Cold, unforgiving desert winds buffeted the base. It came over the dam in sharp waves. Water bubbled, crackling with the strength of the winds. The sky was captured by the walls of the canyons surrounding the base. Countless stars were holding their ground, fleeing only from the tyrant sun. The rest of the world was sleeping.
Warriors were wide awake.
They waited between two tanks, reviewing their instructions. Ammunition and weapons were packed and ready for action. The innards of the tanks gleamed with a diamond's sheen, freshly repaired and scrubbed clean. It had been a long couple of days preparing both machines, but it was worth every drop of sweat. The machines would provide its cargo a false face to foes that would shred its soft innards. They were two confirmed bastions in inhospitable terrain.
All nine men and both women had earpieces. They flipped the devices on, then began giving tests. One by one, they cycled through their microphones, making sure each man's toolset worked. The Pyro's microphone had proved to be the most troublesome of the bunch. They settled for a headset, as that gave him the most clarity he could muster without falling off his head or pinching his ears behind tight rubber.
"Gentlemen? Are you ready?" Miss Pauling asked.
It would be wrong to say that they all were. Each man had their own fears about the situation. Nobody wanted to march towards their own death. Worse yet, none of them dared to let Gray capture them once again. A year's worth of separation had been bad enough. There was no telling what he would do to them if he got them again.
Being stubborn, none of the men would admit that.
The Soldier led the sound-off. "I am ready."
"Da," the Heavy agreed. "Is time to fight metal men."
"Vhat could possibly go wrong?" the Medic chuckled. He gave an anxious look to the skies, wondering if Archimedes would behave himself. The last thing he needed was for that damned bird to follow him to Mexico and get himself killed.
The Demoman was hardly as optimistic as the Medic. "You owe me a drink, Miss Pauling."
"You'll get it, Mister DeGroot," the assistant assured him.
"Can I possibly get you to owe me anything?" the Scout smirked.
Miss Pauling gave his mother a dirty look. "Fix him, would you?"
The Scout's mother grinned, then swatted her kid on the back. He grumbled but shook it off. The last thing he needed was his mother to emasculate him any further. "Okay, okay. I got it. Geez." He gave his mother another smile. "Stay safe, would ya?"
"C'mon," the Scout's mother laughed. "Who do you think raised you, kiddo? I can handle dhis."
The Spy gave a small tip of his head to the Scout's mother. He straightened his balaclava, then his tie. "I will keep him out of trouble. You have my word."
Snatching him by his mask, the Scout's mother planted a kiss on the Spy's mouth. Nothing too long or deep. Just a little peck. She patted his butt, then let him go. "I'm countin' on it!"
The Pyro made a series of cooing noises, taunting the Spy by faking a dramatic swoon. The Spy shook his head, then crossed his arms. Grunting, the Pyro gave up teasing him. He turned to Miss Pauling, then gave a sloppy salute. She nodded in turn. That was as close to a confirmation for his readiness as anything else she would get from him.
Trying to steady himself, the Sniper took in a deep breath. It was easy to flush out toxic anxieties if he reassumed the composed mask he made for himself so long ago. Robots couldn't fear or hate him, so he wouldn't give them the same holds over him. He put one hand on the Engineer's shoulder, then gave two nods. "Piece 'a cake. Roight, mate?"
"You're so full of crap, Mundy," the Engineer laughed. "But we'll get this done."
"Good. I'm counting on you," Miss Pauling reassured him.
The Scout's mother chipped in as well. "Frankly, dhis whole damn state is. And maybe a couple of others. So, try not to screw dhis up, okay?"
The Engineer shook his head, then whistled lowly. "No pressure, Ma'am."
Miss Pauling brought the team back on track. She gave them one last lecture. "Alright, gentlemen. It should take you approximately thirteen to fourteen hours to reach your destination. Until then, keep audio traffic limited between both vehicles. You will make contact with our camp on one of two conditions. A—you infiltrate Gray Mann's base and are awaiting orders. B—you have run into trouble. And I hope for your sake, you do not call me in on condition B."
