Patreon LogoYour support makes Blue Moon possible (Patreon)

Wolverine: "1919"

Status
Not open for further replies.
She glanced up at him when he said his joke, the girl laughing slightly as he smiled at her. It was true. She was quite the rarity in this particular field, and she had done her fair share of pleading to get to where she was.
"They didn't want me in that plane, trust me. They probably think I crashed the plane."
Marla sighed softly at the thought. That's why she needed that package more than anything. They hadn't had much faith in her, but it was their only option. She wanted to do the mission for them, and it was so dangerous that no one else wanted the part. So they gave it to her expecting failure. But she had to prove to them that she could do this, that she was just as good as any man. When she saw the house up ahead, she smiled, the girl exhausted and just wanting to lie down for the next, oh, two weeks. In reality, if she got an hour, she'd be thrilled.

As they got within a hundred feet of the house, her body didn't want to move any further. She wanted to just collapse. Honestly, the thought that got her through the next few dozen feet was the thought of a chair to sit in, something to drink, and maybe something to eat. Her body was starved for energy, and as she looked up at Jim, she met his eyes for a few moments. She was clearly tired, but also nervous about going into the house that they were approaching rapidly. She took a few deep breaths, stopping about ten feet away from the house before reaching out and grabbing his uniform so he couldn't continue to walk.
"You sure they're not going to try and kill us, right?"
She asked sheepishly, semi ashamed she was this nervous about meeting up with a contact. She wanted to act like a big, brave soldier, not a scared little girl. And although she wasn't necessarily acting like a scared child, she wasn't acting as bravely as she wanted to.
 
Something was preventing him from going any further, and that something was Marla. Logan had seen small glimpses of fear when they were back in the town, when he said that he was going to leave her outside while he went in to the Officer's Barracks. It brought a sense of realism to their situation, and reminded him that he wasn't actually with a fearless soldier like himself. That his companion was nothing more than a young woman that hadn't experienced anything like this before. Or, at least not that he knew of. She was in enemy territory -- a foreign land. And the only person she could rely on was a stranger from Canada that she had met literally a few hours ago.
The harsh reality of war and death was still buzzing in the air, a chill down her bones. Although she wasn't shaking, he knew she probably wanted to. She didn't need to act brave in front of him, he wasn't judging her because she was worried. Logan knew that she shouldn't have been on this mission -- whether she was trying to prove herself, or not. He placed a dirty finger underneath her chin, raising it ever so slightly to look at him. "Keep your chin up, kid. You're doin' damn better than most of the guys they coulda sent here."

He removed his finger from her skin, and began to walk to the wooden door -- pressing his open palm against it. "Now he's not gonna kill us," Logan replied, pushing it open, "He's probably-"
Bang! The noise came from nowhere. And it was loud. It shuddered through the entire country, sending birds and small wild animals scurrying away from the scene. The attacker rushed to the door, a man in a German uniform not unlike hers, his gingery-brown hair reaching his eyes in length, stood looking in shock over her Canadian saviour. "I hope that wasn't Logan." He muttered, although Marla did not know the soldier by that name. What she did know, though, was that Corporal Jim Howlett was dead!
 
She had honestly expected him to chew her out like a commanding officer, or pull away from her and tell her she was nothing. But as he put his finger under her chin and made her look up at him, she felt reassured. And that was even before he told her that she was doing well. She started beaming with pride, the girl nodding enthusiastically at him, walking with him for the last few feet to the door, as she was once again reassured they'd be fine, she smiled again, but it didn't last long. The gunshot echoed in her head, and the girls immediate reaction was to duck to the ground and cover her head. She stayed like that for several seconds, waiting for the Corporal to tell her to calm down. But he didn't. She slowly turned around, and upon seeing Jim laying on the ground, she just about lost it. Her first thought was to move over to him, and she lifted his head up into her lap and gently tapped his cheek a few times, as if trying to get him to stir.
"Wake up... come on... you're okay..."

Her voice got shaky, Marla swallowing harshly as she continued to try and wake him. It was pretty sad, actually. The grown woman knew he was dead, but... she couldn't accept it. He had to take her home. He had to go home. Sure, she knew nothing about him, but she assumed he had family or something that he needed to return to his country for. And now, here he was, laying on the ground bleeding, obviously dead. Her eyes turned to the shooter, and within two seconds, she had gotten to her feet and pulled out the German issued pistol, pointing it at him as her free hand wiped her tears away before they even had time to fall.
"You.... killed him.... We were supposed to fucking meet with you, you bastard!"
She was seconds away from pulling the trigger, but something stopped her. She couldn't do it. That was just the way with Marla. Whenever passion or emotion took over, she couldn't relieve the stress. She couldn't cry, she couldn't be babied, and she couldn't kill the man standing in front of her, even though her had killed the girls only ally in this scary place. Finally though, she broke. Tears fell down her face as the girl dropped to her knees, the gun falling out of her hand as she became the scared little girl she had been this whole time.
 
