The Sniper was quiet, lying on his belly ahead of the group. His right eye was focused through the large scope perched on his rifle. No light came from the laser sight, which had been turned off to conceal his position. As he continued surveying the men meters below their position, the Spy found himself amused with his teammate. He blended well into the shade beneath the centuries-old trees, calm and serene in his task. If the Spy didn't keep a constant eye on his companion, he would have lost him. Bright shirt and all. He did not need the Spy's tools to conceal himself. He wore nature like a dark, verdant cloak. No wonder why there was such fear in the eyes of the men he'd killed back in the United States. They almost never knew he was there until white-hot lead seared through their brains.

It was several minutes before the Sniper wriggled back to the mismatched group. He dusted off his shirt, then spoke quietly. "There's at least twenty-foive blokes down there. Not countin' the pilot or copilot, mind ya."

Toaster whistled lowly. "Didn't think they'd send that many fellows out to look for us."

"Zhey have a good reason to panic. It is not every day zhat an American commercial flight crash-lands in Soviet territory," the Spy said.

Marian asked, "So, how many bullets do you have?"

"Ya can't think I can take 'em all. They'll catch me after the first round." The Sniper rubbed the back of his neck, small droplets of sweat sticking to his collar. "I'd get lucky if I take three or four 'a them."

Marian frowned. She massaged her sore ankles as she spoke. "I don't see how we're going to get past these soldiers unless you do your job. You are a professional headhunter, aren't you?"

The Spy nudged his way towards his teammate. "Zhis would be where I come in. I have my little gadgets, you know. We could hit zhem on both sides, assuming I can sneak down wizzout getting detected."

Marian raised an eyebrow, amused with the Spy's offerings. Sensei seemed less entertained with the memory of the Spy's wristwatch. The Japanese doctor shivered. "Ah, yes. He could do it, I think. He is very good with his watch, you know. He has a habit of ruining dinners."

"It is not a habit if you only do it once," the Spy smirked.

Toaster scratched his head. "Well, that's fine and dandy, but what are the rest of us supposed to do? Sit on our asses until Commie soldiers turn us into Swiss cheese?"

"Gentlemen, that will not be a problem." Marian nodded her head towards the remains of her aircraft. "If those two can create a distraction for us, we can get to the plane and get into my cache of weapons. It won't be the most pleasant way to deal with them, but I guarantee that we'll flush them out."

All of the men winced, wondering what Marian could have brought along. Knowing her, it had to be something toxic. One didn't run both a chemical warfare plant and a cosmetics corporation without knowledge of some seriously caustic materials. Just the thought of what might be in that plane made the Spy's throat scratchy. Perhaps it was lucky the plane's cargo wasn't punctured in the crash. The environmental damage alone could take years to scrub clean from the planet.

"In times like zhis, I wish I had zhe Pyro's mask," the Spy murmured.

The Sniper agreed. "Too roight, mate." He laid down once more, then started crawling back to his lookout. "Let me know when I should open fire."

The Spy gave his teammate a small, dark smile. "You may begin shooting when zhe screaming starts."

/***/

The Scout was going to pull his hair out.

Several situations were gnawing away in the pit of his stomach. He was in a strange part of the world that, until today, he didn't know existed. Everything around him was in Russian or Georgian or something he couldn't read. The team had been lucky enough to find a translator in the airport that could speak to them. Unfortunately, the only language she knew other than Georgian was Russian. That left the Heavy to represent the entire group. The Scout didn't need to understand Russian to know that the translator had a serious crush on the Heavy and that he wasn't noticing her advances. Apparently, body language was not as universally understood as he thought.

Of course, the biggest issue on his mind was already pouring out of his mouth. "Guys, I dunno what I'm gonna do! I mean, my momma could really be in trouble, here! Why wouldn't she have answered da phone?"

The Pyro patted the Scout on the back twice. He replied, "Mrrff fee fuffn fuf fu hudnemo."

"You're totally not helpin' my dilemma," the Scout grumbled. The Pyro sighed, then took his hand away from the young man's shoulder. Sometimes, there was no helping the Scout when he was in a sulk.

The Soldier shook his head, the straps of his helmet striking the sides of his face. "You know, son, you might be over-thinking this. Your mother is a lady of the night, after all. She could be busy doing—"

"You had better not finish dat goddamn sentence," the Scout interrupted.

Giving the Soldier a sympathetic look, the Demoman sighed. He threw an arm around the Scout's shoulders, locking him in a squeeze. "Aw, mate. I wouldn't worry 'bout yer mum if I were you. She'd a tough bird. I mean, raisin' eight boys just like you? Ain't a feat for a weak woman."

The Scout perked up a bit. The Demoman was right. His mother was not someone to be messed with. After all, she was the one that taught him how to saw off and wield shotguns. Hell, every door-to-door salesman in a three mile radius from their old home in Boston feared her accuracy. One incident with a Fuller Brush man had gone down in spectacular infamy. Nobody stuck their toe in her doorway without fear of losing it.

He gave the Scotsman a wide grin. "Thanks, man. Dat's what I needed ta hear."

