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Wolverine: "1919"

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Szymanski

Szymanski

Super-Earth
Joined
Sep 23, 2009
Location
Glasgow
Closed​
1919.

The war had ended less than a year ago, yet the remains still stunk across the hills of loveless Europe. Lives had been lost -- families decimated, villages erased through blood and fire. Underneath, the soles of boots trampled on bone and bullets, empty shells of both ammo and man. The man that walked through it all was a Canadian soldier that had witnessed the violence first hand. The screams -- the suffering. And he'd suffered more than most men out there. Bullet after bullet, tearing through his flesh and ripping him apart. And every time -- that Canadian soldier would stand back up. It hurt, and because of his special ability he was prone to putting himself in danger more times than a normal man would. He could heal -- faster than anything. And it meant he had to go through the pain of death more than once.

His name was Corporal Jim Howlett, a native of Alberta, and one-of-a-kind. They sent him on missions like this because that's what he was best at -- killing bad guys. In this case, it wasn't just murdering. There was a woman involved... a pilot. Seems like she had been shot down whilst flying back from the east and was carrying something important. His commanding officer didn't tell him what, and Jim -- or "Logan", as he was nicknamed -- didn't ask questions.
She was being kept in a small village, situated in the old landscape of eastern Prussia. The Canadian didn't have a plan, except for one. Get in, grab her, and kill every German soldier that was stupid enough to pull back on the trigger. Sneaking in wearing a German uniform was out of the equation.

Castle
The prisoner had been kept in a cell, in one of the basements of the town. They were all inter-connected with one another, the sewer system linking each building to the next. The smell inside the cell suggested it was very close to large quantities of sewage.
The cramped room gave little space to maneuver, built tall with stone and a small window in the heavy wooden door to give some source of light. The sound of German was a constant background noise to break up the rare moments of silence. The occasional laughter. Taunting. The voices of free men on the other side of the locked door.
 
"Bitte, lass mich gehen. Let me go... please..."
A small woman called out for what probably was the fifteenth time that day, feeling weak and tired. It had been hell for the past... Oh God, how long had it been? At least six months, if not more. Marla ran a hand through her dark hair, feeling the dried blood and dirt that was matted into it. She remembered right before the crash; the plane that had come out of nowhere and taken her down without a problem. She knew the plane started to go down, but about four hundred feet from the ground, she blacked out, and couldn't remember anything until she had woken up here.

The smell at first had made her sick over and over again, but after the first month passed, she didn't even notice it anymore. Her pale skin was streaked with dirt, her clothes ripped and bloodstained. She would have given anything to clean off and just go home. Why wouldn't they just let her go? She knew her commanding officer had given her a package, and she was told to bring it back to the United States. She didn't know what was in it, or why it was important, but she knew that the Germans would kill for whatever it was. And now, she was paying for it.

For the first few months, she dreamed of the war ending, was vindictive and combative towards the guards, and thought that any day U.S troops would come get her out of her. But day after day, week after week, no one showed up. And now, well, she had lost all hope that anyone would come get her. The girl slowly laid down on the stained jacket she had put out to protect her from the horrifying floor of the dungeon like room. Half of her just wished one of the guards would come and put her out of her misery, and the other half of her wanted to survive until someone came. If anyone would....
 
Outside of her dark prison, down the corridor and to the left sat Leutnant Karlheinz Stanger, the soldier in charge of keeping her locked up. He was a youthful lieutenant at the age of 25, having achived the rank after the war. That's what some people said, anyway. Karlheinz was one of those that considered the war to still be in full swing -- and that this quiet spell was merely the break between rounds. His dark hair was hidden underneath the helmet protecting his head, even though there was no danger of bullets flying around down there. He sat back, cleaning the rifle that had barely been fired. "She's still crying out for someone to help her. How long's she been here now, huh? Couple of months? Maybe more? You'd think she'd give up by now. No one's gonna hear her but us. And we're sure as hell not going to let her go."

Sitting across from the officer sat his good friend Erich Adler, a year younger and holding the rank of Feldwebel (sergeant). Up until a few seconds ago, he had been asleep -- the peacefulness of the basement failing to keep his eyes awake. "Huh? What's she saying now?"

"Same old stuff." Replied his friend, who carefully placed his rifle on the table between them, pushed himself to his feet and slowly creeped towards the door. There was a few seconds of hesitation, before a couple of loud knocks hit the door hard. "Shut up in there!" Karlheinz looked down the corridor. "I swear, the next time she mutters something I'm throwing in some mustard gas." The German lieutenant returned to his seat, picking up his weapon once more and continuing from where he left off.

A couple of hours later, she had been removed from her cell and taken to the interrogation room. It was the only other room that she spent her time in, the other being the cell. Leutnant Stanger was there, standing in the corner. In the middle of the room sat Marla -- she had been almost thrown in to the wooden chair. The German officer -- with his large nose, and side-parted hair now on show -- was considered a very attractive man indeed. He also was very aware of his lucky looks. "Have you ever been to Bayern, mein fraulein? It's a nice place. I'm sure you've flown over it plenty of times, have you?" Karlheinz stepped closer, grabbing her chin to force her to face him. "Looking down at it's beautiful hills? Tell me... are there beautiful hills in your home town?"
 