Henry couldn't believe that the one time he didn't want to kill the target, it had been the most accurate shot he had ever fired. The hole drilled in the Canadian's head was giving no doubt of his current state. He was dead, and it was all thanks to the Englishman that had retreated back in to the house, walking backwards in to the rocking chair that he had occupied prior to the door opening. He didn't want to touch the dead body, he was worried that if he lifted it up then parts of his skull would probably fall off.
But the girl. Henry didn't know what to say to her. Sorry? It was an unfortunate incident, sure, but the mission had to be completed. He let her cry for a while, not wanting to interrupt her fragile moment, but he wanted to ask her some questions. For the moment, however, Henry sat scratching his lips, staring at the feet of Logan. Poor guy. Didn't even know what hit him -- already dead before he dropped to the ground. The creaking of the wooden chair played a tune to her cries.

When she was ready, Major Henry Low, English soldier and murderer of the best soldier in the Commonwealth, finally placed his revolver on to the table beside him, and waited. Eventually, they would need to bury him -- remove his body so that the Germans didn't discover it. He just hoped that they could carry on the job without him.
 
Marla couldn't stop crying. Years of pent up hurt and fear came rushing out over this one man, and when she finally relaxed enough to stop sobbing uncontrollably, she crawled over to him and put her hands on his chest.
"Corporal... please... just get up... I can't do this by myself..."
She whimpered and cried for the next few minutes, finally composing herself enough to shut his eyes for him before she got up. She grabbed her pistol, and headed inside without another word, not even speaking to the other man. She didn't want any part of this any more. She wanted to go home and just sleep forever. The girl sat down and messed with the gun, her hair in her face as she tried to relax enough so that she didn't try to shoot the man in the face.

"So, you just shoot whoever comes near your place, even when your expecting someone?"
She asked sarcastically, her eyes cold and grey as she looked up at the man. She was looking at him the same way she looked at the German soldiers. Like the enemy. He was her enemy at the moment, and as she messed with the gun, she couldn't help but imagine her blowing his head off his shoulders.
"What was the assignment?"
She asked sullenly, knowing that no matter what, she wanted no part of it. Not unless Corporal Howlett rose from the grave and told her that he needed her to stop being such a cry baby.
 
"No. Of course I don't shoot everyone that comes near my place. I didn't shoot you, did I?" The Englishman shuffled in his seat, leaning a little closer to Marla and watching what she was doing. His eyes seemed to have trouble focusing on one thing, as if they were twitching constantly in minute bursts from left to right -- almost unnoticeable unless you were close enough to look at it. Whether he was on something medically, or had some kind of problem, it wasn't clear. What was clear, however, was that he had just made this mission a hell of a lot harder than it was. Now they were one man down, and Marla appeared to be completely out the game now. No longer interested in continuing.

"The assignment was simple. Find you. Rescue you. Find the package. Escape with the package. Bring it here. Whether or not you survived the escape wasn't important. No offence." Henry spoke, showing her a smile that could be taken in a number of ways. "But as long as we have the package, that's the main thing. You... do have the package, don't you Marla?" He asked, standing up and retrieving his weapon from the table once more. The contact tapped it against his trouser leg, walking towards her.
He could tell from just looking at her that she didn't have it. Her hands weren't carrying a locked case -- apart from the gun, they were empty. What Marla didn't know, was if she chose to go home now... she was going to have to walk it by herself.
 
As he spoke, she could feel herself getting more and more angry. He didn't shoot her. Oh goody, now she got to live through this knowing that because of her, somebody died. Yeah, it was her fault, or at least thats how she saw it. She heard the way he talked about the assignment was typical of most soldiers she met. To the point and all about the mission. Whatever, she wasn't in the right state of mind to even think about this. When he asked about the package however, her rage increased ten fold, and she couldn't help but see red.

"Oh, you want the package? Well you know who knew where it was? That guy!"
She stood up suddenly, pointing out at the Corporal before marching over angrily. For the first time, she wasn't pretending to be a tough girl. She was tough.
"He risked his life for me! He found out where the package was and took me here without getting a scratch on him. And then you fucking shoot him? You knew people where coming here!"
She was screaming at this point and when she finally did stop, she was seething. She stormed off back to the chair, taking slow deep breaths as she tried to calm herself down. Marla finally got herself under control enough to look up at him, give him a sarcastic smile before speaking softly and slowly. It was finally clear why her commanding officer had sent her. She had the tenacity that was required of a soldier, and she was tenacious, alright.
"What do we do now? I don't know where we're going. I don't know where the package is. We're just... fucked."
 
