War Crimes, Parts 7-9

by Morgan Lewis

Part 7

Italy, forty miles Northwest of Udine
Today

The place hadn't changed much in the past fifty years, Logan thought dismally as he studied the stone walls of his cell. He could hear a large storm building steadily, the sounds of thunder muted slightly through those walls. A part of him still rebelled, thinking that it wasn't possible for this citadel to still be standing. Two years after Operation Monfalcone the structure had been destroyed in a bombing run by allied planes. Logan had seen the ruins of the once forbidding walls himself. Of course, he thought bitterly, if this mysterious enemy of his could bring his old teammates back from the dead after fifty years, rebuilding an old fort wasn't going to be all that much more difficult.

Logan tested his bonds once again, more from habit than any real belief that he would be able to break free from them. Whoever his enemy was, the man knew his the limits of his strength and other abilities. The manacle that encased his hands kept his wrists bent forward at almost right angles to his forearms. Because his claws retracted into his forearms he needed to hands forward, with his wrists unbent to extend them. Being trussed up like this had effectively dismissed one of his more visual weapons. Logan just hoped that they would underestimate him now that he was deprived of one of his primary weapons.

Logan's head perked up as he heard the distinctive sounds of steps echoing in the hallway. Someone had finally been sent to get him. Good, now maybe he could find out what this was all about and who had arranged this little reunion between him and his old teammates. Maybe this was all some sort of sick plot by Mr. Sinister. The X-men didn't really know the extent of the man's influences and capabilities, but Logan wouldn't doubt that the man had it in his power to bring his current situation to past. Why the twisted geneticist would take interest in tormenting Logan was quite beyond the X-man, however.

Logan lifted his head at the sound of the large metal door opening, its hinges screaming in protest. He saw Adams, Chancer, and Hopps step inside the cell. Logan was still half expecting someone with a sick sense of humor to jump out and yell, surprise, you're on totally hidden video, or something every time he saw these guys. No one presented themselves, however, other then these three very resentful former companions. He could smell their anger and hate that he couldn't understand coming off of them in waves. Whoever had brought them back must have played with their minds as well.

"Well, Logan," Hopps had that big goofy grin on his face, but it had a somewhat sinister twist to it now, "it's good to see you again. I see you've filled out a little there buddy. Isn't puberty great?"

"Cut the crap, Hopps," this whole game was beginning to really wear on his nerves. "What is this all about? Are you the one responsible for all of this? What are you trying prove here?"

Logan could tell that Hopps's amusement hadn't abated in the least. "Who me?" That goofy grin took on an expression of mock surprise. "I'm just here for the ride. I never was very good at orchestrating big get-togethers. Never had the initiative I'm afraid. After all, it takes an incredible amount of self-discipline to pull yourself out of your own grave and go hunting after someone who has betrayed you as much you betrayed me."

Logan knew that his confusion was written plainly on his face, but he didn't care. "I never betrayed you Hopps. If you think that your brain must have decayed a whole lot more then you think during your time as a corpse."

Hopps scent suddenly shifted from amused and detached to cold and hard. He pivoted sharply as he drove his fist into Logan's midsection. Logan let out a soft grunt and doubled-over as much as his restraints would permit. He managed to catch his breath and bring his head back up to stare Hopps in the eyes. His former field commander's blue iris's burned with a barely checked fury, punctuated by a sudden crack of thunder in the distance. "My brain is functioning quite well Logan. I remember clearly the night in the barn. I trusted you. And you swore to me that you would get the team out alive if anything happened to me." A look of betrayal and loss entered those eyes now. "I left them in your hands and you turned your back on them, abandoned them to die. If that is not betrayal then what is?!" With each passing word his voice increased in volume until the last part was practically screamed.

Logan gritted his teeth in anger. It was all true, in a sense, but twisted and distorted. "That's not how it happened and you know it."

"Oh really Logan," Adams was slowly stroking his knife handle, "Well, that's funny, because that's how I remember it as well. And I was able to see the whole thing through to its bloody end, unlike Chancer here who decided to check out on us at the first chance."

Chancer's face darkened as the blood flowed to his cheeks. "I was the first one that you abandoned Logan. Too bad no one else was there at the time or they might have known then what type of soldier you really were. You never did tell them, did you. How you didn't even spare a backward glance for me as you dove for the water to save you own hide."

"You were already dead!"

"And how did you know that!" Chancer bellowed back. "You never even spared me a second glance. If you had even cared you might have been able to save me."

"What are you talking about? You had just had your chest blown out, you were gone before you even fell to the deck. There is no way at all that you would have survived." These twisted and distorted truths were beginning make him angry. He had felt more than enough guilt for what had happened to them. More than a couple of sleepless nights wondering if he could have done something different to save a few more of them. But he was not the abandoning traitor that they were trying to make him out to be.

"If there's no way that I could have survived, then how do you explain the fact that I'm standing in front of you right now?" There was a scent of smugness mingled with Chancer's anger. The kind of smugness of someone who knows something incredible important when you don't even have a clue.

"That's a good question Chancer," Logan was tired of this song and dance. It was time to try the direct approach. "Why don't you answer that one for me?"

Hopps's goofy grin was back in place as he placed a placating hand on Chancer's shoulder. "All in good time my friend. All in good time. Right now, we have to go. We wouldn't want you to be late for your big day in court."

"Court?"

With an exaggerated gesture, Hopps pulled a sheaf of papers from his coat. Holding them in front of him he began to read. "Logan Mathison. You are hereby called to stand trial for crimes committed against humanity during wartime conditions. You will stand trial by your peers. The trial is to be conducted by the blah, blah, blah, blah, more legal stuff. The good stuff was all in the first line." With that Hopps folded the papers and shoved them back in his coat.

Logan let out a strained laugh at the absurdity of it all. "Are you serious? Your putting me on trial for something that happened over fifty years ago?"

Hopps expression told him that he was indeed serious. "Justice is patient and knows no time Logan. Your justice has been delayed far too long. Now it is time for you to face up for what you have done."

Logan was unable to protest further as Chancer and Adams moved to release his manacles from the wall. They both worked in concert to keep him subdued as his hands were again secured behind his back. Within moments, he was ready to go face his trial. He had no illusions about his opportunities of actually getting a hearing that was anything more than a farce of the legal system. His only hope was that of discovering who was behind this whole mess and why. Resolutely, Logan marched to the beat of the an imaginary execution drum that no one else could hear.

