God Bless America

Much to Demo’s surprise, Tuesday was smoother than Monday had been. It might have been because he hadn’t seen much of Soldier, even after his overnight recovery. “No true American is downed after just one concussion!” was his declaration right before he launched a rocket to his feet in the infirmary and flew off, much to Medic’s threats. Soldier also made a new entrance in the infirmary’s wall, but if Demo had a say, at least Medic still had an infirmary. It could be worse. Even so, he hoped Soldier didn’t plan to chat with Medic for a few weeks, lest he find himself as the new lab rat. And unlike the case with Heavy, Demo knew this wouldn’t be a voluntary position for Soldier. There was no more crashing into windows that day. Still, Demo kept watch for hostility towards the non-Americans. But there was nothing out of the ordinary. Except for the usual jeers and sharp remarks in battle. But hey, everybody was guilty of that, regardless of nationality. Additionally, there wasn’t a hint of what was spoken between Engie and Soldier. Hell, Demo didn’t even know if the conversation was Texan-styled! As far as he knew, the two barely interacted. Last night could have been dismissed for one of Demo’s false memories after having one too many bottle. Then again, he only saw their interactions in battle. Soldiers and Engineers within the same team don’t often interact in battle, so that was a moot point. This was a bloody riddle eaten by a fish, swallowed by an American Bald Eagle, all wrapped up in a star-spangled enigma. These thoughts rushed through Demo’s head when he woke up at five in the morning on Wednesday. He blinked through his fogged vision and rubbed the sleeping dust out of his eye. His bottle of scrumpy laid beside his hand, dangling over the side of his bed. He stared at his clock for a moment. It was too early. It was still six o’clock. Two more hours until the meeting. He sat up on the edge of his bed, grimacing at the heaviness in his head. “He was serious ‘bout today.” The Soldier’s meeting. No wonder why Demo had a drink or two. Maybe it was enough to handle whatever Soldier had to throw at the team. Demo wondered if anybody would bother showing up. It was not always the case that anybody listened to Soldier on many matters, much less when the topic was America. Hell, Demo was certain even the Americans couldn’t care less. Not that Scout or Engineer ever would ever say that aloud within Soldier’s earshot. He groaned and buried his face into his hands. “I’m a bloody screw-up.” If Soldier were to hear that, he’d argue otherwise. Demo huffed with a small smile. He forced himself to stand on unstable legs before he wobbled himself into the showers. A nice cold shower ought to help him sober up enough to be alert this meeting. No matter what Soldier had to present, Demo would be there for him. He made that promise ever since he befriended this jingoistic nut. When Demo stumbled into the meeting room and grabbed a seat just before the meeting, he did a double-take when he took in the participants who showed up. There was Pyro in their usual uniform and mask, creating a tower made of matchsticks. Right beside that tower was a pile of discarded matchboxes, which were all sacrificed for art. Not that Demo knew too much about Pyro’s habits outside of battle, but he didn’t think they were an early bird. Scout was still in sleepwear, sporting his worn-out baseball jersey for some team Demo couldn’t be arsed to remember the name of right now. All he remembered was that watching baseball games with Scout was never a boring event. But Scout wasn’t watching baseball now nor was he asleep. Instead, he was currently swiping from Pyro’s matchbox pile to build his own tower. At least Pyro didn’t seem to mind, humming away as they balanced matchstick after matchstick while wearing their bulky gloves. Medic wore a blood-speckled sweater vest, but that was common for a weekday morning - or really, any time of the day. He chatted with Heavy with open gestures and wide eyes. He spoke too fast for Demo’s hungover mind to decipher, but he heard some musings about experiments. There were a few overly eager laughs thrown in and flashes of too-white teeth. Heavy also had bloodstains on his shirt, but that wasn’t concerning either. He crossed his arms and nodded every so often at what Medic was saying. Even as he eyed the empty seat at the head of the table, he kept track of the conversation. Despite his lack of words, Medic continued to ramble away nonetheless. Spy was here, dressed in his ever-present balaclava and suit. His gloved hands folded before him, placed down on the table. He eyed his watch before observing his surroundings with a small frown. It appeared he was following a routine still unclear to Demo, even after all these years. Yet Spy never gave him too much reason to worry. Demo felt that if Spy truly wished to harm anyone on this team, then he would have done so already. Sniper was in civilian wear, his slouch hat still perched upon his hair. His hairy arms were crossed and he was on the verge of nodding off, but his sights were fixated on the tower-building competition between Scout and Pyro. Maybe Demo was wrong, but it looked as if he wanted to join. Of course, he doubted that Sniper would admit it. Everybody, sans Soldier and Engie, was gathered around the table. For whatever reason Soldier had in mind, they were here. And just in time. The room fell into a quiet hush when Engie pushed through the metal double doors, wheeling in a projector and the confiscated recording device upon a creaking cart that saw better days. He dimmed the lights. Once he reached the front of the room, he tested the projector. If anyone hoped for a sneak preview of the presentation, they’d be