Peering through two rectangular slits in his gilded faceplate, he searched the churning mists for a glimpse of Storm. He tried to lock onto her body heat, and scan the skies with his sonar, but the icy winds and pounding thunder interfered with his sensors. She’s got to be here somewhere, he realized. I know it.
Eyes searching for Storm, the last thing he expected to see was Captain America’s shield, rocketing upward at, according to his radar, upward of fifty miles per hour. “What in the world ... ?” he asked aloud, quickly guessing that the Hulk was responsible. Who else could throw the shield this high? Then the full implications struck home: If his shield was way up here, what had happened to Cap?
Iron Man deftly snagged the ascendant shield with his tractor beam, catching the historic weapon before it went into orbit. The magnetic ray drew the shield closer to the armored Avenger, who grabbed it with one gauntlet, then interrupted his pursuit of Storm to check on his fellow Avenger. Not Cap. too, he prayed, remembering the Hulk’s brutal treatment of the Vision. He dived out of the clouds, just in time to see the Hulk, standing defiantly upon Goat Island, hurl a patriotically-garbed figure over the crest of the American Falls.
“No!” Iron Man gasped. He had already survived his own spectacular tumble over the Falls, but Cap wasn’t wearing an invulnerable suit of body armor. He had to catch Cap before he hit bottom, or the world would lose a living legend. The Golden Avenger went into a power dive, pushing his jets to the maximum, but wasn’t sure he could reach the falling hero in time. Blast it, he thought anxiously. This is going to be close....
The wind rushing against his face, plus the cooling spray of the Falls, woke Captain America, who discovered at once that he was in freefall. He reached instinctively for his shield, only to find it missing. That’s right, he remembered. The Hulk threw it into the sky when he couldn’t break it, then he— Cap winced at the memory of the Hulk’s mighty fist barreling at him with the force of an express train. How long was I out?
There was no time to worry about that. Well-trained reflexes responded to danger and he strove to control his fall, assuming a diving position, his arms spread out to slow his descent as much as possible. The wind whistled past his ears, merging with the roar of thousands of gallons of plunging water.
Every second counts, he realized, spying the daunting pile of rocks at the Fall’s base. He didn’t think his momentum could carry him past that lethal landing pad, but he owed it to himself, his teammates, and his country to try. Never give up, he resolved. That’s what America is all about. .
A familiar thrumming sound made itself heard and Cap glanced back over his shoulder to see the shining figure of Iron Man swooping toward him, rockets blazing. A purple glow suffused the triangular beam projector at the center of his crimson chestplate, and Captain America felt a faint tug upward, but Iron Man was still too far away for his magnetic ray to do more than slow Cap’s descent; in the contest to decide the plummeting Avenger’s fate, gravity was definitely winning. Cap found himself wishing that his traditional uniform included a cape, just so he could try using it as a parachute.
How much longer until he hit the ground? Cap stared straight down, willing his eyes to stay open despite the damp air rushing against his face. The craggy rocks below looked like they were growing faster than Giant-Man on a tear, expanding upward at him, and Cap suddenly wondered if his entire life was going to pass before his eyes or just the post-World War II years? There was an awful lot of personal history to go through in the next split-second or two. If this is the end, he thought, at least I’m checking out on American soil, if only by a few hundred feet or so!
Then, only heartbeats before Cap’s flesh and bone collided with the stationary rocks, an unexpected gust of wind took hold of his body, lifting him up and away from the perilous rockpile. The powerful updraft seemed to come from nowhere, until Cap looked up to see Storm’s statuesque figure silhouetted against flashes of blue-white lightning. “Of course,” he murmured, grateful for the timely assist, “I should have guessed.”
Intent on rescuing Cap, Iron Man appeared oblivious to Storm’s presence in the skies above him. Nice to know the X-Men still draw the line at murder, Captain America thought, with the possible exception of Wolverine, and even he seldom kills without provocation. The life-saving zephyr held him aloft long enough for Iron Man’s tractor beam to latch onto him more firmly. A purple radiance enveloped Cap as he found himself suspended in the air, the magnetic ray tugging on the chain mail links in his lightweight metal tunic. A tingling sensation rushed over his skin, which he decided was vastly preferable to feeling battered and broken atop the rocks.
