Minds of Men

by Kacey Ezell

  “All right, I’ll walk you back to your barracks,” Captain Peters said. Evelyn would have protested that she didn’t need him to trouble himself, but his tone told her he’d brook no argument on the matter.

  They walked in silence back away from the flightline to the Quonset hut that held the WAC barracks. A few of the other girls were standing outside, and one raised a hand to wave at Evelyn before she recognized the officer standing next to her. The wave turned into a salute, which Captain Peters returned crisply before turning to Evelyn.

  “I’ll leave you here then, Technician Adamsen,” he said, his tone formal and correct. Evelyn nodded and rendered her own salute. Captain Peters met her eyes and returned it, then dropped his hand and gestured for her to go on inside.

  Before she could do so, however, Captain Ledoux came charging out of the barracks, fury all over her face.

  “ADAMSEN!” she shouted. Evelyn jumped, then snapped to the position of attention. The other women ducked inside, leaving her alone under the captain’s merciless stare.

  “You stupid little girl! What in the hell were you thinking? Is your head so big that you think you can do what you want and don’t need to listen to listen to nobody and forget all you been taught? Mais-la! I should ground you and send you home, but we need you too much. But don’t think I’m not watching you all the time.” Ledoux’s face was red with fury, and her Arcadian roots became clear as she began to swear fluently in English, French, and the lyrical patois composed of both that characterized the dialects of southern Louisiana.

  “Captain Ledoux,” Captain Peters said, stepping up beside Evelyn. “Jeanne...really. Colonel Rizer already read her the riot act!”

  Captain Ledoux rounded on Evelyn’s pilot, her face red.

  “Mind ya business, Captain Peters,” she snapped. “Technician Adamsen is my responsibility.”

  “Then you ought to know better than to scream at her in public,” he replied, his icy, clipped words cutting through the fire of her righteous indignation.

  “How dare you?” Ledoux asked, her voice a hiss of fury.

  Captain Peters shrugged one shoulder and looked supremely unconcerned.

  “I dare because I was taught that leaders praise in public and reprimand in private. Not the other way around. Adamsen is a good psychic. She made a call, and Colonel Rizer judged it to be a bad one. He’s already reprimanded her. He doesn’t need you to underscore him and especially not out here in front of God and everyone.”

  Ledoux actually spluttered and opened her mouth as if she would say more, but Captain Peters spoke again in that same frigid tone.

  “Colonel Rizer ordered her to get some rest. I suggest you let her do that. Unless you’d like to explain why you felt it necessary to countermand the wing commander’s order? No? I didn’t think so. Good night, Technician Adamsen. You’re dismissed.”

  Evelyn’s throat closed up, and fear spiked through her belly. Captain Ledoux looked at her with those hot, angry eyes, but she didn’t say anything else. Evelyn swallowed hard and took a step backward on none-too-steady legs. She lifted her hand in a salute that she deliberately angled to include them both. Only Captain Peters returned it.

  Evelyn dropped her hand to her side and fled to the safety of the barracks, leaving the two officers to work their differences out alone.

  * * * * *

  Chapter Six

  So began a month that passed by in a blur for Evelyn. Ten missions in thirty days and nary a milk run in the bunch. With the success of the girls’ first mission, Colonel Rizer and the powers that be decided to utilize their unique talents only for the most difficult, riskiest missions deep into the heart of Nazi-occupied Europe.

  The nightmares started about two weeks in. They always began the same way: they were flying a mission, fighters were swarming the formation, and Evelyn and the other girls couldn’t keep the net tight enough, and one by one they all went down...

  It became a common thing in their barracks for the girls to wake screaming in the night. Unless it was you or your bunkmate, you just rolled over and went back to sleep. Anything else was too disruptive to the mission. They had to fly, and that meant that they had to sleep.

