Sheena Island

Disclaimer: I do not own the Incredibles or Kingdom Hearts. The characters of Xi and Althea Delgado, as well as the sisters known as Trinity and their baby brother Claudius belong to Red Witch. I was watching Eurotrip when I wrote part of this story, can't you tell.

Summary: When raiding a COBRA base somewhere in the Atlantic, a group of X-men and Misfits find themselves stranded in the Incredibles' world and trapped between two warring sides and the Heartless...

---

0200 Hours: The cold, forbidding ocean air bit into the exposed face of Mikhail Greigarovich as he surveyed the distant island. The deck of the trawler below his feet rocked and pitched with the waves. The thick coat and warm clothing he wore provided some comfort, as did the coffee now pooling in his midsection. Within half an hour the captain and crew would abandon their vessel, leaving it to drift on the waves.

There was only one thing to do now. To await the signal. "Comrade Major…" came a voice.

Without turning around, Griegarovich knew that was the voice of Senior Lieutenant Valery Michkin. The lieutenant handed him a folded piece of paper. Greigarovich unfolded the paper, scanning the one word message: 'Decapitation'.

The big Russian bear of a man turned towards Michkin, "Tell the men to get ready, and prepare the charges, I want to give the enemy a surprise when he searches this 'derelict' boat."

"Yes Comrade Major." Michkin replied, the smaller man from the Kamchatka Peninsula walked below decks into a storm of activity.

Already the NCOs and sergeants were moving amongst the other sailors who were readying weapons, food, fuel, ordnance, and communication equipment for departure. Two working parties were already heading to the weather deck, to start unrolling the two large Zodiac inflatable rafts which would carry them to shore.

Two enlisted men were carrying the outboard motors that would power these Zodiacs towards the distant coastline. A sailor walked past Michkin with a muttered greeting, carrying several AK-74 assault rifles slung on his shoulders.

An officer saluted him and said, "Comrade Michkin, the men are ready to deploy."

"Good Comrade Andropov. In twenty minutes assemble on the main deck and deploy the boats." Michkin ordered.

"We have already rigged the trawler to explode, as the Major instructed." Junior Lieutenant Nikolai Andropov, one of the two most junior officers of Naval Spetsnaz detachment 3-G-14.

"Our primary objective is to neutralize the coastal command and control facility." Michkin replied, "Once it is disabled, the approaches to Metroville's Eastern Coast will be open for the Landing Force. We must take the Island swiftly and with violence. We cannot allow them to contact the mainland and alert Metroville Central Command and allow them to fire Omnidroids into the Motherland."

"Yes Comrade." Andropov replied.

"We give our lives for the Motherland." Michkin intoned.

"For the Motherland." Andropov replied.

Michkin left to go back on deck as the waves tossed the trawler about it. Andropov took in the sight of the troops he would serve alongside. They were the elite among the elite of the Soviet Union's armed forces. They were athletes of Olympic caliber, runners, swimmers, champion weight lifters, wrestlers, boxers, marksmen, and track and field athletes. They had visited west of the 'Iron Curtain' at least once in their careers, when Olympic games were held. At least half of them had visited Metroville in that capacity before. Now that knowledge would be put to use.

Grenades, ammunition, water, rations, and the radios were passed out among the spetsnazmen before they went topside. The inflated Zodiacs were now lowered into the water, supplies already stocked onboard them.

Two rope ladders were dropped over each side of the trawler as the commandoes lowered themselves into the boats. As soon as the last man was about to disembark, he set the timer for the explosive charges in the hold and around the fuel tanks. The two boats glided across the waves and through the sheets of rain...

---

Private Kyle Green scowled as he pulled the hood of his rain poncho tighter. The damn rain was falling in sheets, it was fucking cold outside, and the wind was cutting through his field gray uniform. There was no way in hell the Russians would come in this weather. If anything else they'd come across the land border, they didn't have a Navy worth a damn according to Billy, a fellow soldier on this godforsaken rock of an island about as appealing as Alcatraz. He had no idea how wrong he was and that he would not be around long enough to learn from his mistake.

From behind him two figures wearing rebreather rigs and masks rose silently from the surf zone while his back was turned. One of them reached behind his back and flung something in Green's direction.

