No I in Team


"We are, all of us, growing volcanoes that approach the hour of their eruption; but how near or distant that is, nobody knows — not even God." —Friedrich Nietzsche.


7. The Search

Location: Dense rainforest of the Yucatán Peninsula

Estados Unidos Mexicanos (Mexico)

12:46 HRS

"I hate nature."

The whistle of Wade's sword singing through the air accompanied his words as he sliced the flies buzzing around him cleanly in half.

"I hate the heat," Bradley complained. He, like the others, was coated in a layer of sweat, his shirt showing patches of damp. His wet hair looked a shade darker than its normal sandy colour.

"It's not the heat, it's the humidity," said Wraith. He took off the cowboy hat he'd recently taken to wearing and used it to fan his glistening face.

"Air shouldn't be this hard to breathe," Dukes added. The big man was suffering badly in the stifling heat and humidity. Even James found the going tough—the Yucatán climate was different to that of Vietnam, which was the last jungle he had fought in. Here, the atmosphere was more oppressive.

He suffered in silence, of course. A captain had to set a good example, and for almost three years he'd been leading his men by the best example he possibly could. Sometimes, his attempts fell on deaf ears and blind eyes—Victor remained aggressive even when he wasn't fighting, and became violence unrestrained in combat; Zero, who'd earned his code-name back a couple of years ago, was pretty much the same aloof and superior bastard he'd been from day one, and getting Wade to shut up for more than five minutes was a challenge James wrestled with on a daily basis—but he'd made progress in some ways.

His relationship with each member of the team was unique. John Wraith was his closest friend, quickly earning James' respect with his quick wit, lack of airs and graces, and overall affability. Though he was never the first to offer to rush into danger, he didn't hesitate stepping into a fight when he saw his particular talents were needed by the group. And though he seemed to lack the same enjoyment of fighting shared by most others in the team, he could still be relied upon to come to the aid of his friends. The oft-cheerful teleporter was the most reliable and sensible member of their dysfunctional family, and though he had a good sense of humour, he never let his jokes go too far.

Wade Wilson was the opposite. His humour tended towards the dark, sarcastic and quite often mocking. The only reason James hadn't stamped down on his humour was because for Wade, it wasn't personal. Nothing he did was personal. One minute he'd be making fun of Bradley, and the next he'd transfer his attention to Dukes, or Wraith. Not even Stryker was immune to the former merc's mockery. Wade seemed to fear nothing; he openly made fun of Victor, happily threw himself into combat, and showed the minimal amount of deference to authority figures. He was also incredibly random in his behaviour. During a mission in Chechnya, James had seen Wade shoot an unarmed man in the back—he claimed it was the safest way to shoot someone, as they couldn't see you coming—and then two days later had seen him risk his own life to grab a half-starved mongrel pup from the path of an oncoming truck. Recently, Wade had even taken to narrating his own, and others', actions. James suspected he was doing it to be as annoying as humanly, or mutantly, possible, but trying to get him to stop was more trouble than it was worth.

If Wade was an open book filled with an incomprehensible and nonsensical language, then David 'Zero' North was a closed book inside a box hidden in a cave buried 200ft beneath the ground. James knew very little about Zero, save for the fact that the man hated him. When he was obeying orders, Zero was as solid and dependable as Wraith, lacking Wade's erratic streak and Victor's outbursts of violence. When he got it into his mind to be stubborn, however, he was the biggest pain in the ass on the team. Sometimes, Zero tried to undermine James' commands in subtle ways; he'd react to something more slowly than he should have, or 'accidentally' mis-hear an order, which meant James had to be very specific when issuing commands to the sharp-shooter. Overall, James thought of him as one of those unimaginative and peevish kids who was always vying for the teacher's attention, and jealous when anybody else was given a word of praise.

Bradley was, perhaps, the team's biggest success story. No matter how many steaks he ate, he never seemed to put on any weight, but over the years he transformed himself from a quiet, nervous kid uncomfortable with speaking up in the group, to a young man confident in himself and his own abilities. His pre-mission nerves never disappeared entirely, but he managed to control them to the extent that they were undetectable by James. As he came out of his shell, Bradley started speaking more, volunteering his opinions and speaking his mind with increasing confidence. Like the others on the team, his powers and abilities grew in strength and accuracy the more he used them, and he even learnt how to maintain barriers which didn't tax him quite as much. During missions, he preferred to stick close to James, looking to the older man for guidance, but he wasn't afraid to take the initiative when required.