The man called Fallon knelt quietly, almost reverently before the two large stone biers in front of him. Both were ornately decorated, with intricate patterns carved gracefully into the massive stonework. The one to the left was slightly smaller and had a more masculine flavor to the ingrain patterns. The one to the right was obviously the resting place for a woman, and one that had been very beautiful if any trust was to be given to the angelic face carved into the stone surface. These two biers were the centerpieces of the otherwise barren room. Despite its barrenness, the room was well lit, with torches lining the walls and a huge chandelier that displayed hundreds of candles.

For the most part, these details completely escaped Fallon's notice. As always, his attention was completely riveted on the carved angelic face that adorned the stone bier in front of him. He felt an errant tear trickle down the scarred portion of his face, catching in every crag and crevice as it made its journey. The artisan that he had commissioned to carve these tombs had been highly skilled indeed. The face before him was almost exactly as he remembered her face to be, before it became tight and stretched by the pain of bone cancer. In life he could have gladly spent an entire day gazing at the gentle contours of her face and have considered it a day well spent. With her death, he had spent countless hours here in the tomb, staring at the stone visage and remembering the warmth of her smile. The man called Fallon felt another tear leak from the corner of his eye and made no move to stop it.

Rising to his feet, Fallon stepped forward to gently caress the stone face with his outstretched hand as he would a lover. "Soon, Lauren, soon. The man who kept you from me is here now. The one who destroyed our hopes and dreams of a happy life together is once again in my grasp." He pulled his hand away as a wave of bitterness washed through him. Spinning on his heal he began pacing away from the bier. "I am so sorry that I didn't kill him before, when I had the opportunity." Fallon's steps halted as his shoulders slumped in defeat. "If I had known the damage that he would cause, the hopes that he would destroy for us..." Fallon shook his head in despair, unable to complete the sentence. He resumed his pacing, now returning to the bier.

"I was such a fool back then. I always believed that I was completely in control. Even after you became sick, I still believed..." Once again, Fallon was unable to continue as his voice cracked. He halted his steps directly in front of the angelic visage to compose himself. After a few moments he continued "But no matter. He is in my grasp once again. And this time, he will not escape justice. He will be punished for the crimes that he has committed. I will see to it personally."

Approaching the final resting-place of his wife, then man called Fallon withdrew a single long-stem rose from his coat and laid it gently on the tomb. "I promise you, Lauren. He will never hurt another person the way that he hurt us."

Turning from the larger tomb Fallon directed his steps towards the smaller of the two. "I need you to look after your mother Jimmy. I know that I've told you a thousand times that I should be joining you two soon, but it looks like there is still a lot for me to do here for now." Fallon gently placed a hand on the tomb. "But when I finish what I have to do today, most of the things that I need to do will be finished." Fallon allowed a warm smile to cross his features. "So be a good boy for your mother. Your daddy will be home soon."

Fallon turned to leave the rooms, his footsteps echoing loudly on the stone floor. At the doors he turned to cast one last longing gaze across the room and happened to notice that a group of torches on the far wall had been extinguished. Fallon frowned slightly. He would have to speak firmly with the servants. Jimmy was terrified of the dark and the boy was not going to suffer anymore on the account of the incompetence of others. Filing the mental note away Fallon stepped through the doors to be greeted by Bressan.

"Is everything in readiness?" Fallon accepted the cloak that Bressan placed over his shoulders.

"Yes master. The man, Logan, awaits you in the judgment chamber."

"And his former companions?"

"They too await you, master."

Fallon nodded, satisfied. "See too it that you and your companions are also prepared to perform your duties."

"Yes master," Bressan bowed slightly and turned to leave, once Fallon had dismissed him.

"One other thing Bressan."

"Yes master," Bressan turned to face him again from across the hall.

"Some torches have gone out in the tomb room. I want them relit and I want the person responsible for letting them go out in my office after the trial."

They had brought him to some type of centralized chamber with highly vaulted ceilings and low hanging chandeliers that Logan only vaguely recognized. It seemed to him that he remembered hearing in one of their debriefings that the citadel had originally been constructed in the early fourteen hundreds by some noble family. His only other time in the Citadel hadn't really given him much of an opportunity for sightseeing, but he was fairly certain that this was one of the chambers that the remains of the team had hidden after they had been ambushed. Of coarse, it could have easily been some other room as well. At the moment, his mind was not one hundred percent certain of any of his memories.

The room had been modified to double as a makeshift courtroom. Logan was seated in front of a small wooden desk that had a match sitting a few feet to the side. He was still trussed up in his bonds that prevented him from extending his claws and was strapped into a large steel chair, which was somewhat reminiscent of an electric chair. There was even a stand for the Judge, which he noted was still empty, with the witness box next to it. He idly wondered which, if any, of his former teammates would be selected to defend him in this farce. Most of them were gathered inside the room with him, with the exception of Shipper and Adams. Logan once again found himself staring at his former teammates in complete disbelief. From the moment that Gambit's associate had delivered him to this place, he felt like he was trapped is some weird surrealistic nightmare. He still half-expected to simply wake up in his bed in a cold sweat any minute now.

His sensitive ears picked up the sound of foot steps in the chamber on the other side of the great door that was located next to the Judge's stand. The door opened to admit Adams and Shipper, the former taking position by the door and the latter moving to join him at the table. Shipper was wearing his usual somber smile that never quite reached his sad eyes. His ears were slightly tinged red and Logan recalled that, once over a hand of poker, that Shipper had admitted that when he became extremely exited or angry, his ears would often flush red. Logan couldn't really tell which was the case right now as Shipper's scent was a mass of conflicting emotions.

"We all agreed that I should be your defensive attorney," he stated simply as he joined Logan at the table. "Every one of them wanted to be the prosecuting attorney so they finally had to draw straws to decide it." Shipper shrugged his shoulders slightly. "Venuti won."

Logan growled, "Did you lose or something? Is that why you were stuck defending me?"

Shipper shook his head. "I told you, Logan. We mutually decided that of all of us, I would be the best one to act in your defense as I have the least reason to hate you. You will receive a completely fair, just, and non-biased trial to determine your verdict." Shipper paused for a moment, then added, "Then, we are going to take you outside, severely beat you, and hang you from the highest tree we can find."

Logan would have laughed at the absurdity of the statement if it weren't all too real. Whatever the reasons, his former comrades seemed dead serious about seeing this through to its deadly end. Logan was still trying to understand why they were doing it though. It made no sense what-so-ever for them to wish vengeance on him. He had done no less and no more than any of the others. The only difference was that he had managed to survive. Of coarse, he thought ruefully, that no longer seemed to be the case. His comrades were just as alive as he was now. Thus, it was doubly baffling as to why they would pursue this blood debt when the source of their contention was the fact that they had been allowed to die in the first place. Logan would have shrugged if he weren't immobilized.

