Steel-gray waves rolled discarded refuse onto bleached-bone shores. Massive cargo ships bobbed like heavy toys in a bathtub, their cargo slick with foam and acidic rain. Intermodal containers were left along docks. The most decrepit were rusted through. They leaked red water, which spilled in contaminated streams down the hats and faces of stoic mercenaries hiding within. Guns were loaded. Plans were made. Jackets were recovered, their contents still intact. Miss Pauling zipped the jacket up to her throat, flicking chum and fetid material off it.
It was time to go to war.
Their target was simple to find. Its belly was bright orange beneath the ocean's tide. The length of it stretched out like a landing strip, its spine pierced with eight cranes. They plucked containers up with square teeth and a strong jaw. Thin lines paced about its deck. Even in the darkest of storms and thickest of fogs, their eyes pierced, bright and yellow. They searched the ground like spot lights. Even the most inoffensive of targets—little vermin which ran about in terror—were reduced to a pulpy, red ball of fur and flesh.
"Anyone have a plan?" Miss Pauling asked.
Offering the Soldier the floor was a mistake. "Here's what we do. Medic—get your girly Japanese wig on. You and Miss Pauling need to distract the enemy's attention. I recommend fan dancing. Once you've seduced the robots, the rest of us go on board and beat the crap out of everything on board. Then, we all head home to have an all-American victory dinner of tube steaks and fries."
The team was struck silent at the Soldier's suggestion. Miss Pauling's face turned white. The Medic's, however, went bright red. "You saw zhat zhing? You—you schweinehund!"
The Soldier's face dropped. "It's not a perfect plan, but I figure between your grace and Miss Pauling's hips—"
"Let's regroup." Miss Pauling shook her head, failing to hide her embarrassment. "Our primary goal is to stop this cargo ship from leaving port. Mister DeGroot? I'd imagine you'd be the man to ask about that."
The Demoman scratched his bristling beard. "Might be able ta blow a hole in the hull. Whaddya think, Engineer?"
"We won't be able ta sink it. The harbor's too shallow, 'n the hull looks mighty sturdy. We can cripple it, though." The Engineer dug a finger below his helmet. He scratched his scalp, then offered a new plan. "Think we'd be better off wreckin' the engine room. Might be harder ta get to, but I guarantee we'd kill the ship if ya went loose in it."
"Aye. Works for me. Didn't pack my scuba gear, anyway," the Demoman nodded.
The Heavy gave a low grumble, clearing his throat. He shared his thoughts. "Would be good to destroy cargo. Would be best for me. Pyro too, I think."
The Pyro raised a thumb. There was an eerie shimmer in his mask's goggles. "Hrr drr!"
"We should not forget about locating ze Scout," the Spy interrupted.
The Soldier pulled a face. "You're just afraid of how bad his mother would toast your crouton ass."
"Say what you will. I doubt you would leave a man behind."The Spy didn't deny the Soldier's claims. He snapped his cigarette case closed. A cherry-red ember burned below his nose as he drew a breath full of smoke. The Soldier opened his mouth to argue the point, but dropped it. The smoking snake was right. They couldn't abandon the Scout. Especially not after how hard the team had worked to get back together.
The Sniper broke the tense silence. "That's good and all, mates, but we've still got a couple dozen hands on deck that'll kill us on sight. We aren't goin' anywhere 'till I get them routed."
"Sounds like you've got your job picked out," Miss Pauling smirked.
The Sniper drew a breath through his teeth. As long as he wasn't spotted, he could take them. The trick was surviving the instant after his first strike. How smart were these robots? Would they keep track if he did manage to hide? He eyed the Spy's watch on Miss Pauling's arm with envy. He didn't ask for it. He wasn't a coward, and he certainly wasn't going to take away what had saved her all night.
"Just leave it to me," the Sniper said, nodding in agreement.
Miss Pauling regrouped the team. "Alright. Gentlemen, let's get ready."
The Engineer set to work first. He threw down his toolbox, then kicked it open. Within seconds flat, he had a dispenser up and running. While he worked on setting up a teleporter entrance, the team drew ammunition from the dispenser. The Demoman stood patiently beside him. The team dedicated to destroying the cargo ship's load huddled together. Streams from the dispenser and the medi-gun flowed between each member. The Pyro cracked his knuckles, then gave a playful punch to the Soldier's arm. The American grinned. He snickered as the Medic and Heavy prepared to lead their charge, throwing their hands together in a celebratory slap. The Spy leaned next to Miss Pauling and the Sniper, smoking slowly. He offered a hit to both of them, but neither accepted. The Sniper's eyes were fixed on the ship. His jaw was set. Miss Pauling was just as serious, her guts knotting up.
There could be no mistakes. The team had fought so hard to get back together. If any of them died, where would they go? Beneath the rubble of Tian Lu Technologies' office? Somewhere worse? They couldn't lose their target, not after they had come so far. Neither could they lose each other.
