Uncanny X-Men 1943

Chapter 13

"Hey, dad...?"

Scott looked up from the crossword. "All ready for bed?"

"Will there be air raids tonight?" Rachel asked.

Scott noted that her dressing gown was too short. How long had it been like that? He wondered if, despite rationing, he could get her a new one for Christmas. "Probably."

"Near here?"

"Possibly." There was no point in lying about this, and Scott did his best to remain calm. The children knew the drill all too well should the air raids be near by. There had been nights, huddled together in their Anderson Shelter, than he wondered if keeping the children in London had been the best idea after all. Only he couldn't imagine the house without them. Without the children and without Emma, he'd have no reason to ever leave the office.

Rachel stuffed her hands into her dressing-gown pockets. "I've been having... bad dreams. Like when mom died."

Scott pursed his lips and tapped at the newspaper with his pen. "You were only four when your mother died."

Rachel shrugged. There was more she wasn't saying, but Scott wasn't going to push her.

"Come here," Scott said. Rachel walked around the table and sat down on the kitchen chair beside him. Scott put his arm around her and kissed her on the head. "They're just dreams, Ray. I'm no psychologist, but I'd say it's normal under the given circumstances. They're just dreams."

Scott tried to keep the images in his mind from Rachel. Images from years ago, holding Jean's body as she burnt with fever, the cemetery that autumn morning, the new house in New York City, Emma, the ship that would take them to a whole new life, Emma, new job, new schools, new babies, Emma, the world cracking at the seams, Katherine, Emma, war, Operation Dynamo papers on his desk, the Blitz, Emma... This wasn't the life he'd imagined for his baby when he'd first held her in his arms all those years ago. But they'd never been apart, so Scott could say he kept that much of his promise Jean. He wouldn't even let Emma send the children to boarding school.

"Do you know when Emma will be back?" Rachel asked.

Scott sighed. "Christmas miracle?" he said, and forced a smile.

"I don't even need to be a telepath to know you're a really bad liar."

Scott chuckled. He'd been married to telepaths for nearly twenty years, and had fathered four, but could still barely lie. "I know," he said, "But its still worth the try."

...

The Nazi soldiers had left behind their coats, helmets, and weapons, before wandering a mile into the woods, where they would then sit and wait until dawn. They would then proceed east, and surrender any and all knowledge to the first group of Resistance fighters they could find. They would also realise that changing sides would be their only hope at staying alive, and would spend the rest of the war, or their lives, whichever ended first, fighting to free France. Assuming the Resistance didn't just put a bullet through their brains, of course, but Emma couldn't control the thoughts and actions of everyone.

The team swapped their own coats for those of the soldiers, and inspected the trucks. One was a mobile radio truck, with plenty of equipment they were keen to explore in the daylight. There was also a small amount of rations, some of which were happily consumed. The team divided themselves between the two trucks, Rogue, Remy and Logan in one, Elizabeth, Emma and Fantomex in the other. They turned the trucks around and headed west.

They took shifts driving through the night. When dawn finally came, they stopped briefly to fully inspect the vehicles. Fantomex looked at the radio equipment, Logan took note of the fuel, and Emma found where about they were, and where they were headed, on a map.

"What if we're found by someone else?" Rogue asked, trying to calculate how many days worth of rations they had found, and figure out what exactly was in some of the tins.

"We've got two telepaths," Elizabeth said, "And if that doesn't work, I can tell that Logan is just itching to stab someone."

"Ah don't know why Emma didn't kill those soldiers last night."

Elizabeth looked over at Emma, who was talking with Logan and Remy. "Would it sound completely mad if I said it was because she's still trying to protect us?"

"By not letting us kill Nazis?"

"She did let you punch one in the face."

"Ah'm not saying that wasn't cathartic, because it was, Ah just..."

"I know," Elizabeth said. I don't think our mission is the mission, she thought, but didn't say as much to Rogue. She would have loved to spoken frankly with Emma, asked her what on earth they were really doing, but the moment was never quite right.

They were soon on the road again, now heading slightly southwest, ever close to the camp. Around midday they passed another German military vehicle, who paid them no heed as it trundled toward France. An hour before nightfall, they stopped again to eat and rest for a short while.

//Can you feel that?// Emma asked Elizabeth as they finished their tinned of tinned roast beed and hard bread, courtesy of the soldiers who had previously owned the trucks.

//The massive, gapping hole where I should be feeling the life-signs of people?//

//I've never felt psi-blockers like it.// They were still ten miles out from the camp, but the two psychics could already feel the mechanic forces working against them.

//I don't think they're just psi-blockers,// Elizabeth said, //I think those are power blockers.//

"Right," Emma said, and the team gathered around. "My husband is wonderful at pep-talks. Absolutely brilliant. Sometimes he writes speeches for politicians and the like to read on the wireless to improve national moral. I don't do that. We know what we're doing. We continue on in five."

...

Sitting in the back of the truck as it rumbled up to the check point of the camp, it finally occurred to Elizabeth as to why her mind was so full of song. As she'd said to Emma, the Church of England songbook had been drilled into her at school, and now her mind was running through it to keep her own thoughts and fears and the projected thoughts of the team, and the few other people they had seen since landing back across the Channel, at bay. Now, arriving at this true hell on earth, she needed to keep herself sane, and her brain delivered songs to her on autopilot.

She closed her eyes to try and calm herself, and saw the train transporting her to Brighton. What she wouldn't give for one more day at school, Ororo by her side. Grey tunics, starched shirts, scratchy woollen jumper. Finding empty quadrangles and vacant classrooms in which to practise their mutant powers. Biscuits and sweets being sent from home, with the occasional hamper from Fortnum and Mason's. Their dormitory, warm and snug in winter, stuffy and hot in the warmer months, with the wall to her left, and Ororo's bed to her right. Homework, hockey practise, choir, chapel.

School hadn't been been good because it was school. It had been good because of Ororo. Someone to share her secret mutant powers with. To train with. To try to make to laugh in chapel, to blame for the rain during gym, to steal food off in the cafeteria, and to share sweets from home with. As the truck bounced along, Elizabeth found herself wishing Ororo was there now. She could bring down a thick fog to keep the truck hidden, she could make it rain to provide them with safe drinking water, she could tell Elizabeth that they would save Warren. That it wasn't her fault. That she wasn't stupid, that this wasn't all some mad folly.

Elizabeth owed Ororo so much. She had to try.

Find Warren. Get out. Get back.

Emma and Rogue would find a way to remove the power dampeners. Betsy, along with Remy, Logan and Fantomex would find and rescue Warren. By any means necessary, save endangering their own lives.

Right now, Emma's ulterior motives and missions were irrelevant.

The gate was opened, and the truck drove into the camp.

"Soul by soul, and silently..."