X-MEN ETERNITY

X-Force #1: "In This Solemn Hour"
Rated PG-13 for violence and language

by R. John Burke

DISCLAIMER:The X-Men are a copyright of Marvel Comics. I don't own them, but this is only non-profit fan fiction. No money is involved and no infringement is intended. This is also partly a work of historical fiction, but all characters herein are fictitious or used fictitiously, and no infringement or insult is intended.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: X-Men Eternity started (in Uncanny #1: The Shattering) with the events at the end of "House of M" and went in a different direction. Nothing that happened after that is cannon for our purposes, and in fact a few things have changed; for a start, the team is spread through time and space. "X-Force: Eternity" is a sister series following the adventures of a splinter group of X-Men who are trapped in the past during an alternate World War II.

--

PLACE: London
TIME: April 1942
REALITY: Parallel Earth 758

The sky had turned from orange to dusky blue to black, and the city pulled a blanket over itself: windows covered, lights doused, people hurrying off the streets. A young couple, caught out later than they intended, scurried to shelter at a fast walk. Then they passed and a foggy mist drifted over the streets, now suddenly still and quiet.

Then came the sirens.

A whine, persistently irritating in the distance, building to a low, throaty roar, sounded overhead. Anti-aircraft guns chattered away. Searchlights crossed the sky. The bombs began to fall.

New engine noises approaching: The RAF's Bristol Beaufighters joined the fray. Heavy, awkward things, but up to the task of challenging bombers; they would turn the tide in short order...

Except that one of the invading planes was carrying something worse than bombs.

It opened its belly doors, discharging its cargo in the dead of night; half a dozen man-sized figures in black uniforms, gliding silently to Earth. They would have been completely invisible but for the slight red glow given off by their masks.

Those were -supposed- to be visible. Like any weapon of terror, they were designed to create an aura-- a fear.

They were the Skulls, and in just three months since their initial deployment, they had turned the War into something worse than a nightmare for the Allied nations. Their renewed Blitz had pushed Great Britain to its knees, and to watch them work, one thought they might administer the deathblow at any time.

They landed in silence, fanning out professionally, and commenced simply... tearing things to pieces. Benches, buildings, automobiles. They used their bare hands, their individually stylized energy swords, and some sort of weapon that set everything in its line of fire ablaze. Within seconds of their landing, an entire city block was in flames.

People screamed from windows, tried to escape down ladders, tried to run. A few even made it. More of them encountered the Skulls, and once their acquaintance was made, life ended. The ones who were burned down swiftly were the -lucky- ones.

The young couple from the street never had made it to shelter. They huddled in an alley, behind an apartment building, holding each other tight and whimpering, praying for deliverance.

At the end of the alley, they saw a red glow. Their prayer, it seemed, had not been answered.

"Please!" the man said, running forward and waving his arms. "Please! Take me-- spare my wife."

The Skull probably didn't speak English. If he had, it wouldn't have mattered. He lifted one hand and blasted the man, -incinerated- him on the spot, from the inside-out. His scream was a wretched sound, but it faded quickly. The woman screamed even louder. The Skull advanced on her.

"Hey, bub," said a low voice behind it. "Wanna party?"

Before the shock trooper could even turned, a compact form leveled him, knocking him down, denying him any chance to struggle as it brought its knuckles up against the grotesque red mask.

SNIKT.

The Skull fell limp. The woman didn't stop screaming.

"It's gonna be okay," her rescuer said, but he knew he was lying. He also didn't have time to comfort her; there were still five more of the ba...

He didn't even get the thought out before a form in a black uniform flew past his head, smashing into the brick wall at the end of the alley with a bone-jarring -crunch-. Four more.

The screaming woman tried to run away, but a hand appeared out of nowhere-- straight -though- the wall of the nearest building-- and pulled her inside as though the wall weren't there. The rescuer nodded to himself, proceeded to the end of the alley, and checked vitals.

He found some. Too bad. Easy fix, though.

SNIKT.

"Must you, -tovarisch?-" said a deep voice from the end of the alley. "He was incapacitated."

Logan-- a useful all-purpose moniker, even if the man did finally know his real name was James Howlett-- glanced up while he cleaned his claws.

"Gotta take the Reich months to train these guys, Petey. More of 'em we put outta action for good, the more they hurt."

He stepped out onto the sidewalk where Piotr Rasputin waited, a Colossus with organic steel armor glittering silver in the moonlight. The huge Russian looked down on him with some disapproval. Logan didn't care; he'd been disapproved on by experts.

"I do not like to kill, especially when it is not necessary."

"Nobody likes it."

"Don't they?" said Piotr. "Don't you?"

Logan would have given him the answer he figured that kind of crap deserved-- usually a sharp answer, but for a friend like Petey, probably just a belt in the mouth-- only he was distracted by the light show in a nearby park. He started running.

More sirens wailed; bells clanged. The London Auxiliary fire brigade was out and about. Just as well, because Logan's team didn't boast any mutant fire hydrants. He didn't wish for Bobby Drake's company often, but an ice shower would've been great about now. Rain from Ororo? Even better.

He got to the edge of the park just in time to see a Skull go flying from a burst of concentrated light. Unfortunately that didn't put the sucker down. It got up and brandished that sword and Alison Blaire-- it's opponent, the mutant known as Dazzler-- barely got out of its way.

-Dammit, she was supposed to be helping Kitty and Kurt with the civilians, not mixing it up...-

"Petey," Logan said, "I need a Special, like now."

"Ah, tovarisch, what would you do for transportation if I were to injure my rotator cuff?"

Piotr tossed him anyway and Logan popped his claws in the air. He intended to skewer the damn thing just like that, but two things happened. First, the Skull whirled at the last moment and brought his sword into play, in excellent position to cut Logan in half. Second, Ali lashed out with another light burst that flashed between them, knocking hero and villain both for a loop.

Logan got his face burned pretty good; it was healing by the time he hit the ground. He was on the Skull a second later, trying to get a clear shot at the shock trooper's throat, but its enhanced strength was even more than he'd anticipated. Logan went flying, smacking his head against a nearby tree. Even with the metal reinforcement, he saw stars.

The Skull grabbed its blade and started to rise, to finish the job... but a moment later that trademark mask was rolling merrily toward the street, with a head attached but no body.

"That's two for me," said a cool voice. Elisabeth Braddock-- Psylocke-- retracted her psychic katana. Logan was glad to have her around for this; the rest of the team was good people, but they could be squeamish. Betsy, when necessary, was a tigress.