As the man slammed his hand against the door, Marla managed to suppress a scream, gripping onto her jacket tighter as a few tears fell from her eyes. She felt like a baby, but all she wanted was to go back to Chicago with her family, curl up in her bed with her dog, and never think about this war again. But the tears weren't just of sadness. Anger was seeping in again. The girl had fits of rages when she would think about the fact that her commanding officer clearly didn't care if she was dead or alive, and that no one, in all probability, was going to come for her. As she laid there, she finally managed to drift off, her dreams being the only place where she felt entirely safe.

She was abruptly awoken when two of the guards opened the door, the girl sitting up immediately and being on guard. Sure, no one was going to come in to shoot her, at least not until they had the information they needed, but she didn't want to give up anything without a fight. She was grabbed by the arms, and immediately the girl started fighting, but being only around 5 foot tall, the guard easily picked her up and held her above the ground. Marla winced in pain at the way her arms were pinned, feeling like her shoulders were going to pop out of the sockets until she was violently thrown into the rickety, wooden chair that was the only thing in the large, empty room.

The gorgeous girl looked up to see Stanger, instantly looking back to the floor to try and keep her anger down. She knew from experience that fighting back was not the brightest idea, but then again, thats why her commanding officer had sent on such an important mission. She was feisty, and he knew that she wouldn't spill anything but blood for the German officers. As he approached her and started to speak, she looked down at the floor, feeling her head being jerked up to look at him. She stared into his eyes, the gorgeous girl looking like she wanted to spit in his face. She would have done anything to get his gun from him and shoot him right between the eyes, but she knew that anything she did to retaliate would only be met by pain and suffering for her.

"Don't touch me..."
The girl jerked her head away from him, gritting her teeth slightly as she frowned before shaking her head.
"I live in the city, you pig. But you aren't going to see you're beautiful little hills after I'm rescued. They'll shoot you so fast, you won't have time to even think about drawing your gun.
Instead of spitting into his face like she wanted, she spat at his feet, resigning herself to the beating of a lifetime that she was certainly going to get.
"You will never... ever know anything I know. Ever. So give up while you still have your life to leave with."
 
"You might think you're being a very brave girl... but in fact you're just being a stupid one. Don't you see, Mein Fraulein? You're not going to get rescued. Your superiors do not know where you are. The only thing they want is the package you were carrying. You are worthless to them." Karlheinz looked down at the small puddle of saliva that she had fired on the ground, stepping back a few inches to avoid it. The room was growing colder by the minute, and though only slightly noticeable with clothes on, the extent of the temperature could only really be appreciated when clothes were off.

"We'll see how long you stay like this. Guards...? Remove the young woman's clothes for her." The officer spun on the spot and exited the room for a few moments as three men came in like a trio of charging bulls, grabbing and ripping, cutting away material and fabric -- leaving not a single thread of uniform on the woman's body. Breasts... vagina... backside... everything was exposed. And they held her -- the Germans gripping her arms with their strength to prevent her from lunging towards the re-entering Karlheinz and attacking him. "Very soon, you're going to feel the cold. Well... you're probably feeling it already." It was all games to him. He needed her alive, although whether or not she had the information he needed was a mystery. The package was encrypted, and although a team of expert code-breakers were trying to decipher it, they weren't having much luck. That's where Marla came in. She had accepted the package. She must have known who she gave it to her.

Unfortunately for Karlheinz, she didn't. It was a top secret mission, to the extent that Marla was given no knowledge of what she was transporting, and who her contact was. He was a man with no face, a man without a name. He would never be found. "Tell me who gave you the package, and I'll let you walk out of this town right now."
 
"Get off me!"
The girl screamed and flailed as the men grabbed her, trying desperately to get them off of her and her clothing. She didn't want to be bare in front of him, and not because she thought they'd hurt her. She knew it was a power struggle, and that they were going to try and prove how weak she was and that she'd never win this. But she wasn't going to let them win so easily. They got her stripped down, her gorgeous body on display as she crossed her legs and scowled at Karlheinz. It wasn't long before the girl started shaking, her lips going slightly blue as she tried to cross her arms to get warmer.

She knew that even if she told them the truth, they wouldn't believe her. She honestly didn't know. She had been given an rendezvous point to meet up with an undercover, and when she got there, she was handed a package. She never saw his face, barely heard his voice, and it's not like they met somewhere memorable. It was a bombed out warehouse that hadn't seen civilization for years, even before the war. Marla looked up at him, smiling slightly as she stopped fighting, essentially giving in physically to them.