The Demoman gave the Scout another small shake. "Ya've got it, lad. Yer mum is a fine lady."

"Ah, man, Tavish! Yer makin' me blush!" the Scout smirked.

The Demoman nodded. "Ya know, the Soldier's probably right, though. I mean, she is a—"

"Okay, new rule!" the Scout yelled. "No more talkin' 'bout what my mom does outside 'a da house! She ain't a hooka!"

"Wuddhen fee brr drrn ed en der hrff?" the Pyro asked.

The Scout shook a finger in the Pyro's mask. "What in da hell did I just say?"

/***/

The Spy slithered through the brush, leaves shimmering as he passed by them. His watch kept an invisible layer over his body as he traveled around the outskirts of the Soviet army that was investigating the crash. It did not take him long to find a spot to rest and stake the area out. With any attack, it was important to decide who to remove first. Obviously, the largest threat always deserved the first stab to the back. When he was fighting the Mann's ridiculous little war, it was easy to pick his targets. The Medic or the Engineer had to be dealt with first. Plucking the healers away from the opposing team always gave his group an immediate advantage. It was much simpler when he was dealing with stragglers or loners, so he sometimes snapped them up.

With this group of soldiers, it was a little harder to know who to strike first. It would be wise to disable any communications devices. However, that meant tampering with the massive Mil Mi-10. While he could probably figure out what to disconnect eventually, he did not wish to accidentally ruin the helicopter. That transport might be the fastest route out of the forest. It was best to preserve it at all costs. He continued his observation, searching for his friend in the distance. He couldn't even catch the scope's lens flaring, what with how little light was coming through the canopy.

It did not take long for two men to break apart from the pack. One man had a hand on his belt buckle, fumbling with the zipper. The Spy pulled his teeth, then drifted deeper into the foliage. He certainly didn't need to have someone urinate on his shoes. He had enough of that back in the United States. Reaching into his suit jacket, his fingers ran across some of his knives. He stopped on one blade, its golden lacing and opal gemstones familiar even beneath his gloves. It was the perfect choice for this situation.

The Spy slunk to the side as the two officers passed him. He did not wait long before he struck. While both men were equipped with front-plated body armor, it did little to protect to their backs. That made his lethal blows all the easier. The Spy drove his knife through the back of the first man, his fingers quick to stifle any screams. As the Spy withdrew his blade, its strange properties kicked to life. He was coated instantly with the appearance of the enemy soldier. There was no need for a disguise template. The knife simply did what it was designed to do—to instantly take the form of any man slain by it.

It did not take him long to overtake the second man. Hell, the next soldier never saw him coming. His moves were smooth, powerful. He slipped the knife into vital organs, never once nicking bone. Within seconds, he had his next disguise. So far, so good. At least twenty three men remained, though. It was hardly any time to celebrate.

The Spy flicked his watch on once more, then crept towards the crash site. Some of the soldiers threw their gaze in his direction, staring where their men had disappeared. The Spy found himself feeling some peculiar regret. It had been a while since he'd murdered someone without them coming back to life fifteen seconds later. If the circumstances were different, he would have no reason to kill them. He did not mull over his actions for long. Perhaps it was sociopathic for him to slaughter strangers, but he needed to get back to his paramour. If this was the only way for her to be safe, then he would stain his hands for her.

Five men approached the spot where the Spy was hiding. Trickier, no doubt. They were now searching for the bodies of their friends. They would not find anything. This strange knife was a literal body snatcher. It would never leave a corpse. Rather, it would bend matter to have the Spy assume the dead person's form. He waited for them to pass, then struck once more. Five turned to four, four to three, three to two, two to one. The last man died without any struggle, having no way of knowing what monster had just gobbled up his fellow soldiers.

The Spy spun on his heels, prepared to take up his spot again. As he did so, his watch gave a tiny shudder. It was running low on power. He dropped down to the ground, tapping the wristwatch twice. The device began recharging again, much to his satisfaction. He thought the damned thing had crapped out on him.

As he sighed, someone collided into him. The Spy glanced upwards, finding himself looking up the nostrils of an iron-jawed Soviet. The man had that massive jaw dropped, a scream threatening to roar out of his throat. The Spy must have looked like some fearsome spirit. He had the appearance of one of his dead teammates, outlined in an eerie glow. Perhaps he would have been more terrifying if he had been standing up.

Never-the-less, the Spy had his fun. "Boo!"

The man's scream had barely emerged from his mouth when a bullet went speeding through it. It wasn't a direct shot made from the front. Rather, the bullet pierced the back of his head and went out through his mouth. Thick pulp and gore followed it, splattering across the Spy's face. The Frenchman growled. Leave it to a Sniper to get him covered in someone's bodily fluids.

The stealth part of their operation was over. Most of the regiment turned to face where the Sniper was hidden in the forest. They opened fire on him, rounds bursting through the thick trees. Their fire was wild, inaccurate. Three shots came back in rapid succession. Red stars blossomed in the foreheads of the hapless soldiers. Their helmets were useless against the caliber and speed of the Sniper's bullets.

