“Ever wonder how many widows this war is making?” Battery murmured.
“No,” Blick said, his serious tone returning. “And neither should you. Think too long like that, and you’ll be putting a bullet in your head.”
Geist glanced to Vergess, his gaze still hard and unwavering. He’d been quiet since exiting the train. Geist assumed it had something to do with returning to Germany, but now she figured there must be more to it than that.
I guess war affects everybody differently. The sooner we hurry up and win, the better.
Captain Madison led them into the main cabin and down to the passenger holdings. The conditions belowdecks were as cramped as trying to squeeze forty men into a broom closet. Even the forts around Verdun had more space and ventilation. The cold gray steel of the ship creaked with each gentle wave upon the hull.
“Our first stop is Dover,” Captain Madison stated. “We’ll be dropping off passengers then. Afterward we cross the channel again to head into Antwerp. From there it’s a two-day hike to Spa. Half a day, if you get horses.” He motioned to a steamer trunk chained down to a bunk cot. “Major Reese wanted you resupplied. There are SMLEs in the trunk, along with some gasmasks.”
Victory popped the latches and threw back the lid. The Short Magazine Lee-Enfield was a bolt-action repeating rifle, the main firearm for the British Empire. The six in the trunk had a pristine shine, and the Mk. III variant had man-stopping power Geist had come to appreciate over countless battles.
The gasmasks, on the hand, were large and bulky. The eerie, dead-circle eye sockets and long canister filter that hung off the mouth gave them a haunting, almost nightmarish appearance. Geist hated looking at them. Their skull-like faces reminded her of the horrors gas could wreak during warfare—especially the GH Gas.
The captain sucked on his cigarette and finished it off, snuffing the butt on the floor of the ship. “I’ll be in Antwerp for a day and returning fourteen days after. After that, I’ll be trading throughout the Netherlands. If I see you, I’ll take you back to Le Havre. If I don’t, I’ll wait ten days before returning. No more. Got it?”
“What if we’re stopped by German warships?” Battery asked.
“The Brits up north have that covered,” Captain Madison said with a chortle. “The North Sea is under blockade. German warships haven’t gone anywhere for years.”
“And we’re to stay here?” Battery asked. “In the hold? With the… others?”
“Too prissy for the mundanes?”
Battery glowered silently. The standard procedure was to separate sorcerers from non-sorcerers, but the convoy to Belgium would last no longer than fourteen hours. For that short period, Geist was certain they could keep their nature a secret.
Geist nodded. “We can handle it. Take us to Dover.”
The persistent rain numbed Geist and the rest of the passengers of the Evening Rose. The hold, filled to the brim, felt gloomier than a funeral home. Further bad luck: the fleeing passengers’ soggy clothing thickened the air with a foul musk that stung Geist’s nose.
Dreamer, unwilling to go above deck, stationed himself on a cot and gripped the edges with white knuckles. The Hamilton brothers entertained themselves like only brothers could, recounting stories from their childhood and exchanging barbs.
After seven hours of musky, sweaty, soggy travel, Geist locked herself in the lavatory. She undid the buttons of her clothes and loosened her bindings. The ship had showers, but Geist couldn’t risk it. Instead, she stripped and used the wash basin with a single cloth to scrub the grime from her body.
Changing into a fresh set of clothes proved difficult in such cramped conditions. She twisted and turned in the tiny lavatory, laughing at herself out of the absurdity of her situation, wondering what the others would say if they saw her.
Geist packed her rucksack and exited the lavatory. Their storage room containing their luggage and guns sat empty—the only place under the deck with clear air. The groan of the ship on the waves of the English Channel echoed throughout the corridors. She threw her bag down next to the steamer trunk and glanced up to spot Vergess standing in the shadows of the corner. She nearly jumped.
“Vergess,” she muttered, meeting his stare. “What’re you doing here?”
He looked her up and down and then walked over, glaring. “You really should pay more attention to your disguise.” He grabbed the buttons of her shirt and fastened them the rest of the way. “And you should loosen your belt. When it’s tight, it adds curves to your body.”