Fred Dukes was a man of few words. He preferred direct action to long discussion, and he wasn't afraid of anything. James' relationship him remained cool but professional, lacking both the warmth of his friendship with Wraith, and the cold enmity he shared with Zero. Dukes never disobeyed orders, or questioned the wisdom of James' decisions, and though he offered his opinion when asked, he rarely volunteered it. He shrugged off Wade's jokes as easily as another man might shrug off a backpack, and though he kept a watchful eye over Bradley, he never overstepped his bounds or humiliated the young man by being over-protective. Overall, Dukes got along with everybody, but, like James, was closest to Wraith, drawn to the teleporter's easy-going personality.

That left Victor, and what could James say about Victor? He was a man of strong feelings and strong passions, but with the capacity for cold aloofness. He was capable of forming plans, but usually forgot them in the heat of the moment and reverted to his instinctive, bestial nature. Victor had many faults, and James tried to overlook them, to keep them in his blind-spot where he didn't have to see them and deal with them, because he was afraid that if he was forced to deal with Victor's faults, he would lose his brother; the only blood-family he had. And even though James was the younger of the two, he felt responsible for Victor. He didn't want to be without the one person who had been the only constant throughout his whole life.

Walking at the head of the group, Stryker lead the team, but he wasn't a part of it. Not like the others. His 'humanity', his lack of mutant powers, separated him from the men he commanded, setting him on some other level. James didn't resent Stryker for that any more than he resented Wraith for his skin colour, or Bradley for his nerves, or Wade for his verbal diarrhoea.

"And so the intrepid explorers soldiered on through the dense jungle—the same jungle they'd been walking through for the past thirty-six hours because their Führer had yet to tell them the purpose of their mission… —I'm sorry sir, I didn't intend to imply a Nazi connotation there… —and each and every man amongst them was hot, and tired, and hungry, and smelled of Dukes' rancid socks because they hadn't bathed in four days. But they marched forward, stoic, determined, not complaining about the heat or their hunger, never once wishing for a pool-side deckchair and an ice-cold martini… except for Victor, who liked the little paper umbrellas."

Well, perhaps Wade was the exception to James' resentment.

"Hey, Wade," Victor growled from behind, "if I got one of those little paper umbrellas and shoved it down your throat, would that shut you up?"

"Unlikely," Wraith replied, from near the front of the group. "He'd just start talking out his ass."

"You say that like he doesn't already."

"Maybe," said Zero, "we'd get through this damn jungle faster if you all put the same amount of energy into clearing away the brush as you do into talking." The sharp-shooter, who was walking directly behind Stryker at the front of the group—all the better to kiss the boss's ass, no doubt—lifted his machete and hacked at a woody liana that hung across his path at head-height. "Why don't you put those swords to good use, Wilson?"

"I'm going to pretend that you don't know that katanas are the only weapons in existence which are infused with the very soul of the men who made and wield them, Zee," said Wade. "And that you don't know that to suggest putting such an exquisite weapon to a mundane task dishonours the very soul of the blade. Because if you did know those things, and you suggested that I use my swords to hack at plants regardless of that fact, you and I would have a problem." He twirled his sword around in a fast arc, slicing through another large fly.

"And cutting up flies isn't a 'mundane task'?" asked Zero.

"It's target practice. Honing my reflexes. Doctor C. says I'm a genius."

"I think what Cornelius meant was 'touched in the head,'" Victor said, with a small malicious grin for his own insult.

"No, really. He says that my brain is capable of calculating the velocity of a moving object, and relaying to my muscles exactly when and how fast I need to move to intercept it. He says the level of physics and pure maths involved puts me on on par with Einstein and the guy who invented Cheez Whiz. Maybe when we get back from this sojourn into the heart of the middle of nowhere, I'll join Mensa. They'll probably make me a doctor right away. Or maybe a professor. Which has the nicest ring to it; Doctor Wade, or Professor Wade?"

"I like Professor," Bradley said. James shook his head. The kid seemed to have some sort of immunity to Wade's banter. He was the only one who bothered responding to it, most of the time.

"Good call. I like it too. It sounds very cultured and respectful. Plus, chicks go in for that whole 'authority figure' thing."

