Another Peacful War

by Matt Nute

PART TWO

December of 1970 brought the Wild Pack to Calgary, Alberta. The team had grown from the three mercenaries that walked out of Kinshasa to a six-person organization. Their reputation as guns for hire grew, even though their new members never were told of Van Owen, or his betrayal in the Congo.

Nathan and Domino never spoke of Roland, either. Bridge would occasionally ramble on while drunk until Domino would quiet him with a calm hand on his arm. She attempted to make peace, and soothe the raw wounds left by the Norwegian's death, but it never seemed to be her place.

One snowy Sunday evening, the Pack had been asked to leave a bar after Bridge had punched out the local piano player for missing one too many notes in one of the pub songs. Standing in the snow, Bridge looked over at Nathan, who stood flanked by Grizzly, the team's eight-foot-tall bruiser and heavy weapons specialist.

"It won't bring him back, G.W." Nathan's voice was colder than the Canadian winter wind. Bridge turned away, jamming his hands in the pockets of his olive-drab parka.

"Bring who back?" asked Garrison Kane, the youngest recruit. Nathan had found Kane in Quebec, running guns for a Separatist militia group. The boy had talent, and Nathan had brought him on board. However, Kane also had a curious naivete that would likely get him killed someday.

"Inside, Gar." Domino muttered. Kane frowned.

"No, if this is something about the Pack, I need to know too." he insisted. "Don't shut out me and Theo and Hammer, just because we don't have the same scars you do." Garrison zipped up his crimson windbreaker against the cold. "We're a team, aren't we?"

"Do as she says, Gary." Bridge growled, suddenly sobering up in the cold. "This ain't Pack business, this is personal." With a series of exchanged glares, Bridge found himself nearly alone in the cold, with only Domino and Nathan facing him in the snow-covered parking lot.

"Tell me you have something." he said, watching his breath fog under the neon lights. "Tell me that bastard's slipped up somewhere." Slowly, Nathan nodded. "London." One word was all Nathan spoke. Bridge paced silently, then pumped a fist at his side, turning to his comrade.

"I want that son of a bitch, Nathan." Domino started to speak, but Nathan cut her off with a gesture.

"You've got him, G.W." he tossed a hotel key to Bridge's outstretched hand. "The information's in a dossier in my carry-on, along with enough cash to get you to Heathrow. Five days, and he'll be gone."

"Five days." Bridge growled, "You're damn right he'll be gone." He paused, eyes flickering from Nathan to Domino. "You really mean this, you're letting me take him."

"We can't leave the rest of the team right now, G.W." Nathan explained, "One week, Cairo. We're launching off from there after I meet with Tolliver. Be there."

Bridge nodded, then stepped forward, clasping Nathan in a bear hug. "I ain't gonna let you down, bro. You or Roland." Separating himself from the embrace, he nodded once to Domino, then walked off into the falling snow.

Nathan stood for a moment, pondering the silence until Domino spoke.

"How long had you planned to lie to him?" she asked. Nathan turned to look at her, his blue eyes meeting her violet ones.

"Six months ago, he met up with an American agent while we were in Panama. He's been going outside the Pack on this," Nathan said. "He'll be angry, but he'll either come back. Or he won't."

Domino stepped back, fists clenched. "God DAMN you, Nathan," she hissed. "He's your friend. ROLAND was your friend." Tears came unbidden to her eyes. "When do we settle this?"

Nathan reached out, carefully wiping Domino's face with the back of his glove. Slowly, he reached into an inner pocket, and produced two passports, handing one to Domino. She opened it, glancing once at the name, then at the plane ticket tucked inside.

"Mexico?" she asked. Nathan nodded.

"Mexico. I pulled in a few favors from some of my contacts. Van Owen's been running black ops for these HYDRA guys, they think it's a Communist front." He shrugged, tucking his passport away. "Hammer knows we're going, he'll take Theo and Kane to meet us in Cairo."

Domino was torn between relief and betrayal. Slowly, she closed her eyes, trying to relax her thoughts.

It began with a small flicker, like a candle. One small light amidst the snow of confusion in her brain. The glow was Nathan, and she let him in, allowing his flame to flicker higher. Within her mind, she reached out to that glow, feeling the comfort it provided, the comfort that Nathan provided.

Three months ago, he had confided his secret to her. He had powers, abilities of the mind that she was unable to describe. She'd seen him rip doors from their hinges with the power of his thoughts, and disassemble an assault rifle from across a room with fine precision. She had invited him into more than her bed that night, opening her mind to him, areas she'd thought closed off forever. They had forged a link, a bond between them that transcended speech or words.

