Minds of Men

by Kacey Ezell

  “Very tragic, too. Who knew that such a decorated group of the Reich’s Fallschirmjager would be so incompetent as to get themselves into a motorcar accident! You were lucky that you weren’t harmed, my dear,” Krieger said, his voice an insincere sneer.

  Lina couldn’t help it. Her fists clenched at her sides, and for just a moment, her anger and hatred flashed in her eyes as she stared at the pig of the man behind the desk.

  Krieger merely grinned at her, enjoying her discomfort.

  “Well, fortunate that you, at least, were saved. It would have been a pity, indeed, for the Reich to lose such a lovely vessel as yourself.” Krieger got slowly to his feet and walked around the desk toward her. Lina fought to stand her ground, even when he came close enough to touch her cheek.

  “Have you orders for me, Herr Hauptman?” Lina said quietly as the man stroked her face.

  “No,” he said, his voice soft. “You are to remain attached to my command for the time being.”

  Fear and anger clenched in Lina’s gut. That couldn’t be true! As a trained psychic, she was far too valuable to the Reich to be sidelined here! Not to mention, Krieger’s inappropriate manner was leaving little doubt of what he envisioned as her role here.

  With great care, Lina steeled her stomach and reached out a feather-light touch toward the Hauptman’s surface mind: salacious desire coated his outward thoughts, along with a cruel glee and satisfaction that he’d managed to put her defiant self into his power.

  She wanted to scream and blast him with her own power.

  She wanted to cry Josef’s name out to the heavens.

  She wanted to weep until she was sick.

  She did none of those things. For none of them would help her reach her ultimate goal of revenge. Instead, she took a crisp step backward, rendered her salute, and turned on her heel to leave Krieger’s office.

  The sound of his chuckles followed her out.

  “I will see you tomorrow morning, Fraulein,” he called after her. “First thing.”

  Lina said nothing, simply let the door close behind her. She gave a polite nod to Krieger’s secretary. The woman sat behind her desk, looking at Lina with something that may have been sympathy or pity. Lina didn’t know. Moreover, she didn’t care.

  For a plan had just emerged fully formed in her mind, as if put there by the shade of her lost beloved. She could imagine Josef’s smile as he told her the details. It wouldn’t be terribly hard, even. As the war dragged on, certain departments were more often in disarray than not. She would use this to her advantage.

  But there was no time to waste. With firm steps, she strode out of Krieger’s headquarters toward the lodgings she’d taken when she’d first arrived in this town. Fortunately for her, she’d never fully unpacked.

  Two hours later, Lina boarded a train for Paris. In her handbag, she carried her original orders to Paris, where she was to assist in interrogating enemies of the Reich. Though the date on her orders was now several weeks old, the stationmaster hadn’t blinked an eye when she’d presented them in lieu of a ticket.

  She allowed herself a sigh of relief when she finally sank into her seat in a quiet corner of the car. It had been a close thing for her to make this train. It hadn’t taken her long to gather her belongings, but she’d made an extra stop between her lodgings and the train station. She’d had to post a note she’d written to her old intelligence colleagues in Poland.

  I realize this is somewhat unorthodox, she’d written, but I haven’t time to search out the proper channels, and they might be compromised, anyway. I fear this sector is in bad shape, chiefly because of the mismanagement of Hauptman Krieger. You know I hesitate to make accusations, as my word is considered proof enough, but I would not be doing my duty to the Reich if I failed to report this. His behavior appears so deliberate, so malicious, it seems to me to go beyond mere incompetence and enter the realm of deliberate sabotage. I believe my own orders were tampered with, so I attempted a covert scan of his surface thoughts. What I found there supports that hypothesis. I am forced to conclude, then, that Hauptman Krieger is, at best, an uncommitted fool unsuited for command at his level. At worst, I believe he may actually be a dissident enemy of the Reich. I implore you to investigate the matter further, as I must now proceed to my next assignment in all haste, thanks to the Hauptman’s mucking about and delaying my progress.

