Kitty Pryde, Pete Wisdom, and Excalibur and all characters therein are trademarks of Marvel Comics. This story is an unauthorised work done purely for my personal enjoyment, and is not intended to infringe on any of their rights in or their profits from these characters. But this story is copy write to me.

Comments, especially (constructive) criticism, always welcomed. Please e-mail me at

mshakespeare@callnetuk.com

Please note : this story (at least the later parts) may contain graphic depictions of violence. If such subject matter is offensive to you, or is illegal where you live, or you are under eighteen years of age, PLEASE DO NOT READ! You have been warned!

Notes

This story is based in an alternate world where the Roman Empire never collapsed. Under a new Caesar, it is once again pursuing expansionist policies.

The site of Masada in this world is in Lebanon, just north of Beirut, controlling both the Coast road and the Desert Highway.

< > indicates thoughts

Love and Bullets - Part 21

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"Where the hell's that bastard got to?" Logan heard the voice in the distance, and grinned to himself. The Romans who'd ambushed his car had still not figured out where he'd managed to hide himself, and they were starting to get desperate. If they were still out in the open when dawn came, they'd be easy meat for the defenders. They had to find him before they were discovered and killed. But he was making it very hard for them to locate him. < Guess all that time I spent roughin' it in th' wilderness back home's come in handy after all. I c'n move silently, stay low an' not be seen, an' they ain't got a fuckin' clue where I am. 'Specially now I'm behind the bastards! Bet they ain't thinkin' that! > He'd placed his automatic back in his belt, and pulled out his combat knife. In the darkness, he could kill and nobody would know what he'd done until they stumbled over the body. It meant he could pick them off at will, whilst they still hadn't a clue as to how to locate him. < I may be gettin' on, but this is fun! >

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"Sir!"

"Yeah, what is it?"

"Brigadier Pryde's given us these guns. Just thought you'd like to know, sir" The man gestured to the two trucks carrying salvaged tank guns and crates of ammunition for them. Pete grinned. Though the guns didn't have the range of proper artillery pieces, they would be an invaluable addition to the firepower of his engineers.

"Fine, set the buggers up where they c'n fire in enfilade. I want ter be able ter kill as many o' the fuckin' Romans as try ter land 'ere as possible before they hit the dock. 'Ow's the minelayin' gettin' on?" His troops had been hard at work ever since they'd arrived on the docks, and most of the mines had been laid already. The sun was lightening the sky to the east, and he wanted his soldiers to have completed the task before sunrise, so that they could be in their foxholes before Roman planes had the opportunity to attack them in the open.

"We've got most of the underwater obstacles mined, sir, we're still planting a few along the edge of the docks so that, if any landing craft do get past the obstacles, they'll be blown up when they try to dock. Also, the Brigadier has agreed to have her artillery pre-zeroed on the waterfront area, and she also sent a message to the Colonel at the Citadel to get his guns set up to support us, too. She also said you might want to ask the other divisions to provide support, if they have the opportunity to do so, sir."

Pete grinned again. He liked the way the woman thought. She'd not only gone along with what he'd suggested, she'd improved on it. He ran his hand through unruly black hair. < She's not only fuckin' gorgeous, she's smart an' tough with it. After she told me 'bout that shit with the Turks, I thought she'd got guts, but brains too? Now there's a combo yer don't see often. Shite, I think I'm fallin' in love, an' right in the middle of a fuckin' war too! I need me head examined .... >

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"Move it, people! I want the tanks under cover before those Roman planes come back with more bombs and catch us with our pants down!" Scott's parade-ground bark carried across the noise of his troops working hard. Some of the soldiers were digging deep foxholes, deeper by far than regulations specified - Scott was of the opinion that, in war, there was no such thing as a too-deep foxhole. Elsewhere the Guards were pulling down the railway yard buildings so as to enable the tanks to be driven into the newly-created cover, or else using spare railway sleepers and sections of track to create obstacles that would slow the advance of the Romans, channelling them into killing grounds. The bombing of Masada might have been a disaster to the civilian population of the city, but for the defending soldiers, it meant that the enemy armoured formations would be unable to utilise the mobility that had brought the Roman military machine such successes in the past decade. They would have to dislodge the Canaanite defenders the hard way - by taking the battle to them and accepting the casualties. In such a battle the heavier armour and guns of the Republican Guard's tanks should mean that the forthcoming battle would be a bloody one for the attackers.

