The blues were out doing recon when Tucker got a call from Kimball that a ship had crossed into secure airspace on the outer perimeter. Not ten seconds later, they heard explosions in the distance, and then a shriek as metal scraped the earth.
"What was that noise?" shouted Caboose, looking in the opposite direction.
"Ooh, ooh! Give me the sniper rifle!" Tucker ordered Wash.
"No! I'm using it right now."
"Come on! I never get the sniper rifle!"
"Then you should be used to the disappointment," Wash told him coldly. Tucker peered over his shoulder and tried to see down the ridge. Even without the rifle, he could see a pillar of black smoke start to rise in the distance.
"Guys…I think something explodeded," Caboose reported.
"No shit, Caboose," Tucker turned to berate him.
"Looks like it might have been a small drop ship, but there's not enough left of it to tell," Wash informed them. "Did we take it down?" he asked Tucker.
"Kimball, you get all that?" Tucker relayed to the FOB.
"I've got conflicting reports coming in. I'll get back to you when I've got better intel."
Wash lowered his rifle. "I want to check it out."
Tucker protested. "Man, you just checked it out! And we've already been out here all day. You said it yourself, there's nothing left to see."
Caboose gasped loudly, "Maybe there's a dead body!"
"If it disintegrated on impact, what in hell makes you think there would be a body left?" Tucker replied.
"Or…maybe another ghost! Oh, oh! I will name them Ghosty! And they will be friends with Church, and then they can fight over who is my bestest best friend! It will be amazing!"
"Caboose," Wash started with his politely condescending voice, "You do know that Church is an AI, right?"
"…Yes." Caboose went silent.
"Look, you can go back to base, but I'm checking out that crash site," Wash told Tucker.
Tucker crossed his arms over his chest indignantly. But, in all seriousness he responded quietly, "At least wait until tomorrow. It's almost dark, and we've been picking up Felix's guys out here for weeks."
Wash tensed up as he said it, but whispered back, "What if Caboose is right? What if there's somebody out there?"
"There are people out there! Bad guys!" Tucker gestured excitedly.
"I'm going," Wash told him stubbornly. "Caboose, you coming?"
Caboose: "Uhhhh…." He looked from Washington to Tucker, and back to Wash. Then he scooted over to stand next to Tucker. "I just remembered that ghosts are really mean to me."
"See?" Tucker smirked at Wash, "Caboose knows what's up." Wash stared at him silently until he realized what he'd just said. "Oh, f*&^, did I just say that?"
"I'll be back by morning," Wash told them.
"And if you're not?" Tucker asked.
Wash shrugged, "Send Carolina."
"Wow. F*& you, dude. C'mon, Caboose," Tucker shook his head and turned to head back to base. Wash had already started sliding his way down the rocky hillside.
It hadn't been five minutes since they parted that Wash heard Kimball's voice on his radio. "Since when is Tucker the voice of reason?" she asked him.
Wash started, "What?! How long have you been listening?"
"You all left your radios on."
Wash didn't answer, he returned his focus to the ridge up ahead and what might lie on the other side.
"Agent Washington, I really have to agree with Captain Tucker on this. Going into the badlands after dark and without backup is a recipe for disaster. And risking one of our best operatives to do it? This isn't sitting well with me."
Wash stopped. "Look, I understand it, and normally I'd agree with you." He looked up at the smoke, "But something in my gut tells me that this is all wrong. What about that intel I asked for earlier? Did you learn whether it was us that took it down?"
"In a way," Kimball responded. "It was our missiles, but no one gave the go ahead. It's like they fired all by themselves. Maintenance is checking everything out as we speak."
"So, it could've been a friendly?" Wash clarified.
"Even if they weren't hostile, they shouldn't have been in that airspace. As far as I'm concerned, it's a clean hit, whether we fired on purpose or not."
Wash shook his head. Even for Kimball, that was cold. "I'm going radio silent. Washington out." He didn't give her the chance to respond before he signed off. How was no one else feeling the bad vibes of this? Unidentified bogey comes in, and it just happens that missiles launch by themselves? No. Wash was going to get to the bottom of this. One way or another.
He reached the peak of the next hill and looked down—speaking of getting to the bottom of things—Large metal fragments littered the mesa below him. He hadn't seen it through the rifle, but there was actually a big chunk of the cockpit that had survived the initial crash. It was now in flames, pinned against a cliff face. "Well, that doesn't look good," he muttered to himself. Looking west, he managed to catch the sun dip below the horizon; twilight was setting in. Wash cursed. Maybe Tucker and Kimball had a point… But it was too late to do anything about it now.