disappointed. The projected image upon the blank, white wall was a generic test slide with the team logo upon it. As usual, the image flickered a few times, but managed to be readable. As usual, Scout broke the silence. “Yo, Hardhat! Know what’s the deal with Solly and all that junk?” “You are helping him?” Heavy raised an eyebrow. Pyro flailed a hand and knocked over the two towers of matchsticks, ignoring Scout’s shouts of protest, as they made their point. Whatever it was they said, Demo was certain it was more eloquent than what filtered through their gas mask. Engie made a calming gesture with his gloved hand. “Now, now fellas. I’d reckon you’d want to hear Solly himself explaining it himself.” “Maybe if the buffoon does not confuse us even more with his ‘explanations’...” muttered Spy before reaching inside his suit jacket for a cigarette, only to hesitate. He folded his hands together again. “Ye ken hush now,” said Demo with a huff. “Hm.” Spy glanced at Engie before he stared Demo down. “You out of all of us have the best reason to be worried. You hang around the explosive buffoon enough to the point of being indistinguishable.” “He’s me best mate.” Spy gave him a curious look, that Demo couldn’t bother reading, before he looked back to Engie. By this point, Engie took the seat closest to the projector. He was as lax as he could be, leaning back in his chair with an ankle propped up on his knee. It was as if he were on his Rancho Relaxer rather than at a meeting. Before anyone else could speak their thoughts, Soldier showed up at zero seven hundred hours, right down to the exact second. Not that Demo counted the time himself, but he was certain Soldier kept track. Of course, in his usual fashion, Soldier kicked the door open and yelled, “At ease, maggots!” Then he marched to the front of the room, right beside the projector. He positioned himself in a way that didn’t block the screen but still placed himself at the centre of attention. Soldier folded his arms behind his back and stood ramrod straight. “Men,” he began, his voice carrying its usual gruff manner. “When I learned that not every one of us had the honour to be birthed on American soil, I’ve been doing some thinking.” “That’s surprising,” Spy muttered under his breath. If Demo weren’t busy being a good listener, he would’ve shushed him. Soldier continued speaking, looking away, his voice still booming throughout the room. “My father told me that people like you were not worthy of even stepping into the ring of honour.” He shook his fists. “That you are all weak! That you are all bleeders! That you are all the enemies to America by birth alone. But my father had been wrong before.” He lowered his fists and faced the table, full of his teammates before him. “Men, what I am saying is that my father is wrong again! I am still fighting. He has stopped. He cannot see what it’s like to fight with non-Americans and not against them. “He cannot see what it’s like to have a team fighting my roommate every Halloween. He cannot see what it’s like to die again and again for your fellow soldiers! “Sun Tzu taught me the art of war, but all of you here have taught me what it means to bleed for war.” From underneath his helemt, Soldier stared at Demo for a long moment before looking back at everyone else. “I have the honour of being born on American soil. But it’s just as high of an honour to fight with every single one of you!” He saluted. “God bless America!” The room was silent as everyone processed Soldier’s speech at different paces. However, Demo didn’t care for the others’ reactions. Soldier didn’t hate him. As Soldier sat down in the seat nearby, he grinned at Demo and slung a heavy arm around his neck. Demo returned the gesture with a chuckle. “Ye did it, laddie!” “Yes, a heartwarming speech,” deadpanned Spy. “It does not explain why you need that.” He gestured at the projector situated at the front of the room. Soldier grinned like it was the Fourth of July. “An excellent question, Spy!” He gestured at Engineer. “Engie, dim the lights!” Engineer shook his head, but wore a small, relieved smile as he dimmed the lights. When the lights dimmed, the projector hummed as it came to life. After a few seconds of darkness, the video illuminated the wall in front of the room. The American anthem blared. The music crackled and shorted out at some notes, as if it were a recording taken from a PA system. A quick series of shaky clips flashed across the wall. From what Demo could see, they were all compositions of rocket jumping. Soon, a black and white slide slid into view, reading: “What You Need to Know About America by Soldier”. “Engie helped me with getting the video out of the recording device!” Soldier nodded towards Engie with a bright smile before looking back at the video with an air of pride. Demo raised an eyebrow as he continued watching the video. It made less sense as the pamphlets he handed out days ago, just louder and shakier. He allowed the yelling to filter through his brain before he sat up in realization. The pamphlets. The meeting. The video. It all made a little more sense. It was the speech that tied it all together, but Demo now realized this was all just Soldier’s way of trying to reassure his teammates in the way he knew best: through his love of America. He wanted to let them know they were still welcome to fight with him. This was his way of trying to introduce them to America, one of the things he loved above everything else. Not that Demo, nor anyone else on the team, needed the introduction. Soldier still had the wrong idea. But at least he had the right spirit. Demo laughed. Soldier looked at Demo with a tilt of his head. “Do you think that the art of war is a game?” “Nah. But have I ever told ya you’re me best mate?”