  The grueling pace began to take its toll in other ways, too. None of the women could keep weight on, no matter how much they ate. Many of the crews, Evelyn’s included, began to make it a personal mission at mealtimes to procure the best food for “their girls.” When anyone in the unit would get a “care package” with treats from home, he could expect to be swarmed with enlisted aircrewmen willing to beg, borrow, and steal in order to procure some of the goodness for their psychics. Evelyn, at least, dutifully ate every bite they put in front of her, though most of the time she didn’t want any of it. Her body needed the calories, as evidenced by the way she continued to lose weight. At night, she would drop, exhausted, into her bed and close her eyes, praying to whomever might be listening that she might get a few solid hours before either the dreams or the knock woke her.

  On the days when they didn’t fly, Evelyn and the others fought not to sleep all day. Captain Ledoux had announced in no uncertain terms that she would brook no laziness, so when they were allowed to sleep past 0400, they were up at 0630 for a uniform and barracks inspection. Privately, Evelyn thought that the captain would have been better off to allow the girls to get whatever rest they could, but she didn’t want to cross the other woman. Especially not after the confrontation between Ledoux and Captain Peters. Captain Ledoux still glowered at Evelyn whenever she noticed her, so Evelyn tried to remain out of sight and beneath notice.

  This, of course, infuriated Mary.

  “Jeanne Ledoux wouldn’t know leadership if it bit her on the hand!” she said disdainfully when Evelyn told her the story. They were sitting on Evelyn’s bunk before going to bed one night. Several heads turned their way, despite Evelyn’s frantic shushing.

  “Oh, stop it,” Mary said, tossing her blond hair with disdain. “It’s not like we don’t all know that anyway. She’s only an officer because she was the first of us to sign up and because she’s got a fancy college degree. She’s not nearly as skilled as you...or even me, for that matter!”

  “Mary, it’s still not right to talk about her like that!” Evelyn protested. “Whatever you think, she’s still an officer, and our commander, and she deserves our respect.”

  “Pffft,” Mary said. “Respect is earned, Evie, you know that. When she’s out there flying the line with us and our boys day in and day out, then she’ll have mine. You know she’s only gone on three missions. She might not be as skilled as most of us, but she’s got plenty of power, and those boys could sure use it up there. You know I’m right!”

  Evelyn did, indeed, know that Mary was correct. Still, rather than speak in such an inflammatory way about their commander, the dark-haired girl from Rapid City, South Dakota, kept her mouth shut. Captain Ledoux, like the rest of them, was handling the stress of flying in her own way. In the captain’s case, her answer seemed to be not to fly, citing a need to handle the administrative responsibilities of commanding their small, unique unit. While Evelyn could appreciate the impulse to stay safely on the ground, she couldn’t fault Mary for being harsh. Those men needed every one of them up there. Colonel Rizer had made that abundantly clear.

  Not that there was anything either she or Mary could do about it. Captain Ledoux would do as she thought best unless and until an officer of higher rank took an interest and intervened. In the meantime, Evelyn and the rest of the girls would just have to keep doing what they could to keep their crews alive and get the bombs on target.

  * * *

  About five weeks after they’d arrived, Evelyn and the other girls received their first tiny break. There were no missions scheduled from Thanksgiving Thursday through the weekend, and anyone who wanted it was given a pass into nearby London. The British, of course, didn’t officially celebrate the American holiday, but the pub owners and shopkeepers were more than thankful for the Y
anks’ business on these passes.

  Mary and Evelyn and several of the other girls all made the trip into town, going to see a show at the theater, and then met up for dinner at a pub frequented by both British and American flyers on liberty. They wore their WAC uniforms, of course, which got them a round of free drinks and quite a few curious stares. But the overall mood was jovial and welcoming, and Evelyn found that she enjoyed herself immensely.

  Mary, of course, fascinated the British men, and Evelyn found herself completely entertained by the way her friend flirted. It was almost like being at one of the dances she’d attended at the South Dakota School of Mines back home. The outgoing boys would approach her friend, and she found herself talking to, and even dancing with, the shyer, more introspective ones.

  It wasn’t until it was time to head back to the train that things got ugly.

  They’d left the pub with a group, mostly WACs, but some of their crewmen joined them for the walk to the train station. Evelyn felt good, warmed by the good time and the excellent ale the pub had served. She looped her arm through Mary’s, and the two of them walked together near the back of the group.