"I wouldn't tell you if a gun was to my head. What makes you think I'd tell you now? You can kill me, or you can let me live. But either way...."
She laughed softly, dirt streaked face looking up at him as she licked her lips, turning her heads towards one of the guards as she coughed onto him slightly..
"... Either way, you will never know what that package is. Ever..."
 
"Oh, believe me, we're going to let you live. We're going to keep you in that small cell of yours forever. We'll make sure you're fed and watered, and kept alive until the very end of your life. No one's going to come rescue you. You're a permanent prisoner of war until you give me the information that I -- or my replacement -- wants." Karlheinz clicked his fingers, and she was once again returned to her small cell. Naked, and left to freeze by her lonesome. The German peeked through the hole in the door. "You might think it is smart to play the tough card just now, but it won't be long before you start to realise how long your misery is going to be."

The Officer's boots faded away down the corridor, leaving the pilot alone once more to think things through. The cell was just as cold as the interrogation room, and as the night approached it would only grow colder.
Logan didn't have much time. Her scent was already tingling the hairs in his nose, telling him which direction to head. South -- no, it was more like south-west. It wasn't quite strong, as if another overbearing smell was competing with hers. The smell of sewage. It took him down to the sewers -- which for a person with a heightened smell like his -- was a horrible experience. But he continued, he had to save this girl.

A lone finger traced against the stone of the sewer wall, before his feet stopped and nostrils widened. It was strong. The scent of the pilot. Here -- he could almost reach out and grab her. And it came from behind this very stone wall he stood next to. The Wolverine pressed his palms against it, his nose touching the hard, cold surface. The wall was so thin, he could hear someone moving on the other side. Down near the floor, there was a small, square-inch gap about knee height. Logan took his chances.

"Hey... you."
 
The girl looked up at him with those gorgeous, hate filled eyes, and when he snapped his fingers, she immediately started thrashing again, trying to get them to let go of her. She didn't know what she'd do if she got them to let go of her, after all, she was naked and had no idea where she was. But she just wanted to run; to try and escape since no one was coming to get her. They tossed her back into the cell, and she rushed the door, only to hit it as it clicked locked, making it impossible to get out. Defeated yet again, the girl sighed, slowly walking over to the jacket in the middle of the floor and sitting down on it. Half of her though about wrapping it around her to try and get warm, but then again, she was not going to sit on the floor of this place. Ever.

She heard him walk down the hallway until she couldn't hear him anymore, and when she was sure that no one could hear her, she did the only thing she could think of. Cry. The girl silently wept, tears cleaning off her dirt stained cheeks enough that you could see that her nose and cheeks were spotted with light freckles that made her blue grey eyes really shine. It didn't matter though. Although she'd never admit it to any of the guards, she knew that no one was going to come for her. That's why they sent her. She had no place on the battlefield, but after begging and begging to please let her serve her country, they did. And what did she get for it? Nothing. Nothing besides a huge plane wreck, a tiny, dirty cell, and the knowledge that she'd never see her family again.

As she sat there and cried silently, she could have sworn she heard footsteps, but not from the corridor. From the wall behind her. She glanced backwards at it, figuring it was probably a rat or something. Just what she needed, rodents coming into her only living space through that stupid hole in the floor. Thats when she heard it. A voice. A man's voice. And he wasn't German! He was an American! She was saved! The girl forgot all about being naked and scurried over to the hole, whispering frantically as she put her hands on the wall.
"Listen, you have to get me out of here. Please... I'll do anything..."
She looked through the hole, trying to see who her possible savior was, but not being able to see much of anything. The thought ran through her head that maybe the German officers were trying to break her with the thought of being rescued, when in reality, she wouldn't be. But even so, she had to risk it on the chance that maybe she'd see the Chicago city skyline someday soon.
 
The voice. Logan didn't know what she sounded like, but the words through the wall gave all the right signs that it was the downed pilot. Not to mention that she stunk of her scent. It had to be Marla. If it wasn't, then he was about to create a whole lot of noise and commotion for nothing.
Wolverine didn't reply at first, he was too busy trying to get a good idea how he was going to get through this barrier between them both. Taking a step back didn't help either, as there seemed to be no way of puncturing the wall with his bone claws. Unfortunately, he was going to have to go for a more old fashioned approach. This came in the form of the explosives he had brought with him. Apart from the service revolver, it was the only other man-made weapon on his person. The other -- his natural, deadly claws.
Finally, he spoke. "Keep your head down. Things are gonna get loud." He wandered to the right a short distance, making sure that when these things went off, she wasn't going to get caught up in the blast. Then, he began to set the dynamite against the thin sewer wall, lighting the fuse and taking cover.

KA-BOOM!!

The destruction caused by the explosion far exceeded his expectations, bricks and stone flying through the air, fragments of wood and various objects in a flutter of chaos and commotion. From inside the cell, the young pilot would have been oblivious to what was going on outside. Shouts of German and the pattering of heavy boots, the piercing cries of pain and suffering. It lasted for the whole of a single minute then it stopped.
Logan climbed over the dozen-or-so bodies -- which excluded the German officer, who had luckily vacated the prison corridor mere minutes before -- and unlocked the door to the cell of the prisoner of war.
 