"Think that's a universal feeling here, lass," the Demoman interrupted.
"Keep to your plan as much as possible. Do not allow yourselves to get isolated. If you have to pull back, then do so," Miss Pauling ordered. "Don't take it personally, but I don't want to have to search the globe to find you all again."
Both Miss Pauling and her men hesitated to part. For her, it was weird to let them go again. For them, it was threatening to leave the safety of the base. Each man took her hand, giving her one last shake. If they had to part, they were going to do so on good terms. It was a miracle that the men didn't assemble into a huge group hug.
It was the Scout's mother that finally had to send them out. "Get goin', you putzes! Dhat old man ain't gonna beat himself up!"
The team scrambled into both tanks. The offensive leaders took the first vehicle. The Soldier was the first to jump into the driver's seat. Taking the passenger's seat, the Pyro buckled himself, eager to start his trip south. The Medic took a seat on one of the ammo crates. Both the Heavy and the Demoman lay down in the back, sleeping until it was their turn to drive. In the following vehicle, the Sniper took the tank's controls. It was a bit more cumbersome to maneuver than his van, but it was still manageable. The Scout stole the other seat, waving goodbye to his mother. Like the Heavy and Demoman before them, both the Engineer and the Spy prepared to rest.
With two rumbles, the tanks started. The first pushed out the front gate, managing not to crush it. The second followed in its path. The remaining sentries watched their master leave, confused about whether or not they should be firing. Both Miss Pauling and the Scout's mother waited outside, watching their collected men trudge off to war.
When the night went quiet once more, they went to the front gate and closed it. Both women shivered until they got inside the base once more. Miss Pauling kept the lights in the control room low, locking all the doors behind her. The Scout's mother shook out the bedding left on the floor. Once she was satisfied that it was clean, she sighed.
"Now what?" the Scout's mother asked.
Miss Pauling yawned. "I'm going to the bathroom, then back to sleep. I'd advise you to do the same thing. I'd like to make sure all the doors are locked up before we rest."
A long, sad smile split the mother's face. "I don't think I can."
Miss Pauling picked at her fingernails. She knew that feeling. It was a forceful surge, an apprehension that didn't go away. A form of powerful helplessness. They had done so much to try and restore what they had lost. Now, like careless dragons, they had flung their treasures to the winds. Only fate would tell if they had to go after them once more.
"Do you want to talk for a little bit?" Miss Pauling offered.
The Scout's mother nodded. "Yeah. I'd like dhat."
In the end, their tired murmurings went forgotten in the night air. Miss Pauling fell asleep before the older lady. She rested with her arms curled around a pillow, laying both it and her head against the mother's right hip. The elder placed an arm on Miss Pauling's back, stroking it as she slept. The strangeness of the base bothered her. Lights from the command consoles, the beeps of sentries—these were the sirens of war, something unfamiliar to a domestic woman like herself.
She did not succumb to their melodies until the break of dawn.
Warm sand leapt into the air in dirty capes. They shielded steel-blue tanks as they chugged through the desert. The sands of New Mexico melded into the arid landscapes of Sonora. Only madmen and desperate, brave souls travelled outside of border patrols and highways. The team had little choice in the matter. They could not afford to be spotted by anyone in their trek.
For a time, the sun chased them. It was not long before it overtook the tanks in its path. They paused only once, trekking on foot to Benjamin Hill for food and rest. Their break lasted for only an hour. They didn't dare keep the ladies in Hydro waiting for them. It was half a miracle in itself that they didn't have to resort to taking the Sniper's suggestion for restroom stops. When they caught sight of blue waters and a fat highway, the tanks slowed to a crawl.
Looming just a mile offshore was the headquarters for Gray Gravel Co.
A small click woke everyone up. The Soldier was stirring the troops. "Be prepared to cross. Over."
The tanks proceeded to the highway. They passed through the flattened remains of a village. It was impossible to say when exactly it had been destroyed, but it had to have been in ruins for years. The only signs of former human life were shattered timbers and broken docks. The troop cast dark shadows over the ruined past. There was no time to dwell on the tragedy, lest that became their future.