Wraith caught James' eyes, and gave him a long-suffering expression of pained tolerance.

"Major," James called, from his position in the middle of the group, "is our mission here reliant on stealth and silence, by any chance?"

"Not yet."

"Can it be?"

From behind, Victor chuckled.

"Time passed, as it is wont to do. Midday became early afternoon, and then late afternoon, and then early evening. Future Mensa member Wade Wilson attempted to break up the monotony of the march through the jungle by engaging his teammates in a rousing game of I–spy, but there are only so many times you can spy 'tree' and 'parrot' and 'the back of Zero's head' before even that gets boring. As darkness began to descend upon the verdant tropical forest, the group found themselves a campsite and settled down to a meal of delicious, not-at-all-tasting-like-polystyrene field rations and tepid canteen water. Victor disappeared into the jungle, presumably to answer a call of nature, and the rest of the team congregated around a small camp-fire, courtesy of expert fire-maker Fred Dukes, to engage in some healthy, totally heterosexual group camaraderie."

"Wade, for the love of God, will you give it a rest for five damn minutes?" growled James.

Wade glanced down at his watch. "Would you like your five minutes to start now?"

"Y'know," Bradley said, filling the silence left by Wade, "if you don't count the insane number of insects, and the heat, and the constant noise, this place isn't all that bad."

James snorted. That sort of comment was certifiable. The jungle was too hot, too humid, and far too noisy. It wasn't just the birds; birds he could have handled. It was the insects, and the frogs, and the monkeys which screamed at the human invaders from the safety of the high canopy. The insects were the worst, though. They were noisy, and they were ubiquitous. It had been bad enough when the team had been walking, but now that they'd stopped, all manner of crawling and flying insects and bugs came flocking to the group, some drawn by the light of the fire, some drawn by the promise of an easy feast of mammal.

"Can't you do something about this?" James asked Bradley. He slapped his hand against his arm, squashing something that looked like a sparrow-sized mosquito.

"Oh, you want me to lower myself to using my powers as a glorified fly-zapper?" replied Bradley. The tone of disapproval in his voice was at odds with the sparkle of humour in his eyes. "Well, yeah, I'm sure I could, but I'm not sure if I have the right to. I mean, we are invading their home, after all. They're just trying to tell us we don't belong here."

"I can make it an order, if it helps."

"No need for that, Captain."

James felt an electric tingle on his skin, and his hairs began to stand on end. The tingle worked upwards and outward, sweeping across the ground and through the air, repulsing insects as it expanded. Soon the air around the entire campsite was clear, and an energy barrier surrounded the group. Some insects tried to pass it, but they ended their lives to the hum of an electric zap.

Bradley lay down on his back on the now bug-free ground, folding his arms behind his head as he looked through his invisible barrier and up to to few stars which could be seen twinkling through the tree tops.

"Hey, Wraith," he said.

"Yeah?"

"Have you ever thought about what you'll do when the military doesn't need us anymore? When all this is over, I mean. Have you ever thought about having… y'know… more?"

"Sure I have," Wraith replied. He picked up a few leaves from the ground and threw them into the fire, watching the flames hungrily lick at them, burning them to char. "I think anyone who says he hasn't thought about a better life and something more than fighting is just trying to fool himself."

"So what's your dream?"

"Me? I'm gonna open up my own boxing gym. Train up the next Joe Frazier. Maybe help disadvantaged black kids get a better start in life by giving them a skill to make their name by."

"So… your dream of something more than fighting is to help people by teaching them to fight?"

"Kinda ironic, when you put it that way," Wraith said wryly.

"What about you, Dukes?"

"Gonna buy my own restaurant. I'll call it 'Dukes.'"

"Original," said Zero.

"People will come from all over the country to try my burgers. I'll have burgers made out of everything; beef, pork, turkey, moose—"

"Soylent green?" asked Wade.

"Wasn't that a film?"

"Are you going to serve anything but burgers in your restaurant?" Bradley asked.

"Nah, I like burgers."

"Well, when you've got your restaurant, I'll come and try your burgers."

Wade snickered. "That doesn't sound like a euphemism at all."

"What about you, Wade? What's your dream?" Bradley said, ignoring his comment.

