Uncanny X-Men 1943

Chapter 22

"How far behind us are they?" Elizabeth asked.

"A few hours," Emma said. "We - nearly threw them off... thought we'd go via Paris. It's - only good for - shopping, and we've - not enough - francs..."

Elizabeth chuckled despite herself. "How many?"

"A lot. The St Croix brother. Others."

"We're outnumbered?"

"Yes."

"Bugger." Elizabeth bit her lip. "Well, it will be nice to finally punch someone I guess. That bastard betrayed his own family. And Logan's been itching to pop his claws. Oh, unless we're going all 'no killing' again or something?"

"No, darling," Emma said, "This lot - this time - have it coming."

"Right then," Elizabeth said, standing up and thinking out-loud. "So we have three willing and able to fight, and one not so able, and one totally invalid. That's you, by the way. We have almost no weaponry, so it'll have to be hand-to-hand. Anymore tricks, Emma? Anything else we should know? I mean, they'll probably be bringing machine guns and hand grenades to a fist fight, so, anything else you'd like to share?"

"You were all chosen... for a reason," Emma mumbled.

"Please don't be cryptic."

"And hope," Emma said, "Is mostly just... fortuitous timing and - and planning and - very good skills..."

...

"This better be bloody good," Commander Brand said, closing the door to Scott's office behind her. "And if anyone stands on my dress, they get court marshalled."

Scott's small Whitehall office resembled a game of sardines. Commander Brand was wearing a long emerald green ballgown underneath her regulation coat, and a narrow band of diamonds and emeralds in her hair. Scott sat awkwardly behind his desk, Jubilee and Monet were trying to make themselves scarce in between a filing cabinet and bookshelf, and Scott's brother Alex, in his Royal Naval Engineers uniform, leant against the other side of Scott's desk.

"I'm forever grateful for this," Scott said.

Brand folded her arms. "I'll add it to the list," she grumbled. "Right, what is it this time, and don't bullshit me."

"I never bullshit people," Scott said.

"I know," said Brand, "Which is why I don't hate you as much as other people, but also what makes you so damned annoying. Well? Spit it out."

"Should I know her?" Monet whispered to Jubilee, as Scott outlined his plan to the Commander.

"No," Jubilee said, totally impressed with Brand as usual, "But I think you'd like to."

"Yes," Monet said. "I think I do."

"Miss Lee?" the Commander said.

"Yes, ma'am?" Jubilee said, sheepishly stepping forward.

"I've got better places to be than chasing the postoffice, so I trust you can get these telegrams sent for me," Brand said, folding up the piece of paper before holding it out to Jubilee.

"Certainly, ma'am," Jubilee said, pocketing the paper. "Er - I'm guessing they'll be encrypted, ma'am?"

"I'm guessing the sun will rise in the morning," Brand said as way of reply.

"We owe you, Commander," Scott said. "An awful lot."

"Well, I'd like a CBE," Brand said, "But I think ones work has to be a tiny bit less covert to get one of those. Either way, I'm off to dine with the Prime Minister, General Ismay, who's just back from a little holiday abroad, and a few others who'll pretend they know what they're talking about, but generally haven't a clue. Good evening."

"Good evening," everyone said as the Commander exited the office.

"Is it just me," Alex said, exhaling loudly, "Or does she scare the crap out of people?"

"She scares the crap out of people," Scott said, leaning back in his chair, finally able to breathe now that Brand was gone. "Miss Lee, I know you need to send those telegrams as soon as possible, but I need to give additional instructions first."

...

"How long do we have to wait for?" Remy asked, twirling a playing card between his fingers. They had considered playing a game, but didn't want to waste the torches, so sat in the dark instead.

"We have to leave at midnight at the latest," Elizabeth said, wondering if that would allow them enough time, "So a few more hours."

"Or less," Logan said, standing up. He opened the door and poked his head out. "Bingo."

"I can't hear anything," Warren said.

"I can smell the trucks," Logan said. "The fuel."

"I can't risk psi-scanning," Betsy said.

"Understood," Logan said, closing the door. "I reckon there's a dozen."

"Men?"

"Trucks."

"Shit."

"Bets," Warren said quietly, "I - I can't..."

"Protect Emma," Elizabeth said. She grabbed the map off the table, folded it up and handed it to Warren. "Wake her up. Make for Calais. There'll be a boat waiting. We'll catch up."

"But - "

"Four trucks each. How hard can it be, darling?"

Warren wrapped his arms around Elizabeth and kissed her tightly. "I'll see you in a couple of hours."

"Or sooner," Elizabeth said.

Warren let go of her and disappeared into the room where Emma was asleep.

"Well, then," Elizabeth said, "No mercy and no prisoners." They could all now hear the trucks rumbling towards them. Elizabeth clenched a fist, and her psi-sword lit up the room. "For King and Country."

"For freedom."

"For Rogue."