And after seeing the carnage wrought amongst Masada's defenceless civilians by the Roman and Turkish bombers, Scott Summers had every intention of taking the price of the dead women and children in blood.

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The two high-ranking officers were still studying the map of the area. Nathan had shown Ororo the message that Katherine had sent him, detailing the false information that she had fed the Romans. The coffee-skinned Nubian had found the thought of deceiving the Romans and their Turkish allies into sending their troops into a killing ground prepared for them by the defending Canaanite forces to be a delicious one, and they had begun discussing how best to utilise the opportunity offered to them by the fact that the enemy forces seemed to be advancing towards their defensive positions with no thought as to what might be awaiting them. They both knew that Brigadier Guthrie's rocket regiment, the 'Cannonballs', had just arrived to bolster their defences, and they now planned to utilise the devastating firepower of a full brigade of multiple rocket launchers to cause the maximum casualties to the advancing enemy.

"So, Ororo," Nathan spoke quietly to the woman with whom he'd once been in love, "how do we make sure that the enemy aircraft don't smash your division before we can put our plan into operation?" The tall, muscular man stared down at her white hair. He'd thought her the most beautiful woman in the world when they'd first met, eight years ago. He still found her attractive, but he knew that they both felt the pull of responsibility to such an extent that they couldn't keep their relationship going - neither of them had been prepared to make the effort to keep things going between them once they'd taken up their respective commands.

Ororo smiled to herself. She knew, without looking up, that the man opposite her was watching her every move, just as her own eyes lingered on him when he turned his attention back to the map. There was still a spark between them, even though their relationship had been over for five years. They both felt that, though they both knew that there was no chance of them getting back together. They had other duties now, and neither of them was prepared to give that up. "Well, I have already made certain preparations to prevent the unit from becoming too vulnerable to air attack, Nathan. Firstly, we no longer travel as a single unit. Like the Mongols, our neighbours to the east, when they were still horse-mounted nomads, I have instigated a policy of breaking the division down into integral units - battle groups. Each battle group has armour, infantry mounted in whatever vehicles are available, towed artillery, self-propelled guns, antiaircraft guns both towed and mounted in trucks - all the various combat arms of a modern army. Each battle group therefore has the firepower and flexibility to fight a battle against whatever foe they might engage. But, thanks to the fact that we have excellent communications, they can come together to fight an enemy that is too great for any single battle group to overcome. Thus, if there are enemy planes in the vicinity, they will only be able to attack one battle group at any given time - and there are ten such groups in the division."

"I see. So there are ten small targets for them to find and hit, rather than one big one? Good thinking, Ororo. Even if they do manage to find you in the desert, they can only inflict casualties on part of your force, rather than the whole division."

"Thank you, Nathan. Secondly, everyone has been trained to open fire with whatever weapons they have available as soon as they come under air attack. Whilst a moving tank might not be a very good antiaircraft platform, if enough bullets are put in the air then there is a chance that we might get lucky and hit something essential. Besides, if everyone opens fire, not only is it better for morale than just sitting acquiescently being attacked, but it might distract the attacking pilot to see so much tracer coming towards him. A flustered pilot is a pilot who won't be concentrating on the accuracy of his own attack."

"Good point. Anything else?"

"Yes, my troops are, when in vehicles, to keep moving as fast as they can. A stationary tagrte is easier to hit than a moving one. Of course, that depends on terrain, and the maximum possible speed of the vehicle, and whether it is a soft-skinned vehicle under attack from planes firing cannon. But a moving tank is harder to bomb than one which has halted to fire back."

"Seems you've already got everything covered. So, now we need to plan what to do to stop this lot." And he waved a hand at the tactical mapboard, where the emblems of Roman and Turkish forces filled the map area to the north.

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"Sun'll be up in an hour or so, we'd better find somewhere to bed down till night." Domino scanned the area around her small group. There was cover around, but not really enough to ensure sufficient cover for the whole party throughout the day.

Then Creed raised one huge hand and waved at a large jumbled mass of rock about half a mile away. "That do, boss-lady?"