"Easy. Prove myself to be the best swordsman in the whole world." He lifted one of his katanas and swished it through the air, making a noise like a gentle breeze. "I want a trophy, with my name on it. 'Wade Wilson, Mensa member, and World's Best Swordsman.' I'll probably have to kill everybody who challenges me just on general principle, but that's what makes me the best."

"Do you have any dreams, Zero?"

The sharp-shooter scoffed. "Dreams are for people who can't handle the reality of their situation. I'm perfectly happy where I am. Why would I want anything else?"

"I dunno… figured you might want to prove yourself as the best marksman in the world or something," Bradley suggested.

"I already am the best marksman in the world." Zero threw a somewhat condescending glare at Wade. "And I don't need my name on some trophy just to prove it. I never miss what I aim for."

"Oookay. Logan? Do you have something in mind for when all this is over?"

"Take it from me, kid," he said, "it's never over. There's always going to be another war, another threat, another conflict. For as long as there are two people alive, there will be fighting."

"What if the two people alive are a man and a woman?"

"Double the fighting," said Wraith, and everybody laughed, lightening the mood which had threatened to turn sombre at James' words. Even Zero managed a smile. Wraith turned his gaze to Stryker, who was sitting a little apart from the group, listening to the banter, but not partaking in it. "You got a family, don't you, Major?"

Stryker nodded. "That's right. A wife and a son."

"And is marital bliss all it's advertised to be?"

"We've had our ups and downs, but I wouldn't change my family for the world."

"What's your wife like?"

"Beautiful. Intelligent. Innocent. Sometimes I wonder what she sees in a soldier like me. Sometimes I think she deserves better than a man who's away from home most of the time… but she never complains."

"What about your son? Does he miss not having his daddy around?"

"Maybe," Stryker said. His face took on a cagey, sad expression in the firelight. "Jason's away at boarding school at the moment, studying with other intelligent and gifted youngsters. He's probably having the time of his life; away from home, away from the old folks, surrounded by friends. I'm certain he's happy."

There was a loud crashing sound from out in the jungle on the periphery of the campsite, and everybody was on their feet, weapons to hand. James extended his bone-claws, but when he caught a familiar whiff, he relaxed. "It's only Victor," he said, pulling his claws back into his hands and sitting back down.

Sure enough, a few moments later Victor came striding into the firelight, something small, brown and furry strung across one shoulder. Whatever it was looked recently dead. Victor deposited his kill on the ground and stepped back, smelling self-satisfied.

"What the hell's that?" Wraith asked. He poked the dead thing with the toe of his boot, and it rocked a little before settling.

"Dinner," said Victor. He lifted one of his hands and extended the nails on his first two fingers—Victor had never liked using knives to skin things.

"It's… um… a monkey," said Bradley.

"You're actually going to eat that thing?" Wraith asked. The blackness of his skin had taken on a somewhat green tone. "It's probably got diseases."

"Good job I don't get sick."

"Hey, Dukes," said Wade smiling brightly, "you could make us some soylent green burgers out of it."

"Whaddya mean?" Dukes asked. His face wore the same frown that appeared every time something went over his head.

"Well, the nature boffins reckon that apes and humans are descended from the same common monkey-like ancestor, right? So I figure eating monkeys is only one step away from eating people. Hmm, now that I mention it, I am seeing something of a family resemblance. This isn't your cousin, is it Victor?"

"So, anyone for fried monkey chunks?" Victor asked.

"I'll pass, thanks," said Bradley.

"You couldn't pay me to eat that, man," Wraith added.

"You just ruined visiting the zoo for me," said Dukes. "Aww, I told Gina I'd take her to the zoo one time. How am I going to do that now?"

"You boys are all too sensitive," Victor chuckled, glancing up at Zero and Wade. "Anybody else for barbecued monkey?"

"Yeaaaahh…" said Wade, eyeing up the hairy brown corpse, "see, I'm hungry, but I'm not starving. As long as I have beef-flavoured polystyrene rations courtesy of the gourmet chefs of the US Army, I figure I can hold off on eating your cousin."

"I've given up eating monkey for lent," said Zero.

Victor shrugged. "More for me, then." He glanced at his brother. "Unless you want some, Jimmy?"

James shook his head. He'd eaten a lot of strange things in his life—most of them in France—but barbecued monkey just did not appeal at all.

"Your loss."

