War Crimes, Parts 19-20

by Morgan Lewis

Part 19

Forty mile north of Udine
1942

Logan watched General Heiner stalk the confines of the laboratory with a growing sense of triumph at the man's obvious dismay and anger. At times, he had to fight to suppress a smirk of satisfaction before it had time to fully bloom on his face. Given Heiner's current state, it would not be wise to attempt further provocation.

After Logan had surrendered himself, the three captives had been bound and taken back to the laboratory to find the scene now before them.

At first, the German soldiers had registered shock then anger as their glares had turned to focus on Logan. He was somewhat surprised that they had not killed him at that moment.

Venuti and Shipper had both been quite surprised as well, but he could also smell the heavy scent of vindication on them. When weighed against what they had already paid to attain it, it was a small victory, but a victory none-the-less. Each savored the moment of satisfaction knowing it was mostly likely all they would have.

It was fleeting at best. Logan's shoulder still stung slightly from where a syringe had been forcefully injected to remove a blood sample. The sample had been taken from him and his two remaining companions almost immediately after their capture and before they had been taken to the lab.

He hadn't quite figured out why the Germans were so interested in his, or anyone's blood, but his gut instinct told him that it wasn't something that he wanted to see unleashed on the world. As a soldier, he had heard too many rumors of the atrocities committed by Nazi scientists and doctors.

He continued to twist his wrists trying discretely to work them free as the strong cords bit into them. Logan risked another glance at Heiner from where he was kneeled on the floor with his two companions.

The man had displayed rage when they had entered the lab to find the dead bodies. However, a growing scent of complacency was developing about him. He had ordered every one of the bodies checked even though Logan doubted Heiner had any illusions about what would be found.

Now the man had obviously accepted the deaths and was focusing on a way to deal with it. For a moment, Logan wondered if they had actually been successful in their mission. Even without the scientists, Logan was convinced that Heiner's level-headed and analytic approach might yet yield him the desired results despite this setback.

No wonder Allied intelligence had made him a secondary objective. Heiner finished pacing another lap then leaned back against one of the tables. His head swivelled to pin them with a dangerously hard glare.

Logan could see the wheels turning behind those eyes. After a few moments of consideration, Heiner obviously reached some sort of conclusion and barked out an order to the other eight Nazi soldiers around him. The soldiers hesitated, but when the harsh command came again, they quickly rose to retreat from the room leaving Logan, Shipper and Venuti alone with Heiner and one other soldier.

As the last soldier passed through the doorway, Heiner withdrew a pack of cigarettes from his pocket. Pulling a battered old lighter from his other pocket, Heiner lit a single cigarette and took a long contented drag. He withdrew the cigarette from his lips and stared at it curiously as he breathed the smoke out.

"Dr. Klapiz was conducting experiments to try to prove that these things could lead to serious health problems later in life." His thick German accent gave an odd ring to the English words as he spoke. "I personally thought that it was a waste of time, but one never can tell with these things."

Heiner placed the cigarette back in his mouth to take another pull. "Now, I guess that we'll never know," his gaze hardened on Logan, smelling strongly of rage again. "Will we?"

Logan allowed his face to betray no reaction as Heiner pushed off from the table and began to slowly walk towards them. The rage was slowly fading from his scent to be replaced with the stingy smell of contempt.

"Before I allow the three of you to die, I want you to know what exactly you have destroyed here. I want you to understand the far-reaching consequences of your actions."

"I'd say we destroyed yer' little sick attempt at creatin' the perfect soldier," Logan growled flippantly. "Don't expect me ta' cry over that."

Heiner's eyes narrowed dangerously as his scent grew acrid with anger once again. A slight gesture of his head was all the instruction that the remaining German soldier needed to bring the butt of his rifle down swiftly into Logan's face. Logan allowed himself a mere grunt of pain as he was sent toppling to the floor. He could taste the blood in his mouth from a split lip, but made no move to spit it out.

Heiner watched for a few moments then signaled the guard with another inclination of his head to drag Logan back to his knees. He could smell the anger and indignation from Venuti and Shipper at his treatment; however, more than anything else, he could smell their resignation. Both seemed to have come to grips with the idea that they were going to die. They didn't know about the grenade that Logan had hidden under the far table.

Heiner was shaking his head and smelling strongly of superiority.

"Such ignorance. But why should I expect anything differently from an American? Yours has always been a confused misguided culture." He paused a moment before adding, "I should have known that my agreement with your... superiors could not function properly."

Logan's teeth ground together in anger as Venuti and Shipper began to give of strong scents of disbelief mingled with righteous anger. They had suspected, theorized, maybe deep inside they had even already known, but to have Heiner blatantly admit the betrayal to them still left a hollow cold spot in their stomachs. True conformation didn't make the betrayal any easier to accept.

"Who?" The single word came out in a harsh whisper.

Heiner simply ignored the question and continued on. "The agreement that I had arranged with your superior called for an equal share of the eventual discovery. He, as his part, was to keep the project protected from Nazi and Allied interference."

He must have noted their surprise at that statement because he quickly added. "You see, I don't plan on letting the results of this research project fall into the hands of the Third Reich. They wouldn't know what to do with it besides create a weapon."

"And what exactly is it supposed to be used for?" was Venuti's harsh question.

Heiner smiled indulgently.

"It is a medical discovery that we seek. A revolutionary new process of treating illnesses and injury. That is the terrible secret weapon that your allies fear so greatly. That is what you were sent to destroy."

Logan nearly snorted. "Sorry, bub. Don't buy it. Ya' don't guard a medical facility as heavily as ya' have been guardin' this citadel. There's more ta' this whole thing than what yer tellin' us."

The general's scent reflected his rapidly diminishing patience. "Oh, there is more. Much more. However, you'll just have to ask the answers you seek from your eternal maker once that I've sent you to meet him."

Heiner began to walk away from them before turning to face Logan once again. "For now, I need two warm bodies as I attempt to reconstruct the work that you have interrupted." Heiner grinned wickedly as his gazed settled maliciously on them. "As you can see, we have an extra that needs to be disposed of. After all, we do have costs to think about."

Logan stiffened slightly as Heiner signaled to the German soldier to unholster a pistol. Logan's mind raced desperately. He just needed to be able to stall Heiner for another couple of minutes. Heiner, however, had taken on a definite scent of finality. He seemed to be done toying with them.

