War Crimes, Parts 13-15
by Morgan Lewis
Part 13
Forty miles north of Udine
1942
Logan knew that his skeptic stare was being mirrored on the faces of his fellow teammates. That stare was currently directed at the entrance to a rather dark and confining tunnel or, as he would have called it, a hole in the ground. George had insisted that this particular opening, which they had located just two miles south of the citadel, was their best option of finding the underground grottos and thus, the entrance into the dungeons. However, as Logan considered the dark abyss in front of them, he idly wondered if they wouldn't be better off attempting to scale the north ridge even with the Nazi soldiers waiting for them.
"Did I ever mention that I hate tight enclosed spaces?" Landen was nervously digging in the dirt with a stick.
"Only about forty times," Mclenn responded, shrugging.
"Are we even sure that this thing will lead us into citadel?" Venuti questioned.
The sharp smell of irritation increased marginally around George as he glared at Venuti.
"Do you want to try taking the north ridge instead?"
Venuti shrugged. "I'm not sure either option is going to get us anywhere."
They had already spent the last two and a half hours searching for some sort of entrance into the network of underground grottos beneath the citadel. It was a task that had been slowed considerably by the fact that they were constantly being forced to maneuver around, dodge, and in some cases, even eliminate patrolling enemy soldiers. The idea that the narrow dark opening in the ground before them was the result of those past two hours of searching was not sitting well with any of them.
"But seriously," Venuti continued. "Is this tunnel even headed in the right direction?"
George consulted his compass again before replying. "From our present position, the citadel has a bearing of nine point twenty-three degrees."
He pointed at the tunnel with the compass for emphasis. "From what I can see, this tunnel is running at about eight point sixteen degrees north." The soldier shrugged. "It's not exactly parallel to the line that we want to walk but it should be close enough. Once the tunnel opens up into the underground grottos, we should have more freedom to set our own bearings."
Logan could tell that Venuti was still highly dubious. Of course, Logan was as well. They all knew that an error of just a few degrees could completely throw them off course and leave them lost in the tunnels for days. And that was a mishap that they just couldn't afford if they wanted to be able to make the extraction point on time. In the present circumstances maybe just wasn't good enough.
"We could always double back and check for another entrance," Landen suggested hopefully. "Preferably one that is a little bit less constrictive. After all, if someone caught us in there," he indicated the narrow passageway, "we wouldn't be in the best position defensively."
Logan would have been more inclined to agree with Landen two hours ago before they had arrived at the base of the mount were the citadel rested. The entire perimeter was surrounded by troops who were diligently patrolling the area. The longer that they were in the open, the more nervous Logan became. Their luck could only hold for so long. It was just a matter of time before one of those patrols ran into them. Thus, even the prospects of the dark cave before him seemed preferable than engaging in a fire-fight against an enemy that out-numbered them by at least three to one.
Logan suddenly stiffened as he caught the scent of an enemy patrol.
His gut tightened when he realized that their presence had been masked by the heavy smell of pine in the immediate area. The troops had been able to get fairly close to the group without the Canadian detecting them. Logan cursed silently when he realized that their scent was growing stronger, meaning their present course would likely lead them to intercept him and his teammates.
"Hopps," he hissed quietly, "if yer gonna' make a decision, ya' had better make it fast." Logan silently indicated the direction of the approaching troops. "We've got company."
Everyone immediately hushed and dropped into defensive crouches at Logan's statement. A few moments later, the soft sound of boots crunching pine-needles filtered through the trees. Logan strained his senses until he could make out eight individuals. Using his hands he quickly flashed the number to Hopps who was chewing on his bottom lip in contemplation. Logan could almost see the wheels turning in the man's head as he calculated the probable loss that they would suffer if they engaged the troops. The man shook his head, apparently reaching a decision.
"Listen," Hopps's voice cut in, indicating the cave with his left hand, "This is the only, and I mean only, option that we have available to us. We trust George to get us through the caves and into the citadel."
Hopps stared at them a moment longer, waiting for any further objections. The smell of uncertainty was thick in the air but no one ventured any further complaints. After all, there wasn't really anything further to say.
When everyone seemed to agree, Hopps turned back to George. "All right buddy. You and I are on point until you can get us into the citadel."
He turned to Venuti and Shipper then. "You two close it in behind us. I want everyone to stay alert, and stay quiet. We are running silent from this moment on."
Logan nodded in agreement, as did the others.
All eight quickly followed George and Hopps though the dank opening, filing silently into the darkness. After traveling ten meters, Venuti and Shipper broke off to watch the entrance of the cave and ensure that they would not be pursued.
Hopps had set a fairly easy pace at first. He probably wanted to make it easier for Shipper and Venuti to close in once they were finished with their recon.
The group continued for another two minutes before Hopps called them to a halt. By this point, the darkness of the tunnel had become so complete that Logan couldn't see more than two feet in front of him. He was navigating more by sound and smell now. They sat, huddled in the dark silence for nearly a minute before Hopps finally gave the order to light some torches.
Despite the makeshift torches that each one of them carried, a dried branch with a kerosene soaked rag fashioned around on end, the darkness of the tunnel nearly drowned them in its oppressiveness.
The torches seemed to cast shadows across the cave rather than actually bring real light to the recesses. Logan's vision was better than most, and even he could barely make out the vague outlines of stalactites and stalagmites just outside of the illuminated area around them. Once again, Logan silently prayed that the orientation skills of George were better than that of their field commander.
A few minutes later, the soft scuffling of boots alerted Logan to the presence of Venuti and Shipper as they closed in. The entire group watched them expectantly until Shipper finally replied. "They poked around the entrance of the tunnel. I guess that they didn't find anything too interesting because they moved on after only a few seconds."
The sweet smell of relief filled the cave as a collective sigh escaped from each of their mouths. The fear that the patrol would followed them forcing a confrontation in the tunnels had almost been palatable. Now that they were certain of their immediate safety, everyone was able to relax considerably.
Hopps nodded in silent satisfaction and motioned the two new arrivals to fall in. Then he turned to George, signaling him to move on.
As they continued to descend into the ever-increasing darkness, Logan tried to estimate
their location in relation to the citadel. The path that they were following was headed in
a generally northward direction, which is were they wanted to go. However, it could easily
change direction with the next bend in the tunnel taking them miles off course.
The line stopped as they reached the first juncture of caves. Logan could see through the dim shadows that George was consulting his compass apparently trying to decide which tunnel would lead them in the more correct bearing. After a few minutes of private consultation with Hopps, he settled on the tunnel to the right. Logan just hoped that it was the right choice.
Logan tried not to groan as he sat on the ground resting his back against a large stalagmite. With few exceptions, the rest of the team was currently in similar positions. Hopps had called for a rest after hours of fruitless wandering had still failed to lead them to the dungeons of the citadel. The continued darkness and oppressive constrictiveness of the caverns were beginning to have their effect on the team. Tension was running high and morale was down. Logan sighed in exhaustion. The two were not a good combination.
He could hear Hopps and George conversing quietly while they both studied alternately: the compass and the junction of caverns around them.