They had to win. Together.
The Sniper jumped, bumping into Miss Pauling. The Medic had turned his medi-gun on the skittish Australian. "Vell? Get going. You're ze man on ze front lines. So, you get ze first über."
"You kiddin' me? You're gonna give away my bloody position!" the Sniper hissed.
The Medic didn't take that as an acceptable excuse. He rolled his eyes, then nudged the Sniper out of the rusting container. The Sniper gave one last grumble before giving up. He trotted in front of the Medic, quick to disappear around another container. The team waited, each man poised for action. The Engineer fidgeted. The Soldier's hand steadied the troubled Engineer, then gave him a wide, confident grin. There was no fear of failure in his head. If only the rest of the team could be as self-assured as him.
The ocean crashed in their ears. In the stillness and quiet, it was deafening. There wasn't so much as the squawk of a bird, nor the squealing of other cranes loading cargo. Not a single other human. How strange. Miss Pauling frowned. Their absence would reduce the human casualty toll of their operations, but it was still concerning.
"You know," the Spy whispered. "You never said what you were going to do, Mademoiselle."
Miss Pauling smirked, then shook her wrist. "I've been doing your job for the past twelve hours. Don't see a reason to stop."
Her smile cracked when the first rifle bolt shot across the harbor. There was a pop as one malformed robot dropped to the deck. She froze in horror as the entire run of Sniper robots turned to the source of the shot. Sights sharp and clear pierced through the mist and pollution. They crossed like so many bright little threads, all pointed towards the rim of another container. The Medic had his beam trained on the Sniper, who was struggling to reload another shot. He found his composure, then swerved into the line of fire.
The Medic's übercharge covered his body like a second skin. The shining shield spread out through the Sniper's heart, then slathered his face as half a dozen lights trained on his head. He didn't do so much as flinch as his doppelgangers unloaded into his invincible body. The Sniper moved in a steady, trained fashion, his rifle moving in a smooth line. Like little fireworks, the heads of the robots popped off in red spurts. He was calm, peaceful, in a meditative state as he continued slaughtering the robots on deck. The Medic yanked him back inside just as the power around him began to flicker, sand erupting where he had stood seconds before.
The Soldier peeked his head around the corner. "Did they get them?"
Light snapped to his helmet. The Heavy pulled the Soldier back as the robots attacked the team's position. Frustrated, the Soldier put his hand on his head. He felt the brim of his helmet. It was sharp. Chipped. He'd nearly had his melon blown off.
"Think I'll stay inside," the Soldier said.
"Is good idea," the Heavy agreed.
There was another crackle, and the Sniper was at work again. The sounds of gunfire ricocheting off his body made the team nervous. He wasn't used to taking a charge, not to mention taking them back to back. It was so strange to hear him work. The übercharge fell once more, and there was another puff of sand. The Medic and Sniper were still alive.
They went silent for too long.
The Engineer's head snapped up. "He's out of ammunition."
Miss Pauling pressed down on the Spy's watch, then checked outside. There were four lights still narrowed on the Sniper's location. She leaned back, quick to switch the watch off."He's got four more."
The Engineer nodded. He reached into the dispenser's ammo compartment, then dumped several rifle rounds into Miss Pauling's jacket pocket. "I hate ta impose, but—"
She ran out before the Engineer could finish his thoughts. Sand rose and fell behind invisible feet. Sights trailed behind her, curious about the flying grit. Having no clear target, they did not fire. She leapt into the container where the Medic and Sniper sat. Both of them jumped, then relaxed as she faded into view.
"We heard you were out," Miss Pauling smiled as she dumped the contents of her pockets into the Sniper's ammunition pouch.
"Should've asked for a cup 'a sugar," the Sniper grinned. He turned back to the Medic, then nodded towards the container's opening.
The peculiar duo went out one last time. Miss Pauling darted further inside the container as a ricocheted round struck just next to her wrist. The Sniper made four final shots. He grinned as the last of his targets went up in electrical sparks and fake flesh. He lowered his gun, then relaxed his shoulders, his job complete.
He didn't stay still for long. "Oy! Wankers! Get moving!"
There was a tremendous roar as the team from the rusted container bolted out. The Heavy and Soldier were loudest by far. They ran at the offensive cargo ship, their bellows like those of an enraged bull. The Medic hopped off after the Heavy. Bounding and leaping, he outran and circled his companions, his smile brilliant and cheeky. The Pyro caught up to them. His voice was rattling in the muzzle of his mask, the same cheerful buzz he always gave. The Spy didn't run. That would be undignified. Behind him, the Demoman and Engineer struggled to keep up. The Engineer had his arms wrapped around his toolbox, his short legs working overtime. The Demoman was nauseated. He knew when the team was going in over their heads.
