Author's notes: It's been over a year. By the gods, I'm sorry. I've tried to write this chapter quite a few times, starting with a little something about 9 months ago that I ended up having to stop, shake my head at and delete. Whilst I've still been keen on this story, the matter of university, personal concerns (such as moving out into the wide open world) and a rather stubbornly non-responsive muse have kept this chapter MASSIVELY delayed.
I must confess that I'm still not happy with this chapter, a chunk of it was originally written a good few months ago and that felt a little off, but was still preferable to my original attempt, so I kept at it. It's a bit shorter than the other one, has some aspects to it I wish I handled better (genericness and weak character building) and due simply to time and rustiness I fear the style may be a bit off.
Oh and in my haste to deploy, this hasn't been checked by a beta. Figured that even if this chapter is a bit subpar, better to have something rather than nothing after such a long wait, right?
Chapter 33: Operation Quadruple Overload
Jane sailed through the air with the grace of an eagle, the roar of a lion and the power of a meteor crashing through the atmosphere. Blade held in one hand, rocket launcher in the other, the blue-clad man landed in a cloud of dust and blood, the Grey Soldier before him cleaved cleanly in two.
Turning to look behind him, the American smiled. Grigori wasn't even wasting bullets on these Grey bastards, sending Scouts and Spies flying with nothing but his balled fists. The giant of a man didn't seem to impressed by the resistance they'd met so far, and Jane was inclined to agree.
Dell was casually leaning on his dispenser, the dual force of a level 3 and a mini-sentry driving off any foes who got too close to the Texan. Even Nils had stopped healing the band of four mercenaries, charge already at full, firing syringes in beautiful arcs of death that seemed to never miss. To call it a battle would be an insult to warriors everywhere, the enemy were naught but lambs up for the slaughter against the quartet that faced them.
Now that the shock of seeing identical clones of their comrades had worn off and they were attacked by them en-masse rather than one-on-one, the difference in their capabilities had become even more apparent. The Greys lacked the skill, the experience, the perseverance against all odds, the sheer fighting spirit and humanity that Team Fortress had in their grasp.
Perhaps the sun was shining brightly above them, but here it was impossible to tell, the sky a soulless swirl of greys and blacks. The deep, dark smoke bellowed by the factory before them was joined by the lighter excretions caused by fires all around on the charred and cratered tarmac.
Bodies littered the ground, some were of their apparent clones, others were of guards, but all were unmoving and ignored. There was an eerie near-silence as the last of them fell, the only sounds being the crackle of fires caused by overenthusiastic Pyros and the ominous rumble of the facility ahead of them.
A short break. The lighting of a cigar. The hum of a medigun focusing back on them once more.
Back to business. Large footsteps kicking debris. A toolbox hefted onto one shoulder.
And ahead, the factory's iron doors creaked open...
###
The mission was simple. TF Industries had a lot of large facilities belching out equipment, holding crucial resources and generally providing the Administrator with whatever she needed. Obviously, this couldn't continue, so the 4-man strike force consisting of the Soldier, Heavy, Medic and Engineer of the former-BLU team had located one of the most critical factories and set themselves to destroying it.
And if they'd happened to destroy a few lesser warehouses, research labs and other minor details on the way to this location? Well, that was all the better, wasn't it? Whatever defences they could put up, the Team could handle it.
After all, what could they possibly throw at them that they'd not already stared down and won against? Countless bounty hunters, soldiers, robots imitating certain class features and even Grey-clad clones of the original mercenaries. They'd bested Saxton Hale, albeit with great difficulty and even without the rest of the team, could between them survive anything, perhaps even the ever-mysterious Gentleman.
Or at least...that's what they'd thought...
###
From out of the shadows they came, in numbers too great to even consider counting. A threat that immediately threw flashbacks to an icy battle when on the edge of exhaustion, having fled for their lives. The machines had returned.
They swarmed out with the stomping of metal on tarmac, the whirring of wheels, the crunching of treaded tracks, the spluttering of a thousand motors billowing yet more smog into the deathly air around them. For all the variety between them, a million moving parts and wisps of gas around them made distinction an impossibility.
But for all their menace...
"ROBOTS! Damnit men, let's give these soup cans HELL!" A cry from the ever-shouting Soldier.
For all their numbers...
"Get behind me Doktor! Engineer, put sentry here!" The whirring of Sasha coming to life.
For all their weaponry...
"Ze charge is ready, GO!" An order from the Medic, standing close to the Russian.
They are but machines...
