Title: All's Fair in Love and War

Author: JenN

E-Mail: LuvofCourfeyrac@aol.com

Rating: PG-13

Summary: AU Fic. L/M and others. Saving Private Ryan meets All's Fair in Love and War. Can a newborn love survive the turmoil, blood, and sacrefices of the Second World War? Or will they be torn apart by the cruel forces of life?

Archiving: Ask and chances are, ye' shall receive.

Disclaimer: Much as I want Bobby Drake, he, and all the other Marvel characters belong to Marvel, and not me. Must we rub this in?

Author's Notes: Author's Notes: Thanks to my best bud Amy for 1) Putting up with having to read this and pretending to like it =) (Who's pretending?) and 2) For formatting this on something called HTML, I think...*scratches head* Hey! I may be a writer, I never said I was computer literate! Enjoy the fic! Feedback is appreciated, sought after, adored, etc. etc. etc.

All's Fair in Love and War

Chapter I:

Looking into the sky, he watched plane after plane appear and disappear through the clouds. The loud booming noises they heard from behind them were immediately followed by large waves, which rocked the flatbed's they were in. Dropping his head and letting his eyes wander about the men in front of him, he couldn't help but curl his lip in disgust. He could smell the fear on them, as well as the seasickness. As if to prove this, a man not far from him grabbed his stomach and arched over, throwing up all over the bottom of the transport they were in. The smell was bad, but even worse for a guy with heightened senses. Cursing his luck, he pulled a canteen loose from his belt and worked quickly to remove the cap. The ships behind him fired again at the shore, and again the waves came, this time spilling over the sides and getting all present soaked. He felt the water soak in through his uniform, just as he felt it sink into his boots and create the ever annoying squish noises when he shifted from foot to foot.

The weather was bad that day. The skies were gray, casting a gloomy shadow over everything the eye could see. The storm two days prior had already postponed the invasion, and just then he realized he was grateful. The conditions were bad enough now, what with the crisp, cold wind breezing in and the constant spray of mist from the Channel beneath them. Rain, thunder, and stronger winds would only have set them more off course. Not to mention, it would have thrown all these men straight out of boot camp into chaos. They did their best to train them for what was to come, but they couldn't cover everything. Wolverine glanced again from man to man, and mentally shook his head. Kids. No more than twenty years old. They've still got their whole lives ahead of them. He'd seen more in the last year than he wanted anyone to have to see in three lifetimes.

A loud shout snapped him out of his thoughts. It was almost time. These boys were about to be flung into reality faster than they realized. Looking from face to face, he noticed how much each of them had changed. Bobby Drake had entered into the army, head strong and all talk. He had too much confidence about him... made him an easy target for a quick let down. He remembered the first time he saw him, when Wolverine was called to talk to his platoon personally for the first time. The kid couldn't even keep a smile off his lips for more than three seconds. Now, it seemed as though he couldn't even force one onto his lips. He was ashen, bags under his eyes from lack of sleep, due to the anticipation of battle. "You got a girl back home, waiting for you, kid?"

"Y-Yes sir, I do..."

"Same for everyone else?" He watched carefully as a few nodded, and some just shrugged their shoulders. "Each an' every one of you's got someone back in the good ol' US of A waitin' for you to drag your sorry butt home. Well, bein' in charge of you, makes me feel all responsible like. So just stick with me an' don't screw around. The fewer the mistakes made here, the fewer the letters I gotta send home to your mommas. Is that clear?" So it wasn't a true blue American pep talk. He had thirty seconds to compose it, he was surprised he got that much out. As if to remind him how little time he had, the same gruff, loud, commanding voice from before broke the silence with his deafening call, "Drop 'em!" A minute later the front ends of the transport dropped, and, simultaneously, the Germans began to fire. Wolverine was the last off, shoving everyone in front of him in. "Go go go!" Calls and commands and cries of pain filled the air, and was almost too much for him. It pierced straight through his ears and caused an instant headache. The ice cold of the water didn't help any, shooting up and down his spine and threatening to make it go numb.

