Author's notes: Hoo boy, been going through a lot of stuff in RL over my two week holiday here. Isn't helping matters that I've managed to destroy all my laptop chargers recently and am thus temporarily borrowing a cable from until I can get another of my own. The laptop's battery is also in a poor state so I'm going to be without a computer for a little while.
This chapter was cut a little short (in part due to me needing to finish it there so I can return the cable ASAP, but mostly as what I've got planned will work better given a separate chapter) and ended up with a bit of a name change. Spacing may be a little weird, I seem to be having difficulties with it as of late. Apologies if this chapter is below my normal standard, I've really not been having a good time as of late and the muse has been most uncooperative.
Chapter 18: Heaven's tears, Unseen fears
A deserted track in the middle of nowhere, a barren landscape devoid of life, where the wind was silent and tumbleweeds were frozen in place. The horizon is nothing more than a blurred mess of colours distorted by heat and dust, shifting before your very eyes, had you been there to see it. But at the moment there was not a soul there, the weathered track the only sign that civilisation had ever passed through this stretch of land.
A slight whisper rose up through the landscape, the tiniest disturbance, the only forewarning of further noise, of the wind beginning to pick up as clouds loomed in the distance. For another moment, the world was silent. For another moment, the wasteland was otherwise untouched by the influence of man. For another moment...
There was a sudden rush of air, the clattering noise of moving steel as an engine roared, fire churning in its belly as the contraption sped onwards, death nipping at its heels. The modified trailer, loaded with supplies and currently carting ten insane mercenaries jostled and shifted, the disused track bumping it to and fro. Hail after hail of bullets chewed though the land after them, punching holes that blew the resting dust back into the air, intensifying the haze. Missiles and bombs whined as they fell from the sky, setting the world alight with fiery explosions and scattered shrapnel.
A nearby explosion mangled the tracks and for a moment, threw the modified trailer into the air, the mercenaries suddenly airborne before crashing back down again. The men aboard didn't say a word at this, the chasing helicopters and bombers barely seeming more than a convenience, even as the trailer thundered on, looking as if it was in danger of shaking itself to pieces. After all, you could only be attacked like this so many times before it became another fact of life...
It had been just over one week since Team Fortress had made their initial escape from the twin bases of Teufort. The assault placed upon them when riding the rails had quickly forced them to adapt to the conditions, something they had done with shocking success as they continued their operations. They had been able to avoid detection within a disused base and had continued to plan and augment their weaponry from there. Despite the destruction of many of TF Industries supply routes they had somehow made their way to multiple bases both occupied and empty.
Said bases tended to be cleared out of anything useful, sometimes used temporarily as a new HQ of their own, before then being razed to the ground. Any resistance put up against the mercenaries was futile at best as they continued to destroy RED and BLU property and resist TF Industries best attempts to capture them. How they did this with their ramshackle, cobbled together weaponry and transport was something that continued to elude and infuriate both the Administrator and military officials.
The team's tactics had so far been working fairly well, slowly chipping down the capabilities of their foe...not to mention slaughtering countless well trained soldiers and wrecking all sorts of military-grade hardware. They had been able to acquire intel of the Administrator's current operations, the military's next moves against them and with a bit of effort on the Spy's part, they now had informants within RED and BLU willing to aid these desperate men against their former employers.
Team Fortress had already become a legend. With the army, TF Industries, the police and other mercenaries all after them, their continued survival was nothing short of astonishing. Earlier attempts to keep their actions under wraps had quickly fallen apart and so the Administrator was forced to take things in the opposite direction: just about everyone in America now knew of them as the most dangerous men in the world with a mighty impressive bounty on each of their heads. The news had spread to the rest of the world, other militaries and bounty hunters quick to attempt to control this "extremely dangerous terrorist group".