"I got ya backs!" Sentry down, wrangler at the ready, the Texan trains his laser on the horde.
...and machines are but the playthings of man.
The Über is popped, the rockets are launched, the bullets scream as they fly, all in opposition of a monstrous storm of bullet and explosive and flame and steel. The team do not waver. They are no longer afraid, no longer facing the unknown, no longer fleeing, no longer weary. There are no distractions, no time limit, no obstructions: just a mob of enemies to crush on fairly flat terrain, all rushing with no coordination at the attackers.
With but four against thousands, there are injuries. There is pain. There are moments of narrow survival. But for each moment of vulnerability, there is at least one who can fight, who can protect, who can distract, who can heal.
Scrap is flung to the skies, iron is crushed before their might, circuitry frazzles as it learns the all too human response of fear. Step by step, the team advance, bleeding, burning, shrapnel in their skin, smoke in their lungs, no even footing for their feet.
The machines fall as they did before. A breath of relief, of fresh air as the gases are blown slowly away. But alas, this was all as planned.
###
"Pardon me for the intrusion milady, but it would appear that one of our Class A facilities is under attack."
The Announcer frowns, grip tightening on the phone receiver in her hand. For once, there is no cigarette to be seen, but that seems as if it will soon change.
"Defensive capacity of the site?" Her words are as uncaring as always, no hint of reaction the news that the phonelines can transmit.
"In addition to our standard guards for any Class B or above location, we anticipated a possible strike from the rogue mercenaries and prepared several companies of Grey units to protect the area. Moreover, this particular site has a surplus of the failed robotic army prototypes in storage, along with the capabilities to produce more swiftly."
A pause. The connection crackles with static and a gust of wind is heard.
"...I also have intelligence from the R&D department that states that one of their projects yet to be field-tested fully resides within. Would this be a suitable counter-measure to deploy?"
Another pause, this one filled with tension even the crackle of the phones cannot block.
"Tell me, William, is the full team there? And what is your present location?"
Her voice is icy and stings the ears. The telltale flick of a lighter is enough to determine that the exchange is about to end shortly.
"What few reports of the situation we've received from agents nearby estimate at most half the team and perhaps less than that. As for myself, I'm currently at our base situated in Badwater Basin."
"Deploy it and remain where you are."
With that the line goes dead and smoke once again spirals into the air lazily, carrying a stench of death along with it.
###
It came without warning, too large for even the huge entryway, smashing through the wall of brick and doors of iron like a cannonball through styrofoam. They coughed at the cloud of debris that had risen and only when the dust subsided did they look up and feel their jaws drop.
Rocks and twisted metal fell off it, the monstrosity unscratched, towering above them all. Four firm legs of sturdy construction ending in hydraulic claws supported its incredible mass, machine guns placed in rings up each leg. Eyes searching further up found a bulky body of highly reflective metal featuring numerous hatches, gatling guns and cannons.
There was no visible means of entry, nor were they any instruments that seemed to indicate how the machine or any possible drivers could detect the outside world. Nay, the creature of unknown alloys wielding incredible destructive might within its belly merely towered over them, unmoving.
The clouds of smog above parted and cleared as the wind picked up, the slightest hint of light peeking through and pinging off the armour, bathing the area around the beast in a sparkling glow. Everything was still.
Until finally there was the sound of pistons, of engines, of whirrings and gears, it moved, segments of the body shifting to point turrets that dwarved the Heavy's minigun at the stunned quartet of killers. Behind it, the damaged factory started billowing out smoke once more, albeit at a reduced rate, the light gone from the battlefield once more.
Without words everyone dived their separate ways as bullets approaching the size of their fists punched clean through where they'd been but a moment before. Some were swifter than others and not for the first time, Grigori paid the price for his large frame with a nigh-fatal sluggishness.
It was but a single bullet that flew by, barely grazing the large man's shoulder, but it seemed that was enough to cause the bear of a man great pain as he stumbled, his cry diverting the attention of the other three men.
Ducking and weaving, Nils hurried to the Heavy Weapon Guy's side and the pair ran for shelter behind a particularly large pile of scrap metal. Cloud upon cloud of dust was kicked up, the smell of industry thick in the air as the guns finally slowed. Focus on his patient, a quick look to the wound showed that whilst it was healing fine under the power of the Medigun and the Russian was his regular stoic self now the initial shock had passed, it was less a minor scratch as it was a huge chunk of shoulder (bone and all) having been removed.
