Chapter 5
In his army days, he’d been a surgical artist. He'd done anything to get soldiers back on their feet again, creating abominations of stitched flesh and wired bones that shouldn’t have been alive and yet he made them live. He’d despised the Nazi party and their idiotic ideals of a tall, blonde-haired Übermensch, but he remembered the hushed talk of creating more literal super-men. Creatures that stretched and surpassed the limits of the human body. It had all sounded so exciting. And yet here he was, a joke of a man, a man who’s limits were stretched literally... like a child’s plaything...
Medic strained to open his eyes, and tried his hardest to keep them open as he sat waiting. Usually he’d take this time to check and double-check his equipment, and mentally prepare himself for the upcoming battle. But right now, he was struggling to shake off the lingering effects of inhaling the concentrated vapour from his Medigun. Last night it’d helped him sleep. This morning it had lifted his mood enough to save him from paralysing despair.
He’d had an unwelcome reminder of his own affliction when his shirt sleeve had caught on the doorknob, and he hadn’t noticed until he was halfway to breakfast. And once he’d freed himself, he’d arrived to find no sound of conversation, no discussion of battle plans. The mood was more suited to a funeral than a breakfast table; any hopes of just waking up and finding it had all been a dream were completely obliterated. But what seemed worse than any of that, was that Heavy still wasn’t talking to him after their argument. Medic had left a plate with scraps of scrambled egg and bacon next to the tissue box the man had used as a bed, and headed straight to the respawn room to dull his senses. And now all of them - except Heavy - were here, waiting for their inevitable defeat.
“Ah donnae care, ya big girl’s blouse.” Their Demoman folded his arms, his voice the only one above a whisper. Medic shook his head at the child’s foolishness, and switched the healing vapour of his Medigun to Soldier. The man had been uncharacteristically quiet since he lost the ability to speak English; probably the only change Medic actually welcomed.
Still looking at his feet, Sniper muttered something else to the Demoman, which just made him shout louder. “I donnae care! Ah’m gonna keep fightin’ as long as there’s breath in mah body! Even if ah jus’ pick up those piss jars o’yours and lob 'em at the BLUs! We’re still a bloodeh team! We can still fight! Even all o’you wee weepin’ lassies!”
“Mission begins in sixty seconds.”
“Zis is not a team, eet ees a circus freak show.” Spy scowled, his shoe grinding a cigarette butt into the pristine white floor. “Maybe if we are lucky, ze enemy will laugh themselves to death.”
“Well ah’m a black scottish cyclops, an’ ah never let that stop me! Ah’ll go over to their base and capture their briefcase MESELF if ah have to!”
“Mission begins in thirty seconds.”
“Not without me, yer not.” Sniper lifted his head. “I mean, we don’t know ‘ow long we’re all gonna be stuck loik this, so the least we can do is try...” He retrieved the Huntsman, which he’d been carrying on his back, and his face froze as he saw the hardwood bow had sprouted leaves. “...ah, piss!”
Spy covered his mouth as he snorted loudly. There was no trace of humor in his laughter as he doubled over, guffaws sounding more like sobs as he tried to catch his breath between them. Medic stood up, turning away from the unfortunate man to face Soldier’s back. His gloves creaked as he tightly gripped the handle of the Medigun... he didn’t want to fight, but he was under contract. If RED terminated his employment, he had nothing to go back to, not while he was still like this. And especially not while Heavy was still like this.
“...Three. Two. One. Fight!”
“Gehen Sie nach links!” Soldier indicated left with his arm. Medic turned and followed him onto the battlements, when he suddenly realised what he’d just said.
“...Sie sprechen Deutsch?” he asked as they dropped down onto some dusty boxes, and made their way across the bridge. The sound of gunshots and explosions were already building to a cacophony, but through his team-mate's growls he could hear something that sounded like ‘Jawohl’. They spoke the same language... Soldier’s stubborn self-reliance meant they rarely crossed each other’s paths on the battlefield, but maybe this could actually work.
“Sentry voraus!” A rocket left the level 1 Sentry outside BLU’s base spewing sparks and smoke, before it exploded with a small, sad beeping sound. Soldier grinned victoriously, charging into the enemy base. “MADEN!”