A single bomber dove down, smashing its way through the air with its lumbering frame as it released its payload on the track ahead of the mercenary team, completely obliterating the land ahead and leaving naught but smoke and debris behind. Satisfied that its work was done for now, it rose back to the heavens as clouds approached in the distance. The bomber cast a great shadow over the Earth one last time as it eclipsed the Sun, before roaring away from the former tracks, circling in a great arc to return the way it came.
Jane Doe, former BLU Soldier, tilted his head back and glared at the continued assault from eyes cast in shadow beneath his helmet. Looking back to the other men once he then stood straight, staring at the additional oncoming bombers fearlessly as they grew on the edge of the horizon, coming closer and closer still.
"Alright men, this is it! These sorry excuses for men think that after all we've done, they can stop us just by throwing city-destroying weapons and aircraft at us! Their thick skulls can't seem to understand that we are unbeatable, we are indestructible, WE ARE DEATH!"
With a single motion he hefted a massive rocket launcher onto his shoulder, swinging his gaze back to the front of their improvised vehicle, where the two Engineers were at the controls.
"You two WILL take care of the minor problem ahead and then report back to me for area denial duty! Do you two UNDERSTAND ME?"
Not even waiting for a response, he swung back to face the oncoming assault as helicopters emptied high-powered bullets into the area around them, several projectiles punching through the trailer itself even as others whizzed past his head, missing by mere inches. With a wild battle cry, he took aim and fired off volley after volley of rockets, each payload somehow never missing the mark.
Fire and twisted metal rained down from the skies above as similar battle cries chorused from the most dangerous men in the world.
Pipebombs were sent spiralling through the air in beautifully calculated parabolic arcs, detonating on rotor blades and smashing through windshields only to roll to a careful halt where they could cause the most damage.
Ewan Dougal, the team's expert demoman, merely gave a huge laugh of success from his orchestrated destruction, pausing only to take a quick swig from a nearby bottle and rush to the side of the vehicle to deflect an incoming missile with his reinforced shield, causing the explosive to instead detonate on the ground some distance away. The scent of ashes and detonations warmed his heart as he turned back to the battle.
Jack Martin, arguably the most accomplished sniper still in the world, merely stood firm despite the chaos and gunfire, miraculously keeping his aim steady as the trailer rocked to and fro, sputtering now and then. The Australian was mostly silent as he worked, with only the occasional mumbled remark betraying his professional façade.
Shot after shot was fired with inhuman precision and timing, his hand pulling back the bolt and deftly sliding in another high-calibre bullet with ease. Shot after shot rang out across the landscape, audible even over the chaos of war, head after head splattering into a fine red mist, helicopters veering off wildly and colliding in mid-air.
Fireballs spat out and slammed into cool steel, a red glow consuming the metal as it melted and deformed from repeated batterings of superheated attacks. Another fell to a stream of arcing fire, rotors cut into pieces like a hot blade through butter. The modified flamethrower swung around and with a powerful gust of air deflected missiles and even bombs away with practised ease.
Ashley, the mysterious pyromaniac, danced to and fro, weaving around their teammates with unusual skill and grace, darting to wherever they were needed, forming an impenetrable defence from projectiles. A powerful round skimmed their suit for a moment, causing a small piercing and a momentary stumble. Pain ignored, the Pyro continued their duty, muffled laughter barely audible as the very air itself seemed to burst into flames.
In the centre of the vehicle a giant of a man stood with arms folded, eyes staring at the destruction carelessly before turning to the small, wiry-framed man who nervously stood beside him. A glance was passed followed by a nod from both parties, albeit the younger man seeming reluctant. With a beastial roar the massive Russian lifted the Scout and with a mighty motion flung the poor kid through the skies. A terrified scream echoed through the heavens before turning into a whoop of joy.
Kevin Sanders, the ever-talkative Scout, activated the stolen prototype jetpack on his back, retrieved from the last base they'd attacked. Wild laughter erupted from his huge mouth as he rocketed through the skies, barely more than a small blur as he dodged bullets and explosives from foe and friend alike. The enemy never knew what hit them as he swiftly went through their ranks, placing explosives on the outside of several assault craft before then dashing in from the side and knocking pilot and co-pilot alike unconscious with a boost from his jetpack and a cry of "BONK!"
