三
Chapter Summary: Union is practically worshipping the ground Lyall walks on and the Battle of Gettysburg is in one day - but also with a friend.
Notes: Thank you for those who fav or followed – I'd never think that this would get that many so fast! :3
Please note I am Australian, therefore I don't know American history very well so please forgive any mistakes I make. I'm trying my very best at learning American history but it's not going well. Whoever was the General back then, I do not know so it's going to be General Marth.
Man, I suck at writing.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
"Colonel Howlett!"
"Yo?" I automatically say, turning towards the voice. A messenger boy – with a letter in hand – stumbled on the sticky mud and squeezed through the attentive guards. "Let him through guys. Whadda got for me?" The boy looked barely 10, but with the severe cases of starvation and hunger killing many throughout America, he could be anything.
"A letter, ma'am." He shyly holds out the mud splattered paper, very neat and sophisticated copperplate writing printed on the front, declaring my name, title and base. While there was no return address, that style of writing was very, very familiar.
Kyren?
Frowning, I took it and messily tore it open with the grace of a mid-adolescence boy. Mindlessly I gave the messenger boy a few coins worth $10, not feeling the weight difference. The best thing about not needing food and necessary items is the money builds up fast. Inside the letter was Hamlet by Shakespeare – but with a difference.
To be or not to be that is the question. Whether tis nobler in the mind to suffer the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune or to take armsagainst a sea of troubles and by opposing end them? To die, to sleep – No more - and by asleep to say we end the heartache.
Kyren Kyren Kyren Kyren Kyren
The bold letters, to anybody else but me, could be seen as the quill's ink was a bit slippery and randomly put out more ink than needed. But I knew that Kyren, head of a rich clan-like family, had only the best of the best quills, forced on him by the previous head, his father.
Something was up. It was most certainly a code.
Smiling, I faced the man in front of me as if it was a harmless love letter. Before me was a map I could lay on and they'd still be more room. Pins, sticks, and other tiny sharp items peppered the painfully hand-drawn map, lighting it up in wonderful colours.
General Marth squatted opposite me, twirling his salt and pepper moustache in a way that strike me familiar; it was almost exactly like in the movies about the French. One arm held up his head, placing the elbow on his knee as he leaned forward to contemplate the battlegrounds for tomorrow.
"Where to General?" I say, tucking the note behind my grey shirt that was perfect for sleeping in. It was thin enough to snooze in comfortably and had enough fabric that the men got used to it after a while.
"We go to Gettysburg; if we meet somebody there, draw them to the fields nearby and evacuate the villagers. Make sure you limit the damage on farms and houses, Colonel Howlett." He replies, deep voice thrumming the air.
"Sir," I nod, and salute him as we both stood up.
"Go and visit your half-brother and get some sleep." And with that, he retreats further into the tent to his quarters. I relaxed the salute I'd held until he'd vanished beyond sickly yellow flaps. The guards, barely into the army, salute me as I leave, looking tired and worn. General Marth had been marching the lot of us, Bases 3, 7 and 12 around the country side for quite some time now, and everyone was feeling the effects of it.
Victor was waiting for me outside, quietly chatting with his friend, Hugh, whom looked shockingly like Logan's actor, Hugh Jackman, only with sun bleached hair and tanner skin. Hugh had enlisted in the army at the same time as Victor, attaching himself on my half-brother until Victor grew used to him and eventually welcomed him.
"Bro," I grin, watching Hugh as he makes a face at unfamiliar words "how do you feel like fighting in the fields next to Gettysburg?" Victor makes a face, trying to match name to place, and finally gets it with a groan.
"Really? Are you sure?" Hugh almost pleads, bottom lip sticking out.
"I can feel it in the Force." I say 'wisely' nodding and holding my head with my thumb and index finger curled around my chin. My brother and his friend looked at me weirdly like I was a fool and sensibly ignored my last comment.
"Imagine fighting in those muddy fields with civilians screaming like headless chicken and cannons and bullets flying everywhere." Victor made a face, mindlessly scratching at his orange tuff on his chin.
"Well, you won't have to imagine anymore because you'll live it tomorrow. Get some sleep, you'll need it." I tell them cheerily, waving them to their pitiful tents. One of the best things about achieving the title of Colonel was a broader tent that was better protected against the elements.
Inside the somewhat safety of my electric blue tent, Kyren's letter found itself thrown on a wobbly wooden desk with basic writing utensils. I made a face at the innocent looking vibrant white quill and ink pot. Imagine my disgust of going to computers and/or (almost) holograms to feathers you had to dip into ink to write. My style has never been so messier before.