The albino soldier scowled at the massive blond man, who merely grinned back at her. < One of these days, Creed, one of these days .... > She pasted a bland expression on her face. "Looks good to me. Okay, people, let's get our asses under cover before those shitty wolfboy planes come back!" The small force of special forces soldiers grabbed their equipment and headed over to the rockpile. The red light of dawn was creeping up on the eastern horizon, casting shadows amongst the tumbled sandstone blocks. There seemed to be plenty of large hiding places in the mass of boulders, and Domino felt certain that she and her troops could hide out here with no risk of being ndetected by the Roman and Turkish forces. They would stay here until nightfall, then move off again.

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"So, Red, ya think there's anything going on between the Brig and that Limey Major who keeps hangin' around here? I mean, he's, like, kinda cute, okay, but there's gotta be, like, a decade between them! An' then there's the rank thing. I mean - "

"Lee, I'd have to say that yes, there is something between them." Rachel Grey had long ago learnt to pick the important points out of the words of her fellow NCO, and ignore the stream of trivial information which the younger woman was prone to come out with. The flamboyant redhead was usually happy to work with the younger, half-Asian woman, though there were times .... In actual fact, Sergeant Grey was feeling a little guilty. It had been her, after all, who had inadvertently informed General Summers that the Brigadier had been - 'fraternising with a junior officer', as Summers had put it - and had got her commanding officer into trouble as a result. Still, they were both adults, and as long as their affair didn't interfere with how they commanded in battle, as far as Rachel was concerned it wasn't anyone else's business.

As far as Jubuilation Lee was concerned, the finer details of the affair were of no interest whatsoever. What engaged her interest was the jiucy gossip possibilities ofwhat was going on between the two officers, and the fact that it gave her the ideal excuse to talk .... a lot. Not that she ever really needed an excuse to talk, but it was the general principle of the thing that counted.

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"So, Magnus, how are things going?" Charles Xavier steepled his fingers and looked at his old friend. He knew the fine, analytical brain which resided in the silver-haired man opposite him, keen intelligence shining through the odd-coloured eyes. Magnus Lehnsherr was considered one of the finest military brains in the world, his tactical and strategic abilites known and respected everywhere. Charles was counting on those powers of leadership to see his country through the dark times ahead.

Magnus looked back at his friend, his eyes showing a hint of worry even through his iron self-control. "We are gravely outnumbered, Charles. The odds against us grow greater with each passing hour. We have reports that at least twelve Roman armoured divisions are now moving up to the front line." He pasued as Charles straightened up in his wheelchair in shock, and noded grimly. "That does not count the Saljuk armoured forces which are also on their way to the front line, nor does it count the even greater number of infantry and mechanised formations which we now know are being committed to this attack. Even with the reservists called up, Charles, we are so heavily outnumbered that it will take a miracle for us to see the country through the coming weeks. We can only hope that the necessity for the Romans to complete their timetable within a very narrow window of opportunity allows us to foil their plans simply by holding on long enough."

"Can we manage that?"

"I certainly hope so, Charles. It is, after all, the only chance we have."

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Nathaniel Essex studied the map with a sense of satisfaction. The enormous forces he had at his disposal should make short work of the Canaanite defenders of Masada, especially after the pounding that the airforce had inflicted on the city. His special forces were, even now, ensuring that the guns of Masada would be unable to stop the seabrone landing force which was due to arrive within two days time, and he had paratroop forces moving onto forward airbases, ready to be dropped behind enemy lines to sow further confusion amongst the enemy.

The Meccans were prepared to attack the Republic of Canaan from the rear, in violation of their treaty of friendship, in exchange for land and oil rights. The Persians were not making any moves which might indicate that they were aware of the plan to stage a coup and place a ruler friendly to Rome on the Peacock Throne, whilst the Egyptians were in no condition to intervene, given the unrest being caused by the preachings of the Mahdi, Amahl Farouk. The Canaanite Republic stood alone, and the odds were so great, the combined Roman and Saljuk forces could almost simply walk in, regardless of what the defenders of the Republic might try.

Essex smiled. He loved the thought of more conquests, more battles, more victories.

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As the Sun began to climb above the desert sands, the last preparations were made, the guns and mortars aligned. At the stroke of 0630 hours, the barrage began.

And the earth itself shook to the thunder of the guns.

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