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.