Geist replied with a single nod.
“You’re dismissed, soldier.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
TEAM ASSIGNMENT
“VICTORY WANTS TO MARRY ME,” Cross said.
Geist listened without speaking as she downed a swing of pale-red brandy from a dented tin can. The evening winds were quiet.
“He sent word to my family, but my parents wouldn’t allow it,” Cross continued. “They want me to stay with House Moreau.”
Tiny points of light sprinkled the tall grass surrounding Fort Belleville like flickering stars dotting the night sky. Geist had never seen so many glow worms in one location, nor had she seen them so close. Back home, she had chased fireflies as a girl, and the field of glittering lights brought back pleasant memories. She stroked the ribbon on her wrist, and for the first time since she left, a twinge of homesickness struck her.
“Do you want to marry Victory?” Geist asked, pushing the urges from her mind and steering the conversation away from the depressing.
Cross leaned back against the shattered oak tree and sighed a wistful sigh. “Have you ever felt your heart flutter, Florence? Felt your pulse quicken when you get close to somebody else?”
Maybe. Hard to tell sometimes.
“Of course not,” she forced herself to say. “I’m a soldier. I can’t entertain such thoughts.”
Cross smiled. “It’s intoxicating. Nothing like it in the world, nothing at all.” She closed her eyes and spoke as though lost in thought. “When we’re together, time passes too quickly. When he meets my gaze, I feel dizzy. When he grazes my cheek…” Cross chuckled. “… I lose my train of thought.”
“Sounds like an illness,” Geist quipped.
Cross laughed. “Maybe it is.”
“I should probably avoid it.”
“Love transforms even the wisest of men into fools.”
“You’re not convincing me it’s a good thing.”
Cross opened her eyes, her smile widening. “Explaining the joy of love to someone who has never experienced it is like explaining faith to the faithless. You’ll always sound crazy.”
“Heh,” Geist said with a smirk. “What’s so great about Victory, anyway?”
“He’s a gentleman through and through,” Cross replied, blushing. “I’ve never met a man who understands me so well or who takes my words to heart so closely. I would be honored to have him as a husband and to be called his wife.”
Geist finished her drink and snorted. “Then why listen to your family? Just do it. I mean, look at me. I defied my family. They wanted me to get married—but here I am.”
“I won’t abandon my family. Besides, I’ve work needs doing here. The war comes before my own personal pleasures.”
Geist nodded along with the words. “If Victory is so in love with you, why not ask him to elope?” she asked.
“Victory has responsibilities beyond his position,” Cross stated, turning away. “You know that. We all know that. He’s heir apparent to House Hamilton, he’s an older brother to seven siblings, and he’s second-in-command here in Verdun. Just as I can’t leave my post for love, neither can he. And I would never ask him to.”
Geist tied the tin cup to her belt. What’s Cross saying? That running from your family is selfish? That the responsible-minded would never do that? Is duty really more important than freedom?
Cross turned and gave the Geist the once-over. “What’s wrong?”
“I… I’m just lost in thought.”
“Are you going to accept the commander’s assignment?”
“I can’t. It wouldn’t be right.”
“Why not?”
“I’m lying to them,” Geist stated, her tone heated. “All of them. They don’t even know me. They don’t even know what I am.” She ran her hands through her hair, dragging her nails across her scalp. “I’m supposed to lead them? They’re supposed to trust me when I can’t trust them?” Geist closed her eyes.
Cross’s words echoed in her mind. I ran from my family. I ran from responsibility. Is that really what a leader is? A liar? A deserter? If the commander knew… if he had any idea…
“Don’t you fight alongside them?” Cross asked.
“Of course.”
“And you’d give your life for the fight if absolutely necessary?”
“I get it,” Geist snapped. “This is different.”
“Is it? You’re made by your actions, not circumstances beyond your control. The others know that. They trust you or else they wouldn’t stand beside you.”
“That doesn’t change the fact I’m lying.”
