1 . Name: Maelgwyn @ 2011-12-18 06:37

Hypothermia
Maelgwyn
For BlastedKing

Using 300 in the Snow. Taking a jaunt from /afanfic/... cause theres no naughty in here...

~~

The bitter cold ate at the Scout as he trudged behind the Sniper. His hastily drawn map flapped in his hands, though impossible to hear over the howling wind. The Scout shivered, tucking his thin athletic sweat closer to his skin in a vain attempt to preserve the last of his body heat.

“Scout, are you cold?” the deep voice of Heavy lilted past Scout’s ear.

“Nah, chucklenuts, I’m fine!” the Scout protested quickly, eager to prove his manliness.

“You are not walking right, little man” the Heavy chided lightly.

The mission, one of utmost secrecy and stealth, was the Scout’s way of being accepted into the team. They had their map. The map to the BLU base’s intelligence and their only hope at being able to finally end their tedious contract. He was their chance at being able to take the intel, his speed being key if the stupid Spy couldn’t do his job.

The Spy thoroughly unimpressed rounded out their little group that he had to be carted through this charade. The Spy was critical; he was the one who both had made the crude illustration that was leading their quartet. He also was the only one who could infiltrate their secured base and remove their cargo without piquing the interest of the opposition. He mused about their likely ability to succeed.

The Heavy, however, was his normal, cheerful self. He happily plodded through the drifts of snow, singing ditties of Russian folk songs. His job was to ensure the safe extraction of everyone, regardless of outcome. Nothing was more powerful than the fists of the Heavy.

“How, mate,” the Sniper called to the Russian, “can you be singing in this crap?” He waved the map around the falling snow, its path swirling through the cold ice.

“Oh, that is easy,” the Heavy grinned wide, spreading his hands in the air, “this is just like Mother Russia!”

“Yer a fruit loop, you know mate?” the Sniper jeered at the Heavy, teeth chattering. He did understand though. The RED base was in a rather arid location, all red sand and heat. The Heavy would complain about the oppressive conditions, but the Sniper was at home there. Its uncanny resemblance to the outback was refreshing and inspiring to the bushie.

“Nyet,” the Heavy added jovially, “but you know, da?”
“Yeah, mate, I know,” the Sniper tipped his hat down, snow falling off the brim. The Heavy laughed his deep laugh.

“Sorry to intrude on your little party there gentlemen,” the Spy said wearily behind layers of garments, “but did you, by any chance, check we’re going the right way?”

The Sniper furrowed his brow, looking at the map again. It’s true, the entire landscape felt as if it was nothing but a white blur, with no discernable landmarks. He grabbed his compass from his bag, aligning the little arrow to the messy marker on the corner. He moved the map in circles, performing what looked like intricate manoeuvres with the white paper. Finally, he stopped walking.

“You know what frog,” the Sniper stood as the snow piled on his broad frame, “I have no idea.”

“Merde!” the Spy exclaimed. He furiously fished in his pocket, producing his battered cigarette case. As he took a long draw on the freshly lit cigarette, he seemed to calm a little.

“Look,” the Sniper started, “this ain’t no topographical map here. And you weren’t entirely good at keeping the lines straight…”

The Spy interrupted the Sniper, “I am no cartographer!”

“Yeah, yeah,” the Sniper interjected, “you’re only a Spy. But I can’t be held…”
“Well, if you could read, you illiterate Australian” the Spy spat back, venomous that the Sniper would blame him for his own mistakes. His hands were animated as he attempted to loom at the Sniper from a distance.

“You OK?” the Heavy broke the row between the two other men, suddenly serious. The Scout was shivering, the lack of movement cutting the last of the heat from the man. His face had turned pale.

“Yeah, I’m all right bruddah…” the Scout slurred his speech as the hypothermia started to set in.

“Nyet, you are not!” the Heavy furiously bellowed at the Scout. The Bostonian shirked at the tone that the Heavy used, his frame becoming smaller to try and keep the last of his heat on his small frame.

“I’ll,” the Scout seemed to struggle with breath, “be fine man. Shit, has it gotten hot or something?” The Scout started to unzip his coat.

“STOP!” the Heavy commanded, his voice blazing through the muddy Scout’s brain. His hands froze; the confusion to why the Heavy was angry was evident on his face.

The Scout collapsed. He fell face first into the snow. The Heavy moved with deft swiftness as he scooped up the lad. Thick fingers checked his vital signs, two fingers at the neck for pulse, then a hand on the forehead to gauge temperature.

“Heavy,” the Spy became quiet, “is he all right?” He leered towards the Heavy with his precious cargo.

“Little Scout is not good,” the Heavy diagnosed. This was enough for the other two men to end their argument, though evident on their faces it was merely simmering.

“Right!” the Sniper said, completely ignoring the map in his hands, “we had better head back.”

“Oh?” the Spy grinned at the Sniper, “do we not need to finish this mission?”

“Aw, screw it,” the Sniper nonchalantly said as he started to fold the map into a tiny square. He popped it into his pocket. “He’s more important than intel. I’ll take on any wanker that says otherwise.”

“Come! We must hurry!” the Heavy sounded urgent, his face grimacing at the cold man he was carrying. He undid the large fur coat that he wore and unceremoniously stuck the younger man inside. “This is old country trick, I keep him warm. We must get back to base soon.”

“Fine,” the Sniper said, a note of irritation in his voice as he quickly started to retrace his steps. The Spy chuckled, grinning at the normally stoic Australian. The Scout murmured as he felt the large Russian and his precious body heat seep into his cold frame.

“Dad, it’s cold out today. Don’t want to go to school…” the Scout said, his delirium was breaking to sleep.

“Da, little Scout,” the Heavy said friendlily to the Scout as he nuzzled into the Russian, “is all right. You will be fine.”

~~