Uncanny X-Men 1943

Chapter 1

"Yes, Miss Frost?" Here in X-Division, Emma was always referred to by her code name of "Miss Frost". Mrs Summers was left at the door.

"Did you check these files?"

"They're all there, ma'am. I checked."

"Look at this," Emma said, holding out the file for operative known as Fantomex. The other three members of the squad Emma had worked with before. Only the Frenchman was a new addition.

"Umm..." Miss Lee looked over the file.

"What's his surname?"

"Umm..."

"No..."

"It - it just says "Jean-Philippe", ma'am."

"Yes," said Emma, "So that roughly narrows him down to being one of about two million Frenchmen. And his powerset?"

"It, umm - doesn't say, ma'am. Just 'mutant'."

"Go back to the mailroom and find out what imbecile couldn't send us the file with the bloody form filled out correctly. With the sort of help you get, anyone would think there's a war going on and anyone competent is otherwise occupied or dead."

"Yes, ma'am," Miss Lee said, knowing better than to take Emma's words to heart, and hurrying down the hallway with the folder. As much as Emma loved bureaucracy, she was quite knew there wasn't time for it now.

At half past ten, her team was gathered. Leading the team, and by far the most capable, was telepath-telekinetic Lady Elizabeth Braddock, AKA "Psylocke", rich and titled, with a stupid purple rinse which made her dark hair shine violet in the sun. Betsy's consort, the winged Warren Worthington III, AKA "Angel", an American heir and possibly the most attractive man currently this side of the Atlantic, was Elizabeth's second. The two married in secret in '39 at the outbreak of war. Not for money matters, as individually they both have more than enough of that, but more for civil and legal reasons. Only about half a dozen people were aware of the union - Emma being one of them.

The final two members of the ground team were the short, burly Canadian volunteer James "Logan" Howlett, healing factor, claws, and the mysterious French soldier Jean-Philippe, AKA "Fantomex", who was lucky enough to be evacuated from Dunkirk, only to find himself in another country where he was less than welcome. Emma would have happily just send Betsy, Warren and Logan, but higher command had insisted that Jean-Philippe be included for matters of util-national co-operation, though she had a feeling that Fantomex was more of a nuisance than asset. So long as he didn't prove to be a liability, she would have to accept his inclusion.

The team was gathered, and the mission explained, the stakes explained, the fake identities and French currency handed out, along with train tickets to the airfield where they will find their transport.

Emma called Lady Elizabeth aside once they were done.

"Everything all right?" Elizabeth asked.

"Keep an eye on the Frenchman."

"Any specific reason? Or he's just a bit dodgy? His eyes do rather wander."

"His paper trail doesn't check out," Emma said, also having noticed Fantomex's wandering gaze. "I'm hoping it's just a clerical error, but until we're sure..."

"Understood. Got your best and brightest on the case, I assume?"

"Oh, she's one of the brightest, I'll give her that."

Elizabeth gave Emma a small smile. "See you in a couple of days."

Emma fiddled with paper work until lunchtime, then decided to give herself the afternoon off. It took long enough to get home with intermittent train timetables, and constant destruction of the transportation Networks.

Her husband Scott, also a mutant with optic blasts, worked in a much more transparent branch of the British Government, recruiting and training mutants to the Allied cause. It had to be better than persecution, torture and death on the Continent. Emma had met a then recently widowed Scott on a trip to America in 1930, when they'd quickly fallen in love, married, and then moved to Britain, allowing a new start for Scott and his two children, Rachel and Nathan. Emma sat on the train, watching the houses flash by. She had bore Scott twin daughters, Sophie and Celeste, some eight years past, and in '38 had taken in a mutant-Jewish girl, Katherine Pryde, who was part of the Kindertransport. Kitty and Rachel had immediately teamed up, and had been inseparable, and, Emma thought, often quite insufferable, ever since.

"You're home early," Rachel said as Emma entered the house.

"So are you," Emma replied, pulling off her coat.

"No, we just got home. Normal time. Is dad coming home early, too?"

"I doubt it," Emma said, wishing Rachel would leave her alone.

"Is something happening?"

"No."

"Can I help? Is it with your job? I could help. I'm very good at - "

"No," Emma said sternly. "You are not getting involved in the war. Hopefully the whole damn thing will be over before any of you are old enough. Go and do your homework or something. And tell Nathan not to leave his shoes all over the hallway!"

Emma marched into the kitchen. She didn't need to look at Rachel to see her rolling her eyes and pulling a face, but Emma wasn't in the mood to berate her. Rachel was sixteen and Kitty would be too by the end of the year, and Nathan just turned 15, and Emma had no control over how much longer the war would go. Rachel and Nathan were both telepath-telekinetics, just like their mother, and Rachel's skills in particular were extraordinary. Emma had told Scott, and he'd been concerned. Emma trained her step-children when she could, but power-training from your step-mother, no matter how talented she is, is never going to cut it for a couple of youths. Rachel would make a huge difference to Emma's squad, but there was no way she was going to allow the girl on her team.

Emma sat alone in the kitchen, frustrated that she had snapped at Rachel, frustrated with the incomplete files on the latest member of her squad, frustrated at the whole situation. She could hear the thoughts and sounds of the children upstairs, and felt terribly alone, wishing she was boarding the plane to France.