Caveat snapped his fingers. “I knew it. Tinker is gonna want to hear this. He’s been talking about striking back for some time now. Those damn Huns have been asking for it. First Lock and Chorus, then Buttons, Little Wick, and Cutter—and now Albatross and Forest…Everyone wants to get serious and end this.”
Albatross. The name gave her pause. Of all seven sorcerers who had died at Verdun, Geist had been present for more than half of them. She didn’t believe in omens, but even Belshazzar had been able to see the writing on the wall.
“What happened on Tinker’s assignment?” Geist asked, attempting to escape her thoughts. “He was ordered to kill the Abomination Soldier on the ground while we took the zeppelin.”
“The yellowbelly never showed. Big Wick and Tinker covered the whole battlefield in fire. The Huns won’t forget that fight, that’s for sure.”
Geist remembered the magic built into the zeppelin and wondered if it, too, had been scheduled for testing. Perhaps the enemy sorcerers didn’t show because they were afraid of the zeppelin’s capabilities.
Murmuring the entire time, Caveat secured the buttons of his uniform, fastening everything into place while he spoke. Geist didn’t bother to tune in. With a nod and an “uh-huh,” she opened her own locker and took stock of her meager supplies. Underneath an extra box of Cellucotton and behind her one spare uniform and trench knife sat a black and brick-red ribbon. She fiddled with the smooth, delicate cloth before pulling it out and wrapping it around her deformed wrist, covering the fabric fused to her skin.
“That from Cross?” Caveat asked, pointing to her wrist.
She secured the ribbon and refused to answer. It was a gift from her younger brother, one of the few people in her early life she remembered fondly. She needed anything to lift her spirits, lest she fall into despair.
“I hate to be the one to tell you this,” Caveat said, once again leaning in close. “But Victory is trying to steal your girl.”
Geist held back a laugh. “What do you mean?”
“I mean, he sent Cross’s family a marriage proposal. Her family denied him—surprisingly—but now everyone’s been talking about how he’s trying to steal her from you. I’d suggest you write to her family, but if they’re denying men from House Hamilton, you know they’re going to deny a family as obscure as House Weston. No offense, of course.”
“Did anything else happen?” Geist asked, shutting her locker door.
“Tinker said you should pop Victory right good in the jaw. That’s a little barbaric, if you want my tuppence-worth. They might discharge you for it, too.”
Geist opened her mouth to speak but stopped the moment she spotted Big Wick lumber through the door. The gaunt Englishman trudged in with a knapsack and ammunition belt hung around his neck like a pair of deadweights. He let out a strained sigh as he threw his burden to the floor.
“Geist,” Big Wick said, his voice the harsh rasp of a life-long smoker. “Vergess has been asking about you.”
“All right,” Geist said. “Thank you.”
Before Caveat could continue, Geist slipped from the room. She had heard enough. Rumors usually didn’t hold her attention for too long, but Caveat’s ramblings did indicate why Cross might be upset. Geist scoffed as she rounded the sharp corners of Fort Belleville and headed for the wall. Nothing wound her up her quite like family politics.
I need to nip this in the bud before it gets out of control. I’ll speak to Cross and straighten things out. But first, I need to shower. And then maybe I’ll see Vergess. And I need to speak to Major Reese.
She cursed under her breath. I’ll drown in my own to-do list.
Geist shook her head. Everything had to be put on hold.
Fort Belleville had a limited selection of showers that the enlisted men cycled through. Although she had used fort showers once or twice in the past, the overcrowding made it impossible without getting caught. Instead, Geist headed for the medical showers. Cross gave her a key to the facility, which was reserved exclusively for the nurses and Red Cross volunteers.
Geist jumped in the first one available, gritted her teeth through the icy water, and washed without a second’s delay. Then she jumped out of the water, half slipping on the concrete floor, and stumbled into the towel cabinet. She dried herself and pulled back on her clothes.
But she wasn’t done.