Cross folded her arms tight across her body and shuddered as the wind howled past.
“Then deny the commander’s request.”
“I will.”
“Perhaps it’s for the best.” Cross fell silent.
Geist gritted her teeth and glared at the moonlit dirt road. She could hear all of Cross’s unspoken words. Then perhaps you’re not suited to lead, Cross was saying. You’re more concerned about what people think of you than you are the team. You’re selfish.
Geist hung her head and fought back tears. Why am I crying? she thought with a forced laugh. Why am I so afraid?
But the images of fire and gas and corpses swirled in her mind. Watching her new teammates die—knowing it could be her fault—it burned and frightened her. More than running from her home. More than her father. More than her own inevitable death…
“What if…” Geist began, her voice quavering. “…What if I fail them?”
“Now you’re thinking like a leader,” Cross said. She walked over and placed a tender hand on Geist’s tense shoulder.
“What if it’s my fault the others died? This isn’t just another mission. It’s the mission. It’s more important than any other—the commander said so himself. What if—”
“What if they need you?”
“They don’t need me,” Geist said, jerking out of Cross’s grasp. “They have Victory.”
Cross lowered her voice to a whisper and said, “He told me once that… he sees his own death in his visions.”
“W-what?” Geist asked, turning her gaze to meet Cross’s.
“Victory. When he uses his magic, he sees the future. He told me he sees branching paths and, in some, he sees his own death.” Cross chuckled, her eyes becoming vacant as her thoughts drifted inward. “He told me it weighs on him. That sometimes he thinks… he might be forced to pick the path that results in his own death, all for the greater good… or worse yet, that he may have to choose the death of his brothers. It’s a heavy burden.”
“I didn’t know,” Geist murmured. “He’s never explained his magic to me before.”
“Everyone has their demons, Florence. Do you really think yours are so unique that you cannot shoulder the mantle of responsibility?”
Geist caught her breath and took a step back. Cross’s words hurt—but they were true. She ran a hand over her face and steeled herself. Joining the Ethereal Squadron had been difficult, and Geist had never thought it would go so far, but she was already in so deep. There was no turning back.
Geist exhaled. “Cross… Thank you.”
Brushing her blonde hair aside, Cross smiled. “We’ve been out too late. The others are sure to question our absence. We should return to the barracks.”
The Ethereal Squadron at Verdun had shrunk in the past weeks. They had once been a force of twenty, but Geist only counted thirteen, including herself, as she walked into the commander’s office. The tiny tactical room of Fort Belleville made it easy to identify everyone but difficult to breathe. The stifling atmosphere got everyone agitated.
Battery stood among his brothers, Victory and Blick, but his attention had been fixated on the door. The moment he spotted Geist, he broke away and crossed the room, ignoring all others. Geist turned away and veered off to the corner. Tinker and Caveat had claimed the space, but they stepped aside to allow her room.
“Geist,” Batte
ry said as he approached. “I’ve been searching since yesterday for you.”
She crossed her arms. “What is it?”
“I need to speak with you.”
“We’re speaking now.”
Battery darted his gaze to Tinker and back. “In private.”
“Sure,” she said, forcing a casual tone.
When he didn’t leave, Geist lifted an eyebrow. He gestured to the door. I guess he means now. Reluctantly, Geist followed Battery out of the room and stopped just outside the door.
Battery, confused, turned around a few feet away and then walked back. When he realized she wasn’t going any further, he lowered and his voice and asked, “Geist, what happened yesterday?”
Geist wanted to ask What do you mean? but the look on Battery’s face stopped her cold. His expression told her now wasn’t the time to joke—he was worried about her stay in the infirmary. On the other hand, she knew she could never tell him the truth, trapping her in a silent conundrum.
“You don’t have to keep anything from me,” he said. “I mean, you already know about my alteration.”
“Alteration?” Geist repeated.
