged marriages. Anything to guarantee the babies would have the right mix of sorceries. She had avoided hers without a second’s regret.

  Caveat continued, his voice quiet, “He only just met her before he was deployed. He says she’s beautiful—from House Rosenthal. You know how striking they can be.” With a mumble and a sigh, Caveat shut his locker and ambled over to stand near Geist. “I hope I live long enough to find someone.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “Commander ordered all Verdun sorcerers back to the fort after he thought you, Vergess, and Battery died.”

  “Everyone’s here?”

  “Oh, yeah.” Caveat’s face lit up, dispelling all traces of his sullen state. “And you should’ve seen Blick after he heard Battery hadn’t returned! He was so livid when he thought his little brother had died. He practically demanded to get assigned the next zeppelin raid—like destroying all the zeppelins would bring his brother back. I’ve never seen him lose it like that.”

  “How did Victory take the news?” Geist asked.

  “I’m not sure. He disappeared for a while. No one saw him ’til earlier this morning. Maybe he knew Battery was still alive. Who knows with his magic.”

  Before she could ask any more questions, Caveat took a step closer and leaned in close. She leaned away, narrowing her eyes in suspicion, but the man either didn’t notice or didn’t care. He glanced over his shoulder before asking, “So what’s going on?”

  She stared at him in silence. Although Geist felt the information paramount, she trusted the commander to dole out intelligence as need.

  “Something big is happening,” Caveat continued, his hushed tone laced with excitement. “The commander called in a special sorcerer from the Sinai and Palestine Campaign—all the way from the Middle Eastern theatre. He’s some sort of infiltration specialist.”

  Caveat scooted in closer. Geist took a step back.

  “C’mon,” he said. “At least tell me if something’s going on.”

  “Something’s going on.”