"Me an' Pete got one each," said Logan, accepting a hand up from the big Russian. "I'm still leadin' overall."

"For the moment only," said Betsy. "I'm more concerned with the whereabouts of the other two."

"Simplicity itself, -fraulein-," said Kurt Wagner-- Nightcrawler, who appeared at that moment with a BAMF! of smoke and brimstone. "There is one--"

He pointed across the street, where a flying Skull took out an entire wall with the force of its impact. A woman nearby started to scream, then cheered instead.

"--and there is two."

The final Skull flew over their heads, landing in a fountain. As he'd done with Piotr's mark, Logan made a cursory check and helped the unfortunate fellow to his final destination. He saw Betsy approaching just as he withdrew his claws.

"That doesn't count," she said. "Remember our rules: You have to take the blighter down -personally-."

"I 'member. You don't think I'd cheat, do ya, darlin'?" Betsy laughed; Logan fished in his pocket for a cigar. "So who -does- get credit for this dink?"

"Who -else?-" she said in long-suffering tones. "It's -him,- of course. The bane of my temporally displaced existence."

She hadn't even finished speaking when the man himself appeared, shooting out of the sky like a bird or a plane or... something. Six and a half feet tall, brightly painted red, white, and blue, and with a mouthful of teeth he employed in an omnipresent grin, Justin Braddock would have made a hell of a Captain America. In this world, though, he was Captain Britain, as the Union Jack attested.

"Well, well," he said. "If it isn't my dashing comrades-in-arms. Out and about rather late, aren't you, Logan?"

"You know the drill, British. Sirens sound, we come a-runnin'."

"Yes. Awfully decent of you lot. One would almost think you'd been -asked.-" But Justin couldn't sustain even a light-hearted semblance of hostility; it wasn't in his nature. He grinned broadly as the rest of Logan's team assembled. "Together again, eh? Mr. Wagner... looking dashing this evening... Mr. Rasputin, the rock 'pon which we've set our hopes... Miss Blaire, dazzling as ever. And..." He turned to Besty. "I'm sorry, I don't believe I've had the pleasure of your name."

"Just Psylocke," she said, and glared.

"Yes, quite. Well... but where is Miss Pryde? Off saving the innocent, no doubt. Which reminds me..." Justin cocked his ear to the wind, picking up the sound even as Logan's enhanced senses caught it: A man crying for help in the distance, probably from one of the burning buildings. "Duty calls."

He was off in a moment, blasting ahead to his next challenge even as Kitty Pryde appeared, phasing through the nearby trees.

"Okay, I got to everybody I could; I think the constables have the rest under control and omigosh, was that Captain Britain? -Wow-... Brian was cute, but this new guy's -dreamy-..."

Piotr cleared his throat. Kitty blushed.

"Did I say that out loud?"

"The very -gall-," Psylocke muttered. "Passing himself off as Captain Britain..."

Logan arched an eyebrow. You wouldn't know it to look at her present body, that of a tall, deadly Japanese assassin with lovely purple locks, but once upon a time Elisabeth Braddock had been a blonde, blue-eyed Caucasian... the very twin of Brian Braddock, their own timeline's Captain Britain.

"What's the deal with this guy anyway, Betts? If looks could kill, you'd'a offed him the first time we met. And remember, darlin', your looks -can- kill."

Betsy snorted. "It's just... I've told you, Logan! There -is- no Justin Braddock! Not in our timeline, at any rate! I don't know who this fellow is, but he's no kin to me and I don't trust him."

"Perhaps he is some obscure cousin or uncle back home," Kurt suggested, huddling up with the rest of the group.

"Or, hell, he might be your gender-swapped clone." The others stared at Logan. He shrugged. "Right. I forgot that kinda stuff don't happen to other folks..."

"If we are quite done here," Kurt said, "I would like to get back to TJ. I still don't know about leaving her there with..."

"She's -fine-, Kurt," said Kitty. "Geez, could ya be a more overprotective father? Even if you really -were- hers, I mean?"

Kurt cleared his throat. "Katzschen, nothing here is right. We've been in Wonderland ever since we awoke. Do you blame me if I'm waiting for the other shoe to drop?"

"Fine," Logan said, "'Port on home, then. We done our job for tonight. Ali..." He jabbed his glowing cigar in the direction of Alison Blaire. "We're gonna talk about this later."

"I had him under control, Logan," she said. "You got in my way."

"Tell it to somebody who cares, girl. You were outta position. What if somebody back in them buildings had died 'cause you weren't doing your job?"

She crossed her arms. "It's the wrong job. My power isn't a lot of good on defense"
"Your light shows can calm people. That's important."

"It's a -fraction- of what I can do!" she snapped. "Look, I'm not thrilled to be stuck here with you people, but as long as I am, I might as well not bore myself. I want to hurt these guys."

"You, me, and King George's whole army, sweetheart, but the Skulls ain't amateurs. You know the rules. Me, Betsy, an' Pete engage. The rest of you work backup."

"I'm the -Dazzler,-" she told him, pouting. "I'm a star. You want crowd control, get an usher."

In lieu of popping his claws, Logan dropped his cigar and ground it into the dirt. "Well, next time, you can star back home with the kid. If you can't do your job, I bet TJ can."

"Logan...!" said Kurt, alarmed.

Ali directed her protest in a different direction: "Psylocke, come on! You know this is wrong!"

"Don't look at me," Betsy said, unreadable. "We agreed on this. Logan leads the team."

Ali snorted and walked away, tossing over her shoulder, "Not my fault. I voted for the other guy..."

Awkward silence. Logan growled to himself. Kurt cleared his throat, made apologies, and bamfed out. It fell to Piotr, of all people, to break the tension...

"Logan, about the Fastball Special..."

"What'd I tell you? I knew you had a couple'a innings left in that arm."

"I have been thinking. How did we ever come up with that name?"

Logan shrugged. "Long time ago. I got too many other memories bouncin' 'round my head now. Why?"

"Well... naming it after this American sport, baseball... for a Canadian and a Russian, this is not fitting. We can do better. Perhaps 'The Slap Shot,' or..."

He laughed. "Don't mess with the classics, Petey. An' go get some sleep."

"Da," he said, and offered Kitty his arm. As they walked away, Logan heard them conversing in low voices: "'Dreamy,' Katya?"

"Yeah, um... it's an old American slang word meaning... not -nearly- as cute as my boyfriend."

"What is the other expression? 'Nice save,'" said Piotr, and then they were out of earshot.