She reached out for him across that psychic cable, drawing upon his emotional stability for strength. The snow fell around them as she felt his hand close on hers, tucking the passport inside her coat. Opening her eyes, she looked up into his face.

"Three years," she whispered. "We'll get the bastard."

Nathan merely nodded as they walked toward the waiting taxicab.

**

Nathan slumped to the floor, bleeding from the shoulder. Gritting his teeth, he yelled for Domino to get down. They had been ready to kick in the door to Van Owen's hotel room when Nathan had sensed hostility, danger on the other side. Van Owen had been expecting them, and had placed one of his signature booby traps on the other side of the door, a shaped lump of plastic explosive that would turn the cheap wooden door into a directed hail of burning splinters.

Domino, however, had spun to the other side of the doorframe when the blast went off, and ducked inside the room already firing from the hip. She rolled, eyes scanning the suite. Shots rang out, and she ducked behind the bed, staying low. A pistol fired once, twice.

Blinded by anger, Domino leaped over the double bed, sliding on her shoulder across the floor by the bathroom, firing her pistol double-handed. The bathroom window stood open, curtains fluttering in the wind. The sound of squealing tires alerted her to Van Owen's escape three floors below. Swearing, she pondered leaping after him, then heard Nathan's moans from the corridor. Sighing, she turned, then paused with her foot inches from the floor.

The floor of the bathroom was littered with bullet casings, as if someone had been firing a machine gun in the area. Sniffing, Domino suddenly noticed the overwhelming smell of gun oil and dust. With her pistol still covering the window, she reached down and picked up a shell casing. Sniffing it, her nose crinkled. Recently fired, yet there was something odd that...

The shell was cold.

**

G.W. Bridge never returned to the Wild Pack. Cairo came and went, as Domino and Cable slowly came clean with the rest of the Pack about Kinshasa, Roland, and Van Owen. Through the initial anger about the secrecy, the team grew stronger through trust.

In 1975, Nathan and Grizzly encountered a HYDRA cell in Milan, Italy. Backtracking through supply records and information brokers, Nathan followed a trail of evidence all the way to the Supreme Hydra herself, who had been using Van Owen's expertise in developmental Communist republics in the Soviet Bloc.

The Wild Pack infiltrated deep into Moscow that summer, laying siege to the KGB safehouse where Joorst Van Owen was rumored to be hiding. The Dutchman was nowhere to be found, and once again, Nathan was left with nothing but a trail of smoke, smelling faintly of Congolese streets, and the broken melody of a piano in his ears.

**

During the tail end of the 1970s, the United Nations made public their own child organization, independent of any national influence, dedicated to stopping international crime and terrorism while enforcing UN law and mandates. They dubbed it SHIELD.

The Wild Pack ran afoul of SHIELD nearly as often as HYDRA, and was often caught in between the two organizations. The worst of it, though, came in the spring of 1981, shortly after the inauguration of Ronald Reagan as President of the United States.

**

"You're certain this is legitimate?" Nathan looked across the table at the Asian man with the coke-bottle glasses. His contact nodded.

"A man named Alexei Vashin is attempting to pose as a defector to the United States. He is a high-ranking KGB operative, who intends to steal American military secrets. I, Yoshihiro Sato, have been his 'mole'." Nathan raised an eyebrow at the man's audacity.

"And you come to me - why? Why not the Americans?" His voice held an accusatory tone. Sato folded his hands on the desk.

"My parents were held in internment camps during the Second World War. My father died there. My mother left penniless and pregnant. I feel no allegiance to the American government, yet I fear Alexei Vashin more." Sato went on to explain how Vashin had contacted him through an anarchist underground magazine, and arranged for Sato to sponsor him for asylum.

After Nathan had heard enough, he stood. A waiter began to walk up, but the white-haired mercenary waved dismissively.

"We're not a political refuge, Mister Sato." Nathan began, "Go to the American authorities, I-" He paused as Sato's eyes grew wide with terror. Nathan concentrated, and extended his mental awareness. Suddenly, he found himself blinded by the glaring fear emanating from Sato.

The gunshot was deafening in the small cafe. Nathan threw himself to the floor, watching Sato's body crumple, the top of his head drifting down as a fine red mist. Reaching for the microphone hidden in his lapel, he shouted for Domino, rolling to reach for his coat and pistol.

Joorst Van Owen, dressed in a waiter's uniform, stood above him, casually reloading. "Ah, Nathan." he chuckled. "It has been so long."

