Ashes & Mist: A Conference Gravely Bourne

[x-gambit.livejournal.com]

Remy and Haller discuss options with the leadership of the UN, following the loss of the Atlantic Seawall to Apocalypse's forces.



"-what we didn't expect was the use of a suicide squad, screened from us by the flanking infantry, making their way through our containment zone and into the power relays." The large screen showed the same explosion over and over again, as the massive pylons which had been so carefully sunk into the frozen coast of Greenland wavered and collapsed.

The Atlantic Seawall was one of the greatest projects ever attempted by man and like its predecessor, the Great Wall of China, was built out of desperation in the face of an advancing conqueror. It stretched from the coast of Greenland to Iceland, and down at a sharp angle to the Azores, picked up again at the Canary Islands, and then hugging the coast of Africa to the Cape. The massive pylons generated an energy shield that was impregnable, allowing nothing larger than a man to pass through it.

Volcanic islands which had once been charming tourists destinations had been turned into fortresses, bristling with weapons and supported by scores of Sentinel combat platforms. Using the shield as an anvil and the forces as a hammer, the seawall represented a safe zone, against which any enemy could only break themselves.

Unfortunately, their enemy was tenacious and merciless, and refused to be denied his due. Apocalypse; once nothing more than a mercenary leader in the backlands of Africa, he now ruled half the globe. His armies of mutants, augmented and ruthless, had pushed back every force sent against them. For a time, the whole world looked poised to fall, but a dramatic assault by the X-Men had forced Apocalypse at a dear cost. It bought them time, to shore up defenses in the East, drawing a line deep into Chinese and Russian territories, and to build the Atlantic Seawall. It had been Forge's sacrifice, perpetually overdosed on Kick, sending out designs at an unending rate before his system finally collapsed; the Seawall, the Sentinels - massive remotely piloted robot drones, bristling with anti-mutant technology, the PSI Masks, and a thousand more. And even with those, the most they could do was hold the line.

Until now.

"Has he followed up yet?" Istvan Barath's voice was heavy, leaden, crushed by the pressure of the news. Their nations were in shambles, swelled with refugees and shaped now for the war.

"No sir. There have been some probes, but the Sentinels have held Apocalypse forces back. War was seen returning to the Citadel for instructions, we assume. Gauntlet has command."

"He's not going to make the push now." Remy LeBeau's voice broke in, over the mutters. The Cajun had been the leader of the X-Men since the Seawall went up, one of the few of their commanders who survived the assault that made Apocalypse pause. When War had led the counterattack, it had been LeBeau's men who stopped him; a battle that had left only two survivors - War and himself. He had shaped the remaining X-Men to a terrible purpose, as hard inside as the war they faced. But the burdens had aged him, his features gaunt and hair grey. "War will lead the assault. He'll demand it and Apocalypse will grant it. That gives us some time. How long to repair the pylons?"

"Weeks at least. For now, we've cut the Iceland link, so the rest of the wall is up."

"But that hardly matters since he'll flank us, and without Greenland, Iceland is badly exposed." Remy finished for him. "Sentinel forces and the X-Men can hold that line for a time. Naval support will help, but it only buys us a couple of weeks. Maybe less if he comes at us hard. Can you get the seawall back up in time?"

"No."

"Then there is a very different conversation we need to have." Istvan said quietly.

David Haller said nothing. As one of the X-Men's few remaining broad-spectrum psis, his function in this meeting was to serve as bridge for areas too compromised or remote for traditional communications. Every once in a while the pen in his hand would move to jot down another update, but so far no urgent warnings had arrived. The lull had allowed him to maintain just enough focus that Istvan's comment automatically flicked his eyes to the table's final occupant.

The woman who'd been sitting quietly at the head of the table finally shifted; Chairman Lilandra Neramani had been absorbing everything with a quiet intensity that didn't fade as she moved to speak. "In all my years, I never thought I would suggest this," she said, laying her hands flat on the table, "but have we considered our nuclear options at this juncture? Such a strike might condemn our children's children to nuclear horrors but that future might be better than no future if we do not stop him now."

"Apocalypse will have planned for a nuclear strike, Madam Chairwoman. He's seized some of the former US's arsenal, and his mutants will be on intercept and destroy missions at launch." Remy pointed out.


"We've run some numbers. Our best simulations say that between thirty and thirty five percent will get through. We have sufficient assets to make that enough to saturate the Americas." Istvan said.

"The death toll will be billions. And not just those in the Americas. No one knows what that level of nuclear destruction will do to the rest of the planet."

"We know what Apocalypse will do to the rest of the planet. I am no sociopath and I have no wish to die. But humanity is functionally extinct if Apocalypse wins; hanging on as broodmares, hard labour and rape toys."

"Snowbird reported they were performing a cull of the Northern Camps," came Haller's quiet voice. Under his thousand-yard stare his pen scratched an unrelated note. "Screening for latents and those heterozygous for the x-factor complex. Once the tests are perfected they'll become the standard." The pen ran out of ink. Without looking, he picked up another and continued to write. He continued, in the same expressionless voice, "Apocalypse or nuclear winter. As far as humanity is concerned, the only distinction is time."

Lilandra made a noise deep in her throat but didn't disagree with him - she couldn't. He was right and it was exactly why she'd suggested it in the first place.

"General LeBeau-"

"Don't call me that."

"Remy," Istvan said, momentarily forgetting the man's aversion to titles. "You said that you could hold that line for a week, perhaps two. We're willing to give them to you. But once the northern Seawall is compromised, we have to strike with whatever we have left."

Remy nodded wearily. They had no other option, although he might. "Two weeks den?" He said, his accent slipping out.

"If we can."

"I'll link back with the Council once I'm back on Muir. I may be able to find another option for you."

"Gentlemen, this may very well be the last time we meet in this room or, forgive me, at all," Lilandra said as she stood, gathering meaningless papers in her arms. She paused and gazed around the room at those she'd known for years, trying to see something within their eyes that would give her hope. Or perhaps to see the goodbyes. "Allow me a moment to say that it has been an honor to have worked with you and that if these weeks or hours are to be our last, may they also be our finest."

She tried to smile. "God speed, my friends. We shall meet again, if only on the other side."

Remy nodded and motioned at Haller to follow him. They walked quickly towards the Blackbird, crew moving through their pre-flight tasks.

“Contact Rachel and Betts. Let them know we’re on our way.” He said, declining to send any more details. Instead, his mind moved furiously through their remaining assets and options, looking for ways out of the situation they found themselves in. It didn’t take long to determine that their best options were longshots at best; suicide missions with margins of success so long that he’d have laughed them off as options years ago.

Now there was nothing left to laugh about.