Vergess abandoned the buttons and slid his hands from her shoulders to her hips, emphasizing the curve in question. Geist suppressed a shiver and stepped away, avoiding his gaze. Her hands shook as she undid and redid her belt to accommodate her figure.
“Like this?” she asked.
Vergess gave her the once-over, his eyes scrutinizing for a long moment, lingering on places that got Geist’s palms sweaty. Finally, he nodded, and Geist found it easier to breathe when he looked away.
His gaze stirred Geist’s imagination. Why? Does he just feel obligated since he knows? Or is there another reason?
The ship quaked and trembled, testing Geist’s balance. She stumbled and corrected herself, leaning onto the nearest wall. Vergess snapped his attention to her.
“What was that?” he asked, urgency in his voice.
She shook her head. “I don’t know.”
The ship shuddered again. Panic gripped Geist as she remembered the plummeting zeppelin. She wanted off the ship, and every second aboard was one too many. Deep breaths didn’t help and she gulped down air at an uneven rate.
“Get it together,” Vergess said. “We need to get to the captain.”
He ran past, his determination infectious. Geist took in a single steadying breath and chased after him, but their progress was halted by the crowd of passengers attempting to flee onto the deck. Crewmen at the doors blocked the halls.
“Stay calm,” a crewman shouted, his voice echoing off the metal. “Stay below deck. The ship is in no danger. It’s only a storm.”
Vergess pushed through the crowd and made his way up the stairs. The crewmen tried to stop him, but they were no match for his strength. Geist followed in his wake, exiting onto the rain-drenched deck before anyone could stop her.
The morning sun couldn’t penetrate the dark gray storm clouds blanketing the sky. Heavy rain whistled in at a diagonal slant, pelting the Evening Rose with raindrops like bullets. Vergess entered the boat’s center cabin and turned for the helm. Geist squinted through the storm. No land in sight.
When she entered the enclosed safety of the wheelhouse, Geist spotted the captain at the helm and his first mate at the binnacle. Vergess stared out the far window, his gaze on the shifting waters.
“What’s going on?” Geist demanded.
“The weather’s been queer for some time now,” Captain Madison said, wrestling with the helm. “Don’t fret. We’re goin’ around.”
“You’ve seen this before?”
“A few ships have capsized in waters like these. I try to save their crews when I stumble upon them. Not much luck.”
Blick burst into the wheelhouse, his clothes soaking and his hair slicked back. Geist caught her breath—his eyes were a bright gold, damn near bioluminescent. She had never seen something so striking on a sorcerer before.
“It’s enemy sorcery,” Blick stated between heavy breaths. “The whole fucking storm.”
Vergess snapped his attention to the other man. “What?”
Blick hustled to the window and pointed out into the dark waters, his gold eyes focusing on something no one else could see. His pupils dilated into a wide spot of black. “There’s something under the water. A ship? It’s not moving.”
“Did you just say a ship?” Captain Madison asked over the crash of rain outside of the windows. “Jesus, Mary, and Joseph!”
Victory and Battery entered moments later. Shivering and unsteady, Battery ran to Geist’s side a
nd gave her a questioning look. The small wheelhouse had become crowded.
“It’s definitely a boat,” Blick murmured. “There’s powerful sorcery inside—I can feel it.”
The captain shook his head. “A damn German U-boat. I can’t believe it’s been in the channel this entire time. I should’ve known.” He yanked the helm hard to starboard. “We’re right on the edge of it. Hold on and we’ll be out of this storm soon.”
Vergess turned on his heel. “Head toward it. We’ll end this here.”
“My guns can’t hit a target that far beneath the surface. Heading for it is suicide.”
“Victory,” Geist said. “What do you see? Can we handle the U-boat?”
Wiping water from his face, Victory shook his head. “We should sail around the storm.”
“Why?” Vergess asked. “Did you see a downside if we pursue?”
