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

by Shami Stovall

  Dreamer shook his head. “Perhaps your brother would be better served reading the romantic deeds of literature’s great heroes? There is much he could learn from these pages alone.”

  “We don’t have time for books.”

  Dreamer replied with a chuckle, turning yet another page. Much to Geist’s curiosity, the Arab withdrew a pencil from his front pocket and wrote some notes directly in the pages of his novel.

  What’s he doing?

  The train car returned to silence momentarily. Blick glanced over at Vergess, and Geist gave Blick a glare and waved him on. Blick replied with a glower. They stared off for a moment until Blick finally exhaled.

  “Vergess,” he said, a hint of distain in his voice. “C’mon, then. Tell us your story.”

  Geist gave Blick a smile, but the other man simply rolled his eyes.

  The train clacked on the tracks, the only reply.

  Victory motioned Vergess over. “Everyone else answered.”

  “I agree,” Battery said. He turned to Geist. “Don’t you want to hear?”

  She rubbed her cheek with the heel of her hand. Of course I do.

  “Tell us a story,” Geist said.

  Although Vergess didn’t move closer, he did let out a strained exhale before he said, “And here I heard Englishmen didn’t kiss and tell.”

  Blick scoffed. “No need to be so gentlemanly. There aren’t any women here to offend with simple stories. Or is this an excuse? Battery and Dreamer weren’t embarrassed by their chastity. You don’t have to pretend you’ve been with women if you haven’t.”

  “I don’t need to pretend,” Vergess snapped.

  “Then tell us. What happened?”

  Several seconds passed before Vergess said, “Her name was Isidora. I met her in Serbia. It was there. In Belgrade. We had no common experiences, but we were two pieces cut from the same cloth. A simple conversation, and I knew she was a woman worth fighting for.”

  Battery nodded along with the words, a smiling growing on his face. “Really? That’s the kind of story I want to have for my children. Something romantic. Something you’d read about.”

  Vergess ended his story without another word. Geist held her breath, wondering what came of their relationship. Is she waiting for him? She turned and focused her gaze on the passing countryside. He’s like Victory—of course he would have someone waiting.

  “Okay,” Blick said as he rubbed his palms together. “Let’s mingle.”

  “Mingle?” Battery repeated, one eyebrow cocked.

  “Yes. The next car over is filled with beautiful women. We’ll save them from their boredom. And ours.”

  “That’s a terrible idea.”

  “Better than staying cooped up here.”

  Battery grabbed his rucksack and held it close. “What if we offend them? I learned nothing from your stories other than we’re a group of mostly incompetent gentlemen!”

  Both Dreamer and Victory laughed.

  “You just need practice,” Blick said. “C’mon. I’ll show you.”

  Battery gave Geist a sidelong glance. “How would you approach women?”

  “Well—” Geist began.

  Then she stopped short. It occurred to her that while she was a woman, she’d never wanted anything the other girls in her life dreamed of. Even when the war broke out, she had opted to fight rather than develop her corpus sorcery to heal. Most women became medics. She was a soldier.

  Think. I should know something. What would my mother like?

  Even that struck her as a difficult question.

  “It’s… complicated,” Geist said at last. “All women are different. That’s my actual advice.”

  “Nah,” Blick said. “I have some universal pointers that I’ve been saving to pass on. I know what women want. Trust me.”

  I can’t wait to hear this.

  Battery lifted both eyebrows.

  “First off,” Blick said. “Women want men who are gentle with them, but rough with everyone else. You have to be tough on the outside, but soft enough for them to feel like they’ve learned the real you.”

  Geist could hardly believe her ears. Who taught him this? Even Victory couldn’t stifle a smile. Despite Blick’s declarations, Battery listened intently—if he had a paper and pencil, she imagined he would take notes.

  “Second, you need to make eye contact as much as you can. Across the room. In a conversation. While you eat. Whenever. You. Can. Women love it when you stare deeply into their eyes. Lastly, you need to pick a physical feature about them and compliment it as the most beautiful you have ever seen. Her eyes. Her hair. Her complexion. No other girl compares. Got it?”