As fate would have it, George's first choice had not been the best one. The cavern had slowly begun to curve eastward until George had finally resigned himself to backtracking and taking the other branch. The experience had, unfortunately, set a precedence. They had been forced to back track on four other occasions since that first wrong turn, and, if Logan wasn't mistaken, it looked as if Hopps and George were currently debating on a fifth.
Logan leaned his head against the stalagmite and closed his eyes. He attempted to dislodge his present worries from his mind for just a moment and allow the tension to drain out of his body. Piece by tiny piece, he could feel himself relaxing, lulled into a meditative state by the gentle sounds of the cavern.
He could hear the faint scraping of a group of bats from somewhere deep within the grotto. Beyond that, there was the continued musical chirping of countless swarms of crickets, locust and other insect life.
Logan felt a little bit more relaxed as he now pushed his senses farther, trying to make out the sounds from every part of the surrounding caverns. He could hear the soft breathing of his companions as they rested in the tunnel, as well as a rhythmic scratching sound that he assumed was Venuti sharpening a knife.
There was another sound that was fairly close by. In fact, it sounded like it was just past them about thirty meters away down the next tunnel. It was just far enough away that he had to really concentrate to pick it up. He stained to comfirm what he was hearing.
It was the sound of water, a smooth rippling sound as it glided lightly over the rocky cavern floor.
Logan's eyes snapped open. "Hopps," he hissed silently.
The field commander looked up from his discussion with George. "What is it Mathison?"
Logan came quickly to his feet. "I can hear a stream. It's about thirty meters in that direction." Logan indicated the tunnel with a pointed gesture. "It's possible that the water could be the run-off from their sewer drain."
Hopps rubbed his chin in a speculative expression. But, it was George who responded. "You can't be serious. That tunnel would lead us nearly seventy degrees off course."
Logan could see that their conversation was beginning to draw the attention of the rest of the team. "I know that it's a long shot. After all, most of these tunnels were created by underground rivers. But our other option is to continue vaguely wandering northward, which hasn't been incredibly successful thus far."
George looked fully prepared to protest further. Hopps, however, laid a restraining hand on him before glancing back at Logan. "I can't hear any stream. Are you sure that it's there."
Logan nodded in response.
Indecision battled on Hopps face for a brief moment more. "Okay Mathison, you and Adams are on point now. Get us to the stream, and we'll see what we can find from there."
Finding the stream wasn't the hard part. It was exactly were Logan had said it would be. Within five minutes of moving out, they were walking along-side its length.
Logan could still smell the reluctance from George, even though the man hadn't voiced any further doubts. If he were to be completely honest with himself, Logan couldn't really fault the man for doubting this idea. Even though the stream slanted sharply Northward not far from where they started following it, their present course still would not lead to the citadel. Logan just hoped that the path would continue to curve in the right direction.
As they walked, Logan reviewed their current plan in his head. Most of it was based on the assumption that the majority of the citadel's forces would be garrisoned on the north ridge awaiting their imminent arrival. George had assured them that the old dungeons would be so completely dilapidated that he doubted that they would even meet their first troops until the higher levels, and when they did run into that first group, they hoped to be able to take them as quickly and quietly as possible. From that point on they would pretty much have to play it by ear.
After awhile, Logan noticed that the sounds of rushing water increasing up ahead, as well as the stench of sewage. He did some quick calculations and estimated that they had walked nearly eight-hundred meters along-side the stream. If George's navigation was correct, the citadel should still have been another three-hundred meters further into the caverns; however, as they turned the corner, the increased smell unmistakably identified the area as a sewer.
Logan directed a questioning gaze at George, who shrugged and replied, "I might have been off by a little. No one's perfect."
Hopps smiled in pure relief, an emotion that was mirrored in the scents of the others. "Okay, douse those torches."
In response, the cavern was immediately engulfed in darkness.
"Let's make this as clean as possible. Logan, you and Adams are still on point. You'll lead us into the dungeon area." Hopps then turned to stare at Shipper and Venuti. "You two stay here and make sure that our retreat isn't cut off for now. When we have secured the lower levels, I'll send someone with orders to have you fall in."
Logan felt the tension go up a notch as everyone received their orders. They all knew that this was the point of no return. From here on out no quarter could be given. They knew that it was statistically impossible for all of them to survive and logically impossible for any of them to survive. Unfortunately, their choices had all been made long ago.
Logan and Adams slowly made their way out into the fetid sewage tunnels. Sluggish water sucked at their legs as they slowly proceeded through the dank and smelly passageway. The smell was so strong that Logan was unable to make out the scents of his teammates who followed only ten yards behind him. Only the soft sloshing sounds of boots cutting though sewage allowed him to stay alert of their presence.
They had to battle the small current to continue moving forward. The water pulled insistently at them, and the stench soon became so overwhelming to Logan's sensitive nose that he began to allow his mind to wander in order to distract himself from it. As usual, his thoughts homed in directly on one concept. *Who was it that turned traitor on us?*
The question had haunted him ever since he had seen Heiner staring into the lifeless eyes of his former companions. The possibilities were seemingly endless. It could have been Wilcox, Griffith, Baker, or anyone else who had known about the operation. It may have even been someone that Logan had never met. The fact of not knowing "the who" was the most terrifying aspect on the entire situation.
Since they had no clue who had sold them out, they also had no idea how much information on their mission their enemy possessed. Logan knew from his observation of General Heiner that, at the minimum, the man knew the number of remaining soldiers in their group.
A sudden sickening thought occurred to him. In their briefing, neither Wilcox or any of the other colonels had ever mentioned the grottos as a viable alternative. That fact didn't mean that the idea had never been considered at any point in the planning of the operation though. Depending on how high up the traitor was, he could have given information not only on the planned assault, but any possible alternative assaults, including a underground excursion.
Logan's thoughts were interrupted by Adams gently nudging his arm, then indicating a stone tunnel to his left. Logan nodded as the two of them entered into the tunnel, flashing a hold formation signal to the others as they did so. At the end of the tunnel, there was a steel grate set into the mortar. Through the grate, Logan could make out the dark flooded features of the citadel's dungeon.
Adams withdrew a set of chisels from his belt pouch and together they went to work on the grate covering. In five minutes they had managed to dislodge the metal bars from the entrance of the tunnel.
Logan dropped quietly into the waste-high waters, letting his senses reach out across the dungeon area. The smell of raw sewage was still far too strong for him to be able to make out anything beyond his own scent; however, the faint moonlight that filtered through the rare stone openings revealed nothing to the eye of a sinister nature. His ears also could pick up no discernible unexpected sounds. Nothing save that of trickling water and his own team.
Yet despite these reassurances, the hair on the back of his neck was standing on end. It wasn't a sensation that he could label, but something that just didn't feel right.
Adams was giving him a questioning look to which Logan simply shook his head. He was probably just suffering from too much tension. The last thing that the team needed now was to jump at imagined shadows. Logan turned back to the tunnel to give the signal for the others to move out.
He and Adams took their places on either side of the entrance as the other four soldiers filed into the room and immediately began setting up in a defensive position. Hopps indicated a set of stone steps which led to a large door and hopefully the rest of the citadel.
