Pieces of Your Soul: Part Five

by Kerri

Austria, summer 1942.

For the umpteenth time that day, he cursed the colonel. Well, he'd started with the colonel, then moved on to his predecessors, both military and familial, and had finally started in on his pets. He still couldn't believe he was doing this. Him, Sgt. John Logan, highly skilled soldier, hand to hand combat a specialty, veteran of more wars than he cared to name since he hadn't used his real name in any of them, sent to find a missing man.

He didn't have time for a special assignment, but he was 'requested' special by top brass. Even that bastard colonel had been awed and impressed by the name on the bottom of the orders.

The report came in four weeks ago, two of the Nazis best agents spotted near the Dansheitz chateau in the Austrian Alps. The bodies of an Allied infiltration team found torn into little pieces outside. There was some discrepancy about the number of bodies found. Out of the five-man team, one was unaccounted for. It was that one he sent to find, the one that apparently had enough information in his head to end the war tomorrow-for the Allies.

He had no useful information about the missing man other than a general description, brown hair, 5'6", and a name. Cash. Whether that was a first name or last, he had no idea. Didn't matter. He was willing to bet his entire year's pay the man was now sitting with Adolf, drinking beer and reminiscing about old times they were gonna have. Damn, a beer sounded pretty good right now.

His orders included bringing Cash back for the brass to interrogate personally. Hell with that. He'd seen the pictures of the bodies. If he found Cash, he'd lose him, quick. Wasn't going to waste a second on a goddamn traitor.

It was the rumors that led him here, the stories of monsters that attacked the team. It was hard to believe, but his instincts told him to start with the rumors at the Dansheitz estate. Sooner or later it'd lead him to the truth. Or another solid lead.

He followed a faint scent trail from Dansheitz into the surrounding mountains. He found the second stop about a day away from the carnage site as the bird flew, four days to hike over and around the peaks. The scent was almost like an odor a rabid animal would emit, a mixture of rage and fear.

He found the laboratory hidden away, startling himself with the discovery of Hitler's secret. It was in ruins, a fire merrily consuming the converted military base. There were more bodies, one-two days old, sliced into small pieces rather neatly. Different from the Allied team. This was deliberate and methodical. The ground around the pile was a dull reddish brown from the copious amounts of blood shed. The stench was almost too much for him to take. Even he had a limit.

He pushed the pieces around a bit with the bayonet, trying to get a body count, but gave up. Without the skulls he couldn't be sure and those were nowhere to be seen.

Circling the buildings, he encountered two more bodies strung up in the trees. Below each corpse was a small pile of skin and fur, with a head. The features showed they had been some nightmare werewolf mutation. Their bodies had been gutted, ropey gray muscles still glistening in the sunlight, entrails spilled out on the ground. The skinned mutilated bodies sent a very dangerous message to someone. He couldn't be more than a hour or two behind.

From there he followed the blood trail, now easier to track. Up to this point he'd ended up backtracking quite a bit, but this one was practically an engraved invitation. Whoever killed the occupants and set fire to the base didn't care about being found now. Maybe the killer at the end of this would be able to tell him about his missing 'double' agent.

He continued to follow the trail for most of the day to a small valley, a wide crevasse in the mountain, really. A small lean-to sat at the far end, a waterfall flowed down the mountainside aways from the shack, ending in a small stream that disappeared underground. It couldn't have been there long, the vegetation hadn't grown back enough, but it was sheltered from the air and private.

He slipped in with the evening shadows, wondering at the ease he penetrated the hiding place. He could smell smoke from a small campfire and food, hot food. His stomach growled. He nearly growled back.

Finding a 'comfortable' spot next to the entrance, he settled in to observe.

Movement in the waterfall drew his attention. To his surprise, the slender nude figure of a woman emerged from the wall of water. She picked up a blanket on a nearby rock and wrapped it around her body. She stopped and looked around, reminding him of a doe that had picked up a strange scent. After a long minute, during which she stared at his hiding spot, sweat bathing his body, she turned and went inside.

He wondered briefly if he'd gotten off track somewhere, but he couldn't have been that wrong. Not when the smell of blood still lingered heavily.