Heiner considered between the three of them briefly before turning to Logan and saying. "One is as good as the other to me. Why don't you choose who will die, Herr Mathison?"

Logan snorted in contempt. "Yer crazy."

Heiner's scent took on a suddenly sharp edge as his eyes narrowed on Logan. "I am quite sane Herr Logan. And you will choose. Even if you have to choose by your silence."

Before Logan could ask what that particular cryptic statement was supposed to mean, Heiner barked some instructions to the German guard who nodded and trained his gun on Shipper's head. Heiner turned to face Logan again with a cold, amused expression on his face. Logan could smell the deadly certainty of violence in his scent and nearly growled in return.

"I will count to ten, Herr Mathison," Heiner began. "If you say nothing, if you refuse to respond, when I reach ten, Shipper's brains will no longer reside in his skull."

Logan almost shouted in protest, but Heiner cut him off.

"On the other hand, if you say anything, grunt, sneeze, breath too heavily, I will order my guard to kill Venuti."

Logan met Heiner's eyes and saw the man's certainty in the depths of them. Logan could just stare at him in dismay. He jerked his head over to risk a glance at his companions. Venuti and Shipper both looked fairly horrified by Heiner's statement. It wasn't the idea of execution that bothered them so much as the idea that one of their own would be forced into the role of deciding who was to die. Shipper began to sweat as the guard trained his gun ever closer.

Logan turned his stare back towards Heiner eyes wide and his head shaking in denial. Heiner merely smiled and began his count.

"One."

Logan's mind raced desperately. He wanted to growl in frustration but didn't dare because that would be a death sentence to Venuti.

"Two."

Logan stared helplessly between Venuti and Shipper. He didn't know what to do. His instincts screamed to be patient and do nothing while waiting for a better opportunity. Unfortunately, he didn't have that kind of time.

"Three."

Logan risked a quick glance to were he had concealed the grenade earlier that day. He knew that there wasn't much time left before the pin would be released. As far as he was concerned, that exact moment would have been the perfect time.

"Four."

He could see that Shipper was tensing now, preparing himself for the impact of the bullet.

"Five."

Logan squeezed his eyes shut tightly trying to block out the scene in an attempt to think of a solution. *There has ta' be a way out.* he thought desperately. *There just has ta' be.*

"Six."

He had yet to experience a stroke of inspiration. Dozens of possible scenarios ran through his mind, each one failing to accomplish its intent.

"Seven."

Logan opened his eyes to stare back at Heiner. He found no pity no mercy what-so-ever in his enemies eyes. The man merely smiled wickedly and continued.

"Eight."

Shipper and Venuti both were sweating profusely now. The scent of their fear was thick and heavy in the air. Shipper had closed his eyes and was now trembling furiously biting his lower lip to keep from crying out.

"Nine."

A calm clarity settled into Logan's thoughts as he realized what he would have to do.

"Ten."

Before the guard could pull the trigger, Logan threw himself at Shipper, knocking the man backwards and to the ground. Heiner had said that only two were needed alive, and Logan preferred going out this way to rotting in a prison cell. He heard the sharp crack of the gun's retort and felt a piercing pain in his shoulder that threw him to the ground. Logan couldn't help the ragged groan that escaped his lips as his broken body impacted painfully on the hard stone.

He could feel Heiner watching him, considering, before saying, "An interesting solution, Herr Mathison. A pity for you that you survived it. Otherwise, things might have been different. As it is, you have made your choice."

As the realization of his words sank in, Logan weakly lifted his head eyes staring in horror. "No," he whispered feebly then more forcefully, "No!"

Heiner simply ignored him, calmly walked over to where Venuti was kneeling, drew his own gun, and blew the man's brains out of the back of his head. Logan stared numbly as Venuti's body slumped to the floor and began to twitch not quite aware of the fact that it was dead.

Logan let his head drop back down onto the floor in defeat. Already he could feel a painful twitch in his shoulder that told him it was mending; however, he barely even noticed it.

He almost laughed at the irony of it all. The only reason that he had ever even accepted this mission was because he was trying to dodge a death sentence. Logan had no illusions that he could expect anything different from Heiner. Maybe the man planned on keeping them alive for now, but he knew that their deaths would soon follow.

Just at that moment, while his mind was riding the edge of defeat, he heard the sounds of his salvation. It came in the form of a barely audible click as the lever on a grenade was released.

Summoning his most insolent smile, Logan rose back to his knees and turned to face Heiner.

"General Heiner do ya' like ta' race?"

Heiner looked at him with open contempt. He probably believed that Logan had finally gone insane.

"What are you babbling about?"

Logan had to control the urge to laugh in the man's face. "I just thought that I'd offer ta' race ya' all the way ta' hell."

Before Heiner could respond, the table behind him erupted in a gout of fire throwing him forward and across the room. The impact of the concussion also threw Logan backwards until a wall halted any further progression. The blast covered him with debris and table fragments but fortunately didn't do any further damage to his body.

Logan shook his head in an attempt to clear the stars from his line of vision. He then took a brief glance around the room to take stock of the situation. Shipper was lying next to him unconscious and moaning as a thin trickle of blood ran from a nasty gash on his forehead. The German soldier who had been standing with Heiner hadn't been so fortunate. A flying piece of scrap metal had caught him in the back of the neck, partially decapitating him. Logan didn't see Heiner anywhere, but assumed that the man was probably still alive.

The explosion had not gone unnoticed, however. Even now, he could hear the sounds of troops arriving to investigate what had happened. Logan knew that he would have to move quickly if he wanted to take advantage of his present situation. He scanned the area nearby until his eyes settled on a small but sharp splinter of metal.

Logan quickly scooted over to it as fast as his protesting body would allow him. He twisted his back to the scrap of metal to give his bound hands the access that they needed. To say it was an awkward position would have been a great understatement; however, necessity is always a great incentive and motivation. Thus, within a few moments, Logan pulled himself to his feet massaging his raw but free wrists.

His muscles still protesting, Logan turned and sprinted for the laboratory door. He could here and smell the arriving troops as he slammed the door shut and threw the bolt into place. Seconds after it was secured a loud forceful pounding began against the heavy wood. Hopefully, the nature of chemicals generally kept in this room would keep them from just blasting the door open with their guns.