They were about to begin moving towards the steps, when the door suddenly flew open and light flooded the room blinding them all. Logan reflexively threw a hand in front of his face as his eyes desperately tried to adjust to the sudden change. His blood turned cold when he could finally make out a group of dark figures silhouetted by the harsh light.
"Drop your weapons," a voice with a heavy German accent commanded.
Logan's gaze darted to Hopps, whose hard face gave away no expression.
When he failed to respond the voice repeated. "Drop your weapons and surrender, or we will open fire."
The seconds ticked by in tense silence, and Logan felt his anger rising. The turncoat's betrayal had apparently been complete. Logan slowly raised his head to glare at those shadowy figures and felt his hate grow. How could one of their own have done this to them? How had he been able to justify the lives of ten men against the reward he had received for his treachery?
Logan could hear the voice issuing orders to surrender again and, suddenly, something inside of him snapped. His mind knew rationally that these men were not directly responsibly for their betrayal. However their present involvement was enough to cause all of Logan's frustrated unfocused rage to suddenly grab hold in that terrible moment. With an almost bestial cry, Logan raised his rifle and began firing at his enemy.
The result was instantaneous. The entire dungeon area suddenly exploded with the deafening sounds of gunfire. Hopps immediately started shouting orders for his men to regroup, but nothing could be heard over the roar of the guns. To Logan's eyes, the entire scene seemed to slow down into a surrealistic parody of life. The smell of sewage was suddenly overcome by that of gunpowder and blood.
Logan watched in detached horror as Hopps toppled forward into the dark waters, his chest a ruined patchwork of flesh and bone. George was the next to fall, cut down from behind as he desperately splashed through the flooded chamber in an attempt to reach the sewer grate. The image of blood gurgling out of his mouth as his body stiffened against the pain, then went limp burned itself into Logan's mind.
The scene was slowly returning to real time, and with it, sanity was returning to Logan's frenzied mind. He quickly assessed the situation. They had already lost two men, and would likely be turned into hamburger if they stayed here much longer. Logan didn't know if he cold bear that guilt on his conscience. He had been the one to provoke this slaughter by firing the first shot.
Pausing after releasing a round of bullets, Logan turned to Adams and practically howled to be heard over the roar of the bullets.
"Adams! We've got ta' get out of here!"
Adams' only reply was to continue firing desperately almost maniacally at the enemy. Logan then realized that he was trying to provide cover fire for Landen and Mclenn.
However his lone coverage wasn't nearly enough. Landen's rifle tumbled from his numb fingers to splash down in the water. Mclenn gave an enraged cry as Landen collapsed to his knees, dark red blood flowing freely from gaping wounds in his chest. Landen raced to his fallen comrade's side and quickly propped the man back up. They continued moving towards the grate, until Mclenn's left leg was cut out from underneath him. Logan watched in utter hopelessness as both men tumbled back into the murky waters.
Logan grabbed Adams by the shoulder and began to haul the man behind him through the grate opening. Adams struggled back howling repeatedly.
"Wait Mathison! They're not dead yet! They're not dead!"
Logan knew that they weren't dead, and he hated himself intensely for turning his back on them. However, there wasn't anything he could do for his fallen teammates as they continued to struggle weakly through the muddy water. It was only a matter of seconds before a German bullet would cease their struggles for good. Logan simply bit back the bile he felt rising in his own throat and continued to drag Adams behind him.
"No!" Adams screamed as he wrenched himself free of Logan's grasp. He raced back down the tunnel intent on doing something, anything for the remaining teammates.
"Adams! No!" Logan howled desperately chasing after the man.
He reached out and managed to grab the sleeve of the man's uniform. An instant later, a German bullet impacted in the one-time farmer's throat.
Adams' blood splattered on Logan's face as he numbly watched his friend slide from the tunnel entrance and pitch forward into the red stained waters below.
Logan was given no time to mourn, though, as another round of gunfire sounded, and one of the bullets slammed into his shoulder. The impact knocked him off of his feet and onto his back.
Momentarily dazed, Logan couldn't stop himself as he slid backwards along the angled plane of the tunnel and was dropped into the fetid sewer waters on the other side. Logan could feel the blood leaking from his shoulder and idly wondered if it was now his turn to die. The tunnels, however, held no answers as the currents swept his limp body into their dark recesses.
Part 14
Ten minutes outside of Monfalcone
Today
Silence had reigned in the cabin of the X-Men's Blackbird for the greater part of the journey. None of its four occupants had really felt a great desire to engage in conversation and were thus employed in their own private distractions. Scott supposed that he should probably say something in an attempt to break the tense silence, but just couldn't find any words that didn't sound hollow and empty to his own ears. Instead, he just studied his companions and tried to imagine what each of them might be feeling and how it would affect them on their present mission.
Bishop's face was set in a stoic expression as always while he meticulously cleaned and oiled every part of his gun. Scott couldn't really guess what the larger man was thinking at the moment. He had been rather insistent about coming on the mission and had practically throttled Henry when the Beast had hesitated to give him active status after examining his wounds. Surprisingly, it had been Gambit that had defused that particular situation by convincing Beast that this was in all likely-hood only a recon mission and quite possibly a wild goose chase.
Scott frowned marginally as he studied the time displaced X-Man. They had been unable to elicit any more explanations from him on the events that had lead to all Nazi-related research being banned in his future. All he had chosen to add was the fact that all governments had agreed on it by mutual consent and that violation was considered a capital offense.
Scott couldn't understand completely the demons that drove Bishop, but he knew what the man's priorities would be. Bishop's first objective would be to the complete eradication of operation Falconmount. Logan would be an after-thought.
Scott turned his attention to the next occupant and knew that Betsy Braddock's priorities were the complete reverse of Bishop's. She was currently seated cross-legged on the floor of the cabin in what appeared to be some type of meditative state. Scott almost shrugged. He didn't know much about meditation, it wasn't really his style. However, if it helped the telepathic ninja focus more fully on their assignment, he was completely in favor of its use.
Even with all of the her current changes that had left most of the team mystified, Scott still felt that he knew and could depend on Betsy more than anyone else in the cabin. Her motives in coming were simple. Like him, she was here to help a friend who was in a great deal of danger. And like him, she would fight with the ferocity of lion to see that friend safely home. Scott almost smiled with a sense of reassurance. Betsy, if anyone, could be counted on.
The smile quickly turned sour as Scott let his attention focus on the final member of their squad. Gambit, enigmatic as ever, slumped lazily in his chair with one leg carelessly hooked over the arm rest. He wore a nonchalant expression as he absently shuffled a deck of cards in his hand.
Scott knew from years of experience that the man performed that particular ritual before every mission as preparation to help him get a better feel for the weight and balance of the deck. However Gambit still managed to do it with such an air of mild disinterest that it was exasperating to a team leader that demanded to see total concentration from each of his group.
