Merry Christmas everyone!
This chapter wasn't in my original storyline but somehow it evolved into existence. Enjoy!
CHAPTER 3 – The Sandwich War
The Sandwich War that ensued during the next weeks was quite the show to witness.
Being honest, it was bound to happen. Sniper hadn't expected Heavy's little secret to last forever but he wouldn't have ever imagined that it could escalate into such ridiculous matchup between the two teams.
Early during the following week, someone of short intellect must have caught Heavy eating a healing sandwich or must have accidentally found any of the other ones that still remained on the map. Surely impressed by that simple yet cunning trick, that mercenary had decided to imitate it and had brought his own supply of sandwiches to the map. It was unknown if that someone had shared his plan with any of his teammates, multiple mercenaries had independently done the same or simply too many sandwiches had been stashed due to an overcompensating obsession, but by Wednesday, Sniper had spotted half of his team and the enemy team digging around on the snow, on the hunt for healing sandwiches.
Obviously, the men began stealing other people's sandwiches for a wide variety of reasons but mostly meanness and desire to annoy each other. The grown-up mercenaries would take the sandwiches and hid them somewhere else, foolishly believing that they would remain there for when they privately needed them. The stealing incited some serious grudges between the men and sent both teams into a dangerous path of personal vendetta. They started fighting to protect and avenge their sandwiches, instead of capturing the points, almost as if "Sandwich War" was the new game mode in play.
The situation evolved to a superior level when someone began planting spicy and poisonous sandwiches. Sniper wasn't sure if that ploy betokened the slyness of a Spy or the immaturity of a Scout. Perhaps, both simultaneously. At not being able to trust the edibility of the snacks, the teams started using the sandwiches as throwing weapons, distractions or bait. It became utter chaos on the battlefield.
And Sniper watched it all unfold from behind his scope.
Sniper watched the enemy Soldier go into a madman's rampage to avenge his fellow 'American' sandwiches. Little he knew his own Engineer had destroyed them at considering them a health hazard for anyone a yard around.
Sniper watched both Scouts pull sandwich pranks on each other, forget where they had hidden the normal sandwiches and where the spicy ones and accidentally eat their own spicy sandwiches. He had laughed his ass off at watching them swallow dirty snow in desperate hopes of alleviating their burning tongues.
Sniper watched their Pyro and Demoman weaponize sandwiches into Molotov cocktails and how the enemy team had reverse-engineered the technique on the following hour. It had stopped to amaze him when they had thrown one to his nest. The smell...
It really befuddled the sharpshooter that the Administrator only cut short their behaviour when more bread began covering the battlefield than snow. Despite her harshness, she probably must have been enjoying the childish enmity as much as him, if she had allowed them to progress until that point.
The whole team received a severe earful that lasted for almost 2 hours and heavy threats were made to prevent similar incidents in the future. A proportional salary penalty was announced and the team was left to dread how much less they will earn that month due to their shenanigans. Sniper was pissed off like everyone else but he had a clear conscience of his active participation. He hadn't brought the situation to the extreme. He had only replaced the single sandwich Heavy had demanded. He couldn't get too penalized for that, right?
In one single night, the Administrator's cleaning brigade made the whole layer of bread disappear. As impressive as that feat was, it made Sniper shivered. If she could make that amount of bread go away in a few hours, getting rid of a dozen of bodies would be incredibly effortless in comparison. After all, they already lived in the middle of nowhere. The sharpshooter took it as a reminder of the immense power behind the voice of the battlefield's speakers.
The last days of the month went by as if the Sandwich War had never happened, relegating the events of those bizarre weeks into the anecdote repertory of their memorable battles. With the new month, the envelope with the monthly battle statistics was delivered by Miss Pauling. As regular, Sniper took his personal statistics and checked them out on his van, alone. He didn't enjoy the loud banter and the regular bets his teammates hold. He usually didn't participate in any of them, the way his Sniper class operated couldn't be compared with the rest. It didn't make sense to him to share his scores with them. He wasn't the sharing or bragging type either.
Sniper was surprised to find out that he had actually performed slightly better than last month. With the change of scenery and the freezing temperatures, he had anticipated a decline in his statistics but that hadn't been the case. In fact, he had surpassed his previous kill streak and number of headshots in a single life. Not bad. Not bad at all.
The Australian would have like to exclusively attribute that deed to his fast pace adaptation but he wasn't such an egocentric wanker to believe that crap. The Sandwich War had definitely helped. He had noticed during the event how little he had died. With everyone concentrated on the sandwiches, they had forgotten snipers also existed. It had made his job way easier than usual.
That night, Sniper went to bed with a timid smile, renewed determination and some kind of relieved feeling. He had as policy to never rely on luck but for once, it felt comforting when the circumstances weren't in cohorts against him. He had had enough of tough circumstances in his whole life. This ugly cold weather wasn't his cup of tea but he will overcome it like he had done many times before. He firmly believed that now.