  Damning. It might not seem so on the surface, but her record with the intelligence service was such that those lines from her would entirely destroy Krieger’s career, if not cast him into prison for the rest of his miserable life. Lina knew this, and once it might have fazed her. But not now. Not after Josef and his men. Not after what Krieger had done to their memory, and not after the way he’d stood in her way.

  For Lina had a mission, and it was one she would accomplish, regardless of who or what stood in her way. She would find that Ami psychic, Evelyn Adamsen, and she would destroy her. Utterly.

  Then, only then, would Lina weep for what she had lost.

  * * *

  “There, now she comes back to us.”

  Evelyn blinked at the sound of the voice that she didn’t immediately recognize. Or, at least, she tried to blink. Her eyelids felt stiff and heavy and coated in sand. Her mouth, too, felt as if it had been stuffed full of cotton. She exhaled a bit in frustration and tried again.

  This time she got her eyelids open, and the face of Doctor van Duren smiled down at her.

  “Hello Evie,” he said softly. “Welcome back. Your friends have been very worried about you. Are you up to seeing them?”

  Evelyn nodded, feeling like she was missing something. Why would her friends be worried? Her mind felt excruciatingly slow, like she was trying to swim upstream against a current of pudding.

  “Could I have some water?” she whispered. The doctor smiled and nodded.

  “Of course,” the doctor said. “That would be the morphine, my dear. It makes the mouth dry. Here you are.”

  He reached a hand behind her shoulder and helped her up to a half-seated position before holding a small cup to her lips. Evelyn drank as deeply as she could, not caring in the least that she spilled a fair amount down her chin and onto the bedclothes that surrounded her. In fact, she found she didn’t care much at all. About anything.

  The doctor settled her back down to the pillows behind her, then waved to someone out of her line of vision. Still feeling like she was moving underwater, Evelyn turned her head to the side to see three men walk in through the narrow doorway.

  Memory came swimming back through the fog in her brain. Evelyn reached out a hand, only to find that it was rather inconveniently tethered by a tube that ran from the back of her hand to a bottle hanging above her head. She frowned at this nuisance, then looked at her men.

  For that was who they were, of course. Abram, Sean, and Paul. Her crew, or what was left of them. She felt a flicker of surprise the net hadn’t snapped into place immediately upon seeing them...

  Panic reared up from nowhere and overwhelmed the disconnected lassitude she felt in her mind. Without the net, she was adrift and vulnerable. The storm would take her again! It would...

  “Evie!” Sean shouted, and she felt Paul grab for her fingers.

  The minute his skin touched hers, the net snapped back into place, banishing the lassitude entirely. Pain came roaring back, stabbing up her leg enough to make her gasp out loud...which made her realize she’d been screaming.

  “Evie, Evie, it’s all right. We’ve got you,” Paul murmured as he threaded his fingers through hers. Sean and Abram came forward as well, and both of them reached out to touch her. Abram took her other hand while Sean stroked her hair.

  We’re here, Evie, Sean said down the lines of the net. You’re safe. We’ve got you.

  Why did you leave me? Evelyn asked, pain and fear making her feel panicky. She closed her eyes and focused on the sensation of their male consciousnesses weaving in with hers. The slide of their minds was cool like the water ha
d been, yet paradoxically warm and safe as the blankets around her. She shivered with pleasure at their return, and she slowly fought back the panic and opened her eyes.

  “We didn’t leave you, Evie,” Abram said out loud. “You fainted downstairs, and the net broke. We would never leave you.”

  “But why couldn’t I link with you?” Evelyn asked. Her voice sounded high and tear-soaked and edged with lingering fear.

  “It was probably the morphine,” Doctor van Duren said. Evelyn hadn’t noticed he’d returned, though she supposed he’d probably come running when his patient started screaming. “It depresses the central nervous system. When your friends told me you were psychic, I wondered if the morphine would interfere with your gifts. It seems so. Pity, for I imagine you won’t want any more, and it is the best painkiller we have.”

  “What did you do to me?” she asked.

  “I set your leg properly. You have a fracture low above your ankle, and it was beginning to heal badly. It’s going to hurt like the devil for the next few days, I’m afraid. Are you sure you won’t take more morphine?”