Of the three X-Men currently accompanying him, Gambit's motives were the biggest mystery. Scott supposed that in some part, he felt responsible for Logan's current predicament and therefore felt obligated to help the man out. He could remember once having heard the Cajun comment that he was a man who always paid his debts, even when the price was much higher than he had ever wanted to pay. To Scott, it seemed like a noble characteristic, but Gambit had sounded almost bitter when he had made the statement. Scott surmised that his presence on this mission was only another debt to be fulfilled. The X-Man leader just wished that he could be sure that fact would be enough to keep Gambit focused on the task at hand.
With nothing else to occupy his immediate attention, Scott allowed his gaze to scan over the computer readout. At their current speed and altitude, they would be passing over the city of Monfalcone within six minutes. From that point on, their direction was less than certain.
The files that they had obtained from the Pentagon had been less than specific in indicating the location of this mysterious citadel. It had given them a general description of the terrain surrounding the location which they had fed into Cerebro's geographic database. The end result had been nearly a dozen locations within a thirty mile radius. Somehow Scott just knew that they would end up checking every last location before he would allow himself or the team to return without Logan.
Then, of course, there was the matter of what exactly they were supposed to do once they actually found the sight of the old citadel.
According to some follow up reports on Operation Monfalcone, the citadel had been completely destroyed in an unrelated bombing run nearly two years later. It was very likely that the only thing that they would find, if they found anything at all, would be an impressive fifty year old pile of rubble.
Scott wasn't exactly sure what kind of a trail he was supposed to find in old historic ruins. However, it was the only lead in their possession at the moment, and they would follow it until it exhausted itself or something better turned up.
"Ya' know, it's real interesting'," Scott snapped out of his reverie at the sound of Gambit's voice. "We always seem ta find out about anot'er one of Wolverine's past enemies right after dat enemy comes ta mess around wit' him and involve de rest of us as well."
Bishop's face darkened as he stared at Gambit. "Wolverine is a soldier. When a soldier does his job well, he will have alot of enemies Lebeau. It is a natural consequence of life."
"'Less dat soldier just leaves dem all behind him in de future, neh?"
Scott was surprised to hear a faint tone of bitterness in Gambit's voice. "Unfortunately for dose of us dat live in dis century, dat ain't really an option."
For a moment, Scott wondered if he would need to step between the two men as Bishop's expression turned to one of thunder. Of all the X-Men, Gambit seemed to be the only one that could consistently anger the normally stoic Bishop. Scott had thought that Gambit being absolved of being the traitor to the X-Men would have cleared up any lingering animosity between the two men. However, for his own reason's, Bishop still seemed to harbor a great deal of anger and resentment for the Cajun. And Gambit seemed to revel in provoking that resentment as often as he could.
When Bishop finally responded, his voice was level and as cold as ice.
"I never chose to come into your world Lebeau. In this century or any other."
"Den makin' my life miserable must just be one of de unexpected perks, eh?" Gambit responded flippantly. Bishop's faced darkened again at his words, and Gambit blithely ignored the man's death glare.
*If looks could kill...* Scott thought ruefully. "That's enough you two. Wolverine's past is not the issue here. We need to stay focused on the mission."
Bishop's face gave away no visible reaction, but Scott was almost certain that a hot flash of shame burned through the man as he turned his attention back to his gun. The time displaced X-Man considered it a sign of weakness to allow his emotions to control his words or actions, especially in a potential combat situation. It undoubtedly galled him to no end that the Cajun always knew exactly what to say to provoke the him to anger. Scott supposed that that was why Gambit did it. The man could be incredibly petty at times.
"Dat's just de point," Gambit responded with a lazy drawl. "No matter how many skeletons come out of de closet for Wolverine, his past is never de issue."
Scott wasn't sure what exactly he was supposed to make of that cryptic message. Maybe Gambit was just trying to make a subtle stab at them over the fact that he was the least trusted. However, that type of complaining just wasn't consistent with Gambit's personality. He always seemed so aloof about his membership in the X-men. It seemed to matter to Gambit so little that Scott wondered why the thief had even stayed with them as long as he had.
Scott shook his head slightly to dislodge the thoughts. They were matters that could wait for another time to be addressed more fully. A soft beep from the Blackbird's console informed him that they were approaching Monfalcone. Scott looked up as the city came into view.
By any standard, Monfalcone was small. The downtown area consisted of only a handful of cobblestone streets. And, from his present view anyway, the most notable feature was a small bell tower that tilted at a slight angle next to an old Cathedral.
*I still don't understand why they make such a big deal of the one in Pisa.* Scott thought ruefully. Almost every tower in Italy has a slant to it. I'd be more impressed by one that was actually straight. Jean probably would have accused him of having no appreciation for the arts for that thought.
A large shipyard dominated one side of the city. It was obviously the main reason that Monfalcone had ever even advanced beyond village status.
A large, though run-down, section of the town was built up around that area. There were currently two large commercial cruisers under construction in the harbor. Scott blinked his eyes and did a double take as he examined the ships again. It appeared that the smaller of the two cruisers was crooked, with the last fifty meters of the ship bent at a slight angle.
Crooked ships, crooked towers, Scott shook his head. Must be an Italian thing.
"Okay," Scott began once he had set a holding pattern into the ship's navigational computer. "We have a couple of options that I want to run by everyone."
He appeared to have all of their attention. "Everyone here knows that the files weren't able to give us an exact location of the citadel's ruins. The best that it could give us was some general land formations in the area where the citadel was situated. We ran those formations through Cerebro, and it spat out about a dozen possible locations.
"Our first option is to search each of these locations manually, one by one," Scott tried to keep a sour expression off of his face. He really hoped to avoid such a time consuming option. "Our other option is to initiate a scan of the different locations, using the ship's sensors and uplinking them with Cerebro to analyze any data. The latter would undoubtably be quicker, but could prove to be less thorough."
Scottdecided not to mention the fact that they would probably end up doing both anyway. They didn't have any other leads to follow.
Apparently, Bishop had already reached that conclusion. "We should began with the scan. We can then be better prepared with a knowledge of what is waiting for us when we begin our manual search."
Scott tried not to groan. This was going to be a very long day.
"Right. Any objections?" If there were, no one offered them. "Okay, lets get this show on the road." Scott turned to the computer console and quickly typed in the sequence to initiate the scan.
"I know dat nobody wants ta ask de question," all eyes turned to Gambit, who had pocketed his deck of cards in favor of a cigarette, "but what we gonna' do if dis lead don' turn up not'in?"
Scott didn't really want to think about that possibility right now.
"We don't need to consider that option until we've exhausted all the ones we have."
Scott pinned the Cajun with a meaningful glare. "Unless you want to try to locate your friend Mr. White again." Gambit returned his glare darkly but remained silent.
A few more seconds passed in tense silence until a soft beep announced that the ship's sensor array had completed its scan of the indicated areas. Scott looked over the results, which were listed in order of percentage of conformity with the pre-established search perimeters. Scott's jaw dropped when he his eyes caught sight of the first one.
Gambit must have sensed his amazement and quickly walked over to view the monitor from over Scott's left shoulder.
"Dis shouldn't be possible," the thief breathed softly. "De files said dat de entire structure had been destroyed. Dere shouldn't be anyt'ing here but a pile o' rubble at best."