Maintaining her disguise included a certain amount of façade. Geist exited the medical shower and headed for the washroom. Everyone had to shave—it was required for all enlisted men—and Geist couldn’t avoid showing up for the routine, even if she could avoid being seen in the showers.
The washroom had rows of mirrors and sinks mounted to the wall, each smaller than anything found in a comfortable home. Straight razors and face soap sat in the dozens, provided free to the soldiers, waiting for soldiers who needed to trim their whiskers.
Geist took her position at the farthest station. Act natural, she told herself.
She had faked her way through shaving before, but not without cutting herself. The straight razors were kept sharp by the maintenance staff. Too sharp, in Geist’s opinion.
She covered a brush in soap and painted it onto her cheeks, chin, and neck. It was all for show, but Geist enjoyed the way the soap felt on her face. It didn’t last long, not with the mud of trenches, but it the brief moments of cleanliness were worth the awkward dance of shaving hairs that weren’t there.
Once her face was covered, Geist brought the straight razor up to her cheek and slid the blade around, cleaning off the soap in whatever zigzag of a line she could muster.
“Pathetic.”
Geist locked up and turned her head. Vergess stood next to her, leaning against the wall with a sardonic expression, one eyebrow up, and crossed his arms over his muscular chest.
She looked around. The other men were too absorbed in their own shaving.
“What’re you doing?” she asked under her breath.
“Watching you smear soap across your face.”
Geist grew hot in the cheeks despite the cool presence of the soap. “No one’s ever commented.”
“They’re being polite.”
Stifling a laugh, Geist returned her attention to the mirror. “I haven’t cut myself.” She sheepishly added, “Today.”
“You haven’t learned yet?”
“My father didn’t think it necessary to teach me,” she quipped.
“I’ll show you.”
His declaration sent shiver’s up Geist’s spine. She refused to meet Vergess’s eye on the off-chance he could read her emotions. He can probably smell it, she sarcastically mused, but she still didn’t want to risk it.
Vergess stepped up close and held out his hand. Geist placed the straight razor in his palm. To her surprise, he took her chin in the other hand and tilted her face up, forcing their gazes to meet. She was half tempted to push him away—that was her tactic whenever the other soldiers got close—but Vergess already knew her secret.
Blood rushed to her cheeks as she stared into his hard, blue eyes. He had an intensity about him, even when doing something as mundane as shaving.
He placed the razor on the side of her face, the blade against her burning skin.
“You start below the ears and stoke down, slow and consistent.”
Geist wanted to nod, but she couldn’t. Instead, she focused on his set expression, on the angled lines of his masculine face.
“Hold the skin taut with your other hand. That’s the key to a close shave. Let the blade do all the work.”
His calm and instructional voice was pleasant. He sounded stern, yet regal, like he was teaching a prince.
“Then you lather up a second time,” he said as he grabbed a brush covered in soap. “And this time you go against the grain.”
Vergess reapplied the soap to her face, rinsed off the blade, and went to work yet again, shaving her already smooth skin as though there were whiskers to remove. Geist swallowed hard, enjoying the feeling of his rough hands ag
ainst her chin. Although callous, he was never forceful with his touch.
“Lastly, you wash your face with cold water and aftershave, if you have it.” He set the blade down and cocked an eyebrow. “Did you get all that?”
Geist felt over her smooth cheeks and nodded.
“Good.” Vergess handed her the straight razor. “Then show me.”
“Show you?”
“That’s right. To see if you were paying attention.”
She half smiled. I didn’t know there would be a test. With hesitant movements, Geist grabbed the brush and brought it close to her face. Vergess grabbed her wrist and shook his head.
“On me.”
Geist blinked, expecting him to reveal his jest at any moment. He didn’t. Instead, he grabbed a chair near the back wall and dragged it over to the sink. He sat down and tilted his chin up to expose his neck, a smirk clear on his face.
It wasn’t uncommon for older soldiers to help the newer soldiers shave. And sometimes, with men who were missing fingers or their injuries caused their hands to shake, the camaraderie was necessary. But Geist had never done anything similar, and the idea of touching Vergess’s face made her palms sweaty.