The sudden silence made her stomach drop, her hands shaking nervously as she traced the wall gently and desperately. She didn't even know if he had a plan, or who he was, yet she seemed to think he'd be able to rescue her. For all she knew, this was his first assignment because he was expendable and if he died, well, who cares? However, when she heard his voice again, she felt her confidence in him raise slightly and nodded as if he could see her. She grabbed the jacket off the floor, picking it up and managing to strategically place it so he wouldn't be able to see anything too explicit. With that, she moved into the far corner of the room, ducking down and tucking her head down. She had no idea what was about to happen, but once she heard the explosion, she stood up and got ready for whatever was about to happen. As she stood in the cell though, she noticed one strange thing. No gunfire. Sure, there were a few shots fired, but not enough to make sense of the cries of pain.

Once the noise ended, her thoughts of how strange it was disappeared, hearing a single person walking over to the door. She heard the sound of it unlocking, and the second she saw the man, and slight smile came to her face. Here she was, after months of being beaten and neglected, practically naked and covered in dirt, but alive. And she knew that she was safe. At least for now. Without a word, she rushed out of the cell, managing to keep the jacket on her small body just well enough so that she wasn't totally nude. On the back of one of the chairs was one of the German officers jackets, and she immediately grabbed it and slipped it around herself. It was long enough that it covered her about down to mid thigh, and once it was buttoned up, she turned around and looked at him again.

"I would thank you, but that doesn't even nearly describe how grateful I am to you..."
She said, pulling her hair back with one hand and grabbing a pen that was on the table. She twisted her hair around it and tucked it into it, managing to keep it pulled back out of her face. Marla then looked over at the mass of dead bodies, and for a minute, she thought she was going to be sick. But she got ahold of herself, walking over to the closest one and grabbing the gun off his hip. It was clear she wasn't used to relying on anyone else, and when she stood back up, she walked over to him and held out her hand to shake hid firmly.
"Marla Hunt. I'm a pilot. Listen, I was carrying something really important, and we need to get it back before we leave."
She said sternly, just trying to seem more tough and resilient then she really was. After all, she wasn't going to wrap her arms around him and cry like she wanted to. That wasn't even a possibility.
 
Marla Hunt. It was her. Not that Logan didn't know that already, even with all the dirt and the blood and various other things caked over her skin, he knew that it was her just from her scent. So that was one part of the mission over and done with, but predictably, the important part was still incomplete. Finding the package that she had been delivering. "Where'd they put it?" He asked, ignoring her stretched out hand and looking around the basement. As far as he was concerned, it was considered mission failure unless this was found. He just didn't want to tell that to Marla.
Forgetting his manners, the Wolverine began to step back over the dead Germans, his feet splashing in puddles of red and lead. He rolled his sleeves back up, displaying an incredible amount of arm hair which was usually seen on wild animals. It matched the wild hair on his head -- there was no army regulation haircut for her saviour.

After a brief scout through the basement, he realised it wasn't here. Logan knew that was going to be the case, but there was no harm checking. Sometimes, the bad guys got sloppy and complacent, which made his job a hell of a lot easier. This time, it wasn't.
With the basement being soundproof, there were no further interruptions by any other soldiers. At least for the time being. As soon as someone went downstairs -- either to reinforce or change shifts -- the alarm would no doubt sound. And they still had a lot of rooms and buildings to look through. "I hope these guys weren't the only ones that know where it is." He growled, pulling a chair from underneath the table at the end of the corridor, sitting down to catch his breath back. Unknown to him, there was one important member of the garrison missing from this bloodbath-corpse-soup. Leutnant Karlheinz Stanger. "We got to get you some clothes as well. Can't have you runnin' around like that."
 
Marla looked somewhat perplexed as he ignored her and asked her where they had put it. She hadn't seen it since the crash, but she knew that it wasn't going to be here. She remembered Stanger saying that he had the package, so she figured it was hidden somewhere no one knew. No one besides Stanger would know where it was, she was sure.
"... Wait...."
She muttered softly, hurrying over to the mass of dead bodies and trying to get a look at their faces. If he killed Stanger, than that was it for them finding the package, but after a few moments of looking, she stood up and looked over at him.
"The guy in charge isn't here. The German Officer that has been holding the fact that I'd never get out of here is gone.... He knows about the package!"
The girl looked over at him, walking over slowly and hopping up onto the table before crossing her arms. The sight of this man was strange. His hair wasn't cut short like most soldiers, and he looked pretty rough around the edges. And yes, it was intriguing to her on so many levels.