Scott clamped his mouth shut forcibly as Betsy and Bishop arrived to view the results as well.
"Well then," He said with a crooked smile. The day seemed to be looking up somewhat. "I guess that answers our question of where to start looking."
Fallon was not a man to let his emotions control him. He firmly believed that a level of detachment needed to be maintained at all times or one's own judgment and thus, actions could no longer be trusted. These were convictions which he held firm and dear. Yet his hands tightened even further around the neck of the soldier called Adams while he forced the man to his knees.
"Would you care to explain to me again, Sergeant Adams, how exactly the prisoner managed to escape?"
Fallon could see his companions shuffle nervously in the background but none of them moved to interfere as he continued choking the life out of their teammate. "He... he faked some sort of ... seizure...Mclenn found him...brought in Klapiz... and Zucon... took them by surprise..managed to kill them and take... Mclenn's guns..."
Fallon sighed in disgust and tossed the soldier on the floor before he lost consciousness. He tried to calm himself. Right now he couldn't afford to have any more of his soldiers killed. "What happened then?"
There was a nervous silence before someone in the group, Vanhorn he believed the man was called, spoke up.
"Adams, Chancer, and I heard the sounds of the struggle and moved to investigate. We found him in the hall and proceeded to pursue him. He managed to evade us wounding me in the process." Vanhorn indicated his bandaged shoulder, "Then he arrived in the lower level dungeons. Presumably to attempt escape through the drainage system."
Fallon glared dangerously at Professor Bressan, who met his glare with a mildly disinterested gaze. "Those drains were ordered sealed."
"They were sealed." was the simple response.
"Then what happened?!" Fallon realized that he was shouting and once again forced himself to stay calm.
Vanhorn was quick to respond this time. "While searching for him in the flooded dungeon area, the prisoner was able to acquire a grenade from Private Chancer. He used the grenade to blast open the seal on the drain and was consequently pulled through by the backed up flood-water."
Fallon carefully clasped his hands behind his back and began pacing. "So, what are our casualties as of now?"
Hopps spoke up this time. "Two soldiers: Mclenn and Chancer, and two civilians: Zucon and Klapiz."
"What are the fugitive's resources?"
Hopps hesitated before responding. "We're not sure exactly, he did manage to take Mclenn's weapons. But we don't know if he..."
"Estimate," Fallon's voice cracked like a whip.
Hopps sighed. "At highest estimates, he is armed with a Heckler and Kock MP5 submachinegun, a 9mm Beretta sidearm, and a M-16 assault rifle, with a combined total of one-hundred -twenty-eight rounds of ammunition."
Another hot flash of anger surged through Fallon and before he realized it, he was suspending Hopps in the air by the man's throat. "Your men were supposed to be keeping him sufficiently subdued so that he would have been incapable of something like this!"
"Actually, they were."
Fallon nearly dropped Hopps in surprise at the sound of Bressan's voice. Instead, he simply lowered the man to the ground.
"Explain."
"Well," Bressan said while polishing his glasses, "according the data which your sources have supplied for the past several years, the amount of damage inflicted on him should have been more than enough to exceed his healing threshold." The scientist paused for a moment to place the glassed back on his face. "Obviously, those statistics are now outdated for some reason."
Fallon began to pace back and forth agitatedly again. "All right Commander Hopps, form a search party. I want every inch of the woods surrounding the citadel swept clean until he is found. Deploy your men..."
Fallon's voice was interrupted by the sound of an alarm klaxon. Vanhorn immediately ran to the nearest computer terminal to identify the security breach.
"Approaching aircraft. It looks like a modified Blackbird. ETA in ten minutes."
Fallon's face creased thoughtfully. "Perhaps one of our government sponsors is growing a little impatient with the project's apparent lack of results."
He had planned to string the several governments that were currently funding him along for another twenty or so years before he actually gave them anything substantial.
"No sir, I don't believe so," Vanhorn's knuckles went white as he gripped the edges of the terminal. "It's consistent with the description of the X-Men's Blackbird."
A pregnant silence hung in the room for a full twenty seconds before Fallon broke it by unexpectedly throwing his head back in the air in laughter. He knew that the other men were staring at him in surprise with a small amount of trepidation, but he didn't care. They couldn't possibly understand.
Once again fate was going to great lengths to teach him that even the greatest of designs were subject to her dominion. Men could play at dominating the world all they wanted. Eventually they would be shown the foolishness of their ways. Even the most careful of preparations could be carelessly swept aside by elements beyond human control.
After a moment, Fallon finally reigned in his laughter. His plans were crumbling in before his eyes; however, he knew that the true mark of a champion was the ability to play with the blows that fate dealt you.
"Adams, Vanhorn," The two men snapped to attention at his command. "Patrol the perimeter and locate the prisoner."
Fallon hesitated only slightly before issuing his next command. "Lethal force is approved. I want him dead. Use mercury-filled rounds if necessary."
Fallon had to swallow a bitter taste of disappointment as the two men left the room. There were so many things that would have to be left unfinished now. He had truly hoped to have at least two days with the man before he would have allowed him to die. Now project Falconmount would undoubtedly be placed years behind schedule because of the day's events. There just wasn't any alternative unfortunately. His resources were already spread too thin to even reconstruct the bodies of Mclenn, Chancer, Klapiz, and Zucon.
Turning to the rest of his assemble team, he stated simply, "Come, we have to be prepared for the arrival of our new guests."
Rain continued to poor down from the skies in relentless torrents that completely drenched the landscape, washing rivers of muddy water down the mountainside. Puddles collected at the base of each rocky outcrop as streams fed into the low areas. Even the thickest groups of trees were unable to provide shelter as fat raindrops slipped through the leafy canopy to splash down on the saturated ground.
Logan couldn't have been more pleased with the present weather conditions. It would be difficult to near impossible to track him through the current downpour. His trail faded behind him only seconds after he passed through. With a little craft on his part, a few false trails and backtracking, he would be able to ensure that his current pursuers wouldn't know were to begin looking for him until he was half-way back to Westchester.
Logan grinned at the thought of his captures scrambling to clear out of the citadel before the full wrath of the X-Men descended upon them.
After the currents had sucked him and Chancer's body down the drainage tunnels, they had been unceremoniously dumped in the same stream that Logan and his teammate had followed into the citadel over fifty years ago. This time Logan had only needed to follow it in reverse.
He had checked Chancer's body briefly, in the hopes of claiming some more offensive weaponry. Unfortunately the larger man's assault rifle had been lost in the current and the ammunition cartridges that he was carrying were too large a caliber for Logan's submachinegun.
On the plus side though, the lack of extra ammunition hadn't become a factor and his sense of smell was a lot more advanced now then it had been fifty years ago. He had been able to simply follow the underground scents of the earth and vegetation that swirled in complex air currents until it lead him to an opening. The entire process had only taken ten to fifteen minutes.
Logan had plunged into the woods where he was completely in his element and the weather had even favored him with conditions that would be adverse to any tracker.
Yes, his luck was definitely taking a turn for the better. His body was even healing more rapidly with every passing moment. The waves of dizziness and nausea had all but faded. Every one of his superficial wounds had finished healing and closing.
