by Kacey Ezell
Minds of Men
Book One of The Psyche of War
By
Kacey Ezell
PUBLISHED BY: Theogony Books
Copyright © 2017 Kacey Ezell
All Rights Reserved
License Notes
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only and may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
This book is a work of fiction, and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locales is purely coincidental. The characters are productions of the author’s imagination and used fictitiously.
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Acknowledgements
Like any book, this one was not written in a vacuum. I would never had been able to tell this story without the support and love of a whole host of people, and I beg your indulgence as I acknowledge them here. First, thanks go always to my husband, EZ, and my daughters, Coriel and Alicya. Thank you for letting mommy slip away to write. Seconds go to my wonder twin and aggressive muse, Christopher L. Smith, for all the pep talks and aggressive muse-ing. Thirdly, Nico, Speaker, Doc, Insectress, EP, Jeremy, Brian & Stephen, Griff, Bun-Bun, Jenny, Aaron, Bolger, Bridget, San, Jerry, Scary Uncle Joseph, Marisa, Massa, Jason, Sarah, Toni, and Brandy. You guys keep me sane…ish. Fourth, special thanks to Chris Kennedy, for believing in this story, and to Brenda Mihalko for the amazing cover. Fifth, thanks to Iowa State Senator Ken Rizer, Col (ret) USAF, for letting me Tuckerize him. Sixth (but never last!), thanks to Lt Col Marcus J. Jackson IV, USAF, for signing the paper allowing me to “get another job.”
Researching this novel was a labor of love in and of itself. I would be remiss if I didn’t recommend in the strongest of terms the following works: Combat Crew: The Story of 25 Combat Missions Over Europe by John Comer, Silent Heroes: Downed Airmen and the French Underground by Sherri Greene Otis, and Little Cyclone by Airey Neave.
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Cover Design by Brenda Mihalko
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To the coolest guy I’ll ever meet.
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Epigraph:
Minds of men fashioned a crate of thunder
Sent it high into the blue
Hands of men blasted the world a-sunder
How they lived, God only knew!
Souls of men dreaming of skies to conquer
Gave us wings, ever to soar!
With scouts before and bombers galore.
Nothing can stop the Army Air Corps!
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Table of Contents
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Epilogue
About the Author
Connect with Kacey Ezell Online
Excerpt from Book Two of The Psyche of War:
Excerpt from “The World Asunder:”
Excerpt from Book One of the Revelations Cycle:
Excerpt from “Cartwright’s Cavaliers:”
Prologue
October 1943
“Go on in, Colonel,” the general’s secretary said softly as the London rain pattered against the office window. “He’s ready for you.”
Colonel Ken Rizer, Commander of the 381st Bombardment Group at RAF Ridgewell, gave the gray-haired woman a nod and walked through the general’s door. Ordinarily, he would have thanked her or asked about her day. But this morning, he found he just couldn’t stomach the thought of pleasantries.
Brigadier General Clarence Durant looked up from behind his wooden desk, then came slowly to his feet as his subordinate entered the room. Lines of sympathy and sorrow etched the strong features of his face. He opened his mouth to speak, then closed it and shook his head.
“You wanted to see me, sir?” Rizer asked.
“Yes, come in,” the general said. “Please, have a seat.”
“Yes, sir,” the colonel replied and lowered himself to sit on the edge of one of the two chairs facing the general’s desk.
“Ken,” General Durant said, his tone softer as he, too, sat, “I want you to know that I am very, very sorry for your unit’s losses. Yesterday was a tough day.”
“Thank you, sir,” Rizer replied. “That means a lot.”
“I don’t have the final numbers yet,” the general went on. “But initial reports are the 381st was among the hardest hit of all our groups. What’s your tally?”
“We lost seventeen of our thirty B-17s,” Rizer said. “Ten were shot down by fighters or flak, their crews listed as missing in action. Three of the remaining seven are so badly damaged they’ll be scrapped. We’re pulling what parts we can cannibalize off those birds now. The other four will be repaired. Timelines on the repairs run from a day or two to three weeks at the outside.”
General Durant blinked as he processed the numbers. Rizer waited a beat and then went on.
“One hundred twenty-one of my men are dead, General,” the colonel said. “It was a very bad day.”
“Ken, I know what you want me to say—”
“Sir, we need long-range fighter escort.”
“I know.”
“We can’t go on without it. Our Forts are sitting ducks up there. If there’s any weather at all, my pilots end up having to choose between a mid-air collision and being so far out of formation they can’t cover each other with their guns. There’s no way to win!”
“I know, Ken. I know. And you’re right. Unfortunately, the long-range fighter is still a few months away.”
Rizer froze, holding himself rigid so he wouldn’t let the screaming profanity come out of his mouth. He’d been raised to be respectful, professional. He would maintain his military bearing, even though the world seemed to be collapsing around him.