For a single glancing blow, that spoke volumes of the raw punch the weaponry they faced possessed and it didn't bode well. He hadn't had much time to glance at their new foe, but if that was the firepower it so causally turned against them, there was little hope that the armour could be damaged too easily by conventional means. If only they'd brought the Demoman with them...but alas, he was needed elsewhere. Speaking of elsewhere...
Glancing about the battlefield, the German doctor could see his other comrades likewise crouching behind cover not too far away. That much was a relief, they seemed to have escaped unscathed. Jane formed a few quick hand gestures and stood to his full height once he noticed that the others had located him, drawing the immediate attention of the mechanical monstrosity that stood in their way. A few rockets was enough to draw more attention and fill the air with the oversized ammunition.
Dell used this distraction to toss a collapsed minisentry around his cover and dash over to the others. The tiny construction unfolded and with a beep that was lost amidst the gunfire, it fired on the only target in view. It was doubtful the "pings" the bullets made on that strange alloy were doing any good, but it was enough to allow the team to regroup. Grigori paid one last look to his mostly-replenished shoulder, merely nodded at his Medic with a firm grasp of his minigun and a harsh, cold look in his eyes before growling.
"So, leetle enemies think this is how to outsmart us? With bullets?" A derisive snort. "I have plan for them."
If his teammates noticed the irony of his statement or found his unusually cold tone odd, nobody commented on it. There was only the barest of nods from them before they charged into the fray, taking advantage of the fact that their foe's guns seemed to overheat swiftly and the pilot (assuming the machine even had one) was a rather poor shot.
It was fortunate they moved when they did, as the final shots before every turret had spun down had actually been fired into the pile of scrap they'd been using as cover and punched clean holes through it, causing the pile to collapse partially. They'd gone their separate ways again, Nils swiftly topping the other two and continuing to pocket the Heavy.
Their latest sight of the enemy robot had shown that it had advanced on their position and at worst showed a few scorch marks from the Soldier's rockets. It had clearly spent some time demolishing the Engineer's buildings and crushing the Grey robots underfoot too, not to mention some damage had been caused to the facility from which it had escaped. Perhaps the machine was rogue?
Either way, Dell's musings would have to wait, coming up with a solution to stop the damn thing was more pressing than the cause for its chaotic actions. There was no chance any of his weapons would even tickle it, if it were capable of being tickled and he had his doubts that even concentrated fire from a level three sentry would cause more than a dent unless he found a weak point.
The Texan eyed up the enemy as best he could as he ran, mind racing even faster than his feet. It was true that Ewan or Gabriel, with their explosives and sappers respectively, would arguably be more useful in taking the mech down than himself, but they had their own tasks and he had no intention of letting his team down. The legs seemed fairly sturdy and resistant to attack, but if there was a way to even temporarily knock it down, being able to get a better vantage point on the top or force it to open some of the hatches it had may provide a means to attack.
Rummaging into one pocket, he withdrew his hand, a small box with a timer and strange grooves all along it in his palm. Bringing his now even-further modified Frontier Justice up to bear, he loaded the device into a small tube on the underside of the shotgun. It slid in gently, held perfectly in place as he took aim and pulled the secondary trigger.
He may not have had the concussive might to knock his foe down or be capable of sabotaging it at close range like two of his allies could, but damned if a man of his stature wasn't going to come to a facility they'd discovered to be producing their robotic doppelgangers without some home-made EMPs. A delighted grin lit his face as the bomb bounced off of one leg and slid to a halt between the forelegs. To think that they had yet to even be popular in science fiction and yet here he was, launching them at oversized machines with more firepower than sense.
The pulse of electromagnetic energy the time-bomb produced was enough to bring the robotic beast crashing down to the ground, but not before it had fired from its cannons, the spherical lumps flying in graceful arc after arc before their thunderous impacts into the asphalt below. The cannons were slow and less numerous, but each shot shook the earth twice: the first with each show and the second with each landing, debris and shrapnel from surface and scrap alike flung in all directions like deadly confetti.
The American rocketeer had ran on furthest ahead and whilst he was never close to the cannonballs themselves, his body took plenty of battering from the debris. If anyone could see his expression underneath his helmet they'd have seen no reaction to the shards of metal embedding in his skin or the ground shaking like the end of times. To someone who's reaction to a higher surface with no obvious ascension route was to fire explosives at his feet, such quakes and pain and shrapnel were nothing.
It hurt like hell and he almost stumbled, but his resolution remained true. The difference between these world-moving impacts and his rocket jumps was a large one, but that didn't change what had to be done. His foe was stock still, the now slanted roof much lower, yet still to high to climb. A few quick calculations, the only he had ever become good at as he judged distance, angle required, wind speed, the strength of his current launcher and the cannonball approaching him that threatened to squish him flatter than compressed paper.
