Unallied With Allies

An Original Story By Writer's Blah

© Writer's Blah, 2011

WRITER'S NOTE/DISCLAIMER: Believe it or not, this story was originally an assignment for my writing class, which I just finished a few weeks ago. My final exam for the class was to rewrite five pieces I had previously done in class and improve them. This story is one of those rewritten pieces. Now, it's been slightly edited again, since originally, it had been written as to not give away the fact that it was based around the Team Fortress 2 universe. Since this is , I am allowed to do so, making rules here a bit looser. Anyway, I don't own Team Fortress 2 or any of its characters or places. They are trademarks of Valve Corporation. Enjoy the story.


"Alright, you maggots! Line up!"

Each giving him both their undivided attention as well as annoyed attitudes, with their teeth tightly clenched, eight men lined up before the Soldier. "I'm ashamed of you. All of you!" the military man turned his head angrily. "Why, I've never seen such a low-class band of useless fighters, if I can even call you that! All you maggots do is shoot aimlessly and run away! None of you have an ounce of courage, and thanks to you, our entire base has been captured by RED! You aren't men! You are scum-sucking fruit baskets! You are walking piles of vomit! You are all...maggots!"

In a frenzy of rage, the Soldier turned his back on his crew. He fumed with pure anger. The rest of team BLU stood silent. He only muttered, "I should've known better than to trust a team of mercenaries..."

"Excuse me?" a Bronx accent challenged. The soldier turned around, surprised to see the Scout walking towards him.

"How dare you step outta line, twinkle toes? Get back in line before I discharge this entire unit!"

"Oh, I'm sorry, but you're serious?" Scout laughed snarkily. "Hey look brutha, I'm sorry, but you ain't the boss of us, you dumb piece of bogus!"

"You dare question my authority? Do you want a beating, short stuff?"

"What authority?" provoked a man in a blue face mask, his Parisian accent annoying the soldier even more. The Spy raised an eyebrow.

"Pardon my nothing, crouton, but do you want to join city boy here?"

"Blab all you want, 'pardner', but we all know you have no real authority. Heck, you've never even been in the army!"

"W-what? Have you had one too many cigarettes, Frenchy? Of course I've been in the army! That's ridiculous!"

"Oh, really? Prove it."

"I-I don't need to prove anything! I'm your leader and sergeant, or so help me, I wouldn't even have my old uniform, dammit!"

"You mean your fake drill sergeant's hat?" a heavy Russian teased, spinning the very hat on his fingers. Already driven to madness, the soldier snatched the hat from the Heavy and put it on his head.

"I don't know who you disrespecting worms think you are, but believe it or not, my dumb-as-a-rock friends, I have experience, unlike the rest of you! I'm a hero to this town, this country, and the entire flippin' world!" he began to pace back and forth, with a gradually growing grin. "Do you know why? It's because I was the one chosen to singlehandedly execute what was the greatest World War II battle of all time!"

Indeed, this soldier had experience any man would normally worship. He always had a warrior's spirit, and today, he had been immersed in the purest eye of the tiger. As he opened his eyes, he saw his hat again, not on him, but on Roosevelt's right hand military man. As for Soldier himself, well, at this point in time, he wasn't a soldier...yet. But he knew the president was always looking for more soldiers, and as long as ol' Teddy was around, no Nazi would dare step on American shores! Born in the Southern land of Arizona, this soldier-to-be grew up as the son of a more-than-slightly insane cotton farmer. Everyday, the boy would watch as his drunken father recalled the "glory days" where he was free to endlessly torture his vast array of slaves.

"...that is until that idjit, 'Oddest Abe' told all of us to give 'em this dang-flangled 'free will' crap!"

The boy, to say the least, was not exactly a calm boy. Fights at school almost always involved him somehow, whether it meant he was throwing the first punch, or he had convinced two parties to somehow feel extreme hatred towards each other. The teacher had simply given up on punishing him. Every time she tried corporal punishment on him, he would simply grab whatever was being used to spank him, and would bonk his teacher on the head with it. Eventually, he was expelled from school entirely, but at that point, his father had been burned alive by an unknown serial killer, so as an orphan, he was adopted by a Chinese family who taught him the ancient mottos of Sun Tzu, who would become his lifelong idol.