Logan sat down beneath the tree, legs crossed in front of him, and started a new cigar. He didn't know why he bothered; rotten quality of smokes with a war on. He'd almost forgotten he wasn't alone, when Betsy sat down beside him.

"Rough night?"

He snorted. "Took out a couple'a punks. Saved London. The usual."

"I meant Alison."

Logan drew a long puff. "She's right, Betsy. You know she is. You deserve this spot."

"We talked about this," Betsy said. "In any other time and place, I would agree. Kurt or I should lead the team. But Logan, this is a war and you're our soldier. What is it you say? You're the best there is at what you do? In this time and place, what you do is all around us. If we're going to survive, you'll need to teach us to do it, too."

Logan grunted. "You're fine. Kurt'll come around. Kitty will, but it's a shame. She grew up too damn fast as it was. Pete's not cut out for it, Ali's only gonna live if she starts listenin', and the others..." He shrugged. "We don't belong here, Betts, and I ain't the guy to get us home."

After a moment of puffing away, he felt Betsy's hand on his shoulder. "Why not?"

"'Cause it's true, what they said. I can't or don't control myself. I get in a scrap an' I -like- it. I'm bloodthirsty."

She laughed. "Of course you are, old friend. It's one of those quirks we love so well."

"I'm serious, Betts. Y'know, the thing-- the -one- thing-- that always separated me an' Creed was, he did what he did for fun. I thought I had better reasons. Maybe I don't."

Betsy was silent a moment. "Logan, do you remember when I joined the team? After the Massacre?"

He nodded.

"I was still in my 'royal wedding' phase, a little out of place. And then Sabretooth came, and I was sure he was going to kill me. And then I heard a sound-- I think it was 'Yo.'"

"Yo?" said Logan, almost grinning.
"Yo." Betsy nodded. "And there you were-- standing there, all five foot three of you, and you fought him on the spot, this... behemoth, this monster. You gave everything, without hesitation. You were my hero that day, Logan. You showed me what it means to be a hero."

"Your plan, babe." Logan blew out a cloud of smoke. "You did pretty good yourself."

Betsy laughed. "Of course. I'm terribly impressive, you know."

"I noticed."

"We're of a kind," Betsy said, squeezing his hand. "We are fighters. We are winners. We are... occasionally, mind... the meanest gits in the room. But if you want to tell me there's no difference between -us- and -them-... sorry, Logan. I know myself too well. And I know you."

Logan was quiet a moment. "Don't mean I'm qualified to lead this crazy outfit."

"No, but you'll do it. Because we need you to do it... and you have never let us down."

Betsy kissed his cheek, rose silently, and walked away. Logan puffed on his cigar. It didn't taste as bad as it had a few moments ago, so he stayed to finish it before walking home.

--

"Dad! You're okay!"

Almost as soon as Kurt Wagner teleported into the flat they'd rented on the East End, his was bowled over by a blue, furry bundle of energy who looked entirely too much like himself. He didn't mind; he hugged her back with enthusiasm.

Talia Josephine Wagner, the dimension-hopping mutant called Nocturne, had been among their number when they'd found themselves in this mess a few weeks earlier. None of them quite knew how she'd gotten there, but then, none of them had known how -they'd- gotten there, so everyone was even.

In the intervening weeks, a few things had became clear: Firstly, they were trapped in the past, in 1942.

Secondly, it was not -their- 1942, but an alternate reality version where Pearl Harbor had not happened and America was dragging its feet about joining an increasingly desperate fight in Europe. Making matters worse, the Nazis in this dimension seemed to have figured out a few new tricks-- such as the Skulls.

Thirdly, all of this was somehow the fault of the Scarlet Witch, Wanda Maximoff, who had remade reality once and tried to do so twice, only to be stopped the second time by the Phoenix. (- see "Uncanny X-Men Eternity #1") The resulting collision had scattered the X-Men and a few others throughout time and space.

T.J. Wagner was one of those others. The alternate-reality offspring of Kurt and Wanda herself, she seemed to be taking the whole thing rather personally. On the other hand, the presence of family-- even implausible, could-only-happen-to-an-X-Man alternate family-- made Kurt feel a little less lonely. Here and now, that counted for a lot.

He separated from his 'daughter.' "Of course we're all right, leibchen! The X-Men were fighting demons when you were but a gleam in another Kurt's eye. These -Wermacht- fellows are amateurs by comparison."

She stared at him with glowing yellow eyes-- unnerving to most people, familiar to him. "Even if they weren't, you'd make it sound less dangerous than it is."

Kurt laughed, not quite conceding the point but not denying it. "We're fine. How is...?"

"Asleep," TJ said, and nodded toward the bedroom, where Celeste Cuckoo-- the group-mind telepath who somehow served as their connection to home (- also in "Uncanny #1")-- was resting from a busy night. "Scott called earlier. They're assembling a new team of X-Men back... well, back at your home. Him, Emma Frost, Iceman, Jubilee, Northstar, Warpath, and an old friend of mine..."

"Ach, the poor fellows," Kurt said, "to have been spared all this travel and adventure. Think of it! A chance to see the multiverse!"

"I've seen it," said TJ. She paced back into the dining area, where a newspaper lay crumpled on a small, circular table. "I've also been reading the news. There's an exclusive withthe American ambassadorin there. He's real sympathetic, but his hands are tied. When are the Americans gonna get off their butts and into this war?"

Kurt shrugged. "It is a different timeline, leibchen...we should not assume everything is as it seems."

"I'm not a kid, dad! I've done this more than you! I know how it goes!"

"All right," Kurt said, backing off.

"They're crazy! Their damn super-soldier program started off this whole escalation; now the Nazis have a couple of thousand Skulls to throw at us, and the Brits are tough as nails but so far all they've got to show for it is Captain Britain..."

"Ah, yes. We met him tonight."

"You did? Huh?" A wicked gleam came into TJ's eye. "So... is he, quote, dreamy?"

Kurt smirked. "You've been talking to Kitty."

"Guilty. Personally, I'd rather meet Captain America's team. That Bucky's a stud... do you think he's single?"

"Ach!" Kurt covered his ears. "I am not hearing this!"

"Relax, dad." TJ sighed, her gloom returning. "Not like they're ever gonna send Captain America over here, anyway..."

"You know, leibchen..." He took her hand in both of his. "I get the feeling more is bothering you than politics. Do you want to talk about it?"

TJ stared out the window for what seemed like a long time. "This is all my fault..."

"World War II? That, dear one, is what we call a martyr complex..."

"No, not the war..." she sighed. "Mom did this."

"Not your mother. -Our- Wanda. Completely different."