My father would be furious, she thought with a smile.
She applied the soap, rinsed the straight razor, and placed the blade near his sideburns. With slow strokes she removed the fine amount of stubble that lined his cheek and jaw. Geist’s hand shook as she worked, her mind blank except for the occasional doubt.
She cleaned away the soap and then reapplied a second layer. He stared at her during the entire process, his gaze locked to her expression—to the slight smile she couldn’t stifle. The combination of nerves, excitement, and guilt affected her like heavy alcohol. She felt flushed and almost silly, but happy to be experiencing the moment with Vergess.
She shaved against the grain, removing the last pepper flakes of a beard. When her task was complete, Geist ran her knuckles over the smooth jaw, enjoying the warmth of his skin.
“What’s going on here?”
Geist whipped around at the sound of Tinker’s voice. His face was set in equal parts bemusement and delight.
“Uh,” Geist began, her mind grinding to a halt and speeding up again within seconds. “I was showing Vergess how to shave.”
Tinker snapped his attention to Vergess. “You don’t know how to shave? What kind of man are you?”
Vergess squared his shoulders but said nothing.
Tinker smacked him in the gut and chuckled. “You really didn’t know how? You? Oh, I can’t wait to tell the others.” His chortling soon devolved into full on laughter that echoed throughout the washroom. Others joined in, if only because of Tinker’s manic declarations.
After sneaking a glance and catching Vergess’s stern expression, Geist mouthed a quiet “Sorry.”
He gritted his teeth and narrowed his eyes but otherwise kept silent.
She knew it would be frontline news for all the members of the Ethereal Squadron within a few short hours. Anything that wasn’t war-related—and was even slightly happy—traveled faster than a flu in a schoolhouse.
“I have to go,” Geist said. “Major Reese needs to see me.”
She dashed for the door, still flushed from the encounter.
CHAPTER TEN
OPERATION
PROMETHEUS
FORT BELLEVILLE HAD OPEN COURTYARDS that separated the main facility from the walls by a good two hundred feet. The flat land beyond the walls, barren and stripped of trees, made for easy observation once up in one of the six watchtowers. The snipers at their posts regarded Geist with curt nods.
The northeastern watchtower greeted her with the cold chill of a building seldom ventured into. Geist walked up the spiral staircase to the top landing, pushing through the burn of her muscles by the time she finished the last few steps.
Major Reese stood at the sniper window, staring down the scope of a rifle while the gunnery waited nearby. Geist saluted.
“Reporting, sir,” she said.
“You never salute without your cap, son,” Major Reese drawled. “Standing at attention is fine.” He aimed with the rifle and fired. The crack of the weapon echoed outside of the tower, the kick barely affecting the major. With a frown, he handed the weapon back to the gunnery. “Your sight is faulty. Get down to the arms room and change out your rifle for something reliable.”
The gunnery nodded. “Yes, sir.” He stepped past Geist and made his way down the long spiraling staircase.
Alone with the major, Geist kept her back straight. “You sent for me, sir.”
Major Reese stepped away from the window and paced the small circular room, his gaze on the floor and his hands clasped together behind his back. His gut protruded more than normal, but he moved with a warrior’s gait.
“Battery and Vergess informed me of your frolic into the enemy base.”
Geist held her breath and waited.
“They said you came face-to-face with the GH Gas,” he continued. “That you went looking for proof of your theory. They say you insisted on going behind enemy lines and broke into a German-occupied fort.” He paused. “They also mentioned Albatross’s death and the… what I’m going to call the magi-tech zeppelin that crashed behind enemy lines.”
His tone barely concealed his anger, and Geist could understand. His orders had been to avoid the GH Gas at all costs. Entering an enemy fort was also a huge risk; getting caught could have been disastrous, especially considering the experimentations the Germans conducted on the French POWs. She braced herself for reprimand.
“I apologize for disobeying direct orders, sir.”
“Don’t bother,” Major Reese stated. He halted his pacing and turned to face her. “We both know I’m the one who needs to do the apologizing.”