She was angry. He let her rant, and scream, and shout and swear. Letting her get all the emotion out, until finally she sat back down quietly and calmly. Back to a normal level of conversation. Returning to his own chair once more, he leaned forward and rocked it a couple of times, thinking to himself, until he finally stopped to speak. "OK. OK. So we don't have the package. We don't know where the package is. Right. And we've lost a man." Henry said it as if he had been killed by the enemy, when in fact it was their very own side that had murdered him. "Not to worry." The Englishman smiled, as if it didn't bother him in the slightest.

"Just makes things a lot harder, doesn't it?" The Englishman pushed the hair away from his eyes, brushing it to the side of his head where it remained for now. He couldn't have been any older than thirty-five, although his eyes appeared as if they were desperate for sleep -- a few permanent lines decorating the skin beneath them. "But not impossible. After all... I found out where you were, didn't I?" Henry smiled, revealing if it wasn't for him, she would still be in that prison cell. Of course, it was also down to Logan.

Walking over to an old-fashioned desk, he pushed a few bits of rubbish off the top to reveal a large map of the area. There were many arrows and notes scribbled on top, including an arrow pointing to the town she had came from which read Location of Pilot?.
Henry looked up, and pressed his index finger against another town, a few miles from here. "This, Miss Hunt, is where your package is."
 
Marla sat back in her chair, pulling her knees to her chest and hugging herself gently as she listened to him speak. It was true. Without the Corporal, it would be far more difficult for them to do anything, now that he wasn't here. He had this drive about him, plus, he seemed to actually enjoy what he did. And boy, was he good at it. As he said that he had found her, she immediately looked up at him with wide eyes. Wait, so he had known where she was and sent Jim to get her? As he started moving things off the desk, she got up, instantly intrigued by what he was doing.

She walked over, the girl looking at the map in awe as she stood there. She couldn't believe it. She still didn't like this man, but maybe he could still get her home if she played nice with him. When he pointed to the new location, she looked up at him, crossing her arm as she started to speak.
"And you can get it back? And get me back home to give it to my commanding officer?"
It was clear she wasn't playing games with this. Oh no, if this wasn't 110% positive that he could get her that package back, then she was not doing it.

Her attention then went to Jim, and she bit her lip gently before looking away from him. She walked back towards the chair and sat down, taking another few seconds to compose herself before she spoke.
"And we have to bury him before we leave. Otherwise, I don't go."
She looked back up at the man, showing that while she did mean what she said, that she wasn't really all the confident in her own abilities. After all, if she didn't go with him, she knew she's be on her own to get home, and she wasn't sure she could do that. Plus, she was a prisoner of war, which meant that people were probably looking for her, and if she asked the wrong person how to get out of the country, well, she might end up right back in that tiny little cell.
 
"Well... I'm not going to guarantee that I can get it back. And I'm not going to guarantee that I can get you home either." Henry looked to her. "But we'll give them both a shot though, won't we?" Once again, he spoke in an unusual tone of enjoyment -- as if he wasn't actually aware of the serious consequences of failure. Death. Or maybe he was. All-in-all, Major Henry Low was a peculiar man. It was possibly the reason why the British had assigned him to this role since the middle of the war a few years ago. Living isolated, and tasked with keeping surveillance on the entire surrounding area. He would spend his time watching troop movements through binoculars, studying where each truck was going and noting it down.
Henry had even watched the entire incident of her plane crash, and the Germans coming to take her to the village where she had been kept prisoner for those many months. Unfortunately for her, he was only able to get so close before he would have been caught as well. The location of the package was a guess, though he wasn't going to tell her that. But Henry was smart, and had a knack for predicting things. They'd realise soon enough if he was right.

"I'll bury him. Don't you worry about that. I won't let the old chap rot away in front of my door." The Englishman said, as she went back to her original position. "There's a bath in that room next to you. Have a wash, then get some sleep for a few hours. You look like you could do with a long, comfortable rest in a proper bed for a change." He nodded towards the single bed in the corner. The blankets didn't look all that welcoming, but it was a hell of a lot better than a cobble-stoned floor in some dark, damp cell. "I'll get everything prepared."
 
When he told her he'd take care of the body, she nodded, feeling grateful that at least she wouldn't have to do it. She could sleep and take a real bath and try and relax after so many months of torture. God, it would be incredible. Slowly, the girl went outside for the last time, kneeling down and gently getting the jacket off of his body before patting his chest gently.
"Rest easy, Corporal."
With that, she went back inside, started running the bath, and got undressed. The girl brushed off the slightly dirty jacket, knowing that it was big enough to cover her while she slept and be very comfortable. She must of stayed in that bath tub for a good forty or forty five minutes before she finally got out. The girl dried off, and slipped the Corporal's jacket on, the girl's beauty being restored immediately once she was completely clean. And once she got into the bed, it was incredible. It was amazingly comfortable. Well, after what she had been sleeping on for the last few months, this was heaven.