The other thing that bothered him was the fact that he could sense something seriously wrong with his former teammates, other than the fact that they had come back from bloody deaths after fifty years and were intent on utterly destroying a man that they had once called friend. It was as if there was something hollow about them, he didn't know how else to describe it. At first he had clung to the wild hope that they were somehow being controlled mentally. That hope, however, was dashed quickly by their scents. They were enjoying the torment and torture far too much for mind-control. Smells of vindication and satisfaction rolled off of them with every hurled fist or insult. For another instant he considered the possibly that maybe they were just impostors, perhaps some design hatched by dept. K to knock him off balance and thus bring him under control once again. That theory was also abandoned. These people knew too much, remembered to many things, had too many of the small idiosyncrasies, to be impostors. Yet, despite these evidences, they still didn't seem completely real either.

Logan's reverie was once again interrupted by the sound of more footsteps approaching the chamber. He stared eagerly towards the door where the sound was increasing. All of former members of Operation Monfalcone were already here in the room with him. Whoever was arriving now was most likely the orchestrater of his present trial, and the key to this entire puzzle. At the sound of the footsteps, most everyone in the room went to attention, another signal of an approaching superior.

The door creaked open and Logan found himself studying the man who stood at the entrance to the "courtroom". He was a tall man, with a poise and posture that bespoke authority. If Logan were to venture a guess, he would say that the man appeared to be somewhere in his early forties, but his face also seemed to bear an ageless aspect to it. His head and face were both shaved clean, a fact that only emphasized the hard lines of his face. The features seemed vaguely familiar, as was the man's scent, but a crisscross pattern of ugly scars covered nearly the entire left portion of his face, making it nearly impossible to identify. Logan attempted more to match the scent with a memory. However, his mind refused to reveal anything more than vague premonitions of having tested that scent once before. Too much time had passed, and too many people had screwed around in his head for him to be able to clearly recall were he knew that scent from.

Adams, apparently playing the part of the bailiff, stepped forward and announced. "All arise. The honorable Judge Fallon is now presiding."

This Fallon, as he called himself, proceeded to the Judge's box, while all other members of the court, except Logan, stood in attention. When Fallon seated himself, so did the other, Shipper delivering a painful elbow to his ribs as he did so. "You are supposed to arise and show respect for a Judge."

Logan grunted painfully. "And how exactly do I do that in my present circumstances?" His voice was thick with contempt.

"Even restrained, as you are, your manner should reflect respect for your superior, not the contempt that even now is so plainly written on your face."

Logan merely ground his teeth in frustration. He knew, that no matter what he did, they would find offense. He could smell the anticipation, like a pack of rabid wolves, waiting to fall upon wounded prey, on every one of them. He didn't even know why they were bothering with the trial. They could barely restrain their desires of bloodshed. Maybe this was supposed to be some sort of sick foreplay for them.

"The court will now come to order," Fallon's imperious tone echoed hollowly in the large chamber. His eyes narrowed in on Logan, and the X-man could smell a bitter sense of malevolence from him the dwarfed his other captures angers. "This is case number one for this court. Humanity verses Logan Mathison AKA Wolverine, AKA Private Jonson, AKA Weapon X." Fallon's eyes continued to bore holes in him while an ironic smile touched only his lips. "Did I miss any important ones."

Logan grinned back defiantly, "A lot of people have also called me that mangy bastard, but, I never really cared much for that name."

Shipper moved to strike him again, but Fallon raised restraining hand. "The cur's defiance will be dealt with soon enough." Bitter regret tinged the air around Shipper, but he complied with Fallon's orders. Fallon nodded and continued. "You are to be tried for crimes committed against your fellow man during War Time conditions. Namely, the wholesale slaughter of innocents, the betrayal of your Ideals and teammates, and, most importantly," Fallon's eyes glazed over with barely contained fury, "the willful destruction of materials needed for the emergency medical care of millions of lives." His tone dropped to nearly a whisper. "My wife and son included."

"What is this garbage," Logan couldn't keep the outrage out of his voice. "I don't even know who you are or what you want. But, I never was involved in the wholesale slaughter of innocents."

This time Fallon didn't restrain Shipper as he struck the shorter man across the mouth. "You will address Judge Fallon with respect." He ordered.

Logan shook his head slightly to clear the black specks in his vision. When those specks had finally retreated, he turned to glare at Fallon once again. "If you wanna kill me, then go ahead and do it. But don't make any pretentious claims at this mockery being justice."

"Oh, but it is Justice Logan." Fallon whispered quietly. "How does the defendant plea?" He added in a more vaunted tone.

Shipper smiled as he began. "My client wishes to plead..."

"Not guilty!" Logan finished firmly. Shipper glared at him, but Fallon merely smiled in amused speculation.

"Very well, the prosecution may call to the stand its first witness," Venuti grinned wickedly at Fallon's invitation.

"The prosecution calls to the stand, Professor, Hans Bressan."

Logan didn't know why he was even amazed anymore, he had already seen more than his fair share of dead men resurrected today. Despite all of this, his jaw still dropped slightly as he watched the indicated man walk forward to the stand. Logan knew the face well, its pleading visage had haunted his dreams several times in the past. It was always pleading, begging to be spared, to be allowed to live. For, Logan had been his executioner.

Part 8

Two Miles North of Monfalcone
1942

The sun was just beginning to crest the horizon, slowly dispelling the oppressive darkness that had reigned for the great portion of the night. It continued to creep along, illuminating the outlines of the jagged mountains in the distance. The soil up in those hills was still a rich dark red, stained in the blood of all the troops that died there in the War that was supposed to end all wars. Logan snorted ruefully at that assessment. If only the people that had come up with that title could see the mess that they were making of this world now. Why was that human nature always sought to set new standards, even in areas where everyone was much better off with the older ones.

Logan, however had no time for such musings on the psychological nature of man. He had never really been all that interested in what it was that made a man tick, just how to take him down if he got in your way and provided a threat. Less eloquent, but certainly more effective in given circumstances. Right now was on of those circumstances.

Logan was currently, slithering through a patch of overgrown grass and weeds on his belly. He could smell Mclenn and Landen, each on deployed east and west of him respectively. Their target was a lone Nazi soldier, who had apparently gotten lost from the rest of his platoon. He certainly looked lost anyway. He was constantly scanning around and calling out for his comrades in German and he smelled confused and uncertain. Unfortunately, for him, he was also blocking the only available pass that lead to their rendezvous point with the rest of the team. If they were to backtrack and find another way it would take several hours. And with the sun rising, bringing more and more light every minute, several hours were not among their current luxuries. Once it was full daylight, they wouldn't have enough coverage to hide themselves well.

