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

by Shami Stovall

  Geist disliked the silence.

  She had been in many debriefings. The ones with bad news always started quiet.

  Her gaze shifted to Vergess, who lingered in the far corner. He stared at her, but looked away when she met his eyes. He stood separate from the others, and Geist recognized the way he kept to himself to avoid attention—she had become the master of this technique herself.

  The door to the office opened and closed, revealing Tinker and Caveat. Before they could mutter greetings or apologizes for their tardiness, Major Reese pulled down a scroll map mounted on the wall behind his desk. A web of hand-drawn red, black, and blue lines covered the topographical map of France and the surrounding countries.

  “Gentlemen, we have a sorcerer from Marne here with us,” Major Reese said in a baritone voice that shook the room. “Vergess has served with the Ethereal Squadron for some time now and will be stationed with us in Verdun until called to another special assignment.”

  The men of the room gave Vergess a quick glance before returning their gaze to the map. Geist took note of their narrowed stares and dismissive waves of their hands. People seemed to know of Vergess—either through reputation or personally, though Geist wasn’t sure which.

  “But now we need to focus.” Major Reese struck the map with a finger along the red line. “We failed to move the frontlines north.”

  Geist winced. That had been her assignment—hers and the rest of her team’s—to save the prisoners and to move the Triple Entente further north.

  “What?” a soldier leaning on the far wall asked. “Then why is Geist back? His team was assigned that battle. They should still be there. The Germans are already too close to Paris. If they take France, they’ll be free to focus on the Russians.”

  “Yes,” another soldier said, chiming in. “We should send them back until we’ve broken the lines.”

  Major Reese held his hands behind his back, silencing the crowd as though with sheer will. He glanced between the men before speaking. “Geist has made his reports. Sorcerers attacked in the trenches. Cutter, Little Wick, and Buttons are dead.”

  Shock rippled through the room.

  One sorcerer shook his head. “Not Cutter. He didn’t die. He can’t.”

  Everyone turned their gaze to Geist. She hesitated for a moment before holding her head high and nodding. “I saw it with my own eyes. Cutter died fighting.”

  “And Buttons?” Tinker asked, his voice distant. “The same happened to him?”

  “I don’t know what happened to Buttons.”

  “You didn’t stay?” one man blurted out.

  Geist turned her attention to the speaker, the highest ranking member of the Ethereal Squadron outside of Major Reese himself—Victor Hamilton, codenamed Victory.

  “You left them to die?” Victory asked.

  The accusation in his voice cut deep. The eyes of the others tracked Geist’s every move and motion, judging her. She took a step forward and, through restrained rage, chose her words carefully.

  “I would never leave them behind. I stayed until the last moment. They were in the trenches—I tried to warn them, but it was too late. We didn’t understand the threat. I watched Cutter and Little Wick melt in front of me before I turned to flee.”

  The others glanced among themselves, sharing silent conversations. They lit a whole new round of cigarettes. Vergess returned his gaze to her, unflinching and intense.

  “Then what happened to Buttons?” Victory asked.

  “Buttons used his magic to return,” Major Reese interjected. “He made it to my office before dying. His wounds were consistent with Geist’s report.”

  Geist went to speak but the words never came. Her eyes dropped to the floor and to the commander’s desk. Bloodstains. Bloodstains everywhere.

  He came here, Geist thought, her mind’s eye picturing Buttons in a state of horrific agony, similar to Little Wick and Cutter. He came here to make his report. To warn the commander. God, what could he have been thinking? Why didn’t he go straight for Cross?

  Words filled the room but Geist couldn’t hear them.

  She was the sole survivor.

  “Geist.”

  She heard her name, but it didn’t register.

  “Geist.”

  Their faces flashed through her mind—Cutter, Little Wick, and Buttons. Had she failed them somehow? Victory seemed to think so—and Victory was never wrong. Could she have done something else to help them?

  “Charles!”

  The sound of her assumed name broke her trance. Geist snapped her eyes up to meet Major’s Reese’s steely gaze. “Yes, Commander?”