It seemed moments after hitting the sheets, she passed out, dead to the world. She was curled up under several blankets, and a smile actually came to her face while she slept. All the tension and worry she had been carrying disappeared into thin air as she slept, and one thing was for sure. Marla wasn't going to wake up anytime soon, unless she was woken up. And strangely, for someone who was so traumatized during the last few months, she didn't even have one nightmare. No, her dreams were peaceful, and when the girl woke up, she'd be ready for almost anything.
 
She was in the bathroom for a long while, although it was understandable of course. Although he guessed that she might have washed herself briefly in the stream about ten miles north of here, that bath was probably the first time she had had a proper wash since her capture. He wasn't going to pester her to hurry up, after all he had just shot and killed the man that had saved her. And Marla hadn't taken it quite well either.

Henry sat for a while, watching her sleep, almost with fascination. She didn't stir, she didn't do anything to suggest hat she'd been a prisoner of war. No, the smile on her face said it all. A comfortable bed and a soldier on the same side watching over her. Now if he could just get her back to the United States, he figured that would be the end of it. A few hours passed, and he started getting ready. Henry didn't need a rest, he was always wide awake. Hell, he hadn't used that bed for days and yet he didn't feel tired one bit. It was one possible reason for his slightly eccentric behaviour.

As the young pilot awoke from her slumber, Henry was once more standing by the desk with the map on top, running his hand across the arrows and various other decorations that he'd marked on to it. "Two patrols on this side, another three here. Trucks go in and out along this road."
Then -- another voice. Something familiar. It came from a man standing right next to the English Major; a soldier slightly shorter -- and hairier. "So we'll need a truck. Where am I gonna find one of them, bub?"
 
Marla must have slept through the entire rest of the night, and when she woke up, she looked absolutely breathtaking. The grogginess made her eyes squint slightly, and she sat up in bed slowly and stretched slightly. The uniform jacket didn't moved much as she got up, the girl walking back into the bathroom to actually get herself dressed again. All the while, not even noticing people were in the same room with her. The water in the bathroom ran for a minute as she rinsed out her mouth and washed off her face, the girl fixing her hair as she stood up straight and sighed. She felt much better now that she had gotten some good rest and cleaned off. No all she had to do was lost the guilt she felt for the Corporal's death.

As she headed out of the bathroom, she noticed there was another man standing with Major Low, and she stared at him for a moment before shaking her head and sighing softly. She walked over, grabbed her gun, and then proceeded to lay back down on the bed as she glanced over at the Major and his new friend.
"Do we have a plan?"
She asked sternly, spinning the gun around her finger once before laying it flat on her stomach. She could have still slept, but she wasn't comfortable. Not now that this strange man was standing there. But as she heard his voice, she couldn't help but look over at him, rubbing her eyes gently before shaking her head and laughing at herself.
"Don't be a psycho, Mar."
She muttered, rolling onto her side gently to watch the two men speak. After all, she probably wouldn't be much help until they had a plan, so it was best to just stay quiet and out of the way while they figured everything out. Meanwhile, she'd try to get another few minutes of rest.
 
Marla was ignored, by both men at the desk. They were too busy discussing what was going to happen to even notice that she had came over to pick up her gun, the went back to the bed and lay back down on it. They never fought with one another, Logan's claws remained inside of his forearms and it was any wonder why he hadn't sliced the Englishman's hand off for shooting him in the head. It hadn't left a nice picture at all, but thankfully it had repaired itself completely.
For Logan, returning for the dead was still a little rusty. Sure, he would recover, but small injuries were quicker to heal than brain injuries. That required restarting the brain, and his healing ability needed a little practice at it. However, Wolverine wasn't going to deliberately intend to give it any.

"There's the truck depot. Right there. Steal one of them... bring it back here... and we'll all ride in to the castle and get that package of ours." Henry folded his arms, looking over Logan's shoulder towards the woman on the bed. Obviously, she hadn't realised that her Canadian friend was back from the dead yet, and he was curious to see her reaction. "You might want to find yourself another uniform as well. That one you've got on has bits of brain stuck on it." Henry whispered, whisking away some of the dead Wolverine away from the collar. The jacket that Marla had taken wasn't much better either, and Henry didn't have any spare to give him.
 