The trick was taking him out before he could give off some sort of an alarm. The were indistinct Reponses to his calls coming from the forest. Logan could tell by the faintness of their scents that It would be a while before they would actually find each other as it was, but something like a rifle discharge or a bloody scream would probably motivate them to come running a whole lot faster. That was why Logan had carefully position himself directly behind the soldier without ever letting him know that he was there. As he drew his knife, Logan almost felt sorry for the poor soldier. After all, the guy was just in the wrong place at the wrong time.

Logan waited as the soldier called one last time, then he attacked. The German barely had time to even react to the sound of rustling grass behind him before Logan had plunged the blade into the back of his neck and out through the front of his throat. The man tried to scream, but it just came out as a muted gurgle as blood bubbled up in his throat to pour out through his mouth and nose. He slowly fell to his knees and continued to thrash around for a few moments, in death throes. His movements slowed, then eventually stilled. Logan just shook his head as he bent to retrieve his knife.

As he stood the stocky man heard rustling behind him that resolved into Mclenn and Landen. They both smelled considerably relieved that he had been able to quietly dispose of the enemy soldier. Logan was certain that if one of them had been forced to do it that they would also have a faint smell of disgust on them as well. Taking an opponent out with a rifle from a distance was one thing. Feeling the life drain out of them in your own hands was quite another. The only people that that type of killing didn't disgust were wrong in the head.

"About how far away do you think those other soldiers are?" Mclenn was shading his eyes as he looked towards the approaching sun.

Logan shrugged. "Far enough. We'll have enough time to hide the body and get trough the pass before anyone of them makes it over this way."

Mclenn nodded, then signaled to Landen to grab the feet of the soldier's body while he hoisted him under his arms. Together, the two drug his body over to a shallow trench, overgrown with grass and weeds and heaved the body into it. They spent a few moments afterwards arranging the grass so that it would more effectively conceal the corpse. For his own part, Logan just kept his distance from the cadaver. The smell of death was already setting in and that always weighed unpleasantly heavily in his nostrils.

As Mclenn and Landen rejoined him, they set off down the pass again. As the sun was casting more and more light with each passing second, they were often forced to the side of the rode to find adequate cover against someone sighting them from the ridged walls. Their progress was slow, and it seemed like an eternity before they finally reached the other end of the pass, which opened up on acre after acre of abandoned farmland.

Mclenn whistled softly. "Adams would go nuts for this. He's a farmer himself. It's one of the few things that he talks about with passion."

Logan was well aquatinted with Adams's love of working the earth. They had spent many a night awake in bed talking about simple pleasures, such being able to stay in bed until the sun rose in the morning. Adams had always inevitably returned to talking about farming. That or his plans to find and marry a Hollywood movie star after the war. But even that tied back in as he planned on them living on the biggest farm in California.

"Adams will go nuts for this," Logan corrected. "He's not dead. Not yet."

"Right," Mclenn replied wistfully.

Landen was also wistfully surveying the wide-open territory. "It's so beautiful. I'd almost be tempted to come back here myself, after the war is over and Sherry and I have gotten married that is."

Mclenn leaned over to Logan and whispered softly, "Long-hair brooding alert."

Logan grinned in spite of himself. "How many kids were you planning on having again, Landen?"

"Oh, at least five or six," Landen's face took on a speculative look. "Maybe seven. Depends on how the economy's doing when we get back."

"What about the wife?" Mclenn was grinning now as well. "She might want to have a say in it as well."

Landen waved his hand dismissively. "I'm not worried. Sherry loves kids and always told me that she wanted a big family."

"Well, she might change her mind after the first..." Mclenn cut off suddenly as the sound of muffled voices filtered in from around the other side of the pass opening.

Logan cursed silently to himself as they dropped and disappeared into the undergrowth. The voices were located upwind of their present location. Thus, he hadn't been able to catch their scent in advance. He was going to have to be more careful about this sort of thing if he wanted to get out of this mission alive. They couldn't afford any more mistakes. The ones that they had made already had already proven very costly.

Logan readied his rifle and strained his senses to attempt to pick out the sent of the intruders, and thus make a guess at their numbers. They were still too far upwind for him to get their scents and the muffled voices hadn't been loud enough for them to determine what language it was. Plus, after the initial warning, there had been no further sounds from the new arrivals. Logan just hoped that they weren't being quiet because they were now aware of his, and the other two soldier's presence.

The three of them just waited there silently for another two minutes until they heard a the sound of movement once again. Logan could tell by the sound that only one person was moving toward them right now. If there were others in the group, they were probably waiting farther back to provide cover fire. Logan signaled silently to Mclenn and Landen. The sound was slowly making its way towards Landen's position and they would probably need to deal with the threat as quickly and quietly as possible. Landen nodded and drew his knife.

The sound was still around the other side of the rock outcropping, but approaching quickly. Logan watch Landen tense, ready to pounce. The sound stopped for a brief moment, as if its owner were checking around brief. Then their visitor began moving towards them again. As the figure rounded the corner, a sudden shift in the air currents brought his scent directly to Logan's nose.

"Landen! Wait!" Logan leapt to his feat calling to Landen an instant too late. Landen collided, full force with Shipper and the two tumbled forward onto the ground. Shipper, who had been caught completely off-guard, still hadn't identified his assailant and was struggling back frantically. Mclenn and Logan both rushed to separate the two soldiers. Out of the corner of his eye, Logan noticed Venuti also running towards them.

"Hey, hey, hey!" Mclenn shouted as he hauled Shipper off of Landen. "It's us, the good guys."

Logan was busy pulling Landen away, being careful to avoid the knife. After both had been able to calm back down, Logan began the questions. "Where's everybody else?"

Shipper took a couple of deep steadying breaths. "They're about a quarter mile back at an old abandoned barn."

"The two of us were sent out on patrol while there was still enough darkness for cover to see if we would run into any of you guys." Venuti added as he arrived.

"What's the plan then?" Landen replace his knife in its sheath.

Venuti shrugged. "Same plan, we meet back up and continue the operation. The fact that we had a lousy start doesn't change anything."

Shipper rose back to his feet. "Except the fact that now they know we're out here."

Mclenn smiled grimly, "Just adds to the challenge."