"To you." TJ squeezed his hand. "Logan said... she went berserk because she lost her children. Because they were created with some kind of freaky magic. They weren't real."

Kurt nodded. "She fell in love with the Vision, who was... an android. You see the problem with normal reproduction. Erm, that is, I'm assuming alternate-me gave you this talk"
"Mom did. So... what I'm hearing is, she really needed -me-. Only I didn't exist."

Kurt narrowed his eyes. "Are you saying I created the House of M by... losing Wanda's phone number?"

"Well..." TJ half-smiled. "I just wish I'd been there, to talk to her. She's not like that, dad, not really. It all could have been different."

"Everything 'could' have been different, leibchen," he said, "as evidenced by the... well, alternate Universe we're in. What matters is not the path, but the steps we take along the way."

"Yeah," she said, a tear rolling down her cheek. Kurt reached out to dry it...

Kitty phased through the door at that moment, with Piotr just behind her. "Woo! What a night! I haven't phased so many people in all my life! Hey, what's for dinner?"

TJ pointed at the stove. "Bubble and squeak."

"I am sorry?" Piotr said.

"It's a British thing. Basically leftovers."

Kitty wrinkled her nose. "If we're still here after the War, I am so opening a Pizza Hut."

Kurt laughed. "How did you ever survive when we were here with Excalibur?"

"They -had- Pizza Hut by then."

Piotr came to the table and sat with his hands folded. "Is Alison not back yet, my friends?"

Kurt and TJ shook their heads. Kitty returned with a bowl; whatever her objections to the cuisine, it didn't stop her from tearing into it.

"She needs to get off Logan's back," the young woman said between bites. "This is hard for everybody."

"He does not make it easier," Piotr said.

"He has Betsy's support and mine," Kurt said quietly. "Unless you wish to lead us yourself, mein freund..."

"What I would like to do," the Russian said, "is stop reacting and develop a plan."

"Sorry, all our tacticians are in another dimension right now," Kitty said. "If you'd like to leave your name and number..."

"I am serious, Katya!" Piotr took a deep breath. "In my homeland, we call this conflict the Great Patriotic War. Nine million of my countrymen died. I would hate to see that figure climb even higher because of our inaction here."

"We didn't create this timeline, we're just stuck in it," Kitty said. "You think it doesn't scare the hell out of me, what they're doing to Jews here? It's sickening, but I don't see what we're supposed to do about it. We're helping as best we can."

"Perhaps, Katya, we should be helping more."

That hung in the air for a while, until the door to the bedroom creaked open. Celeste peeked out, her eyes shining as they did when her telepathic connection to her sisters was active.

"Is Mr. Logan back yet?" she asked. "He has a message from back home..."

--

PLACE: Auschwitz, Poland

Imagine the worst place you possibly can, and then make it worse. If there is a more horrific destination on this or any Earth, its inmates are not aware of it. Although the horrors have not reached their height at this point in time, the shadow of what has been and what is still to come haunts the compound built on the former Polish Army barracks. It is, almost, a place out of time. The struggles, the laughter, the ever-present parade of the outside world do not penetrate here. Here, there is only tragedy and death.

In a darkened corner, two guards are roughing up a prisoner; he is a white-haired man and thin, marked as a Jew. He has infuriated them in only weeks by his defiance, and now they think to teach him a lesson.

Instead, he teaches them. One of the guards draws back the stock of his rifle, intending to strike him with it, as they have done before. But the weapon freezes in mid-air, as the man on the ground holds forth his hand.

The guard shouts; his companion tries to aid him, but is lifted off the floor and hurled across the room by unseen forces. The remaining guard tries to scream for help, but his cries are stifled, as the metal is stripped from his gun and re-forms itself before his eyes, turning into a wire noose, which wraps itself around his neck. The man on the ground gestures, and the guard gags.

"I don't believe we've been introduced," says the white-haired man, climbing to his feet with some dignity. "I suppose it's my fault; I haven't been myself lately. I'd quite forgotten... many things. But this... oh, yes, I remember this. I could never forget. This should be a dream, but it is real."

The guard gagged, said nothing. The air itself seemed to freeze as the white-haired man took his first steps.

"They wished to punish me, I think, on some level. Sending me here-- my worst nightmare. Even in the midst of their struggle, they didn't neglect that. They have condemned me to Hell. But I have seen the face of all nightmares, and I assure you, this time, I am not the one who will burn."

The guard made another sound, his strength fading.

"Oh, I'm sorry." The white-haired man smiled. "I still have not been properly introduced. My name... is Erik Magnus Lehnsherr.

"And you will take me to your commandant before you die."

--

"...like totally amazing, Wolvie," said the blonde girl in her own voice, but with the words and inflections of Jubilation Lee. "You shoulda been there. I mean, I kicked Sabretooth's ass. Okay, not just me, but I definitely helped. They gotta put me on the list now. I'm a real X-Man."

Logan laughed. "Proud a' you, girl. Don't get cocky, huh? Remember it's a job... an' not an easy one."

"Hey... I learned from the best." A long pause. "I miss you, Wolvie. You guys're coming home soon, right?"

"You bet," Logan said. "Hey, Jubes, you tell Summers... tell 'im to keep his dumb head down, huh?"

"You got it," said Jubilee. Then her host-mind gasped, blinked her eyes, and the girl before him was Celeste again.

Logan nodded to her. "Thanks for that, kid."

"Of course, Mr. Logan. We're always happy to help."

"Uh-huh. You really channeled her. I mean... after a couple'a seconds, your scent was the only way to tell you weren't Jubes."

"Well," said the Cuckoo, smiling, "next time I'll wear a better perfume."

He frowned. "You're freaky, y'know that?"

"Yes," she said, and walked back to the room she shared with TJ, Betsy and Alison.

Kitty and Piotr had the smaller room; Kurt slept in the bathroom, and Logan sacked out on the couch. Space was tight; there was a war on, and a time-displaced superhero's living wage wasn't much in 1942. Logan stripped down to his nightshirt and boxers, pulled a sheet over himself, and closed his eyes...

"Do you suppose she's alive again?"

SNIKT! Logan was on his feet in a second, in fighting stance, claws out. He snarled at the man in the corner, a thoroughly average-looking heavyset fellow with balding brown hair. The fellow had a pudgy, pleasant face and utterly lifeless brown eyes that seemed to take in every detail.

"I didn't smell anything! That's impossible!"

"Apparently not, Mister Logan." The man smiled; the eyes didn't. "You haven't answered my question. Do you think Jean Grey is alive?"