They strode with a confident clip over the highway leading to Gray's keep. A steel exterior shielded nervous thoughts. Adrenaline flooded their veins, unbridled lightning quivering across strong and lean muscles. An attack would have quelled the storm inside them, if only because it would give them a concrete reason to panic. Heavy dread pressed down on them.
It was only when they had crossed over the bridge and passed into an underground tunnel that they could take full breaths once more.
They wound beneath rocky cliffs, coming to surface next to large buildings with rows of glass-paned windows. Lithe figures wound about the top floors, moving back and forth. Robots. Some turned to face the two tanks, pale lights settling on their hulls. Snipers, no doubt. They held their attention briefly, then turned away, satisfied that the oncoming vehicles were of their maker's design.
"Anyone see a place to park?" the Engineer asked, his voice low and raspy over their headsets.
The Soldier surveyed the buildings. One of them had a metallic, paneled door rolled upwards. He could see tanks resting inside its contents. He grunted his orders to his teammate, then went ahead. "Follow me. Act natural."
"If that means putting cardboard box on head again?" the Heavy grumbled. "Do not think it will work twice."
The Spy gave a reassuring chuckle to his teammates. "You would be surprised what you can do with a good box. Especially when it comes to covert operations."
Both tanks parked parallel to each other inside the leftmost building. They stayed still for a good minute, taking time to watch what was going on. There were security cameras overhead. Two sentry robots were waiting on the stairwell. They didn't seem to be concerned about the contents of either tank. It wasn't a lot of security, but they were going to be troublesome enough.
"Wait here," the Spy demanded.
Lighting his cigarette, he waited to take on a robotic form. The rest of the teammates in his tank slid under seats and behind wooden crates. After he was satisfied that his disguise was sufficient, the Spy went out through the back of the tank. Both robots on the stairwell snapped their head to view him but did not approach him.
The Spy did not confront them, either. That was not his most concerning target. Those cameras had to be destroyed before he could do anything else. He marched out of the garage door, then began circling around the building. More Sniper-bots were watching from the rooftops, but they were not paying him any mind. Just as well. He would have to handle them too, in good time.
Once he had a survey of the area, he returned to the garage. It did not take him long to locate the junction box towards the back. Making sure he had a tank covering the bots' line of sight, he laid his back against the walls. He plucked his sapper out of his pocket. With a single snap, he latched it onto the building. He slunk away from the box, waiting beneath the stairwell for his next turn to strike. A hot sizzle came from the box before it took the building's electronics offline. He knew he was successful when the cameras dropped.
The Spy waited for something dramatic to happen. Sirens going off, robots panicking. Nothing. These machines couldn't be this dense, could they? He shook his head but didn't drop his disguise. He had to take these last two guards out without causing a stir. Not hard at all. He didn't even have to get behind the dense robots. All it took was a light stroll upstairs, a slap of the sapper on one machine's chest, then a stab through the back of the other as it twisted to investigate its friend. He kicked the stabbed machine off the side of the stairwell, then gave one last strike to the second robot to finish it.
"Gentlemen," the Spy reported. "I am finished. Let us clean up."
The offensive line's tank opened first. Both the Soldier and the Heavy scooped up the destroyed robots. They crammed them into another unoccupied tank, then locked them within its contents. That was as good as anything, as far as holding them went. The Engineer emerged from the second tank, smiling as he observed the dead cameras. The Spy certainly was good at his job.
The Engineer tapped on his earpiece. "Miss Paulin'? Gettin' us?"
There was a delay, then a crackle. The petite assistant's voice came through, a little fuzzy, but strong. "Loud and clear, Mister Conagher. And I thought we were supposed to say over. Over."
"You'll have to pardon me if I'm a little rude with radio protocol today," the Engineer teased her. "Got a big day ahead of me, and it might get messy."
The Engineer set the first of his many nests up. Two sentries went at the front and back doors. He tucked a dispenser into the corner of the garage. Teleporters were out of the question, at least for this location. The last thing he needed was for some dumb robot to sneak up and destroy their mother lode.
