FIC: All's Fair In Love and War (Bobby version)
- Title: All's Fair In Love And War (Part 1/?)
Rating: PG-13 at most
Disclaimer: Jenn's mine, everyone else belongs to Marvel!
Author Notes: After finishing All's Fair, I decided to write a few
chapters for the little people who weren't concentrated on majorly in
the first one. So, here's Bobby's part. Or, the beginnings of it at
least! Feedback is always welcomed =)
Summary: For those of you who didn't read All's Fair, it's a little
bit of Saving Private Ryan and In Love and War. Basically, an AU, WW2
piece. Hope you like =)
Resting his head up against the back of the truck, Bobby
allowed himself the leisure of thinking back to the day when he'd
first boarded one similar to this. He'd been three years younger
then, having just turned nineteen. Stupidly, he'd believed the one
thing he needed to grow-mentally and otherwise, was to leave his
family and travel overseas, to fight in a war that concerned every
living American. It appeared to him that he was a total opposite to
the boy who had entered the war. He was a prankster back then, out to
make everyone laugh, and have a good time. He couldn't remember
having done a hard day's work in his entire life.
Yet he went out the moment he had the chance and entered the
war. It was no big secret, to anyone, why he'd done it. William Drake
had never seemed proud of his boy. Robert Drake, after graduation,
was comfortable with becoming an accountant. After all, the only
class he'd ever been good at in school was math. Still, William
Drake, and the rest of the male relatives making up the Drake family
tree, preached about a day when they'd donned their uniforms and
traveled across the wide ocean to defend their homeland.
Not that losing their homeland was a real threat at the time.
The war was with Europe, not America. Truly, the United States would
have been well established for some time before being roped into the
mess there. Still, Bobby supposed it was better to stop things before
the "What Ifs" became true. So, he'd packed his things, kissed his
girl goodbye, and left.
His girl Jenn Murphy. His father hadn't even accepted her to
begin with. She was of Irish decent, after all, and presently all
foreigners were not to be trusted. In that gentle way she had, Jenn
managed to remind his father that she was born and raised in the
United States, making her an American citizen, and not "dirty
foreign scum." His mother, Madeline, had been quite willing to make
Jennifer a part of the family, and he was grateful for that.
Leaving her hadn't been easy, though he was proud of the way
she'd handled herself on that day. He'd packed his bags, not entirely
believing she would come to see him off. Still, when he made the slow
decent on the stairs, he could hear her speaking to his mother in the
kitchen. A small smile crooked onto his lips, despite the nervous
dread that had begun to well up inside him. "Look who came to see you
Looking at Jennifer that day was probably one of the hardest
things he'd had to do. The instant he met her gaze, flashes of every
moment they'd spent together bombarded his conscience, making the
idea to leave suddenly seem hasty. He was about ready to throw his
bag aside and declare his need to stay home, when she stepped over to
him. Everyone in the room seemed to be holding their breath; at
least, he had been. Many other girls had burst into tears and pleaded
with their men to stay behind, to be with them. Jenn, always needing
to contradict things, simply rested a hand lightly on his shoulder,
leaned forward, and left him with a small kiss on his cheek. "Do us
proud, Bobby Drake."
He could see the tears welling into her eyes, but to her
credit, they never fell. Instead, she flicked his hat down over his
eyes and let out a laugh, one so convincing he didn't know, to this
day, if it had been forced or not.
They had walked, shoulder to shoulder, in silence, waiting
for the army truck to travel the long stretch of driveway to his
small farmhouse. He turned back, despite the urge not to, and gave
his home one long, hard stare. He memorized the white shutters, blue
chipping paint, even the half finished gate wrapping around the right
side of the porch. Faintly wondering why it had never been finished,
he was broken from his reveries by the sound of an engine, and gravel
cracking as someone neared his home.
When he turned his attention back to the road, he paused,
gazing instead at Jenn. Her curled, red locks danced about her due to
the present breeze. She had a hand up to shade her eyes from the
beaming sunrays, and was watching the ugly truck wind its way up to
where he stood. "You should have met them there. It's a waste of gas,
coming all the way up here, when you've got two good legs."
Laughing slightly at the teasing scolding she offered, he
took her hand into his and pulled her into the tightest embrace he
could manage. Though she hadn't cried, she'd given into her feelings
enough to hold onto him fiercely, fearing the time when she'd have to
It seemed to the both of them as though the transport had
reached them altogether too soon. There were things left to be said,
promises to be made "You come home to me, Bobby Drake, you
understand? I don't care if they have to carry you here in pieces.