Logan leaned wearily against a stone wall. He wasn't exactly sure if he had accomplished anything other than buying them a few minutes. There wasn't really anyway out of the laboratory except through the windows and that was accompanied by a fifteen meter drop onto a jagged slope.

He could try to take Heiner, if he was still alive, as a hostage and demand their way out. Of course, there was the problem that he didn't speak German and thus, would be unable to make any understandable demands.

Logan's thought process was interrupted by another groan from Shipper as the man fought his way back to consciousness. He quickly covered the ground lying between them to reach his friend's side. Shipper's eyes fluttered open briefly, then closed again as he released another groan of pain.

Logan retrieved the metal shard and used it to sever the bonds restraining his comrade.

"Shipper, are ya' gonna' be all right buddy?"

Shipper grunted sourly as Logan helped him to his feet.

"I was wondering what you had done with that grenade."

Logan smiled fiercely in return. "A wise man once taught me ta' always keep an ace up yer' sleeve."

"Didn't seem to help you very much with poker," Shipper grinned wryly. "I almost suggested that you start cheating just to even the odds out a little bit."

Logan mock-growled in return then turned serious.

"I'm afraid that we don't have many options available ta' us right now."

Logan gestured towards the door that was beginning to creak ominously under the current barrage.

"They're not gonna' stay out much longer. And we don't have another exit out o' this room."

"The window..." Shipper began.

Logan shook his head. "It's more than a fifteen meter drop onta' rough terrain. I don't think we could handle a fall like that."

The wooden door behind them partially splintered as the latest blow pounded against it. Shipper turned to face Logan.

"I don't think that we have much of a choice."

Logan nodded grimly and the two began their slow trek towards the window supporting each other with every step. When they reached the opening, Logan used the same piece of scrap metal to break out the glass of the window pane.

Once there was a space large enough for them to pass through, Logan pushed his head out to look downward into the darkness. His lips and eyes narrowed fractionally at the sight. He didn't see any way that they, in their present condition, could jump that great a distance and still successfully escape into the woods.

Despite all of these factors, Logan was about to make a try of it when his senses alerted him an instant too late of Heiner's approach. As Logan spun around, he heard a gunshot then saw Shipper collapse into a small pile, blood leaking from a hole in the side of his head. Logan lifted his gaze from his fallen comrade to stare at his killer.

Heiner stood with almost all of his weight on one leg. The arm that did not hold the gun steadily trained on him was clutched closely to his side. His face was a mass of ugly bruises and cuts imbedded with fragments of glass, wood, and metal. His scent smelled strongly of pain, anger, and wrath. All of it was underlined by a firm scent of disgust.

"Foolish, foolish, foolish," he murmured softly. "Even now you attempt to destroy that which you cannot understand. Do you have any clue how much your actions today have cost the world? Do you know how many countless thousands will be forced to continue suffering because of what you have done?!? Can you even began to imagine?!?" The man's voice had risen to fevered pitch as he spoke.

Logan observed the man calmly. Heiner was obviously badly injured and his gun hand was beginning to waver a little. All he needed to do was keep the general off balance.

"Did ya' really think that yer' contact was playing straight with ya'? He was probably just playing ya' for time and information until he could send us in ta' finish up the job."

Logan was making this up as he went along, but it was having the desired effect on Heiner. The man stiffened visibly. His gun wavering even more now. Logan smelled the quick burst of doubt and anger that came from the man before his scent turned cold again.

"No matter," he whispered harshly. "It ends here and now."

The gun slowly raised and for a brief moment, Logan saw that he was at the end of his life. That moment never came as Heiner collapsed to one knee with a cry of pain. As he fell to the ground, Logan saw the dark stain on across his vest.

Logan didn't need any more persuasion. He quickly turned to the window knowing that this course of action could just as easily end his life as Heiner's gun; however, his decision had already been made for him. Closing his eyes, Logan stepped out into the darkness.

Part 20

Forty miles north of Udine
Today

A dark sense of dread and certainty was growing in the pit of Logan's stomach and spreading slowly outwards. His eyes didn't want to completely accept the sight that was before him even though he had seen many strange and terrible things during his years as an X-Man. However, he had not been sufficiently jaded by his time fighting for Xavier's dream that when an old World War II general that he had known and thought to be long dead was re-animated in the form of a howling beast-like creature that now held him pinned to a wall, it didn't disturb him just a little. There were some things that even being an X-Man couldn't prepare you for.

"Brennon." he said again, this time in complete confusion. "Why? Why did you do all of this?"

The creature's voice no longer even sounded remotely human. "Because you ruined everything for which I had worked and struggled. Because you cost me the life of my wife and child."

Logan felt his anger rising slowly as the implications of the Fallon's words slowly set in. "It was you," his voice grated harshly, "wasn't it? You were the traitor that sold us out. That set us up ta' die!"

Almost of their own accord, Logan's claws slid out of their sheathes with a snikt. He angrily brought both sets slashing down at the fleshy extension pinned against his chest. Fallon let out a howl of pain as Logan's claws sunk into the skin. The "arm" quickly retreated backwards dropping Logan painfully to the ground.

Logan scrambled back to his feet and met Fallon/Brennon's gaze. The man's flesh had ceased to boil and shift and with his arm back to a normal proportion he seemed almost human again. His scent, however, was anything but human.

Brennon's eyes flickered briefly towards Betsy's unconscious form, and Logan knew he only had a moment to react before the thing struck.

He quickly retracted his claws and, with a running dive, managed to snatch her body from the table before it was impaled by a scythe-shaped fleshy extension. Logan didn't quite understand how the creature's limbs could have the strength of tempered steel when they were made of flesh, but that it was not a line of thought that he had the luxury to follow at the present moment. He quickly ducked to avoid the now ruined table ,as Brennon hurled it at him with a howl.

Logan scooped up Betsy in his arms and took off running for the exit as quickly as his legs would carry him. He could hear that her breathing was weak but thankfully steady. He needed to get her out of here and to a place where she could receive medical attention and be out of additional harm's way. Right now he had no desire to fight a being of unknown strength, such as Brennon was, with a downed comrade in the middle of the battlefield.

He was half-way to the door when Logan felt something like cords wrap around his ankles and jerk backwards. The X-Man toppled forward, Betsy spilling from his arms as he fell. He watched helplessly as her body stuck the ground and slid to a stop directly in front of the laboratory door.