All around them, men were floundering, arms waving in panic as they began to sink due to the heavy materials they carried. He made his way around, avoiding bullets and pulling men free of their bondage. His eyes were constantly being filled with water, causing them to sting and water so much he could barely see. The smoke from all the ships' firing and the airplanes' recent bombings created a thick wall, just barely transparent.

His eyes scanned the water as he waded into shore, looking for the members of his platoon. He caught sight of most of them, already on shore, cowering and ducking behind anything that would protect them from the steady flow of gunfire from above the cliff. Glancing upward, he caught sight of a row of Germans, firing away at his fellow Americans with machine guns and rifles and anything else they'd gotten their dirty little hands on.

The scene on the shore was absolute turmoil. The stench of death and blood filled his nostrils as he moved in beside Scott Summers. Everywhere he looked, men were falling, clutching different body parts and crying out for someone to help them. Blood seemed to stain the sand, as well as the water drifting inland. It all crawled by in a cruel, slow motion. Mouths were moving, yet the words couldn't be made out. Some men were seen, grabbing for parts of their body that were no longer connected. One man was walking about the corpses of his fellow friends and troops, searching for something, or so it seemed. Perhaps it was the shock at seeing all these men dying so quickly that made Wolverine actually chuckle when he pulled out from a pile of debris and already stinking corpses, his left arm, which had been reduced to no more than a stub by a strategically planted land mine. "Now what, Wolverine?" The shouted question, directed at himself, shook him from the slow motion and brought him back to the fast paced reality before him. Men were scrambling to stay alive, and overall you could still hear the cry for a medic.

"Sir! You've got to move your men off this beach! We need to get rid of this trash and make room for the tanks!" The pressure of taking charge made his heart pump, and, no matter how awful war was, no matter how many people around him were no more than pieces of the men they used to be, it was a rush. The high that situations like this produced surged through him and gave him a sense of pleasure he'd never felt before. This was what he was made for; quick decisions, tight situations, war. And if you asked him, he wouldn't have it any other way.

"Listen up! We need to make our way up this beach!"

"I can't do it, Sergeant sir! I can't go!" He turned to see John Allerdyce just behind him. He was clutching his gun so tightly his knuckles were white, and his whole body was trembling. The look in his eyes was not one that was new to Wolverine, though he hated to see it already instilled in someone so young.

"Sorry kid, but you gotta. No one wins a war by stayin' put an' bein' a coward! Now either you go willingly, or I'll drag your sorry a-" A round of ammunition began just then, not only cutting off his words but striking him in the shoulder as well. It hurt only for a moment, and then the stinging sensation died away, just like the shooting had. Once it was a little quieter in their end, he tried again. "All right! You see that ledge up there? You use anything and everything you've got to make it there! Stay low to the ground," he paused, when he noticed one of his men, Remy Lebeau, just in from the French resistance there in Normandy, pulling his helmet off and looking inside. Grabbing the helmet from his hands, he hit him upside the head with it and tossed it back at him. "And for Godsake, keep your helmets on! It's the only thing you've got, besides your thick skulls. Well! You've got your orders, what are you waiting around for? Move it move it move it!" While his men hurried to find cover from the ever raining gunfire, Wolverine moved in a zig zag formation, stopping now and again at different corpses to relieve them of their ammunition. He had a feeling the back up troops wouldn't be there to relieve them for some time. Meanwhile, they'll need to defend themselves.

Making it at last to the protective ledge just below the German forces, Wolverine pulled the plastic off one of the guns and began to load it. "Wolverine, sir... you're injured!" Bobby was staring, wide-eyed, at Wolverine's sleeve, which was stained with bright red blood. Shifting slightly and glancing momentarily in the same direction, Wolverine replied by cracking his neck and shrugging his shoulders slightly.