  “Did you get a good look at any of the Abomination Soldiers? Do we know who is responsible for creating the gas?”

  “I identified First Lieutenant Agustin Fechner, but otherwise I didn’t get a good look at any of the others.”

  Geist took a step forward before any follow-up questions could be asked.

  “A sorcerer didn’t create the gas,” she said. “It came from a shell. None of the sorcerers activated it, either. The soldiers on the battlefield did.”

  Again, the eyes of the room honed in on her.

  Major Reese shook his head. “Impossible. That’s not how sorcery works. It cannot be stored and activated by someone else.”

  “But—”

  “Enough, soldier. It’s a fact of magic. You create it and control it. No one else. You can’t simply dole it out like rations.”

  Geist took a deep breath and stopped herself from speaking further. It was inappropriate to argue with a commanding officer, especially in the middle of a debriefing. But she knew what she saw.

  Then again, she knew the limitations of her magic. Her father had made sure of it. Magic, fueled by the sorcerer, could only be wielded through will and focus. Those without the gift could never wield it for themselves.

  So how had the soldiers unleashed the weapon?

  I have to say something. He has to know.

  “Sir,” Geist said, her voice steady. “The German soldiers fled once the weapon was deployed. And I know I didn’t write this in my report, but the enemy first lieutenant died in the fighting, consumed by the monstrous gas.” She hadn’t seen his death, but there could only be one outcome.

  The members of the Ethereal Squadron murmured things amongst themselves, their faces set in glowers. Major Reese exhaled.

  “Older sorcerers are capable of a great many things,” he said. “Perhaps an unknown sorcerer could have been on the battlefield in an unfamiliar form.”

  The others nodded in agreement, but Geist’s frown deepened.

  Victory stepped forward, his posture straight and his uniform well-pressed. “We need to identify this sorcerer posthaste. Assign me to the task. I’ll handle it.”

  Standing near the front of the room, his chest out and his chin forward, Victory looked every inch like a wartime propaganda poster-boy. His dark hair shone, parted neatly to one side, and his muscled frame rippled even under layers of clothes; they said he had a perfect record, that he’d earned his codename in a hundred splendid conquests, maybe more.

  Another sorcerer stepped forward. “I’ll go with him.”

  It was Bernard Hamilton, codenamed Blick, Victory’s first brother, a bulky mountain of muscle with stubble shading his square chin. He placed a hand on Victory’s shoulder and smiled wide.

  “Very well,” Major Reese stated. “You and Blick will act together on this. You’re to identify the enemy sorcerer and neutralize him. Your top priority is this task and this task alone. Everything else is on hold.”

  Victory nodded; Blick answered in kind. Although Geist disagreed with Major Reese’s assessment, she breathed a sigh of relief. Victory will handle everything. Whatever the source of this evil might be, he’ll find it.

  The door opened, setting everyone on edge. Geist glanced over her shoulder and spotted Cross. The matron-in-chief stepped into the commander’s office and saluted. Major Reese rolled up the map
of France and covered the paperwork of the latest assignments before answering Cross’s gesture with a salute of his own.

  “To what do we owe the pleasure?” he asked.

  “Word has come from Fort St. Michel,” Cross replied. “They have injured there that need emergency care. St. Michel is only a short distance east. I want permission to go before disease sets in.”

  “Sounds dangerous.”

  Major Reese’s words were punctuated by a low rumble that shook the office. Aerial bombardments and German artillery could be felt from more than a hundred miles away. The relentless enemy assault had wiped entire nearby towns off the map and permanently rearranged the landscape. Everyone knew getting caught out in a bombing raid was a death sentence—sorcerer or no.

  “They need my care,” Cross said. “I can travel with the medics.”

  “I already have to write the parents of three fallen soldiers today. I won’t write your mother, too, to say her daughter died fighting a man’s war.”

