"Say that again," Miss Pauling demanded.
The Soldier's voice repeated the awful news. "That goddamn robot just buried Engie and the cupcake!"
Miss Pauling closed her eyes, trying to stop her heart from drumming out of her chest. Even if the devastation was happening hundreds of miles away, the pain of the operation was reaching her, cold fingers slashing tender organs. The Scout's mother was of little help in this situation. Her son was trapped alone atop a communications building, soon to be overwhelmed by machines. Her lover's position was no better, given her child's screaming about his fate.
Three losses could have been acceptable. Perhaps four. But losing the Engineer? There was no way they could continue without his assistance. He was the only one able to take the respawn system back. Without him, the whole operation was futile.
Sliding her headset back on, Miss Pauling gave a cold order. "Fall back."
"What in the hell kind of hippie talk is that?" the Soldier barked back at her. "I'm not leaving here until I have personally blasted each goddamn toaster into pieces!"
Of all the people to be insubordinate, Miss Pauling hadn't expected the Soldier to fight her. "Don't get that damn machine's attention! It will blow you away!"
"And what do I do? Leave them for dead?" the Soldier huffed.
Miss Pauling shot the respawn computers a dirty glance. If it wouldn't give away their position—if she could only log into it—this wouldn't be a difficult call to make. Hell, she doubted herself for not ordering a full retreat. "He might be, Mister Doe. If he's not, he's got a fifty-foot-tall robot standing on top of him. Don't take an unnecessary risk!"
"There is no unnecessary risk when it comes to helping my fellow man!" The Soldier yelped as a bullet rushed past his head, then cursed. "Stupid son of a bitch robots! Stop copying my brilliant tactics!"
The Scout's panicked breaths interrupted the conversation. "Ah, if we're gonna be savin' anybody, could I put in a word for me? Because Jesus Christ, I'm surrounded!"
His mother's hands clenched. Her face contorted into one of anger and pain. Miss Pauling didn't know how she was tolerating listening to such carnage. She reached out, grabbing onto the distressed mother's left hand. Out in the middle of the desert, with no one but each other for support, they had to hold together. It took a few nail-biting seconds for the Scout's mother to recover.
She snapped her eyes open. "Keep fightin', kid. Ma's coutin' on you." She took another breath, then hissed at the remaining troops. "Would one of yous guys go get him, for cryin' out loud?"
The Demoman volunteered. "If we can't do this nice 'n quiet, then we'll do this my way. I'll be right there!"
The Scout's mother relaxed. She batted something irritating and wet off her face, then nudged Miss Pauling. "You get dhe rest of dhem in order, Miss P."
It took a moment for Miss Pauling's spirits to raise. Of all the people she had expected to fold under the pressure, she hadn't anticipated crumbling before the Scout's mother. She must have been well aware of the horrors that the men were facing. The nightmares of being trapped in Teufort for all eternity scared her back into action. She might lose again, yes. She could lose them all.
That was the risk of a true war, and it had hardly stopped other brave people from dying.
"Gentlemen, you've got access to tanks and a few secured buildings. I trust you can find a good use for them," Miss Pauling rallied her men.
The response she received was encouraging, if dumber than a decapitated turkey's gurgles. "I know where I'm sticking this, sister!"
The last vehicle any human being should give a psychopath would be a tank. When insanity and the strength of a solid steel brick meet, little more than precision explosives could stand in the way. The Soldier was a thick enough blockhead without needing to coat himself in several inches of metal, but his flesh was still weaker than speeding bullets. If he was going to lead the charge, he was going to need the utmost protection. Given Miss Pauling's orders, he saw no error in taking a vehicle for himself. It was about time they used Gray's own machines against him. The arrogant bastard stood to be taken down a couple of pegs, given his year-long domination.
The Soldier bolted towards their initial base. His remaining troops followed his retreat. The Demoman stopped for only a moment to refill his weapons, then rushed off to complete his mission. The Soldier smiled, proud of his bold teammate. Here was another strong man, just like himself, one rushing off to save many. His last known available teammates—the Medic and the Heavy—were slow to return. Both were fending off another wave, backpedaling slowly to the closest base. Even they were preferable to the Pyro, who had gone free and loose in the chaos. Leave it to the erratic firebug to burn as he pleased.
Throwing a bandolier over his neck, the Soldier ran to aid the Heavy and the Medic. He flanked the Medic as the doctor cranked his medi-gun. Lightning leapt from his device, surrounding the Heavy's bullets in tiny, turbulent storms. Searing, hissing bullets blasted out of the Heavy's minigun. He cut through a wave of trailing robots, then turned towards the towering giant version of himself. The menace turned away from its pile of rubble, frustrated with the pests hiding in the shadows and puncturing holes in its ankles.
When the minigun went dead, the Soldier tossed the Heavy a fresh strand of ammunition. "Lead him towards the middle. I'll take care of the rest."
His dash backwards confused the Heavy. "Is wrong way, stupid man!" He gave the Medic a concerned glare, then shook his head. "Cannot be that blind, da? Is just helmet?"