“The opals in my back. To help me focus. I don’t like calling it an operation. What I’m trying to say is, why can’t you trust me to know you’ve been altered as well?”
Geist held her breath. The scars on his back. He thinks I have the same thing. Her silence only served to anger him.
Battery glared. “I know Cross is lying to me. I know you’re not suffering any lasting damage. I empowered her healing sorcery. Why bother with this charade? I’m not like Tinker. I’m not going to spread rumors.”
“But—”
“Here’s what I know,” he interjected. “You keep to yourself. You only let Cross see you undressed. You didn’t want anyone touching you. And, just like me, you’re on the, well, smaller side.” He huffed and turned away. “But not too small. Just… smaller.”
Damn. Vergess was right. I do need to be more careful with my disguise.
“I get it.” Geist sighed. “And you’re right. You figured me out.”
“Really?” Battery half-gasped as he whipped his attention back to her. “I knew it! Why didn’t you just tell me back when we were in the enemy fort?”
“I’m embarrassed about it,” she said, hating herself for every second of her alternate lie. God, nothing I say to them is ever the truth. I hope I’m not making a mistake.
Battery exhaled and then laughed, a visible relief washing over him. “I’m so glad you told me. I thought I was the only one in the entire squadron. I know this’ll sound crazy but… I dreaded being the only one. Like it would somehow prove I was lesser than everyone else. That I needed help—that I’d never be as competent or as accepted by the others.”
Like being the only woman among men?
“But everyone here likes you,” Battery continued. “Which proves the alteration isn’t a handicap—if anything, it’s more of an enhancement. I can be a sorcerer of the Ethereal Squadron just like any other man here. You agree, don’t you?”
“Of course.”
“And,” he said, holding his head high and buffing his fingernails over the chest of his tunic, “not that I want to toot my own horn, but I did figure everything out through deductive reasoning.”
“You’re a regular Sherlock Homes,” Geist drawled, restraining the urge to roll her eyes.
Like an untied balloon, Battery deflated. With a deep frown he said, “Ha-ha. I get it. You want me to stop.”
She slapped him playfully on the shoulder. “Where’s the fun in that?”
In the quiet moment that followed, Geist felt a sudden camaraderie with Battery. Even if he wasn’t in the same situation as she was, it was close enough. Her worries and concerns didn’t feel so alienating, not when someone else was going through something similar.
And it struck her then—Vergess was in almost the same position. The only German defector. Different from the rest and hiding it. They were a trio of secret misfits. And Geist was the thread that bound them together.
Funny how people are more similar than they realize.
Geist glanced over Battery’s shoulder and jumped to attention as Major Reese turned into the hallway. She saluted and Battery turned on his heel to do the same.
“Sir,” she said.
A strange man followed Major Reese, but Geist didn’t give him much of her attention. The commander motioned to the meeting room door. Geist and Battery went in first and reassumed their positions in separate corners.
The newcomer followed Major Reese into the room and stood at attention in front of his desk. Everyone fell silent. Geist couldn’t help but stare. Is he the specialist?
“Gentlemen,” Major Reese said, waving smoke from his face. “We haven’t the time for pleasantries. I’m going to cut straight to the chase.”
The murmur of conversation swirled around the room for a moment before each sorcerer gave Major Reese his full attention.
He held his hands behind his back. “This man here will help us with our current operations, all the way from the Middle Eastern Theatre. Welcome Agent Oliver Evans, codename Dreamer.”
Geist kept staring. He stood almost impossibly tall, his shoulders and back straight, his British uniform crisp and neat.
“It is a pleasure to work with the men of Verdun,” Dreamer said, speaking the Queen’s English so precisely one could mistake him for royalty. “I look forward to the assignment.”
“I heard this guy was Arab,” someone whispered behind Geist.
“Doesn’t look Arab to me,” answered somebody else.
Dreamer’s hair, sandy-blond and thin, was leagues from the black and dark brown most Arabic men possessed. And he had the pale skin of an Irishman or North Englishman. Even Vergess’s skin was darker, a color he had earned from hours out under cloudless skies.