Marla figured that, well, while they were sitting here, she might as well try and get a name out of him. After all, they were going to be stuck together for a very long time, and they might as well know a little bit about each other.
"So, do I get to call you anything? I mean, besides hey you?"
She asked softly, smiling at him for a moment to try and get him to warm up to her. It seemed like he was very down to business, and she knew that it could be both a good thing, and a bad thing. If he was too down to business, he might run straight into a trap, and then where would they be? Trapped together until more help came. Her eyes glanced down his body slowly, the girl feeling sort of safe since he was rather strong looking. However, she did have a pang of self consciousness as he mentioned the lack of clothes.
"They took mine an hour or so ago. Well, destroyed is a better word for what they did to them.
 
She was trying her best to be friendly, but Logan was the wrong person to be friendly towards. The feeling was usually not mutual, his personality was one that seemed to drive a lot of people away. He was a loose cannon, someone who's sole purpose in life right now was to do the kind of jobs that other people didn't want to do. Or was that couldn't do, he got them mixed up from time to time. But there was no point in being cold towards her. "The name's Corporal Jim Howlett." The soldier replied, "22nd Battalion, Canadian Army." It said a lot about the United States Army if it couldn't rely on any of it's own men to do the mission Wolverine was currently doing.

On the subject of her clothes, he figured that the rags she previously called her uniform was now useless. He also figured that she wasn't likely to agree to the idea of stripping a Prussian uniform off one of the Germans, seeing as they were covered in blood and mysterious holes -- which all seemed to come in three's. Ascending the staircase slowly, Wolverine motioned for Marla to remain downstairs for now. "You stay here. I'll make sure the coast is clear."
The soldier disappeared from her sight for around five minutes, returning with a different appearance. Gone was his Canadian fatigues. Instead, his body was clothed in German colours, a helmet disguising his hair. "There's no one upstairs. Let's hurry up, get you dressed and find your German officer."
 
"Canadian?!?"
The girl's eyes widened, not sure what he was doing here after all. He certainly wasn't the American soldier she thought would come save her. Then again, maybe none of them would come and save her, so they had seek help else where. Or, there was always the possibility that no one could help her besides him, but what was the likely hood of him being some killing machine capable of keeping her safe and getting the package back? Well, whatever, it didn't matter why he was here or why he was sent, just that he was and now she had someone to help her.

As he told her to stay put, she nodded, and decided to do a little snooping of her own. She walked over to the mass of bodies, looking at them in sheer horror for a few moments before finally kneeling down next to one of them. His eyes were open, and she shut them before using all her strength to roll him onto his stomach. It was only then she saw the cause of his death. Stab wounds. But not normal stab wounds. There were three puncture wounds in a row, almost like someone had stabbed him with three knives at one time. Which was strange, to say the least. However, as she heard someone start to come back down stairs, she froze on the spot, and almost screamed at the sight of what she though was a German soldier. However, upon close inspection, she realized that it was just Corporal Howlett, and sighed in relief. When he told her to hurry up so she could find something to wear, she nodded, shoving the gun she had taken into the pocket of the jacket before starting to head upstairs.

Once she had reached the top of the stairs, she stopped, looking down at the approaching Corporal before biting her lip nervously.
"What if we don't find the package?"
She asked, clearly more worried about that than dying or being captured again. If she died, well, then there was nothing anyone could do. Same with being captured again. But not finding the package, or finding it too late.... she couldn't handle that. She couldn't handle knowing that she might have been the one who gave the German's exactly what they needed to defeat the US later on.
 
Wolverine was playing around with the German uniform, running his hand against the fabric and making sure that he looked presentable and most importantly -- authentic. There was no point in dressing up as the enemy and infiltrating the town, if he didn't look like the rest of the officers. They'd spot him a mile away and open fire. Now, for Lucky Jim Howlett, that wasn't a problem. Sure, it'd hurt like hell. But he'd be fine. Marla, on the other hand, would be up shit creek. She was a human (as far as he was aware) and it wouldn't take many bullets to bring her down.
"I don't know if these guys have any women's uniforms, so if you can't find any then either find some normal civilian stuff or hopefully you'll be able to pass yourself off as a young, male soldier." He knocked the side of his head, indicating that the size of it would probably hide the fact she was a woman if it came to it. On the subject of not finding the package, he shrugged the thought off. "If we can't find it, we can't find it. If it was so damn important to them, they'd have sent a battalion over to get it, wouldn't they?" He asked, knowing that the last thing the Americans and British wanted was another war. Doing it this way would be much quieter, although it wasn't guaranteed. Unless they found this German officer, then they had no chance of finding it and returning it to North America.

While she looked for clothes, Wolverine stepped towards the window and poked his head through a gap in the curtains. Outside, night time was approaching. The patrols were dying down, though the military presence in the town was still massive. It was a tempting thought to return home and tell them that they couldn't find the package, but that was merely for Marla's safety. Wolverine still had plenty of energy left, and his bones were still a little dry. Not enough blood. "What's the guy's name? The Officer you're talkin' about."
 