The Medic chuckled. "I don't zhink so."
Bullets peppered the buildings around them. Both men shouted, then ran behind cover. The Medic kept his medi-gun trained on the Heavy but groaned at the state of his coat. Rounds had pierced the long tails, shredding the fabric into frayed bits. He shook his head, then gave the Heavy a nervous laugh. If it wasn't for the residual healing fumes that he got off his Kritzkrieg, he would have been coughing up his own lungs instead of smirking.
"Up to forty percent charged," the Medic offered.
Glass shattered over their heads as the robot titan opened fire again. The Heavy grabbed the Medic by his waist, then hustled behind another building. He wasn't about to let another dropped building wipe out any more teammates. The complex creaked but did not fall. One electric eye watched them run. It stomped behind them, footsteps shaking the ground as it marched.
"Need one-hundred! Now!" the Heavy roared. He spared a glance over his head, his jaw dropping. Did that damn machine need to have his determination, too?
The Medic sighed, his words warbled as he was jostled around. "You are so impatient!"
Their bickering was drowned out by a crazed American belting what was most likely Wagner's Flight of the Valkyries in their headsets. It was hard to tell, partially because of his tone deafness. The disruption of noise was completed by the crash of a steel tank into the massive Heavy robot. The entire cacophony was enough to make the Medic and Heavy groan. Their disapproval went on deaf ears.
"Are you guys going to help me out, or am I going to have to flatten this on my own?" the Soldier roared. He didn't sound disappointed by the prospect of destroying the massive robot solo.
The Medic gave his medi-gun a look, then shrugged. "Eighty-seven percent. Just a couple more seconds." He paused, then tipped his head. "Should I tell him zhat Vagner is a German maestro, or—"
"Perhaps later," the Heavy grumbled. "Kill now, teach later. Was old university motto. Good, da?"
"Ah, yes!" the Medic agreed.
Both the Heavy and the Medic rushed into the open. A click and a burst of energy brought the Heavy's weapon to its maximum strength once more. He gave a mighty roar, then opened fire. A titan could stand against a tank. It could hold out against the pestering of a Russian and a Medic. Together? It became an overwhelming force. As it turned to attack the lightning-spitting duo, the tank on its feet charged forward. The vehicle growled, then ascended, clambering over the colossus. Treads ground against the metal carapace of the giant robot. Bullets pierced holes throughout its chest.
Weakened metal gave way to the assault. Beneath the treads of its former allied vehicle, the giant robot Heavy was ground flat. Armor plating crunched. Treads ripped delicate wiring from its chest. Within seconds, it was little more than sentient scrap metal. Even its intelligence was shredded away by the churning tank, leaving chips and green motherboards shattered across the road like so many worthless emeralds.
The Soldier charged on, rolling the tank off the dead titan as if it were little more than common roadkill. Gray steam blasted from the exhaust port of the tank. He gave a mighty cheer, then yelped as the tank rocked. Dozens of his robot duplicates had bounded in from the south, now firing upon the tank. No good. He couldn't stop now. With a less than confident chuckle, he spun the tank around and started chasing down his attackers. The Heavy and Medic watched him rush away, wondering if his mind had finally snapped with all the power at his control.
"Soldier? Where are you going?" the Heavy asked.
A raspy cackle came back to them. "I'm going to circle the block! Need to kill the heat!"
A voice of reason tried snapping the team back into gear. "Oy! If you three are done playing with King Kong, would you mind giving a lad a hand? This place is swarming!"
"You're not even inside this place!" the Scout's panicked voice reported. "I'm runnin' outta doors and windows here!"
The call for help always got the Medic going. He dashed across the open road, ignoring the fleets chasing the Soldier, hopping around the shattered corpse of the largest foe they had disposed. The Heavy was hesitant to follow. He gave the torn buildings, wandering robots, and the maniacal tank a concerned glare. Sighing, he hauled his large body as fast as he could to the Medic's side. That was no easy task, given the Medic's flightiness and the rockets flying overhead.
He caught up with the Medic as the wily German crouched in another snarl of foliage. He felt like his round stomach was about to come up through his jaw. "Medic! Wait!"
The Medic snapped up, his curl bobbing. "Ja? Vhat is it?"
"Is it wise to let tiny man run around alone?" the Heavy asked. "Stupid man could get hurt."
Shrugging, the Medic shook his head. "He is safe, for now. Vhen he becomes injured, I vill go back."
"What of missing babies?" the Heavy wondered.
The Medic didn't have a concrete answer for that, either. He gave a nervous glance to the collapsed building where the Engineer and the Sniper had once been. If bullets, explosives, and flames hadn't been tormenting two responsive people, he would have ordered the Heavy to dig through the rubble with him. As it was, he had to care for those he knew were still in danger, despite his own worries.
Grabbing the Heavy's arm, the Medic reassured his teammate. "Ve vill save zhem all."
The Heavy gave a solemn nod. "Doctor. I understand."
"Now, come," the Medic beckoned. "Our teammates need us."