Let’s hear it for the miracle of American technology, he thought, not to mention the divine intervention of a certain mutant weather goddess.
“You okay, Cap?” Iron Man asked. Tony Stark’s usually urbane voice was amplified and electronically distorted by the mouthpiece in his steel helmet. Doubtful that Iron Man could hear him over the tumult of the Falls, Cap gave him an encouraging thumbs-up sign. He was relieved to see his faithful shield safe in the other Avenger’s iron grip. So far, so good, he thought optimistically. Now if we can only call off this senseless fight. . . !
Unfortunately, that meant calming down the Hulk, which made that a very big “if.”
For a terrifying second, Hank McCoy thought the Juggernaut was sitting on his chest. “Kindly elevate your Brob-dingnagian bulk from my hirsute and tortured torso,” he declaimed. Then the Beast opened his eyes and saw he was talking to a tree. “I stand corrected,” he said to the downed maple weighing heavily upon his ribs, “proverbially, if not literally.”
In fact, he was not standing at all, but rather lying flat on his back in the mud, with a rather sizable piece of lumber holding him down. His dark blue fur was soaked and plastered to his skin. Sniffing, he discovered that the wet fur was more than a little pungent. He blinked and shook his head, trying to remember how exactly he had come to abide in this supine and decidingly uncomfortable situation.
Thunder reverberated far overhead, reminding him of another explosion in the recent past, one far too close for comfort. Artillery? his muddled brain prompted and his memory began to reconstruct itself, picking up just before that exceptionally alarming dream about the none too jocular Juggernaut. Artillery it was, he recalled. The armies assembled on either shore of the Niagara River had opened fire on the Hulk, catching the X-Men in the crossfire. He had been helping a stunned Storm make her way to the shelter of the surviving woods when a shell detonated nearby and this very tree fell on top of him. After that, his recollections got a lot fuzzier; he must have segued in and out of consciousness, although he had vague memories of Storm coming to his aid, and of being drenched by an enormous wave of water.
Since when did the majestic Niagara fall up? he wondered.
His pointed blue ears perked up, the guns on the shore seemed to have fallen silent, although the pealing storm clouds above him more than made up the difference as far as ambient noise was concerned.
“Thank providence for diminutive dispensations,” he pronounced, anxious to determine the whereabouts and status of his esteemed fellow X-Men. He tried to look about him, but, pinned thus to the ground, all he could see was the blustery sky looming above him. The continued absence of both Storm and Cyclops while he lay incapacitated did not bode well for their quest to solicit the Hulk’s aid in finding Rogue, missing in action since yesterday afternoon. Something has gone amiss, he deduced, else I would not be left to my own devices.
Getting out from beneath the insistent weight of the fallen tree was clearly the first order of business. Still feeling a tad woozy, he braced his hairy palms against the bark-covered underside of the toppled maple and labored to lift the massive encumbrance off his somewhat squashed physiognomy.
This shouldn ’t be too hard, he thought; his brute strength 1 8
was nowhere near the Hulk’s class, but he was certainly stronger than the average beast. Straining his ge
netically-enhanced muscles, he managed to lift the dripping timber a few inches away from his chest, giving his half-crushed lungs a chance to expand. But he wasn’t able to slide out from underneath the tree and hold it aloft at the same time. Leafy branches scratched against his face and chest while rivulets of chilly water streamed down on him, making a difficult task even more unpleasant.
Just how, pray tell, did everything get so soggy and saturated anyway? he wondered. Did I miss a tsunami or two while I was hors de combat?
The Beast was beginning to wonder whether even Harry Houdini could have liberated himself from this particular predicament when he heard Cyclops call to him from several yards away. “Watch your head!” The Beast promptly sank the back of his head into the cold, squishy mud and covered his eyes with both hands. Even with his eyelids squeezed shut, a bright crimson glow suddenly lit up his view and he heard the heavy log shatter into splinters, the ill-fated target of Cyke’s attention. Just as suddenly the ruby radiance departed, as did the oppressive weight upon his body.