Full dark descended quickly, the only light a dim glow around the door of the shack. The air chilled quickly. He didn't notice right away, his metabolism allowed him a lot of leeway. It was the smell of hot food that twisted his guts, made him edgy.

<If your stomach gets any louder, you'll be able to signal London. Let the Nazis try to break that code, eh?>

He looked around, but didn't see anyone.

<You sure you don't have a whole platoon out there with you? You're making too much noise to be just one man.>

He held perfectly still, not even breathing. He hated telepaths, he really did.

<I'm willing to share dinner if you're willing to set the rifle down.>

He whirled around at a deliberate sound behind him, the bayonet pointed at her mid-section. She stood calmly, eying him expectantly.

He still didn't move. Her scent was the one he'd been tracking for the last week, she reeked of rage and pain.

"One more chance, cowboy, then I'm leaving you out here," her voice was soft, smooth, caressing. "I know you speak English."

"How many?" he rasped, gesturing towards the lean-to.

"Just me and my dinner. If you're not hungry, I'll be more than happy to leave you alone. Just trying to be friendly." She stepped past him and made her way back, her movements sure and steady in the dark.

'How'd she get past me?' he asked himself as he followed her in. He didn't sense anyone else around, and his instincts never steered him wrong, when he bothered to listen.

Inside, the lean-to was small and cramped, a smokeless fire kindled on one side, an open can with what looked like stew bubbling in it. He could just make out her features in the flickering light. She was a girl, barely 20 years old if that. She wore buckskin, 'was that right?' her short hair curling wildly around her head, the firelight picking out red and gold highlights. A pile of furs on the ground near the fire. Several canteens of water and cans of stew sat on the floor, along with a canvas bag. Wet clothes hung from nails on the other side.

She gestured for him to sit down by the fire. He set his pack aside, his rifle right next to him. She used a rag to take the hot can off the fire and deftly poured it into a bowl, then handed him the bowl with a spoon. He hesitated, this was all a little too weird. With a sigh, she took a bite and chewed, then held the bowl out again.

He took it this time, tasted it warily, then shoveled the stew into his mouth quickly. Before she got another can opened and on the fire, he was done. Reaching into the bag near her, she pulled out of sack of bread, fresh bread his nose told him, and a couple of bottles of ale.

She offered him the bread, then reached back in for a bottle opener. "I know I've got one somewhere," she said aloud. She pulled a knife out of the bag, a 12 inch, double edged weapon that gave him pause. With a frown, she shoved it back in.

"Here," he held out his hand for one. She passed it over and he twisted the cap off and passed it back, reaching for the other one. At the first swallow, he relaxed. "Good stuff."

"Glad you approve," she smiled at him. "What are you doing so far from your unit?"

"Lookin' for ya, I think." Now that the words jumped out of him, he could see she fit the general description. It was a stretch, but no one ever said the fifth man was a man. Following that instinct thing again.

"Can't imagine why. Just doing a little camping."

"In a war zone?" His senses were hopping around at every lie out of her mouth. Yeah, he was right.

"Free entertainment."

He gestured to the wet clothes. "I can still smell the blood on 'em. I followed ya from the base."

"Some business to take care of before I go home. What's your name?"

"Logan."

"You can call me Charlie." She took the bubbling can off the fire and poured it into his bowl. It disappeared in quick bites with a good deal of her bread.

He had the grace to be embarrassed at his unseemly haste in eating, she hadn't had any yet. "Sorry, I just ain't had a hot meal in a long time."

"It's okay, I did invite you. I don't have much of an appetite tonight. More?"

He nodded, relaxing even further.

"Who sent you after me?" She opened a third can with a knife. He hadn't noticed that, as distracted as he was. It was small and sharp, made of a black oily metal that cut through the tin like butter.

"General Forkner. British army. Requested me special."

"Hal would know you're a mutant, he keeps track of those pesky little details. He probably thought you'd be able to bring me back."

"Hal?"

"General Harold Forkner. He's a cousin of mine. Did he know you intended to dump my body somewhere and claim you never found me?"

"Didn't expect to find ya." He *really* hated telepaths.

She finished her drink, setting the bottle aside. "He's smart. Send a mutant to find a mutant. It's his fault I'm here to begin with. You can tell him for me I'm going home and I'm taking all my dirty little secrets with me."