This time, the Medic allowed the Heavy to take the charge up to the communications tower. It did him little good to run into a battlefield without having some protection. Hunks and scraps of machines greeted them, oil running downhill as the duo rejoined the Demoman at the front door of the bombarded building. They watched dark shadows running inside of its interiors, like so many cockroaches skittering about the place.
All three charged the building, fearless to the monsters inside.
Pain didn't bring him back. Gunfire went deaf on his ears. The stench of smoldering wood and insulation were lost on him. What brought him from the darkness inside of his mind to the torn building was his lingering, driving urge to find his fallen teammate. Ash was smeared across his face, debris settling on his body. The light of day pierced in orange rays through the rubble, never touching his battered body. He let his sharp eyes focus, then struggled to stand.
Shocking agony in his torso forced him to reconsider.
The Sniper writhed as he looked down. A spiraled steel rod speared out of the ground and through his abdomen, jutting out his back side. Oozing blood was tacky on his shirt, dark and scarlet where it landed. He couldn't vocalize his pain. Whatever screams he had inside himself died in his throat. His fears couldn't take purchase in his numbed brain. Organ damage? Blood Loss? Through his spine? They were all lost to one pulsing, ebbing thought.
He failed.
He turned his head away from his grievous wound, trying in vain to find the Engineer in the rubble. Black debris and the false promise of safety from orange lights taunted him. He screwed up his face, then tried calling out to the Engineer. His first attempt choked, becoming a shriek of pain. He gathered his waning strength before making the second shout. All he could muster was a weak, mezzo-piano cry. "Dell!"
Bullets droned on. The building creaked as more materials threatened to collapse. Hot pain flooded from the Sniper's eyes and nose. Fear. That was what plagued him. He had screwed up protecting the Engineer, and now he had cost his friend—his team—their only chance at escaping Gray's clutches. He couldn't bear to close his eyes.
He hadn't come this far just to lose everything again.
A flash of yellow twitched beneath thick beams. The Sniper's eyes widened. It was the Engineer's glove! He reached for the hand, then hollered. The rod in his gut ground against his hip. He snorted, then spat his snot away. Damned if he was going to let pain stop him now! If he was a dead man, he was going to make amends for his last mistake.
With as much power as he could muster, the Sniper pulled himself off the support rod. Agony deafened him. He didn't realize he was screaming until he found himself dry heaving on his knees. Blood oozed between his fingertips. The hole in his abdomen was as large as a nickel, seeping fast. He wouldn't have much time to act.
Crawling on his hands and knees, the Sniper braced himself against the beams lodged above the Engineer's body. He stuck his right shoulder beneath the lowest beam, then forced it up. The Sniper gave another cry as he bent forward to grab the Engineer's overalls. He pulled three times. One got his friend's head loose. Twice cleared his top half. The third left his feet just below the beams. He let the wooden supports settle, then began dragging the Engineer towards a bright orange column of light. Where there was light, there had to be a way out.
"C'mon, mate," the Sniper wheezed.
The Engineer wasn't responding. He didn't look to have any major external injuries, and his helmet was intact. There was a trickle of blood in his ear where his delicate headset had snapped and broken off. The Sniper touched his own earlobe, finding the same injury there. He forced aside worry with dense optimism. The Medic could fix him up. Hell, even a dispenser would be enough. The Sniper stopped, wondering where the Engineer's dispenser had fallen. There was no way it could have survived the fall. He would just have to drag his friend to the closest nest.
For the hemorrhaging Sniper, that might as well have been a trek on foot across the Sahara.
The roar of battle was meaningless to him. His ears were ringing, blood pumping through his eardrums and out his right ear. Good, as far as he was concerned. As long as he heard that, he knew he had strength within himself. He needed every last ounce of it. As weary as he was, the Engineer felt as massive to hold as the Heavy. The Sniper's knees hit each other as he struggled to carry his friend, the Engineer's mechanical arm slung around the Sniper's neck. He huffed, hauling with all of his might. His eyes were coated in a hazy slime, his brain detaching from the rest of his body. All that kept him going was a cyclic chant. Left foot, right foot. One, then the other.
He felt like nothing but feet and arms. Darkness began to billow from his nose. The Sniper gasped, then pulled harder. No, it was all going. He pushed towards gray, unscathed buildings, black waves ebbing over his eyes. Rubber hands caught him as he stumbled. A cold grate was on his forehead. The Sniper lifted his chin, trying to see what had taken him by his arms. He couldn't tell the Grim Reaper's face apart from the Pyro's. All that convinced him of his consciousness were low mumblings and the warm wound bleeding down his stomach and legs.
"Save him," the Sniper said.
His support let go. Dirt and grass took him as the Pyro dragged the Engineer away. The Sniper found himself snickering, clutching at clumps of dirt as he crawled towards the closest nest. Even as his eyes failed, his ears muted, and his wounds stopped hurting, he laughed. It was okay, now. He could sleep. The Engineer was safe.
He was a professional, and he had done his job.
Author's Note
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