BANG. Medic suddenly woke up to the white walls of respawn, muttering and clutching his terribly aching head as he remembered what happened. “Schweinhunds...” It seemed so obvious now. The tiny sentry had been a distraction to delay their progress across the bridge, probably the most dangerous part of Teufort’s battlegrounds. And with their Sniper unable to use his bow, and unwilling to touch his precious rifle with its wooden stock, the BLU Sniper had been alive and free to line up a headshot.
Stupid, stupid... Medic sighed and unhooked the Übersaw from his belt as he left their spawn room for the second time. Herr Engineer was probably somewhere downstairs, guarding their Intelligence... he just had to sit and wait for a while, and he’d soon build up an Übercharge. Then they could smash through the enemy defences and maybe - just maybe - they’d capture the intelligence, and all this would be done with.
Suddenly, halfway down the sloping hallway leading to their basement, he heard an unfamiliar voice from somewhere up ahead. Immediately he stopped, ducking into an alcove and flattening himself against the wall. Now there were footsteps, getting closer; he couldn't let them see him. He closed his eyes, trying to press himself more and more against the concrete, and his body... responded. Biting his lip, Medic tried not to think about his internal organs, trying to ignore the bizarre sensations of his ribcage being squashed and his limbs flattened to an almost paper-like thinness. Mein Gott, what was his body doing? He wasn’t even thinking consciously about it, it was as if his flesh had gained a sentience of its own...
“Heh...not a single RED down here...” The BLU Solder chuckled. “Come in, Scout. You read me, over?”
Medic held his breath, not that his lungs could probably take in any air like this. He was thankful he could at least still close his eyes... he really didn’t want to know what he looked like right now. Probably like a character from the childish cartoons Pyro sometimes watched; run over by a steamroller or squashed by a piano, alive but pancake-flat. Surely, BLU had to move on soon... his lungs screamed for air, every part of him ached to return to normal... a few more seconds, and that would be it...
“Yeah yeah, I’m comin’ down ya big blowhard, over. What we got heyah?” The enemy Scout streaked past without even glancing at him, one hand on his earpiece. Medic gratefully took a gasp of air as he sprang back into human shape, then clamped his hands over his mouth. Scheisse.
“What the hell was that...?” The BLU Soldier growled suspiciously, looking behind him just as Medic ducked back into the shadows.
“Who cares? These sissy REDs ain’t got nothin’ on us. Their freakin’ Sniper can’t even aim straight!”
So, the BLU Scout and Soldier had both made it into their base. Herr Engineer probably had a Sentry already guarding their Intelligence, but with their current situation they needed to stall the enemy team’s advance by any means necessary. Medic glanced at the Übersaw still in his hand...taking on both at once would be suicide. He needed a distraction of some sort. Glancing round the corner, he could see they were both standing side-by-side with their backs to him.
“So did they build a sentry in there, or are these guys actually that dumb?” the BLU Scout chortled.
“Never underestimate the enemy, son. The toymaker’s away, but his little toys are all at Level 3. I’ll need you to drink that little radioactive sodie pop of yours, and run in there and dodge those bullets while I retrieve the briefcase.”
“So I eat lead, and you get to be the big hero!? Some kinda big, brave military man you ar-OW!” The Scout rubbed the back of his head, glaring at his companion. “The hell was that crap? Why’d you hit me!?”
“I can assure you, Private Twinkle-toes, that if I had hit you, you would not be ALIVE to complain about it!”
“OW! Ya just did it again, ya crazy-AGH! Oh, you wanna go? Is dat it? Those REDs not enough for ya and ya wanna fight a real man, huh? Well let’s go! Come on! I can take ya!” The Scout danced from side to side, beckoning his BLU comrade.
“What in god’s name has gotten into you, you spineless-hey!” He held onto his helmet as something hit the back of it, then looked to the Scout, who’s face had drained of all colour. “Was that YOU, private!? And why do you look like you’ve just seen a ghost!? ANSWER ME!”
“H-h...h-h-h-h...ha-HAND...!” was all the Scout managed to stutter out before Medic grabbed the backs of both their heads, and smacked them together with a ‘clunk’. He couldn’t help but chuckle slightly as the two unconscious bodies fell to the floor. It had been so childish of him to do such a thing, and yet he couldn’t help himself. Besides, it had proved rather effective...and he wasn’t even finished yet.
“Auf wiedersehen, dummkophs...” a sadistic grin crossed his face as he firmly gripped the handle of the Übersaw. Now this...this was the fun way to get an Übercharge.
