Uncanny X-Men 1943

Chapter 7

Miss Lee hurried back to the SOE office, the file tucked inside her satchel, which she kept a protective arm around, while the other hand tried to hold her hat in place against the bitter winds. Never had she wished so much that the SOE offices were closer to Whitehall, and should she ever have to return to the Ministry of Information, it would be too soon. It had been weeks since she'd began this search for information on a man whom no one seemed to know the slightest bit about, but maybe, just maybe, today she had the answer.

"Miss Lee!"

"Oh, sorry," Miss Lee said, almost running straight into the gangly youth Benjamin Deeds as she entered the SOE offices.

"Are you going up to Miss Frost?" Deeds asked.

"Yes."

"Give her this," he said, stuffing a telegram into her hand. "It just came in from Oxfordshire. Top secret and top priority. Run."

Miss Lee couldn't explain why, but she took the steps two at a time as she ran up to Miss Frost's office on the fourth floor. "Miss Frost - I - this if for you..." she panted as she put the telegram down on Miss Frost's desk.

"You know you're allowed to knock," Miss Frost said as she opened the telegram, "That's generally what a closed door implies. That one knocks before entering."

"Yes, ma'am," Miss Lee said, but Miss Frost wasn't listening. She'd changed into her diamond form, and Miss Lee closed the door and awaited instructions. Miss Frost often changed into diamond when she read important telegrams and such. She couldn't feel anything in that form, and thus, no matter what the dispatch said, Miss Frost's emotions could never betray her. Miss Frost folded up the telegram, picked up a pen and began to write.

"Send a telegram to each of these people. I need them all here at 1400 hours. Pull whatever strings are needed to get them here."

Miss Lee took the list and scanned the names. "Lady Elizabeth isn't around. She returned to her family home."

"Well thank goodness it's in the Home Counties, and not Cornwall or the north or Wales or something," Miss Frost said. "Tell her I want her here at 1330. I'd best speak to her first."

"Yes, ma'am," Miss Lee said. "Oh, and I got this. Finally," she added, pulling the file out of her satchel.

"Hmm," Miss Frost said, taking the folder. "Nice work, Miss Lee."

"Is there anything else, ma'am?" Miss Lee said, stepping back to the door and feeling quite proud of herself.

"Oh, there will be," Miss Frost said, turning back to normal as she unwound the binding around the file. "There's going to be an awful lot more."

...

"I - oh, ah, hello there. Didn't know I was going to get a roommate. Nice for a change though, I guess. Solitary confinement isn't particularly my cup of tea." The room was almost completely dark, save for a bit of light coming in under the door and through a slit in the wall which acted more as ventilation than a window, but at least it showed Warren that outside it was grey and cold. The little bit of light allowed him to see that he wasn't alone. Warren sat down on the floor. There was an old blanket, which he took to be his bed. The room smelt of human waste and body odour, but at least there was some light, and some company. He'd lost track of time since arriving at the camp. Was it days or weeks since he'd last seen Elizabeth?

"If it's not been solitary confinement," Warren went on, pulling the piece of blanket over his knees to try and stop him from shivering, "Then I've been in a room full of goons, telling them everything I know. Usually different goons, but sometimes some of the same. Told my story at least four, five times. Tried to keep everything straight. No point in lying. Here's a bit of fun though, don't tell what you're not asked," Warren chuckled, though that made his chest hurt. The guards here had a penchant for roughness, and as such, his injuries from his capture weren't getting much of a chance to heal. When the guards had moved him earlier, he'd feared the worst. One really can't expect much else in such a place. But instead he'd been lectured by a senior guard in German in an office for a good ten minutes, before being marched over to a different part of the camp.

"Anyhow," Warren continued, "Should they ever find themselves in London, they'll know exactly where to buy the best shoes, suits and hats and anything else a gentleman could require. Silk handkerchiefs, pocket watches, dressing gowns. I'd like my dressing grown right now. My own bed. Gosh, I miss my bed. At least there's a blanket in here. Is that was this is? There was nothing in the other room. The cell, I mean, not the integration room. My bed, plus Elizabeth, of course. She's my wife. Elizabeth. It does feel good to be able to say that. I wish Betsy was here. Well, not here, of course. God, I'm so glad she's not. I - I can't even let myself think of what they'd do to her. I mean, I rather wish I was with her. Very, very far away from here. Sorry, captive audience, what? It just - well, I've either been all on my own, or been questioned by the SS and Gestapo and whatever other creeps have crawled out of the woodwork to see the latest freak show, that now I rather can't stop. Terribly sorry, I - hold up. Are you blue?"

Warren's eyes had adjusted to the gloom, and he noticed that the skinny fellow huddled in the opposite corner was in fact blue.

"Gosh," said Warren, "Well, you can no doubt see what defines me," he said, forcing a smile to hide the sick feeling in his stomach. He knew what they'd do with his wings, and he was sure they were just waiting for the right doctor to arrive at whichever hell hole this was. He was no doubt a Very Important Specimen, and they wouldn't want to muck the dissection up. "Well, that and I'm awfully rich," Warren said, and chuckled again, "Not that this lot seem to care. I've tried to say I could pay any ransom, but they don't seem to care. I have a very nice flat in Berkley Square. I told them that. Lovely views, elevator, butler, wife. Lovely views of my wife too. Elizabeth and I bought that flat together. Best square in Greater London, I say, and those clowns couldn't flatten it. They've taken out most of the City, but the important things are still there. St Paul's. St Paul's is still there. Did you know that? Oh, I'm sorry," he said. "I've just had a thought. You don't speak English, do you?"

The blue man looked at Warren.

"English?" Warren asked. "Français? Though I can only speak school-boy French, so if you speak a dialect or whatever of it, then we'll have no luck. Other than that I've got a bit of Latin and some Ancient Greek. Wonderful for passing school exams, not so great in the real world. Probably why I had to meet so many of those grey coated goons, to find some that understands me. I've been living in Britain since '36, you see, and I believe I've picked up a bit of a twang, especially on some vowel sounds. Because I haven't got a straight American accent anymore, and neither is it purely British, it makes me a bit hard for them to understand. Sorry. I'm very hungry and sore and tired and it's really a case of talk or cry. I'm shaking and cold and - I'm Warren, by the way."

The blue man didn't reply.

"Umm," Warren said, "My name is Warren," he said slowly, pointing to himself. "Warren."

"My name is Kurt," the blue man said slowly, with a think German accent.

"Oh Kurt, you can speak English," Warren smiled, and held out his hand.

Kurt shook it. "Little. Small, little."

"That's fine. We'll manage," Warren said, shuffling closer to Kurt, but keeping a hold of his blanket. "I've got friends, Kurt," Warren said, lowering his voice, "The race against time is on, but they're coming. My friends are coming. I just know it."

"Elizabeth?" Kurt asked.

"Yeah," Warren said, "She'll be coming. We just have to hold on. Hold on and hope. They're coming. I know they're coming."