Logan knew that at the present moment, with the recent trauma, her health was not the best. He just hoped that the fall didn't cause any further damage. Especially since his options to help her were diminishing fast as he found himself being pulled rapidly backwards.

His speed increased until he was lifted from the ground. Then he was released and sent spinning wildly through the air. He crashed painfully into a table filled with test tubes, beakers, and other chemical apparatus. The glass shattered and the table collapsed under his sudden impact dropping him onto the floor amid a pile of ruined equipment.

He struggled back to his feet desperately and glared at Brennon just in time to see two fleshy tendrils resettle into the clay-like surface of the creature's chest. Logan belatedly realized that those two tendrils had been the cords that had wrapped themselves around his legs. Logan shook his head in amazement. There seemed to be no limit Brennon's reach.

"Impressive. Yer' still gonna' try ta' convince me that this isn't supposed ta' be some sort o' weapon but is really just for the betterment of the human race?" Logan's said sardonically while slowly extending his claws.

"I am the embodiment of what the human race can achieve," the creature's strange warped voice responded. "As a mutant, you are merely another example of this process. I don't really see how you of all people can attempt to criticize what I have accomplished."

"I can when ya' sold out me and my entire team fer this ideal o' yers," Logan growled in reply.

The two were warily pacing each other now feinting occasionally looking for weaknesses. Brennon's cold hollow gaze settled on him again.

"I was merely protecting the interest of humanity. Did you honestly believe a man like Heiner would have allowed the results of that project to fall into the hands of a man like Hitler?" He shook his head dismissive. "No, Heiner knew that his findings needed to be used for the benefit of all humanity. That is why he contacted me."

Logan's eyes narrowed fractional as the pieces slowly began to fit together in his head. Heiner had mentioned a contact among their superiors with whom he had been collaborating. Obviously their arrangement had existed long before Operation Monfalcone had ever come into being.

Brennon continued. "Heiner had agreed to allow the results of the project become the windfall of the United States government with the promise of immunity for him and others involved in the project."

Logan was still eyeing the other man warily, looking for a lapse in his defenses. "Then why didn't he just defect with the scientists before me and Operation Monfalcone were ever sent in?"

"Because, the allied forces could have never provided conditions equal to the ones that the Nazis had established for the experimentation of the serum."

"What do ya' mean?" Logan demanded suspiciously.

Brennon laughed humorously. "America's moral and ethical standards have for the most part always been placed far too high in the medical field of research to accomplish what Heiner sought. The Nazis provided a more liberal atmosphere in which to conduct his research."

Logan simply stared at the other man in disgust. "You mean the Nazi War Camps."

Logan shook his head in amazement. "And though, as an Allied general, ya' couldn't officially condone such measures, ya' saw nothing wrong with reaping the benefits of that research once you had tangible results ta' present ta' the American government."

"And everyone involved would have mutually benefited from the arrangement," Brennon finished for him. "Everything was going smoothly until an allied intelligence gathering mission accidentally stumbled on to some transcripts of the project. They insisted on sending an assault team to dismantle the project. At that point, I only had one option left."

Logan felt his anger mounting more each second. "So the power ta' bring people back from the grave as soulless hollow zombies justifies sellin' out yer own country not ta' mention the lives o' all the innocents that those sick butchers sacrificed ta' research the stuff?" He spit in contempt. "Yer one sick son of a bitch."

Brennon's eyes narrowed in rage as he lashed out at Logan. As his arms extended towards the X-Man, his fingers elongated into sharpened talons. Logan ducked and rolled out from underneath the grasping nails slashing at them with his own claws as he came to his feet. Brennon howled in rage and pain.

"You dare condemn me Logan!" his voice raged. "You whose hands are stained with the blood of countless innocents! You who would take any measure even that of abandoning your own teammates to ensure your own survival! How dare you attempt to judge me!"

Brennon's arms shifted into the shape of scythes again and came crashing down to the spot were Logan was standing. Logan simply leapt over Brennon's elongated limbs somersaulting through the air as he did so. He lashed out with a wicked kick, fueled by the momentum from his flip, to his opponent's head. Brennon grunted in pain, as he toppled backwards into another table filled with chemicals. He eyed Logan grimly as he retracted his arms to normal length and pulled himself back to his feet.

"Ya' got a lot o' anger inside o' ya', Brennon," Logan observed. "Too bad none of it's really yers."

Brennon eyed him suspiciously as they continued to circle each other.

"What are you talking about?"

Logan smiled. "I should have figured it out during yer so called trial. Ironically it was you that finally gave me the clue that I needed."

"And what would that be," Brennon responded with exaggerated nonchalance.

"My blood," Logan could detect a tinge of curiosity in Brennon's scent now. It was the first human smell the man had emitted since his transformation.

"It never made sense why my former buddies would hate me so much unless you had seriously messed with their heads."

"Your friends, as you call them, hated you because you abandoned them, left them to die," Brennon punctuated his statement with a vicious left slash which Logan managed to evade.

"Close, but not quite." Logan was referring both to Brennon's statement and attack.

"Ya' see, when they took my blood sample, I wasn't all that happy with myself. I was feeling massive amounts of guilt and self-loathing for the things that I had been forced ta' do. In the time since then, I've managed ta' come ta' terms with what happened and stopped beatin' myself over the head with it."

Logan could see Brennon's eyes narrowing warily. The man obviously didn't like where this line of reason was going.

"But, if ya' based the personalities of my friends on my own perceptions, that sense of shame, guilt, and belief that I needed ta' be punished would have transferred ta' them in the form of vengeance and vindictiveness."

Logan could smell a growing sense of doubt and fear coming from Brennon now.

"The only difference bein' that since the feelings were never really their emotions, only ones transplanted inta' their heads, there was never the possibility for resolution o' all that anger for them or you. It never was able ta' dim. Just fester and grow fer some forty odd years." Logan grinned grimly. "And other people say that they're their own worst enemy. Bub, they got nothin' on me."

"You're grasping at threads, Logan," Brennon hissed.

"Am I now?" Logan's grin widened marginally. "Cause, you ain't immune either. Yer gonna' have ta' ask yerself how much of yer desire ta' punish and judge me is really based on any sense of personnel justice, or how much was just my own desire ta' punish myself."