"Logan," said Stryker, "you should set a rotating watch and have the team get what sleep they can. We should be at our destination by midday tomorrow, and I want everybody as fresh as possible."

"I don't suppose you're ready to tell us what our destination is?"

"You'll see soon enough," Stryker said with a smile.

James fought the frustrated sigh that tried to escape his lips. Stryker was, at times, one cagey SOB. He asked a lot of Team X, and often give them little or no explanation for the orders he issued. Whether he didn't entirely trust the team, or whether he'd been ordered not to divulge information by his superiors in Washington, James did not know, but it made for some strained working conditions.

With nothing else to do, he left Victor to the skinning and cooking of the poor dead monkey, and set shifts for a rotating watch. He paired Bradley with Dukes, Wraith with Wade, Zero with Victor, and himself with Stryker. Perhaps once the rest of the men were asleep, he could wheedle a little more info about this mission from the major. And if not… well, there would be nothing to do but wait and see, and hope that their rations would last them until their objective was complete. Otherwise they'd all be eating monkey soon enough.

o - o - o - o - o

Location: Chicxulub Crater, periphery

Yucatán Peninsula

11:50 HRS

James peered through the binoculars, his sensitive eyes picking up every tiny movement through the lenses. Their destination, and mission objective, was a small mining operation, just downhill of the strange, curved mountain range where Team X had stopped for a midday break. He could hear the men emptying their canteens—they'd need to find a river soon, to refill—but he ignored the team for a moment, focusing his attention on the men down in the valley.

There was some machinery, but this appeared to be a very small mining site. Exploratory mining, he thought. Made sense. Before you sent in the big guns, you sent in someone to make sure there really was oil, or minerals, or gold, or whatever the hell you were mining for in the first place. Admittedly, he knew very little about mining, save for the fact that it was dirty, tiring, dangerous work. Even though automation had made some aspects of it easier, there were still cave-ins to worry about, natural gas leaks, underground explosions, earthquakes, and sometimes heavy-metal poisoning, if safety measures were lax. Victor had wanted to head north to the Yukon during the Klondike gold rush in 1896, but James, who'd never cared much for gold and had been married at the time, had held back, and so the brothers had been spared the arduous trek through the Canadian winter, bogged down by mining equipment, and saved from the disappointment of likely finding nothing but months worth of fruitless panning upon reaching their destination.

The men in the valley were a mixture of miners, geologists—dusty men wearing hard-hats and carrying rock samples and panniers—and armed guards wearing fatigues and carrying automatic weapons.

"What's with the muscle?" James asked, the words forming from the side of his mouth which didn't have a cigar poking out of it.

"Oil companies like to protect their investments, Logan," Stryker said, sounding and smelling calm. "Besides, the jungle isn't without its dangers. Disgruntled locals, rogue military personnel, native predators—"

"Us," offered Zero.

"Indeed." Stryker turned to the rest of the team, and James packed his binoculars away. "I know I've not given you much to go on, and that wasn't my choice, but now that we've reached our target I can at least tell you why we're here. The men in the mining camp below have something we need. Something that my superiors don't want falling into the wrong hands. Something with important potential military applications. We've been tasked with entering the camp, subduing any resistance, and confiscating certain materials.

"The men down below work for a civilian company, but they have an agreement with the Mexican government which allows them to perform limited mining operations in this area. It's an agreement that our own government was unable to secure. You are authorised to use whatever force is necessary to subdue the guards, but I want the scientists and the mining crew kept alive and unharmed. Once we're in a safe position outside the camp, Logan, you will lead the team in an assault. Bradley, you'll remain with me and cut off enemy comms, in case they try to signal for help. When the area is secure and all men accounted for, find me the lead geologist, a man named Doctor Charles Brenner, put him in one of the mining camp's cabins, and sit on him until I arrive. I'll need to speak with him in private. Does anybody have any questions?"

There were none. This was a simple circle and capture exercise; nothing that would challenge the team's abilities. The enemy's automatic weapons would not cause a problem for most of them, and if Bradley was to hang back with Stryker, it simply meant the rest of the team could move all that much faster.