Marla paid a bit more attention then she had been previously to the strangely familiar man. It was bothering her. A lot actually. He had the same messy look to him, talked in the same way, and was hunched over, all like Jim. But she had watched him get shot in the head. He had died, right? Her head was swimming in thoughts, so she felt it was best she immerse herself in the task at hand, and not what had happened. She stood up and tucked the gun into the waistband of her pants, the girl walking over slowly before looking up at Henry.
"Aren't you going to introduce me to-"

The girl stopped dead in her tracks as she looked at the man in front of her, her jaw dropping slightly as she took a step closer to him. Slowly, and sort of childishly, she reached out and poked him in the middle of the forehead where the bullet hole had been. Her eyes met his, and it was clear that she was a little bit rattled.
"You... died..."
She said meekly, letting her hand fall back down by her side as she tried to figure out what she was supposed to do. This was impossible! He was dead. She knew he was dead from the second he got shot. It was clear. His eyes had been lifeless. Like, was dead. Yet here he was. Standing there as if nothing happened. She didn't know whether to start crying, or to shoot him again because of the face that he was alive like some sort of zombie. Marla slowly walked over to the nearest seat, sitting down and leaning her head into her hands as she spoke softly.
"I'm very confused...."
 
Logan's eyes followed her finger as she pressed it against where the wound used to be. There wasn't any hint of a hole, as if it had never existed. If someone hadn't seen him being shot, they would never have guessed. When she retreated to the chair, the Canadian followed her, crouching down in front of her feet and looking up to her head held in her hands. "You were right. Earlier on... when you said I wasn't like any other soldier you'd met before. That's 'cause every other soldier that gets shot in the head doesn't get back up. Believe me, this isn't the first time I've came back from the dead. And I'm not a zombie." He added, as if she wasn't the only person that he'd met that thought that about his strange recovery.

He didn't waste any time in explaining why he was alive again, he left it up to her imagination. Standing back up, he looked over at Henry and nodded his head. "So we're sorted then? Get a truck, and try and bluff our way in to the castle?"
The Englishman nodded in agreement. "That's the plan."
Wolverine rolled up the sleeves of his German shirt, and rubbed his hands together. "OK. Then make sure you're ready to go when I come back." He quickly glanced at Marla, then headed for the door. There was no certainty that even with uniforms and a German truck, that they'd get access through the castle walls. It's take a lot of "And one last thing. You're the one that's drivin' the truck and gettin' us inside." The Canadian said, closing the door behind him.
 
When he crouched down in front her her, she slowly moved her hands to either side of her head, looking into his eyes for a moment as she tried to get herself sorted out. Okay, this wasn't a big deal. He died, and now he was fine. If anything, it should have made it that much easier for her to just blow off everything that had happened last night and start over again. But, this was really strange for her. However, when he reassured her that he was fine, and that this wasn't just some fluke, she laughed softly and smiled at him.
"You should really let people know before hand that 'Hey, if I die, don't freak out cause I'll be back in the morning."

As he walked away, the girl crossed her legs and rested her head against the back of the chair, listening to their wonderful effective sounding plan. Yeah, wonderful if you were a German soldier! They weren't going to believe that these two men, who were strange enough on their own, and this woman were German soldiers and let them right in to the castle. Plus, she certainly didn't speak much German, maybe a few phrases, but she also highly doubted that either the Corporal or Major Low spoke it very effectively.

She had no time to say anything to add to the plan, Jim was already getting ready for whatever action he'd be seeing while he was gone. Then, he said the words that threw her once again into a slight panic.
"Wait, who's driving? I thought females weren't even supposed to fly!"
She called out, laughing slightly from the conversation they had had on the walk up here. However, she didn't actually know if he had been talking to her, or Henry, but it didn't matter too much. They'd find out in a little while.

She had come up with her own opinion of why he didn't carry a weapon, and although it was perhaps a reason he didn't, it wasn't the reason. She thought that since, well, he could come back from being dead, that it didn't matter if he got shot down by the enemy. He'd wake up in a few hours, and continue on with his mission or whatever it was that he was assigned to do at any given time. But she had no idea about the other shock she'd learn about him eventually, even after seeing multiple bodies with stab wounds. It just, for some reason, didn't seem all the strange to her.
 
Once again, it was just the two of them left in the house in the middle of nowhere. Unlike before, Corporal Jim Howlett was no longer dead. It wouldn't take him long to steal a truck, and eliminate anyone that might attempt to follow him. And with a set of wheels, the journey would be much quicker as well. Henry was thinking of getting some kind of transport for himself, as it would shorten his commuting times by a great deal. He didn't make the map and notes on it by just sitting around and watching from a distance -- it also required adventuring about the local area.