A piece of yellowish paper settled beside Kyren's, the quill dipped in black ink, ready to write. I support my head with the palm of my left hand, eyes re-reading the passage he sent me over and over.
It would end up to be a long night.
[x]
"Enemies sighted," I murmur to General Marth as the rush of scouts hurried back to us to report. The Colonels of bases 7 and 12, Leroy Huber and Alfred Hyde respectively pulled up their horses, waiting for General Marth's order. He arched his eyebrows at me, waiting for anything to happen, nodding in respect when the scouts broke the arch of the hill. They skidded to a halt beside Leroy, the smallest to Alfred. Sure enough, they reinforced my earlier statement, the smallest one having more information as he had a better chance at sneaking around the South's lines.
General Marth barked out the usual 'get to your base' and 'be prepared for a fight' adding on sentences that was basically more detailed ones from last night. Leroy, Alfred and I nudged our horses away from the leaving General, quietly chatting about what we'd all expect to happen, and calming each other's nerves.
I peeled away first as Base 3 was at the front behind General Marth's. The rows of red, a brown dash signifying our base on everyone's arms, stood to attention, arms raised in salutes.
"At ease!" I call, tilting Myth, my horse, to a stop. "We have sighted the enemy! Be prepared, check your guns, and clean the rust of your knife. You know the drill." There was a light rustle of laughter from the ranks.
"However! The villages from Gettysburg need to be evacuated as best as you can. Groups 1 to 5 can do that, but anybody else that has an over-powering, desperate need to help can volunteer. General Marth has asked all of us to stay clear of the farms and houses, as the villages are our first priority then the fight." I clearly say, thankful of the dead silence. "Alright! Let's kick some South asses!"
A mild noise rose from the men, quietly as possible to not warn the South our presence, although they probably already did. I grin and swing Myth around to face the front. I lift my arm to wave at a scowling General, grinning at him cheekily.
Not long after that, Lee swung his arm forward, the lines starting forward. A boy had come along to take Myth away, as I requested to fight in as many battles as I could. Myth wouldn't be able to do much – she wasn't a Peach Blossom. This meant I marched with the rows as they became jumbled and mixed to confuse archers so they wouldn't try to pick off the higher grade people.
My stomach rolled at the thought of more death. I hated it, but I'd grown used to it, slaying men left, right and centre one after the other until it became an automatic action. But I feared for my men, Hugh and Victor. Victor could take anything that was thrown at him and he would protect Hugh. However, the humans behind me were basically cannon fodder in the big picture, even if we did feel the blow when thousands of them die in a fight.
A roar – General Marth's war cry. He'd met the first resistance. Hugh, whom appeared next to me in the last second or so, carefully checked his gun for anything wrong with it. Victor's heavy hairy hand rested on my shoulder, my softer longer hands lying over his. We all nod at each other and face the front.
"FIGHT!" I bellow, dashing forward into the midst of red and greeny-brown. Answering cries from all around me ring in my ears as I tear down South men one after the other.
Hack, slash, duck and kill. Easy peasy. I'd never imagined killing would be this easy, and I was only half right. While physically it was a walk in the park, the emotion backlash was more than enough to pay up for it. Really, the blood never washes from your hands.
"Ma'am, the villages are gone." A soldier nervously calls from behind me. I grunt in reply and shoot a man's brains out. I gesture to the fighting around us.
"Good! Now, get down and dirty soldier!" I yell, ripping off ropes of fabric off my shirt. With my two best knives secured tightly on the back of my hand, so achingly like my claws it hurt, I jumped at the nearest South man, ripping my arm up along his whole body. Bloody bodily items poured everywhere, so disgusting I had to take a moment to take a breath.
A sharp twang in my right thigh notified me of a bullet making its home there. Already I could feel it uncomfortably wiggling outwards, the strange sensation giving me shivers to my bones. The bullet, splattered with my blood, finally fell out of my leg and I was mobile again.
"Lyall," a man on the ground gasps, a trickle of blood exiting his mouth. He was the one who I just slashed, and the gruesome sight of his guts splattered everywhere made me wish I didn't do that. "It's me, Kyren."
What?
"K-Kyren?" I stutter, skidding back to his side. Kyren had grown a mighty beard the six years since I joined the army, and I remember laughing about it in one of our meetings. The black beard was dyed scarlet red, a colour that I used to love, a branch of liver resting on his left cheek.
"Please, kill me." He gasps, and gestures to his lower body. "I don't blame you Lyall, I should've fought my family more to join you guys." Then, his letter came rushing back to my mind – it finally made sense. My mind mentally raced through thousands of variations before it finally settled on one;
I am sorry. My family forced me into this. I am a Reb now.