When Stryker gave the signal, Logan took the lead, guiding the team down the mountain-side. He didn't need to say 'silence from now on.' Even Wade knew better than to continue chatter this close to an enemy base. Indeed, the former mercenary, along with the rest of the team, had taken to silence, each one of them scanning the jungle around them as if it held a dozen enemy soldiers, cautious as a wolf-pack moving into unknown territory. James didn't bother telling them that their vigilance was in vain; that he and Victor would have heard and smelt anything approaching long before any of them could have raised the alarm. He didn't bother telling them because he wanted them to think that their vigilance had purpose. Right now they were being cautious, and caution was good. It kept people alive.

A few hundred metres out from the mining camp, James halted the team. The area was secure enough for Stryker to wait, and close enough for Bradley to block enemy comms, should it be required. As the pair settled in for the wait, James led the rest of the team closer to the mining camp, and signalled for them all to ready weapons. Duke and Wraith checked their automatic rifles, whilst Zero took the safeties off his pistols. Wade unsheathed his two katanas, and Victor cracked his knuckles, extending his long claw-like nails.

"Wraith, Dukes, Wilson, circle around to the other side of the camp. I want to hit them from all sides and ensure nobody escapes. Nobody moves until I give the signal. And I know what Stryker said," James told his men, "but I'd like minimal fatalities on this mission. No killing, not even the guards, unless it's absolutely necessary."

"What?" Wade said. "No killing? C'mon, man, you're cramping my style!"

"That's 'c'mon Captain, you're cramping my style,'" James corrected. He set off forward, trusting the others to obey his commands.

"Why you always gotta antagonise him?" he heard Wraith ask. "You piss him off, and we all have to deal with it."

"I ask myself that very question every single day. I say to myself, 'Wadey, why can't you just get along with everyone? Why do you have to antagonise folks? Can't you find some healthier way of getting your kicks?'"

"Do you ever ask yourself, 'Wadey, why you gotta talk so much?'"

"No, but stranger things have happened, I guess."

Conversation ceased as Wraith, Wade and Dukes ghosted through the forest, making their way to the other side of the mining camp. Whilst he waited for them to get into position, James activated his radio and signalled back to the pair waiting behind.

"Bradley, how's it going on that comms block?"

"Already done," the young mutant replied. "You're good to go at your leisure."

"Wraith here," came John's voice over the radio. "In position."

"I'm ready too," said Dukes.

"Ready and eager to fill up my daily maiming quota," said Wade.

"Alright," James said. "Everyone… go."

He'd prepared himself for the thunder of gunfire, tensing himself in preparation for it, and as soon as he heard the other members of Team X firing into the air, to disorientate the mine guards, he let loose with his own rifle, teaming it with a yell of excitement and adrenaline as he ran through the dense bushes.

"Everybody get down on the ground and put your hands behind your heads!" he shouted.

Of course, they didn't listen. Nobody ever listened when you asked politely. The miners and geologists scattered, some running for cover of their machinery—those, James ignored—and others making a break for the freedom of the forest. He heard their strangled cries of alarm as they encountered the other members of Team X. Zero, Wade and Wraith herded the civilians back towards the camp with the finesse of champion sheepdogs, whilst Victor and Dukes took out the guards who thought they stood a chance.

One of the armed men aimed his weapon at Dukes, but Wraith teleported right behind him, kicked his leg behind the knee to force him to the ground, and subjected him to a brief but effective choke-hold. James smiled; he'd taught Wraith that move.

The civilians, meanwhile, seemed so terrified of Victor's feral roars and blood-soaked hands that some of them collapsed on the spot, whilst the rest shrank back, deciding that if there couldn't be safety in numbers, there could at least be companionship in terror. Zero led another scientist into their midst, marching the man by the collar of his shirt, and forcing him into the group of cornered, terrified men. As Victor went with Wraith to hunt down two remaining soldiers who'd thought they could make a run for it, James rested his barely-fired gun against his shoulder, and approached the scientists. Taking out a cigar, he lit it, took a couple of puffs, and gave them the once-over.

"Which of you is Brenner?" he asked.

Each and every one of them looked terrified, but at last one of the men stepped forward. He was younger than James had thought he would be, forty at most. Still a kid, compared to the long years of James' candle.

"I'm Charles Brenner," he said. "Please, don't hurt my crew. They're good men. They're just doing their jobs. Whatever you want, you've made a mistake. We aren't here to mine gold, or diamonds; we have nothing of value to you."