  “Is that what you do, Geist?” Battery asked, a naïve genuineness to his tone.

  She answered with a nervous laugh and nothing else. When she snuck a glance at Vergess, he was stifling a chuckle, a slight smile fixed to his face. I can’t believe he’s enjoying this.

  “Do you want to join us?” Blick asked, giving Victory a stern stare. “We need to test my techniques.”

  “No,” Victory replied. “I have news to catch up on.” He picked up his paper and returned to the headlines.

  “Dreamer?”

  Although still smiling, the other man shook his head. “This sounds like an activity for brothers.”

  “C’mon,” Blick said. “You’ve been reading this entire time.”

  “Trust me when I say I don’t have what women are looking for. So there’s no need for me to go. And I enjoy my novels. Now, if only the train served tea, it would be a pleasant afternoon.”

  Geist lifted an eyebrow. Didn’t have what women were looking for? She had never heard anyone use such a phrase. And what was he talking about? He clearly had the looks, and he spoke with an upper-crust accent. Most women considered those desirable traits.

  Blick gave Vergess a fleeting glance before turning his gaze to Geist. “How about you? You claimed to be an expert.”

  “No, thank you,” Geist said. Mingling with women disguised as a man will be awkward. I needn’t risk anything unnecessary.

  Without anyone else as company, Blick grabbed Battery by the upper arm and helped him up. “All right. Just me and you. I’ll show you how to be a proper gentleman.”

  Battery’s flustered movements, quick breath, and pink face got Geist smiling. How could he have problems finding someone? The man had a sincerity about him that most lacked. He’ll be happy one day, I know it.

  The two brothers exited the front car and disappeared into the women’s car, opposites in every regard. One large, one small, one jovial, one reserved, one confident, one… not so much.

  A stillness came over the car. Victory and Dreamer read to themselves, content. Without company, Geist glanced over at Vergess. He stared out the window, his eyes vacant, as if lost in thought. When she was certain no one was taking note of her actions, Geist got up and moved to the seat next to his.

  “You’re engaged,” Vergess said under his breath, never shifting his gaze.

  “Not anymore. I was being truthful when I said entering the war ended that.”

  “Hm.”

  Geist leaned back and crossed her arms. She wanted to ask about the girl in Serbia, but it really wasn’t her business. She and Vergess weren’t anything more than soldiers in war, even if the curiosity ate away at her insides.

  “She died,” Vergess drawled, answering her unasked question. “Isidora. That’s the spy I told you about. She was captured and I saw recorded reports of her execution.”

  “Who caught her?”

  “The Austro-Hungarians. She was targeted for assassination as a member of the Black Hand.” Vergess shook his head. “I hated working with the Austrians. It was the worst part of my career when the Kaiser ordered me to act as a double agent. It was… ultimately why I left.”

  Geist refrained from speaking. The one truth Vergess didn’t know came back to her.

  She was Austrian. Her father hailed from the capital city, Vienna
. She made up the name Charles Weston and assumed an American identity because her mother was American, and because she had lived in New York for a few of her younger years, gaining an appropriate accent.

  I’m American and Austrian, she told herself. Both. I’m not lying.

  But it had been one of the major reasons she joined the war. Austria-Hungary had crimes against other nations, and declared war on Serbia, engulfing all of Europe in a bloody conflict. Germany acted as their stalwart allies, creating a power block against the other nations, but Austria-Hungary was behind the war.

  “I’m sorry for your loss,” Geist whispered.

  Vergess sighed. “No one can change the reality of war. Still, the thought of her dying because of the conflict… alone and without anyone else. It’s hard to describe.”

  “Isidora, you said? What house did she belong to?”

  “I don’t wish to discuss it,” he snapped, his voice louder than before. He took a deep breath. “I’m sorry. Let’s just move on. There’s nothing that can be done about it now.”

  “All right.”

  The clack of the train continued in rhythm. Geist couldn’t bring herself to stare at Vergess. I never meant to open an old wound. She went to stand, to leave him to his thoughts, but Vergess took hold of her sleeve.