"Can't do that. Gotta take ya back."

"I'm not going back, he'll just find me a new team. I can't do this again."

"What happened?" The pictures flashed through his head.

She caught that. "You saw what happened. What those monsters did to my team. I was there! I watched and I couldn't help them!" Her voice rose. She stopped and fought a hard battle to regain control. "If Hal thought I'd just let that go, he sadly misunderstood me."

"Ya killed all those men? An' set the fire?"

"It was justice."

"And those creatures?"

"That was necessary. The Nazis were creating those...things, feeding humans to them. I destroyed any chance they had to start over." The ritual killing of the enemy was her right, she wasn't going to defend her actions to him, or anyone else.

The silence lengthened between them. She silently handed him another bottle of ale, then more stew.

"I have to take ya back."

She didn't bother to correct him. "You can try. Right now, I am so full of death, I'm afraid I'll never get it out of me. I never get used to it. I'm too damn old for this."

He snorted. "Old? Yer still a baby."

"I'm older than I look, and that's beside the point." She picked up a blanket. "Why don't you go wash up. You'll feel better if you're clean."

He took it and his rifle with him, shaking his head. This was all a little too domestic for his taste, but he knew how to follow orders. At least the ones he wanted to follow.

When he returned, wearing his pants and shoes, the blanket around him, he saw she'd already cleaned up and had moved the pile of furs closer to the fire. She was wearing old fashioned long johns with the drop seat, fire-engine red. A chuckle escaped him.

She looked up and smiled faintly at him. "Well, got to stay warm."

He chuckled some more, pulling his blanket from his pack and wrapping it around him, preparing to sleep on the other side of the fire.

She stopped him. "Would you sleep with me?"

"What?" That snapped him out of his brief humor so fast his head spun.

Her eyes squeezed shut. "There's been so much death lately. I want to hold a man in my arms, feel him breath." The words wrenched painfully out of her. "It's okay if you don't want to..." Could a person bleed to death inside from the emptiness?

He moved over to her, looking down at her sitting in the nest of furs. He set the blanket and his boots aside and slid in next to her, gathering her up in his arms and settling her against his chest.

After a moment, he felt hot tears against his skin, her shoulders trembled. He held her tighter. She was too young for this. And he was too old.

The heat woke him up. It was coming from the body curled around his, the arm across his chest, the leg over his hips. A soft whimper escaped her and her entire body tightened. He reached out blindly with his free hand and stroked the soft curls that caressed his skin, trying to give her comfort. He'd lost friends in war, teammates. Not something you ever really let go of.

Her face curved into his hand, seeking his comfort. She quieted down, snuggling closer, her face in his neck. He inhaled the scent of her hair, her skin.

The hand that rested against his chest moved up to tangle in his hair, holding his face against hers. She pressed kisses against his ear, his neck, down his jaw line, heavy beard stubble scraping her tender skin.

He tried to stop her, wanting her but unwilling to take advantage of her pain, but she wasn't giving him a choice. Her eyes opened, a golden glow filling them. Hell with fighting her. He pulled her face to his and took her mouth in a tender kiss.

He woke the next morning alone, wrapped in his blanket next to a smoldering fire. Not one sign of her, not a scrap of cloth, a piece of fur, or an empty can. Next to his boots was a canteen of water and two cans of stew, along with four bottles of ale. He could still smell her on his skin, he hadn't imagined her.

He sat up and rubbed his face and neck, frowning. Looking down he saw the medallion she'd been wearing around his neck, the strange black metal gleaming in the weak light. One hand clutched it reflexively. He remembered her slipping it over his head, the soft words she spoke. A piece of her soul for the piece of his he'd given her.

10 days later he stood in front of the colonel's desk at attention, thinking of all the things he'd like to do to the piss ant officer. The piss ant in question was in the midst of berating him for dereliction of duty. He hadn't brought back the missing man and his report was short and to the point. No *man* had been found.

The office doors swung open, the colonel's eyes widened as he snapped to his feet. "General Forkner, sir!" He threw a salute.