"Zero," James said, because he always hated to hear a man beg for his life, "stick him in the far cabin and watch him in case he tries to make a run for it." Fortunately, Zero seemed to be in a good mood, and he followed orders without hesitation or delay. "The rest of you," he said, as the marksman led Brenner away, "get down on your knees and put your hands behind your heads. Wade, if anyone tries to run, take their knee-caps off."

Wade smiled and whirled one of his katanas casually. He settled in to watch the scientists like a hawk just waiting for the rabbit to start running, and content that the situation was under control for the moment, James turned his attention to the rest of the camp. There were only a couple of dead bodies littering the impromptu battlefield. One had his throat torn out—Victor's work. He'd have to talk to Victor about that, later. It wouldn't do for him to ignore orders. The second corpse had been shot in the chest by a bullet, but there was no way of knowing who'd done the killing. It could have been any of his men, or it could have been a stray bullet, or friendly fire, or even a bullet reflected by Wade's swords. The rest of the soldiers were groaning in pain, most of them shot in non-fatal places. Well, ordinarily the wounds would not have been fatal, but out here, unless they had an excellent field medic, most of them might die anyway.

He noticed Dukes dragging the groaning men into a group, disarming them before they could even think about firing on their attackers, and made a mental note to commend the large man for his swift thinking. When Dukes had finished piling up the enemy guns, he called him over.

"Go and fetch Stryker and Bradley," he said.

"Can't you just radio them?"

"Could, but I want to give Victor and Wraith a chance to get back here with their prisoners before Stryker rolls in and starts asking questions."

Dukes nodded and ambled off into the forest. He'd only been gone a minute when James picked up the noise of two pairs of feet approaching; one of them sounded to be limping. His ears were proven right once more; Wraith prodded a soldier into the clearing, and James could see and smell the blood pouring from a graze-wound on his leg. Looked like Wraith had narrowly missed a direct hit. Probably by accident; Wraith was a decent shot, but he was no Zero.

The injured soldier was put with the rest of them, and left under the guard of Wraith. A few moments later a lone pair of footsteps approached, and Victor arrived back at the camp empty-handed. His fatigues were blood-spattered, his hands red with thick liquid. When he saw James' questioning glance, he merely shrugged, and crouched down in front of a puddle of thick black mud that had probably been a natural pond, before mining had started. His gaze went straight to the soldiers, who even though injured, were trying to inch away from him.

"Hey, Wraith," Wade said quietly. "What's big, black, and pissed?" He nodded at Victor, temptingly close to the edge of the mud-pool.

Wraith snorted and shook his head. "Man, he'd rip your spine out just for thinking about it."

The relative silence of the jungle—groaning men and ubiquitous wildlife notwithstanding—was interrupted by the arrival of Stryker, flanked by Bradley and Dukes. He glanced around with aloof indifference at the injured guards and terrified miners, then looked at James questioningly.

"We put Brenner in the far cabin," he told the major. "Zero's eyeballing him."

"Very good. Keep an eye on things out here whilst I have a word with our good doctor."

James gestured for Bradley and Dukes to keep an watch over their prisoners, and then, as surreptitiously as he could manage, he made his way little by little towards the cabin where Stryker was talking with Brenner. Turning so that he was facing towards the jungle, and his ear was angled towards the cabin, he closed his eyes and inhaled slowly through his nose, focusing on his hearing.

"…very interested in hearing what you've found." Stryker's voice was quiet, controlled. He wasn't a man to lose his temper; James hadn't seen him angry even once.

"Nothing, we found absolutely nothing!" In contrast, Brenner's voice was high, strained… terrified. "We're here looking for oil, but we've only been operating a few months."

"Come now, Doctor Brenner, there's no need for this charade. I know why you're here, I know what this place is, and I know what you're looking for. Now, are you going to tell me what I need to know, or do I need to have my men carve an answer out of your colleagues' flesh?"

"I… what do you want to know?" Brenner broke easily, it seemed.

"What have the results of your tests determined so far?"

"Only that the area is rich in tektites and shocked quartz, as we would expect to find at an impact site. Admittedly, there is a higher than normal density of iridium in the area, at what we believe is the K-T boundary, but the layer isn't thick enough to warrant extensive mining operations."

"What else?" Stryker did not sound convinced.

"Nothing. That's all we've found so far, I swear."

"Very well. Where do you keep your samples?"