Logan lunged at him; the man didn't even try to move until Logan's claws were at his throat. "How the hell do you know who Jean Grey is?"

"It's my job to know things, Mr. Logan. Or should I say, Mr. James Howlett?"

Logan pressed the claws in hard enough to draw pricks of blood. The man didn't react.
"You know an awful lot for a guy who's about to be dead."

"As I said, that's my job. I represent certain interests."

"Ya don't say."

"My name is Mr. Talbot," the man said. "I'm here on behalf of the President of the United States."

Logan grunted. "Yeah, you sound like a Yank. Little far across the pond, ain't ya?"

"I'm here for you, Mr. Logan." Talbot looked more like a baker than a secret agent; but he moved, ever so slightly, and Logan's claws were pressed against thin air. "For all of you, I mean, of course. I want you to bring your little group to America."

"What for?"

"I just heard some news tonight; would you like to hear it?" Along with the subject change, Talbot started pacing the room, apparently at random. He was very good at keeping his target off-balance. "I heard a Nazi concentration camp was destroyed in a... freak accident. Apparently all the metal in it was torn to bits. I assume you know what that probably means. It would be a shame, wouldn't it, if your friend Magneto were to show up just now? Wouldn't that just break the Fuhrer's heart?"

"Mine too," Logan deadpanned. "I'd cry all the way home."

"And that's where I've got you, Mr. Logan." Talbot turned on him suddenly, arms spread wide. "You will do anything to get home. You will even work for me."

"You mean, for America."

"That's right."

"But I ain't American."

"Well, nobody's perfect."

SNAKT! Logan sheathed his claws. This wasn't the kind of game he could win that way. He took a step toward Talbot. "So tell me, bub, if America wants help so badly, why don't they just get their collective assets into this war? Then they can have all kinds'a help."

"Actually, that's what the President wanted to do, the moment he found out about the disaster we narrowly averted at Pearl Harbor. But I convinced him to play things a little differently."

"Uh-huh." Logan crossed his arms. "Did you even exist as a human being in my timeline, bub, or were you an -actual- maggot there?"

For the first time, Talbot's smile looked genuine. He even laughed. "Either way, I'm sure I'd be long dead by your time. Men like us don't have much of a shelf-life."

"Speak for yourself, bub. I was born a subject of Queen Victoria."

"Yes; the exception that proves the rule." Talbot closed the distance between them to a few scant inches. Logan could have killed him easily. He didn't bother to try... yet. "We have the same enemies, Mr. Logan. If you help me... I'll help you."

“How you gonna do that?" Logan asked him. "We don't have the tech to get back home, even in the 21st Century. How are you gonna do it in 1942?"

Talbot studied him-- his eyes, mostly-- stepped back, and said, "I think she's alive, Mr. Logan. If you play ball, you might even see her again."

Talbot reached for his belt; Logan lunged for him. That was a mistake, because Talbot's actual weapon was the pellet he was throwing with his other hand. It was off at Logan's feet-- -pop-- and discharged a cloud of gas that overwhelmed his senses.

By everything Logan knew, everything that made sense, his healing factor should have dealt with it. He should have been clear-headed in a few seconds. He passed out instead.

When he awoke, the sun was rising outside the window. Mister Talbot was gone. And there was a scrap of paper on the table with a set of directions printed on it. Logan was still looking them over when Betsy stepped out of the bedroom in a nightshirt.

"What's that?" she asked, yawning.

"The next flight to the States.".

Logan balled up the paper and threw it away. But he remembered the directions, because unfortunately Talbot had been right. He'd do anything to get home.

--

PLACE: Russia, The Eastern Front

“Helmut!” the German soldier cried, motioning to his fellow. “Helmut! Come have a look at this!”

Helmut arrived a moment later, put out and irritable. Everyone was irritable; there were two choices, heat yourself up by being irritable or freeze to death. So it had gone for months, on the frozen battleground of the Russian front, as Germany exerted untold resources to punch toward Moscow.

Now these soldiers and the Panzer group they were attached to had turned south, toward the Caucasus mountain range, in an attempt to seize Russian oil resources and bring resistance to a halt that way. The weather was (a bit) warmer now, the unit on the move again, and their moods slightly -less- irritable.

And now Helmut's idiot companion had driven him from sleep to stare at nothing. Helmut stood in the middle of a field, in muddy boots, with a hand to his eyes. “What am I looking for, Dieter?”

Dieter frowned. “I don't know... I thought I saw, in the sky...”

“The American Superman?” suggested Helmut dryly.

“Not exactly...”

Helmut groaned and started to berate the fool. Then he saw the shadow, moving fast across the ground toward their unit. He felt-- -something-, some unseen wave of force-- push past him and Dieter on its way to strike the Panzers full-force.

And then all the tanks started ripping themselves apart...

--

PLACE: Bolling Field, Washington D.C.

The cargo plane touched down and rolled to a halt; a handful of uniformed soldiers, already on hand, hurried up to meet its passengers at the ramp. A young lieutenant led them. He smartly saluted the rough-whiskered Canadian colonel who stepped down the ramp first, although the man was hardly more than five feet tall. The young sergeant behind him was a powerhouse, though, and what came after them...

“Hey!” one of the noncom soldiers exclaimed. “They got dames on board this crate!”

“High-quality, too,” said another, who let loose a wolf whistle on seeing Kitty and Alison descend the ramp. Neither of them seemed too displeased by the attention.

The lieutenant quieted them, but almost squawked himself when he saw the tall woman walking with them. It was probably her pretty eyes... or the fact that they were slanted.

“Sir? She's a...”

“She's a what?” Logan jammed his fist under the man's neck; if the kid didn't quite know he could pop his claws and decapitate him, the basic threat of the gesture was plain enough. “Go ahead, son. Finish your thought.”

“She's a... fine-looking broad, is all I was going to say, sir.”

“That's only marginally less insulting, you sodding twit,” Betsy told him. But she passed by without killing him, and that was something.

-And if you guys liked that, you're gonna -love- what comes next,- Logan thought. Or, hopefully, they'd think nothing of it at all. The next three passengers descended, and it was plain enough to Logan that they were two fuzzy, blue elves and a blonde girl with glowing eyes. But the soldiers didn't see anything unusual; or rather, didn't seem to look at them at all, but to glance right through them, seeing what they expected to see. Celeste's work.

-Good job, girl,- Logan thought. -Jeannie herself couldn't have done better...-

The unhappy implications of the idea that this teenage girl could already match telepathic feats with the Phoenix wouldn't occur to him until later.