Even his claws had managed to grow back to about half of their original size. They weren't anywhere near the strength that they would have to be for him to actually be able to use them as weapons, but now Logan was still able to look at the entire situation philosophically.
Logan began to calculate the amount of time that it would take him to reach the nearest town. He knew that Fallon would probably expect him to go to Monfalcone and would guard that route the most heavily.
Another option would be to try and make it down to Udine despite the fact that it was nearly forty miles away. No, the best choice would be to direct himself towards one of the small communities between Monfalcone and Gorizia.
His mind decided, Logan set off on his path when fate suddenly decided that it had been making things far to easy for him.
Logan recognized the distinctive roar of the engines as it passed over his head. He knew the sound of the X-Men Blackbird like he knew the sound of his own heart, but he still quickly darted to an opening in the forest so that his eyes could confirm the fact for him.
Logan's heart sank as he saw that the jet's trajectory was taking it directly to the citadel.
He dropped back to the cover of the trees with a growl. "Looks like the Cajun was able ta' track me down through his friend after all. Too bad his timing's lousy."
A part of him said not to worry. After all, the X-Men had faced far worse villains than Fallon. Surely they would prove to be more than a match for Logan's persecutors.
Another part of his screamed that the X-Men had no idea what they were heading into.
In the end, his latter part won out, and Logan reluctantly began to retrace his steps to the citadel. It appeared that he was going to have to see this thing through to its finish.
Part 15
Forty miles north of Udine
Today
The continued downpour of rain still showed no sign of abating any time soon. It splattered off of the now slick gray stone that formed the large central courtyard of the citadel. Bishop fought down a stab of irritation at the reduced visibility that it would cause. An enemy would easily be able to come within thirty feet of him undetected.
The time displaced man quickly scanned the area, noting all the possible locations that could be used as defensive positions. His sharp eye was able to quickly spot seven different areas that could hide an enemy force.
Behind him Cyclops was walking down the Blackbird's extended ramp, his boots clanking against the metal and making far more noise than Bishop would have thought prudent in their current circumstances. LeBeau stood at his side, casually drawing on a cigarette and embarrassingly aloof of his surroundings. Surely the man realized that at any moment they could be forced into a military engagement. Psylocke stood a few paces in front of him. By all appearances, she was the only one on alert and apparently ready for an armed conflict that the others refused to acknowledge as a possibility.
However, her current position left her so completely exposed to a sniper shot from one of courtyard walls that he had to restrain the urge to drag her back over to the cover of the Blackbird.
Bishop nearly sighed in exasperation. It had been a painful experience for him to let go of his conceptions of the legends and accept the reality of the actual people beside whom he now struggled. It had taken him a considerable amount of time before he had been able to stand in the presence of Cyclops without feeling in complete awe of the man.
Even more time had passed before he had been able to bring himself to critique anything that the man did. Now he had to stop himself from constantly censuring the X-man leader for his lack of attention to security details. Besides, Cyclops normally just responded by saying that he was being overly paranoid. Bishop still didn't understand how a mandatory x-ray scan and frisk for all incoming guests at the mansion could be considered paranoid especially considering some of the company that LeBeau brought home with him.
Bishop checked the action on his energy rifle once again as Cyclops joined the group and began to address them. "Okay, I just finished talking with Hank. He's gone through Historical Preservation Society databases, government restoration archives, and community improvement records and hasn't found any documents of plans for the restoration of this edifice. Even the Pentagon database hasn't said anything about it." He paused for a moment to allow the implications to register.
"This whole situation just keeps getting more and more mysterious. Now it's time to start finding the clues to put this puzzle together."
Bishop nodded in agreement at Cyclops's assessment. Knowledge was always a powerful asset in any combat situation.
"Okay people, we don't know what we will be coming against here. So we will proceed to investigate operating on an omega protocol status,"
Bishop once again had to reign in his temper when he saw LeBeau roll his eyes at the X-Men commander's orders. If Cyclops had noticed the man's reaction he gave no sign.
"Betsy, what kind of telepathic reading can you give us of the place?"
Bishop watched as Psylocke closed her eyes in concentration. When she opened her eyes a few moments later, they reflected confusion and frustration.
"There appears to be some type of..." she floundered for a word for a few minutes before finally settling on.. "interference. It's as if thousands and thousands of tiny voices are all yelling for attention at the same time. They are blocking out my ability to hear anything beyond them." Something akin to a wry smile crossed her face.
"Its like a room full of little children all screaming for you to play with them thus preventing you from being able to have a conversation on the telephone."
Bishop nearly did a double take when he saw her expression. How could she possibly consider the negation of her telepathic scan humorous. It showed just how powerful their enemy was. Cyclops, at least, seemed to understand the gravity of the situation.
"If some presence here has the ability to block you telepathically, then we may being dealing with an entity more powerful than we originally conceived." His face assumed a stony expression. "All right, lets move out. Gambit, Psylocke, take the point, knight rook formation."
If there was one aspect of the X-Men team leader that Bishop had never questioned, it was his capacity as field commander. The man had at his command a powerful tactical mind whose equal Bishop had not yet found.
He also possessed the uncanny ability to completely analyze any scenario and its possible ramifications nearly instantaneously. In Bishop's future, books upon books had been written analyzing some of his more prominent battles. Scholars were still studying the strategies he had employed on Muir Island.
The four X-Men quickly took their positions and moved forward into the heavy downpour. LeBeau, despite his earlier aloofness, now moved from shadow to shadow with his characteristic fluid grace that made Bishop envious.
*Why had the man been given so many gifts just to throw them away in a meaningless life of self-gratification and debauchery?*
Even though Bishop was now convinced that LeBeau was not the traitor that he had thought him to be, Gambit still exhibited several of the Witness's tendencies that, left unchecked, would lead to him becoming one of the most ruthless criminal masterminds in the twenty-first century. Bishop was intent on preventing that eventuality.
The four man formation continued it's measured progress forward until it reached the first stone stairway that led into the central hall. Thus far they had been unable to detect any enemy presence. However, instincts honed by years of combat screamed that were walking into an ambush.
Bishop made another scan of the surrounding area, trying to locate something that would justify his premonition. Shaking his head in frustration, Bishop followed the others as they began to mount the stairs.
Bishop's uneasiness only intensified as he entered into the main hall.
The area was poorly lit providing a myriad of possibilities for an ambush party. Bishop withdrew a set of infra-red goggles from his utility belt and placed them over his eyes.
The entire hallway now reflected only a cold dark shade of red. There were no warm bodies waiting around the corners or in the shadows for them unless the enemy's soldiers were the same temperature as the walls.
Bishop frowned marginally at the possibility. As their enemy had already demonstrated himself capable of blocking telepathic scans, the X-Man couldn't rule out the possibility of him being able to hide from other forms of scans.
"Betsy," the warm shape that was Cyclops whispered, "are you able to pick anything up now?"
Though Bishop was unable to detect anything beyond her heat patterns, he was certain that she was wearing an expression of concentration as she replied.
"The voices are still drowning out almost everything. However, in the background, I can barely make out a few mental impressions, definitely human in nature."