"Locked in the cabin that serves as our geology lab. I can take you to them." Brenner sounded desperate.

"How very thoughtful. Lead the way. If you try to deceive me, your men will die."

James turned his attention back to the camp as Stryker stepped out of the cabin and nudged Brenner forward. He wasn't entirely sure whether Stryker would order Team X to carry out his threat. If he did, how many of them would refuse to fire on unarmed civilians? Bradley, probably. Wraith, maybe. The rest… he had reservations about the rest. But surely Stryker wouldn't give such an order after telling the team to keep the scientists alive… would he? Perhaps, thought James, this was why he'd kept them alive.

The major glanced around, his gaze settling on the two closest members of Team X.

"Zero, Victor, empty your backpacks and come with me. Dukes, I want this machinery non-operational by the time I'm ready to leave. The rest of you, maintain a watch in case anybody tries to be a hero."

Dukes grunted, and set about pounding the various items of machinery with his rock-hard fists. The miners watched on, expressions of horror painted across their faces as their equipment was ruined. When Zero and Victor followed Stryker into a second cabin, James didn't bother trying to over-hear. He'd already heard everything he needed to. Stryker was looking for something in the rock here, but it didn't sound as if he'd found it. Unless Brenner was lying; but if he was, he was the best damn liar James had ever heard.

Wraith was keeping an armed watch over the injured guards, whilst Bradley looked a little confused that he'd been left to keep an eye on the civilians. He held his gun with confidence, but James knew he wasn't likely to use it on unarmed men. Had the miners and geologists known that, they might have tried their luck at running, but they were too busy flinching each time another piece of equipment exploded in a shower of sparks.

He spotted Wade standing atop a pile of loose stone, a pair of binoculars held to his eyes, and climbed up the small mound to join him at the top.

"What've you got?" he asked.

"Natives," Wade said. "A village, probably a handful of klicks from here. Y'think we're heading there next?"

"I have no damn idea what Stryker's gonna have us do next. Here, let me have a look."

"Knock yourself out," replied Wade, handing over the peepers. "Not a looker amongst them anyway."

As Wade disappeared down the stone pile, James lifted the binoculars, scanning the horizon for the village. He first spotted the tell-tale dark curl of rising smoke, and followed it down to its source. Indeed, there was a small village, its white stone buildings nestled amongst the dark green of the rainforest, wearing the tree canopy like a protective blanket. He hoped the people there had heard the gunfire and fled their homes, to somewhere safer. He hoped that Stryker had gotten what he came for, now that he had whatever samples he was taking from Brenner's team. He hoped that this was the last he'd hear of the Yucatán, because he hadn't signed up to kill men over a few pieces of rock no matter how important the US military thought they might be. Some prices were just too high to pay.


Author's Note: The K-T event (or as they're calling it these days, the K-Pg event) was the mass extinction of terrestrial and aquatic dinosaurs (and a bunch of other stuff) caused by the impact, and ensuing global winter, of a comet or large meteor. The impact crater, known as the Chicxulub Crater, can be seen from above, where it forms a semi-circular mountain range in the Yucatán; the remainder is located underwater, in the Gulf of Mexico. Have a look at google images if you'd like to see the remains of the impact crater (and artists' renditions of what the moment of impact may have looked like).

Wade's Note: Hey, I figured out how to narrate the notes, too! Can't believe it took me seven chapters to work out how to do this. Is it just me, or is the author a total nerd? Meteor, dinosaurs, global winter, blah blah blah… snore, right? Well, maybe dinosaurs would be cool, but I've skipped ahead to the end and I can tell you for certain that there are absolutely no dinosaurs in this story. So if you're reading this story to get the mental pics of a t-rex chomping on some guy in the can, you should just go watch Jurassic Park or something. If you're here to read about me, however, then keep reading, as this story has lots of me in it! Well alright, it's actually about some guy called James, but most people know him as Logan or Wolverine. Oops, was I not supposed to say that? Hope I didn't spoil it for anyone! But anyway, even though this story's about some other dude (boo!) the author says I'll get my very own sequel if people keep reading this story. So please keep reading… and send beer! The author likes beer. Just don't send Budweiser… even we Canadians know that Bud ain't beer… it's dishwater. Anyway, I'm being glared at, so adios for now!

-_o

(that's a winking face. I'm winking at you. Yes, you!)