Logan and his team were herded into two cars, and remained more or less silent during the ride to the Capital. The sun was still rising over the Potomac. Kitty thought it was pretty. Logan thought, clearly she'd never tried to -swim- in that water.

They were herded again in a conference room upon arrival, and made to wait for nearly two hours while the people in charge... clipped their toenails or something. Logan was just about to ask Petey to go knock on a few doors when theirs opened, and a smiling Mr. Talbot stepped into the room.

“Mr. Logan,” he said. “Glad you could join us. And these others are... Miss Pryde, Mr. Rasputin, Miss Braddock, the Wagners, and Miss Blaire, yes?”

“You're very well informed,” Betsy told him.

“Yes, Logan and I have covered that. Please, hold your accusations. I have no time for them this morning.”

“What a shame. I had a list all prepared.”

Betsy smirked; Talbot met her with a bland smile. He said, “I had a presentation prepared, too, but do you know? I don't think I'm the man to make it. I believe I'll go about my business, and leave the diplomacy to those it suits better. Lieutenant, will you show our other guest in, please?”

The young lieutenant stepped to the door and opened it, and damned if Captain America didn't step inside, in full uniform with shield included. Mr. Talbot just arched an eyebrow, stepped through the door with the lieutenant, and closed it quietly behind him.

“Whoa,” said Kitty.

“Unglaublich,” said Kurt.

“Cool,” said TJ. “Is, um, Bucky with you?”

Kurt elbowed her in the ribs. She shrugged: Just asking.

It wasn't even lunchtime, and Logan had a world-beating headache.

--

Talbot stepped into his office, closed the door, and waited. As he'd expected, it didn't take long. The shadowy creature appeared at the limits of his vision.

--Good,-- it said. --Very good, Talbot. You have brought them. Now dispose of them.--

“How?” Talbot said with a thin smile.

--They cannot stand against your entire army.--

“Good point,” he said. “Wish I had the whole army -here-. More to the point... I'd think you of all people would know better than to underestimate them."

The thing seemed to grow in stature, almost as though it was angry. --I have provided you the information to draw them here. Now do your part, and crush them.--

Talbot sat down at his desk. “My part? But we've made no deal. I wanted them here and you offered to help me, so here they are. Thank you. Any further dealings will have to be negotiated separately.”

--Then let us negotiate,-- the thing said. --I want them.--

“I want Betty Grable sitting here in my lap. Good luck with yours, too.”

A silence. Talbot wondered if the thing might leave, or even try to harm him. He wondered if it -could- harm him.

It said, --And what of Magneto? He is loose, and must be restrained.--

Talbot frowned. “Must he? Seems to me like he's on our side.”

--For now. But what if he should destroy all the Third Reich for you? What will you do then, when he turns and comes for you?--

“Pray?” Talbot suggested dryly.

--He is more dangerous than you know. I can protect you, but you must give me what I want.--

“I think I'll let this play out,” Talbot said. He folded his hands on his desk and stared straight ahead, hoping the thing would go away and let him return to paperwork.

It didn't. Not immediately. It said, --If you will not accept my offer, Talbot, there are those who will.--

Talbot turned, very slowly... so slowly, he actually managed to catch sight of the thing, which he hadn't done before. It was black and broiling and vaguely man-shaped at its center, but utterly devoid of form around the edges, as though it were reaching out for the clean air around it, sucking it down into some kind of pestilential black hole at its center.

“If you want to go sell whatever you're selling to the Nazis, go right ahead. I am a patriot, and I have what I want, and I don't need you.”

The thing almost reached out to him-- Talbot got the distinct impression that, had it touched him, he would have been pulled down into that blackness, never to return. But it didn't touch him. It said:

--They can't save you. Only I can do that. I will return when you have changed your mind.--

And it was gone. Talbot abruptly wished he kept a flask in the top drawer of his desk. Then he remembered that he did, in fact, keep such a flask, and that became the sole bright spot of his morning.

--

“Huh,” said Logan to the very symbol of American decency. “I think where we come from, you're a li'l taller.”

“It's the shoes,” said Kurt Wagner.

Steve Rogers, the man called Captain America, cleared his throat. “Have we met, Mr. Logan?”

“Guess not. Knew a guy who looked like you, though. He was a decent fella. Little bit obsessed with winning merit badges, no sense of humor. But not too bad.”

“Oh, yeah,” said Alison Blaire, “whereas your zany comedic stylings are legendary...”

Cap tried clearing his throat again. It worked a little better, this time. “I've been advised that your situation is... a little unusual. I don't know the specifics...”

“Please, -Herr Kapitan,-” Kurt said, “-please- do not ask.”

“You'd laugh,” Kitty said. “Hard.”

“Well... at any rate, I'll come to the point. I want you.”

“”I've had dreams like that,” Alison said.

“In mine, it's Bucky,” said TJ.

“-Please- stop saying that,” Kurt said.

“What for?” asked Piotr.

Cap arched an eyebrow at him, as if to say: At last, a sensible question. “To form a unit we intend to call Freedom Force. This unit will infiltrate hostile situations worldwide and... serve American interests.”

“So you get to fight the war without actually fightin' it,” Logan said. “Nice touch.”

Cap shrugged. “If it were up to me, we'd be in this already. It's not. But I have authorization from the President to take what action I can, and what action I can take right now... is recruit people like you.”

“Freedom Force?” Alison said. “Back home, that's so yesterday. But it's catchy."

Betsy snorted. “Tell that to those responsible for this morning's news item. Or hadn't you noticed the clods who want to round up people who look like me and stuff them into internment camps? American freedom seems to have its limits.”

“In practice? All freedom does,” Cap admitted. “I'm talking about the dream, though. I think we both know, the forces we're up against would kill that dream entirely.”

“Maybe,” Logan said. “But that's an ideology, bub, not a reason. What's in it for us?”

Cap made a face. “If you need to ask that question, you might be the wrong man for the job.”

Piotr shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “I wish to help my country.”

“It ain't -your- country, Pete. It's...”

“Close enough, tovarisch,” Piotr cut him off. He stared at Cap. “Can you guarantee we will be fighting for the good of -all- Allied nations?”

“If I have anything to say about it, we will.” A beat passed. The X-Men shifted in their seats, not sure what to say. Captain America sighed. “I can also guarantee that the U.S. Government will exert its considerable resources toward helping you get back where you're supposed to be.”

“Great,” said Logan. “Get back to us when you've invented to horseless carriage."

Cap stepped forward and grabbed a handful of his shirt. Logan brought his claws up-- SNIKT. Kitty and Kurt were both shouting in the background. The men stared at each other.

