In Need of Assistance? (TF2)

Seventy-Eight: Turncoat

        I'm down to my hips in water, helping Sniper push the boat onto land. The tide is low, so we'd have to push pretty hard and pretty far onto the shore so we don't risk it drifting off to sea. It's not a hefty drop-off, either, the sand is pretty level this far out. It's either this or risk breaking a rudder pedal.

"Yanno, Captain," Sniper heaves, "it'd help if you weren't in it."

She longingly looks over the back of her seat at us. She speaks in a North Atlantic accent: "Mick, how could you possibly expect a woman like me to swim in clothes like these?"

"Get out of the bloody boat," he pesters. We shove onto more sand, requiring us to lift and push instead of just push. My shoes sink into the seafloor, and the bottom of my head hits the back of the boat. Sniper grabs my forearm. "Captain."

She rolls her eyes. "You're buying me new boots."

"Takin' the piss on that one. You push, I'll pull." The woman in the boat draws near the back end and takes off her hat, bullet vest, and coat grunting as she slips off the edge and takes Sniper's place. Because she's shorter than me, the water is higher on her than it is on me, and I think that slight difference decides if she stands or if she starts wading. I pull my feet out of the sand, stepping to the side more as the three of us get a final advance to go as far as possible. I almost fall over at the effort, holding onto a tether knob to keep my head above water. Captain gasps as she emerges from the water. Both of us look up at the six-foot-tall man. "What?"

I get up and start rounding the boat. "You push, we pull." The water is now at my calves at the other end, and we stand on either side by the front chairs. This is a smoother experience. It's the same exertion I put into pushing a payload, but just more drag and waterlogged shoes.

After a while, we're completely beached, almost all the way to the vegetation line. I lean over the side of the boat and put on my backpack, slinging my gun over my body. The sun's already blazing, drying my shirt a bit, but my bottom half is still soaking wet. I pour excess water out of my boots while keeping my sock off of the sand because that's the second worse experience to have today other than squishy soles.

Sniper fixes his hat and surveys the water, eyes trained on another boat. He looks through his scope. "Who called the cavalry?"

"Pardon?" Captain asks.

"Our Spy, Heavy, and Pyro heading this way."

"Seems like someone doesn't believe in us." Captain sighs after clasping her vest back on.

I cross my arms. "We might as well go ahead, there's no point in waiting up for them. Besides, maybe this is their job, and we're the ones intruding. Might I remind you of what we originally came here to do?" I motion to the water. "And we didn't have a choice. Saxton signed us up."

"You seem a tad pressed," Sniper observes.

I exhale deeply through my nose. "That happens when people--" I think about my next words but drop them. "Whatever." We head in.

Sniper leads, kukri in hand as he slashes vines and shrubbery out of the way. We pass up a metal sign. It's rusted and has bullet holes through it, but it's still somewhat legible, stating that this is a weapon factory and private property. Behind it is a building, run-down and somewhat unkempt. A helicopter rests near the roof. "So-" I draw attention to the structure. "Any ideas so far? Saxton said there are probably thirteen people out there. Maybe more, maybe less."

"Well, we could stake it out here. We're up high and have the advantage since the plants hide us pretty well," Captain suggests.

"Workable," Sniper concurs. "Like to also mention that there's an electrified fence, so we'd need to find the generator or a dead spot." He smacks the back of his neck, and I brush a fly away from my arm. "But let me look." He takes his rifle off his shoulder and aims at the building, peering through his scope. He smirks. "Got a head."