I've been practicing with your Momma I'm sure the two of us could
make you good as new again " He laughed some, nodding slightly, lost
in the contemplation of her hazel eyes. He wanted to be sure that if
he forgot everything about home, save one thing, her eyes would be
that which he remembered.
"Go on and kiss her already, we haven't got all day!"
Watching Jenn's face scrunch in indignation, she turned to the truck,
where several, already-uniformed men hung from windows.
"They say the war is going to last a few more years at least!
You can wait five more minutes!" When the men laughed and withdrew
back into the transport, she turned back around, suddenly finding it
necessary to wipe her hands on her skirt. "Don't you go turnin' into
a heathen like that either, you hear me? Else I'll have to beat the
sense back into you." Offering her a small salute, he captured her
hand once again and lowered his head to kiss it.
"You have my word, Jenn. I won't change a bit."
"Well now I didn't say you couldn't change. A little change
does everybody good I suspect " When he heard the catch in her voice,
he quickly pulled her into another supporting hug, stroking her hair
some. "I'm going to miss you "
"I'll be back before you know it." Moving back slightly and
placing a hand around the small of her back, he leaned forward and
gave her a quick kiss on the lips. Smiling, he slung his bag over his
shoulder and marched off toward the transport. He was stopped a
moment later, as a small hand latched onto his arm, turning him
around. Before he knew what was happening, Jenn had her shaking arms
around his neck, and her lips against his. Forgetting everything
else, he dropped the army bag from his hold and wrapped both arms
around her, lifting her slightly off her feet as he kissed back.
When the kiss ended, Bobby watched as a red tint slowly
filtered into Jennifer's cheeks. The men in the transports were
hollering and giving catcalls. "You just remember that, the first
time you see a pretty girl, all right?"
"I'll never see a prettier girl `n you." Lowering her head
from the flattering, she raised her eyes slightly as a uniformed man
left the transport to pack away Bobby's things.
"Just to make sure of that " Reaching into her apron pocket,
Jenn quickly pulled out a photograph of the two of them. "Take this
with you." Not trusting himself with any more words, he took the
picture from her and moved to get on the transport. Jenn remained
beside the mailbox, watching as he settled himself in his seat. As
the future soldiers waved politely good-bye, Bobby blew her a small
kiss, taking his eyes off her only when she was out of sight.
Sighing miserably at remembering the memory, Bobby tried to
think of something other than home. The long trip back was torture
enough; there was no need to get anxious until they had docked in
The men beside him in the boat were swapping war stories.
They must have only begun, because they currently rested on the topic
of Platoon leaders. "I dare say, there ain't a man alive who'd
disagree that Sergeant Longshot was the finest there was." Shifting
uncomfortably, Bobby managed to rest on his elbows enough to look
around at all the soldiers, as well as to add in his two cents.
"I say you're wrong, soldier." Three years ago, maybe even
two, he wouldn't have dared to utter his opinion to total strangers.
Especially men who looked as though fighting was their life. But
then, they were brothers in a similar cause, so he could trust them
to listen to what he had to say with respect, and without ripping him
to pieces in the process.
"Oh yeah? Name one man who was better." The soldier speaking
rolled his sleeves up, attempting to look intimidating, but really
only succeeding in relaying his curiosity.
"The Wolverine." For a moment, the men looked at each other,
then glanced back at the youngest present.
"You knew The Wolverine?"
"He was my platoon leader. Took me from being a sorry excuse
for a person, and whipped me into shape. Yeah, he could be pretty
tough sometimes, and he definitely wasn't afraid to take on a
challenge. Still, more `n once he saved my life, and the lives of the
rest of our platoon."
The only thing keeping Bobby's first day at boot camp from
being his worst, was the fact that he awoke the next day to face Day
2. Dragging himself out of bed in time to find that the rest of his
platoon was already gone, he'd scrambled into his uniform, tucking
the photo of himself and Jenn into his helmet before running to catch
up to the rest of his group.
The Wolverine did not look pleased. He'd missed the morning
jog, which meant he had garbage duty for a week. Knowing better than
to argue with an officer, Bobby nodded and accepted his fate.
While the others fell into their respective drill groups, he
stooped down to tie his boots better. The next thing he knew, a
bayonet was jabbed into the ground, not even an inch from his foot.
