Despite being the middle of the night, the airfield was awash with Royal Air Force crew, managing the planes and pilots on their assorted sorties across the Channel. No one had time nor reason to look twice at the civilian-clad team, and if they should, knew better than to ask.
"Ah, the beautiful mademoiselle is here to see us on our way, but not dear Miss Frost? Nevertheless, enjoy what one has, huh?" Fantomex said as he approached the plane. He took Elizabeth by the shoulders and kissed her on both cheeks. Warren rolled his eyes, unable to intervene.
"Logan," Elizabeth said, taking a step back, "Should you happen to open the doors mid-flight and M. Fantomex here should happen to find himself taking an unexpected dip in the Channel, don't feel too guilty."
"And if I happen to pop my claws in him first?"
"I'll tell Miss Frost I never saw a thing," Elizabeth said.
"Is there something I should know?" Fantomex asked.
Elizabeth pulled her goggles out of her pocket and opened the door to the aeroplane. "I'm the pilot, you moron."
...
The flight to France was uneventful, thankfully the noise of the engine overpowered any effort at conversation. The weather was in their favour, with high cloud and no wind, their bearings true, and an hour before first light they landed in an empty field ten miles north of Lyon. The plane positioned at the end of the field, facing the direction most favoured for take-off, and the team set off towards the city, Elizabeth and Warren heading northeast towards the nearest town to take the train the rest of the way, and Logan and Fantomex to the northwest to try and hire a car.
"Ah, France, the land of my fathers. The food, the people, the culture - " Fantomex began.
"The occupation by hostile forces," Logan grumbled, "Listen, bub, we move on in silence. Got it?"
"I do not understand why I could not be partnered with dear Psylocke, and you with your fellow American."
"I'm Canadian."
"Ah, lovely country I am told. Many moose. Wonderful mountains. So very cold, though."
"More walk, less talk."
"Ah, but of course. Ah look, we approach a town. Fresh baguettes and cafe au lait await, mon amie."
Logan gritted his teeth, and shoved his hands into his pockets, feeling the fake Ausweis, Vichy Government papers, and rations stubs brush against his fingers. The sooner he could pop his claws through those, the better. It was going to be a very long journey into town.
...
Elizabeth and Warren enjoyed a meagre breakfast on the embankment of the Rhône; if one ignored the Swastikas and few bombed buildings, it was a very pleasant view, with the golden trees, and Basilique Notre Dame de Fourviére overseeing the city.
"Last time I was here," Elizabeth said, "The city was bustling. Wonderful milliners, and cake shops. The praline tart, oh I remember that."
"When was this?" Warren asked. Betsy used her psi-powers to hide the fact they were speaking in English. She and Warren could both speak fluent school-French, but much preferred their native tongue.
"Summer of '31 I think. Maybe '32. I was still at school. We went to Venice for the summer."
"Of course you did. Bit flasher than the Hamptons."
"It has it's perks," Elizabeth smiled, and leant into Warren. Away from Logan and Fantomex, they didn't have to pretend that they weren't married. "I'll have to take you there one day, provided the fascists haven't wrecked it, and no one else bombs it to smithereens."
"And we both survive this," Warren said, wrapping his arm around Elizabeth.
"Oh, please," Elizabeth said, "You know I hate it when you get all fatalistic."
"Betsy..."
"I can't think like that, Warren. I can't think like that and do this job. It has to turn out all right for us. We have to win. I can't fantasise any other option."
Warren kissed her hair. "Sitting here, in the morning sun, eating frankly awful food... it's so pretty but the food is so horrible. Everything I've every heard about French food, it's got to be better than this."
"It is," Elizabeth said. "When I was twelve we spent the summer in Nice. There was a boulangerie just across the road and every morning Brian and I - "
"All right," Warren laughed, "You're making me hungry. That's what we're fighting for, then. Decent French food."
"We're fighting to save the world, darling."
"I know," Warren said, standing up, and taking Elizabeth by the hand. "So let's go find the Resistance and get on with it."
...
Logan, Fantomex, Elizabeth and Warren reunited later in the morning, and made their way to their respective accommodations, before meeting up again to find Remy, Rogue, and Monet. They spotted the symbols of the Resistance across the city, the Cross of Lorraine with an X above it and a V below. Not all symbols had the three elements, but X above the cross was undoubtedly an addition by those they had come to liberate.
Different meeting places were set for different times of day and days of the week, and on this afternoon, the SOE team took it in turns of visiting the Cathedral Saint Jean-Baptiste. Shortly after three o'clock, a man and woman slid onto the bench at the across from Elizabeth.
//Remy and Rogue, I assume? Look at prayer. I'm a telepath, just think at me.//
//It's ok, we know other telepaths,// Rogue said, //Ah can't believe y'all finally here.//
//In five minutes, I'll leave. Wait another five minutes, then meet us at the cafe across the square.//
//When do we leave Lyon?// Remy asked.
//Where's Monet?// Elizabeth asked, it not being lost on her that they were one person short. Rogue thought in English, and with her southern American accent, she was clearly not the French society girl.
Rogue took a deep breath and slipped her hand into Remy's. //She's scared. We can go get her later. Also, y'all lucky there's no power dampeners around here.//
//Power dampeners here?// Elizabeth asked.
//They've got portable units. They're easy to disable, but however they work, they block your power using some sort of electrical current. Like radio waves, or something.//
Rumours had reached the SOE of such portable devices, but no one had recovered one for the British to pick apart. The existence of large-scale electric-based power dampeners in sensitive areas were well known, and both sides used them to prevent psi-messages getting across the Channel.