“This is not a joke, Logan. Do you know why I'm here?”

“Because your handlers demanded it, darling,” said Betsy.

“He's here 'cause he helped do this,” Logan said. He could -smell- it on the guy-- his feelings of guilt. “Didn't you?”

Cap released him and step back. “In a manner of speaking.”

“Lemme see if I can't spell it out. The big difference in this timeline is that America developed the Super-Soldier serum earlier. My ol' friends at the Weapon X program, workin' more than their usual overtime. So they had their Captain America all ready to go -before- the war. Only, two things happened... first, the super-soldier serum got out.”

“Now everyone's got it,” Betsy said, catching on. “And the Nazi version might be even more powerful than yours. Isn't that so”
“Yes,” Cap said. “They used it... to kill a lot of people.”

“Go figure,” Logan said. “The other thing is, you stopped the attack on Pearl Harbor. Became a big damn hero-- and you -should- be, 'cause I don't doubt you saved a lot of lives. But you also kept the U.S. out of the war for a while, an' you know damn well they should be in it, an' every day they stay out is -costing- lives. Am I right?”

Captain America-- or maybe he was only Steve Rogers after all-- turned and stared out the window and said nothing.

“I don't work for chumps, bub, or people who do things halfway. So you tell me, Cap... you got the courage of your convictions or not? You're willing to put yourself on the line, and us. Are you willing to risk your dream?”

“I have... already expressed this to the President,” he said. “In the strongest terms.”

“Express it again. You don't get us 'till the Allies get the help they need.”

Cap stared at him. “You're a stubborn, disagreeable little man.”

“Yup.” Logan turned for the door. Psylocke responded to his cue, and the others followed her. He tossed over his shoulder, “You tell Talbot we'll be in touch once he's got an answer for us.”

“I'll do that.”

“An' one more thing, bub-- we're autonomous. We ain't puttin' on monkey suits an' mixin' it up with you an' Bucky. Not our style.”

“Aw,” said TJ.
“You are so weird,” Kitty whispered.

“I'll tell him,” Cap promised. His lip twisted, almost like he was making a joke. “Anything else you'd like?”

“Yeah. Good cigars. Cuban, maybe. He's got my address.”

They walked out on Captain America. That had probably never happened before, in -any- timeline. Logan thought it was nice to know, as long as he was trying his hand as a leader, that he was at least cutting new ground.

--

PLACE: Russia, the Eastern Front

Magneto was having the time of his life.

Nothing, not having his world turned upside-down or losing his imagined dictatorship or even the unknown fate of his children could significantly dull the joy of finally getting a chance to pay back the regime that had taught him everything he knew about hatred; the personification of small-minded humans who had caused pain for Erik Lensherr and those like him every day of his life.

Magneto thought himself a careful man, one who understood the value of acting in concert with an overriding plan. Here, though, there was no plan. He would rip the Third Reich apart-- every loathsome shard of it-- from start to finish. That was justice. It was, perhaps, his reward for keeping faith in his vision throughout a bitter lifetime of unfulfilled dreams.
When he was finished, when he had exacted the penalty from every one of the oppressors... -then- perhaps Magneto would pause to consider what he might make of this new world, so open to... possibilities.

But first things first. Justice first, and then the rest. Pleasure before business.

And if his enemies lost the will to flee or-- better-- actually believed they could stand and fight, that would only make it sweeter.

He saw them in the distance, across the frozen landscape. Perhaps a dozen Panzers, support vehicles, and foot soldiers, arrayed in a rough semi-circle. Magneto flew toward them, low and fast, grinning when he saw them. He'd taken the other units by surprise. Now they had marshaled forces to confront him. They were -waiting- for him.

He would not have dreamed of disappointing them.

Two of the Panzers in the center fired as soon as he was in range. Magneto gestured, and their shells detonated the moment they left the barrels, scorching the very vehicles that had fired them. Machine guns chattered away; Magneto collected the bullets almost like a child scooping together a bag full of marbles. He gathered them at the center of the circle, then blasted them outward in all directions. Dozens of soldiers fell.

Magneto touched ground, heard his boots crunching against the turf, and approached the last few meters on foot. One of the fools actually threw a grenade at him; he caught it in midair, redirected it, and dropped it down the main barrel of one of the Panzers. The vehicle went up in a blaze.

"-Gutentag,-" he said in German, over the roar of the flames. "-Ich heisse Magneto.- I have a message for your Fuhrer..."

He raised his hands, and two of the Panzers rose completely off the ground, smashing each other in mid-air. Magneto turned his attention to the rest...

But found he couldn't move. Something had hold of his boot. Magneto glanced down, expecting to find himself tangled in some vine...

Something... some form of black... shadow... had wrapped its tendrils around his right leg. He could not pull himself free, and the tendrils kept growing, climbing up the length of his leg, then tightening around his stomach and chest. German soldiers gathered around him, weapons ready, but their officers shouted at them to stay back.

They would have been well-advised to do so, for an enraged Magneto lashed out again and again with his full power. Waves of magnetic force knocked down the soldiers, crushed their bones against the remaining Panzers, tossed those machines hundreds of feet in the air as though they were nothing... but did not free the man who had produced them. It was as if the shadowy tendrils holding Magneto were not there at all...

They could squeeze, though, and did-- harder and harder, denying him breath. Magneto began to black out. His blood boiled; he struggled with every ounce of his strength.

-It isn't fair!- he would have shouted, if his lungs had worked. -It isn't justice! Finally-- finally I have a chance to repay these monsters, and I WILL NOT BE DENIED! I am Magneto; these creatures cannot hope to stand before my power! I need only to...-

The tendrils surrounded his throat and mouth. The world turned black. He never finished his thought.

Far to the rear of the Panzers, removed from such unpleasantness, a black command car sat alone, the Nazi emblems it carried flapping in the breeze. Inside the car, a hooded man lowered his field glasses and addressed his driver.

"I think I've seen enough," said Heinrich, 12th Baron Zemo, in his native tongue. "I trust our new friend will remember not to kill him... yet."

"Not kill him, sir?" said the driver. "He's destroyed entire Panzer groups!"

"Yes," Zemo said. "Think of that. Think of what he can do... for them, or for us. Drive on now. We're finished here."

The driver shrugged his shoulders; unnoticed by the struggling soldiers in the distance, the command car turned in a slow arc and drove away.

--

PLACE: London, the East End TIME: A few days later

"So you're saying the decision's made?" Alison Blaire asked. "We get to be all we can be?"