Each teammate armed himself according to his tastes. They began rooting through custom parts, tacking what would work best for them to their weapons. The Medic passed canteens out for the teammates. Each made sure that their contents would suit their needs, then gave confirming nods. It was hard to feel one-hundred percent confident or prepared, but they had to be strong. If not for themselves, then for their teammates.
"So? Where do we begin?" the Demoman asked.
A scratching sound came from Miss Pauling's end. "Okay. I'm looking at the last complete map we have of Gray's base."
"Ah. One moment." The Spy reached into his breast pocket, then produced his copy. He unfurled it on the floor of the garage. "We are ready."
"Demoman—do you see those three tanks on the southwestern portion of your map?" Miss Pauling asked. "You'll want to hit those. They contain fuel for the machinery on the island."
The Demoman agreed. "Aye. I'll need some cover and blind eyes."
"Zhen I will head to zhe east," the Spy reported. He tapped his finger on a short building with a satellite dish. "Zhere appears to be a communications tower in zhat direction. Taking zhat down should disrupt any orders Monsieur Mann wishes to give to his remote bases. Monsieur Scout? You are welcome to accompany me, should you feel capable of dodging zhe snipers outside."
The Scout sniffed but didn't back down. "I'll take dhe bushes until you get in trouble, Frenchie. And I won't need no stupid disguise or freakin' cardboard box to hide around in, neidher!"
"Suppose I should wait to take a crack at those blokes until their hub's down," the Sniper grimaced.
The Heavy agreed with the Sniper's deductions. "Correct. Baby gun makes great noise. Very big risk."
"Yous guys just hang tight, okay?" the Scout's mother chirped. "Just let my boy 'n man handle dhis, and you'll be in like Flynn."
Despite the grave situation, the men cracked up. Both the Spy and Scout sighed. Perhaps letting the chatty mother on the line had been a bad call. The Spy tried to regain some composure and control of the conversation. "Mon petit, we will be back shortly. Until we return, I request zhat you only use zhe lines for minimal contact."
There was a soft giggle on the other end of the line. "You hear dhat? Even when he tells me to shut up, it's totally romantic!"
That did little to restore the gravity of the situation. The Spy shook his head, then went out the back of the garage, disguised once more. The Scout paused, wondering if the Spy really did need his protection and involvement. Hell, they could probably send him all the way to the top, and he could handle this himself. He gave the Soldier a frustrated glance. The crazed American waggled a cardboard box at him once more. The Scout couldn't believe that whacko. Had he actually made another robot disguise?
The Scout grumbled, then snatched the box out of the Soldier's hand. He'd take the stupid thing if it made the nut job happy. "If I get captured or killed, I'm blamin' you."
"Shut up and get to work," the Soldier ordered.
Both the Spy and the Scout rushed into nearby foliage, ready to do just that.
One of his buildings had gone dark.
Gray wasn't sure what to make of it. All of the generators on the island were still operational. He was certain that all of his wiring and devices were well-maintained. If he wasn't personally fixing shorts on the island, then his robotic helpers would take care of the problem. He narrowed his eyes, then focused on the computer-based layout of his island. One of the buildings close to the east. A storage facility leading to the island's only land egress.
An anxious tingle buzzed across the old man's faltering nerves. That couldn't be right. He glanced back at his base's layout, watching in frustration as another building fizzed out. This one was north of the first building. Another followed after it, chewing its way in a winding path around the front entrance. It couldn't be coincidence.
Gray closed the monitoring program, then began logging into his brothers' confounded respawn system. It didn't take long for him to pull up the old monitoring program for the two teams. The half he had conquered last month had no change in position. The coordinates of the second team made him suck in a sharp, cold gasp. He choked on the information.
They were here—and their darkness was spreading.
Author's Note
I had expected to end somewhere else, but oh well.
This was the last chapter I completed before the end of NaNoWriMo. Not to worry, though. Even though I've gone long, I have just a little bit left to write.
And by little bit, I mean three or four more chapters…