"We lost Vanhorn," Logan could smell the regret and loss coming off of Adams in waves. "Right after we got off of the dock. Me and him were bringing up the rearguard. Then, it was if Vanhorn just lost it. He refused to fall back, just kept firing at the advancing lines," Adams had to pause for moment before continuing. "We had to leave him behind. Right as we were leaving, I saw him take a bullet in the head."

Hopps just continued to stare silently off into the darkening night skies while Adams related the details of Vanhorn's demise. Logan didn't know what to say. Vanhorn had always been kind of a pain, but no field commander likes to have to order one of his men left behind. It was something that Logan himself hoped that he would never be forced to do.

After their encounter with Venuti and Shipper, the five soldiers had returned to the barn where the others had been hiding out. For the most part, the had spent the entire day hiding out in rotted old haystacks, trying to get as much sleep as possible. As night began to fall again, they had all become a little bit more bold, wandering around to barn grounds. A small group of them, Logan included, had even found an old wooden crate and was currently using it as a makeshift table for a game of poker. An old bag of rusty nails had been located and they had employed them as proxies for their future pay. Considering their current circumstances, none of them felt all that hesitant about betting heavily.

"Yeah, it's a real shame," George muttered as he examined his own cards. "I never pictured him as being the first one to eat a bullet."

Logan considered his hand and decided to draw another card. "He wasn't. Chancer was killed on the deck of the ship before Vanhorn was shot."

"That one wasn't much of surprise," Adams added a couple of rusty nails to the center of the table. "I thought that he wasn't going to make it through the two months in England at times."

Logan looked at his cards once again. He had the two of hearts, ten of spades, queen of clubs, Jack of diamonds, and three of diamonds. It was probably the worst had that he had drawn all night. On top of that, he could tell by Adams and Shipper's scents that they both were quite confident in the cards that they had received. Logan growled softly and threw down his hand in frustration, "I'm out."

Venuti looked at his hand then glanced at Shipper, who was wearing a perfect poker face. He studied the soldier for a moment, looking for something that no one else could see, then placed his own hand on the table. "I'm out. And I would suggest that you fold as well Adams."

Logan could smell the surprised curiosity from Adams as well as the indignation from Shipper as they both stared at Venuti. "Why do you say that?"

Venuti smiled at Shipper and leaned back against the wall. "Should I tell them, or do you want to Shipper?"

"You slime," Shipper sputtered, "That was supposed to stay between you and me."

Venuti chuckled richly. "Something like this is too good to keep to myself. Now I can give them my version, or you can tell them and try to salvage this one a little bit."

Shipper seemed to struggle with the decision a little before he finally reluctantly muttered, "Sometimes... when I'm excited... my ears... turn red."

All for sets of eyes around the crate were immediately drawn to his ears, which were indeed flushed a dark pink. After a second of silence, both George and Adams simultaneously threw down their hands and stated simply, "I'm out."

Shipper grunted in frustration as the other four dissolved into laughter. The pot that he pulled in was considerably smaller than any other the other pots that had been won so far that night. After collecting the rusty nails he turned and pinned Venuti with a death glare. "I should tell them about what happened at your sister's wedding for that."

Venuti's smirk only deepened. "It would probably only raise their current opinion of me."

"Okay, Juicy gossip," George declared in an eager voice. "Let's air out all the dirty laundry."

Shipper smiled before continuing. "He picked a fight with the groom at the reception. They ended up destroying the cake too, if I remember correctly."

Venuti's expression and scent displayed no regret in the slightest. "I was just trying to convey my concern that he live up to his duties of cherishing my sister like the princess she is."

"Remind me never to marry into your family Venuti," Adams said. "I already had one princess for a girlfriend and she didn't even stay with me past my first week at boot camp."

"Your girl friend left you your first week of boot camp?" George sounded a little incredulous, but smelled amused.

"Worse, she got engaged to one of my old rivals my first week of boot camp. The first warning that I got was a wedding announcement," Logan winced while everyone else dissolved into laughter again. Adams began dealing the cards again. "Ya' know, it's just like the good book says, I find more bitter than death, the woman."

"The Bible doesn't say that," George retorted.

"Yeah it does."

"Where?"

"Somewhere in the Old Testament, okay. Are you in or not this hand?"

George smelled as if he wanted to keep the argument going but simply motioned for Adams to deal the cards. Logan, however, had lost enough to suit him for one night. When Adams moved to deal him a card Logan held up his hand. "I'm going to sit this one out guys. I'm tired of giving all of my hard earned money to Venuti."

Venuti just grinned in response, "It's not my fault that you're any easy read." Logan just shook his head and stood to leave, the voices from the card game fading behind him as he walked.

"Are you in for another five Adams?"

"How do Shipper's ears look?"

"Like a baby's bottom."

"I'm in."

"I will get you back for that Venuti."

Logan noticed that Hopps was no longer standing by the barn window. He could tell by the trail of his scent that the man had gone outside to be alone. Logan snorted ruefully. The guy was probably tearing himself apart for the losses of Vanhorn and Chancer. Logan could understand and even empathize with Hopps right now. Heaven knew, that he had felt more than his fair share of responsibility for not being able to do more for Chancer. It didn't seemed to matter that he rationally knew that the circumstances were well beyond his control. That didn't stop him from rehashing it continually in his mind in an attempt to find something that he could have done differently.

After a moment of consideration, Logan decided to join Hopps outside the barn in the night. He found the other man leaning against the far side, staring off into the fading sunset. His scent was cold and filled with anger and guilt. Logan silently took his place next to him and watched the last crimson rays of light fade out behind the mountains.

"We never take time ta' notice the simple things like this anymore," Logan finally ventured. "This war's been so ugly for so long, I think that we have even stopped trying to look for things that aren't ugly." Hopps still wasn't responding. "I guess it's just too easy to get caught up in brooding about things that we can't control."

"I lost two of my men yesterday at a confrontation that should have never happened." Hopps's gaze stayed locked on the fading sun. The smell of loss was heavy in his scent now. "If I couldn't even get this team through the easiest point of the entire operation, what chance do any of us have of surviving once things become truly difficult?"

Logan was silent for a moment before responding. "Hopps, both you and I know that everyone of us is nothing more than walking hamburger in this mission. Command probably didn't even count on us getting this far. Their philosophy the entire time was, if you can complete the operation , great, if not, at least we don't have to deal with you anymore."

"That's not entirely true, but, yeah, I know," Hopps finally looked away from the sun to meet Logan's gaze. "I heard what you did for Mclenn and Landen."

"I didn't do anything for Mclenn and Landen..."