“Sir—” he said, his voice low. General Durant held up a hand, and Rizer closed his mouth.
“Ken, I can’t give you a long-range fighter escort until after the new year. Best guess. However, I may have another temporary solution.”
“What’s that, sir?” Rizer asked, careful to keep his tone even.
“Have you ever met my wife?”
“No sir,” Rizer said. Where the hell was this going? “I haven’t had the pleasure.”
“Fascinating woman, my Ruth. Smart as a whip. Talented, too. She knows when the kids are misbehaving before they even act.”
“Sir, that’s wonderful, but I don’t see what—”
“Ken, listen to me. When we were in garrison, Ruth used to tell me what to pick up at the market on the way home. While I was on my way home.”
“How is that—?”
“She speaks to me,” the general said, tapping his forefinger against his left temple. “In here. She can see through my eyes, make me see through hers. Two hundred years ago, she’d probably have been burned as a witch, but right now, women like her might just be our salvation.”
Rizer leaned forward in his chair, interested despite himself.
“How do you mean, sir?” he asked.
“Ruth isn
’t alone, Ken. There aren’t very many of them, but women with talent are out there. Psychics, some call them. Oh, I know that most who claim that title are charlatans, but there are ways to test a woman for the kind of talent Ruth has. She can detect it, if she’s close enough. For the last several months, my wife has been part of a top secret mission to find and recruit enough talented women to help make a difference here.”
“But...they’re all women?”
“Unfortunately, yes. Seems men can’t have psychic power. And most of the women who do aren’t strong enough for our purposes. My last report from Ruth said that of the thousands of women she’s tested, only a handful have anywhere near enough power to do what we will need them to do.”
“And what is that, sir?” Rizer asked, his head spinning as he tried to keep up.
“They’ll fly with our crews, communicate with one another. Help them fly tighter formation, help them have better communications. They’ll help prevent the kind of fiasco your men experienced when the weather caused them to break formation yesterday. It’s not a perfect solution, Ken; I know that. But damn it, it’s all I’ve got until the long-range fighter arrives.”
“Psychics,” Rizer said. “Sir...I’ll be honest. I’m skeptical. I mean, I’ve heard rumors of witches and such, but I just figured them for children’s bedtime stories. But I have to admit, I am in no position to turn down anything that’s going to help my men do their jobs, no matter how unorthodox. If you say this is a good idea, the 381st will give it a go.”
General Durant smiled.
“That’s the spirit, Ken,” he said. “I’ve sent for the first class already. They’re on a troop ship to Liverpool as we speak. You can probably expect them in a week. They’re technically part of the Women’s Army Corps, but they’ll answer to you. I suggest you make arrangements for their billets and such right away.”
Rizer could feel his eyes going wide as the logistical headache of billeting a group of women on a combat airfield began to present itself. He shook his head and chased that thought away. He would have to figure out the details once he returned to Ridgeway. He nodded and came to his feet.
“I’ll look forward to their arrival, sir,” he said.
General Durant stood and came around from behind the desk, his hand extended.
“Ken, I know this isn’t what you wanted to hear. I give you my word, I’m working to get you those long-range fighter escorts. You just need to hang on until they arrive.”
“Yes sir,” Colonel Rizer said.
He only hoped it was possible.
* * * * *
Chapter One
The first thing she noticed was the chill. As a little girl, Evelyn Adamsen always thought of England as something like a fairy-tale land, where the sun shone down on airy stone castles, and lambs and horses frolicked in wildflower-bedecked meadows.
The reality was far colder and covered in mud. From the moment she’d stepped off the troop transport in Liverpool five days earlier, the sky had remained a solid gray sheet that leaked a fine drizzle. Damp seeped in everywhere, and even Evelyn’s heavy woolen coat wasn’t enough to keep the dreary mist from seeming to saturate her skin. She pulled her collar higher and hunched down into it, as she’d grown up doing during the brutal winters in the Black Hills of South Dakota. From behind, her friend and roommate Mary Lewis squeaked and let out a soft curse as she followed Evelyn off the bus from London.
“Mary,” Evelyn said softly, reproof shading her tone. “The captain isn’t going to like it if she hears you swearing. We’re supposed to ‘act like ladies at all times,’ remember?”
Mary was a Southern California blonde with curves that made the men sit up and take notice. She smiled up at Evelyn impishly and rolled cornflower-blue eyes.
“What Captain Ledoux doesn’t know won’t hurt her,” Mary said in her girlish voice as she threaded one arm through Evelyn’s. Evelyn was thankful for the extra warmth, but she thought that surely they must look quite the pair: Mary’s movie-star good looks next to her plain, skinny, too-tall brunette self provided a lot of contrast. That contrast was an echo of their personalities: the vivacious, charismatic flirt and the shy, awkward bookworm. Despite, or perhaps because of, their differences, they’d been inseparable since the first day of training.