Spinning through the air was an entrenching spade. Fifty centimeters long, with a wooden handle and a solid steel rectangular blade, it spiraled end over end, whatever sound it would have made masked by wind and rain. The spade's head was 15 centimeters wide and 18 centimeters long, each of three edges sharp as a knife. It spun inexorably toward the space between Private Green's shoulder blades.

When the hell is Matt coming over here to relieve me? I've been out here for six hours now, Matt's taking his own sweet time...Green thought a millisecond before the spade bit into his spinal column.

Green's legs jerked out from underneath him as he collapsed to his knees gasping. His fall continued down onto the wet sand. By the time blood flowed and his legs bucked on the sand Green's mind was almost entirely dead, but his body hadn't entirely accepted the fact. His eyes sent one final image to his dying brain, a single Russian soldier running noiselessly across the sand, his Kalashnikov automatic at the ready, stopping only to pull his spade from Green's shoulder blades.

Yuri Valenki signaled by lighting his flashlight with one short flash and two long flashes, the international Morse signal for 'W'. Before the Zodiacs even beached the Russian soldiers disembarked into hip deep water, running ashore, weapons aimed inland while others hid the boats inside a derelict boat house.

---

The Coastal Command and Control facility was a compound surrounded by a twelve foot high electrified fence with coils of concertina wire on top. Armed sentries and crew served weapons protected the most vulnerable points, with concrete pillboxes and attendant machineguns protecting its two entrance gates. The base commander, Colonel Berwick had often said that his base was invulnerable to infiltration and assault.

This dark and stormy night, a unit of the Russian Naval Spetsnaz commandoes were closing silently and swiftly on their position. Running noiselessly just below the crest of a nearby hill ran part of Spetsnaz detachment 3-G-14.

The men dropped to the ground, aiming their weapons at the facility before firing barbed projectiles with ropes attached from shotguns into the highest buildings of the compound. Meanwhile a supply truck wound down the road towards the main gate. The driver and his passenger were both other members of 3-G-14, because the truck had been stopped and the driver and passenger disposed of.

Snipers with telescopic night sights on their Dragunov SVD rifles were already focusing their crosshairs on heads and hearts of sentries on the perimeter.

Private First Class Will Gordon stopped the supply truck as it headed towards the entry point. "State your business." He asked of the driver.

"Delivering parts for the heating system." The driver said with a clipped tone.

Gordon turned to his supervisor, who nodded and he let the vehicle pass, "Stay dry." Gordon replied.

PFC Gordon did not realize he had just let in a truck that contained fifteen spetsnaz infiltrators. It would be the last mistake of his life.

On the taut ropes from the hill nearest the base a dozen spetsnazmen slid down towards the compound...

Sergeant Rack looked up from the patrol report he had been reading to rest his eyes, as he did by force of habit. I'll be needing granny glasses before I'm twenty-five. The sergeant thought.

"Squinting already sarge." Private Dan Bailey said.

Damn kid. Always been a wise-ass, snide little prick since he came here. Rack thought irritably.

"Getting old?" Dan Bailey taunted.

Sergeant Rack grumbled and looked back at his reports, seeing the letters blur a little before looking up again. He looked up just in time to see a shadowy figure in a camouflage pattern he recognized as Russian. He barely had time to register the sight before the booted feet of the Russian commando struck him in the chest.

Private Bailey reached for his sidearm and had it half out before the Russian commando raised an assault shotgun and fired a single round into his chest, propelling the unruly nineteen year old out of a glass window, causing him to fall three stories to his death. Had the private not been killed by the burst of buckshot, he would doubtlessly been killed by the fall.

PFC Gordon heard glass breaking behind him. He turned to look and thus carried out the last action of his life. A single 7.62 rimmed bullet tore into his head, just below the brow of his black helmet, splattering blood, bone fragments, and brain into the back of the piece of headgear.

Gordon's supervisor turned to look for the threat a half second before a second bullet tore into his throat. Before the machine gunner in the pillbox could get to the weapon a third bullet tore through his head.

Corporal Dunlop heard the cracks that sounded distinctly like gunfire from the front gate. He turned in time to see PFC Gordon slump dead to the ground. A hand jerked his head back and a second hand slashed a knife across his throat and he fell down the stairwell, his neck spurting blood as he gurgled his last breaths.