"That's not what I heard. I heard that you took charge in a difficult situation and saved Mclenn's life," Hopps's tone gave no room for argument.

Logan shrugged. "I just did what anyone would have done."

Hopps turned his head back to the sun and closed his eyes as he leaned back against the barn. "I have a favor to ask of you, Mathison."

Logan nodded. "Anything."

Hopps took a deep breath. "This mission is going to get a whole lot bloodier before it's over." His scent smelled resigned now. "If anything happens to me, I want you to promise me that you will get as many of us out alive as possible."

Logan shook his head. "Look you're probably talking to the wrong guy."

"No!" Hopps's gaze had snapped back on him again, his scent determined and ungiving. "I know a little about your story, Mathison. I heard how you punched out that commander because he was about to lead a regiment on a suicide charge."

Logan glared back, equally ungiving. "Do you have any idea what yer asking of me?"

Hopps nodded and his trademark goofy grin blossomed on his face, breaking the tension. "That's why I'm asking you, Mathison."

Logan looked away for a moment. He didn't want this responsibility. He didn't want to have to lead this team if Hopps caught a bullet. A thousand different thoughts whirled back and forth in his head. Finally, he reached his decision. Turning back to Hopps he extended his hand. Hopps accepted it with a firm grip.

"Ya' got yerself a promise Hopps."

Part 9

Washington D.C.
Today

Elizabeth Braddock had to grudgingly admit, she was impressed. For the last half-hour she had been through some of the most intricate and complete security that she had ever seen. Although she could not admittedly recall a great deal about security layouts, Kwannon had dealt with high level security several times and knew how to recognized quality. However, it was not the level of security that demanded respect, after all this was the Pentagon. It was the ease with which her present companion had taken them flawlessly through it that made her once again revise her opinion of the man. Gambit had a tendency of making her do that.

He was currently hanging in an inverted position disabling what appeared to be the electronics for a tension detector system. Elizabeth tried to remain as patient as possible, but they had been in this ventilation duct for the past half-hour and she was rapidly tiring of the confined quarters. She once again railed against fate which had cast her as the only X-man that Gambit would even consider taking along with him on the present data retrieval mission. She, as well as everyone else had been fully expecting an explosive confrontation when Scott had insisted that Gambit could not simply break into the Pentagon without some form of back-up. Gambit had fumed and stormed out of the war room for that matter. However, he returned fifteen minutes later saying that he would take her as back up and no one else. Betsy was certain that hers was not the only jaw that dropped at his impromptu statement. He had given no explanation for his decision other than the snide comment that he didn't think anyone else on the team was capable of keeping up with him without giving him or her away.

*Okay Betts, I be t'rough here. Le's get movin' on.* Betsy nearly jumped as his thoughts interrupted her reverie. That had been another unexpected contingency. From the onset, Gambit had insisted on forming a low-level link that would permit them to communicate telepathically. Considering his distrust for telepaths in general, and her in particular, to say that she had been unprepared for such a development would be quite the understatement. Gambit had simply shrugged it off saying that they would need to communicate without making any noise. He didn't have the patience or time or, as she suspected, the desire to teach her the complex system of gestures that he generally used. Thus, telepathic communication had won out by default.

Gambit was busying himself removing the ventilation and paneling. They now had an unobstructed view into the central vault area, as Gambit defined it. She waited for a few moments, but when he made no move to enter she sent a questioning thought his way. *What are you waiting for?*

*Shh,* he hushed her mentally. *De guards are makin' t'eir rounds. I'm timin' t'em to get an idea of how much time we'll have when we get inside.*

Betsy could no longer restrain her curiosity. *How did you know how to best all of that security? Don't tell me the thief's guild has the plans and layouts for the security to the Pentagon. It just doesn't seem like their style. It would draw too much attention to them.*

For a few long moments silence was her only reply and she thought that he would just ignore her question. *I learned it from de' best.* He turned to flash her an amused grin. *Israeli Intelligence. 'Bout four or five years ago they set up an exercise with the U.S. A team of t'eir best was suppose TA' slip in and out while de' staff was on full alert.* The amusement in his grin was unmistakable now. *Ten minutes into de drill de Pentagon was contacted by de Israeli and toll' tat de team was already finished wit' de exercise an de' staff hadn't even known.*

Betsy shook her head and smiled as the implications set in. *I'll wager that the Security Council was furious at being shown up like is such a way.*

*Le's just say t'at more t'en a few people were transferred to manning radar stations in de middle of remote places like Alaska.* An odd sensation was feeding through the link and it took Betsy a few minutes to realize that it was a type of mental laughter. Betsy suddenly felt the urge to giggle in response. The absurdity of the situation suddenly struck her. Here she was, attempting to break into to the pentagon, circumventing some of the most advanced security technology in the world, and right now the biggest risk they faced was the threat of giving away their position because she broke-down and started laughing.

She didn't have to look at Gambit to know that he still wore an amused expression. After all, she could still feel his laughter through their link. She just hoped that it was at his own remark rather than her near slip-up. That hope was dashed with his next thought. *I got busted t'at way once myself. Was wit' my frier', Henri, doin' a bank job. He got some dust up his nose and almost sneezed. He managed t' hold it in but made such a funny lookin' face t'at I just busted up. Unfortunately, t'ere happened t' be a security guard right under us at de time.*

Betsy colored slightly. There were times when she wished he was considerably less observant. But at least the humor of the situation had not been lost on him in the slightest. This was the closest thing that either one of them had experienced to camaraderie since her uninvited mind probe. She was more than willing to endure a little embarrassment as opposed to the customary belligerent attitude that she usually received from Gambit.

*Anyway,* Gambits thoughts assumed a more business-like tone. *Most o' what we been doin' is based on de notes t'at I happen to have in my possession o' t'at break-in. I had t' make a few modifications. De Israeli team wasn't tryin' t' make it into de central vault like we are.*

*So how are you planning on accomplishing that little feat?*

Another arrogant smile bloomed on his face. *I'm not on the top ten list of people t'at ya' don't want t' mess wit' for not'in, chere.*

There was something about the way his mind conveyed that particular message that chilled her. It was very much akin to the chill that she had felt right after he had first come out of his kiss-induced coma.

The Kwannon part of her realized that it was the type of feeling experienced when in the company of cold-blooded killers. Betsy consciously shoved that line of thought away. Right now she and Gambit were on the same team. And despite what-ever personnel reservations that she might harbor, team-mates needed to trust each other. However, at the same time, she knew that letting her guard down around this man would be potentially fatal.

