Minds of Men Page 4

  I...Evelyn said to them all, feeling a bit shaky. I am sorry, I wasn’t prepared...

  For war? Rico asked, humor leaking through, making several of them smile as they all felt his amusement. Chica, none of us ever are.

  * * *

  They worked quite late, only stopping for food when Evelyn began to exhibit signs of exhaustion. She’d managed to keep her hunger and fatigue from the men, due to her more developed shields, but the truth was that maintaining a net was hard, exhausting work. And the more inexperienced the members of the net, the harder the work on the focusing psychic. Evelyn knew she should have called a halt sooner, but she felt the desperate hope of each of the men that maybe, just maybe, she might be able to help them come home safely the next time. And so she pushed on.

  Until her knees buckled, and her vision started to go bright gray around the edges. Captain Peters broke the net with a shove that had Evelyn crying out as she fell. Luckily, PFC Fritsche caught her and eased her down to the ground.

  “Technician!” Captain Peters said, his voice anxious. Evelyn heard it as if it were coming through a long tunnel. She blinked away the sparkling grayness and pulled herself up to a sitting position. PFC Fritsche helped, steadying her and keeping hold of her shoulders, just in case.

  “I’m all right, sir,” Evelyn forced herself to say. Her voice was faint enough to make her feel a vast surge of self-directed irritation. She knew better than this! “I just...It’s hard work, sometimes. Could...is there some water or something?”

  “Ayala, give her your flask,” Lieutenant Rutherford said, speaking for the first time during the proceedings. His tone was gruff and slightly uncomfortable. “She needs the kick. Oh, don’t be coy, man! It’s not like we don’t all know you’ve got that rotgut hooch on you.”

  Private Ayala, the young ball turret gunner, ducked his head in a shamefaced manner and reached into his shirt to pull out a flat metal flask. He handed this over with a grin. Lieutenant Rutherford shook his head, but he took the flask and knelt beside Evelyn.

  “Here,” the lieutenant said. “Take a sip. A small one. This isn’t good stuff.”

  Evelyn took the offered flask and tipped it up to her lips. Instantly, icy hot pain exploded over the inside of her mouth, like rubbing alcohol applied to a sunburn. She coughed, eyes watering, and doubled over.

  But she was conscious.

  Lieutenant Rutherford took the flask from her fingers and capped it, then handed it back to Private Ayala without a word. The bombardier then looked up at his pilot.

  “She needs to eat, Cap,” he said. “It’s hard on them, especially when we’re all new. Especially here,” he added, but didn’t elaborate. Evelyn knew what he meant, though. He knew about the fear, and the fatigue, and the longing for home. For the second time since meeting him, Evelyn found herself thinking that Lieutenant Rutherford must have known a psychic rather intimately back home. As the lieutenant lifted her chin to check her pupils, Evelyn met his eyes.

  “Who?” she asked, her voice barely a whisper. She was so tired.

  “My twin sister,” Lieutenant Rutherford said with a thin-lipped smile. “She died when we were twelve.”

  “I’m sorry,” Evelyn said, and she meant it. The lieutenant didn’t say anything else, just nodded and helped her to stand on shaky legs.

  Eventually, and with the help of her crew, Evelyn made it to the chow hall. Lieutenant Portman and the three gunners commandeered a quiet corner for their use. The kitchen was just about to stop serving dinner, but Sergeant Carrol and Lieutenant Becket managed to talk the cooks into putting together a plate for Evelyn, and Captain Peters watched to make sure she ate every bite. In the meantime, he lectured her.

  “I know, sir,” she said finally, after she’d eaten the last bite of a pile of watery mashed potatoes. “And you’re right. It was irresponsible of me, and I won’t be so foolish again.”