From below the stairwell, a trio of spetsnazmen armed with AK-74s and a silenced AKM-47 rushed up the stairs to secure the control tower. A guard standing around the corner heard the thud just in time to be struck under the chin by an AK-74 swung by a spetsnazman that came low underneath his line of sight from behind a stack of barrels.

Meanwhile Private Bart Stevens turned towards his partner, Private Josh Hill. "Sucks to pull duty in the rain."

"Yeah, I hear what you mean." Hill replied.

From behind a concrete post Sergeant Igor Voronezh raised his P6 silenced pistol. He came out from behind the post, weapon at the ready and snapped off a single shot at Hill, drilling him through the throat.

Bart Stevens reached for his own sidearm as the hulking, bearded Russian soldier, face smeared with black face paint, turned towards him, leveling the silenced pistol. The sound of Bart Stevens' death was barely louder than a BB gun. Voronezh fired a single round that drilled Stevens right below the nose. Bart was dead long before he hit the ground. Voronezh kept scanning for more enemy troops, while quietly admiring his handiwork. Having won the Gold medal in the rapid fire meter pistol competition at the Olympics years before, two fifteen meter rapid fire shots were a non-issue.

Colonel Berwick heard the rapping on his door. He opened the door just in time to see the bespectacled Lieutenant Stewart, a 9mm sidearm in hand, and a half dozen security troops.

"Sir, the Russians have entered the base. They've already captured the control tower, the pillboxes and have just penetrated the magazine." Stewart replied.

"What? How?" Berwick began.

"Security is decimated. They managed to wipe out almost all of us on the above ground levels." Stewart replied.

Gunfire could be heard several rooms away as the surviving guards were engaged in scattered gunfights with the Russians.

"We're taking you to the escape tunnel sir." Stewart began, half dragging the Colonel out of the room and towards the escape tunnels.

Stewart got the Colonel into the escape tunnel around the same time the Russians broke into the Colonel's quarters. He could hear the guards trying to fight against the spetsnazmen outside. Bursts of gunfire were only interrupted by shooters reloading, and screams of those that were being killed.

"We'd better get to the city." Berwick began, "And try and organize resistance."

More shooting with occasional screams could be heard upstairs. "Let them keep trying to fight the Russians. We'll get to the city."

"Yes sir." Stewart replied.

---

Meanwhile a dimension away, on an Army base in the middle of the Utah desert a group of elite soldiers and former members of the Brotherhood were intermingling with the Incredibles, a family of superheroes from the dimension the Russians were currently at war with Metroville.

"Oh gross." Pietro said, squealing like a little girl, "Tell me when it's over."

"Pietro, if I recall correctly this is the fifth or sixth time you've watched the Amsterdam scene of Europtrip." Lance quipped.

"Safeword...safeword..." Cooper said on the screen.

"You'd almost think Quickie here wanted to go to Club Vandersexx..." Dash remarked, "Wow, Pietro's going to get a Quickie at Vandersexx...Kinky, ew..."

"NO!" Pietro protested, "I just want to see how Jamie of all characters got lucky in Amsterdam! We are going to Europe after all."

"No, you wanted to find out where you can find Club Vandersexx." Dash replied, "Pietro is a fruit!"

"QUIET!" Pietro shouted.

"ON ON VANDERSEXX!" Dash laughed.

"DIE!" Pietro shouted as he launched himself after Dash.

"HEE HEE HEE!" Dash laughed as he ran away.

"ON ON VANDERSEXX!" Dash laughed again, "PIETRO LIKES DUTCH MEN IN LEATHER APRONS!"

"DIE YOU LITTLE RUGRAT!" Pietro shouted.

"EVERYBODY KNOWS! EVERYBODY KNOWS!" Dash sang and shouted, "THAT PIETRO LIKES DUTCHMEN IN LEATHER APRONS!"

"Wow Pietro," Lance quipped, "I never imagined you'd come out like this."

"WHY YOU!" Pietro shouted.

"ON ON VANDERSEXX!" Dash shouted.

"I always knew you had some weird tastes Pietro, but this is beyond the pale." Toad joined in the teasing.

"Dash stop being so immature!" Violet shouted.

"Pietro parked his Ferrari..." Dash began.

"Well, squirt," Pietro said, screeching to a halt and leaving several fires burning in the house in his wake, "I admit you have your redeeming features..."

