Night fell soon enough and their talk went from serious, to conversational, to outright hilarity. The medic shared his most gruesome test subject stories with such giddiness and humor that Mikhail couldn't help but share his sense of humor. Oddly, it was endearing how the man seemed fascinated more with organs and birds than people. It even seemed that he talked to his doves and understood them. Mikhail wasn't to judge. The man had been alone for years, why not talk to them and treat them like your family?
Mikhail parted ways with him on good terms and the German requested that they continue their efforts from training into battle.
"This would be the ultimate test of my creation!" He giggled, looking like a child on Christmas Eve.
Mikhail could only nod and enjoy the fact his friend was so exited. He was nothing but nervous. This was the real battle, and he wasn't sure how the team would play the game. After all, each class had their own strategies and tactics, so who was to say the other team was different in that aspect.
Perhaps he should just sleep his worries away, the doctor suggested. No need to worry. It'll come when it comes.
Mikhail should've supposed battle would be immensely different than the trials and or training. That however remained to be an obvious thing if one actually pondered such a thing over the long weekend more than just the night before. Heavy, was not one of those people. Instead, he spent the weekend facing the fears, misconceptions, and the past that he held back for so long. Not to say that it was a detriment. Far from it. In fact, he gained a close friend as a result. However, he did think he should've at least given some thought to the battle for more than just a few minutes before going out blindly. So far, this other team proved to be a match for them, and Mikhail wasn't sure if it was their talent, or the fact his counterpart looked almost identical to himself.
It could be jitters and he was just hallucinating. Maybe. But unlikely, since everyone else had the same reaction. Even the other team had the same look on their faces.
Shock. Horror. Confusion. However it was quickly disposed of when the first kill was complete. No one knew who shot first. It was probably like the Boston Massacre* in that regard. No doubt it would be skewed on either side who shot whom. But if didn't matter. All that did was that they wouldn't die if they were killed, and that they were being paid handsomely. That meant a great deal.
But because Mikhail didn't let the issue go in his mind too much prior to the match, he was distracted and had to visit reapawn with the same frequency as he did on the earliest day of fighting in Teufort. In fact, he visited it more.
He leaned heavily against the wall, trying desperately to overcome the nausea and be ready to go out into the warzone. However, this was proving to be difficult. He wasn't so sure if he wanted to go out again.
The engineer respawned in front of him and stumbled a little.
"Dagit nagit, nabit dagit!" He swore, rubbing his back slightly. Right over where his spine was.
"Spy sapped my sentry! Then he back stabbed me!"
"Spy? Which?" Mikhail asked.
"BLU! Who else, partner?" The engineer stared as if the large Russian was insane.
"What, you think our spy would turn sides or attack a fellow teammate?" He asked in disbelief.
"Nyet. I make sure. English." Mikhail responded. The science man stared in thought before nodding.
"Alrighty then. I can get you some English books to help you out if y'all need it." He said.
"Thank you. But no. I learn by hear." Mikhail responded, his head beginning to clear from the nausea.
They won the match that day, thankfully. But not by much. It was an ordeal for everyone, and the finger pointing from training didn't cease. If anything, it only increased in ferocity. Mikhail watched the doctor retreat to his realm once the volume in the reapawn room became too highly to be called snide remarks. Mikhail debated for all but two seconds before following the German out, not particularly wanting to be a part of the conversation of such crude blows as verbal abuse.
The doctor was going though his paperwork when Mikhail entered the lab and Kaspar didn't acknowledge him at first. After a soft calling of his name, the German finally recognized that he had an audience.
"Not exactly what we call a picturesque victory, ja?" He asked, taking a file and sliding it into one of his many drawers.
"Nyet, but we still won. That counts for something, da?" He said.
"Perhaps. But that all depends on the perspective. I for one call this a learning experience."
"It is a victory, doktor." Mikhail disagreed.
"Then why does it feel like a loss, hm?" The German asked. "You see, instead of feeling like I have resolved things with the ubercharge, I am met with only more questions."
Mikhail's mind flashed to the other team and how alike they looked to themselves. These supposed doppelgängers were…well, for lack of better word, unnerving.
"Is it the other team?" He asked. Kaspar shook his head, taking out another file.