Swallowing hard, he realized that, though he had no desire to, he was
meant to turn around and face his opponent. When he was face to face
with The Wolverine, he swallowed again for good measure and attempted
to make the guy smile, by grinning himself.
The smile earned him an ornery growl, as the officer stood to
his feet and grabbed another recruits weapon. "On your feet, Drake."
"But I haven't finished-"
"On your feet, BOY!" falling over himself, Bobby managed to
get to his feet, though he was highly off balanced. Wolverine grabbed
the bayonet, pulling it from the earth, and shoving it against
Bobby's chest. Raising an eyebrow in confusion, Bobby looked from it
to Wolverine, then took notice of the weapon he was holding as
well. "Ready to fight, kid?"
Eyes growing to the size of saucers, Bobby dropped the
bayonet to the ground and took a step backwards. "I can't fight you,
"What was that, Drake!"
"I said, I can't fight you, sir!" When he'd gotten the
courage to open his eyes again, Wolverine was looming right in front
of him, features twisted in disgust. After a few seconds, he let out
a bark of a laugh, before throwing the weapon he held down.
"Soldiers, it seems your friend Drake here wants more work.
Three more laps." There were a few groans, but for the most part, the
men didn't seem too upset by this. Until, "That's, three laps around
the entire camp," was uttered. That's when Bobby Drake received more
death glares then he cared to count. Grinning slightly, he felt his
cheeks flush, as he began to run with the rest of them.
By the time dinner call came, Bobby had made twenty four
enemies, and not a single friend. He grabbed his meal, some of which
he probably wouldn't have made his dogs back home eat, under normal
circumstances, and sat. But then, this wasn't normal...this was a
nightmare. He'd rather face the wrath and embarrassment of dropping
out of the army than live another day here.
Pulling the helmet from his head, he ran a hand through the
sweat-soaked hair and sighed, pulling out the matted down photograph.
Right then, he was willing to walk back home, however many hundreds,
thousands of miles they'd crossed to get here. He'd never had an
entire group of men hate him, and, being as scrawny and unpracticed
in fighting as he was, the thought was very much intimidating.
"Still pouting, kid?" He mustered up the remaining energy to
shoot a glare at his platoon officer. It seemed like Wolverine's only
goal in life was to make him as miserable as possible. If that were
the case, he'd already done his job twice over. Glancing over, he
watched Wolverine shovel food into his mouth at an alarming rate. How
anyone could eat the undigestable slop they passed as food was beyond
him. "Better eat. You're gonna need the energy tomorrow."
Moaning some, Bobby felt his head slam down against the
table. Banging it a few times for good measure, he wondered if there
was ever a time where things had been so bad for him. Thinking back
to home cooked meals, popularity he'd inherited over the years, the
prettiest girl in Long Island...he didn't come up with anything
constructive. "Who's the broad?" Panicked, Bobby lifted his head and
reached for the picture, only to have it snatched away by Wolverine
first. "Not bad...not bad...too skinny though. She got a name?" Were
he not an officer, Bobby would have taken this time to ignore him.
Still, he needed to speak when spoken to, and remain under control.
"What was that?"
"Jenn, Sir!" The older man chuckled and returned the picture
to him. Frowning, Bobby quickly put it back into his helmet. "And
sir...I'd appreciate it if you would show her a little respect. Her
being a lady and all-"
"A lady, huh? Never met a lady before. What's the difference
between ladies and women?"
"Well...ladies are...more polite...proper...and..."
"Boring." Bobby's cheeks flushed red in anger, while
Wolverine just laughed. "Well...good luck to you, then. Chances are,
she'll have someone new by sunset." Pulling a cigar from his shirt
pocket, Bobby watched Wolverine light it before sticking it into his
mouth. "Don't forget garbage duty, Drake." Lifting his tray,
Wolverine flipped it upside down, letting the contents from it fall
into Bobby's unfinished meal. Winking at him, he sauntered off,
leaving Bobby to stare at his back until he disappeared out of the
Sighing, the young man lifted his garbage infested tray and
carried it over to a garbage bin. The smell already filtering out of
it was enough to make him sick. Holding his breath, he began to
fulfill his garbage duty to the best of his abilities, all the while
cursing Wolverine and looking for a way to get back at him.
Bobby managed to wake in time for breakfast the next day. He
was groggy, miserable, and still smelled like last night's garbage.