  Cross’s shoulders stiffened, but she held her head high. “I knew the risks when I joined the Ethereal Squadron, and I understand that—”

  “We allowed you to join the Ethereal Squadron because of your extraordinary abilities. You aren’t military, so I’ll overlook this outburst, but as your commanding officer, I am the one who decides what risks you take. Do I make myself clear?”

  A host of expressions lit across her face. A child would continue to protest. A civilian would be indignant. But Cross, a soldier in her heart despite Major Reese’s remark, seemed to realize the conversation was over and slumped her shoulders.

  “I understand, sir. If you’ll excuse me, I’ll return to my duties.”

  She turned and left without another word, leaving the room to its silence. Tinker—who had slithered along the wall until stopping at Geist’s side—elbowed her in the shoulder.

  “Cross is a real live wire,” he whispered. “You better look after her.”

  Geist ignored him. She watched Major Reese unfurl the map and uncover the assignments, seeing the pain that lingered in his stern eyes. She trusted the commander. He’d never send his men into danger unless it was absolutely necessary.

  But then again, he wouldn’t trust her, not if he ever learned her secret. She would become something else to him—not a soldier, but something fragile and demure. Something that needed protecting.

  Geist felt her gaze drawn inexplicably to Vergess. He had accepted her, hadn’t he? He knew her secret and hadn’t immediately dismissed her. Perhaps it was because he saw her fight or perhaps it was because he owed her his life, but it didn’t matter to Geist. His respect, whatever its source, eased the loneliness of her long masquerade.

  But would the others be so understanding?

  She shook her head and dispelled the thoughts. What would her father say if he knew her doubts? No—no need to ask that. She already knew.

  You’re going to fail. You can’t pretend to be something you’re not.

  Geist glared at the floor.

  Major Reese tapped his fingers on his desk. “Gentlemen, until this threat is taken care of, all engagement with enemy sorcerers should be avoided. This Grab-Hersteller Gas will henceforth be referred to as GH Gas in all reports—and, obviously, it should be strictly avoided until we can find a way to counteract it.”

  “Commander?” Caveat asked, his voice a mere whisper among rowdy men. “Won’t the Germans break the French lines with the GH Gas? If we avoid fighting, they’ll head straight for Paris.”

  “Your assignments for the time being will be to target enemy sorcerers and neutralize them as always.” Major Reese picked up a stack of papers and waved them for the group to see. The information on each page detailed a member of the Abomination Soldiers—information that Geist suspected came at a high price.

  Major Reese motioned to three men. “Tinker, Trilogy, Big Wick—you’re to accompany the ground troops at Fort Souville. All details of your target can be found here.” He folded up the paperwork and slid it into a stiff envelope before handing it over.

  Tinker, Trilogy, and Big Wick, the tallest men in the room, regarded each other over the heads of everyone else with nods and slight smirks.

  “Geist,” Major Reese said, his gaze shifting over with a discerning quality, “are you capable of handling another mission so soon after the last? You haven’t been yourself today, son. Be honest with me. I need you at your fullest, or I need you recovering.”

  Geist straightened. “You have me at my fullest.”

  “Good man. Then I want you with Percival.”

  Chuckles escaped the mouths of the other soldiers. Percival Hamilton, a small man who blended with the shadows of his corner, stepped forward. He was only a few months out of school and barely eighteen—the youngest member of the Ethereal Squadron by far, and the only member who had yet to experience combat and thus hadn’t earned a codename. He was also the younger brother of Victory and Blick—but compared to his brothers, Percival looked almost childlike.

  Then again: the Hamilton family always produced exceptional sorcerers. Surely this Hamilton wouldn’t be any different.

  “Are you grouping us based on height?” Tinker quipped, ruffling Geist’s hair through her cap and nudging Percival with a narrow elbow. “Look! It’s Team Teensy-Weensy!”

  Chuckles turned to laughs as Percival stepped up next to Geist, proving Tinker’s point. They stood at nearly the exact same height—both a few inches shorter than Caveat, the next shortest soldier in the room. Percival kept his gaze low. His cheeks flushed bright red and his body stiffened with embarrassment.