During the weekend, Sniper wondered into the base to grab some newspapers to read that afternoon. He might have lived in a van away from the common areas but he liked keeping himself up to date about the general occurrences of the world. He might have looked like it but he wasn't an absolute hermit.
Once in the living room, Sniper found Scout, Pyro, Heavy and Demoman watching a cartoon show on the television, although the last one seemed to be dozing off more than anything else. The Australian gave them a silent hand wave and examined his newspapers. He selected the ones that were still readable after passing through the hands of all his teammates. Pyro liked to draw on or burn anything paper-like. Just when he was leaving, the team's performance summary that was pinned on the notice board caught his attention and he couldn't avoid taking a glance at it.
Heavy's name had seized half of the categories of that month. Most kills, best ratio kills-deaths, longest life, most captured points, most defences. It was clear that the Russian had also benefited from the Sandwich War. Those categories were usually more evenly distributed between him, Soldier, Demoman and Pyro but on this occasion, he had apparently been the only one to stick to the real objectives. Any salary penalty Heavy might have received that month was going to be more than compensated by those category bonuses. It was curious, in Sniper's opinion, how despite initially being so defensive of his sandwiches, Heavy had been one of the few teammates that had kept his priorities straight as the conflict had escalated. Good for him, he supposed.
Sniper was pleased to find out that the highest kill streak and the most points in a single life of the month belong to him. It was the first time he had earned those two categories and the first time his name appeared more than once in the scoreboard. He didn't regularly get the chance to be in there.
As he read through the report, Sniper sensed Heavy's gait stopping behind him. The shadow of that mountain of a man projected over the notice board.
"Thank you." Heavy spoke softly and sincerely. There was a deeper context to his words that would remain unknown to the other man.
Sniper eyed the man with a slightly confused frown. He didn't voice out a 'Why?' but his face displayed it for him. Was he thanking him for his own amazing scores?
"Sniper kept sandwich secret." The mountain of a man said in such low tone that Sniper wouldn't have thought him capable of it before.
It suddenly clicked in the Australian's mind. All this time, Heavy had been afraid that he might rat him out. In fear of getting a sanction he didn't believe he deserved or just in a pitiful attempt of avoiding his shared responsibility, Sniper could have told the Administrator that Heavy had been the one to plant the first sandwiches. He could have told her that the big Russian had gone into the battleground outside fighting hours while that was supposedly not allowed. By the salary deduction, Heavy might have deduced that Sniper hadn't done any of that.
For a second, the Australian felt stupid for not even coming up with any of that before. Why hadn't he threatened him back with that argument when Heavy had intimidated him into making him a new sandwich? Sniper rapidly concluded that he probably hadn't thought of it before because it wasn't in his nature. He was a straightforward man who didn't like playing those kinds of dirty games. It wasn't his style. Besides, it wasn't wise to go threatening around men twice your weight he didn't know anything about.
Well... That wasn't true anymore. His vision of Heavy had drastically changed in the last month.
He knew Heavy was a grateful man now too. The Russian could have acted as if everything was already in the past but he hadn't. He had casually stood up from the sofa to personally thank him for keeping a secret that Sniper hadn't realized they shared. Sniper hadn't met many men of such thoughtfulness. Regular assassins were usually too proud and aloof for these simple gestures.
"Professionals have standards. Be polite." It automatically popped on his mind and it struck him that the sharpshooter hadn't considered Heavy a professional until now. Engineer had been perhaps the only one in the whole team.
"No worries, mate." Sniper offered his hand for a handshake and Heavy took his extended hand with a friendly gentleness. The handshake surprisingly wasn't awkward and didn't last long. When they pulled back, Sniper confessed to the man.
"I should be the one thanking ya. I got my highest kill streak during this Sandwich war." Sniper didn't explain the rest regarding his statistics. His performance insecurities were personal. Too personal.
"How many kills?" Heavy asked with innocent curiosity.
"Twenty-four." Sniper chuckled, proud of his achievement, and crossed his arms over his chest with a smile lingering from his lips.
The giant slowly grinned from ear to ear and Sniper saw his eyes light up with unexpected triumph. That was the face the big guy got after getting unexpectedly lucky in a challenging situation. Sniper had seen it plenty of times by now. The Russian turned to the teammates watching the cartoons. The sudden change of volume almost threw the Australian backward.
"Demo!" Heavy yelled at the man, who was slumping on the sofa half asleep. "Sniper has highest kill streak of season! Give Heavy's vodka back!"
"It's already gone, lad! Sorry!" The Scottish waved him off, not looking very apologetic.
"ALL?! HOW?!" The 441-pound muscle mountain walked back to the sofa making each one of his steps purposely sonorous. All his body language indicated that he was going to get his vodka back, in one way or another.
Sniper chuckled with earnest amusement and watched Heavy's indignation explode from a safe distance. Maybe he had taken a leap of faith with the Russian's professionalism. Maybe. Maybe not.