Kyren
"P-please, free the slaves. They're in your protection now, and do it for anyone else." Kyren whispers, his speech dropping off into a cough.
I choke back a sob and my eyes watered. "But what about Mary -" I say, my hands scraping the liver off his food-starved cheek. His arms were a lot more beefy than I remembered but his legs still held the trophy of the 'limb with the most muscle in Kyren's body.'
Kyren smiles, a tear slipping from the corner of his eye, and doesn't say anything. I sniff, and rip off the knives. I clench my fist, and voilà, bone claws. Kyren's eyes widened at the sight of them but before he could say anything, they were buried deep in his heart.
He opened his mouth to say something, but a heart-wrenching amount of blood was spat out. Kyren's eyes develop a glassy shine to it, and I couldn't hear him breath. I cry, claws sliding back into my arms.
Victor crouched down beside me, enveloping me in a hug. He was stabbed and shot countless times, but he didn't bother making a reaction – he could heal and that's all that mattered.
"Kyren's family forced him into this." I bite bitterly, standing up wobbly with Victor's help.
"Hugh just died – he took a bullet that he thought I wouldn't survive." He snarls, a bloodthirsty grin directed at the Rebs. "Let's kill them."
"For freedom," I firmly say, and look down at my fists. "No secrets, no slavery, no forced decisions. We will protect, I promise you Kyren" I ground out, watching in satisfaction as a South man dies at the hand of my claws. Victor's finger nails lengthen, his face matching my feral grin.
The Union won the Battle of Gettysburg in two days.
[x]
It feels like I'm in trouble with my parents.
Not the high-and-mighty Elizabeth or my lovely father, but my past-life, mum and dad. Growing up, I'd always 'steal' food because I was hungry, never mind the fact it was mum's or dad's, meaning they'd always get incredibly furious with me.
Victor was slouched next to me, legs crossed and one arm resting on his legs while holding up his head. I sat straight, legs underneath me fists planted firmly on my thighs, my right hand on top where someone shot me.
"We have reports of Howlett having claws sprouting from your fists over the last two days and numerous accounts of you being shot, once in the head, and still you shrugged it off." General Marth glowered at us. Behind him was the heads of the army and a few other infamous people such as Abraham. "Would you like to tell us anything?"
Victor looked and me and grunted, not caring what would happen to us. Unlike Victor, I have actual friends in the army, all my emotional ties here and nowhere else to go. So, I decided.
"We're freaks!" I say brightly, and everyone's eyebrows shot up. I raised my fist and clenched, feeling the bones come out, waving them around like a stiff limb. Gasps and astounded noises came from behind General Marth, and Victor grudgingly showed his fingernails when I glared at him.
With the skills of a lightning fast animal, I stabbed myself with my claws in the arm, the bones ripping themselves out on the other side. With no emotion, I wrench them out, showing the already healing arm to our audience. Victor did the same, only he stabbed himself in the head (and as payment he passed out cold).
"How does this work?" General Marth demanded, reaching forward to feel the knobbly texture of the bones. "Where do they hide and how do you have them?"
I shrug. "They hide in my forearms and I think it might me in my genes. I donno, we're both bastard children." I sigh, letting the claws shrink back into my arm. "Oh yeah, and I think the healing factor won't let me die from old age either."
"Quite, I know you're 31 but you look like you're in your early 20s." Abraham agrees from the corner of the log house. He's actually quite funny, but can be serious at random times, and wasn't as sexist as others are because of his wife. "Unless you're not 31…"
"I am 31," I admit, and poke Victor as he groaned "Victor's 30." He finally sits up and yawns.
"We done here?" he grouches, and looks around for Hugh, only to be disappointed. He sighs and heaves up, trotting out of the tent. "See ya, tell me what you're gonna do with us later."
I turned back to General Marth, who seemed to be in deep thought.
"I say keep her." Abraham shrugs. "She's done nothing wrong, neither has her brother." Leroy nodded and voiced his agreement. Alfred took some time to argue with but he grudgingly did too as well. Stark was all for me to stay, but one sexist and anti-mutant man called Frank Vang, head of weaponry, violently expressed his desire to end me. He had been a thorn in my side since my discovery, the solidified example of men against female equality.
"Colonel Howlett will stay." General Marth suddenly says, interrupting Vang's shouting match with the rest of us. "She has done nothing wrong so she will keep her position along with her brother. Keep this a secret from the rest of the world – it won't pass these walls." Vang grumbled, and stormed out. He was absolutely loyal to General Marth so I could count on him not to spread rumours.