"Can you pick anything up from them?"
The warm image shook her head slightly. "No. Their thoughts are still being drowned out by all of the psionic babble in the area. However, they do seem to be waiting for something."
"Well den, we best not keep dem waitin' too long," Gambit's heat image flickered oddly as he began charging several cards.
Bishop nearly snorted in amusement at LeBeau's impulsive nature. It was a far cry from the Witness's cold, calculated, and methodical methods. However, seeing as no further options were presenting themselves, they continued down the dark hallway.
Bishop nearly gasped in shock when they rounded the corner though.
A dull glowing red trail illuminated the floor before them. Bishop knelt and quickly removed his goggles to confirm his suspicions with his own eyes. A thin nearly dried trail of blood made a erratic pattern across the floor. The remaining warmth had allowed him to easily see it with the goggles.
Bishop could tell from the trail that whoever had left the blood had been fleeing. The blood was occasionally smeared by what appeared to be boot prints. The prints likely had belonged to the pursuers. The question was, had Logan been the one fleeing, or had he been one of the pursuers?
Cyclops was also on one knee gravely examine the blood stains. "I see two maybe three different boot patterns." He gave an exasperated sigh.
"More mysteries, and we still don't even have the first clue to answer the ones that we already have."
Psylocke returned from the other end of the hall where she had followed the trail.
"The blood appears to run off into the lower levels. There are a great deal of bullet casings and significant signs of destruction along with it."
"Wolvie always did know how t' t'row a party," LeBeau chuckled richly.
Bishop took a deep breath as he rose to his feet. He began to replace his goggles on his face, hoping that his irritation didn't show.
*Why did LeBeau always have to have such a casual, even flippant attitude about the life of his teammates.*
When the goggles settled in place he noticed that the air currents seemed a little different, fractionally warmer for some reason. Bishop was about to dismiss it out of hand when he noticed that the warm streams that indicated the breathing of his companions had grown heavier.
Bishop then noticed, with growing trepidation that the heaviness of his own breathing had increased somewhat, even though they had not, as of yet, engaged in any physical exertion.
"Cyclops," Bishop didn't bother to mask the concern in his voice, "something isn't right. I suggest that we return to the Blackbird immediately."
The X-Man leader turned his head to Bishop, "What?" The man's tone was completely confused as he looked around the hall trying to locate the source of Bishop's distress.
"I think that we are being ambushed sir."
"Bishop, you had better have a good explanation for..." Scott began to rise from his kneeling position, when his legs suddenly gave out, dropping him back to the floor. The man's breathing had now become a deep gasp.
A sudden wave of understanding struck the former XSE officer. "The oxygen is being removed from the air! We need to get out of here!"
Gambit and Psylocke reacted instantly to his warning quickly dashing back towards the entrance from which they had arrived. The two hadn't even made it half-way down the hall before both of them collapsed into a pile.
Bishop knelt and drew Cyclops arm around his back to support the X-Men leader. He could feel his lungs burning as he slowly rose to his feet. Now going completely on force of will, the time displaced X-Man slowly began his tired trek down the hall. He completed a full three steps before he too collapsed into a dark oblivion.
Logan hardly noticed the muddy brown rivulets of water that streamed down from limp strands of hair. The only attention that they had received in the past five minutes was a careless shrug of his head to toss the saturated hair out of his face.
At the moment, Logan's concentration was focused in its entirety on the large stone structure in front of him. He had seen the Blackbird land there over fifteen minutes ago, and the longer that it remained in there the more nervous and edgy that Logan became.
He shifted his position slightly to relieve pressure on his cramped legs. The X-Man was currently positioned behind an old rotted log, that overlooked a mud-puddle almost large enough to be considered a pond.
Fungal growths and a thin layer of soil cover on the length of the log had provided sufficient cover for him to observe the citadel without any real worry of being discovered. Right now his major worries were with what was happening inside the place not outside.
Logan momentarily considered the possibility that Fallon may have just decided to evacuate the facility after his escape. It certainly didn't make sense for him to remain behind and stage a defensive effort when his supposed whole purpose for being there had already departed. Of course, Logan had to admit that he had never completely understood Fallon's motives. Then there was the fact that the man was obviously less than sane.
Once again, Logan tried to puzzle why Fallon had orchestrated this entire event. He knew that, for his own personnel reasons, Fallon had wanted to hurt him as much as possible, physically and emotionally.
Logan had to give him credit. He had certainly done a fairly good job of it. Memories and old wounds that he had long thought buried and behind him had been brought back to the surface and reopened. Logan had almost forgotten the bitter taste of the betrayal that he had endured so many years ago.
Though pushed to the back of his mind, the painful emotions had not been dimmed with the passing of time. After all, he never had discovered who it was that had betrayed them.
Logan's mind suddenly dismissed his reverie as he heard the faint wet snap of a twig some twenty meters to his left. He carefully raised the MP5 to firing position and crept slowly around the log to investigate.
Beyond the next rise he found Vanhorn and Adams slowly and carefully making their way down a slope slippery with mud. Both were armed with M-16 assault rifles and Magnum .45 sidearms.
Logan was almost surprised by what he smelled from them. The unmistakable scent of single-minded bloodlust in preparation for a kill wafted from the men and made his nose itch. They no longer wanted to torment him.
As luck would have it, they were headed directly for his position, and the X-Man briefly considered his options. He could simply retreat southward and allow the two soldiers to pass him by. He was now in his element and doubted that either one of the two men would be able to track him successfully.
The idea was tempting, but it didn't really solve any of his problems. It would just delay them a little.
Logan discarded the idea as the two men continued to move towards him. His eyes narrowed fractionally. The only alternative was an armed confrontation which Logan wasn't sure if he wanted or not.
He had been able to justify killing Chancer and Mclenn as acts of self-defense and survival. This would be a hunt pure and simple. The prey would be people that he had once considered among his closest friends. Would he be able to look into their eyes and pull the trigger knowing that they were just pawns in Fallon's sick little game?
*Ya could do it fifty years ago to a group of scientists, why not now?*
The cold thought brought little consolation to Logan's tattered conscience.
Logan had seen a spot twenty meters back that he knew would serve perfectly as an ambush site. Vanhorn and Adams's current course would take them directly through the small mud pond that had been below his former position. From there, he had seen an low overhanging ridge that had been covered with more than enough tall grass to provide a suitable hiding place. They would be in a tactically weak location while he would be firing on them from an elevated position.
His mind set, Logan quietly dropped back and moved to take his position on the overhanging ridge. He tried not to think too much about what he was about to do and continued repeating the chant in his head. *It's not really them. It's not really Adams and Vanhorn.*
The phrase became a mantra to him. Yet, despite his efforts, he still hadn't been able to convince himself of it.
Logan waited a few minutes for the two soldiers to come into view once again. They paused for a moment at the edge of the small mud pond and after a moment of waiting, Logan was convinced that they would choose another path.
So he decided to give them some incentive. The X-Man dug around in the soft mud before him until he found a small smooth stone about an inch in diameter. He waited until their backs were turned away from him and then lobbed the stone into a small patch of ferns on the other side of the mud pond from them.