"No!" Brennon howled as he attacked Logan once again. Logan barely managed to leap backwards, sidestepping Brennon's outstretched talons as he spun out of the way.

"Lies! All lies!!"

Brennon was thrashing around wildly now clearly put off balance. Logan decided that it was time to put him away.

"Ya' know, its kinda' funny. When we first met, it was you pullin' my strings, forcin' me ta' sign up fer a suicide mission or face an early mornin' execution."

Brennon's face had an almost haunted look to it now.

"But fer the last forty years now, you've been dancin' ta' the tune that I've been playin' inside o' yer head without ya' even knowin' it."

In that moment, Logan knew intimately the expression Brennon wore on his face. It was the expression of a man who had come to discover that the last half of his life has been a vain and pointless parody. It was the expression of a man who was coming to the realization that everything that he had known to be true was actually a lie. However, most importantly, it was the expression of a man who had, for one moment, completely dropped his guard.

Howling with his own inner rage, Logan threw himself savagely at one of the few men that had been just as twisted and deceived in his life as Wolverine had been in his own.

Scott had never really liked castles or anything that remotely resembled them. It was partially for this reason, that Scott was particularly uncomfortable at the present moment while they continued their desperate search for Logan.

After having received the dire news concerning Betsy at the Blackbird, they had set out to search the citadel once again in a knight, bishop, rook pattern. Surprisingly, the order to assume that particular position was only met by one joking comment from Gambit. He must have actually been somewhat concerned about the present situation.

Gambit had taken the knight position. He was the best at recon as well as edging Bishop out when it came to hand to hand combat. Remy also had the shortest range of all three of them with his powers. He may have had a throwing arm that could make Brett Farve green with envy, but at more than sixty yards, his accuracy decreased by half.

Bishop had taken the position of Bishop, amid a few rolled eyes and the previously mentioned joking comment from Gambit. He was minus his usual high-energy assault rifle but was making do with a M-16 that he had picked up off on of the guards after their escape. Fortunately, his one or two stored bio-energy blasts had the range and the distance to adequately cover Gambit from a dropped back position.

Cyclops had been left with the rook position seeing how he had the best range and accuracy with his optic blast of all three of them. It was a lot more difficult to miss when all one had to do was focus one's gaze on an object and open up a visor.

Scott reflexively stroked the small trigger in the palm of his hand. Fallon and his men had been able to deactivate the receiver in his visor that picked up his brainwave activity and allowed him to control the visor with his mind. Gambit had damaged it beyond repair with his little cigarette stunt. So now, with the main receiver out of commission, he had been forced to go to the back-up, a hand-held remote unit. It wasn't quite as responsive as his primary but functioned admirably for a back-up.

Once again, the group had returned to the spot were they had initially found the trail of blood that they assumed had belonged to Logan. Only, this time, they had all brought emergency breathing apparatus from the Blackbird in case Fallon tried his little trick with the oxygen levels in the room again.

The blood trail had still been there when they arrived again and a quick sample analysis confirmed that it was indeed Logan's blood. The only question that faced them now was were to go from there.

The blood from the trail had just barely been warm when they had first arrived. Now, after several hours of incarceration, the blood had completely cooled and dried.

Scott looked up from the trail as Gambit came back into his line of sight. The Cajun simply shrugged at his questioning stare.

"Don' know what ta' tell ya', mon ami. De trail leads off inta' some type of dungeon. Impossible ta' follow it from dere cause de whole place be flooded."

"Dere be one ot'er t'ing," Gambit added. "Somebody blew a whole out o' de wall down dere. Leads inta' some kinda' sewer drains. De blast was recent too. Maybe four, five hours."

Scott absently ran a hand through his hair in thought. A nagging suspicion was beginning to grow in the back of his head. Turning to his other teammate, he asked, "What do you make of it Bishop?"

As usual, Bishop considered his words solemnly before responding. "It would almost appear that Wolverine had initiated an escape. With our present evidence, it is impossible to determine whether or not that initiative was successful. However, we might want to consider the idea that Psylocke was taken as a form of bait to recapture Wolverine, if indeed, he did manage to liberate himself."

Scott nodded in agreement. He had been thinking more-or-less along those lines.

"And apparently, Fallon would have no qualms about executing one of Logan's friends if Logan had refused to cooperate with his demands."

A cold block of ice settle into the pit of his stomach as he spoke those words. If Logan truly had managed to escape before their arrival, then Betsy's death would weigh even more heavily on his conscience.

"All right, people," Scott quickly shoved his guilt back into a dark corner of his mind, "this trail obviously isn't going to get us any closer to finding Logan or Betsy. And as we can't even confirm that Logan is still even here or that Betsy is alive. I can't let us continue to take unnecessary risks by staying here."

It was a tough call to make, but they couldn't confirm that Logan was here and Scott couldn't risk losing any more teammates on a potential wild goose chase.

"We'll return to the Blackbird and fly to a secure location until Storm can arrive with back-up."

Scott carefully monitored the reactions of the two men to his statement. Bishop's face was hard and unreadable as always, but he nodded his head marginally in consent. He may not have completely agreed, but the XSE officer understood tactical logic and was willing to follow Scott's order even if he didn't much care for the idea of leaving two teammates and Operation Falconmount behind.

Gambit, unfortunately, was another matter.

"Go ahead an' go den," the Cajun stated flippantly while spinning on his heal. "Me an' Logan an' Psylocke see if we can find any food in dis place while ya' guys are out waitin' for Stormy."

Scott repressed a sigh. He had truly hoped to avoid any confrontations with Gambit during this mission. Something that tended to happen on a regular basis. All X-men team leaders, even Storm who was probably the Cajun's closest friend on the team, had their clashes with Gambit while on missions. Though improving, Gambit had never been very good about taking orders especially when the order concerned the risk factor involved in an assignment. Scott supposed that it was a character trait symptomatic of a person that had simply lived too much of their lives with nothing to lose. Scott might have developed the same trait after the loss of his parents had it not been for the responsibility of looking after Alex before his brother was adopted.

Scott opened his mouth to call Gambit down when he was interrupted by a strange sound like that of rushing water. All three of them turned just in time to see what appeared to be a large puddle of blood streaming towards them. The blood seemed to almost be a living thing as it flowed around the stunned X-Men and continued on its hurried journey.

A shocked silence reigned over the three mutants until Gambit finally ventured, "Lemme' guess. Blood don' normally do dat."