"Don't worry, he won't be expecting you to drive the car and talk to the Germans. He thinks I'll make it up to killing him if I do the hard part. I can pull off a German soldier pretty well, in case you're wondering." Since she woke up, Henry didn't seem to move at all from the map or that position on the floor next to it. Like his boots were nailed to the ground. "I realised I might have been a little rude earlier on. What with murdering your friend and all. In all that excitement, I forgot to introduce myself. My name's Major Henry Low, British Intelligence. We hired Corporal Howlett because he came with a good reputation. No we know why that reputation seems to last so long. Handy little skill to have, don't you think? I wouldn't mind having it myself from time to time." He spoke with an accent that was typical of upper-class British officers of the time, almost stereotypical by today's standards. However, when it came to speaking in German, it was almost impossible to tell he was a foreigner.

Logan came back through the door much quicker than Henry was expecting, standing there in a fresh uniform and a helmet to once more disguise that wild hair of his. "The truck's outside. There's the keys." A flash of metal flew through the air, landing in the palm of the Englishman's left hand.
"Wonderful. Now all we need is a set of credentials. A little piece of paper to give us access to the castle."
The Canadian frowned, walking towards the man. "What? You said we didn't need anything."
"Yeah, well I lied. Or -- I forgot to mention it. Or maybe I just didn't want to mention it? Take one thing at at time, and we'll get there in the end. So the papers, eh? I'd say your best bet would be to have a little chat with my good friend Przemyslaw Szymanski. His farm is right here." Once more, a finger pointed on a location quite a distance south of Henry's house. "You might want to take the young lady with you for some company. It's a long drive."
 
"Good, because uh... well, I don't drive very well. And by very well, I mean I've never actually driven a car before."
The girl smiled slightly and stood up, walking over to him and looking at the map carefully. She wanted to get a feel for where she was, and where they were in the country. As he spoke about being a bit rude and hiring Corporal Howlett, she smiled, nodding slightly as she traced over where she had been kept on the map.
"I'm sorry for almost shooting you... It's just... well, he saved me, and I didn't know he... couldn't die."
It seemed that she still wasn't all there yet. First of all, she was still waking up. But secondly, she was still getting used to the fact that he could die and the come back. She shook her head slightly though as he said he'd like to have the power, the girl strongly disagreeing as she looked up at him.
"I wouldn't. It must hurt... a lot. And to have to go through that multiple times in your lifetime, well, it doesn't sound too fun."

Time passed quicker than usual it seemed, and when Jim came back through the door, the girl leapt up to her feet as if she was getting ready to take off. But upon seeing who it was, she laughed softly at her nervousness and sat back down, crossing her legs as she ran a hand back through her hair. She watched the keys fly into the Major's hand, the girl standing up as Jim got annoyed at the fact that they'd need something else. The girl just let out a soft chuckle, shaking her head before standing at their sides. She saw how far away he'd have to go, and then when he said she should go with him, she smiled and nodded.

Marla felt like part of an actual group, instead of just the lone pilot that most of the other men had ignored when she was at a base. She gently took the keys from the man, smiling before tossing them to Jim. She then headed towards the door, grabbing the extra, still dirty jacket that she had taken off of him before when he was still dead. She figured that if worst came to worst, they'd be able to use it for something. She turned around and leaned against the wall gently, shoving her hands in her pockets gently before speaking softly.
"We better get moving then, huh?"
Her curly, dark hair fell into her eyes, the pale skin across her nose spotted with freckles, which became more apparent as the sunlight hit her face. How this girl even got into the military was beyond anyones comprehension after just looking at her, since she looked so terribly sweet and innocent. But if you got to know her at all, you knew exactly how she had.
 
The Canadian looked at the location of the farm, and memorised it. There was a map in the truck anyway, so if the worst came to it, then at least they had something to look at. As long as Marla could read a map, then they were fine. And he figured she probably could, if she was a pilot of all things. Taking the keys from her, he gave a sarcastic wave goodbye to Henry, and opened the driver's door, climbing up the step to get in. The German truck was one of thousands that had been brought in to service in the recent year, space for two to sit in the front while the soft-top back could sit either ten soldiers (or eight comfortably) or a few dozen crates and cargo. In this particular truck, the rear was empty.

Starting the engine, he first reversed a few yards, before changing the gear and turning the wheel to the right, taking the truck down the small slope and steering on to the main road. It beat walking, definitely. The journey time between having to walk to the truck compound, and coming back in the vehicle was almost a quarter, if not less. Why the hell did Henry not have some kind of car to begin with?
"There's some rounds for your handgun in a box underneath your seat. Better take a few." Wolverine suggested, although he didn't want to frighten the girl in to the thought that she might actually have to use it. If there was anyone that was going to have to do the fighting, he wanted it to be him instead of her. He had more experience, he wasn't going to bottle it or start panicking if they got surrounded. "I'm not gonna lie to you, darlin', but I'm startin' to get sick of this entire mission." He looked over and let a small fraction of a laugh come from the back of his throat, which was more like a sharp exhale of breath. "If we don't find Stanger or the package in this castle, I'm gonna take off this jacket and walk home."