  Geist didn’t mind the japes. The men just needed to blow off steam. Geist understood. After everything she had been through, she needed a good laugh, too.

  “Is this a training mission?” Geist asked, eyeing Percival.

  He had the wiry body of a student athlete, not the bulk of a soldier. Had they even sent him through basic training? Geist knew times were desperate. The French were trained by fifty-year-old men brought out of retirement. Everyone had to do their part, even if that meant sending a sorcerer out into the field before he was ready.

  Percival glowered at her, his eyes a mix of unreadable emotions. “I don’t need any further training. I’m quite capable.”

  “This is an evaluation mission,” Major Reese stated. “Geist, you’ll give me a detailed report on Percival’s sorcery and how he uses it in battle. You’ll both be stationed at Fort Souville. We have reason to believe that zeppelins will join the fray and bombard the countryside.”

  The mere mention of the zeppelins got certain men uneasy; half the room squirmed, each puff of smoke shorter and shakier than the last. Even the most powerful sorcerer had reason to fear a zeppelin: they were huge flying machines, heavily armed and heavily protected, and could wipe a town clean off a map with one of their bombardments.

  Major Reese pointed to another man in the room. “Albatross has already been briefed on your target, Geist. He’ll take point.”

  Hubert Haas, codenamed Albatross, stepped forward, a half-smoked cigarette hanging on his lips. Although Percival was younger, his age differed only by a few years from most in the room. Albatross, on the other hand, took the award for oldest in the squadron, beating out Major Reese and even the sixty-year-old General Pétain. Although he had graying hair and a face marked with heavy lines, the standard uniform fit him fine. No extra flab on the gut, no shrinking from age—at least, not yet.

  “Major,” Vergess said, silencing the room with his gruff voice, “may I have a word?”

  Major Reese nodded. “Of course, son.”

  Vergess walked up to the commander’s desk and leaned against the edge. He whispered something to Major Reese, his words washed away by the conversations growing within the room. Geist strained her ears, but nothing came of it.

  She couldn’t help but hold her breath. What if he was exposing her right now? He might be telling Major Reese I can’t handle the mission. Or that
I shouldn’t be in the army at all. Or maybe he’s—

  “All right,” the commander said, once again silencing the other soldiers. “Vergess will also be assigned to the zeppelin raid. He knows the airships, and it’s imperative we knock these floating metal monsters out of the sky.”

  The men in the room cheered.

  Geist felt the same tightness in her chest and gut. He requested to join her team? Why? The rest of the room buzzed with excitement as the last of the assignments were doled out, but Geist couldn’t conjure the will to pay attention.

  At least Vergess hadn’t outed her. He’d kept his word, like a good soldier.

  Tinker jabbed her with his boney elbow. “Hey, you ever worked with Vergess before?” he whispered.

  “No,” she said. I always had my old team.

  “Well, even if Percival is a greenhand, Vergess will cover you. That guy’s a killer.”

  “A killer?” Geist repeated. With a codename like oblivion, I can see why.

  “Yeah. He’s ruthless. He fought and killed ten Abomination Soldiers single-handedly. That’s what my mates at Marne say, at least.”

  Geist nodded along with the words, taking them in one at a time. She’d had no need to know the capabilities of the other teams when she had a permanent one of her own. Geist regretted not knowing more about the others, but there was nothing to do about it.

  I wish I knew how someone like Vergess got captured, Geist thought as she stole another glance. But at least I won’t have to worry about him pulling his weight.

  Major Reese motioned Geist close and handed her a packet of paperwork. “While Tinker, Trilogy, and Big Wick secure the ground, you four will take to the skies.”

  Geist simply nodded and took her paperwork to the back of the room. Percival followed, his eyes glued to the envelope. The hazy lighting made for poor reading, but Geist opened up the packet regardless.

  Before she could read up on their target, Percival positioned himself behind her and stood on his tip-toes to read along. Geist sighed, turned around, and pushed the paperwork into his arms.