  Evelyn shook her head as vehemently as she could manage.

  “Evie,” Sean said. “It’s okay, you can trust the doc. You’ve been out for a whole day, and all he did was fix us up.”

  “No,” she gasped. “That isn’t it. I need...without the net...I cannot...”

  Doctor van Duren nodded.

  “As I suspected,” he said. “I am not extremely familiar with psychic phenomena, given the secretive nature of most psychics and the relative novelty of their...shall we say...open existence? But the literature I have read would indicate that for a psychic, the net itself can be nearly as addictive as opiates themselves. Fascinating. I wonder, Evie, if after the war, you would mind if I published a paper on you...”

  “Not right now, Doc,” Paul said softly, his eyes on Evelyn’s face. “Evie needs to rest.”

  “Isn’t that my decision to make?” the doctor asked a bit dryly, raising his eyebrows above the wire rims of his glasses. Paul turned and gave him a look, and the Belgian lifted his hands in surrender.

  “Peace,” he said, chuckling. “Worse than mothers or husbands, the three of you! Very well, I will leave my scientific curiosity for another day. And yes, Evie, you should rest. It is imperative you heal as quickly as possible, for we cannot keep you here indefinitely. It is not safe for the helpers, nor for you three. As soon as you are able, we must see about moving you along.”

  “Moving us along where, Doctor?” Evelyn asked.

  “Why, to France, child. To France and then, God willing, home.”

  * * *

  If Evelyn had thought she experienced pain before, the next day disabused her of that notion. Without the buffering of the painkilling drugs, her leg savaged at her in pulsing waves of agony. It was worse than it had been in the woods, by far.

  The men helped, some. They bullied her into letting them take some of her pain, reasoning her body would heal faster if she didn’t hurt so much. Doctor van Duren seemed fascinated by this hypothesis and watched her closely. It seemed as if he were taking her temperature and examining her every five minutes, though she knew it wasn’t that frequently.

  What didn’t help was the complete lack of activity. Early that morning, Doctor Van Duren had moved them from her room in the basement clinic of the main chapel to an abandoned storage room under the empty dormitory wing of the seminary. It would be safer for them there, he said, since the Nazis and everyone knew he operated the clinic for the townsfolk.

  Their new quarters were spartan as could be, but clean. Each of the Americans had a pallet on the floor with several warm blankets and pillows. A nearby cleaning closet had been converted into a washroom with a working pump, so they at least had plenty of water when they needed it. Though Evelyn, at least, couldn’t walk and was forced to use the indignity of a bedpan to relieve herself. She would have been mortified if it hadn’t hurt so much.

  Other than that, though, there was simply nothing to do. So she was bored. And in agony. And the two together were maddening.

  Once again, the men came to her rescue, talking about their lives before the war, about the girls they’d left at home, about what they hoped and planned for the future when they got back...anything at all to try and take their minds off of Evelyn’s pain and their own healing injuries.

  “How’d you first know you were psychic?” Sean asked, late that night as they huddled close together in their darkened room. They didn’t want to risk any lights, for fear someone might come and investigate.

  “I don’t remember not knowing,” Evelyn replied. Try as she might, she couldn’t keep the pain from tightening her voice. She felt Sean stir next to her, and his arm went around her shoulders.

  “Here, lean back on me,” he said. We’re here, Evie. Let us take more of it.

  With a sigh of surrender, she acquiesced, and loosened her mental barriers enough that more of the pain could flow down the lines of the channel towards the men. She felt Sean’s quick intake of breath, could hear rustling as Abram and Paul shifted uncomfortably on their pallets. She started to close it down, regret spilling into her.

  No, Abram said. We’re all right. Keep talking. How did you first learn?

  “I...my mother knew,” she said softly, her voice less tight, but now soaked with guilt and worry for the three of them. “I don’t know how. I suppose it ran in our family. I’m told it usually does, but I don’t know of anyone else with talent, for sure. But Mother knew I had it and taught me to keep it a secret.”