"Well, actually only partially. More or less, it is our own soldier."
This was unexpected and particularly random to Heavy, so he sat down and looked at his companion for more answers. When Kaspar was met with silence, he looked to his friend and saw his confusion.
"Oh…ja, that's right. You were in reapawn. I tried to ubercharge the soldier, but nothing happened. Nothing but overhealing. I don't understand!" He explained, running a hand through his hair in frustration. "Is the mechanism faulty? Was there problems with the medigun? What is it?"
Mikhail sighed and shook his head.
"Not sure, doktor. I am not a medical expert. You are." The Russian said. Kaspar laughed humorlessly and glanced at his friend.
"Surely you cannot believe after I so carelessly ripped open your chest, destroyed your heart and replaced it with an animal's that I still uphold the title." He said. Mikhail shrugged.
"You know more than I. I never went to school or learned medical practice. My arts were more…" This time Mikhail failed to find the word. He growled as he wracked his brain and sifted through his conscience for the English dictionary. Instead, he only hit Russian and neared giving up when the German interrupted him.
"Having trouble?" He asked. His tone was light and understanding. He too grew up with another language other than English, so no doubt he had the same problem from time to time.
"Da, it's not…the word isn't coming. English is just…there are so many words that mean the same thing. In Russian, there aren't as many exceptions to the rules and there aren't many words that are the same. For English, sad isn't just sad. It's, depressed, melancholy, desolate, crestfallen, forlorn, and a hundred others! While each language is as beautiful as the last, it is hard to have so many words stored in your mind, and to get your point across…"
They were silent for a moment before the German broke it with a smile and a pat on the shoulder.
"Perhaps that is why I leave the liberal arts to you." He said.
Mikhail's eyes widened as his mind had an audible click of a lightbulb.
"Liberal! That's the word!"
"Ja, I know." The German said with a small smile, waving his hand at his friend.
"Why didn't you say earlier?" Mikhail asked, crossing his arms in a slight pout.
"Because." The German said flippantly. "I am a firm believer in one working their problems out. If I just tell it to you straight, one cannot learn. Besides…your rambling about what the written word is in essence was wunderbar. It's exactly how I feel about English. Though instead of marveling at it, I'm more inclined to be frustrated by it." He said. Kaspar returned to his desk and sifted through the soldier's file to see if he had any medical conditions that the other team members may not have, and may contribute to the lack of charge.
It was then that he started to search through with jerky motions and his movements became frantic and uneasy.
"They're not here." He said.
"What? What do you mean?" Mikhail asked, standing up and walking to his companion's side. Kaspar glanced at Mikhail before waving a hand at the papers.
"The ubercharge notes! They aren't here!" He exclaimed. "I always take notes after I do a procedure and I always send in a report afterwards!"
"Perhaps they were misplaced?" Mikhail offered to his frazzled friend. "We all misplace things from time to time."
"Nein!" He insisted. "I have never misplaced a file in all my years of practice!" He moved to his side table and three papers around to search for his previous notes.
"They cannot go missing! If someone stole them, they can be used! I never even thought to code my work!" He was outrightly panicking now. Mikhail placed a hand on the German's shoulder to steady him and held him in place, feeling him tremble in apprehension.
"Doktor, panicking will only make it worse. Perhaps you have been working too much. Battle was hard on all of us." The German moved away and collapsed into his swivel chair and leaned against the desk in deep thought. He began muttering to himself, even moving his hands in motions as if to retrace his steps in his mind. Mikhail watched, but remained in a state of decorum to let Kaspar's thoughts flow and eventually reach the answer.
After ten minutes of stewing at his desk and another twenty of wandering around his lab in a trail of seemingly random paths that only made sense to the German, his face lit up in realization that was a mixture of relief, shock, and even slight anger.
"I didn't do it." He murmured. Mikhail turned his head to the side in slight confusion.
"What?"
"The surgery. I didn't do it with soldier. I never operated on him." He said, his voice more clear. He quickly cleared his operating table and got out his surgical tools. Mikhail looked over at the door before glancing back at his friend.
"Are you sure, doktor?" He asked.