Wrinkling his nose at the stench, he kicked the covers back and sat
up, immediately attacked by pains in every muscle he knew he had, and
even in some he didn't know about. "Mornin', sunshine." The three men
he shared a bunk with chuckled before looking at him. Bobby offered a
small smile, too stiff and tired to register a snippy comeback. "So?"
"Wha' do you t'ink about De Wolverine?" The name was enough
to get him to clench his fists some.
"I think he's got something stuck up his ass, personally,"
One man offered.
"He's got not'ing on Summers," the French man piped in again.
"Very funny." Summers, as he was called, threw them a glare,
before turning his attention back to his finely pressed pair of
socks. "Maybe he's just got a troubled past or something. You know,
buried pain and all that?" The room was silent a moment in
"I think he's just stuck on himself." When Bobby looked up,
the three men opposite him sat silently. "What?"
"Anyone I know, Drake?" Bobby's eyes grew slightly wide as he
heard the gruff, demanding bark from behind him. Silently cursing his
luck and wondering why this man had decided to torment him so, he
tried to come up with a reply.
"I doubt it, Sir."
"Too bad. Breakfast is in five minutes, boys. You'd better
eat up, we've got a long day ahead of us." The four recruits bit back
a moan of protest, and simply saluted Wolverine as they'd been
taught. The man grinned some, gazing at Drake a moment longer than
the others, before leaving the tent chuckling.
"Whoa...he's really got it in for you, man."
"Thanks. I couldn't tell..." Bobby finished getting dressed,
trying to ignore the rising feeling of dread within him.
"I'm Allerdyce. John Allerdyce. From Kentucky. This here's
Scott Summers. A little up tight, but other wise all right." Bobby
smiled tightly and nodded respectfully at the man, who returned the
favor briefly. "And this, is my man Gambit. Straight from New
"My frien's call me Remy Lebeau. I'd prefer it if you called
me Gambit." Raising an eyebrow slightly at the comment, Bobby nodded
and shook the hand offered to him.
"Nice to meet you." When they'd finished getting ready, Bobby
found it in his best interest to tag along with John, as he seemed
pretty inclined to include him in his newly founded group.
Breakfast was faster than dinner had been. Wolverine was
intent on getting out before any of the other groups had. Said he
wanted to set an example for the others. In reality, they were pretty
sure his chief objective was to make them hurt as badly as possible
without actually killing them. What doesn't kill you makes you
stronger, or so William Drake always found it necessary to say.
Currently, all this exercise was doing was making him feel a whole
lot weaker than he'd ever felt before.
Dragging his weary bones about, he took the food offered to
him, attempting a face that at least appeared grateful. He watched
for The Wolverine out of the corner of his eye, knowing full well he
wasn't in the mood for any more of his "friendly conversation."
To his luck, he caught the man shoveling breakfast alone and,
had he not already presented himself as a threat to Bobby's life in
general, he might have wondered why. He might have thought, for just
a moment, that the Wolverine was a regular man like himself, and that
he was just acting this way for the good of his platoon. Of course,
due to the extra jog that had earned him several threats from fellow
soldiers, not to mention the constant garbage duty, the thoughts
never entered his mind.
One thought, however, managed to creep into the recesses of
his thoughts and plant itself so firmly there that he found he
couldn't push it away. Revenge. The more his gaze fell upon the man
who saw it in his best interest to ruin him, the better the idea
sounded. After all, what better way to establish yourself in a place
like this than to pull your own weight against the meanest, toughest
man on the premises? True, there was a chance he could lose a lot by
this, such as his position in the army, but the plus side was simple.
He couldn't lose his life. The Wolverine could beat him to a bloody
pulp, but would undergo major punishment for killing a soldier.
Smiling smugly, he decided the chance was worth it. Of
course, his roommates, presently surrounding him at the table, had
caught the grin, and wanted in on his little secret. With a small
quirk of a grin and a raise of one eyebrow, Bobby muttered something
about their possessing an overactive imagination, and that it was too
early in the morning to plan something ingenious, and that they
needed to have their heads examined. With an unconvinced grunt, they
had all fallen silent and taken the Wolverine's advice, eating
whatever had been placed on their plate, not currently caring if it
were truly food.
Unlike the others, Bobby was in higher spirits than he had
ever been, by the time breakfast was over. He waited for the mess
hall to clear out before quickly gathering the large amounts of trash
and disposing them in their rightful place. Whistling a present war-
tune, he found himself jogging eagerly toward his platoon, almost
ready for a days work. It was absurd, of course, but he was driven
with the comforting knowledge that soon, The Wolverine would realize
that Bobby Drake was not someone to be messed with and that, given
the right incentive, he might actually be respective competition.
