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“Attention, ladies! It has come to my attention that the majority of you are not in fact American, but actually traitors!”
Uh-oh.
One of the biggest secrets kept from Soldier was the fact that his teammates actually hailed from all parts of the world, not just America. Not that any of them cared about keeping up the charade too much, only enough to satisfy Soldier so he could move on. But there were times when they got a little sloppy and let things slip while he was in earshot.
Sniper’s encounters with crocodiles were pretty believable if Florida was the assumed landscape. But Heavy’s dark and grizzly tales about surviving a work camp with his family would not pass off as just another day in Minnesota. Soldier had snuffed them all out.
And to him, the idea that all of his teammates didn't come from the same country as he did was practically unthinkable. Desperate measures must be taken.
That’s how Demo, Heavy, Medic, Sniper, and Spy all found themselves cramped together in the meeting room, which had been turned into a makeshift classroom. Somehow Soldier had managed to get his hands on five desks facing a blackboard on wheels he had set up against one wall.
Scout and Engine just poked their heads in, out of sheer curiosity. Pyro, who had managed to get out of this fate using the power of plausible deniability, was also watching because what else was there to do?
And what was going to happen next?
Soldier stood in front of the blackboard. “The fact that you are all not Americans means two things to me. One, your parents have failed you by bringing you forth in a far less superior country. Two, there are likely gaps in your history knowledge of the greatest country in your world. Gaps which I intend to fill. Welcome to my American History Boot Camp!”
The other mercenaries all groaned.
“We need an easy lesson to get you worms into it. Oh, I know. Let’s start with the stars and the stripes! The greatest flag to ever fly in the sky. Sniper! What do you know about the star-spangled banner?”
“It has stars and stripes,” Sniper said dryly.
“WRONG! Well, technically right, but that’s an unsatisfying answer. You see, the flag first came into concept by Francis Hopkinson in 1777, but with thirteen stars rather than the fifty it has today. The original flag was made out of the hide of the giant pika that attempted to break into Hopkinson’s home and eat his children.”
“There are no giant pikas in North America,” Spy sighed.
“Of course not. Because Francis Hopkinson killed the last one! Each star his wife put into the hide represented one of the scratches that the pika put on Hopkinson. They painted the flag blue and white with pika blood.”
Medic shook his head. “I’m pretty sure mammals don’t have blue or white blood, Soldier.”
“No interrupting my lesson! This is American history time, not boring dumb science time.”
“But-”
“Enough! Nowadays, the American flag is made out of fabric. But every 4th of July, it is customary for parents to catch wild pikas and paint them red, white, and blue to give to their kids. Then these kids throw these pikas into the air to feed the almighty bald eagle!”
Soldier broke into his impression of an eagle, which sounded a bit more like a dying cat. The other mercenaries exchanged confused glances, and a few hopeful ones in the direction of the door.
This was going to be a long boot camp.
“Next lesson. The first president of the United States. Anybody know what his name is?”
There was no response.
“I can’t believe this. George Washington! You never heard of him?”
Spy dropped his head on the desk. “Considering that none of us were born here, no.”
“Fine. George Washington lived in the White House. But did you know it wasn’t always white? As a matter of fact, it used to actually be gold! The Gold House! But bandits used to sneak onto the property to steal the gold and strip it bare. Then, when George found out…”
Demo sent Heavy a look that read this man cannot be serious. Heavy sent a look back that said I don’t believe him at all, but I don’t know enough about American presidents and their places of residence to dispute everything.
“...he confronted a bandit head on, only for a quarter to be thrown at him! That’s why his face is on the quarter. Now, have you heard about the story of the cherry tree?”
Again, no response. Soldier just continued. “When George was a little boy, he had a cherry tree growing in his yard. One day, he decided to chop it down. But as he did, his mother came outside to see what he was doing. And little George accidentally sent the tree down on top of her! His father was so mad, he chased George to the next state!”
Demo coughed. “Err...Soldier? I don’t think that’s-”
“Do not interrupt my story! Well…that was the end of the story. You are free to interrupt now. No, nothing more to say? Alright, next lesson!”
Soldier turned to the blackboard and began to draw on it. “Now we are going to dive into the brilliant war tactics from Sun Tzu.”
Medic frowned. “Sun Tzu? He’s not an American.”
“Did I say Sun Tzu? I meant General Tsun Zoo! He was a very distant descendant of Sun Tzu and the man responsible for translating The Art of War into the greatest language in the world, American.”
“English,” Sniper clarified.
“American.”
“English.”
“American English! Anyways, Mr. Zoo was George Washington’s right hand man and came up with plenty of strategies to drive the redcoats back to the other side of the Pacifilantic Ocean.”
“Did he mean ‘Atlantic’?” Heavy whispered to Medic, who just shrugged in response.
“As a reward for his contribution in making America an independent nation, Washington awarded Mr. Zoo with a pit full of exotic rare animals, the last of their kinds. This became the makings of the first zoo. Now, this had always been a lifelong dream of Sun Tzu’s, one he never got to see completed. But we’re not talking about him, we’re talking about America!”
Solder revealed the blackboard, consisting of crudely drawn stick figures all lined up in a row and pointing equally stickish guns at each other. Then a giant box that looked like it was filled with animals, although there was no saying exactly what animals they were.
“Oh yes. Beautiful. Sun Tzu would be proud.”
Demo just nodded along. “Hmmm. Really always come back to Sun Tzu with you, huh lad?”
It had been maybe half an hour or so since the boot camp had started. Not a particularly long time, but for Soldier’s attention span, it was. He allowed the camp to adjourn for a brief lunch.
An American lunch, of course. Of hot dogs made from rather dubious meat, baked beans that didn't look baked at all, and an apple pie that had a baseball buried in the middle of it. Nobody was really sure how or why, just that Scout most certainly had something to do with it.