Both men instantly whirled around, their guns trained on the origin of the sound. After a few seconds, Adams called out, "Come on out Mathison. Don't make this any more difficult than it has to be."
The two men began to cautiously creep across the muddied water. Logan held in a sigh of relief. In just moments they would both be in the perfect position for a shot.
"Come on Logan," Vanhorn was calling out now. "You can't get away. Come on out, and we can finish this nice and clean like."
Logan ignored them and continued to silently chant his mantra. They were almost in position now. Logan slowly raised his gun and targeted the back of Adams's head.
*It's not Adams. Just pull the trigger. It's not really him. Just pull the damn trigger.*
The mental litany failed however as his finger refused to apply any further pressure. Logan knew that it was stupid. He knew that they would gladly kill him if he didn't remove them first. He knew this and a thousand other reasons why he should just pull the trigger and finish it. Unfortunately, he also knew that he could never shoot a friend in the back without giving them some sort of a chance to surrender first.
Logan rose smoothly from the grass and forcefully flipped off the safety on the submachine gun with a loud click. The action had the desired effect as both Adams and Vanhorn froze with their backs to him.
"That's right bub. I've got a bead drawn on both of ya'. So, why don't ya' just set those pretty little guns on the ground nice and slow."
Both hesitated a moment before complying, and Logan could smell the scent of speculation coming from each as they tried to calculate whether or not he could actually take them both. Then slowly, both unshouldered their weapons and laid them gently on the bank on the pond.
"Good, now the sidearms. Still takin' it nice and slow."
Logan watched carefully as they both slowly unholstered their magnums, then paused to look at each other. "Hey, no talking. Drop those guns now."
Neither man responded or made any further move to drop the weapons.
"I'm warning you. Don't try ta' jerk me around."
Suddenly both men began to spin around, bringing their weapons to bear as they did so. Before they could even make a quarter turn, Logan pressed down on the trigger, and was rewarded with a thunk as the MP5 jammed.
Adams and Vanhorn both froze for a split second before grinning wickedly and opening fire. Logan barely had a moment to throw himself back down the bluff before it literally exploded underneath him.
Logan cursed his luck as he continued to roll down the slope, his clothes steaming from the heat of the explosion. After he and Chancer had been sucked down the sewage tunnels, he had stupidly never even once thought to clean the submachine gun. It really shouldn't have been that much of a surprise that it would be jammed after being dragged though all that water, mud, and sewage.
As Logan rolled to a stop, he took a moment to get his bearing and scented the wind. He nearly winced at the acrid smell of smoke that wafted from the bluff.
*Mercury filled bullets, huh. Guess they really are done playing with me."
With mercury filled rounds you were doubly screwed. For one: they exploded on impact, and two: if you managed to survive the detonation you would just die a few seconds later of mercury poisoning.
Because of his healing factor, Logan knew he could survive having a couple of them pumped into him. But, if they unloaded an entire clip on him, he could be in serious trouble.
Logan quickly leapt to his feet and took off running pulling free Mclenn's Berretta as he ran. It had been in the waistband of his pants during his little swim and had thus been partially insulated from the water. Also, the firing mechanism was less complex; thus, there was less that could jam.
Unfortunately, he only had one clip for the gun and it was already half empty. Logan was just certain that this would be an experience that he would laugh at years from now. If he was still alive.
He ducked around a tree just as a piece of bark exploded off it from a bullet impact. The sound of machine-gun fire informed him that both men had retrieved their assault rifles. Apparently though, only the Magnums were loaded with the mercury rounds.
The area around him was being chewed up pretty thoroughly as he passed through, but there were no further explosions symptomatic of the explosive rounds.
Spinning around Logan fired off a group of shots in an attempt to disorganize the two soldiers then dove underneath some low-hanging branches to roll to a stop behind a thick clump of bushes. He ducked and covered his head as the entire area was sprayed with rounds of gunfire.
Logan looked behind him and found a small enclave made from the roots of a large tree. He rolled into the opening, hoping that it would provide sufficient protection.
Adams and Vanhorn continued to coat the entire area with their weapons apparently determined to flush him out or destroy everything in order to ensure his death. Several bullets sunk deeply into the roots surrounding him, but only a few actually found their way to his body.
They kept it up for nearly a full minute before the sound of gunfire finally ended. Logan cautiously took his head out from under the protective cradle of his arms to stare at the approaching soldiers. Both were moving warily through the area they had just torn up. Guns raised and ready.
Logan checked his Beretta and nearly swore when he saw that he only had two bullets left. Each shot would have to hit its target.
Adams was slowly creeping over to where Logan was concealed. The muzzle on his M-16 slowly prodding the remaining vegetation in front of him.
Now was his chance. Logan slid out of the small enclosure and launched himself at Adams. The man didn't see him until it was far too late. In a split second, he had the man disarmed and in a headlock with the Berretta pressed to the side of his head.
"Drop it Vanhorn! And I mean it this time!"
Vanhorn spun around at the sound of Logan's voice. His eyes went wide, and he began to broadcast a scent of incredulity as he looked at Logan holding Adams.
"Don't think that I won't do it. I left ya to die once before. Don't think I won't hesitate ta' kill ya' myself."
Logan put all the bitterness in his frame into that statement. These were supposed to be his friends. How could they have forced him into a situation like this?
"So you admit it now?" Vanhorn's face turned from indecisive to hard.
"Oh sure, why not?" Sarcasm dripped from every word. Logan knew that he was probably not helping the situation but had ceased to care.
"An' while we're at it, why don't I just take the blame for the bullet that splattered yer brains out too? After all, it probably came from the ship. Right?"
Logan wasn't prepared for the sudden look of confusion that crossed Vanhorn's features.
"I don't remember were the bullet came from," he whispered to himself.
The unusual reaction momentarily distracted Logan and that was all the time that Adams needed. The soldier slammed his elbow into the Logan's ribcage causing the X-Man to release him from the chokehold. Adams quickly followed though by sweeping Logan's feet out from under him, sending him tumbling to the ground.
Caught off-guard and falling, Logan took careful aim knowing that he was now going to have to make those last two shots count. He slammed into the ground the same instant that he pulled the trigger.
The bullet struck Vanhorn's left leg causing the man to howl in pain, and thankfully, just as Logan had hoped, Vanhorn then screamed in fury and unleashed a volley of machine-gun fire before he let reason set in.
"Vanhorn! No!" were Adams's final words as he was filled with as many rounds as Logan.
"Last shot," Logan whispered though bloody lips.
The second bullet impacted between Vanhorn's eyes snapping his head backwards. As the man sunk to the ground, he wore an oddly surprised expression. Logan had no time to consider that though as new pain set in from his body starting to mend itself of the multiple wounds.
A part of him cursed his mutant ability that would not allow him to die like a normal man. His body always mended well on the outside while still leaving raw open wounds on the inside that would never heal.
Logan watched as the small puddles of water around him began to turn pink with his companion's blood.
*It wasn't really them. It wasn't really them. It wasn't really them."
Logan took up his own private mantra again.
He repeated it until nightfall.
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