Jane jumped, matching the parabolic arcs of the projectiles with one of his own design, his own grace and beauty. Narrowly flying past the incoming sphere, he ignored the explosion behind him of its landing, he ignored the Heavy-Medic pair below and to one side of him, and he ignored the Engineer setting up a wrangled sentry as a further distraction. There was only the arc, the act of loading another rocket in mid-air as flames flew behind him from his armoured boots.
One shot, then another and another and another into the roof before he landed with a gasp of pain. Unable to attack him directly, or so it seemed, the mech halted its barrage of cannonfire and instead moved as best it could with only its hind-legs to dislodge him. His rockets had created some dents into the otherwise smooth metal and the Soldier found himself grasping into the metal via those grooves as hard as he could to stay atop the mech.
Grigori was around to one side and Dell at the other, both concentrating fire onto the rear legs. It wasn't enough to knock those legs down or cause any noticeable damage, but it prevented the mech from moving as swiftly as it could have done. The AI or pilot clearly understood that this current tactic was working a little too well and thus it revealed its hidden surprise.
The shaking stopped. Jane got to his feet cautiously and investigated the rest of the mech he now found himself upon as his comrades paused to replenish their ammo and judge the situation. It was then that he noticed that while no turrets or cannons were installed on the top of the machine, it did have an over-abundance of hatches, far more than the few he had seen on its sides. With an incredibly loud whirring noise as they all opened and he had to jump to one side to avoid falling in, it became rather obvious to the American that staying on the roof was a poor decision.
A rather large array of missiles seemed very happy to see him and no complaints about igniting and launching into the air. Unable to remain stable on the platform, he was forced to dive off to one side, but not before firing a parting gift from his own launcher. It hit a cluster of missiles that were just lifting off into the air and caused a sizeable explosion that flung the Soldier even further into the air.
Unfortunately, while said act had likely destroyed a good few of the explosives and done more damage to the mech than anything else done so far, the various silos hadn't fired in unison and thus several groups of the projectiles from both the roof and the side hatches had escaped into the air. That he'd taken massive damage himself, his body limp as it sailed through the air, the only strength left being used not to drop his weapon, went without saying.
Suddenly faced with this change of situation, the remaining three members of the operation moved with swiftness and fury far more explosive than any detonation of chemical nature. Dell brought his wrangler up and around, shooting down missiles with pinpoint accuracy and a haste that couldn't be explained by reflexes and a laser pointer alone. One detonation, for all its distance, had a large enough shockwave that it threatened to blow him over, but he merely leaned into it, activating his back thrusters to overcome the push, and, when it subsided, launch him into the air, no change in his aiming this whole time as his sentry obliged to his directions.
A pause of firing for the briefest of moments was all it took to lift his Frontier Justice, another EMP pre-loaded, and fire, the bomb bouncing off the mech and rolling down into one of the open hatches on the ceiling before letting off the second pulse. The number of airborne missiles, already reduced from Jane's "gift", dramatically decreased further.
But it wasn't over.
###
Grigori had not the precision controls Dell had, but he had his gun, his beloved Sasha, and that was enough. With Nils at his side, the recoil meant nothing, the bullet spread meant nothing, the explosions were nothing. He fired, his gaze and his weapon as one: what threats he saw, he shot down, caring not where they landed. When the debris came dangerously closed, he didn't blink. When the shockwave washed over him he merely gritted his teeth and dug his feet firmly into the ground, not budging once. His allies had weakened this monster born of man's own hand and with his own hands he wound end it.
After all, he had a plan for this foe that fought with heavy weaponry and no finesse. He simply advanced closer and closer, showing almost no reaction when Nils left him, merely readying himself in both mind and body for what he was about to do, apologising to Sasha in advance.
Nils knew that it would take more than this to down any of them, but all the same the moment he saw Jane's body propelled into the air, his beam was drawn away from his Russian charge, his hands instead grasping a peculiar crossbow that could both heal and harm. The Soldier had been flung too swiftly and was too hard to focus on with the chaos around him and yet he still aimed and took the shot without pausing. The flight time was agonisingly slow, but the bolt found its mark in his falling patient's body, as did the next and the next.