  “Stay,” he said under his breath. “Please.”

  She retook her seat and lifted an eyebrow.

  “Even if we don’t speak, I’d rather not be alone with my thoughts.”

  Geist nodded, understanding the weight of the past could crush one’s desire to see the future. Anytime she thought of her dead teammates she felt a crushing ice heavy on her soul.

  “Perhaps you can tell me about apex sorcery,” she said. “It’s in my blood, but I’ve never practiced it.”

  Vergess gave her a sidelong glance. “And you want to develop it?”

  “Yes.”

  He chuckled. “Very well. I’ll start by telling you the basics. It might take the remaining seven hours of our trip.”

  “Better than being alone, right?”

  They both shared a knowing smile.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  THE EVENING ROSE

  “APEX SORCERY STRENGTHENS YOUR BODY,” Vergess said as the train clacked on. “You become stronger, tougher, more capable in every way, physically.”

  “I’m aware,” Geist said. “My father practices. He’s an expert.”

  “Is that right? Well, the way I learned is through meditation.”

  Geist shifted around on the train seat, her eyebrows knit together. “I thought apex sorcery was developed through physical strain. Exercise and such.”

  “No. Apex sorcery may alter the body, but its strength comes from deep within. I mastered ruina sorcery because destroying things is easy. Mastering your own body—that’s what apex sorcery is all about.”

  “I see,” Geist muttered.

  She had always imagined her father working hard in a field, pulling a plow with his bare hands. He was strong enough to drag three plows if he wanted, all thanks to his magic.

  Imagine what I could do with such an advantage.

  So she closed her eyes and tried taking even breaths. Vergess did the same, and the conversation between them died. But Geist didn’t know what to think about. What was perfection? How would she quiet her mind when she still had doubts about her place in the world? About failing her teammates? About her charade?

  It all seemed impossible.

  The train ride dragged on. Even with Vergess’s companionship, Geist was happy when the ride came to an end at last.

  Geist exited the luxury car only to be greeted by the icy winds above the English Channel. The city of Le Havre rose before her—churches, abbeys, and tall villas soared above the cityscape. The city had largely been shielded from the war’s destruction. Away in the distance, past the grit of the city proper, was the maritime boulevard, complete with casinos and beach huts. The seaside resort would have been a relaxing sight had the roadstead beyond the port not been filled with British warships.

  “Want me to carry your bag?” Blick asked Battery, eyeing his oversized burden.

  Red in the face, Battery secured the rucksack firmly against his back. “Very funny.”

  “I’m serious. It looks heavy.”

  “I’m quite capable, thank you.”

  Battery marched on ahead. Geist held Blick back, allowing the distance between them and Battery to grow before speaking.

  “You can’t treat him like a little bother,” Geist said, keeping her voice low.

  “He is my little brother.”

  “You said it yourself—he’s a man now.”

  Blick scoffed and pushed past her. “Some things never change.”

  The streets of Le Havre held the bustle of merchants and sailors. News from the western front spread from one person to the next, each retelling more grisly than the last. The death toll was high—higher than any had dreamed, and the fighting had just begun. Whispers of German spies caught Geist’s ears, but what she heard sounded more like fearmongering than fact.

  The port at Le Havre swarmed with naval types. British reinforcements unloaded from transports, their fresh faces and excited murmurs a hard sight for Geist. She knew they would be different men once the trenches ground them down.

  Steering away from the military vessels, Geist headed for the Evening Rose, a tramp steamer loading the last of its cargo. Major Reese’s information included details of the Evening Rose’s armament and complement. The captain, Edward Madison, and his first mate, Kevin Kell, were both members of the Ethereal Squadron based out of New York. They ran deliveries for the US and UK under the guise of merchants, bypassing most wartime travel restrictions.

  Captain Madison refused to use a codename, according to Geist’s notes—thought they were yellow-bellied. His first mate, on the other hand, went by the codename Shell.

  Geist hustled to the loading ramp, an anxious energy fueling her steps. Every wasted moment ate away at her mind like a slow-spreading disease.