Medic distastefully pushed around the food on his plate with a fork. “I don’t think these were cooked properly.”
Spy spit something into his napkin. “That’s Soldier’s cooking for you. It’s either raw or burnt. Pyro knows their way around the kitchen better than him.”
Sniper reached for the garbage can and threw his entire plate into it. It made a gross noise when it hit the bottom of the can. “Speaking of Pyro, think we can get ‘em to whip up some actually decent grub for us?”
“Funny you should ask.” Engie was in the doorway, watching the scene. ‘I was about to make some grits with gravy and biscuits. Popular dishes here in the South. I think y’all will like it.”
“Thank goodness.” Heavy copied Sniper and soon everyone was dumping their food into the trash. “Heavy will eat anything that is not made by Soldier.”
Demo shrugged. “Hey now. The apple pie was actually quite good.”
Engie chuckled. “It was store bought. I found the bakery receipt in the kitchen. You really think Soldier is patient enough to make an entire pie from scratch? Don’t worry about dessert; I’ve got a pecan pie comin’ along.”
“Is it also-”
“Yes. It’s also store bought. I don’t have the patience either.”
“Alright! We have been refueled on the grub, so time to get back to the lesson and I better not hear any complaints! Next up, the Boston Tea Party.”
Several of the mercs glanced around, visions of a giant fancy tea party filling their heads as they checked to see whether or not the others were thinking the same thing. Soldier didn’t notice as he drew out on the blackboard…
An actual giant tea party of stick figures in coats and powdered wigs.
“This can’t be right,” Spy muttered.
That got a loud scoff in response. “Of course not! You see, tea is not an American drink. As a matter of fact, this is a cola party that was a celebration after the Americans dumped so much tea in the Boston Harbor, they managed to dye the water earl gray. Salted with the tears of insulted redcoats.”
“That can’t be right either,” Medic whispered.
“But the British soldiers were astounded to see their precious tea wasted! So many jumped in the Harbor to drink it, only to drown in the process. And that’s how the Yanks won their independence and outlasted the British army. Do I have any questions?”
At first, there were none. Then Heavy raised his hand. “Do you have textbook?”
“I beg your pardon. Are you claiming that everything I tell you is incorrect?”
“No! Books. I would like to know where you are getting sources from.”
Soldier held up a piece of paper that Heavy was quick to snatch and read. “Here you go. A firsthand American source.”
“Soldier. This just says ‘I am always right’.”
“And I am.”
“That is not-”
“Sit down, private! Next lesson commences now and I have no time to waste!”
At this point, nobody was sure how long they had been cooped on in this stuffy little room for. Maybe thirty minutes? An hour? Regardless, a nap was starting to sound pretty inviting and most mercs were fighting to keep their eyes open at this point.
After providing everyone some coffee so they wouldn’t fall asleep on him, Soldier began to pace the room. “Let’s see here. What do I still have to cover? Ah, I know! The Alamo! Let’s begin.”
He cracked his knuckles. “Now, what is it? Simple. A historical fortress once located in Texas. Founded in the 18th century and the site of the Battle of the Alamo.”
As Soldier prattled on, everyone began to exchange looks again. This lesson was almost…normal? Or it had yet to go completely off the rails. It seemed that almost everyone was waiting for the inevitable Soldierism in the form of something so purely outrageous it could only come from a single mind.
“...and guess what? I have a surprise for you all! I bought the Alamo for the day and we’re going to go there as a field trip!”
“You what!?” Spy slammed his fsist down, causing everyone to jump and Sniper to spit out his coffee all over Medic’s back, “Soldier! Why on Earth would you ever-”
“If the Mann brothers can rent it out, so can I! Now, what are you waiting for? Let’s get a move on! I do not have a moment to waste.”
Spy glanced down at his watch. “No. We’re not driving all the way to Texas just to visit an old fortress.”
“Well, I got the premium service. They actually deliver it to you!”
“What do you mean, they deliver it-”
CRASH!
“Okay, what the hell!?” Scout’s voice somehow permeated through the ringing in all their ears. “What is the pile of stone doin’ on our doorstep!?”
Most of Soldier’s not quite factual lessons could be brushed off, but dumping the Alamo right outside their base had been the last straw.
After his little field trip was done, Heavy was the first to put his foot down. They were finished here. No more history lessons. No more boot camp.
Soldier glared at him through his helmet. “But I still have so much more to cover.”
“Don’t care.”
“I could talk about the Civil War!”
“Not interested.”
“No, the War of 1812! You have to hear about what we did after those now-Canadians burnt down our precious White House. We took our cannons and then we beat the everloving-”
“Soldier!” Heavy sighed. “Look. I appreciate lessons, but is late and I’m tired. I do not want to hear any more about America until tomorrow.”
“But-”
“Good. Night.”
Heavy walked off. The others followed behind, leaving Soldier standing alone in front of the Alamo. Eventually, Texas was going to want it back.
He watched his teammates slowly slip inside, exhausted by the long day. He wasn’t bitter about it or anything.
He was actually impressed. Well, impressed with himself. Because hey, look how much he managed to teach them about the history of the greatest country in the world! Yeah, Soldier was a damn good professor if he did say so himself.
This wasn’t the end of the boot camp. Far from it. He’d find another way to ambush them (all of them, if Scout and Engie and Pyro thought they could escape this) and he’d make them sit down for another day. Or a week! Ah, he could talk about this subject for hours on end, passionately waxing so many poetic details. There was just so much to cover; how could he ever expect to cram it into such a short and unsuitable time?
Fine. They could have the night off; that was perfectly fine with Soldier. He needed time to plan and prepare anyway.