“Sir?”
“You were right about what you suspected. I should’ve listened to you. You were the only one to see the GH Gas in action. I had no basis to doubt you.”
Geist narrowed her eyes and met Major Reese’s gaze straight on, relieved he saw things how they were. “What’re we going to do about this, sir? It’s like nothing I’ve ever seen before.”
“It’s like nothing I’ve ever seen either,” he replied with a long sigh. “The fact of the matter is that the Central Powers have the upper hand. The potential of this new magi-tech puts them leagues above our own might. Add to that the fact that the Russian Empire is slowly collapsing from within means that the Eastern Front many vanish, and soon, leaving the Germans and the Austrians to turn their full might on the Triple Entente. France is only hanging on by a thread.”
“Then I’m willing to do whatever it takes to stop them.”
“I’m glad to hear that, son. That’s why I’m ordering the formation of a special team to infiltrate the German frontline command and bring back the blueprints for magi-tech inventions. This operation—Operation Prometheus—is our play to even the odds. If we have magi-tech of our own, we can fight fire with fire and hopefully defeat Germany and Austria-Hungary once and for all.”
Geist nodded. “I heard you sent for a sorcerer from the Middle Eastern theatre.”
“Dreamer’s unparalleled in their schools of magic. We need the best of the best.”
She took in a deep breath, honored that the major would consider her good enough to be one of the best. “I’ll join the team proudly, sir.”
“Oh, Geist,” Major Reese said with a chortle, stroking his short peppered beard. “You’re not going to serve on the team. You’re going to lead it.”
“Me?” she asked, letting her voice slip into something more feminine than she would have liked. She cleared her throat and continued, “Sir, I—”
“Your initiative got us this information,” he stated. “And you’ve proven resourceful in every mission you’ve ever been on. Your record speaks for itself.”
My success record? The one written in the blood of my teammates?
Geist gritted her teeth. “
Sir, with all due respect, I think you might be making a mistake. I’ve never led an operation before.”
“You’ve never submitted yourself for a leadership role.”
“I’m not looking for prestige.”
“The best leaders never are.”
“I’ve only been in the military for a year, sir” she retorted, doubt welling within her. “I didn’t even know that I shouldn’t salute without my cap. I’m not experienced enough.”
“This isn’t a test of what you know,” the Major replied. “When you become a leader, you give up thinking of yourself. If you don’t know something, you ask the man who does. The team succeeds or fails—no one individual or another.”
“I wasn’t strong enough to protect the other members of my team. You should have Victory lead the operation. He never fails. He can see the future, for fuck’s—” Geist stopped herself cold, “—er, pardon my language. Sir.”
Major Reese folded his arms across his chest and exhaled. For a moment he said nothing, allowing his gaze to settle on the floor. A cool breeze swept between them.
“Victory will be the man I turn to if you’re adamant in your refusal,” he said. “But I wanted you in charge for the very reason that you have lost teammates.”
“What do you mean?”
“This operation is a thousand times more dangerous than anything I’ve ever assigned before. Victory’s future sight isn’t flawless, and sometimes I fear it may lead to disaster. He’s never lost before. What if someone dies on his watch and he can’t handle it?”
“You think I’m handling it well?” I sure as fuck don’t.
“You know the weight of failure. He doesn’t. And you’ve already proven you’re still willing to take risks for the greater good. Think, Charles. You could’ve ordered your men to retreat to safety the moment the zeppelin crashed, but you pressed forward regardless. You got us vital information, while keeping two other men alive.”
Geist remained quiet. Major Reese took advantage of her silence.
“Charles,” he said. “Take the rest of day. Tomorrow I’m breaking the men into two teams—one to attack Fort Douaumont, the enemy base of experiments, and the other to infiltrate the German frontline command and steal the magi-tech information for ourselves. I need to know your answer before then so that I can plan accordingly.”
The Ethereal Squadron: A Wartime Fantasy (The Sorcerers of Verdun) Page 12