Gambit was busy pulling equipment out of one of the two duffel bags that they had brought along. This one contained mostly harnesses, black nylon ropes, and a complex lever and pulley system. He also pulled out what appeared to be a small harpoon gun and a small electronic box. The thief immediately went to work setting up the pulley system and strapping himself into to the harness. When he was finished, he handed her the electronic box.

*Listen Bets,* Betsy hoped that he hadn't sensed the shift in her attitude towards him. If he had , he wasn't showing it. *Dis' grate ain't positioned directly over de computer terminal t'at I need t' access. Ya' need t' lower me down, gentle like, till I be almost even wit' de keyboard. De floor's pressure sensitive so I can't just walk across it. I goin' have t' use t'is.* He indicated the harpoon gun in his hand. *It's mounted wit' a suction cup. Once I fire off de line, I can reel it in and pull myself right over to de computer.*

Betsy nodded. It sounded like a feasible plan of action. *Now, here's de hard part. De room also has an decibel meter. An', unfortunately, t'is lil' dart gun makes more den enough noise t' set it off.* Betsy could certainly see how that could present a problem.

*T'at's were you come in.* Gambit indicated the electronic device that he had just handed her. *T'at t'ing is programmed t' send a static surge t'rough de system, somet'ing dat will just look like a blip on de screen. It should last for 'bout one second. T'at will be 'nuff time for me t' shoot de line out wit'out trippin' some alarms.* His stare intensified considerably. *You have t' press de button de instant I pull de trigger or we get busted.*

She nodded again to show that she understood. Gambit seemed satisfied and turned back to the black dufflebag. The last piece of equipment that he pulled out was a bit of a surprise to her. It appeared to a type of latex hood equipped with breathing apparatus. He donned the hood, which completely covered his face, and connect the hose running from the breathing apparatus into some opening on the inside of his shirt.

He must have noticed her confused expression. *De room also be temperature controlled at sixty-nine degrees. De suit is heat insulated, but my breat' would still be warm 'nuff t' give me away. An I hate havin' t' hold my breat' for long periods of time.*

*How long does that tank last for?*

Gambit thought for a second before replying. *'Bout t'ree minutes. Five if I breat'e real shallow like.*

Betsy tried not to look dubious at his assessment. She just hoped that three minutes would be enough time. Gambit was once again busying himself above the grate opening. This time it look like he was using a set of miniature mirrors to deflect the laser beam grid below the grate opening. After a few moments of tinkering, he finally managed to create a gap about two and a half feet in diameter. Satisfied, he finished setting up the rope and pulley gears and then hooked the cords in to his harness.

*You don't really think that you can fit through that? Do you?*

He responded by handing her the ropes after he had run them through the pulley. *Gonna' find out right quick Betsy. Remember, gentle like.* Betsy suppressed another dubious look as Gambit switch on his air supply to his oxygen tank., then positioned himself over the grate. Betsy slowly began to let out the line as smoothly as possible. As Gambit lowered, he fluidity contorted himself until he was able to just barely slide through the gap in the laser grid. Betsy let a mental sigh of relief as he passed through without touching any of the beams. That was one obstacle down, only another dozen to go.

She continued to lower Gambit until he was just even with the computer keyboard, as he had requested. The terminal that they needed to access was still a good three feet out of his reach. That, of coarse, was why he had brought the harpoon gun. Drawing it smoothly, he took aim for the wall directly behind the computer.

*Ready Bets?*

Betsy adjusted her grip on the electronic device. *Ready Gambit.*

*On t'ree. One, two, t'ree.*

The exact moment that she pressed the button on the device, she heard a soft pop that she knew was the sound of the harpoon discharging. A split second later she heard a soft thud as the suction cup impacted on the wall. For a moment neither one of them so much as breathed. After a few seconds Betsy ventured cautiously, *Did it work?*

*I don't see no guards chere.*

She let out a breath that she didn't know that she had been holding.

*Then let's finish this before the guards do catch on.*

*No rushes, chere. T'ere be plenty of time.* An amused smugness had entered into his thoughts again.

*Five minutes is not plenty of time as far as I'm concerned.*

*It is when my air is only goin' t' last for anot'er two.* Was his response as he activated the switch to slowly real his dangling body over to the computer terminal. After a moment, he was in position over the keyboard, suspended by the two separate lines.

Betsy watched as he hooked the harpoon gun to his harness to free up both hands. He went to work, furiously entering in codes, his hands moving in a blur. He had claimed that he had been able to retrieve all the necessary codes from an old acquaintance of his. He had certainly paid enough for them. She still remembered Scott balking slightly at the price tag attached to that particular bit of information when Gambit had brought it home. She wondered if he had secretly considered just storming the place and taking the data by force rather than pay such an astronomical figure.

Gambit's hands were still moving at a furious pace. Betsy was getting worried. The guards would be coming back in about three minutes and it had taken them nearly two and a half minutes to get him into his present position. Apparently, the codes had been authentic, because he was now removing specialized high-compression disk from his front pocket. He entered the disk into one of the drives and waited for a few moments. A second later, the disk was ejected as he claimed it. Betsy allowed a brief smile to cross her features. They had pulled it off. Now all that remained was to get out of here.

Gambit retrieved the harpoon gun from his belt and slowly let the line feed back out. A small gesture of his hand was all the encouragement that she needed to begin reeling him up again. Just as he was about to reach the laser grid he gestured for her to stop again.

*Need t' reel de' harpoon line back in.* As he sent her this thought, the harpoon line disconnected from the suction cup, swinging outward slightly now that it was no longer anchored in place, and began to retract into the gun. *Gonna' have t' leave de suction cup behind so t'ey'll figure out real quick t'at somebody's been in here.* She may have imagined it, but seemed as if his thoughts were becoming somewhat strained. He must have exhausted himself more than he thought he would. Time was running out now. They only had seconds before the guards returned. She tried to keep the desperation out of her thoughts.

*Hurry up Gambit. We don't have much time.*

*Doin' m' best, chere.* There was no mistaking the strain in his mental voice this time. He slowly contorted his body so as to barely fit through the gap and Betsy finished hauling him in.

The moment that he was back inside the shaft, he immediately went to work on the laser grid, restoring it to it's former pattern. That completed, he placed the grid back in place just as a guard entered the room. He gave the room a cursory glance, completely missing the suction cup, and exited once again. Betsy gave another mental sigh of relief. The man's inattention had just bought them some more time.