"At CLUB VANDERSEXX!" Dash shouted.

Right about that moment Mr. Incredible and Elastigirl walked into the room. Had there been no muscle in his jaw, his lower jaw would have clattered to the floor.

"Dashiell Robert Parr..." Elastigirl began slowly.

"PARR HA HA HA HAR!" The Pirates shouted.

"QUIET!" Elastigirl shouted.

"Dash, what did you just say?" Helen Parr said, icily.

"Uhm, eh he he..." Dash began.

"Someone's in trouble." Violet sniped.

"Shut up!" Dash replied.

"What did you say, Dash?" Helen asked.

"Uh, well, I said Bandicoot..." Dash said, with sweat beading on his face and a nervous expression.

"No it sounded like something different, Dash..." Helen replied in a low, dangerous tone.

"Uhm, Vandersexx." Dash said, trying to say it quickly.

"Say it slower, Dash..." Helen warned.

"Uh, Van-der-sexx..." Dash said.

Jack Jack, sitting in his bouncy chair in the middle of all this uttered a single word amidst his gurgling and cooing, "Van van..."

"See what you've done to your brother." Helen replied.

Bob's face darkened. "What?" Shipwreck said, "All the kid said was Van van..."

"This time he said Van van, for all we know he could belt out the last syllable any second. I don't want the first word out of my kid's mouth to be the name of some cheesy bondage club." Bob replied.

"Sorry." Shipwreck said.

"Sorry for what?" Bluey Truscott began as he walked into the room.

Bob gave the Australian ACME operative a cold stare, "You'll be sorry you were born, Aussie."

"What?" Bluey replied, "Oh Bollocks."

Bluey turned just as a hand stretched from across the room and grabbed his shoulder. Heleb began slowly, "Ahem, Mr. Truscott, we've put up with a lot since you relocated us to this world. Namely we've put up with an ongoing feud between two rival mutant groups with enough immaturity to rival a daycare center filled with hyperactive cranky preschoolers. We've faced with perpetually intoxicated and insane pirates on booty calls in San Francisco and Bayville, but the fact that my ten year old has now began saying filthy words from the movie Eurotrip is the...STRAW THAT DID NOT BREAK, BUT SHATTERED THE CAMEL'S BACK!"

"And I thought Piper was bad in full bitch mode." Shipwreck remarked.

Helen turned towards Shipwreck, "And it seems all trouble is connected to you, Mister..."

"Heh heh, I'm guilty until proven innocent..." Shipwreck said with a grin.

"You two are in some serious trouble..." Elastigirl began.

"You've been hanging around Cover Girl too long, haven't you." Shipwreck began.

"What do you have to say for yourselves?" Elastigirl demanded.

"Uhm, On on Vandersexx..." Shipwreck said, with a nervous grin.

"Wrong answer..." Helen began dangerously.

Much later: "Shipwreck, if we ever get down from this ceiling I have one thing in mind..." Bluey began. Both men were currently suspended by their ankles from the ceiling.

"What's that?" Shipwreck said.

"I'm going to kill you." Truscott replied, "With me bare hands."

"Shut up." Shipwreck replied.

"I wasn't the one who decided to utter 'On on Vandersexx', mate." Bluey replied.

"I wasn't the one who relocated the Incredibles to this world." Shipwreck replied.

"We didn't know Syndrome had this world targeted." Bluey replied.

"And you call yourself intelligence." Shipwreck quipped.

"And you call yourself a responsible adult." Bluey snapped back.

---

"Woo woo woo woo woo." Klondike wooed.

"Courtney, could you do me a huge favor and keep an eye on Klondike for today?" Ted asked.

Cover Girl looked up from putting dishes away. "I'm sorry Ted, I've got a stack of essays from the class to grade, not to mention Motorpool stuff and…"

"I'll give you a hand." Ted replied.

"Ted, I hate to say this, but you're one heck of an undercover expert, riot policeman, and rock climber but you're no gearhead…" Cover Girl replied.

"No, not like that at all. I'm talking about tests and essay grading. I'll take that as soon as I got back." Ted replied.

"Didn't you and Paige already have a date last night?" Cover Girl asked.

"Not that." Ted replied, "It's that new canyon Avalanche made last week when sleepwalking, the one in the shape of a coyote, I want to take my mountain bike and rappelling gear out there and explore it."