He wasn't actually, Logan himself knew that he would see this thing through to the end. He just hoped that what ever was inside this box was actually worth all the hassle and danger that they were going through.
It was then that when looking at her, he noticed something different. Maybe it was because the dirt and grime of war had been washed away from her youthful face, showing the beauty of a woman that shouldn't be here. Shouldn't be in that uniform, pretending to be something she wasn't. "You're lookin' a little fresher since the last time I saw you."
 
"I think I was tired of this mission six months ago."
She said with a smile, looking over at him in sheer amazement. He was fine. He didn't have problems with his motor functions, or with speaking. He was in perfect condition. Maybe she was dwelling on it too much, but it was just incredible. She knew he had to be one of those people who could do things to no one else could, and it made her extremely curious and intrigued. Marla reached under the seat, grabbing the box of ammunition before pulling the gun out of her waist band. She filled the chamber up fully, not really having too much of a problem with the weapon. The gun didn't really scare her honestly. Hell, the thought of shooting someone didn't scare her at all even. It was the noise and the kickback. Every time the girl had ever shot a gun(all of four times), she would fumble and drop it. The gun in the plane hadn't scared her; it actually was kind of fun to shoot it, but there was something about a real one going off that made her jumpy.

As he spoke of walking back home, she laughed a bit, pulling her knees to her chest gently as she leaned against the door of the truck gently. She had a feeling that he wouldn't, though. He seemed determined in everything he did, and hell, if there was time to stop and give up on a mission, it was after you were shot, killed, and then came back from the dead. Because for her, that seemed like the perfect time to tell everybody to bug off. Thats when she looked up at him and noticed he was looking at her. At his words, she laughed and nodded, laying her head on her knees gently as she nodded gently.
"Yeah, I got to take an actual bath and sleep somewhere besides the floor."

Marla looked over at him for another few seconds, smiling slightly and for seemingly no reason before she looked out the window. Any other situation that would have brought her here would have been amazing. The rural areas weren't too effected by the war, so they just looked... gorgeous. Any other time, she would have been the happiest girl on earth. Still, though, she wasn't miserable. At least not yet. Maybe ni a few hours, depending on how long they were stuck in this truck.
"Excuse me for asking but... have you ever... you know... been killed before?"
She asked timidly, not wanting to offend him or anything. But it was just so interesting to her, and she couldn't help herself.
 
During the breaks in conversation, Logan was thinking the exact same thoughts as her. The hills, the landscape, it was hard to imagine that in other places of Europe, there had been a bloody war that had claimed millions of lives. The destruction that had been left, would be seen and remembered for years to come. Things would never go back to the way they were, a war of that magnitude had never been seen before. Was it possibly a sign of things to come? That the world was changing too fast, and there were too many people out there with conflicting views and ways of living? Germany wasn't finished by any stretch, they were still just as powerful as they once were. While the war was on hold for now, it was only a matter of time before it resumed even bigger than before. Weapons were evolving, warfare was different. Trenches had been dug over every mile of Europe, yet the frontline was always changing. Static battles were gone. There were new things in the battlefield now. Tanks. Big mechanical beasts, almost impossible to stop. Made of metal and grinding across everything in its path, whether it be fences or bones.

Wolverine had seen a few during his time in the war. And they were horrible things. Machine guns poking out of almost every side. He'd even seen one with a massive cannon on top, the ones you found on the end of artillery guns. They had been built as anti-infantry weapons, allowing the armies to traverse through barbed wire. But now they were growing and getting stronger, and soon there would be tank battles across the beautiful European continent. The horror.
Then came the question that he had been asked before. It was normal for her to be curious about his gift, it wasn't every day you met someone that could die and re-animate in about twelve hours. The thing was, he was getting faster. His body was adapting to the injuries, and what used to take a few days was now taking a few hours. Maybe one day, he would be murdered and then back up on his feet in the same hour? Maybe less? It was a strange thought indeed.
"Yeah. A few times." Wolverine said through gritted teeth, reliving most of them. A few times wasn't the truth, it had been more than that. But he didn't need reminding of it. "It's not always as quick as a shot to the head, either." He left it at that, missing out all the gory details.
 
"And you always heal?"
The girl asked softly, looking over at him and studying him for a moment. She wanted to try and figure out how he had been killed before, but the morbid thought was pushed aside as he said it wasn't as quick as a shot to the head every time. That thought made her grimace slightly, the girl sighing softly and reaching over. She patted his leg gently and reassuringly, trying to convey to him that she felt bad and was sorry for what had happened. Not so much the gift, she actually thought that aspect was sort of cool, but more the pain of said gift. She then moved back to her side of the truck cab, the girl shutting her eyes half tired as she pulled the extra jacket over and folded it up to the the cleanest part would touch her. She leaned against the window with the jacket as a pillow, her knees getting pulled up under her slowly as she looked at her hands slowly and carefully.