With that statement, Gambit took off in a sprint in the same direction the blood had gone.

"Gambit! Wait!" Scott called out.

But Gambit had already rounded the corner. Scott let out a deep sigh and mentally cursed the X-man for his impetuous nature.

Turning to Bishop, he said, "Well, we can't let him get too far ahead of us. There's no telling what he'll run into."

Logan could see that this was quickly becoming a contest of endurance. He had managed to get his claws into Brennon just about as many times as Brennon had been able to land a blow on him. Both had manage to open wounds on their opponent that had bled, clotted, sealed and healed themselves in a matter of seconds only to be re-opened again. Somewhere in his mind, Logan knew that even with his healing factor he would not be able to continue this conflict indefinitely. He just hoped that the same held true for Brennon and his nanytes.

Logan ducked underneath another of Brennon's savage attacks and attempted to dodge inside the man's guard. He had learned early on in the fight that he needed to stay as close to Brennon as possible to take away the man's advantage in reach.

The down side of such a tactic was the fact that Brennon didn't seem limited to merely using his appendages for attacks. His chest would ripple like clay, sending out tendrils of flesh that Logan would have to defend against in addition to the talons.

A sweep of his claws sent a handful of those tendril tumbling to the floor as Logan slashed at Brennon's unprotected right flank. He followed through with a wicked right cross that sent Brennon tumbling backwards over another table of chemicals. The man quickly found his feet again, and Logan watched as the two sets of diagonal slashmarks closed on his chest.

Brennon' grin was evil and insane. "I can heal just as quickly as you can, Logan. We can continue this dance for as long as you like."

Logan dropped back away from the man to catch his breath quickly.

"Why do ya' keep doin' this, Brennon? Ya've been manipulated all these years. Why continue it?"

Brennon merely laughed. "That hate kept me alive for all these years. It gave me purpose. It gave me direction. It gave me a reason to keep on living. It is as integrally a part of me as the nannyte blood cells that now coarse through my veins. Do you think that I can just throw it away like last week's paper because you tell me that it isn't really mine?!"

Brennon howled like a beast as he lashed out at Logan again. A rolling dive pulled him out of harm's way as the table behind him shattered into splinters under Brennon's assault. Logan had been afraid of this. Brennon had already been driven too thoroughly insane by fifty years of unrelenting hate and anger. Logan's revelation to him probably had just pushed him further toward that dark abyss.

Logan took a moment to take stock of each of their conditions. Despite each combatants healing capabilities, the battle had taken its toll on both of them. Logan was moving much more sluggishly than he had been on the onset of the conflict. Brennon had also lost some of his speed, and his wounds were no longer closing as rapidly. A few still remained open now though the bleeding had stopped.

The X-Man was about to begin another attack run when he was suddenly distracted by the sound of rushing water. Logan turned his head to see a dark red pool of blood seep underneath the laboratory door and quickly cross the floor to Brennon. Brennon sighed in pleasure as the blood rose from the floor like a living thing to envelope his entire frame. It was slowly absorbed through the pores in his skin, healing and revitalizing whatever parts that it touched.

Shock had caused Logan to stop short, and he had missed a possible opportunity while Brennon was absorbing the blood. Logan now stared in dismay as the last of the blood seeped into Fallon's body. The man seemed completely revitalized, as if he hadn't been fighting a desperate and bloody battle for the last twenty minutes.

The X-Man slowly dropped back, knowing that in his current weakened condition, he would be unable to defeat a revitalized Brennon on his own.

"Surprised, Logan?" Brennon laughed cruelly. "You shouldn't be. You're the one that always talked about expecting the unexpected." Brennon lashed out as he spoke, his reflexes lightning quick once again.

Logan's sluggish movements were incapable of evading his grasp as Brennon's elongated claws wrapped around him digging painfully into his chest and arms. Brennon squeezed experimentally crushing the breath from Logan's lungs.

Brennon slowly drew him to his face once Logan's struggles had weakened. Logan hung suspended some two feet off of the ground with his nose two inches from touching Brennon's.

"The positions a little bit reversed now, aren't they, Logan?" Brennon's smile was so large that Logan wondered idly if a normal human would be capable of extending the corners of his lips that far outward. "Now I'm hanging your soon to be dead carcass in the air on my claws."

Just keep talkin', bub, Logan hoped silently. He only had one chance left to him now. From the onset of their fight, Brennon had seemed almost unkillable. Logan, however, was willing to bet his life that there was at least one thing that even Brennon couldn't survive.

Brennon had wrapped his other elongated hand around Logan, and the two hands had merged into one cage of flesh to restrain him.

"No witty lines to spout at me now Logan? Perhaps something else about how you're the best there is at what you do." he taunted.

The cage of flesh tightened suddenly, and Logan could feel a handful of ribs crack painfully. Brennon cackled gleefully at his pain.

"Well Logan, what you will do now is die."

"Brennon!" he growled painfully, "ya' know what yer problem always was?"

As he spoke, he the claws on his right hand cut their confinement.

"Always were too damn overconfident. It made it a lot easier ta' play possum fifty years ago, an' it's no different today."

He claws slashed upwards tearing through the fleshy restraints. The arc of the claws continued until they met the soft skin at the junction of Brennon's neck and shoulder. Logan grunted a little as he felt the momentary resistance of bone, then his claws tore free again leaving an arcing spray of blood in their wake.

Brennon's body slumped to the ground releasing Logan as it crumpled. The X-Man saw the head roll to a stop just a few feet from the rest of the body. Already tendrils of flesh reached out blindly from the body searching for the missing appendage. A few managed to locate the head and began to draw it back.

"Oh no ya' don't."

Logan quickly scooped up the head pulling it loose from the tendrils that had already managed to re-attach themselves. He held it up to look into its cold blank eyes. There was no way that he was letting Brennon come back again.

"If dis be a private moment tween you an' de head," Logan whirled around at the sound of a familiar Cajun accent. "I can always come back later."

Gambit was leaning casually against the now open door frame cocky and arrogant looking as ever. He glanced at Betsy with an odd gaze but seemed to be satisfied that she was fine. Logan didn't have the composure at the moment to wonder what the Cajun might be able to see or feel.

"Yer a little late, Gumbo."