  Mary sang in her high, clear soprano, belting out the lyrics to “That Old Black Magic.” The hit song had been playing on the pub’s ancient radio.

  Evelyn joined in with her smoky contralto, singing about icy fingers running up and down her spine...

  The hands weren’t icy. They were hot and hard, and they reached out and wrapped around Evelyn’s bicep so fast that she couldn’t even blink before she found herself hauled up hard against a muscled chest. Another hand clamped iron-hard over her mouth and nose, cutting off her air. She heard Mary give a strangled scream that cut suddenly off in an entirely ominous way.

  “Wait,” Evelyn heard a voice from up ahead say. “Where’s Evie and Mary?” It was Logan Ayala, her ball turret gunner. He’d joined them at the pub and had been walking just in front of the two women a few minutes earlier. Evelyn reached out with far more force than she intended, and the net snapped instantly into being between her and Logan...and the rest of her crew, miles away.

  What? Evie? Carl asked, sitting up in his cot. What’s happened?

  Evelyn didn’t bother to take the time to apologize for startling them. At least two men grabbed us! she said, throwing the thought at Logan. Her captor lifted her feet off the ground and began to haul her along with him into an alley between the brick buildings. She had no idea where Mary was.

  Shit! Logan thought, not even bothering to excuse himself for his profanity.

  “Oh, lookee at you. You’re a right pretty bird, aintcha?” The man who held her spoke in a low, gravelly voice. His breath stank of tobacco and cheap liquor, and the rest of him stank of multiple days’ worth of being unwashed. Evelyn struggled against his hold, but his arms only tightened, and he chuckled in a way that turned her insides to ice.

  I’m coming, Evie! Logan thought. She could feel him running back the way he’d come, looking for them. She tried to send him clear images so that he could find the correct alley, but it was so dark, and her head felt fogged and slow from fear and alcohol.

  From somewhere to her left, another man laughed, and Mary screamed again.

  The sound snapped Evelyn out of her reverie. Her own captor’s hand tore at the buttons on her blouse. Evelyn took a deep breath and forced herself to be calm.

  I’m sorry, she said to her crew on the net. You don’t need to experience this. And then she cut the connection.

  “Evie!” Logan’s voice rang out in desperation. He really wasn’t that far away. But he didn’t know where they were, and as far as Evelyn was concerned, she and Mary were out of time. So she fell back on her last resort, the one thing no psychic ever wanted to have to do.

  She narrowed her focus down to a pinpoint and then slammed it home in the brain of the man holding onto her. He gasped as all of his natural psychic shields were ripped away as violently and painfully as he was ripping at Evelyn’s clothes. His entire mind and emotional landscape lay suddenly bare to Evelyn’s touch. She took hold of her fear and disgust and feelings of imminent violation and whipped them over that vulnerable surface, causing her captor to scream. His hold tightened on her, and then his arms abruptly fell away as she slashed at him again, opening him up, forcing her way down into his psyche where no one should ever be allowed to go. He convulsed, and she staggered away from him as he fell to the filthy cobblestones, writhing. Not far away, his friend held Mary up against a wall, one hand over her mouth, the other up under her skirt.

  Evelyn turned from her downed assailant to Mary’s. He turned to look at her as she struck, just as Logan rounded the corner between the two buildings. Once again, Evelyn rammed her way into the man’s psyche, ripping and laying bare. Her rage became a weapon she thrust into his brain, causing him to jerk, and cough, and then double over, retching.

  As for Mary, she took the opening that Evelyn’s attack had given her and brought her knee up, hard into the man’s face. The sickening crunch of bone echoed through the tight alley, and as the man went down, the California blonde followed, her lovely soprano voice screaming in fury as she beat on him with closed fists until both Evelyn and Logan had to pull her off of his half-dead form.

  “Come on, Mary-girl,” Logan said, half-lifting her. “Come on, there. You’re all right; you’re all right. He can’t hurt you now. Let’s get you two out of here. Let’s get back where it’s safe.” His eyes cut to Evelyn’s, but she steadfastly refused to reopen the net, no matter how badly it pushed at her. The feel of those men’s minds clung to her like the scent of decay, and her stomach roiled with it. She wouldn’t expose her crew to that, nor to the horror of what she’d done. Not in this lifetime. Not if she could help it.