“Abundant thanks!” the Beast exclaimed, springing at once to his feet. Oversized toes sank into the liquified earth and his head spun momentarily before a preternatural sense of balance reasserted itself. “Your dynamic assistance is most enthusiastically appreciated!”
But the X-Men’s conscientious co-lcader was in no position to acknowledge the Beast’s effusively-expressed gratitude. The soaked, soggy mutant was chagrined to discover that Cyclops was under attack by none other than the intractable Hulk himself.
“Get ready to take the big plunge, Red-Eyes,” the Hulk bellowed at Cyclops. “I’m going to do to you just what I did to that star-spangled nuisance before!”
Star-spangled? The reference caught the Beast by surprise, until he remembered hearing Captain America’s voice shortly before the military bombardment of the island.
What is Cap doing here? he wondered. And what precisely is the Hulk claiming to have done to that most venerable of Avengers? The Beast almost didn’t want to find out.
Meanwhile, Cyclops had turned his fluorescent eye-beams against the advancing monster. The crimson rays, capable of punching through solid steel, broke against the Hulk’s broad chest like waves lapping upon an unyielding granite promontory. The concussive force of the beam only slowed the Hulk’s inexorable approach. His pitiless sneer only reinforced the menace inherent in his colossal fists.
Would that the Hulk were content to rebuff our entreaty with a mere exclamation in the negative, the Beast thought. Rather than providing the X-Men with valuable information and insights concerning Rogue’s unexplained disappearance, the jade titan seemed more intent on pummeling Cyclops within an inch of his life—or closer. The Beast prepared to spring to his friend’s defense, even while privately wondering what good his characteristic acrobatics and agility could do against so indomitable a foe. Ah, for the halcyon days of yore when all we had to sally forth against was the Toad or maybe the Blob....
Before his coiled leg muscles could propel him into the fray, however, the Hulk came under attack from another quarter. From above, coruscating orange rays, as resplendent in their own way as Cyclops’s eyebeams, slammed into the Hulk’s head and shoulders. “Arrgh!” the behemoth growled, sounding more surprised than stunned. A
scowl announced his displeasure. “What now?”
The answer came zooming out of the sky, wearing a one-of-a-kind suit of invincible armor. “Time for round two, Hulk,” Iron Man said, his amplified voice carrying over the din. Repulsor rays glowed from his gauntlets. Jets flared from the soles of his boots. “We’re not finished yet.” Nor was the Golden Avenger alone. Shield in hand, Captain America came charging across the island, only a few yards behind Iron Man.
Hail, hail, the gang’s all here, the Beast thought, wondering exactly how many Avengers had accompanied Cap and Shellhead on this particular mission. His spirits lifted; with reinforcements such as these, he and Cyke no longer seemed quite so overmatched. Between the X-Men and the Avengers, the Hulk may actually have a fight on his hands, he thought.
But the Beast’s optimistic hopes were dashed when, rather than joining forces against the berserk Hulk, the newly-arrived Avengers took on the X-Men as well. His iconic shield held high, Captain America barrelled into Cyclops, knocking the slender X-Man off his feet, only to be driven back by a sizzling bolt of lightning that struck the ground between Cap and his downed adversary, the crackling thunderbolt turning a muddy puddle into a charred, steaming crater. The Beast looked up to see an ascendant Storm reigning over the tempestuous sky, her eyes glowing with elemental power. More than any expert meteorological report, he knew, those seething, incandescent eyes forecast dire weather ahead.
Never make Ororo mad, the Beast reminded himself, unless you’re ready for an honest-to-goodness hurricane.
Distracted by Iron Man’s repulsor rays, the Hulk forgot about Cyclops and turned his perennially hostile intentions toward the armored Avenger. His subsequent leap into the sky, catapulting himself fists first at Iron Man, made the Beast’s own prodigious bouncing look like baby steps. The bounding green monstrosity and the soaring ironclad hero collided in midair, with Iron Man getting the worst of the head-on encounter. The force and momentum behind the Hulk’s rock-hard knuckles sent Iron Man careening backward into the clouds, dozens of feet below Storm, who, though distant from the fray was far from detached from it. She flung raw electricity against Captain America, the Hulk, and Iron Man simultaneously, lighting up the heavens with constant flashes of jagged lightning. Thunder, incessant and deafening, gave voice to Storm’s unleashed ire and refusal to surrender.