"Ja, I am positive. Think back, do you recall soldier having a tale of how I lost my license? I also was wondering why I had an extra charge when I specifically recall making exactly eight, including yours!" He said, growing excited.
"The sneaky Schweinehund must have slipped away in the incident no doubt."
Mikhail's mind flipped back to the scouts proclamation of the German being a Nazi and immediately connected the dots. He now realized that he hadn't seen high or low of soldier for the rest of the day. He also looked very afraid of the Doctor upon meeting him formally, and the violent reaction that Kaspar showed only heightened that fear.
"Do you need help in collecting him?" Mikhail asked.
"Perhaps." Kaspar responded, his attention of the ubercharge device, searching for any technicalities so they could avoid any problems. "More or less, he will take some coaxing and I doubt mere words or sense will convince the man to come to the lab willingly."
The medical man put the charge down with his tools and shrugged on his still bloody and dirty uniform, walking out with the heavy in tow to search for the supposed wannabe soldier.
He wasn't hard to find, as his tell tale yelling was heard all across the red base. Mikhail doubted the other team but 600 feet away in their own respective base couldn't hear him. Or perhaps they were dealing with their own soldier.
As it turned out, the American's object of yelling was a toaster. Was the offending object burning his toast? Barely singeing the surface? Not working at all?
"YOU MAY HAVE FOOLED EVERYONE ELSE IN THIS BASE, BUT I KNOW YOU ROBOTS WILL ONE DAY MURDER US ALL AMERICANS IN OUR SLEEP!"
Dear god, I should've known, was all Mikhail could think at that moment.
Before the soldier could utter another ear splitting yell at the "threat to all mankind" that was the toaster, the German cleared his throat and successfully caught the soldier's attention. He looked up and saw the European company and froze at the sight of the clinical male, looking very much like a child guilty of not cleaning his room.
"Soldier, I have been thinking over what happened in battle, and it has come upon my attention that you have failed to partake in the ubercharge surgery."
The American stood up straight and balled his fists by his sides and his mouth turned into a straight line.
"Medic, the sprit of America and George Washington will protect me! Not your so called charge!" He stated, though his volume was still halfway to a shout.
At this moment, the scout entered with the sniper from outside, the former chatting away about how he bashed a pyro's skull in, the latter silent as ever and carrying a chipped mug that was presumably to be refilled with coffee.
"Mein freund, surely you see the advantages of having the charge alongside the spirit of America." The German tried to reason to the extent that the soldier would understand. However, the American would not be budged, even after several attempts were made. Just at the point when Kaspar was about to command Mikhail to interfere, the brash Bostonian stepped to the rescue.
"Hey captain! Doc here wants to show off his patriotism by giving you his American flag collection!" Scout called from the kitchen.
Soldier suddenly was all too eager to get to the lab and picked up the German. He zoomed out of the room and down the hall, Medic exclaiming how undignified the position he was in was in both English and German.
"You're welcome!" Scout said, sitting on the counter.
"Doktor not have flag collection." Mikhail said, changing into his broken English dialect.
"Just draw one on a couple of sheets of paper. Doesn't even need to be perfect." Scout responded, brushing the argument aside as if it were hardly a problem at all. Mikhail was about to argue, but then rethought on the Americans character. He left and waited outside the lab for the procedure to be over. Half an hour later, the soldier burst though the doors, running out of the lab as fast as his legs could carry him, not stopping to confide in the Russian on what the German had told him. The latter walked out calmly from his domain and looked to his friend in slight amusement as well as neutrality.
"Curious." He said simply.
"What?" Mikhail asked.
"He actually was in the war…"
Mikhail glanced in wonder down the hall that Soldier disappeared through in haste.
"He told you that? What makes you so sure?" The heavy asked. Kaspar glanced at him with a look that said "because I know."
"Doctor-patient confidentiality." He said.
"Doktor is not a doktor." Mikhail pointed out. Kaspar scoffed.
"Trifles, I assure you." He said flippantly, retreating back into the lab. Mikhail chuckled, but got the hint. He wasn't about to budge and it was better not to push the issue. Though it did leave many questions to be answered. With that thought in mind, the Russian joined him in the lab.
