A grinning skeletal priest presided over our meeting. Harsh electric lanterns were set around the outer rim of the circular room, flooding the area with enough light to dismiss the general creepiness of the abandoned ossuary. Couriers sat in desks along the outer edge of the chamber. A dozen infantrymen stood around, having been recruited from the ranks of the local guard, while two more stood watch in the tunnel beyond. I had set up a large map of France and Germany in front of what had once been an illicit bar hawking banned absinthe.
"Any reports out of the normal, we mark them on the map. This thing is going to register differently than any other weapon in the Hun arsenal," I began, as Wes started placing pins around the map. "An artillery piece was hurled through the air like a child's play thing and landed in a twisted heap a hundred yards away." Another pin went up. "Here, an entire trench work was scoured from the ground as if it had been laced with dynamite." Wes jammed a third and final pin into the surface. "And here, a supply train was hit with enough force in a central car to tear the entire length off of the tracks."
"I've got something here." A burly man in working class clothes said. I had worked with this courier before when we had initially raided the very speakeasy we were seated in. I'd learned his name was Geoffrey Reynolds. "A bridge was destroyed across the Meuse River. Witnesses say it exploded straight into the air at the center." He held aloft a report contained within a manila folder.
"Perfect," I said, spinning to point two fingers at the man. Wes walked over to accept the folder from Reynolds, and after checking within, added a pin to the map.
"What exactly are we dealing with here?" asked a tall man, about the same height as Wes but with dark hair slicked back.
"A highly dangerous German agent, Reinhardt Schuntzel.," I said, "Knowledgeable in the occult and guerilla tactics, he's using a relic by the name of the Eye of Odin. Exact specifications are unknown, but the destructive potential is obviously significant."
The tall man nodded, sitting back at his desk.
"We can already see a pattern emerging here." I jabbed at the map, showing where the artillery had been stationed, the train and bridge both connected, and that the trench works had been the very front line. "This suggests to me Schuntzel is trying to seize the area. If he can punch through the front, the Huns will be able to roll up behind trenches from Verdun to Lorraine. We can't let that happen. We're going to be on site, ready to respond when he makes his move."
"Do we know how to neutralize this Eye?" someone called out from the far end of the room.
"No," I answered frankly, crossing my arms over my chest. "Our only advantage beyond the average unit at the front is that we know the nature of the relic. He's only one man. If we can take him out, we can reclaim the Eye."
A nervous murmur passed through the assembled crowd, and I remained silent with my lips pursed tightly. I had anticipated trouble, a woman trying to lead a group of men in a stressful situation. If things went poorly, it was possible the entire courier service would reject my plan, and we'd be left with petty squabbling that could cost us the war. Long, silent seconds ticked on until the burly courier, Reynolds, spoke up.
"Well hell, it's better than I would have come up with." The feet of his chair scraped against the floor as he threw it back in the process of standing.
"No worse than I'm used to dealing with," the tall courier agreed, "When do we leave?"
Relief flooded through me, and I saw that Wes was similarly drained of tension. The mood of the room shifted from nervousness to energetic, and I grabbed a packet of train vouchers from the desk behind me.
"We leave now. There's no time to waste. I have a car waiting for us at the rail yards. I've arranged supplies and weapons." I swallowed heavily, hoping my apprehension didn't show. "We're going to the front."
We traveled en masse from the temporary headquarters, the irregularly dressed couriers walking ahead of the gaggle of borrowed infantry.
Wes came up beside me, speaking softly. "I don't mean to offend," he began, glancing sideways at the other couriers. "But I've seen how you react when someone mentions the front. Do you think you can handle it again?" He didn't pause, quickly covering with, "I've never been there, I don't even know if I'll be able to handle it the once, let alone a second time."
"It doesn't matter," I said sternly, tugging my officer's cap down over my eyes to hide at least some of my nervous expression. "We have to stop him."
Wes gave me a concerned look, staying silent as our troops approached the train station. We entered through the cargo building, forgoing the passenger area, and headed directly across to the military train idling on the tracks. Utilitarian, but comfortable, seats lined the front half in a variety of configurations, while the rear was filled with crates and canvas-covered equipment. I sank into a seat near the front of the car and sighed quietly, feeling immensely tired. My eyes slipped closed for a brief moment.
"Rough time of it," a familiar voice said., I heard a man's weight settle into the seat across from me. I opened my eyes to see Reynolds facing me. "I've heard a few things about you, Lieutenant."
"Call me Chance," I insisted, feeling the strain at the edges of my voice. "And what have you heard?"
"The major says you've got a knack for the spooky stuff; I never did like getting myself involved with it." He cracked his knuckles with a lopsided grin, "Always preferred a good, stand-up fight. It's impressive, I have to say, that he speaks highly of you."
"I wasn't sure what to think, when I heard you'd be leading us." A second man joined the conversation, sitting sideways in a chair across the aisle.
It was the tall courier "Reggie Doyle," he said, extending his hand.
I shook it.
"But I have to say, if we're facing something magical, you're the one that should be in charge," he added.
"I don't understand," I began, feeling my eyebrows knit in confusion. "I thought the majority of what we handle has a supernatural bent to it."
Reynolds and Doyle exchanged an amused glance, before they both looked at me again.
"It takes a special sort to deal with those oddities, day in and day out," Reynolds said, "We've lost a fair share of agents who just quit and left, never wanting to deal with it again."
"And a fair share more that were killed in action," Doyle added poignantly.
"Oh, certainly," Reynolds agreed, "High casualty rate dealing with the creepy-crawlies."
Their revelations shocked me, and I sank down into my seat, crossing my legs at the knee. I had assumed that I was involved in the low-level actions of the SCS, taking missions deemed simple or straight-forward enough to be appropriate for a new officer. Discovering that most of the couriers wanted nothing to do with my sort of jobs was unexpected. I shoved the thoughts out of my mind, however, having much more to concentrate on.
"I'm very glad to have your vote of confidence," I said, genuinely appreciative, and they both grinned.
"I'm just looking forward to seeing you in action," Reynolds said with a wink, "I hear you'd give Buffalo Bill a run for his money with trick shooting."
"I'm not quite that good," I said, feeling my cheeks warm. "But I'm better than most."
"Jesus Christ" someone called from the back of the car, and I shot up straight, looking for the source.
"Is that a damn Lewis gun?" One of the infantrymen had yanked the canvas from over a vicious, massive machine gun. The deadly barrel was pointed skyward, belts of ammunition surrounding it. The infantryman asked; "How in the world did you get the military to give up one of these?"
"Well," I laughed awkwardly, pointing to another canvas pile in the back. "First, they gave up two. Second, you can thank the major for that. I'm just working through his address book."
"I think you'll do just fine, Chance," Reynolds said, laughing again. He threw himself across two of the train car's seats, reclining easily. Wes came from further back in the car, offering a tin cup full of coffee, which I gratefully accepted. The cityscape of Paris disappeared behind us, replaced quickly by the rolling hills and squared fields of rural France.