"I don't know…" Cover Girl said.

"I'll throw in teaching your classes for the next week." Ted replied.

"You really want to explore this canyon, don't you?" Cover Girl replied.

"Heck, I saw some really neat cliff faces and a couple wicked rappelling sites." Ted replied, "Alpine and I mapped it earlier last week. We've got a longer trip planned later, for both of us to look through it, but…"

"You and Alpine have been having a mini-competition to see how many of Lance's sleepterraformings you two can be first to explore or climb. One more thing, how are you going to justify disappearing all day to explore a canyon?" Cover Girl asked.

"Easy," Ted replied, "I'm exploring more broken terrain training sites for the team."

"Ted, just try not to make insanely hard climbing routes next time. Having Blob nearly land on you is no fun." Cover Girl replied.

"So you're saying that's a yes?" Ted asked.

"You owe me." Cover Girl replied.

"For the chance to be the first to enter Coyote Canyon, I'll gladly pay it." Ted replied, hefting his IDF pack and putting his sunglasses on.

"Woo woo woo woo woo." Klondike began.

"You'd better be on your best behavior, boy." Cover Girl replied.

"Woo woo…" Klondike said, a veritable halo forming around his head.

"I'm not quite sure I believe you." Cover Girl began.

"Corporal…" came the sound of Captain Atkins' voice.

Of all the uptight, snobbish people I've met…Cover Girl thought.

"Where is Mountaineer, or Ted, or whatever ridiculous names you have for each other in this asylum?" Julie demanded and then said, "Ah, there's the other half of the guilty party."

"Woo woo woo woo woo." Klondike began with a 'Who me?' look.

"I know exactly what you're up to, you good for nothing, gray furred, wooing monstrosity." Julie replied, "And what you did last night, hand it over…"

"Woo woo woo woo woo."

"Hand what over, exactly." Cover Girl replied.

"A certain personal garment…" Atkins remarked frostily.

"You mean this." Cover Girl remarked, as she took a bra from underneath the sink.

Atkins' face took on a scarlet hue. "You mangy mongrel…"

"Watch it!" Cover Girl snapped.

"You're defending that cur?" Atkins remarked.

"He's just a dog." Cover Girl said, "He doesn't know any better. And besides Mountaineer's been taking him to Mutt to try and get him some obedience lessons."

"If you go through my stuff one more time, I'm selling you to the nearest Chinese restaurant." Atkins remarked.

"Talk about stooping levels. Threatening a dog…" Cover Girl quipped.

"That's insubordination, soldier." Atkins said, "Disrespect me like that again and expect to be written up."

"Woo woo woo woo woo!" Klondike barked, standing between Cover Girl and Atkins.

Atkins stalked off and Cover Girl dropped to one knee and began to pet Klondike, who was delighted by the affection and started to lick her face.

"Yuck…Well at least I can say that I have been kissed by one man this month." Cover Girl quipped.

"Woo woo woo woo." Klondike began.

"Sorry, I don't think the movie theater would allow me to take you inside with me on Saturday night." Cover Girl said, wryly, "Although you don't complain about what I choose to watch."

"Woo woo woo…" Klondike commiserated.

"You do eat off my plate, though." Cover Girl joked, "That's a down stroke against you."

"Woo woo woo woo…"

"And despite being on the destructive side, you can be endearing." Cover Girl smiled as she scratched Klondike behind the ears, "Let's not forget you're not entirely clueless unlike some men I know…"

"Woo woo?"

"As in Cooper." Cover Girl replied, "I've done everything except jump into his bed in the middle of the night and he doesn't have a clue…"

"Taco…Grande…" Shipwreck sang, as he walked by with a now gurgling Claudius in his arms, about five minutes ago the baby had been wailing at the top of his tiny lungs.

"And you're not a complete scoundrel and a drunk, with a redeeming heart of gold." Cover Girl replied.

"Woo woo?"

"Like Hector." Cover Girl replied, "I mean he's brash, but he's brave. He's generous but he's a maniac. He's a wonderful Dad, but he is also the greatest troublemaker anyone has ever known. And he's interested, at least. Great, if I keep this up I'm going to start another love triangle in the tradition of Kitty Pryde."