The two Engineers, seemingly separated from the chaos, merely fiddle with the controls of their heavily-improvised vehicle before sharing an uncertain glance. Dell Conagher, formerly of BLU, voices the thought both he and his counterpart were thinking:
"Y'know, we've been able to use this at much slower speeds once manually removed from the rails, but we've never tested going straight into it, and never like this. Shouldn't we be worried?"
His ex-RED double merely grinned and flipped a bunch of switches before turning back to face Dell. The madman once known as Isaac Howard before the war began rolled his eyes behind his goggles, fire burning in his spirit as sure as the Earth revolves around the Sun.
"All the better reason to test it, pardner. You ready to wipe the smile off their big, dumb faces?"
The pair merely laughed and in unison hit two final buttons, only at the last minute calling back to the rest of the team to hang on. With a sudden jolt the trailer leapt from the rails, wheels shifting, engine moving, steering controls activating before the two Engineers as Isaac took them for a spin, literally. Dodging weapons fire, he gunned the engine and sped off on a tangent, away from the route the tracks they had been following and narrowly avoiding the crater ahead formed by the earlier bombing.
Giving a thumbs-up of approval with his non-mechanical hand, Dell made his way to the rest of the team, seemingly apologetic for the sudden disruption that had thrown several of them to the ground. Peering into the skies above, he scowled at the ever-growing form of the fleet of bombers coming in, as well as the antics of the Scout spiralling out of control.
Resisting the urge to facepalm at the boy's antics, he simply sighed and yelled out for the boy to get back here. The Scout eventually did manage to return with only one minor incident (he ended up crashing into the Spy in a painful heap, but the Medic soon took care of that).
The towering Russian, known in his homeland as Grigori Borislav, was on the whole unfazed by the whole experience. After tossing the Scout into the air he had merely took a firm grip of his beloved minigun, Sasha, and spit death into the eyes of anyone foolish enough to come remotely close to the band of mercenaries. Even having their trailer leap from the tracks, spin and then speed off again over the bumpy, scorched wasteland did little to disrupt his dedicated defensive onslaught.
His bullets screamed across the wasteland, as did his own booming voice as he happily laughed away, the expensive ammunition even causing considerable damage to those far out of range merely caught by random bullet spread. Only when danger was incoming did he move his huge form, catching incoming projectiles not with a shield or with compressed air but with his own body, the bullets barely damaging the Heavy.
A labcoat mingled between the mercenaries, worn by a man of science as he whirled from one task to the next. One moment he was directing his beam on the dancing Pyro, another he was crouching behind the Heavy, then passing ammo to a nearby teammates, stopping briefly at a dispenser to dig out a bit of embedded shrapnel and allow the wound to heal. A brief look over at the Engineers at the helm and he was thrown to the floor.
Swiftly getting to his feet and adjusting his glasses the Medic, one Nils Reiniger, tutted in disapproval and narrowly avoided being hit by the Scout's crash landing. With a weary sigh, he set to work, swiftly repairing the runner's broken bones and reviving the unconscious Spy who'd had the misfortune to be used as a landing pad. His eyes carefully assessed the current situation before he was on the move once more, Medigun at the ready to help his team.
The Spy, preferring to merely be referred to as "Gabriel", had mostly been avoiding the action, instead providing his keen eyes and sense of danger to warn his colleagues of threats. He'd been staying mostly at the front of the vehicle, discussing plans and routes with the Engineers, trying to predict how to best get to a safe destination and avoid any traps along the way. Unfortunately the Frenchman, despite bracing himself for it, was flung into a heap by the sudden transfer from rail to the ground and was not impressed with the manoeuvre, carefully dusting himself off.