As he spoke of her finding a uniform, she got started looking, listening to what he said and sighing softly. He was right. If they couldn't find it, that was, well, it , and what could they do about that. Unless they found the German Officer and he told them where the package was, they had no hope of ever finding it. It could be hidden anywhere in Europe by now, so unless he knew where it was or someone who did, they were royally fucked. She started going through desk drawers and closets, finally coming across a man's uniform that looked small enough to fit her relatively well. However, the dirt and blood covering her didn't really match. She found a glass of water, and with the old coat that she had been wearing, she wiped off and washed away most of the caked on dirt and blood that was covering her normally pale skin.

After several moments of getting herself cleaned off a bit, she pulled the pants on, keeping her bare back to him as she found some medical supplies in a drawer. She rooted through it until she found gauze, and without a word, started binding her chest so that she wouldn't be as noticeable as a woman. After her chest was just about flat, she put the rest of the uniform on, keeping her hair pulled up and under the helmet. As long as she kept her head down, and didn't show much of her face, it was a good possibility that no one would notice. At least, not at first glance.

"Uh.... shit.... Oh! Stanger. Lieutenant Something Stanger. He's in his mid twenties, and he's been the one guarding me since I was captured."
She said softly, adjusting the helmet carefully before putting on two pairs of socks so that the bigger combat boots would fit her. She felt awkward in the mens uniform, not to mention that her chest was being pressed down flat in a most uncomfortable manner. Very slowly, she walked over to him, looking up at him for a moment before slipping her gun into the holster on the uniform.
"Where's your weapon?"
 
Logan attempted to get some kind of scent, but there was too much blood and death in the air. The stench of the rotting corpses down below, soon beginning to freeze solid with rigor mortis. When he turned around, he was taken aback by her resemblance right down to the flat chest she was forcing herself through. As it approached darkness, he hoped that no one would pay much attention to them. It was either that, or hiding her away in some cupboard -- but he felt she was much more safer with him. At least he'd know when she was in trouble.
The Canadian's revolver had been abandoned along with the rest of his Canadian gear. "My weapons are right here." He brought his hands up, fingers balled in to fists, but other than that it just appeared as if he were going to beat them all up if it came to it. No. He had a surprise for everyone, and right now -- that everyone included Marla. "Just stick close to me. We're gonna find this Lieutenant Stanger and ask him a couple of questions." If he couldn't find him here, Logan would hunt all over Europe for him.

Outside, there was calm and near-silence. The occasional chatter of German from afar. So far, the few soldiers that watched them come from the building only paid the slightest bit of attention towards them before returning to their previous engagement. The Canadian lead her to the Officer's Barracks, where he figured Lieutenant Stanger might be at this time of night. "Stand out here." He nodded just next to the door. "I'll be back out in a minute." Logan whispered, preparing to rip the place apart -- including German soldiers -- to find out the location of either Stanger or the package. "And don't come in."
 
Finally, Marla understood why he was the one who had come to rescue her. He was bat shit insane! His fists? What, was he a middle school boy fighting over a comic book on the playground? No, they were in the middle of Germany, after a huge war, with armed men everywhere. You weren't just going to beat them all up. But she had to give him credit. He had come this far and wasn't dead yet, so maybe he did know what he was doing. Or maybe it was just luck. Incredibly, dumb luck.

As they walked from the building, she made sure to take longer steps, keeping up with the Corporal easily enough to make it seem like she knew where she was going. However, if it wasn't for him, she probably would have been seen immediately as an intruder. As they came upon another building, she turned to him, looking up into his eyes with a hint of fear in her eyes as he told her to wait.
"No... no no no. You can't leave me out here alone."
SHe whispered nervously, reaching out and grabbing onto his uniform weakly and desperately. However, in order to not make a scene, she discretely moved her hand back down by her side, the girl standing up straight like a soldier as she took a deep breath.

"If you aren't back in twenty minutes, I'm coming in."
She said sternly, keeping her back against the building as she tried to keep herself calm. It was no wonder Marla was so nervous, with the conditions she had been kept in for the last few months. And now, the one man who had saved her and gotten her out of where she was, wanted to leave her in the middle of a highly busy military base. But there was nothing she could do except try and keep the act going long enough for him to do what he needed to do.
 
Logan looked at her before he opened the door, a rare -- albeit small -- smirk was sketched on his lips. "I'm not gonna need twenty minutes." Was all he muttered before he left her alone in the enemy fortress. As long as she stood there, not bringing any attention to herself, and her posture was right for a German soldier, then there was no reason why anyone would start to talk to her, or even look. The Officer's Barracks remained silent for the duration of Logan's investigation. With the door closed, Marla could not hear the whispering, grunting and slicing of human meat as he went through each Officer to find out where Stanger was.
His hands were becoming bloody, his patience was becoming strained. The Officer wasn't here, it was becoming alarming clear as more and more Germans were murdered in their beds. They didn't know where he was, they just shook their heads in terror as he finished the job. Eight. Ten. Twelve bodies. One more to go...