"Ain't my fault dat I can't leave ya' alone for more dan two minutes wit'out ya' gettin' into trouble." Gambit shrugged nonchalantly.

Logan snorted dismissively. He would have time for friendly banter later. Right now, he had more important things to take care of.

"Gambit charge one o' yer cards with as much juice as ya' can put in it." Logan's gaze was hard and uncompromising.

The two X-Men stood there for a moment simply staring at each other. Gambit seemed to understand the intent behind Logan's glare. Despite this fact, or perhaps, because of it, he reached into his ever-present trenchcoat and withdrew a single card. In a few seconds, the card glowed so brightly that it was almost painful for Logan to look at it.

Using his fingers, Logan managed to pry open Brennon's clenched mouth. Gambit didn't need any further instruction as he silently jammed the lurid card behind the man's tongue. Logan clamped the man's jaw shut and, with a mighty heave, threw the severed head though the window shattering out a small section of the glass as he did so.

A split second later, the resulting explosion blew out the rest of the glass sending it in a showering cascade over the two X-Men. Neither one moved to cover themselves as they simply gazed intently out the window into the dark night sky. The surreal silence was interrupted a few moments later by the sounds of running footsteps as Bishop, then Scott, rounded the corner.

"Logan," Scott started breathlessly, "are you okay?'

"No, not really," he whispered softly.

A soft groan from the other side of the room prevented any further conversation. Betsy Braddock was struggling to regain consciousness again though it may have been better for her to delay the attempt for a while. Scott quickly rushed over to her side and initiated a check of her vital signs. The sweet scent of relief rolled off of the X-Man team leader as he managed to find a pulse.

"Storm had told us that she may have been killed." Scott explained.

"She was."

The smells of shock and surprise greeted his simple statement, but Logan didn't feel like explaining right now.

Shaking his head he said, "Let's just get out of here Cyke. I'm ready ta' put this place behind me fer good."

Without another word of explanation, Logan slowly stalked out of the room. After only a moment's hesitation, the other X-Men followed.

Epilogue

Forty Miles North of Udine
1945

The wind howled mournfully through the canyon in the fading afternoon sunlight. It continued its journey through the rocky crevices and stirred noisily through the thick branches of the remaining trees. The wind continued right up a solitary ridge where it seemed to pause respectively at the burnt-out ruins of what had appeared to be a large castle before hurrying on its way.

A lone man stood silently on the lip of the ridge respectfully regarding the fallen building. The same wind tugged impishly at his loose clothing and hair that he had allowed to grow out in the past three years. The man scratch his jaw behind his ear experimentally still getting use to the idea of having sideburns thick enough to cover most of his cheek.

The man who called himself Logan let his hand drop limply back to his side. He wasn't exactly sure why he had even come back here after all this time. He wasn't sure what he has expected to find here. The sight of the rubble where the once proud citadel had stood surprised and even disturbed him at first. However, he had been able to quickly overcome his feelings and had even decided that, in a certain sense, it was better this way. The past could truly be buried behind him now.

Logan closed his eyes as the memory of that night three years ago swept over him. He could still remember the strange mix of relief and disappointment that he had felt when he realized that he had survived the fall intact. Not only had he survived, but his injuries had been minimal and had healed with their customary promptness. Only two days later, he had not even felt a twinge from even the worst of his injuries, so completely they had healed. That fact alone had made evading the roaming German patrols much easier.

Afterwards he had opted to not move towards the extraction point. Logan had known that he could never be as trusting as Landen. He just hoped that he wasn't becoming as paranoid as Vanhorn. However, after the little tidbits that Heiner had revealed to them, Logan just didn't feel like going back to a command that could easily have been responsible for the death of his entire company.

He had headed northward instead just as Venuti had suggested that they should. Logan had to fight another battle with starvation before he finally found an old abandoned French barn with a crop left lying in the field. Most of it had already rotted but enough had stayed good for Logan to fill his belly a couple of times. He had also found a change of clothing at that barn. Running around Nazi controlled territory in American soldier fatigues was not a healthy occupation.

From there he had moved to the larger cities in France eventually hooking up with the underground French Resistance.

When he had first met up with them, he had decided to continue using the name Logan which had begun to grow on him a little bit. He had, however, decided to drop the name Mathison as it reminded him too much of his fallen comrades. He had stayed in France running errands and sabotaging German forces whenever possible until the Allied forces finally managed to punch their way through the German line in 1944.

As more and more cities were liberated by the Allied forces, Logan had decided that his work was officially finished with the French Resistance and had decided to move on to other ventures. For some reason, an irresistible force had drawn him back to this spot the moment that he had been free from those other responsibilities.

Logan supposed that in some sense, he had come to pay his last respects to his fallen comrades. He knew that in all likelihood their remains were no longer kept here. But that didn't change the fact that he still felt that this would be the most appropriate place to put his inner demons to rest. It had taken many sleepless nights, but he had finally managed to come to terms with the events of three years ago. Now it was time to take the final step in putting the past behind him. It was time to say good-bye to his friends.

"I wish ya guys could have seen this day," he mused out loud. "Hitler's been beaten like a dog, and we've got the Japs on the run in the Pacific. The war is all but finished. All that's left is cleanin' everything up."

Logan smiled ruefully as he could almost what imagine all of their reactions to his statement would be; from Vanhorn's silent smug "I knew that they would end it this way. The whole thing was arranged from the beginning" look to Hopps's relieved "Thank heaven that it's finally over" grin. He felt a sharp twinge in his chest as he mentally reviewed each of their faces.

Logan took one last lonesome gaze over the windswept valley before turning on his heel to walk away. He sighed in contentment as he slowly made his way down the rocky path. He had found the peace that he had so desperately sought for the past three years and in the most unlikely of places. Logan found himself grinning unaccountably.

The Present: Upstate New York

Logan was in what could be charitably referred to as a dismally foul mood. Even the cool breeze and warm, sunny sky above him could do nothing to alleviate his current disposition. The moment he had finished debriefing the other X-Men on what exactly had happened, minus a few details, he had retreated immediately to the woods outside of the mansion and to solitude.

Betsy, fortunately was going to be all right with time. That fact alone was one of the few consolations of the entire experience. The last thing that Logan needed was the death of another team member on his conscience. All she needed was rest and sufficient time for her body to finish mending itself. The latter wouldn't take too long as Brennon's nannytes had already done most of the work for her.