Logan frowned at her across the table, where most of their team had assembled. "I'm saying, now we find out if this Talbot guy's really the big deal he wants us to think he is... an' just how badly he wants us."

"Suppose it's really bad. Who says he owns me? Besides you, I mean."

He stubbed out his cigar in an ashtray; Talbot had at least come through with the Cubans. To Ali, he said, "Do you wanna go home, or not?"

"More than anything. Do I look like an Andrews sister? This is so not my public." Ali shrugged. "I don't see why we need them."

"'Cause I can't build a time machine. Can you?"

"Once this arrangement stops working for us," Psylocke put in quietly, "we will cut our ties. For now, we seem to have nothing to lose."

"But our lives," Alison said.

"Old news, darlin'. You risk your life every day you're an X-Man."

"Right. That's sort of why I'm not an X-Man."

"But we are the roach motel of hero groups, leibchen. Once you check in, you never completely check out." Kurt Wagner looked around at the empty spots at the table. "But where are Piotr and Kitty?"

"'Cat's been gone most of the day; Petey went to find her." Logan started another cigar; leadership made him burn through them quickly. "They ain't back by dusk, we'll send out the hounds."

"Likely to be another busy night," Betsy said.

"Ain't they all?"

"In the meantime, I saved up some rations for a special dessert!" Their one bundle of energy, TJ, hurried to the stove and removed a bubbling basin. "Who wants spotted dick?"

Betsy thought that sounded fine. The others excused themselves rather suddenly. Logan blew a smoke ring.

"Pizza Hut, eh? I might invest."

--

Piotr Rasputin found Kitty Pryde under the same tree in the same park where they'd fought the Skulls several days before. She sat huddled, knees pulled to her chest, cheeks red and eyes puffy. She was staring, but not at anything in particular. Piotr approached as softly as he could... not easy for a six-and-a-half foot tall man of steel. But Kitty didn't seem to notice his arrival.

"Katya," he said at length, "it is nearly dark."

She didn't respond. Piotr sat down, somewhat awkwardly, next to her. It would have been easier with a bigger tree. He started to say something else...

"Do you know," she whispered, "how easily I could kill somebody, Piotr Nikolievitch?"

Piotr didn't know what to say, so he just let her talk:

"I could... go totally Darth Vader on you. I mean, I could reach... into your chest... and grab your heart..."

"You have already done that."

Kitty laughed once. "Charmer. You know what I mean."

"Da."

She took a long breath. "We're going to war, aren't we?"

"It is likely."

"I'm not a soldier."

Piotr put an arm around her. "Nor am I, but we are here and we must do our best. I know you, Katya. You will not fail us."

"That's not what I'm afraid of." She buried her head in his chest for a moment before continuing: "You know... what the Nazis did to my people. To my own family. If I meet them in a real battle, I am going to want to kill them. And I know how. I know how to make it hurt."

"Welcome to my life," Piotr said, running a hand through her hair.

"I want to go home," Kitty finished, and cried again. "That's all. I just want to go home."

"I am home," Piotr told her. "I am with you."

She smiled; not a real smile, but half of one, and it was an improvement. Piotr hugged her tighter, and it seemed like a long time before they separated.

--

Kurt Wagner was used to the shadows. For a time, in his youth, they had been the only place where he was safe. He blended in with them, used them to his advantage, was a part of them. And even he could only just make out the orange glow of Logan's cigar in the dark, long after the others had all gone to bed.
"C'mon out, elf." Clearly Logan's senses didn't have the same problem. "I ain't gonna bite."

"Still no call?" Kurt asked.

"Nope. It's comin', though. Can feel it."

"You did the right thing, meine freund. The others will come around."

"'Course they will," said Logan. "I mean, who wouldn't follow a swell guy like me?"

They both laughed. Kurt sat at the table. "Ach, they will probably not even call."

"Bet you five pounds."

"Done."

The phone rang at that moment. Kurt needed to remember his extensive religious training to suppress a curse. Logan grinned, then motioned for Kurt to come closer, so they could both hear the voice on the other end. Then he answered the phone.

"Yo."

"This is Talbot," said the voice, without preamble.

"You got an answer for us, Mr. Talbot?"

"Yes. If you'll tune your radio to the BBC, you'll hear rampant speculation that the United States Congress is going to declare war on Germany tomorrow. This completely irresponsible rumor happens to be true."

Logan nodded. "Was expectin' Japan first, but thanks for the heads-up."

"Oh, don't worry. Soon enough, Japan along with Germany and Italy will have declared war back, and we'll respond with a few more of our own. I hope you're happy, Mr. Logan. You're about to witness the biggest damn war in the history of my world."

Logan shared a look with Kurt. "Obliged. What changed your mind?"

"Little news item out of Russia. Magneto's been taken captive."

"Holy--" said Logan.

"Unglaublich!" said Kurt.

"How!" they both said.

"I don't know. But after much consideration, the President feels that if the Nazis have a weapon which can neutralize Magneto, that will become a very serious problem. I trust you agree?"

"Sounds right," Logan said. "When do we go active?"

"Immediately. If you'll meet me in one hour at the same location, I will lay out the parameters of your first mission."

"We'll be there," said Logan. "And one more thing?"

"Yes?" asked Talbot, long-suffering.

"Freedom Force gives us a bad vibe. We're gonna be X-Force."

"Done," said Talbot, and he hung up the phone.

Kurt whistled softly. "Well, that's that. I'll wake the others. Where do you think they will send us?"

"Is there any doubt?" Logan puffed his cigar once more, then put it out. "We're goin' after Magneto."

"Surely not so soon!"

"Trust me, I know how this guy thinks. Our ol' buddy Magnus is maybe the biggest asset in this whole war. They're gonna want him back."

Kurt stood. "But I don't know if we should..."

"Relax, elf. Trackin' Magneto ain't gonna be hard." Logan held out his hand, popped his claws with a grunt, then retracted them and nodded to himself. "Might even be fun."

"This isn't about settling scores," Kurt reminded him.

Kurt Wagner looked more like a demon than anyone he knew-- except when the man known as Wolverine smiled just so, as he did now.

"You're kiddin', right?" he said. "Wake the team."

--

COMING IN ISSUE #2: The Search for Magneto

SEE ALSO:
Uncanny X-Men Eternity #1: The Shattering. Starring Scott & Emma's team. Online now!
New X-Men Eternity #1: Invictus. Storm & Beast trapped in the future. Online now!
X-Factor Eternity #1: Check in on Rogue & Gambit, lost in time. Coming soon!