Dirt and grime were things that became a part of Mikhail's skin. He was sure that no matter how much he would scrub in the shower, he will never rid himself of the dirt, gunpowder, ash, and ground up building materials that stuck to his skin like glue. Hardly a thing to be thinking about when you are in the midst of battle with eight other men counting on you.
Mikhail looked back to his friend from behind the building wall.
"Two sentries." He notified after a glance to the area ahead. The German paused for a mere second in calculation.
"What levels?"
"Two and three. Have charge?" Mikhail asked in broken English, keeping in his character he created in case anyone overheard.
"Nein. Not yet. We may have to go around." Kaspar responded, peering down the side road.
"Sniper to east. West is main battle. Spy be anywhere. South is home base." He reasoned, repositioning Sasha. The medical man sighed.
"We won't have much better luck here with the sentries and no charge. By the time you have damaged them, it's unlikely you will be still alive, whether or not you are overhealed. One has rockets, and the other is a machine gun."
"Da…wish had soldier grenades" he murmured. Kaspar suddenly jerked his head up and looked at Mikhail.
"What did you say?" He asked, sounding like he was getting an idea.
"Wish had soldier grenades…" Mikhail responded, staring at his companion as the German's face displayed the inner working of his mind.
"Mein freund…you are a genius!" He exclaimed, turning off the healing ray from Mikhail and running off.
"Doktor!" The Russian exclaimed in male in question took off in the direction of the main battle across the bridge. Not planning on waiting for him, he followed, though quickly lagging behind due to his greater weight and the heavy weapon in his arms. That German could run fast…
Said male retreated towards the main battle and before Mikhail could stop him, right into another nest of enemy sentries.
Mikhail suddenly heard screams that were too feminine to be anyone on base, and felt the blowing ice and snow crawl up his grime and sweat covered body. He was back in the gulag, watching his people suffer while the soldiers beat them and order them to "keep working!" Or "work faster!"
No. He was in Teufort. He was in New Mexico. He was in America. This was war. He was fighting to keep his vow of keeping his sisters and mother safe. No one would die if he had anything to say about it. That was the second vow he made.
And his friend was about to die by a level three sentry.
Time slowed to a crawl, and the sounds died away from the the subconscious. Mikhail's grip on Sasha slipped and his fingers let go of his weapon that he held as dear as he did the memory of his father. With the weapon no longer slowing him down, he was able to leap out ahead in a sprint and grab the back collar of Kaspar's lab coat, yanking him back out of the path of rockets and into the safety of the building alcove. In return, his own body kept going forward, the inertia keeping him from protecting his own self as the rockets made contact with his body.
Mikhail respawned and almost tripped over himself from the nausea As the earth moved back in regular time and volume. It remains obvious that the program was in essence a miracle, but it still wasn't a pleasant experience. He wiped the sweat off his neck and sighed, attempting to collect himself when his partner in crime appeared next to him.
The medic was breathing hard and nearly fell over when Mikhail steadied him. However, instead of accepting his help, his blue eyes narrowed and the German smacked Mikhail's hand away.
This was an odd thank you for Mikhail sacrificing his life so the medic could live.
"Doktor, what-"
"Why?" The German asked, glaring up at him.
"Что?"
"Why did you do that?" The man repeated.
"I…"
I didn't want to see you die.
I forgot respawn would save you.
I'd hate to see you blown to pieces.
I more than likely garner more feelings that are not appropriate to just being friends.
"The team needs you more than they need me." He said. Mikhail felt this was the wrong thing to say as the medic turned away, crossing his arms with an expression that seemed…pensive, no doubt. But it was almost wishing and disappointed? Before he could pry any further, the scout respawned and his loud voice broke them out of their moment. Without a word, the doctor picked up his bone saw and ran into the fray, seemingly having no interest in healing anyone for a while. Mikhail followed, a worried look on his face.
*The Boston Massacre was an event in pre revolution history of the USA that has been skewed by propaganda and blown out of proportion. Truthfully, only two people were killed, and the details have been lost ever since the retelling began. One key part of the event to be noted is the no one knew who shot first, but there are many claims and lots of finger pointing.
Sneak peek found here and this time it was drawn by the awesomely talented and wonderful Erikonil, go follow her, she is sweet and amazing! post/132585035937/erikonil-a-pic-for-the-lovely