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“Bloody HELL! Missed again!”
Sniper threw his bow down in disgust. He’d already abandoned his usual strategy of carefully aimed headshots, but even aiming in the general direction of the enemy was fruitless. With the Huntsman bow constantly bending and deforming under his ‘green fingers’, the arrows pretty much had a life of their own, veering off to the side or just falling uselessly to the ground.
“Take THAT, fannybaws!” Even Demo was having more luck than he was, chuckling at the enemy’s cry of anguish and disgust as he dropped another Jarate down from the Nest’s window. “Bet that BLU Medic di’nt see that one comin’!”
Meanwhile, Sniper planted himself on a box in frustration, facing away from the sounds of battle. In response to his rotten mood, gnarled branches with dagger-like thorns twisted into existence and bore sickly, poisonous-looking fruit. It was strange, but he didn’t dwell on it for long, opting instead to give the useless bow a sharp kick. He sighed, wishing he could use his rifle. That thing was the closest he’d had to a friend, out in the bush. It kept him safe, kept him fed, and as long as he’d maintained it with utmost care it had never let him down.
“Sniper, mate! You’ve got tae see this! Pyro jus’ got cornered by their Demoman an’ he turned inta somethin’ small! Poor BLU bastard’s just scratchin’ his head, lookin’ at an empty suit...”
He couldn’t possibly risk using it, not with its wooden stock. Or worse, what if a seed or something got into it while he was up here? He couldn’t possibly replace that gun, he just couldn’t contemplate using anything else.
“HA!” There was a terrible scream from outside, and a heavy thumping noise. Demo cackled maniacally in response, wiping a happy tear from his good eye. “Aw mate, ye’re missin’ a great show! Pyro’s a sorta gorilla or somethin’ now, an’ he’s bashin their Demo inta the ground! GREAT JOB, LAD! I KNEW YE COULD DO IT!”
It was then that Sniper looked over, and suddenly realised the danger of sticking your head out of the window. “TAVISH, NO! THE BLU SNIPER’S GONNA-!”
BANG. The whole room went dark. But there was no blood, just a shower of leaves and splinters from the thick branch covering the window. The young Scot rubbed his miraculously still-intact head, and Sniper looked at his hand. He’d reached forward, trying to pull Tavish away from the window, and something just...happened.
“...THAT WAS BLOODEH BRILLIANT! How did ye do that!?”
“I...I don’t know...” Sniper flexed his fingers experimentally. He’d reached out, and he’d thought for a split second how that big branch over there would probably block a bullet. Squinting at it again through the darkness, he took a deep breath and tried to clear his thoughts. Don’t think of anything else. It’s just you and...the tree. You and the tree. Just breathe deep and...Chroist, this is bloody stupid...
He moved his arm. Wood creaked, leaves rustled, and the branch noisily shifted out of the way as it followed the movement of his outstretched fingertips. Sunlight flooded into the room. And immediately he whipped round, flinging open the hatch to the ladder and climbing down as quickly as he could.
“Oi! Where d’ya think YE’RE goin’!?” Demo shouted down after him.
“I’ll be back in a minute, I just have to get something!” The spawn door automatically slid open, and Sniper immediately flung open the supply closet. There, right where she always was, was his rifle. Every part of her had been replaced at least once...new stock, new triggers, new scopes...but somehow she’d still remained the same loyal old friend. Waiting, patiently, for him. The man reached forward with a quivering hand, screwing his eyes shut. Please. Not this time. He reached forward another inch or two, the tips of his fingers just barely touching the cold gun metal. Just this once. He was biting his lip so hard now, he could taste blood. Please.
He picked up the gun, and opened his eyes. No groaning wood. No vines twisting their way around her barrel like he’d imagined, no invading roots destroying delicate mechanisms. Exactly the way she should be...he grinned widely, chuckling a little. Then he laughed; for the first time in almost two days, he was starting to feel like himself again.
But even from down here, he could hear Tavish shouting “INCOMING!” at the top of his lungs. Sounded like BLU were starting to re-group, and with RED still several men down their chances weren’t looking good. But he clipped the strap onto his rifle, carrying her on his back as he ascended the ladder. If nothing else, after his terrible luck with the Huntsman there was bound to be a few revenge kills waiting for him.