Corporal Howlett returned outside after six minutes of silenced violence. He'd wiped off the red from his knuckles, and he made sure that Marla couldn't look inside before the door shut. "I know where he is. Got the info we needed in the end." It was the final German that spilled the beans. Stanger had left town, traveling west in a truck. He'd left before Logan had even set off the sticks of dynamite down in the basement. "The package ain't here. It's not been here for weeks. Your Lieutenant took it to a castle a few miles west of here. Come on. We're heading back out the way I came in." Her saviour said, leading the young -- and probably exhausted -- girl to get some rest away from the soldiers.
 
Seconds felt like hours as she waited, not being able to hear anything going on inside. To be honest, it worried her that he thought his fists were weapons. After all, every soldier in there had a gun on them or right by their bedside; What made him think he could go in there and not get hurt. She stood at attention, trying to lengthen her body out and mimicking what she had seen guards do the few times she was able to look out the window of her cell. Finally, when he did emerge, it was all she could do to keep from jumping into his arms and begging him to just take her home. But when he said that they'd head out the way he came in, she nodded and walked next to him, just like a good soldier would have. But that didn't mean that she was at all calm.

Once they were far enough away from other soldiers, she spoke softly, glancing up at him every now and then as she tried to figure things out.
"I need to wash off, so a river or something would be great."
She continued to mutter to herself for several moments, the girl so confused at the recent liberation of herself. Yeah, she had only been captive for a little less than a year, so it wasn't like she didn't know how to act. But all these new levels of fear had been put into her. What if they got caught? What if they tortured her again? What if she never got home? She was a wreck. But only inwardly, outwardly, although she may have seemed a bit eccentric, she seemed calm and ready for whatever was going to take place for the next few days.

As they made it away from the camp, the girl took the helmet off, letting her hair back down as she ran a hand through it slowly. She didn't understand how the German officers wore these things. How any soldier did, really. She was a pilot, so although she wore one, it wasn't capable of withstanding shrapnel being flung at it at high velocities. After several more minutes of walking, she turned and looked up at him, looking over his features carefully before laughing slightly.
"You aren't the typical soldier, are you?"
 
"What you mean?" He asked, frowning a little at her question regarding his appearance -- or maybe his methods. Having scouted the surrounding area thoroughly before actually infiltrating the town, Logan lead her to the nearby water, a rather narrow stream which wasn't exactly deep either. The Canadian sat on the banking, nesting his rear in the thick grass and removing his helmet, dropping it beside him on the green ground. So far, he knew that when she asked her question, it wasn't because of his strange abilities. Because she didn't know what he was capable of yet. All she knew, was he had butchered a bunch of Germans, rescued her, and helped her escape from town.

It was nice to get a bit of relaxation, although Wolverine was always on his toes. He could always smell if trouble was afar, so made sure that he was always ready to defend himself it if was required. For now, though, he watched Marla. He figured that she was going to need to wash, and it was just unfortunate for her that if she wanted to clean the more private areas -- there was no place to hide away to do it. "I'm just like any other soldier in the Army." He lied, knowing that she'd pounce on that lie the instant he said it. It was clear he wasn't. The way he looked, the way he talked, the way he walked. He didn't march with a straight back -- almost the opposite. Almost hunched over like some kind of beast.

"As soon as you're done there, we can't stick around. I got a contact I'm supposed to meet."
 
"Yeah, and I'm a real boy."
Marla said with a slight laugh, unbuttoning the uniform jacket and slowly slipping it off. The bandage was still on, and the throbbing pain that accompanied it was now down to a dull numbness that was making her more crazy then the pain had been. She turned her back to him, slowly unwrapping it and letting out a soft sigh of relief as she glanced over her shoulder at him.
"Don't look, okay?"
She said softly, keeping her backside to him as she slipped her boots and socks off, followed by her pants. Once again, she was bare in front of this man, and this time, she wasn't even covering herself. She knew that, well, in all probability, he'd look but she had to do what she had to do. She had spent the last few months in a sewer, for fuck's sake.

Slowly, the girl carefully walked to the stream and knelt down in the water, washing the remainder of dirt and blood off her body. It immediately made her feel better, and after washing her hair off, she got out of the water and walked over to her clothing, making sure to cover herself as best she could. She pulled her pants on first, then the jacket, and as she was buttoning it up, she sat down next to him and her hands through her now curling hair as she looked over at him.
"And look at you. What else could I mean? Your hair isn't cut, you're alone, you have no gun, you don't walk or talk like a soldier. You just aren't what I'm used to. I mean, shit, even before being stuck it that hellhole, every soldier I've ever met has been... well, a little bit more clean cut than you."
The dark haired beauty laughed softly, looking down at the ground and touching it gently. It was nice to be outside, and right now, everything sort of looked like it had before the war. They were in the woods, the sun was out, the trees were gorgeous. It was just... incredible for her. After taking several deep breaths of the clean, fresh air, she got her boots back on and got up slowly before putting the helmet back on.
"Come on, lets meet that contact of yours so we can get my package back."
 