“No. All I see is a blur. It’s too difficult to say. So I still say we sail around.”
Vergess punched the metal wall of the wheelhouse, denting it under the force of his blow. The room flinched at the show of power, but Victory and Vergess stared each other down with steel resolve.
“Are you serious?” Vergess growled. “You want us to allow them to sink ship after ship? We’re right here. We can solve this problem.”
“We can’t handle a U-boat.”
“You can’t. Get me close, and I’ll get the submarine to surface.”
“The Evening Rose is full of civilian passengers,” Victory said, his voice rising. “If we start a fight, their lives will be in the middle of it. One torpedo will be all it takes to put us neck-deep in corpses.”
“And what of the other ships that capsize?” Vergess retorted, his voice rising above Victory’s. “You don’t think they’re filled with corpses at the bottom of the channel?”
“This isn’t a part of our operation!”
“This is war! We have to adapt to the situation or risk defeat!”
Captain Madison coughed out a bark and drew everyone’s attention. “Ladies! Enough of your pissin’ match! I hate the Germans enough to fight ’em, but you’ll have to do the heavy liftin’. We need to turn or we need to continue on.”
“The torrent is out of control,” Battery said, turning to the captain. “Can you get the steamer through the storm without capsizing?”
“I didn’t get to the position of captain because my magic can control songbirds, mate. The sea is my bitch.”
Everyone in the wheelhouse turned their attention to Geist. She took a step back and clenched her hands into fists. “Victory—you’ve never failed a mission. Don’t you think you can see your way through this?”
“I succeed because I avoid risks,” he said. “And even if we get through this, I can’t see how this will affect the outcome of our operation. It’ll certainly slow us down.”
“Well?” the captain demanded, looking Geist in the face. “It’s now or never, Commander.”
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
THE ENGLISH CHANNEL
GEIST LOOKED FROM ONE FACE to another and back. Both men were right. Fighting a U-boat could harm their chances of success, but she couldn’t bring herself to leave such a dangerous enemy vessel in the middle of the English Channel. It would kill so many, and harm not just their mission, but all of the allied powers.
Then again, if she failed, they could lose the war. And millions more would die.
You took the position, Geist. Now do the job.
“We should destroy the U-boat,” Geist stated.
“Good!” Captain Madison shouted.
He nodded to his first mate and slammed the helm to the side, turning the steamer into the oncoming waves.
The first mate, Shell, a fresh-faced Yank with a fisherman’s knit cap, punched in commands to the engine order telegraph, sending information down to the engineers in the engine room. A wave crashed across the deck and shook the Evening Rose like a blow from a fist. Everyone stumbled to keep themselves upright, but the captain’s enthusiasm didn’t wane, nor did the first mate falter in his transmission.
Where lesser boats would have had difficulty, the English Channel swirled to accommodate the Evening Rose. The captain’s sorcery rippled through the water, taming it enough for the ship to keep upright.
The rain intensified the closer they got to the U-boat, the chill of the weather and magic mixing together in the air.
Geist hated elemental sorceries. They were the most common and easiest to learn—and they cropped up in almost every bloodline. The schools of tempest and ignis sorcery were especially common, given advantages of fire in trench warfare and storms in naval combat. Before the war, tempest and ignis sorcerers would have been dismissed as inconsequential, their magic relegated to party tricks—but in combat, these sorceries became mighty forces of nature. They gave even average sorcerers devastating power that left lingering horror in Geist’s mind.
“Over there,” Blick said, pointing into the darkness of the storm. “Maybe twenty feet below the surface.”
Captain Madison held firm on the helm. “Keep your lighthouse eyes on our target, then; you’re my navigator.” He gestured with his chin, pointing to his first mate and then the door. “Shell, get to the guns and stand ready. We’re engaging.”
Shell ran out the wheelhouse and clanged the deck bell. The chime cut through the cacophony, summoning a small group of crewmen from belowdecks. They clawed their way to their battle stations dressed in lightweight armor, fighting against the squall.