She turned to see Gambit almost frantically removing his headgear. When he finally managed to get the mask off he settled against the shaft wall, breathing heavily, eyes closed. The pieces slowly fell into place as she watched him practically gulp in the air, except he was making barely more noise than a person breathing normally.

*How long ago did your air run out Gambit?*

His chest continued to rise and fall more deeply than normal, but his breathing was slowing down now. *'Bout two minutes ago.* His eyes opened slowly, glowing eerily in the darkness. *Not the longest t'at I've had t' do, but still not t'at much fun.*

Betsy studied him for a moment longer. *Well, we have what we need. Why don't we leave before the idiot sees the suction cup and blows the whistle on us.*

He flashed her a grin that she might have considered charming, if it were not also so infuriating. *Right behind y' chere.*

Scott Summers was doing his best not to let his frustrations get the better of him. For the past two hours, they had been checking though the data that Gambit and Psylocke had managed to obtain, looking for any type of information on a super-soldier project with the code name Falconmount or anything remotely close to what Bishop had described to them. Thus far, they had found some rather disturbing plans for a sentinel project, orders for a strategic redeployment of a group of nuclear warheads to better defend against the mutant threat, and a couple of secret arms deals with third world countries that had adopted a more aggressive stance on the mutant issue. However, they had been unable to find anything on a super-soldier project beyond ancient data on the creation of Captain America.

Scott slumped in his chair, resting his chin on his left hand. Beside him, Beast let out a sigh of equal frustration as he snagged yet another lit cigarette from Gambits hand and snuffed it on the counter. Gambit glared at the furry doctor, but merely drew another cigarette from his coat pocket. With a touch of his finger, the tip turned red, then orange. He made a show out of taking a deep contented drag, then blew the smoke in Hank's direction. Henry, for his part, simply sat there, waiting for the next moment that Gambit would let his guard drop for a few seconds so that he could swipe his cigarette again. No words were ever exchanged. It was part of an on-going battle that the two had been engaged in as long as Scott could remember.

"You know, fearless leader," As Hank spoke he made a grab for Gambit's cigarette. Gambit was prepared this time and managed to move his hand out of the way. "It could be that we are proverbially barking up the wrong tree."

Scott was slowly massaging a tense spot between his brows. "How so?"

"All that are time displaced X-man has been able to tell us is that it is a project designed to create supersoldiers to deal with the perceived mutant threat. He was not aware if the same project might have embraced other facets besides mutant control."

Bishop, who was standing behind Scott pause for a moment, then replied, "That's about right."

Hank continued. "And if the project, as he states, is not supposed to exist for another twenty years, it is quite possible that the project simply has not evolved into a super-soldier slash mutant extermination hybrid as of yet."

Scott pulled his glassed off of his face, ensuring that his eyes were closed, and used a cloth rag to clean some dirt off of the lenses. "That is very likely possibility. Seeing as we don't really have anything else to check on, I'd say go for it." Scott nodded his head in satisfaction as he placed his glasses back on. He could see much more clearly now.

"You know," Beast said ruefully as he grabbed at Gambit's cigarette, this time successfully, "I use to try to get Xavier to say "Make it so" at times like these." His eyes glazed over momentarily at the memory, giving Gambit the opportunity he needed to swipe his cigarette back before Henry snuffed it. "One time he even did it and even stolid old Bishop had to laugh at that one." His eyes twinkle mischievously as they those of the mutant in question. "Of course, seeing how Xavier isn't here, and I was never able to get you to do a Warf impression before..."

"No," the black man replied simply.

Hank shrugged and turned back to his computer, snagging Gambit's cigarette and quickly snuffing it this time. "Well, were do we start then?"

Scott stood, stretching as he did, and walked over to stand behind Hank's chair. Looking at the choices on the screen he randomly selected one that seemed somewhat promising. "Try compounds, Hank. Maybe they are using some sort of a prison compound so that they can test this supersoldier thing on the inmates."

"Aye aye, fearless leader," Hank blithely ignored Gambit as he lit up another cigarette. "Just out of curiosity, can you do a good Riker impression?"

Beast used the mouse to highlight compounds. However, just as he was about to select the item, he made another grab for Gambit's cigarette, this one unsuccessful, and ended up selecting covert operations instead. Once again, Scott was forced to keep his frustration in check. He really didn't mind this little game that Gambit and Beast played, so long as it didn't interfere with their work. Beast realized what he had done and was about to back out to the previous menu, when Gambit laid a restraining hand on his arm.

"Wait one moment, mon ami," Gambit was gazing intently at the screen. Scott's curiosity was piqued now. "What is it Gambit."

"T'is," He was indicating a file marked, Operation Monfalcone.

"What is so important about that, " Scott was genuinely confused. The file was dated before the end of the second world war.

"I only know a lil' bit of Italian. Mainly 'cause its close t' French," Gambit was so involved in his current thought that he didn't even notice Henry swipe his cigarette from his fingers. "But, I do know t'at Monfalcone means Falconmount."

Scott just shook his head. "But that file is over fifty years old. How could it possibly be relevant to what we are looking for?"

"Beats me, mon ami. Why don't y' open it an' we can find out?" Gambit moved to take another drag from his cigarette, realized that it was gone, and glared darkly at Henry once again.

"Optimal idea, a quick perusal could reveal much," Beast's actions match his words as he opened the file and rapidly began scanning its contents.

"Let's see. Operation Monfalcone, named such because the entry point of the incursion was at the port city of Monfalcone. Objectives, the assassination of scientists rumored to be involved in a..." Beast paused, then turned his chair to face them all. "...in a Nazi super-soldier project."

Scott felt his eyebrows rising as the implications set in. A fifty year old Nazi super-soldier project revitalized. The prospect chilled him to the bone. It was Bishop, however, that reacted the most.

"Those traitors!" He thundered. When he suddenly found himself the center of attention he continued to explain. "In my future, all research acquired by the Nazi concentration camps is banned by international treaty. This is a clear violation of that treaty."

"But why ban the knowledge if it could potentially save..."

Bishop closed his eyes painfully. "Beast, you don't know everything that those sick butchers discovered and documented. No one in this time does. The government keeps a tight lock on it. Suffice to say that they discovered some very unorthodox methods of torture and execution."

A heavy silence reigned momentarily before Cyclops continued. "If this really is some old Nazi super-soldier project revitalized, we could have some serious problems here. But how do we know that this Operation Falconmount and Operation Monfalcone are even connected to Logan?"

"Scott, I think that you should have a look at this." Hank was staring intently at the monitor in front of him. It was the roster of the soldiers that had been sent on the mission. One name stood out and demanded their attention. Logan Mathison.

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