But although Dreamer’s articulation and word choice reflected English high society, the dialect of his speech indicated English was not his first language. The Arabic tint to his pronunciation still shone through.
“These are dire times,” Major Reese said, shaking his head. “The GH Gas is something far more sinister than I thought we would ever encounter. We have no counter for it—not gasmasks, not suits, not anti-agents—and its lethal touch spreads like wildfire.
“But the gas is just a symptom of something much more pressing. The enemy has magical technology and we don’t. They have a terrible advantage. And now we have two important objectives. Everyone is to aid in these operations—you’re to give everything you can to their success. I can’t stress enough how the fate of France, perhaps even the Triple Entente, rests in your hands.”
His grave tone and unsteady voice got everyone in the room shifting their weight. Even Geist turned and watched the commander choose his words wisely, knowing full well his mood would spread to every man in the room.
Major Reese continued. “First: the majority of you will be attacking Fort Douaumont, the enemy base of experimentation and research. Your goal is to stop them at whatever costs necessary. We cannot have the enemy using their magi-tech on the front lines any longer.”
He took a moment before resuming his speech, his gaze downcast and set on the desk in front of him. “Second: a handful of you will be infiltrating the Oberste Heeresleitung—the German frontline command known as the OHL—in the center of Spa, Belgium. You will retrieve the secret of magi-tech and deliver it to our headquarters here.”
“Bruno,” Major Reese said, turning to the face the sorcerer leaning against the far wall. “You will lead the attack of Fort Douaumont. Tinker will act as your adviser.”
“Yes, sir,” both Bruno and Tinker replied in unison. Tinker’s exuberance and excitement laced his words. Geist hoped he knew what he was getting into.
Turning to each man he mentioned, Major Reese said, “Caveat, Trilogy, Big Wick, Gunner, Foolhardy, Quake, Vergess, Dirk—you all will make up the attack team. I’m counting on
you to bring Fort Douaumont back under French control.”
All eight men answered the statement with confidence, but Geist still couldn’t shake her doubts. The GH Gas could made quick work of talented men. The thought of all of them never returning got her restless.
“Geist,” Major Reese said, bring his gaze to bear upon her. “You will lead Operation Prometheus. Victory will act as your adviser. Blick, Battery, and Dreamer will make up your team.”
“Yes, sir,” Geist replied, the only one to reply. Her single voice was followed by a strained hush. Several men glanced over to Victory and then back to Geist.
“Sir?” Victory asked, his tone saying everything.
“I’ve made my decision,” Major Reese stated. “It’s for the best. Geist has shown remarkable initiative when concerning this magi-tech. We’ll need that dedication for the operation to succeed. Everyone part of the Fort Douaumont offensive should head to the arms room for further intelligence and resupplying. You’ll be joining the French military in the offensive. You’re dismissed.”
Vergess gave Geist an odd look before he disappeared into hall, maintaining his cold manner. Geist watched him go. Vergess had proven himself time and time again to be devastating in combat. Victory, Blick, and Battery weren’t even in the same league, and by the looks of Dreamer’s dandy posture, Geist assumed he wouldn’t be either.
Tinker slapped Geist on the shoulder as he walked by.
“Good luck,” he said under his breath.
With silent nods the last sorcerers concerned exited the cramped tactical room, leaving Major Reese, Geist, Victory, Blick, Battery, and Dreamer as the only ones remaining.
The smoke and heat didn’t feel quite as oppressive afterward. Geist allowed herself space to breathe and rotated her shoulders to relax.
Before Major Reese said anything about the mission, Blick turned to face Dreamer. “So, you’re an Arab, right?”
Dreamer didn’t seem to mind. He smiled and replied, “I was, indeed, born in Diriyah.”
The Ethereal Squadron: A Wartime Fantasy (The Sorcerers of Verdun) Page 13