"You son of a bitch." Nathan growled, reaching out for his weapon. Joorst kicked his hand aside, firing again. The bullet missed Nathan's ear by inches, blasting wood splinters from the floor. Arching his back, Nathan sprung up to his feet, throwing an elbow into Van Owen's gut.

Before Van Owen could reload and fire again, Nathan reached out and grasped the Dutchman's head in his hands, forcing his mind to open. Images and sensations flooded his brain, and Van Owen screamed. The smaller man rolled backwards, kicking a foot up under Nathan's chin.

Hearing the sounds of sirens, Van Owen pointed his weapon at Nathan, and pulled the trigger. The hammer fell on an empty chamber, and Joorst swore. Before Nathan could react, Van Owen had turned, sprinting out into the busy Alexandria street.

The next thing he knew, Domino and Kane had arrived, pulling Nathan into the back of a van and driving off to a safe house in Arlington. Domino mopped up blood from Nathan's nose, while Hammer maneuvered the van onto the Capital Beltway.

"Did you get him?" Kane asked. Nathan nodded. Domino held his head steady, shaking her head negatively.

"You're woozy, Nate. Van Owen got away again." Under her hands, Nathan laughed. Domino felt the glow of his mind on hers, and opened her thoughts. One image that was neither hers nor Nathan's seemed to blink in time with her heartbeat. Feelings of panic, running, safety. A plane ticket, an assumed name, a destination.

"Kenya." Nathan and Domino whispered simultaneously.

From the front seat, Hammer laughed. "Headin' BACK to the motherland!" Nathan smiled up at Domino.

"We've got him now."

**

Nathan and Domino sat in their rented sedan across the street from the modern hotel where Van Owen had retreated to after smuggling himself out of the United States. The rest of the Wild Pack was staking out a HYDRA safehouse on the other side of Mombasa, waiting for Van Owen's contact to depart.

"It always comes down to the waiting." Domino breathed, absently fingering the small pistol under her seat. She yawned and rolled down her window to gain some relief from the oppressive Kenyan heat. "I've got an idea, why don't we storm in there room by room until we find the little bastard, drag him out here, and shoot him in the head like he did Roland?"

Nathan shook his head, his eyes hard behind the dark-lensed sunglasses. "Too much violence already," he intoned, "Better to finally make this quick and clean."

Domino chuckled, looking over to him. "You know who you sound like?" Nathan didn't meet her gaze, instead still peering at the hotel.

"No," he replied in an annoyed tone, "Who do I sound like?"

"Bridge."

"Hell with Bridge."

"You first." Nathan and Domino both whirled in their seats at the familiar voice, hands clutching for their weapons. Kneeling outside Domino's window, G.W. Bridge scowled, holding a pistol in each hand trained on the two mercenaries. "You're under arrest, Nate." Bridge announced. Domino's eyes flashed to the logo on Bridge's vest and swore.

"SHIELD. Just great." Bridge tightened his grip on the pistols.

"I don't want to have to shoot you, Domino. But Nathan there has a number of extradition orders from ten different United Nations countries, and I'm bringing him in." Nathan reached up slowly to remove his glasses.

"You're not going to do that, G.W." His tone was matter-of-fact, yet belied a venom coursing between the words. Domino felt a wash of power over her mind through her link to Nathan. Outside the sedan, Bridge bit his lip in concentration.

"I know what you can do, Nathan. And it's not going to work. They... trained me... to..." Sweat began to form on Bridge's face, not only because of the searing sun. Domino glanced at Nathan, who had blood dripping from his nose.

"You're going to let us go, G.W." Nathan repeated, focusing his will. Domino slowly reached down for her pistol, eyes flickering from one man to the other. Then, at the door of the hotel, she saw-

"Van Owen!" she hissed. Nathan's concentration was broken, as he instinctively whipped his head around. Bridge dropped one of his pistols, holding a hand to his head.

Seizing the initiative, Domino opened her door swiftly, catching Bridge in the midsection. She reached through the open window, grabbing the taller man by the neck and slamming his head into the roof of the sedan. Bridge's eyes rolled back in his head as he slumped to the sidewalk.

Nathan gave his former comrade a cursory glance before pulling the car away from the curb. Slowly, he drove by as he watched Joorst Van Owen get into a taxicab. Frowning, he focused his attention on the vehicle in front of them. Domino had to lean over and grab the steering wheel to keep the sedan from veering as Nathan closed his eyes.

"Atti Fas." he parroted in an African accent. "Right quick, sah." Shaking his head, Nathan gripped the wheel again. "Atti Fas," he repeated, "a nightclub not far from here."

Domino nodded as Nathan swerved around a corner, intentionally not following the taxi. She reached for her pistol, checking the action as they approached the club.