  In truth, she’d considered the risks and judged them acceptable. There was every chance that they’d get called up to fly a mission tomorrow. Every chance and then some, now that Evelyn was with them. Colonel Rizer had to be wanting to know how his psychics were going to stack up against the hazards his crews faced every day. He’d said it himself: they didn’t even have time for orientation flights. They absolutely had to create as comprehensive a net as possible in as short a time as possible. And since Evelyn was not about to, as Mary had said, “sleep with all of them,” the emotional connection had to be made somehow. So she would work, work until she dropped, and let these men see that she would give them her absolute best.

  “All right,” Captain Peters finally said. “Let’s get some shut-eye. The knock comes at 0430 if it’s coming at all. So...everyone back to your billets. Sergeant, see to it, all right?”

  Sergeant Carroll nodded, a ghost of a grim smile curving his lips. He might be the first one to suggest a few kicks, given nothing else in the offing, but he could read the cards as well as anyone. That knock was gonna come. He knew it.

  They all knew it.

  Lieutenant Rutherford and Captain Peters helped Evelyn to her feet and walked her back to her billet. She said goodnight at the door, pushing aside the ridiculous urge to kiss them both on the cheek. That was just an aftereffect of being in a net together. After such an intimate connection...well, it was natural to want to touch one another. The men felt it, too. She could tell by the way that Lieutenant Rutherford’s hand twitched toward hers and by the way Captain Peters leaned his upper body toward her, just a bit, as she turned to go.

  Evelyn slipped into the metal hut and pulled the door closed behind herself. Then she sagged against it and let out a deep sigh. The lights were out, but it looked like she was the last to come in. The darkness echoed with the sounds of sleeping women. Evelyn made her way by feel to her bunk and climbed into it with a sigh of relief.

  “Evie?” Mary asked, her voice sleepy.

  “I’m here, Mary,” Evelyn said softly, not wanting to wake anyone else.

  “Good,” Mary said, and the bunk creaked as she rolled over and sank back into the deep sleep of exhaustion.

  * * * * *

  Chapter Three

  Adalina Sucherin, Lina to her friends, settled herself in her seat and nodded to the guard that she was ready. He returned her nod and stepped out with his partner to collect the prisoner that Lina was scheduled to interrogate.

  Lina was a graduate of the Reich’s most prestigious academy for working women: the Reichsschule für SS Helferinnen Oberenheim. As a graduate of the Reichsschule, she was entitled to be addressed by her rank of SS-Oberhelfer. Reichsfuhruer-SS Himmler himself had established the Reichsschule. At its dedication, Lina had stood with the other applicants and listened with tears of pride as he spoke of the vital part that the SS Helferinnen would play in the Reich’s future.

  Everyone knew that a woman’s proper place was in the home raising healthy, happy children. However, the fact was that the war was dragging on and on, and the Reich’s enemies seemed endless. Every man was needed to fight. Therefore, the women had to step forward and do their part as communications specialists and in other non-combat roles.

  And as psychics. Especially as psychics.

  Lina didn’t know how the Reich leaders had found out the great secret kept by so many women over the years. But they had, and they had sent letters of recruitment to every German family promising the protection and gratitude of the Reich for any women of talent who came forward to serve.

  Lina had been part of the almost forty women drawn from every corner of the Reich that exhibited psychic power. They had ranged in age from Lina’s seventeen (at the time) to their mid-thirties. Several were widows who had already given their husbands to the war. Now they had turned their children over to relatives and friends and stepped forward to give even more. Lina found them inspirational and vowed to be worthy of the same title they carried.

  Despite being so young, she’d done very well at the Reichsschule. She’d always had a talent for learn
ing quickly, and her psychic abilities were among the strongest of the group. She’d spent the last two years posted to Warsaw, assisting military intelligence in interrogating convicted criminals and other enemies of the Reich. Her psychic abilities yielded results. Much more reliable results than other interrogation means, and for her work, she’d recently been promoted to her current rank.

  “Oberhelfer, we are ready,” the guard said, leaning in the door.

  “Please bring her in,” Lina said. She composed her face and watched gravely as the guards did as she asked. The prisoner was an older woman, her eyes nearly lost in a web of lines. Her head had been shaved, and the stark contrast between her white scalp and her tanned, weather-beaten face stood out.