  She panned her gaze to the line of passengers waiting to board. They were paupers and, she suspected, foreign nationals fleeing the war-torn lands of their birth. Without engaging the mundane populace, Geist made her way up the boarding ramp, passing the throng of passengers waiting to have their things inspected.

  When she stepped onto the deck of the Evening Rose, a wiry man with a matted, rust-colored beard blocked her path.

  “Too good for the line, lad?” he asked, a thick scent of sea salt about him.

  “I’m here for Captain Madison,” she stated. “I have special accommodations with him.”

  “You found ’em. You’re Geist?”

  “That’s right.”

  “Good.” He lifted his seaman’s cap and smiled, his smoke-stained teeth rough and gnarled. “I’m glad to see you’re American. I was afraid it’d be haulin’ another Brit.”

  “Something wrong with Brits?” Victory asked as he stepped off the ramp and landed on the swaying deck of the steamer.

  Captain Madison placed a long cigarette in his mouth. “Ah. It seems I didn’t get lucky enough. Forgot you brought a team.”

  “We won’t be any trouble,” Geist said, taking note of the damp atmosphere and harsh chill wafting up from the waters.

  “We’ll see. Brits can be awful prissy.”

  “Did he just say what I think he said?” Battery asked, stepping onto the slick deck of the ship and almost slipping. He straightened himself, brushing off his crisp slacks.

  The captain pulled a pack of matches and struck one against his teeth. “Ugh.” He motioned with his chin to the bow of the ship. “Bring your men. I’ll give ya the nickel tour.”

  Geist nodded. The Evening Rose would be their transport to and from Belgium—knowing its interior better wouldn’t hurt. She waited for each member of her team to board and found Dreamer lingering behind, his steps unsteady and his eyes flitting to the edge of the boat repeatedly.

>   “You okay?” Geist asked.

  “I have no love for deep waters,” Dreamer stated, his posh voice twanging with nerves.

  “Can’t swim?”

  “I can swim.” He ran a hand through his thick blond hair and forced a smile. “But to me, the darkness of deep water looks exactly the way I imagine the depths of hell. I’d simply prefer not to float above it.”

  “I see. I suppose you can stay below deck.”

  “Perhaps I shall.”

  Geist hurried to catch up with Captain Madison, careful not to slip due to the rocking of the boat. She had traveled on ships many times, especially as a child when she would travel from Austria to New York, but she’d never earned her sea legs.

  “The Evening Rose was laid down in nineteen oh three,” Captain Madison stated as he walked out onto the open bow. “She had a different purpose then. Now she carries four forty-seven millimeter guns—and my favorite, the fifty-seven millimeter there at the front.”

  The 47mms were heavy naval guns, operated while standing and mounted to the deck with thick steel bolts. Each ammunition shell, as long as a man’s forearm, weighed three pounds and had to be loaded individually after every shot. The 57mm, with six-pound shells and a ninety-inch barrel, sat mounted at the forward deck, a pair of recoil cylinders equipped to the sides in order to reduce kickback from the devastating shots.

  Captain Madison exhaled a long line of smoke. “We had ’em installed a year back after the fighting started. We run cargo, mostly; the Germans play nice because we’re neutral, but you never know when you might need the firepower.”

  He turned and motioned to the deck cabin.

  “The Evening Rose is two hundred and sixty-two feet from stern to bow.” Captain Madison glanced back with a smirk. “That’s eighty meters to you Brits.”

  Battery snorted. “Unlike you Yanks, we learn both systems.”

  “I know you have a plot to replace one with the other.”

  “One is objectively better.”

  “Feh. If somethin’ works well enough, you leave it alone.”

  A chill drizzle settled over the port. The lines of passengers shivered through the cold, unwilling to look for shelter and lose their place in line. Puddles of water appeared across the deck of the ship as crewmen hustled to get everything tied down and secured. Geist observed a family devoid of menfolk—a grandmother, a mother, three teenage daughters—huddling together as they waited their turn to descend into the bowels of the ship.