"The words still ring clear in my head," the soldier wept in front of his crew. "The wisest saying I ever heard! 'If fighting is sure to result in victory, then..."

"...'you must fight.'" the Scout finished monotonously. "We know. You've said that to us a thousand times."

"Shut up! My story's not finished!" Soldier yelled in a childish fit. Regaining his composure, he put his hands down and tucked his already-large hat over his head again, covering his eyes. "Alright. Anyway, there I was, ready to accept the greatest honor that I would ever accept in my life!"


After waiting what felt like forever, the eager young man heard his words of destiny. "Thank you. Next!"

Finally being next in line, the man ran to the front desk, simultaneously whilst wetting his pants. He slammed his large hands on the wooden desk. "Helloooo!"

The recruiter shifted his eyebrows. "Hello...sir. May I help you?"

"One induction into the U.S. Army, please!" the man pointed his index finger into the air.

The recruiter gave him a look. This man looked absolutely psychotic. "Better off in a mental home..." he muttered, searching his lists. His eye sneaked a peak at the man's face again, witnessing the overbearing eagerness and psychotically stressed features on his face. There was no way this man could seriously benefit the Allies in any way, shape or form. He looked around the room. There weren't any superiors in sight to keep their eye on him, so he did the only possible thing he could think of. "I'm sorry, but there are no positions open."

"Aww...oh well! Might as well join the Marines in that case."

"Sir, forgive me, but I believe I said there are no positions open."

"What? But that's crazy! How can both the Army and the Marines be filled? How about the Navy?"

"Filled."

"The Air Force?"

"Filled!"

"The freakin' Coast Guard?"

"FILLED! Sir, when I said there are no positions open, I meant there are NO...POSITIONS...OPEN!"

"Th-that's impossible! There's gotta be something I can do! Anything!"

"You want to be in the army so bad?" the recruiter shouted. Angered, he threw his own hat at the desperate man. "Here! Why don't you play 'soldier boy' at home or something?"

The rejected man was shocked. Every single department of the U.S. military was...full? He'd never thought such a thing was even possible! If he had gotten there just minutes, no, seconds earlier, he could've had a spot in his lifelong dream of serving America and becoming a hero in World War II. Now, that dream was impossible. Clutching the thrown hat to his chest closely, he walked out, defeated. Outside the recruitment center, he sat on a bench, scratching his back. Accidentally losing grip on his hands, a breeze blew the hat out of his hands. Noticing, he paused his scratching and reached for the hat, catching it in his hands. He stared at the hat for what seemed like forever. Suddenly, something inside him snapped. His hands tightened, becoming fists, and his eyebrows lowered. He placed the hat upon his head.

"I'm not gonna let this stop me from serving my country." He walked off onto the sidewalk, his hands balled and his steps hammering the ground. "America can't do this alone. She just can't. She needs me. She needs me to fight for her against all odds." He looked back for a second in the direction of the recruitment center. "Mark my words, sir. I'm getting into Germany, and nothing you do will stop me!"

Immediately, he began saving up. Here and there, he'd make some cash from odd jobs and some more from selling his possessions. With enough time, he would have enough for a plane ticket. Finally, one day, he checked his personal bank account. He had enough. Withdrawing everything, he ran over to the airport and checked in for a ticket. Unfortunately, trips directly to Germany were too expensive, so he chose the next best thing: Poland. From Poland, he could sneak into Germany without detection and then...justice would be served.

Days were spent sleeping and eating for the majority of the trip. Dreams of the anticipated bloodbath alongside REM-induced dinners of tomato soup and barbecue ribs were had.

"Mmm...smoky..." the mercenary's tongue danced, when all of a sudden, a jolt was felt. He woke with a start. "Wha...what? Who dares interrupt my ethereal dinner of charred pork flesh?"