By the time of the third shot, he knew he had no time for another and was already moving to intercept the body, his Medigun at the ready, the beam just barely latching on before impact. Beam feeding his charge with health, the German lifted the body over one shoulder and ran over to the Engineer's nest, placing his ally down by the Dispenser even as he focused his attentions to the burned half of the American's body and the crushed bones of his legs.
Already Jane was trying to stand up, eyes visible under his now askew helmet. The sentry clicking empty and the sight of the wounded man was enough to bring Dell back for a quick reunion that was interrupted by an almighty clattering. Eyes darted to their foe as it clambered back up onto all four legs, the initial damage of the EMP apparently undone.
The rockets were gone, its body was scorched black and dented and no longer gleamed. Smoke poured from the top and many hatches were unable to shut, their closing mechanisms damaged or the hatches themselves blown clean off. But the robot wasn't done yet.
And neither was the one man standing directly in its warpath, not making any effort to move even as his own weapon spun down. Perhaps the mech was out of ammo or unable to fire due to damage, maybe the pilot wished to settle this more violently...either way, its pained advance made it clear that crushing was its only thought in mind.
The Russian stood his ground, cold eyes draining away and transforming into something else. He let go of the cold that reminded him of home, the frozen heart that had seen him through atrocities even before the war. The chill stare of winter became an ember, then a roaring fire and finally a true inferno of rage across the silent battlefield.
His feet had truly sought purchase into the ground below, carving their own mould into the wrecked asphalt as he braced himself. Already his team were running over to him, some idea of what he planned in mind, Nils at the lead with ammo in his arms as Jane and Dell were somewhat slower, the latter carrying the Dispenser fully-deployed between them.
"Tell me, robot. Do you think you can outsmart me? Do you think you can outsmart team? I once said that I had yet to mean a man that can outsmart bullet and you have taken that lesson to heart, little one. But that was then...and this is now! Fight me COWARD! MY GUN CHEWS THROUGH THE EARTH AND SPITS OUT HELL! MY GUN IS SASHA!"
With a roar that shook the air like the cannonballs had earlier, he fired, but not like he had ever fired before. He had been forced to use the one modification to Sasha he had allowed beyond the easier-ammo-feed mechanism, the one thing he had only agreed to upon seeing just how dire their situation was after they had first fled from Teufort. An alternative firing mechanism for emergencies only, one with such force and rate of fire that no mere man could handle, not even one of the Heavy's bulk.
A firing mode that could shake the average tank to pieces. A firing mode that he'd been advised to only use when Übercharged. A firing mode that even now, as Sasha spun into life, threatened to plunge the weapon out of his hands and through his chest. Staying truly steady was out of the question, sweat pooled down his face just to keep his gun in his grasp, the Medic already over and adding onto the bandoleer chains that had detached from the Russian's chest and now hung loosely from the minigun.
The pain was without comparison and rattled his very bones as the first shots were fired, the large man moving backwards already despite his purchase in the ground. He felt it even through the soothing touch of the medigun, his body moved even as the Medic pressed up against his back with all his strength. The spread was perhaps even worse, the rapidly-shot ammunition careening wildly out of control even without his own shakiness, but at this close a range to such a large target, it didn't matter.
What felt like hundreds of shots passed in the blink of an eye and the advancement of the mech was halted under the heavy fire. Perhaps the storm it faced was weaker than that the robot's turrets had dealt earlier, but that mattered not in the face of the Russian's determination, now backed up by the rest of his team, the Dispenser placed by his side to refill his ammo automatically, Nils, Jane and Dell all at his back to share his burden.
It was deafening to all present and even with the addition of the other three pushing, still Grigori felt himself pushed back. It was some satisfaction to see the robot halt and have further dents appear in the metal, holes cleanly punched through other, already damaged areas. That satisfaction ended swiftly as one leg slowly raised up against the onslaught and came down with deliberate slowness. Their foe, for all the knockback, pressed onwards.
Sasha spat at that.
She spat faster and faster and more and more, the bullets becoming deformed before they even hit the target from sheer velocity and air resistance alone. His bones were breaking, his heart was racing, the Heavy could take no more and his Medic knew it. The charge was built, his finger was going for the switch, but with some form of inhuman effort, he was stopped by the Russian, his voice barely audible and distorted by the vibrations that were dislodging his teeth.
"No. Kritz, doktor, kritz."
Nils couldn't contain his surprise. Whilst he'd yet to recreate a level of power similar to his last new Medigun, he had at least been able to consolidate the Kritzkrieg and standard Medigun into one for this mission, allowing him a choice of either Über or indeed both, should he overcharge. While every ounce of common sense he had screamed against it as his own body was starting to give way, he trusted his teammate's judgement and instead activated the Kritz.