Vergess turned to Geist, his hard gaze the definition of determination.
“You can get the submarine to surface?” Geist asked.
He replied with a curt nod.
“Then do it.”
Vergess ripped off his coat and vest and threw them to the floor. He kicked off his shoes, and, still dressed in a shirt and slacks, entered the storm as though the rain and wind didn’t affect him at all.
The rock and sway of the ship on uneven waves had everyone bracing themselves against the walls for support. From the wheelhouse, Geist could see the bow deck. The crewmen shivered through the rain to load the guns and steady them for attack. The men were confused—there no targets in sight, after all—but they followed commands regardless.
“We’re coming up on it,” Blick stated.
Through sleet and ice, the ship sailed over the U-boat’s location. It didn’t rise to meet them, nor did it fire. Why would it? The deadly submarine was camouflaged by the storm and fighting the Evening Rose without endangering itself in the slightest.
Vergess stepped up to the railing of the deck and leapt overboard, plunging into the dark, stormy waters of the English Channel.
“He’s mad,” Battery said. “What if he drowns?”
Victory ran a hand over his face. After a long moment, he let out a strained breath. “Turn the ship around. Vergess will make good on his word.”
“He will? How?”
“I see is him rising out of the water on the U-boat. That’s when we strike.”
Geist half-smiled. The major had put this team together well. Blick saw the targets, Victory gave her the odds, Vergess played the heavy—all the puzzle pieces fit neatly in place.
And she was leading them, she realized. She was actually doing it.
“It’ll take time to turn back around,” Captain Madison grunted, his focus clearly divided between his men, the ship, and his sorcery. “The Evening Rose isn’t a small lass, that’s for sure.”
Geist kept her eyes on the waves as the Evening Rose began its slow, looping turn. Only when lightning struck could she see anything beneath the water.
“It’s surfaced,” Blick announced, his gold eyes shining. “Right there!”
“Off the port side!” the captain shouted as he rang his bell.
The gunners hesitated, and the captain turned to Blick. “My men still can’t see the damn thing. Do you know how to operate a forty-seven?”
“I can manage.”
“Get
out there! I’ve got the U-boat’s location.”
Blick rushed from the wheelhouse and jumped to one of the big guns on the port side. The crewmen let him take aim, but the wind and unsteady waters made everything difficult, even for someone who could see. The punch of gunfire cut through the howl of the storm as Blick opened fire. Another shell, loaded by hand, was hoisted into the 47mm seconds later.
Return fire echoed immediately.
German U-boats, designed to submerge beneath the water, were narrow, tiny vessels. Made of thin metal and outfitted with the lightest of armaments, the enemy ship didn’t have the same firepower of the Evening Rose, but it had deck-mounted guns and cannons only a little smaller than the 47mms.
Torpedoes rushed beneath the surface, creating wakes as they hurtled toward the boat.
Shell ran to the side of the ship and held out his hand. The torpedoes surged forward, but instead of striking the ship, they exploded mere yards from the hull.
I guess that’s why he’s called Shell, Geist thought. She could feel the first mate’s magic blanketing a portion of the ship; his sorcery prevented the hull from taking damage, but he trembled and shook after each attack, as though each explosion was striking him instead. He hung onto the edge of the deck, his breathing ragged and his hand outstretched to guide his magic.
Enemy shell after shell exploded off the bow, sending plumes of water high into the night sky. But Shell’s magic couldn’t cover the entire length of the two-hundred-foot ship. Several shots slipped by his magic and made impact—shrapnel clipped the wheelhouse windows, shattering glass within the helm room.
Geist covered her face and ghosted, allowing the glass splinters to sail through her body without harm, but it ripped small holes in her clothing. The captain never released his grip on the helm, despite the cuts across his knuckles and forearms. Battery and Victory both fell back from the hit, a shard of glass striking Victory across the right eye.
The Ethereal Squadron: A Wartime Fantasy (The Sorcerers of Verdun) Page 17