"It ain't my blood." The kid seemed happy to accept that explanation, and the battle continued. The first wave didn't survive well against the German attack. Looking down the line, Wolverine realized, hardly surprised, that many of their men didn't make it past the shore of Normandy beach. Taking this beach without reinforcements was going to be difficult at the very least. They had to dismantle the groups of Germans who'd set themselves into the stone ledge. With that completed, it was only a matter of defeating a few individual soldiers before they could take over the base and declare Normandy defeated. Somehow, it always managed to sound easier when you were just starting out, and when the idea was being played out only in your mind. He wouldn't risk a single man from his platoon, not if it wasn't necessary. "We need to make a trench fifteen feet away from here!" Pointing to one man at a time, Wolverine found himself taking charge and commanding each person bring him a necessary piece of equipment. He sent two out for the same item, in case one didn't make it back. That was the case in only one instance, luckily. "Drake! What're you, too busy wettin' your pants? Get that tubing over here! Allerdyce! We need firepower over here now!" Setting the desired weapon into the tubing, John Allerdyce quickly pulled a cigarette from his lips and held it up to the wick. It caught on fire rather quickly, sending a small spark of fire down the wick, and the others holding the tube quickly sent it along it's way. "Fire in the hole!" Wolverine ducked, covering his head against any possible flying shrapnel. The others followed his example, and, a moment later, sand and rocks were falling all around them. When it settled, Wolverine was the first to raise his head. He looked over the side enough to see that their plan had worked. They'd hollowed out a hole large enough for them to fit into. "All right you Mommas' Boys, listen up! I want you in groups of two! Stay low, and get in there!"

The moments seemed to tick on forever, when in reality, it hadn't been more than a minute since they'd hollowed out the trench. "Gambit, over here!" Grabbing hold of the boy's shoulder he pulled him close and jabbed a finger in the direction of the ledge where the Germans were still firing away at what was left of the first wave. All Wolverine cared about was that nine of his thirteen men were present and accounted for. "You think you can get them?" The boy followed his gaze and squinted, shifting slightly and cocking his head.

"Not from here..." His eyes scanned over the area around them and found a crevice inside the ledge. "Dere." He made no move, other than the slight nod of his head in that direction. Wolverine never moved his head, but got a good look at the area through the corner of his eye.

"Good. They haven't spotted our trench yet. We'll give you enough cover fire to get over there. You pick 'em off, one by one. We'll see to it any strays stay put. Permanently. Now, wait for my orders before goin', you got that?"

"Yes sir!" Nodding in approval, Wolverine moved back to where he'd left his weapons and made sure his first gun choice was well loaded. "Platoon ready? Cover fire!" All nine of them, Wolverine included, aimed for the small opening in the ledge, which was their intended target. Firing away, the Germans had to pay too much attention to them to notice Gambit creeping along the ground and sneaking into the crevice. No one moved their heads in his direction, lest they want to give away his position. Many held their breaths, Wolverine included, and waited for the fateful sound of his sniper gun taking down German soldier after German soldier. They watched one crumble, then another. The third fell forward, out the opening and down the cliff. Bobby and John made sure that he wouldn't be getting up again, let alone pulling another trigger.

When no more noise came from the area, Wolverine found it safe to assume all the Germans inside were dead. He ordered his men to slowly leave the trench and move their way up the ledge. On the other side, he knew, was a small fort. There would be individual soldiers, but most were along the ledge, manning all the weapons, fighting the British and Canadians up a few hundred miles. His men all moved forward, just as he ordered, and soon were at the top of the wall. By then, the others waiting below had realized there was a breech in the German wall, and quickly made their way up to join them. Wolverine spotted a fellow sergeant and moved down the cliff to speak to him about his plan. The last thing he remembered was seeing the man give a short wave and reach a hand out to pat his back. The next moment he heard a screeching noise, and saw a flash of light. Heat encompassed his body, and then all went black.