Officially, they were Technician Fifth Class Adamsen and Technician Fifth Class Lewis, members of the Women’s Army Corps. Captain Jeanne Ledoux, of Baton Rouge, Louisiana, was the commanding officer for their unit. Their only officer, in fact. Their small detachment, at only twenty members, was one of the smallest in the WACs. They’d only just arrived at RAF Ridgewell, home of the 381st Bombardment Group. Back when she’d first been recruited, Evelyn had thought it would all be one big, patriotic adventure.
So far, it was just a lot of mud.
“Girls!” Captain Ledoux called out, waving her hand imperiously. “This way!” The captain stood holding open the door to one of the thin metal “Quonset huts.” These corrugated metal half-tube structures were everywhere, giving the airfield a temporary feel.
As usual, Captain Ledoux’s face was set in lines of faint disapproval. Evelyn privately doubted the woman ever smiled.
She and Mary hustled into the shelter of the building, crowding in with the other women just as the rain started to come down in earnest. Evelyn grimaced as she felt the splashes of mud onto her stockings. She only had the one pair, and Ledoux was a stickler for dress and appearance. She would have a devil of a time getting them clean that night.
Inside the Quonset hut, rows of chairs faced a blank screen flanked by the flags of the U.S. and the UK. A man wearing the uniform of an Army Air Force colonel stood at the front, hands behind his back as he watched the women enter the room.
“Take a seat, ladies,” he said as they piled inside, shaking the rain from their coats. Evelyn found his chiseled jaw and stiff military bearing intimidating, and that was before he looked at her. Once the piercing brown eyes seemed to fix them in place, every girl present hesitated.
Evelyn took a deep breath and walked forward.
“Sir,” she said softly, nodding acknowledgment of the colonel as she took a seat in front. Mary followed closely behind her, and soon the entire group was seated. The thick scent of wet wool rose around them, and the rain beat loudly on the metal roof overhead.
“Ladies, my name is Colonel Rizer. I’m the commander of the 381st Bombardment Wing. Welcome to RAF Ridgewell.” He stopped for a moment and looked around.
“I had hoped for more of you,” he admitted, softly. “But I suppose we are fortunate to have so many. I will be honest with you, ladies. This is not some romantic adventure. This is war. The men here are rough. They’re men who’ve seen their fellows die in front of them. Men who face the knowledge that every mission could be their last. There is a reason we don’t send women to war...unless we have no other choice. It appears, in this case, we haven’t.
“Ladies, your mission here is the brainchild of our commander, Brigadier General Clarence Durant. He seems to think that by leveraging your...abilities, you can help more of my men survive to complete their missions. I don’t know how he came up with this idea. I never even knew that women could be...what do you call yourselves...psychics?”
“That is correct, sir,” Ledoux answered, standing and coming to a crisp position of attention. “Each of these women is a highly trained psychic technician, capable of maintaining a telepathic net with multiple other minds. They have been extensively screened for talent and trained in—”
“Captain, I read the brief,” Rizer said, interrupting Ledoux’s boastful tone. “I know what your women are capable of. I have never seen anything like it, but if General Durant says it’s so, then I trust it is so. I understand your women have all had aviation indoctrination training, is that correct?”
“They have, sir,” Ledoux said. “I’m confident once they receive their theater indoctrination training flights here, they’ll perform admirably for you.”
“Captain, I don’t know what you were promised, but we don’t have time or resources for training flights here. Your women will meet their crews tonight and be listed on the combat roster as early as tomorrow morning.”
“Sir! That won’t work at all. The women must have an opportunity to work with their crews in order to ensure the integrity of the psychic net. Net work requires a familiarity with one’s crew, otherwise—”
Rizer cut her off with a sharp gesture of his hand.
“Captain,” he said, his voice cracking like a whip, “your women will meet their crews tonight. They will be listed on the combat roster in the morning. That is all.”
Ledoux closed her mouth with an audible snap. Though her face was red, she nodded her understanding. Rizer returned her nod and handed her a piece of paper.
“Here are your crew assignments. Good luck to you all.” And with that, he turned to leave the room.
Ledoux called a sharp “Ten-HUT,” and the women scrambled to their feet to stand at attention. Rizer nodded once and left the room in a silence broken only by the steady tapping of rain on the metal roof. Evelyn swallowed hard against the nerves that gripped her throat.
“Well,” Ledoux said, her voice crisp as she rustled the paper in her hand. “You ladies heard the colonel. There won’t be any indoctrination flights. You must do your best to establish the needed rapport with your crews tonight. But remember, above all things, you are to act like ladies and represent the Women’s Army Corps appropriately.”
She looked around the room one more time, her face set in stern lines. In the back of Evelyn’s mind, a tiny, irreverent thought pointed out that Ledoux looked like she was trying to ape Colonel Rizer’s incredible presence. She didn’t succeed.