  She shuffled in, slouching in her shapeless prisoner’s smock. One of the guards shoved at her with the butt of his rifle, causing her to stumble forward.

  “That is quite enough of that,” Lina said sharply. She stared at the guard until he muttered an apology and stepped back.

  “You may wait outside the door,” she went on. “I will call for you to return.”

  “Oberhelfer, will you be safe?” the other guard asked. His SS rank insignia proclaimed him the more senior of the pair.

  “I am quite certain of it. If you have doubt, I invite you to ask the commander of your detachment. He gave me this assignment himself.” Lina gave the man a small smile as she spoke, making sure to keep her tone pleasant. She knew what they saw when they looked at her: a young slip of a girl, barely nineteen, with delicate features and wispy blond hair. It was natural for a young man, especially one of the Reich’s elite soldiers, to feel protective, but it got to be a nuisance at times. She’d been fighting a version of that same battle since she’d arrived here in Warsaw.

  Apparently, the prospect of speaking with his commander didn’t appeal, for the guard desisted and urged his fellow out into the hallway. The heavy wooden door closed behind them with a soft boom against the stonework of the old building, and she turned her smile up at her guest.

  “Men,” she said, in near-perfect Polish. “Such silly creatures. I don’t think they believe we can do anything without their help.”

  The prisoner looked startled, but her lips twisted in something like a small smile.

  “Please,” Lina invited. “Do sit down. I do not think we need to be overly formal. Would you like some tea?”

  The woman lowered herself gingerly to a chair across the small table from Lina’s. She was obviously skittish, expecting something terrible to happen. Her file said that she hadn’t been in custody long, but that didn’t mean much. The probability that she had been mistreated was, unfortunately, high.

  Lina wished it were otherwise. Such things made her job so much more difficult.

  “I’m not going to hurt you,” she said as she began preparing to pour. The tea kettle was still warm to the touch, which was good. Lina hated tepid tea. “I just want to talk to you.”

  “I will not tell you anything about our group,” the woman said, her voice roughened and hoarse. She sounded like someone who had screamed a lot recently.

  “I am not going to ask you about that,” Lina said. Steam rose as she poured first one cup, and then another. “I am interested in other things. I would like to know more about you, about your family, your culture. Who were you before the war?”

  She put the tea kettle down and picked up one the cups by its saucer. She held it out with a smile, inviting the prisoner to take it.

  The woman looked at her for a long moment and then slowly reached out. Her finger brushed Lina’s, and the cup rattled in the saucer as she took it.

  In that moment, Lina had what she needed. With exquisite precision, the SS-Oberhelfer reached out an infinitesimal tendril of thought, and as their fingers touched, she slipped inside the prisoner’s outer mind.

  “Wha—?”

  “Merciful heavens!” Lina cried out in German as she brushed the hot kettle with the back of her arm. “Oh! What a clumsy dolt I am!”

  The two guards burst in through the door at her cry, weapons at the ready.

  “No! No!” Lina said, cradling her arm and surging to her feet. “I’m fine! I just burnt myself on the kettle. Please, go back in the hallway. The prisoner is extraordinarily well behaved and has offered me no threat.”

  “You are sure?” the senior guard asked.

  “I am. Please. Go.”

  The guards left once again, and Lina sat back down, careful not to show her pleasure in the efficacy of her distraction.

  “Are you all right?” the woman asked in Polish.

  “Oh, I’m fine,” Lina said with a smile. She could feel the slick, unfamiliar territory of the woman’s psyche. It wasn’t the easiest thing to penetrate, but she had been trained by the best psychic teachers the Reich could find. “I just feel stupid for being so clumsy!”

  “The tea is very good,” the woman said, taking a sip.

  “Thank you. My mother taught me.”

  “Mothers know best,” the woman said with a smile.

  “Indeed. Do you have children?”

  “Two daughters. Both grown and married now.”

  “How wonderful for you...”