As soon as I was let go, I almost fell over in the effort to get the fuck out. The smell in there was horrendous – there was so many smells I couldn't pick apart anything. Hell, somebody could've been bleeding, but I wouldn't be able to smell it. It's why I liked to sleep with my tent window open.
I stopped beside the neighbouring lake, a wonderfully deep royal blue with tiny ripples as waves broke on the sandy shore. Then, Kyren's death jumped out of nowhere, and I croaked back a sob, picking up a flat stone and trying to skim it. It landed in the middle of the lake with a massive splash.
I'd met Kyren's family once, when I had leave and I had nowhere to sleep except in a miserable forest, and he insisted for me to come. They sniffed at my ratty clothes, scowled at my dirty grinning face, and was outright disgusted when they learnt I was in the army. Thankfully I did not say what side I was on.
There was an upside to it all – I met Kyren's wife, a German woman with an up-beat personality. Secretly she was a scientist, a biologist to be exact and was amazed at my claws. Mary, that's her name, obsessed over my claws a lot, she had to be dragged away when I had to leave.
Oh, I'd probably be a monster now to her. From the attaching smells of his body (around the smell of death of course) Kyren had hung around with people, their smells nearby. His friends probably memorised my face and name, telling Kyren's family and as well as Mary.
Because that's what I was – a monster. I killed my best friend without effort, without hesitation, and I could've looked at his face to recognise him and not murder Kyren.
The self-doubt and hate piled up until I was reduced to a sobbing mess next to the lake, the waters rising round me.
Sometime later, when the water was around my bellybutton when I curl up into a ball, Kyren's words came back to me – free the slaves and protect anyone who asks.
The depression-like haze cleared somewhat, and I pondered on the words and what I'm going to do with my life. Survive, that's what, and make sure people don't die. Protect Rogue, Bobby, John, and all the kids at the school. Free the slaves, destroy racism and sexism, and when you go over to Hiroshima, help as many people you can after the bomb.
As I said the words, pressure weighed down my shoulders and for one second I couldn't breathe. All this, in the next 200 years or so. And that's not counting if the MCU is real as well or Stark is just a blimp.
"You've already cried too much Lyall," I murmur, and wipe away at the edges of my eyes "come on, Kyren's left you a job. And hey – jobs are better to do when you like what you're doing."
I stretch, and wonder back to my tent, shaking my wet clothes as best I could like a dog.
But, with these plans set out, I felt disgruntled and uninterested. I've always hated the word goal. It was probably results of 15 years of being told 'set and achieve your goals' by my schools– it just murders my will to do anything. To me, 'goal' sounds like somebody's given up, I don't know why or how I came to that conclusion, I just sat up one day in year 9 and said to my mum 'I hate the word goal.'
And what I just did – it was goals. I suddenly didn't want to do it anymore, just lie down and play Solitaire and Clocks.
But I had – and Logan did it too, without knowing what to do. He'd winged it, and here I was, planning it out. Maybe I should wing it too, just like most of my school tests. You've been told the information, why should you bother to learn it again? I was a horrible student – it wasn't up until year 10 I actually knew how to study, I'd winged all of my tests and mostly got As.
And that's what I'm going to do here – take what you know and squeeze as much information as you can. If someone like Logan can wing it, I can too.
With my imaginary rock out of my boot, and my mind made up, I quietly shuffled back to my tent. Victor was inside, making himself at home. He smiled grimly at me, patting the space next to him on my bed. I flopped down, resting my head on his lap.
"What did they say?" Victor asks after a while. He lied down fully, hands behind his head as he stared up to the ceiling of the tent.
"We can stay." I answer, lazily drawing circles in his leg hairs.
"So what are going to do?" he sighs, reaching down to rest his left hand on my head, patting me slightly. I stay silent, pausing my taps on his thigh.
"We fight for freedom and protection." I declare, rolling up to his stomach. "I will free the slaves down in the South and I will utterly destroy racism and sexism into smithereens. And after that? We'll wing it. Do whatever the heck we want, but always fight for protecting those who you like and love."
"Aye, aye, ma'am." Victor says snarky, saluting me. I roll my eyes and poke my tongue out. "Orders heard loud and clear."
Notes:
So, what do you think of the character development? It's my first try at it - so I don't know if its good or not.
Sorry about the future filler-ish chapters, I'm doing it because
a) my writing sucks and I want to get it as good as I can before we get onto the real stuff and
b) to see how Lyall copes instead of rushing in head first like Logan. Lyall does have the memories of 74ish years so she knows the danger. This won't help in some cases but in others it will.