No sooner had he got his bearings again he received an even worse impact and was knocked into a much messier heap due to the rarely seen Air-to-Spy Scout missile. Now thoroughly in a mess, he gave his thanks to the Medic who'd saved him from a rather painful state and muttered darkly about the careless boy who'd barrelled into him, knife in hand. With a look of disdain he walked back to the front, retrieving a map from the inside of his suit.
Dell Conagher set his hands first to repairing and erecting more dispensers for his team to use and secondly to set up an array of sentry turrets he could wrangle to put this whole encounter to an end. With Isaac at the controls of the vehicle and Gabriel helping navigate, he knew the team was in good hands for the moment. A sudden painful bump and a missile exploding nearby followed by an embarrassed holler of "Sorry fellas!" did put a slight dent in that theory however...
Shaking his head, he quickly got to work and with a flourish, pulled out his Wrangler, twirling it inbetween the mechanical fingers of the Gunslinger before smiling out at the fast approaching bombers. "Y'all about to have a real bad day..."
The bombers, the only remaining threat to the team, were swiftly and brutally dispatched. Rapid-fire machine gun rounds tore through their wings and spiralling groups of rockets impacted on their engines, causing the aircraft to fall apart and slowly crash down to their violent demise. Further detonations spread across their framework as they fell, their munitions exploding in chain reactions before impacting the ground. Fire and thunder screamed out as the earth below rumbled and shook in pain, the bombers coming to an end that threatened to blind any onlookers.
The mercenaries were bathed in light and heat, their ears ringing even as they sped away, Isaac keeping his eyes fixed ahead even as his teammates took in the sight of destruction they had caused across this once peaceful landscape. As the light faded, darkness fell. A shadow was cast upon them by the clouds above as they swarmed in, blotting out the sun. The heavens thundered and growled above the once again silent world.
And with no further warning, the heavens wept. Its first tears hit the ground one by one and soon enough there was a flurry of them, the mercenaries powering along as the sorrow of the skies bore down upon them. They stood in silence, slowly getting drenched to the core, taking a moment to themselves.
A moment to reflect on all they had done both in the war and now in their battle for freedom. A moment to consider their actions, to wish things were different, that life had dealt them a different hand. A moment to harden their gaze and look forwards, ready for the difficulties ahead.
Isaac, the Crimson Demon, set his jaw firm as he drove on through the downpour, only moving slightly to adjust the steering or use a gauntlet-covered hand to carefully wipe the moisture from his goggles. As thunder rolled around them and lightning shot down, he shuddered. A bad omen, felt in his bones. The lightning struck down once more, piercing into the world below and for a brief instant, a shadow was illuminated in the distance, his fear given shape.
The men thought themselves ready for the task ahead. They gave themselves a moment to contemplate and relax a little in the cold rain that beat down upon them. They believed that for now, the fight was over. They were wrong.
He came from nowhere like a demon possessed, leaping through the air as the lightning illuminated him once more. With a roar that shook the hardened mercenaries to the core, the beast swung one massive arm, clenched his fingers into the form of a fist and unleashed his might.
A different kind of thunder smashed through the modified trailer, tearing through it, the air pressure alone exploding the metal into scrap and shrapnel, flung outwards through sheer force. A growl like no other continued in his throat as he came to a landing, the vehicle completely stopped and the mercenaries within flung into the cold air abruptly. A pause and then each one landed with a satisfying thud as the man simply looked on.
The man wore little more than a hat with a ring of teeth on it, a pair of shorts and his ass-kicking boots. Upon his chest his body hair aligned themselves perfectly to form the shape of his homeland of Australia. He placed his hands on his hips and laughed as the mercenaries carefully struggled to their feet.
"You call yourselves men? I see nothing here but a bunch of spineless, pathetic HIPPIES!"
The laughter of Saxton Hale, deranged CEO of Mann CO, boomed through the world, silencing even the thunderous cries of the heavens, the rain relenting ever so slightly at the mere appearance of this man amongst men. Eyes glinting with danger, he bound forwards once more, fist pulled back as he sailed through the air, an unmistakeable aura of terror shredding it's way through every mercenaries heart as he roared once more...