The general, an older man with graying hair and a good deal of humor in his blue eyes, returned the salute casually. "Yes, Colonel. I'd like to have a word with the sergeant, if you don't mind."

"Not at all, sir." The colonel offered the general his seat, then stood behind the chair.

After a moment the general spoke. "In private."

The colonel glared at Logan, then left.

Logan stood staring at the wall over the general's head.

"Have a seat," the general instructed. "You're not being reprimanded. We are just going to chat a little."

Logan's eyes flickered at him, the took a seat.

"I read your report. 'No man found.' That told me you found Cash." It wasn't a question, and it didn't get an answer. "She visited me last night and read me the riot act for sending anyone after her."

Logan looked at the man directly. There was a resemblance between Charlie and the general, around the eyes and mouth. He didn't still answer.

"I sent you because I knew you would be able to find her and keep her safe. She's a lot to handle, even for a normal human. She is very good at her job."

"She said she ain't comin' back."

"She's not. She's home by now."

"No disrespect sir, but how could ya let a kid lead a spy team?" His tone had little respect, but Forkner chose to ignore it.

He actually laughed. "She's not a child. When the idea first came about, I tried to talk her out of it, but she's well past the age of consent. She's a mutant, as you've discovered, one that doesn't age normally. She's 246 years old, son, and she won't be told where to go and what to do. Besides, with her talent for breaking and entering, anyone would have taken her. At least I could keep an eye on her."

"She said you an' she were cousins."

"We are, in a very distant fashion."

This was a lot to take in all at once. He could use a drink. Lots of drinks.

"She said she owes you for helping her get out of there alive. I told her I'd take care of it. What can I do for you?"

Anger flashed in Logan's eyes. Paying him off?!

Forkner shook his head. The man was jumping all over in his head, even Hal's limited telepathic ability could follow his train of thought. "She said that after all that had happened, the only thing she wanted to do was kill herself, she felt that guilty being the only one left alive. She said you gave her the most convincing reason to keep on living. Said you shared your soul with her."

Logan bowed his head in his hands, running his fingers through his hair. It was that and more, but it wasn't anyone else's business.

"In anyone else, I'd think the words were overly dramatic, but I've never known her to say anything that she didn't mean. If she was that close to taking her own life, whatever you did is worth anything I can do for you."

"Ya can answer some questions for me."

"If I can."

"Her name's not Charlie, or Cash."

"No. Her full name is Lady Charlotte Katherine Ashcroft. She doesn't use the title outside the family, her father was the fourth Duke of Masters, after his older brother died without a male heir. The current duke, a descendent of the younger brother that inherited the title, doesn't have any daughters. Cash is the code name. C. Ash. It helped hide her identity. Very few people call her Charlie, and they all tend to be close to her."

"What's this?" He pulled the medallion from under his shirt. He hadn't removed it.

The general's eyes widened. "She gave you that?"

"Don' know 'bout give. She was gone an' I was wearin' this." His hand tightened on it.

"It's symbolic, one of a pair that was given to her by the man she married 150 years ago. As far as I know, that medallion was worn by her husband until his death, then she wore it. It is supposed to protect the wearer." He regarded the other man in a different light. "That certainly puts a new spin on things."

Logan scowled at him. "What do ya mean?"

"Means you and she have unfinished business. You'll meet again in the future.

"Where she live?"

"That I can't tell you, I don't know. She's American, but she could reside anywhere. Charlotte keeps in contact with the family, but we don't know much about her. There must be something I can do for you to thank you for your service."

Anger bubbled up at her, but he tamped it back down. He'd find her again. Right now he had a job to do. "Ya can get me out of this outfit an' into somethin' useful."

Forkner regard the small man. "You tell me where you want to be, and I'll personally cut the orders for you."

I want to be wi' Charlie, Logan thought, but didn't say it out loud. "I want to take her place. I'll lead the next team."

"Done. I hope you know what you're doing. The work she did was dangerous and she has some unusual mutant powers. I've got your file, and I know about your healing power, your acute senses."

"Then ya know I can do it."

"I know. You better stay alive, though. I don't fancy finding her standing over my bed in the middle of the night holding a knife to my throat." Or any other of the unpleasant things she learned from that Indian husband of hers.

[next part]

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