Target

by abracadabra

~X~

William Stryker, short, fat, balding, and incredibly lethal, crossed his arms and faced the window, his left hand holding a black mug with even blacker coffee long gone cold. For a while, he let his own thoughts chase themselves around in his brain, waiting to see how long Colonel Krawley would stand mute and army-still. Finally, though, Stryker became bored with the silence, and turned to the officer. He was tall, straight, with sharply chiseled features and a constant cold expression, and paid extremely close attention to the military strategist.

"What I need," began Stryker, choosing his words carefully, "is something that would persuade the President to take my…program into effect – at all costs."

"Perhaps you could expose some illegal mutant activity?"

"See, that's the problem, Colonel. I have leads, and quite obvious ones at that, towards precisely what you're talking about. However…I procured it rather unconventionally, and as I doubt there's some way for my methods to be shown as either legal or illegal, due to their…nature…I'd like to have something more obvious and jarring for the President than what I've discovered."

"Your 'methods'?"

"I'll show you sometime other than now."

"What kind of 'jarring' are you talking about, sir?"

Stryker pondered that question for a moment before replying. "Where he's absolutely forced into taking action against the mutants."

Krawley looked away from him and browsed the library of American military and political history on the far wall with his eyes. Returning to Stryker's gaze, he licked his lips, a subtle gesture of nervousness, and said, "Are you looking for casualties?"

"No-" Stryker began, and then stopped himself. Normally, he would always try to avoid casualties – always a lot of second-guessing and paperwork associated with them, and he'd had enough clouding his near perfect record as a strategist. But this was different. This was something he had been working for, more or less secretly, for nearly two-thirds of his life. Why would he let a death or two get in the way of finally being able to call the shots? He wasn't going to let himself go soft in later years, not when his goal was so close.

"Sir?" Krawley interrupted his thoughts.

"Yes? Yes," answered Stryker finally, jiggling the coffee mug and wondering where the nearest fresh coffee pot would be. "I'm ready for casualties. Why?"

"I have an idea," replied the Colonel. He strode over to the shelves, freed a slim, dust-jacketed hard cover from the books, and turned it towards Stryker. An eccentric-looking 19th century man with a rifle and a huge beard was on the cover. "Do you remember Harper's Ferry?"

~X~

Kurt Wagner put his three-fingered hands on the edge of the rickety table and sighed heavily, lowering his head and closing his eyes slowly. The last performance of his American tour had been a success, as usually, and then, suddenly, he was free. The airplane he was going to take home to Munich wasn't departing until early morning – when everyone would be groggy, and the cabin dark, just the way he wanted it. In the meantime, he had a whole night to pack up his meager belongings and prepare to go into the normal world, and he wasn't sure just what he was going to do.

"You going to get back to church all right?" asked Jonas, who was wheeling a large box in a barrow towards the trailers.

"Ja. I told you I could stay in it for hovever long I vanted to. Vhenever I need a place, He provides." Kurt smiled a fanged grin at his friend.

"All right," the human replied. "I'll see you later." He stopped the barrel, turned to face Kurt, and spoke honestly. "It was real nice to have you in our circus. Do you think you'll come back?"

Kurt shrugged and flicked his tail. "Vadsever happens, happens. I do miss my homeland, but ids very interesting here."

"Interesting?" Jonas looked at him quizzically.

"Zhe fact zhat you American humans are trying bozh to…combine vizh and divide vizh zhe mutants at zhe same time. In Münich, humans just sort of go about zheir business, and if zhat has to do vizh a mutant, zhey don't really zhink about it. Here, everyvone makes such a fuss about it…like it's some kind of plague or disease." He involuntarily shuddered.

"Yeah…well, not everyone's so keen on having people they think are better than them running about, but we do seem to make everything seem so black and white here." Jonas looked off for a second. "Well, I have to get going. Thanks for being here."

"Bitte schon." Kurt smiled again, stood up from the table, and walked off into the falling darkness.