"Thirteen years," She whispered. "It's been too long, Roland." Beside her, Nathan nodded, wiping blood from under his nose.

Moments later, they entered the bar, pistols held low at their sides. In the early afternoon, there were few customers. The proprietor took one look at them, and immediately closed his mouth and found his business suddenly taking him elsewhere.

Walking into the darkened one-room establishment, Nathan raised his pistol, locking eyes with Van Owen, who sat on a plush couch in front of a low table. Beside him, Domino drew a bead on the Dutchman, aiming between his eyes. Van Owen merely nodded to them, raising his glass of gin in salute.

"You're finished, Van Owen." she growled, finger tightening on the trigger. Van Owen chuckled, setting down his gin and holding up his empty hands.

"So it would seem, my dear. But are you so confident about your other friends?" Nathan's eyes narrowed as the bar's remaining customers flooded out the door at the sight ofthe two mercenaries pointing their weapons at the man seated across the table.

"Talk, Van Owen. What about them?" The slim Dutchman laughed, steepling his fingers together.

"The young one, the Canadian. Very sloppy. And the monster may be strong, but he apparently can't shoot worth a damn." Van Owen laughed. "And perhaps your African friend will walk again, with a doctor's help. But you're all alone now." He motioned to another couch. "Please, sit."

Domino's finger tightened on the trigger, but paused when Nathan placed a hand on her arm. "Sit." he whispered. Domino glanced at him in confusion, but saw only pain in his eyes.

"Sit." Nathan repeated. Domino made her way to the couch, keeping her weapon pointed at Van Owen.

"You're bluffing, you son of a bitch." She accused. Van Owen shrugged.

"Perhaps. But will you shoot me to find out? I can make one call, and have your friends released. But as you see," he spread his hands wide, "I have no telephone here. You will have to let me free."

"Bullshit." Domino growled. "You're a corpse." She glanced to Nathan beside her. His jaw was clenched, as if holding back some internal pressure. His eyes squinted, almost seeming to glow from inside.

"Not yet." Van Owen laughed, regaining Domino's attention. "There are other wars to fight, other days. Tell me, Nathan," he asked, "Has Bridge found his peace yet? I know Roland has."

Domino swore, but Nathan merely looked blankly at the wall. "Roland..." he mumbled. Domino blinked, then felt the mental link throw itself open like a floodgate. She wailed, dropping her pistol and clutching at her head as Nathan's mind overflowed with sensations she couldn't describe. Images, smells, sounds, all crashing together.

And somewhere, amidst the chaos, the sound of a broken piano, and the smell of Congolese streets.

"Enough of this." Van Owen declared, standing and producing his pistol from behind his back. "And Dom?" he quipped, "You were right. I was bluffing. Say hello to Roland for me."

Domino tried to move through the pain, but was unable to focus. Suddenly, Nathan jerked spasmodically, his mind in shock. His eyes glazed over, then seemed to freeze in place. Van Owen's attention shifted to the twitching man, turning the barrel of his gun.

Footsteps from the doorway echoed in the room. Everyone's attention turned to the form outlined against the outside sun. A man, reaching nearly six and a half feet from his beaten leather boots to his shoulders and ...

The headless neck of Roland, the Thompson gunner.

Roland raised his Thompson gun to Van Owen, who stumbled back wordlessly. The Dutchman managed a "No-" before Roland's finger squeezed the trigger.

The tommy gun roared like a dragon, spilling shells onto the floor and blasting bloody furrows through Joorst Van Owen. Nathan stared as Van Owen's body danced like a puppet on a string, before the onslaught of bullets stopped and all grew silent.

Face-down on the floor, Domino struggled to rise. "Ro-Roland?" she rasped, hearing the echo of footsteps. She pulled her self to her knees, feeling Nathan rise behind her, using her back for support. She shrugged him off, running out into the street.

"Roland!" she called, but saw nothing in either direction. Nathan moved beside her, leaning heavily against the doorframe. Domino turned to him, eyes wide.

"That... that was... it couldn't..." Nathan shook his head.

"Van Owen's dead. That's all." Domino walked over to him, brushing her fingers over his temple.

"Was that - did you?" she stammered. Nathan shook his head.

"I don't know." His voice was a reverential whisper. "I don't know."

As the sun continued to beat down on the streets of Mombasa, Kenya, Domino turned away from Nathan and looked into the shadows cast by the buildings in the distance.

Years later, she would swear she could clearly hear a piano, and an off-key melody ringing from the streets. Nathan, for his part, never spoke of it, or Roland, ever again.

But they knew among themselves that the greatest of them all had found his peace.

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