My first time with the TF2 fic-writan. Extremely old, second chapter actually in progress.----War Stories Number OneThere was a quiet, predictable beeping that echoed through the lower halls of the Blu base, but little else. The noise emanated out from huge electronic monstrosities that were sunk into the walls and put up against one another. None of the Blu’s themselves were quite sure what any of them did, but they knew that they were important, expensive, and boring. Every so often, one of them would spit out a long sheet of paper full of unintelligible strings of numbers that someone, usually Engineer, would be tasked to stuff into a case for storage and delivery.As such, when they weren’t expecting another waterfall of print, the Blu’s spent little time in their basement. It was a lonely place with nothing but the hum of machinery, buzzing, burning lights and, of course, the beeping. At least, they assumed it was that way, but sometimes, there was an extra down there. A figure was slumped with his back in a corner, worn and battered rocket launcher propped haphazardly against the wall to his right. Soldier sat alone in the nearly empty room, his only companion a large desk and matching chair.However, he didn’t seem to particularly mind the solitude. To the contrary, he went down to the basement whenever he craved the kind of loneliness that pervaded the place. The Sniper his nest, the Medic their meager supply room, and so, too, did Soldier have his own special room, just for him. He had to sneak down there to make sure he wasn’t discovered and deal with accusations of slacking off, but Soldier made the effort. Just days before, they had been slaughtered in a charge against the Reds; he needed time to himself.So he sat in silence for a little while, rubbing at his aching neck and shoulders idly. After a few minutes, he went ahead and untied his helmet, pulling the dirty metal off his head and setting it on the ground. His fingers ran through the short, buzzed hair. The roots were dark but had already started to lighten at the tips, not that he or anyone else could see it. Soldier sighed to himself and rummaged through his coat, to the inside left-breast pocket. There was a piece of thick paper there, which he pulled out and turned over in his hands.Carefully, he held the old, crinkled Polaroid in front of him, staring down at it with tired, blue eyes. The picture was colorless and fading, but he could see everything as vibrant and clear as the day it had been taken. There he was, a younger man, a happier man, his arm around the waist of a sweet, proper girl with long, dark hair. She was smiling over at him and he was smiling over at her and everything was perfect. Soldier could smell the dew from the spring morning and the sun’s heat from high up above. His thumb rubbed the picture in the most worn spot, right next to the woman’s face, her cheek.Soldier’s eyes were wet and, in the privacy of his room, he let his lip tremble, just a bit. She was so beautiful, but those Reds had taken her away from him. Those damn Reds and their rockets. Why her? Why him? What had either of them done to be separated so fully, so suddenly? Soldier wiped his face with the back of his wrist, feeling his eyes begin to leak. No, he wasn’t supposed to cry about it anymore. He had to be strong. The Reds would be the ones to cry for what they’d done. Soldier sucked in a breath and puffed up his chest. Yes, that’s what he’d do…but he wanted to reminisce for a little while longer.He was interrupted by his radio crackling on with Medic’s voice, frazzled. “A Scout is in ze base, heading for ze stairs”. Soldier stood up quickly, stuffed the picture back into his pocket as swiftly as he could. He threw his helmet on in a rush and wasn’t able to buckle it before he heard the stamping of a Scout rushing down the stairs. Soldier quickly slung his launcher across his back and whipped out his handy trench-digging shovel, pressing himself flat against the wall and waiting, barely breathing.The instant his eyes saw the bill of the Scout’s hat, he swung the shovel with full force, heading for a home run with the boy’s head. There was a loud twang as the curved metal collided with the Scout’s face, making him shout in surprise and pain. He was knocked completely off his feet and onto his back, his eyes rolling in a daze. Soldier stood over him with a grimace, the memory of his love still burning white hot in his mind. This Scout, with his red shirt and his redder blood trickling out his head and nose, he was one of them. He had taken her away.With a great shout, Soldier raised the shovel above his head. The Scout seemed to come back to his senses, yelling and raising his arms while trying to scramble away. He got up onto his hands and knees before the shovel hit him again, on the top of his head. Falling to the floor, unconscious, Scout remained motionless while Soldier kept up his primal roar, bringing the shovel down over and over. Another hit and Scout’s head split open. Soldier was dashing the boy’s brains about the doorway, screaming his head off, his eyes two black pinpricks in seas of blue.Soldier paused, panting. What remained of Scout’s body was a crimson mess. He had splattered all over Soldier’s pants and there was going to be a fit about the stains on the floor. Soldier tried to control himself, to level his breathing, but it was all for naught. Feeling the rage come to a boil again, he eked out three more words as he struck Scout’s lifeless form three final times, each hit slower and harder.“YOU. RED. MAGETS!”
I was both terrified and amazed.And to think two minutes ago I was thinking that there weren't enough Soldier things.
I really like this. It seems like I've read it before, but I could just be imagining things. In any case, I'm very pleased to see it here and I look forward to Part 2. It's good to see some Soldier fic, and well-written at that.