  * * *

  The three of them stumbled out of the alley and into a halting half-run as they fought to catch up with the larger group. Evelyn spent the rest of the trip back to Ridgeway in silence. Logan and the rest of their group rallied around the two of them, but as Mary was more obviously distressed, she got the majority of the attention. That was fine by Evelyn. She sat quietly in her seat and slowly bit through her lower lip as she battled with what she’d felt and done.

  Not until they disembarked did anyone notice anything. Evelyn waited until the others had gotten Mary off, then she followed. But she tripped, just a little, coming off the train. Logan reached out to grab her, and the second he touched her, the net slammed back into place. All of a sudden, the screaming horror of what she’d done rocketed through the gunner, as well as Carl and the others who were waiting for them outside.

  Logan stumbled, his back slamming into the edge of the train car opening as he stared, wide-eyed, at Evelyn.

  A commotion of shouting and protests heralded the arrival of Carl and the rest of the crew, who were apparently shoving their way in.

  We’re coming, Evie, Sean thought to her. His mind-tone felt shaken and sick, but underneath it was all steely determination to be there and support her. Tears filled Evelyn’s eyes as blood from her lip filled her mouth.

  I’m sorry, she sent to them all in a mental whisper. She didn’t say it, but they all knew why she was apologizing. She knew she shouldn’t have allowed the net to manifest. They didn’t need to feel what she’d done. It was bad enough that she, herself, had to experience the utter violation she’s visited upon her attackers. She didn’t need to share it with the men she cared about most in this world. Once again, she moved to sever the net.

  Logan reached out and caught her by the wrist. She looked up, startled, and met his eyes.

  We’re a crew, he said, his words bolstered by the determination of the others as they fought through the rest of the disembarking passengers to cluster around her. You’re ours, and you don’t have to carry this alone.

  I can’t...I...

  Someone lifted her, nestled her head in the hollow of his shoulder. Other hands patted her back, smoothed her hair, held her close as the tears spilled
over, and she began to cry deep, wracking sobs.

  She didn’t remember being carried. She didn’t remember anything but the horror of the pain, humiliation, and violation she’d visited upon the two attackers. Somehow, though, she ended up in the little shed where she’d first met Sean and the gunners. Les held her cradled on his lap while Sean stroked her hair and murmured that she was all right, she was safe, and they wouldn’t leave her alone again.

  “Logan,” Carl said out loud, though they were still linked in the net. He and the rest seemed to be concentrating on supporting Evelyn, helping her to deal with her reaction to what she’d done. “Suppose you tell us what happened?”

  Logan nodded and opened his mouth, but Rico held out a hand first.

  “Your flask,” the Puerto Rican tail gunner said. “For Evie.”

  Logan nodded again, then reached into his shirt and produced the flask, which he handed off to Sean.

  “We were walking back to the train from the pub,” Logan said. Evelyn listened to his words and tried not to think, not to feel. She felt the onslaught of support from the rest of the crew, and Les’ arms tightened around her.

  “I heard the two girls, Evie and her friend Mary, singing behind us. I was talking to one of the guys from the 351st. I swear they were right behind me! Next thing I know, Evie’s got me in the net and is screaming for me to come find her. Only I couldn’t right away because I didn’t know where those bastards—sorry, Evie—those thugs had taken them.”

  Evelyn closed her eyes and pressed her face into Les’ shoulder. She wanted to breathe in the scent of him: clean sweat, aircraft engine exhaust, and the military spec oil used to lubricate the weapons. She wanted to obliterate the memory of the attacker’s scent and replace it with the scent of home.

  “Give her a drink,” Rico said, nudging Sean. The redhead flight engineer jumped, then obligingly unscrewed the cap on the flask and held it up to Evelyn’s lips. She obediently took a drink, welcoming the cleansing burn of the rotgut liquor. It tasted better than the memory of her dry-mouthed fear. She coughed as it seared its way down her throat. Sean nodded and re-capped it, but kept it close. They all figured she’d need more...they’d all need more...before this night was over.