"This ain't gonna be pretty," the Demoman moaned.
A steel staircase sat was lowered on the side of the cargo ship. It scaled all the way up its side. Not until Miss Pauling stood beside the ship had she any appreciation for its mass. Powerful smokestacks blew hot, white clouds into the muddy skies. The ship stretched out at least a quarter of a mile—possibly more. It disappeared into the murky distance before then. She wiped droplets of water off her glasses.
She was starting to agree with the Demoman.
The Engineer ascended first. The Sniper was close behind him. He gave the Engineer a playful swat as he rose up to the top. As the Engineer boarded, the Demoman closely followed. The Pyro went next, then the Medic. The Spy took Miss Pauling by the hand, his demeanor gentlemanly but his smirk devious, and led her up. The Soldier and Heavy clanged on last.
As the Heavy set one foot onto the stairwell, there were dozens of squeals. The first came from aboard the ship. His eyes widened—that had to be the ship's shriek. The next cacophony came from beneath his feet. The stairwell lurched forward as the cargo ship began to chug forward. Leaving the dock, it dipped under the Heavy and Soldier's combined weight.
"Go!" The Heavy shoved the Soldier upwards. As they rose up, the stairwell bobbed, unchecked and free from its locked position. The Soldier hauled himself onto the deck. He smiled, then panicked as the stairs screamed from fatigue. The Soldier turned back to see the Heavy throw himself at the side of the ship. As his feet left the stairwell, the metallic contraption gave an awful buck. The Soldier grabbed onto the Heavy's belt. The larger man managed to hold on, pulling himself aboard with thick, sea-sprayed arms.
The Heavy growled. "Stupid stairs! Hate them!"
"If they were made out of one-hundred percent American steel, they wouldn't be a problem!" the Soldier laughed.
Miss Pauling tapped their sides. "This isn't a cruise! Let's get this over with!"
Swiftly, the team broke into their units. Men raced up and down the decks, descending flights with lightning speed. Miss Pauling watched in silent confusion as they went about their work. The Sniper ascended buckled-down containers, leaping onto the highest point he could climb. The Pyro took his axed and smashed one open. Androids were crammed inside. They screamed as fire melted their fake flesh, never having a chance to retaliate.
No one was stopping them. How could that be? The ship had taken off, hadn't it? Where was the crew?
The Spy snapped Miss Pauling out of her thoughts. "Come. We must search for ze Scout."
"No crew…" Miss Pauling nodded. "Something's off about this. Watch your back."
"I usually don't have to worry about zhat," the Spy said, then raised an eyebrow.
The Spy and Miss Pauling bolted for the nearest stairs. The Engineer and Demoman beat them there, racing down for the engine room. No one stood in their way. It made Miss Pauling anxious. A ship of this size had to have hundreds of crewmen aboard. There was no way it could sail on its own. What was going on?
"We should check the bridge," Miss Pauling murmured. "Someone's got to be steering this thing."
"Mais oui," the Spy agreed. He motioned down a hallway. Hundreds of feet down, there was another stairwell. Miss Pauling clicked her teeth. It would have been better to run that direction in the first place. She felt like she was already going around in circles. The Spy tugged on her sleeve, then led her. They rushed past plastic windows. Miss Pauling paused for a moment. The entire city of Kong King was already swallowed up by the smog and sickened air that perpetually veiled it. It was strange to think that such a massive labyrinth could be so easily hidden.
More gunfire erupted above their heads. It was much louder than before. More sounds. The rest of the cargo on deck was stirring. Their fighting was only spurring the team above Miss Pauling and the Spy harder. She sighed, hoping they'd be alright. Or, at the very least, that the Engineer built a buildings nest for their protection.
The Spy and Miss Pauling rushed up the stairs leading to the bridge. Their footsteps clanked. They echoed off the walls. Hardly stealthy for either of them. The door to the bridge was sealed shut. The Spy crept up to it, dropping low. Miss Pauling crouched next to him. She nudged him to keep going. With one twist, he opened the door ever-so-slightly. He pushed the muzzle of his gun through the door's gap, then slunk inside.
There was a shot, but not from the Spy's gun.
Miss Pauling jolted as the Spy cried out in pain. His body thumped against the wall. She loaded her gun, waiting for the Spy to reappear at her side, mysterious pocket watch in hand. He didn't return. She kept crouched, her nerves electrified. What could she do? Storm the room? Hide and wait out whatever was inside? Indecision bound her tighter than any restraint.
She knew what she had to do when she heard a posh voice hiss, "Now, tell me. Just where did that little bitch of yours go?"
/***/
Author's Note
I really should know better than to write about ships. I'm from the Midwest. I rarely get onto a boat. It'll never end well. But, hey—I like destroying vehicles, and my vehicular destruction count for this story just isn't high enough.
Ready?