//I see,// said Elizabeth, glancing across at the green-coated woman, and brown-coated man, before looking back at the beautiful stain-glassed windows which remained. //Well, from what I've read, her brother and his cronies hardly sounds like St Nick.//
//It ain't funny...//
//I know, but what else can one do in such circumstances but laugh?//
...
The SOE four shared dinner with Rogue and Remy in their small apartment in one of the many traboules, or private alleyways, the old town. The two Resistance fighters filled the others in on what they knew about the Gestapo, and what happened should they get their hands on a mutant who won't be turned to their cause, or whose powers are considered "of interest". They shared Remy and Rogue's final bottle of '39 Hermitage, and the SOE team distributed the fake money, rations stubs, and identification papers for Remy and Rogue to leave in the dead drop location for other members of the Resistance to collect. As much as they would have liked to leave Lyon that night, their brief included saving Monet, and Remy and Rogue needed time to pass on the counterfeit goods.
Once they meal was done and the city was dark, the six headed up the street to another traboule, where Monet lived. Curfew was now in force, and the residents of the old town had their windows and curtains shut tight. As an extra precaution, Elizabeth put a psychic net over the team, to mask their presence from any prying eyes. Rogue opened the traboule door which lead to Monet's apartment.
"We'll scare her if we all go up. She's powerful, and Ah wouldn't put it past her to fight hard if spooked."
"I'll wait down here then," Logan said, "I hardly got the face of an angel."
"Elizabeth and Warren should go with you, Rogue. She trusts you the most," Remy said.
"All right," Rogue said, leading the way up the winding staircase, with Betsy and Warren behind her.
They reached Monet's door on the top floor. Rogue knocked, but there was no response.
"She's in there," Elizabeth said, "I can feel her mind."
Rogue knocked again. "Monet, sugah?"
Again there was no response.
"Damn it," Rogue shoved her shoulder into the door, which promptly swung open. A pretty young woman jumped up onto the bed, her body positioned to fight. "Monet, sugah, it's just us. Why'd you not answer the door?" Rogue asked, holding out her hand. Monet took it and stepped down from the bed.
"You weren't alone. I don't know who they are," she said, nodding towards Betsy and Warren, who was lifting the door closed.
"We're here to help you, Monet," Betsy said.
"Unless you can stop my brother, it's too late for that."
"They're with the British," Rogue said, "They're fightin' for all our freedom. They're gunna take us back to England with them, so we can fight the good fight. Ain't nothing left for us to do here anymore. Ah know it's your country, M, and your city, but we need help, and we're in all sorts of trouble should your brother's lot get hold of us."
Monet considered this. She could feel Elizabeth and Warren looking around the room, judging her small quarters with the peeling wallpaper, and thin mattress on a rickety old bed frame. The nicest thing in the room was the blackout curtains. "Who are they?" she asked, nodding towards Betsy and Warren.
"This is Psylocke, and this is Angel."
"Their real names," Monet said, "They know mine."
"Elizabeth and Warren," Betsy answered. Titles and surnames were unnecessary at this point in time. If they got back to England, Monet would find out soon enough.
"There's others," Monet said, casting her mind around.
"Logan and Jean-Philippe," Elizabeth said, "They're outside with Remy."
Monet folded her arms. "I guess we have to go now."
"No," Betsy said, "We can't leave tonight. We won't make it out before first light, and I'd rather take our chances with another day in Lyon than out in the fields."
Monet tried staring Elizabeth down, but she just felt like a child trying to challenge her headmistress. "I guess I have to leave everything behind."
"If you care wear it or fit it in your pockets, you can bring it."
"You can bring a small bag, sugah," Rogue added gently. There was little left to bring, but Monet didn't want Elizabeth and Warren to think she was destitute. True, she had had to pawn most of her possessions for food and shelter, but there were a few items remaining. Enough to last until Christmas, though their true value was worth so much more, but in desperate times, the power is not with the seller. Perhaps now what she had left could stay hers forever. Monet had a satchel in which she could bring her nightgown and spare stockings and small clothes and the few pictures she had of her family, with her brother cut off the end, of course.
"I don't want to die," Monet said, her voice cracking.
"Ah know," Rogue said, stepping forward and wrapping her arms around the girl, "That's why we gotta go. Meet tomorrow night us at the André Marie Ampère monument at 6:30. You'll come back, Ah promise, but we can't win the war from here. The Gestapo are too close now, so we gotta get out."
Monet nodded, hiding her face in Rogue's shoulder. She hated that she could feel Elizabeth pitying her.
"We'll see you later then," Elizabeth said, //And stay out of my head. Even my surface thoughts.//
Monet's eyes went wide.
Betsy smirked. "You're not the only telepath in the world, Monet. Better learn that before you come to London."
The three then left Monet, and made their way down the narrow, spiralling staircase.
"Can you see Logan?" Warren asked, as they went past a window.
"They might have moved under cover," Elizabeth said, as it had begun to drizzle. "And she is not nearly as good a telepath as she thinks she is."
"I dunno about the boys," Rogue said, "But Monet's a serious all-rounder. You name it, she can do it to some degree. She'd be real good on a team."
"If she wants to play, and the rules are to her liking." Betsy added. She understood that Monet deserved saving, and was just as scared as the next kid, but there was something about her which just rubbed Elizabeth the wrong way. She wondered what Miss Frost would make of Monet should they meet.
They reached the bottom of the stairs and stepped out into the traboule. "Logan? Remy?" Warren called softly. He turned back to the girls. "They're not here..."
"Oh, shit," Rogue breathed, looking up and down the dark, narrow alleyway. She grabbed Elizabeth by the arm. "Run!"