  “Why?” Sean asked. “I mean, it’s amazing, the things you can do. Why did you have to keep it a secret?”

  “Did you ever hear of a place called Salem, Mass?” Paul asked.

  “Massachusetts? Sure. The witch trials.”

  “Exactly, the witch trials. That was only two hundred and fifty years ago, bud. But twenty people were killed because of accusations of witchcraft,” the bombardier said, his voice bitter. “My sister was so careful, but people called her a witch anyway, even when we were just little kids.”

  “You defended her,” Evelyn said, certain it was true. She didn’t even need to touch on his memories to know.

  “Yeah, I did,” Paul said. “Someone had to. Anyway, I got real good at fighting. Too good, really. Then when she died, trying to save me...well...I guess I went a little crazy fighting everyone and everything. I fell in with a bad crowd, did some bad things for some bad men. I’d probably be in prison if not for my grandmother.”

  “What did she do?” Abram asked. “Knock your block off and set you straight?”

  “Not quite,” Paul said. “It was the damnedest thing. There was this guy in my hometown, a real heavy hitter type. I was working for him, you know. Roughing guys up...sometimes more. Sometimes...well. Sometimes, in that business, people gotta be silenced, you know. I got real good at keeping them silenced. I ain’t proud of it, but it’s what I did. Anyway, Granny, one day, she up and rolls up to my employer’s business and goes in and sits down with him, like a regular appointment. When she comes out, she gives me a hug and a kiss and leaves. He calls me in and tells me that I ain’t working for him no more, and he’s sending me to college. I got no idea what she said to him.”

  As he told the story, Paul’s usually very careful, correct diction thickened and roughened. Evelyn could hear the echo of the scared, lost young man he must have been.

  “That’s how come you were able to kill those Nazi guards so quietly the way you did,” Abram said softly into the silence that followed.

  “Yeah,” Paul said.

  In the darkness, Evelyn reached out her hand and found his. His fingers jerked a little, then closed tightly around hers.

  “But the point is, it wasn’t safe for a woman to let on she had psychic talent,” Paul said. “I don’t imagine it’s safe now. I’m surprised your family let you join up. I wouldn’t have let my sister.”

  Evelyn shrugged.

 
“I wanted to do my part,” she said. “And with the sanction of the U.S. Army, who’s going to burn me at the stake for witchcraft anyway? Besides, it’s 1943. People have changed.”

  “Not that much,” Paul said gloomily. “But don’t you worry, Evie. We’ll keep you safe.”

  “Damn straight,” Sean said. “Sir.”

  That got a chuckle out of them, even in spite of the pulsing ache that pulled at all of them through Evelyn. The silence stretched comfortingly between them all. Safe in the feel of their minds on hers, Evelyn slept.

  * * * * *

  Chapter Fourteen

  A few days later, Doctor Van Duren pronounced Evelyn well enough to travel.

  “There has been a change of plans,” the doctor said, excitement lighting up his eyes behind his spectacles. “One which, I hope, will get you home much sooner. We had thought to send you through Paris and south to Mme. Ballasdens in Bayonne, but that is a long trip, with much risk at every step.”

  “We’re not afraid,” Abram started to say, but the doctor waved a hand for him to be still.

  “Of course you aren’t, but it isn’t you for whom I worry. Rather, the greater risk is for those helpers who risk themselves to clothe, feed, hide, and transport you. This risk is magnified every day you remain on occupied soil. So the quicker we can get you off occupied soil, the better.”

  “What do you mean, Doc?” Paul asked. Through the ever present psychic net, Evelyn could feel his dark caution. “We won’t risk harm to Evie.”

  “Silly man,” the doctor said, with a little laugh that dispelled any rancor in his words. “She is already at risk. This is why we must get you out as soon as possible. And that, my friends, means going to sea.”

  “To sea?” Abram asked, startled.

  “Yes, indeed. For I have been informed that a most audacious scheme has been attempted and achieved great success. You see, my friends, instead of going south to the mountains, you shall go west to la mer, and from thence into the arms of the Royal British Navy.”