Sitting directly up, he looked out the window and saw asphalt. "We've landed, sir. Would you mind getting off?"

Gratitude was not on the bloodthirsty man's mind at the moment, however. Muttering only unintelligible speech, he dashed out of the plane, grabbed his family shovel, and ran directly west. His crazed mind was at the point where he didn't even care for transportation. He was going to freaking jog all the way to Germany. Days passed, and he became tired and hungry, naturally. "Something tells me I didn't think this whole thing through..." Almost at the point of dying, he was about to give up. In the dark night, he was getting quite close to going insane.

"This is hopeless! All I see are grass and trees! Grass and trees!" Not caring anymore, he took his right hand, and made mouth movements with it.

"What are you talking about, buddy? There's lots more than grass and trees!" the mentally ill man spoke in a disguised voice.

"Yes there are! Don't believe me? Look over there, grass! And over there, a tree! Grass! Tree! Tree! Grass! Campfire! Grass! Tr...wait a minute."

The revelation finally occurred to him. "A campfire! Civilization! Food!" He ran the exact way he began his journey: mindlessly, with a lot of drool leaking from his mouth.

As he got closer, he looked over and saw about a dozen men sitting around the fire. There was some symbol on their sleeves...it looked like a plus sign.

"Nazis!"

The men looked off to the side and saw the American, his shovel raised in his hands. "Evil Nazis! Prepare to meet your doom at the hands of America!"

"Was?" a few men asked. The cackling man paid no attention to the worried faces of the men however, as he raised his shovel to strike. "Schweinehunde!" the men shouted in fear, as the crazed killer began to smack the heads of the men.

"Your precious Hitler can't save you now!" he laughed, striking another man with the bloody shovel. In a matter of seconds, nearly all the men had been murdered. Smiling, the American made his way into the tent and saw one man sitting in the fetal position. "Bitte tu mir nicht weh!" the man cried.

"Today has been a great day for the Allies! Burn in brimstone, Nazi!" he laughed. After bloodily killing him, he engaged in a hysterical laughing-fest as he raided their food and water supply. Using a map inside the tent, he pinpointed the location of every single "Nazi" camp, and set out to fight them all. "Watch out, Nazis! Your worst nightmare approaches!"


"...and so, I made my way to Poland, sneaked into Germany, and I finally got to unleash my American fury! That day, I killed so many Nazis! You should've seen how they begged for my mercy, 'swearing' how they had done nothing wrong. Ha! You wanna know what I did? I'll tellya what I did! I just laughed and gorily gibbed them all back to hell, that's what I did!" The Soldier stood confidently, his team looking at one another. "The only thing was," Soldier complained, "I never got rewarded, since my operation was done in secret, but heck, if ol' Roosevelt knew about me, I'd forever be lauded as a real American hero!"

The team stood silent, all their faces showing concern. "Can't argue with me now, can ya, boys?"

"Actually," a voice said. The soldier looked up, and saw BLU's medic, a middle-aged German man. "Roosevelt couldn't have awarded you."

"What are you talking about?" Soldier laughed. "Of course he would have! He was the president and leader throughout all of World War II!"

"That is true."

"Then?"

"You mean you still don't know?" Medic shook his head. "First of all, the 'Nazis' you killed were not Nazis. They were all German...medics. They wore uniforms with crosses, which from afar, could be mistaken for a swastika, but meant something very different. I know because I was there, as a child. That dreadful day, my mother told me that my father had been killed by an American psychopath. That man is now one of Germany's most wanted criminals, and that man...is you."

The Soldier was shocked. "B-but why would medics wear Nazi-esque uniforms?"

"We wouldn't think there would be any confusion. All the Nazis were gone."

"The Nazis were everywhere during World War II!"

"That's just it. This massacre was in 1949, and World War II ended in 1945. You joined World War II...four years too late."

There was an unnerving silence in the dust bowl. The soldier only stood there with his mouth slightly open. Finally, he turned around. "You are all dismissed."

As eight men left and one man wept, the criminal took off his sergeant's hat, left it on the floor, and walked away with the rest of his team.