The day hadn't been as unbearable as Logan had promised. They
had mainly gone through man to man combat drills, most of which Bobby
had been able to keep up with. It made it easier, of course, when his
opponent wasn't a looming bundle of muscles that looked at his
opponent as though it would be just any average day to skin you
alive, then cook your insides for dinner.
He'd been paired with John Allerdyce, which was entirely
tolerable, in his opinion. The man at least had a sense of humor. It
was terrible, mind you, but better than "I have the stiffest upper
lip" Scott Summers, who probably wouldn't crack a smile if he was
surrounded by pretty ladies. Bobby had never before known someone to
look as though they were concentrating hard enough to melt brain
cells, let alone be sincere about it. The man didn't give up. Of
course, he was the ideal soldier, which meant little comments from
Who, incidentally, had plenty to say to Bobby. He suspected
it was partially his fault, letting the man's comments about Jenn get
to him so deeply. He should have remained cool and taken it in
stride, but he hadn't, and that was his fault. But today, it was
different, because Bobby knew that soon, the Wolverine would get what
he deserved, and yes, it would be from the scrawny kid who "wouldn't
know a bayonet if it hit him in the chest."
After studying each group in depth, Bobby decided that the
best shooter by far was Gambit, and that he was glad he was on his
side. The man could hit an apple off a tree a hundred feet away,
without disrupting the leaves. With a small smile, Drake realized
that he was the sort of man his father would be proud to have as a
son. Well built, learned in the ways of fighting, his total opposite.
Still, somewhere deep down, Bobby was sure he could make his father
proud, if he was just given the chance...
Training had ended late today, much to Bobby's delight. True,
he was exhausted, and just about every muscle in his body ached, but
the next day was open for soldiers to head into town. It would give
him a chance to relax, as well as to relish in the success he was
going to make for himself that evening.
It was past midnight before the last of the recruits left the
mess hall, which seemed almost too perfect for the garbage patrolman.
He went about his work, a faint whistle on his lips, knowing that
Wolverine had long since departed for his quarters. Contrary to
popular belief, the man was not up til all hours of the night,
deciding on punishment for the following day. Bobby had found out,
through bribes and inquisition, that the man stole away to his room
in the Officer's building at around nine thirty every night. Once
there, he'd meditate for an hour or so before turning in for the
This made things all the better for Bobby, who was now so
anxious to begin his plan that he found himself grinning. The last of
the garbage bags disposed of, he slipped into the kitchen, going
straight for the refrigerator. Pulling a pot from inside a cupboard,
he filled it to the brim with ice, then slipped out the back door,
being sure not to leave a trace of anything that would point out his
Making it to the Officer's section of the camp without any
mishap, the boy set the pot silently down next to Logan's door.
Pulling a spoon from his back pocket, he began to quietly dig a hole
in front of the steps leading into the small cabin. It took a great
deal of time, and he was grateful that the night was cold. It kept
the icecubes from melting before he could finish his work.
When a suitable hole was created, he tucked the spoon back
into his pocket and rubbed his hands together before unloading the
icecubes into it. His heart pounded in his ears by then, every noise
causing him to freeze in momentary panick. A few times, he even swore
he heard Logan himself, standing right behind him, promising him
broken bones at the least, for this little stunt. Swallowing hard and
gathering some backbone, he continued, until the last of the icecubes
was gone from the pot.
Drawing the canteen from his belt, he quickly poured the
contents onto the ice, knowing that by morning it would create a sort
of solid block of ice. Counting on a few of the rumors about Logan's
sleeping habits, Bobby capped the canteen cautiously, latching it
back onto his belt, before standing to his feet. His knees cracked
from having been in a kneeling position for so long, and a quick look
at the horizon told him a good deal of the night had been spent on
this task. Still, he had no doubts that it would work, and that it
would certainly be worth it.
Stooping to pick up the pot, he glanced at the door to the
cabin, an impish smile crossing his features. "Sweet dreams,
Wolverine." Satisfactory grin permanently ingrained on his visage,
Bobby Drake turned on his heels and returned to his own tent, after
returning the last of the evidence to the kitchen. His stomach was in
knots and, despite the long day of manual labor and strenuous
training, he found it hard to sleep. Anticipation reigned high as he
shifted from his back, to his side, unable to quell the many pictures
of Logan waking to find the present left outside his door.