The rush of energy from a Kritzkrieg charge was quite different from an Übercharge, but in some ways the two were the same: even without the sense of invulnerability came a sense of energy, of power, of being unstoppable. And even if the healing itself wasn't particularly boosted, the sense of one's own wounds was still diminished and even the strongest of pains was washed by such a power trip.
Blue lightning sparked along Sasha and Heavy as the charge drained and the bullets that fired almost too fast for the dispenser to refill screamed through the air with even more force than before, burning trails behind them as they tore through metal with savagery becoming of a wolf upon the carcass of a deer. The mech finally halted under the ferocity of man and his weapon.
But they were not alone. Fires roared from Dell's back and his muscles strained to push. Jane's legs snapped for not the first time that day but still he held firm. Nils was sweating and shaking but somehow clenched his teeth together to be still as he held onto his patient and medigun alike.
They were a team before this latest war, they'd be a team all the way through this last bloody one and they'd be close after it too. A charge meant for two spread to more and the ground itself cracked beneath them, hard concrete below the now scattered asphalt quivering under their feet.
The robot fell forward once more, seemingly silent to their toneless ears, chunk after chunk finally giving way and slowly being peeled off. It slid ever so slightly and came but a footstep away from Grigori, who had stopped sliding back, but none of the men so much as blinked as Sasha continued to scream at the larger weapon of war.
###
There was something to be said of the spirit of man, as the minigun finally span down and the men collapsed into a heap, all breathing heavily with tears in their eyes, the machine before them as motionless as a corpse.
The single burning spirit of an individual, distinct and aflame with passion was one truly to be commended, regardless of the pursuits it went upon and the success or heartbreak it found. But by nature humans were creatures that relied on groups even as they hunt for their own desires and needs. As such, the strength and spirit of a group, well...
The four men struggling for air as healing beams washed over them, mending the broken bones and liquefied organs within them, those who had tore through their own clones in superior number and faced down yet another impossibly tough enemy...they knew of it. Of the togetherness, of the bond of blood between them, a bond that made them family, that made them more than just men in a world out to kill them.
It made them a team, a force of nature, a unified front against a very fragmented and selfish world. A burden one alone couldn't face was one that when shared, could be used to overcome any obstacle.
To see that fact proven through them, the thought made real through sweat and tears in a heap like that...despite his allegiances, it warmed the heart of the one who looked on silently, wistfully staring at the group before glancing back at his pocket watch.
"You have all done remarkably well. I was right to keep an eye on you, even if it meant twisting the truth and disobeying my master. That was a sight to behold, truly..."
His quiet murmurings went unnoticed by the exhausted mercenaries. He briefly considered a quick spot of tea but decided against it. Rushing the drink would ruin the enjoyment and relaxation it would give, and he didn't trust the ashes and debris in the air, nor the smog.
"A pity. Ah well, I'd best be back to my position before I'm missed"
And with that final verbalisation to himself, the Gentleman vanished from the scene as suddenly and quietly as he'd originally arrived, part-way through the battle.
###
Elsewhere, Isaac sat alone at the base, completing his final preparations as Ashley and Ewan did a final check of the base's perimeter. While the rest of the team struck back at the Administrator, he wasn't about to let them ambush the weary troops or evict them from their latest home. No, he'd do no such thing.
Call it defending his home, protecting his territory, providing a distraction for the other operations, springing an enticing trap...whatever you called it, the ends where the same. The three of them would stand and fight. Their enemies knew they had teeth, it was high time they realised just how sharp they were when cornered.
A grin, one that was mirrored by the pyromaniac and the demolitions expert on opposite sides of the base. "Let them come", they all thought in unison. If they're expecting us to roll over and submit when they bring in their armies, they've got another thing coming.
Team Fortress does NOT surrender. Team Fortress will not die quietly in the night. Team Fortress had showed them the first few steps of hell already and now it was time to give them the grand tour.
The other operations would succeed, the RED Engineer knew.
Their enemies would fall into their trap, thinking them weakened with so few at home, the Demoman mused internally with glee.
"The attackers shall be naught but ashes by the end", the Pyro spoke aloud, as muffled as ever.
Naught but ashes...
###
A second operation, an act of destruction against the insulting imitations of great men, a fight of pain.
Four teammates, a well-oiled unit, bond over their joint weariness at a war that dragged on for all too long.
A recurring foe watches unseen at their triumph over that halted robotics facility.
Strikeback operation two out of three: complete.