  * * *

  “The prisoner is Rasia Boron. She is fifty-seven years old, has two married daughters. Her husband, Pawel Boron, died five years ago. She has significant ties to the underground rebel movement called the ‘Armia Krajowa’ through both of her sons-in-law, who were junior officers in the Polish Army,” Lina said as she walked into the office of the detachment commander.

  Kriminalkommisar Ardwin Bordstein looked up from his correspondence at Lina’s abrupt entry. He set down his pen, his dark, handsome face giving her a brief smile.

  “Oberhelfer,” he said in his smooth, melodious voice. “I see you have made some progress with our inscrutable lady. Please, sit down and tell me about your interview.”

  “Your men made a mistake with her, Herr Kriminalkommisar,” Lina said. She walked over to the chair he indicated and took a seat perched on the edge.

  “Oh?” Bordstein asked, leaning back in his chair. “Why do you say that? My men are all very well trained.”

  “Yes, but they started off too aggressively,” Lina said. “From the time she was brought in, she was subjected to strong, aggressive interrogations. It put her back up, made her suspicious. I had to spend over an hour with tea and small talk before even I got anywhere.”

  “Ah, yes. Your mental gifts. They were useful in this case?”

  “They were essential, mein Herr. She is a very strong-willed individual. It was difficult for me to get her to relax enough to let her surface thoughts be unguarded.”

  “But you were able to do this?”

  “After some time, yes,” Lina said. “As I stated, she has ties to the old Polish army, as well as the current criminal Armia Krajowa organization. She has information about the perpetrators of the attacks on the rail lines last year. Several names came into her mind as we talked about that time. I have written them down for you, here.”

  She laid a piece of paper on the desk. Bordstein took it but did not look at it. Instead, he pursed his lips and studied Lina’s face.

  “Very good. Was there anything else?” he asked.

  “Yes,” Lina said. “I suspect, but cannot confirm, that when Boron was arrested last week, she was involved in the logistics and planning for another sabotage attack. This time on one of our supply depots outside of Warsaw. She seems to have been part of the financial backing in some capacity. A fundraiser, perhaps. I was unable to ask her directly without putting her on her guard. If I had more time with her, I think I could gather more information.”

  Another long moment and Bordstein idly tapped his fingers on the paper.

  “Oberhelfer, this is excellent work.”

  “Thank you, mein Herr,” she said.

  “My predecessor, Herr Sendler, praised your performance and abilities before he left, and now I can see why.” />
  “I am happy to serve the Reich, Herr Bordstein,” Lina said.

  “And you received training in more conventional methods of interrogation as well, yes?”

  “Yes. Though it was mostly focused on how we could integrate our abilities with the accepted practices. Why do you ask, mein Herr?”

  Bordstein tapped the paper again, pursed his lips, and then leaned forward in his chair.

  “Do you know where Herr Sendler was assigned after he left Warsaw, Oberhelfer?”

  “No, mein Herr.”

  “He was posted to Paris. Have you ever been there?”

  “No, mein Herr.” Lina wondered where he was going with this line of conversation that seemed to have little to do with her report. However, she had learned that it was better to be patient and impassive, especially when dealing with superior officers.

  “It is a beautiful city. I think you will enjoy it very much.”

  Despite her determination, Lina felt her eyebrows rise in surprise. Bordstein gave her an easy, practiced smile.

  “Herr Sendler has requested you, you see. And I don’t see why such a lovely and useful asset such as yourself should be stuck here in miserable old Warsaw. Paris will be much more to your liking, I am sure of it.”

  “Thank you, Herr Bordstein,” Lina said, choosing her words carefully. “But won’t you still require my abilities here?”

  “I will be honest with you, Oberhelfer. My orders indicate that our leaders are displeased with the continued resistance of this Polish criminal army. While your assistance has been invaluable, you have made no secret of the fact that you get better results when we apply a...gentler hand, shall we say?”

  Lina pressed her lips together and nodded. While fear and pain were two of the classic tools of the interrogator’s trade, they made for a difficult time penetrating a prisoner’s psyche.