Everything became a jumbled, chaotic mess. Marian's employees slipped from the forest, making a beeline for the airplane's wreckage. The Sniper kept his position, suppressing fire against the group. It did not take long for the Spy to join in the melee. Several screams erupted from the regiment as the Spy moved from man to man, taking the lives and forms of each as he moved. He was a haunting specter, one that made grown men shriek.

A noxious smell rolled over the dwindling survivors. Thick white fog leapt from strange devices held by Marian and her crew. She adjusted a face mask before flipping the switch on her weapon as well. Those that had no breathing apparatus wheezed and hacked as her men cut threw them. It was enough to make the Spy's stomach roll as well. He barreled out of the group, making his way to the helicopter. He had to secure that, no matter what. Marian's merry band could finish off the rest of them.

The Spy jumped into an open panel on the side of the Mil Mi-10. As he stepped both feet onto the metal floor, a man grabbed him by his neck. The enemy combatant slammed the Spy into the side of the helicopter, unafraid of the mortal spook in his grasp. The Spy slashed once, catching the man in the arm. His disguise disappeared in the attack, unable to be replaced by that of another. The soldier grabbed his right wrist, shoving that above the Frenchman's head. He pressed into the Spy's neck, squeezing the blood and air out of the Spy's throat.

On the verge of darkness and defeat, lightning saved the Spy's life. Another round from the Sniper's rifle had pierced the assailant's shoulder. It passed centimeters above the Spy's own torso, singeing fibers in its wake. The Spy threw the man forward, stabbing him through his neck. The man gave two long gurgles, then collapsed into the aether as the Spy took on his form.

It was then that the Spy realized he had killed the helicopter's pilot.

Of course, the situation could only get worse. Having seen his teammate being shot and stabbed did not sit well with the copilot, either. The butt of a pistol struck the back of the Spy's head. He collapsed from the shock of the hit, his disguise disappearing in a shimmer of light as the knife slipped from his hand. He reached for it, only to have his wrist stomped on. The copilot placed the barrel of his pistol against the Spy's forehead, a dark sneer pulling over thick teeth.

Perhaps the bullet to his brain would have spared the Spy from this insane adventure. Perhaps it could have reunited him with his beloved. Another round spoke louder, demanded more from him. The shot went into one side of the copilot's head and out the other, from ear to ear. He dropped to the ground, pinning the Spy beneath his dead weight. The Spy looked out the helicopter door, spotting a glimmer in the distance. The Sniper was rushing from his position, abandoning his safe haven to reach the Spy's side.

Within less than a minute, the Sniper bounded inside the cockpit. Marian and her men were hot on his heels, clambering into the vehicle as well. The Sniper braced the Spy, quick to throw his arm over the Australian's shoulder. Sensei started prodding at the wound in the back of the Spy's head. It could have been worse. That didn't stop it from stinging.

"Good God," Boomer growled. He rubbed his bloody knuckles, a few centimeters of scraped skin hanging from them. "Did the both 'a ya have ta kill both the pilot and the copilot?"

Marian shook her finger at the burly Australian. "Now, now. Don't fret. It can't be that hard to fly a helicopter, can it?"

Toaster shrugged. "I think I can do it." Everyone in the group gave him a dark glare. He crossed his arms, suddenly defensive of his request. "Oh, come on! I've already been in one flaming crash today. What's the chance of me gettin' in another one? God's gotta cut me a break, right?"

Buckaroo lifted an eyebrow. "The Lord doesn't work like that."

"You two. You are ex-Air Force, correct?" Marian pointed two of her guards to the front of the helicopter. "Go figure it out."

Nobody could believe her ludicrous requests. Then again, it was hard to think that any of today's events could be real or logical. At that moment, the Spy didn't put that much thought into it. His head felt like it was full of bees, swarming and stinging the inside of his skull. Somehow, they had pulled another victory out of their asses. After tossing the remaining corpses out of the helicopter, Boomer slammed the doors shut. It was not long after that event that the helicopter's blades wound to life. They jerked from the ground, then ascended into the heavens. It did not take long before Marian's men got a handle on the strange, foreign machine.

There were only two things that the Spy gave a damn about, at that very moment. The first was the thought of his raven-haired American beauty. Hopefully, she was sleeping soundly through the night, never knowing of the ruin raiding or the stranger slaying that the Spy was doing at that very moment. She knew he was a killer. He just hated that she knew his dark occupation. The only other thought he had at that moment was how grateful he was for the man sitting next to him, his piercing eyes softened with concern over the Frenchman's state. Perhaps he was a schmuck, just as easily manipulated as the Spy. He owed that man his life several times over today. It was hard not to look at him with the same care and respect.

He could not fail either of them. Not after he'd come so far.

/***/

Author's Note

You know what's hard to write about the Sniper and the Spy? If they are doing their jobs well, they shouldn't have an ounce of drama in their work. It's really only when they screw up that things get interesting.

I was going to write an extended dialogue in the second part, but the first and third parts went on long enough. I figure you can hear the Engineer lamenting about how he misses his teammates' sweet asses later. Or not. I try to stay ambiguous about that topic, even if it is blaringly obvious.