"Woo woo woo woo." Klondike said, as he stretched his forepaws out, his rump in the air and his tail wagging mightily.

Cover Girl grabbed a nearby Frisbee before heading outside to play with the eagerly wooing Sibe.

---

Emily Kinnian crouched deeper into the ventilation duct, as deep as she could possibly hide in the church office. She could hear footsteps outside in the main chapel. Voices. Prayers. A sobbing woman.

Half an hour ago a crowd of terrified civilians and a few Metroville soldiers ducked inside the church prompted by the sound of gunfire and fighting. Gunfire and fighting echoed from the movie theater next door. Great job, Fielder. Emily thought, Thinking of a rendezvous here in the church. Next thing I know the Russians will crash through the stained glass windows and turn this place into a bloodbath. Or I get turned into a Heartless, either way, nice job.

Several months ago, when Syndrome took power in Metroville, Emily had been part of a three member observation cell that had been sent here by ACME to monitor what was going on. Alan Fielder was the team leader, an ex-big game hunter she remembered. What about Frank? I hope he had enough sense to stay the hell away from the church…

The sound of an explosion as breaching charges were used on the heavy church door echoed. Shooting. Screaming.

"Down! Everybody down!" A heavily accented voice sounded.

"Davai bistre!" Another voice shouted. 'Hurry up'.

The door of the church office flew open and a Metroville soldier with a pistol in one hand and a radio in the other was babbling words.

"Alpha Charlie, this is Holy Relic. The Russians are in the church. Repeat, the Russians are…"

The door flew open again and two Russian soldiers burst into the room and raked the soldier with full automatic fire from their AK-74 assault rifles. The soldier shook violently as he died before he hit the ground, spurting blood from dozens of wounds.

One of the soldiers covered his partner as the first searched the office. Just then her mobile phone started to go off. Emily reached into her pocket frantically, feeling like her hand was a mass of thumbs and jelly, pawing at the volume buttons and backing into the vent as deep as she could possibly go.

From the duct cover she could see the two Russians freeze, looking around, muzzles of weapons following arcs of view. The muzzle of one rifle flagged the duct cover. If he lets loose with that thing, I'm gonna die. I've got a few inches of aluminum, max, protecting me right now. Emily thought.

There's no identifiable equipment in there. Emily thought. For months she had been working out of the church, operating the laptop computer and transponder that enabled her to communicate with ACME's remote listening stations and ACME HQ itself.

The two Russian soldiers continued their search, when one of them called out. He unzipped a bag behind the potted plant next to the file cabinet. Emily didn't speak Russian, but she knew this wasn't good. Hmm, from the outside it looks like a piece of shit, but inside is a high speed modem and CPU. Let's just hope the Russkies think it's a piece of shit and don't find the transmitter…

---

"Damn." Alan Fielder grumbled under his breath. The shooting and smoke told him the Russians had hit the nearby town faster than he anticipated. He knew they were an advanced element, the spetsnazmen were securing the island as a base of operations for the Landing Force he knew was somewhere offshore.

Emily and Frank are still in there. Fielder thought, forgetting the cold and wind that bit into his GorTex outer coat and fleece jacket. He had seen the tail end of the Russian attack on the Command and Control facility on Sheena Island and saw them head to the town in stolen vehicles or on foot.

Frank has enough sense not to transmit, especially if the Russians have direction finding equipment. Fielder thought. Frank had the satellite phone and transmission for direct voice communication to ACME, using code for weekly reports. Emily would use the laptop to send daily computer reports. Their cover stories were airtight. A corporate nondescript and a choir singer at the local church were Frank and Emily's respective legends that would bypass a cursory inspection.

Fielder tucked the cell phone into his GorTex. He hadn't been able to raise either Emily or Frank despite trying for almost an hour to tell them the Russians were heading straight for the town. That meant one of two things. Either both were dead, captured (which in spetsnaz hands was as good as death), injured, or their phones were off. I've got to see for myself. Fielder thought, resolutely, as he headed towards the town, woefully aware that the nearest thing to a weapon he had was a Leatherman multitool on the belt of his jeans.

I've got to try anyway. Emily and Frank are not only co-workers, but they're my friends and I'll be damned if I at least don't know that they're alright…Fielder thought as he crept towards the town, towards the sound of gunfire and fighting…

---

TBC