Of course Jim looked. He couldn't stop himself, and although he didn't see much (except for a bare ass, and the occasional side-angle) it was left to his imagination at what decorated her on her front side. All the while, he was regaining lost energy, as if he were soaking up the sun's rays and refilling his reserves. "Clean cut, huh? Maybe since you've been in that little prison dungeon of yours, the Armies of this world decided to change their rules and regulations a little. Long hair, scruffy sideburns? Looks a little more intimidating to the enemy, don't you think? Hell -- back in the old days, some armies used to run around naked in the snow to show how fearless they were." That was a long time ago, back in the centuries of spears and shields. Sometimes, Wolverine thought that he had been born in the wrong decade. He should have been there, in Roman times, fighting the hordes and roaming the continent in an unknown world.

Finally, he got to his feet and stretched a little. His helmet remained on the ground, he had no intention of putting it back on. From now on, he was going to be a little less discreet about the way he did things. The helmet was only for close-encounters, when he was surrounded by the enemy. Now, there was nothing to hide. He was doing things his way. Wolverine couldn't help but smirk at the fact she wondered why he had no gun and was working by himself. The Canadian had carried a revolver prior to changing in to the German uniform, but saw no need for it. It was too loud, too slow. Six shots then he had to reload. He had no patience for that -- with his claws, there was no such thing as running out of ammunition.

"My contact's waiting in a house a few miles from here, so I hope you're alright in walking in those boots 'cause they're gonna be killin' your feet pretty soon." Wolverine walked with her down a country road, the landscape ahead of them seeming to be nothing but an endless repeating panorama of hills and hedges. No sign of a house or civilization. "When I say a few... I maybe mean ten."
 
"You make it sound like I've been locked away for fifty years. And I never said it was a bad thing. I think it's kind of neat."
She said with a small laugh, smiling at him for a moment as he got to his feet. He was right, though. It was more intimidating. He looked more animalistic. More savage. Like he could kill anyone with no remorse. But, she didn't really believe that. Sure, maybe he could do the task he was assigned, but without remorse? She couldn't see that in anybody, and especially not in the man that saved her from living the rest of her life in that cell. As he spoke of how far he was talking about walking, she nodded, pushing the helmet back slightly so she could see before looking around at the scenery.
"Yeah, worst comes to worst, I'll go barefoot. If I can live through a plane crash, I can deal with a little bit of pain for awhile."

As they walked, he'd notice that she was studying him more than she had been before, especially his hands. She was curious about how he had gotten the information without gunfire going off, and before now, she had to pretend that she was a soldier so no one would look over at them and become suspicious. But it was clear she was certainly intrigued by the man. The thing about Marla though, was that she didn't know there were people like him. Sure, she had heard of them, but from what she heard, they tried to stay hidden for fear of being discriminated against. She certainly hadn't ever met anyone who was a mutant, let alone knew anyone who had.

About five miles in, the girl's feet felt like they were on fire, and the helmet had fallen down in front of her eyes a thousand times it felt like. So without a word to him, she stopped and made everything that was bothering her go away. She tossed the helmet into the brush, followed by the boots and socks she had been wearing. Finally, she started up again, the girl about two inches shorter now than she had been a few moments ago. But you had to give her credit. She was in a good amount of pain right now, but she didn't slow down, didn't complain about it at all. Sure, she looked exhausted, but she wasn't going to say a word about it. She had practically begged to be put into the war, and she wasn't going to whine when it got difficult like it was now.
"How long have you been in the military?"
 
He knew she was looking over at him. Every so often, he'd reply with turning to look at her, but he wouldn't ask her what she was wanting to say. Up until her question about the military, it had been a rather quiet walk. He'd hear her grunting or making a noise of frustration either due to the helmet or the boots, or maybe something else that was bothering her. Logan didn't slow down, however. He wanted to get to the meeting point as quickly as he could, so if that meant her having to catch up every time she slowed down, then that's what had to happen. At least she wasn't moaning about it -- he was glad she was keeping her discomfort all to herself.

"Been in the Army since before the war. Winter of 1912. Been in and out since then... so pretty much seven years, servin' my country and all that nonsense." He wasn't doing it to be patriotic. What else would he be doing if he wasn't in a uniform? Roaming the wild forests of Alberta like that animal he was before it all? Those days were behind him, thought they were days that had taught him well. It shaped him in to the man he was now. Learning to fend for himself, not relying on anyone else. Catching his own meals, building his own shelter. It was why he was suited for these kind of long missions -- send him in to the unknown, then leave him to it. "Last thing I thought I'd be doin' is rescuing some woman from a POW camp. Since when have they let females fly their planes? Thought the guys at the top were worried you might crash the plane." He joked, giving her a smile to show he was only kidding. No use falling out over a sexist joke -- they still had a long way to go until they were back in North America.
At least the house was up ahead -- their long march almost ending.
 
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