At last, he fell into a deep sleep, dreaming of nothing more
than the small revenge he could take on the man who seemed to live
and breathe to torture him. These first two days had been torture,
physically and emotionally. But tomorrow? Tomorrow was Bobby's day.
And he intended to enjoy it to the fullest.
Unfortunately for Bobby Drake, the previous night's strain,
mixed with lack of sleep, lead him to sleep in late that morning.
Instead of rising with the sun as he intended, he opened lazy eyes to
the mumbled whisperings and chuckles of his bunk mates. Blinking back
the sting of the sun rays, Bobby hoisted himself up onto his elbows,
running a hand through matted hair. "Bobby, man, you missed all the
"Huh...?" For a moment he remained clueless, until his plan
came surging back to him. His eyes opened instantly, though he fought
as best he could to contain his excitement. He wanted to know if he
had succeeded, but not at the risk of giving himself away. "What
happened...?" He looked from Summers, who, much to his surprise, was
actually grinning slight, to Gambit, who was gazing at him with a
small look of admiration. Bobby got the sinking feeling that he knew
about what he had done, but also had a small feeling of hope, that
the man wouldn't speak a word of it to the others who appeared to be
"Seems somebody decided de Wolverine needed a bit o'
"That so?" Bobby pushed the blanket off himself and swung his
feet around to rest on the ground. He felt the dirty edge in between
his toes, which oddly enough felt strangely refreshing. Still, the
cold bit at him, enough so that he hurried into warmer clothes, all
the while awaiting some explanation about what had gone on that
"Yes, Mr.Drake, that's so!" John Allerdyce was practically
bouncing around in excitement, though Gambit elbowed him in the ribs
to cool him down some. If the platoon leader were to come by at that
moment and hear them rejoicing in his little mishap, the four of them
would be made to stay back at camp while the others went into
town. "Saw it with my own two eyes as I went to breakfast. Seems
somebody nearby was telling a joke of some sort. Yelled out somethin'
about an attack. Well, you know Wolverine and his sense of hearing? I
guess he picked up on it, but was still half asleep.
"So, he gets up, not a stitch on him, and comes flying out
the door. He hits an icepatch, and lands right in a pile of horse
manure!" The excitement got to John so much so, that by now he had
sat back onto the cot to tie, untie, and re-tie his boots, all while
talking. Bobby let out a laugh, shaking his head. It was better than
he imagined. Though he hadn't placed the horse manure there, he sort
of regretted not thinking about it sooner. It was the topping to the
wonderous revenge that, though he hadn't seen personally, still felt
"Weren' no ice patch, homme. Someone dug a hole, filled it
wit' water an' lef' it dere."
"You saying it's a prank, Gambit?" John looked skeptical, and
Bobby's heart sank slightly. Suddenly, secrecy wasn't the best
solution. How was he supposed to get his recognition, after all, if
he kept quiet about all of this? Frowning in deliberation, he decided
to think about how to remedy that while in town. "Who'd have the guts
to do something like that? Especially to Wolverine, of all people?"
"Don' know. But I reckon de camp will be one man shor' come
Monday." The others nodded in agreement, all standing to their feet.
"Well, I don't know about you guys, but I'm going into town.
Something tells me, after this weekend, we're done for." Bobby's
moment of glory passing before his eyes, his shoulders slumped some,
though he was still proud. Chance had played a part in making his
revenge on Wolverine successful. Pulling a shirt on, he quickly
buttoned it up, watching the others leave the tent.
Following shortly after, he was met by Gambit, who just stood
silently and stared for a moment or two. Finally, he moved, offering
a hand. "Nice job, Iceman." Letting a grin captivate him, Bobby shook
the hand offered to him, before they started toward the transports
that would take them away from this life.
"Remy. M'frien's call me Remy." Grinning a little more at
that, Bobby buried his hands into his pockets and nodded, watching
the ground pass beneath his feet as he walked.
"Okay then, thanks Remy."
"No problem. Now, le's go find us some ladies, neh?" Before
he could protest, the Frenchman gave him a light shove onto the
remaining transport before taking the seat beside him. Glancing back
at the camp, Bobby saw Wolverine watching them. Unable to resist it,
he brought a hand to his forehead and saluted his platoon leader,
just as the transport pulled away.