"Is the front line scary?"
Marla slowly glanced over at him, moving so that she had her back to the door again as she spoke. She looked over him slowly, smiling slightly again as she shut her eyes and relaxed against the door of the truck, thinking about it for a few minutes before shaking her head.
"I couldn't do that. I can barely do this, for Christ's sake. Sometime, I wonder why I even wanted to do this. I hate heights, so flying a plane was strangely terrifying, but so exciting. I thought that maybe, if I had the plane, I'd have a leg up and be able to finally prove to every one that I could do things besides sew and clean. But I forgot about the whole crashing and being captured possibility."
She let out a slight laugh before smiling a little bit as she thought. It had bothered her for the longest time that her mother and father praised her brothers so much, but it was just expected of her to act a certain way. It drove her absolutely insane, and she had to prove to them she could do just as much as they could, just as well. Even if in reality, she couldn't.
"Oh well though. Hopefully we'll get this mystery box back and be able to get it into the right hands fairly easily."
 
"The front line's horrible. I'm not gonna paint it up with pretty colours and pretend that bad things don't happen on it. I've saw guys get blown apart so bad that their body parts are never found." Logan began telling her the tales of the battlefield, but he realised that it was probably something she didn't want to hear. The last thing he wanted to imprint on her mind was all the horror and violence of people being shot and killed, hundreds of men running towards a single machine gun with absolutely no chance of surviving. Why the Officers thought it'd be a good idea, he'd never know. Most of the men didn't even get to see their murderer. Just the buzzing and flashing of the weapon mowing them down.
Then she began talking about herself, her story about her flying. "So what happens when you get back home?" He decided to sound positive, and use when instead of if. "You might have a hard time convincing your superiors to let you back on a plane." It was unfortunate, but he was probably telling the truth. In these present times, women were restricted to what they were allowed to do. And they had made an exception with her -- and it resulted in the worst possible scenario. Her crashing the plane. Or rather, being shot down. But it was all the same thing to them -- hearing what they wanted to hear. Looking for an excuse.

A short while passed, and although the conversation continued a little bit, it started to dry off eventually. At least for Jim. Marla may have spoken a little more, but by this point the Canadian soldier was killing most of it with distracted answers. They were beginning to pass territory which had a significant German presence in it. Every so often, they'd drive passed a couple of German soldiers and his eyes would wander to the mirrors to make sure they weren't signaling for him to stop. Henry hadn't mentioned that this place would be crawling with the enemy.
"Just keep quiet. Look smart." He muttered to the girl, although he didn't need to say it. She was smart. Knew the script. Wolverine parked the truck just outside the farmhouse, jumping out of the vehicle. "Better come inside with me." Logan commented, adjusting his helmet to keep up the disguise.
 
"I admit to my dad that he was right, again, and go back to being ignored like usual. There's nothing I can do. It wouldn't matter if it wasn't my fault or it was, I'll never be able to do anything but nursing again in the military."
It seemed like it was a stab in the back for the girl, and why wouldn't it have been? If she had been a man, she would have been given another plane and thanked for her bravery. Instead, her whole ordeal would be ignored, and she'd never get to help again. And the worst part was that there wasn't a damn thing she could do about it. Besides accept it, that is. As they drove, she could tell Jim wasn't a huge talker, and so she shut her mouth for awhile and relaxed into the door. She actually drifted off for awhile, but when they started to get into a more populated area, she woke up and looked out the window calmly. Well, calmly on the outside. Inside, she was a trembling bundle of nerves that wanted to cry and hide.

As if reading her nervousness, he told her to keep quiet and be smart, and she nodded before looking at him. Something about him made her feel incredibly safe, but she had no idea what. Just... something. So she trusted that he'd keep her safe and get her home, even though she had never heard him say so. Marla looked around as they came to a stop, the girl finding a helmet under the seat as reached under it. She pulled her hair up, placing the helmet down so it kept her hair looking like it was short. The only problem, once again, was her chest, but there was nothing she could do about it now. She'd have to hope no one noticed, or that no one really cared that she was a woman.

Marla slid out of the truck behind him, landing on her feet gently after the solid foot drop. She looked up at him, helmet too big and covering her eyes slightly as she looked into his eyes.
"You think my chest is going to be a problem?"
She asked softly and somewhat shyly, trying to pull the jacket tighter to it compressed her upper body some, but to no avail.
 
Status
Not open for further replies.
Back
Top Bottom