Beast, as expected, had been fascinated by the concept of the modified nannyte blood cells and had set off to examine the citadel with Bobby, Sam, and Ororo the moment that the briefing had finished. Logan wished the mutant luck, but was uncertain about what he would find in the remains. Brennon had somehow programmed the nannytes to respond to his mental commands so that he could control them. When Brennon's mind had been destroyed, it had left the nannytes without a master. By now, they had probably scattered themselves halfway across Europe.

Unfortunately, Beast probably wouldn't have much luck reconstructing Brennon's work either. He and Logan had been quite thorough in their destruction of the lab during their conflict.

Logan felt a twinge of guilt about that fact. Brennon had said that those formulas might have been capable of curing the legacy virus. If that much was true, Logan could be responsible for the deaths of thousand upon thousands of other mutants who would never be treated.

He shook his head savagely to dislodge that thought. He couldn't let a guilt complex set in. That was what Brennon had wanted.

Logan's black revelry was suddenly broken, and his head suddenly snapped up as he caught the scent of one of his fellow X-Men moving towards him.

He groaned silently to himself. In the six hours that he had been out here, Jean, Scott, and even Jubilee, who they had drug out from the academy, had attempted to coax him out of his sulking. Logan had responded by politely and not so politely turning them away explaining that at the moment, he just wanted to be left alone. Now it appeared the Cajun was being sent to give it a try.

Logan could already tell that this would definitely be one of his less polite reactions.

Gambit breezed into the secluded wooded area with his customary cocky swagger. He was absently fiddling with a cigarette that he hadn't yet lit. Logan decided that he would skip all pretenses as he dropped out of the tree branches and landed in front of the Cajun with a snarl.

"Get out, Gumbo," he growled, baring his teeth. "My head's still on straight, and I don't want any company. So leave while ya' can still walk."

Gambit merely glanced over him completely unfazed by his belligerent manner and calmly lit the cigarette. "Not goin' anywhere, homme. Not till I deliver my message."

Logan felt his hackles rising. Couldn't this kid take a hint? Of all the X-Men Gambit should have understood his need for solitude the most. The Cajun had spent his fair share of time brooding on the roof.

"Listen, Gumbo. Ya' can tell Scott ta' take his message and shove..."

Logan trailed off when he saw Gambit shake his head.

"Well then, tell Jean..." again Gambit shook his head dismissive.

Logan was really beginning to get tired of this guessing game.

"All right then, who is your message from?" Logan tried to put as much disdain into his voice as possible.

Gambit calmly blew out a puff of smoke before responding. "Harry."

"Harry?"

The Cajun nodded as he took another drag on his cigarette.

"He says dat if ya' don't pay off ya' tab by de end o' de week, he's never gonna' sell ya' another beer again."

With that, Gambit calmly turned on his heal and began to walk off.

It only took a few moments for the implications of Gambit's message to sink in. When they did Logan felt a low roar build in his throat as he took off in pursuit of the Cajun. A few seconds later he had caught his fellow X-Man and was suppressing the urge to throttle him as they argued.

"Ya' can't be serious," Logan began. "There ain't no way ya' can fairly say that I should pay that tab!"

"It's plenty fair," Gambit responded in a voice that said he wasn't going to budge and inch. "I beat ya' back ta' the mansion by two days. Dat be a pretty decisive victory ta' me."

"In case ya' hadn't noticed, I was abducted by a group of blood thirsty mercenaries who were workin' for an old enemy of mine!" Logan knew that before long the other X-Men would probably hear their argument.

"So what," Gambit replied callously. "I don' remember any clause about blood t'irsty mercs bein' in de bet. Just whoever made it back t' de mansion first." Gambit shrugged unapologetically. "Next time ya' have ta' remember ta' make dat one o' de conditions. Ya' know I got my fair share o' enemies ta' worry bout."

Logan stared at the taller man with a death glare. "You can't be serious."

"Hey, dis is de X-men," Gambit replied with that cocky grin of his. "It's not like dis sort o' t'ing be unprecedented."

The two men engaged in a staring contest for a few more minutes before Logan finally turned and stalked away. He was just about to enter back into the woods when the Cajun's voice stopped him.

"Ya' care ta' make it double or not'in Wolvie?"

Logan whirled to glare back at Gambit.

"What do ya' mean, Gumbo?"

"We brought ya' bike back, and Hank cleaned all the fuel drain out o' it," Gambit was wearing that arrogant grin again, and he smelled just like an overconfident pup. "Wanna' see if ya' can keep up wit' me dis time?"

Logan restrained the urge to gut his fellow teammate. *Why that snot-nosed little.....*

After a few moments, when he had managed to get a grip on his temper again, he stared back at the Cajun with a hard evil smile of his own.

"All right Gumbo, I'll go on a little bike ride with ya'."

For the first time in the conversation, Gambit seemed a little bit taken off guard by Logan's demeanor. He quickly recovered, however, and soon that trademark grin of his was back in place. Gesturing grandly, he said. "After ya' M'sieur."

Logan shook his head as they began moving towards the garage. Just as they had almost reached it, Warren put his head out the X-mansion window staring at them in open disbelief. Gambit merely grinned back at him and called out.

"Dat's right, Warren. I managed ta' drag him out o' de woods. Ya' owe me dat nice little BMW coupe of yours."

A sour expression crossed Warren's face as he pulled his head back in the window. Gambit was smiling widely and smelling strongly of triumph.

Logan growled. He'd been scammed. Not near as much as Warren though which almost made it worth it. Warren should have learned better by now. Never bet with a professional gambler. Then, of course, exactly what was *he* doing here again?

He suddenly glanced at the Cajun shrewdly. The words manipulative little cockroach jumped to mind, but behind the kid's smugness, Logan have always smell the concern too. The Cajun cared about his friends even if Gambit wouldn't admit that part even to himself.

Once again, Logan was amazed at what an innate understanding of human nature the kid had. You'd think since he'd fallen for more than one of Gambit's cons himself that he would permanently get the hint.

But being mildly impressed didn't mean he had to like being tricked or used even when it was out of concern and maybe in his best interest. Logan darn well intended to wipe that smirk off of the boy's face very soon to remind him just who was the best at what they did around here.

Logan truly grinned with a light heart for the first time since this all started. Gambit was going to earn that BMW. He would make sure of it.

FINE

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