No question, the Beast thought, aghast at the dismaying spectacle of a three-way battle between the Hulk, the X-Men, and the Avengers, I most indubitably missed something. What could have brought the two teams to blows like this? Having served under both banners in his time, he knew that neither group was predisposed toward senseless and unprovoked aggression, unlike, say, the Hulk. “Wait!” he shouted. “Kindly abandon this unseemly altercation!”
Sadly, his earnest effort at peacemaking could not be heard over the combined hubbub of Falls, tempest, and super-powered strife. Cyclops’s eyebeam ricocheted off the convex surface of Captain America’s shield, barely missing the Beast, who had to cartwheel out of the way so that the beam struck instead the river behind him, briefly parting the waters.
Quelling this cacophonous imbroglio with naught but softly-spoken words of sweet reason, he realized, may prove easier said than done. To his surprise, another voice, coming from the American side of the river, intruded upon the ear-bruising racket:
“This is Colonel Lopez of the U.S. Army, addressing the Hulk and the X-Men! Stand down at once, or we will take Goat Island by force. You have five minutes to surrender/’
The Beast recognized the amplified echo of an on-shore megaphone. ‘ ‘That is categorically what the physician prescribed,” he mused aloud. Glancing to the east, he contemplated the khaki-colored troops lined up along the far side of the cascading Niagara River.
I need to get over there posthaste, but how? he thought. The breadth of the roiling water exceeded his ability to transverse in a single leap. Here and there, the tips of a few defiant stones protruded above the foaming white water, offering a tantalizing, if potentially treacherous, route across the river, but the Beast hesitated before committing himself to that daunting choice. Jumping from rock to slippery rock only a few yards upstream of one of the world’s most impressive waterfalls would be a challenge even for him, with the consequences of a single slip inextricably terminal.
There was always the Blackbird, he recalled. Yet by the time he returned to the X-Men’s personal aircraft, parked elsewhere on the island, lifted off, then landed somewhere on the opposing shore, the heated struggle upon and above Goat Island might well have escalated to nigh-apocalyptic proportions, especially with powerhouses like the Hulk and Iron Man involved.
No, he concluded, there is not time
enow for detours. He needed to get across that river and he needed to do so with all deliberate speed.
Gazing specuiatively, and with no little trepidation, at the nearest shard of exposed rock, he almost bounded from the island, when another idea occurred to him, one sparked by something he had witnessed mere moments before.
“Eureka!” he exclaimed, bushy blue eyebrows rising to commemorate his brainstorm. Like the proverbial crazy idea, that just might work!
Simian-like fingers dug into the battle-ravaged landscape and plucked a rounded pebble from the earth. Looking past the embattled Cyclops, the Beast observed that Captain America was, at least for the moment, fully occupied fending off Storm’s ground-seeking thunderbolts, giving the X-Men’s other leader a momentary breather.
Perfect timing, the Beast decided. A second later, the tiny stone bounced off the back of Cyclops’s head. Cyclops spun around. To the anthropoid X-Man’s relief, Cyke chose to determine the identity of the pebble-thrower before shooting.
The Beast didn’t waste time trying to vocalize his intentions over the sounds of rushing water and fierce battle. Instead he resorted to sign language, pointing first at himself, then at the troops across the river, and finally at Cyclops’s dormant visor. The crimson glow concealing Cyke’s eyes made it hard to read his expression, but the Beast hoped that years of teamwork, both in the Danger Room and in the field, would let him and Cyclops communicate silently, without need for a more extensive and elaborate round of Charades.
Why is there never a telepath around when you need one? the Beast lamented; regretfully, neither Professor X nor Jean Grey had accompanied them on this mission. When last heard from, both psychic prodigies were engaged in a vital expedition to the Savage Island, along with several more of their fellow X-Men. Perhaps it is just as well, the Beast thought. Too many X-Men, and several more Avengers, may have only added to the cataclysmic chaos of this free-for-all. Just imagine Wolverine or the mighty Thor adding their combustible tempers to the equation!