Sliding down the hill, he rushed to the cockpit. Make no mistake, it was smashed well and good. But not quite good enough to rule out hope of a survivor. Fighting the flames, he ripped off pieces of siding. A minute or two into it, he glimpsed the blackened silhouette of a helmet. "Hello!" he yelled, "Can you hear me?" There was no response. "Shit!" Despite the likelihood that the pilot was dead, Wash went back to work with renewed vigor.
After ten minutes, he'd managed to clear enough away to reach the body. Cutting the seat belt, he leaned in and grabbed under it's arms, pulling it head first out of the hole he'd made. At this point, the flames had grown higher, and the sky much darker. Wash hadn't dragged it fifteen feet before the fire hit a gas line. The rest of the cockpit exploded, knocking him and the body another ten feet back.
"What a jack-ass! I mean, I never claimed to have the best decision making skills, but at least I'm not trying to get myself killed! And then he says to call in Carolina for backup? Like we're not good enough to help 'Mr. Freelancer!' What the hell's up with that? He's the one that f *&ing trained us! And he can't rely on us for backup?"
Caboose was looking down at his hands as they walked. "Two, four, seven, three…uh…nine, one, five, two, eight, six…" He gasped, horrified. "Tucker! I only have six fingers!"
Tucker reevaluated his former statement and made the correction: "And he can't rely on me for backup? What a complete asshole!"
It was a half-hour back to the warthog from their spot up on the hill, and Tucker continued to rant the entire way. By the time they arrived, the sun was setting, and he couldn't help but feel guilty for not going with Wash. Shaking his head, he muttered under his breath, "That stubborn son-of-a-bitch." And then he yelled at Caboose to get in the warthog.
They arrived back at base about an hour later. Agent Carolina and a scowling Epsilon on her shoulder were waiting for them in the garage. She looked at the back of the Warthog confusingly before turning to Tucker, "Where's Wash?"
Tucker crossed his arms over his chest. Caboose answered her, "He's at the crash site looking for ghosts."
"And you let him go alone?!" asked Carolina angrily.
"What the hell, Tucker?" Church chimed in.
"Oh, don't give me that! Wash doesn't need someone holding his hand for a f *&ing night mission."
"I'll hold your hand, Church!"
"Shut up, Caboose!"
"He said he'll be back before morning. So until then, screw you and your stupid judgement. I've been out there all day; I'm tired, and I'm hungry, and I'm done." With that, Tucker stormed out of the garage.
"What's got him so worked up?" Church asked.
"It's probably because he told Washington not to go to the crash site, but Washington didn't listen and left anyways…Or because I threw up in the jeep."
"Well, shit," Epsilon looked at Carolina who was looking down thoughtfully.
"It got all over the dashboard," Caboose kept mumbling.
Tucker headed for chow hall. It'd been ten hours since his last meal, and when he got through the line, he had a mountain of food on his tray. He noticed Grif and Simmons arguing at one of the tables in the back corner, so he went to join them.
"Oh, hey Tucker."
"Hey Simmons. Grif."
"Tucker. Dude, you gonna eat all that?" Grif looked longingly at the glorious pile.
He looked down at his tray. All of a sudden, he didn't have the appetite. "No," he told Grif, sliding it across the table. He rested his head in his hands. The sinking feeling in his gut told him he really shouldn't have let Wash go alone. If their roles were reversed, Agent Washington wouldn't have hesitated to follow him.
"Ugh, chew with your mouth closed, you f#^$ing pig!" Simons scooted away from Grif, who was lost in the mess of food. He noticed Tucker's defeated posture. "Umm…are you okay, Tucker?"
"I'm fine," he replied, scooting his chair back forcefully. Then he left the hall, muttering curses under his breath and slamming the door on his way out.
He showered, changed, and headed to his bunk, but the second he laid his head down, he knew he wasn't going to be able to sleep. So he put his armor back on and headed towards the western watchtower.
Palomo was on lookout when Tucker burst through the door. The Lieutenant yelped in fright, and then sighed in relief. "It's just Tucker," he reassured himself.
"Give me the sniper rifle," Tucker ordered him.
"I'm not supposed to be relieved for another three hours, sir," Palomo said, confused.
"Yeah, well…new orders: Give me the rifle."
"Uh. Yes, sir." He handed over the sniper.
"Oh yeah!" Tucker muttered, bringing it up to his visor. "Shit! How do you zoom in?" He turned around, but the Lieutenant had left. "I f *#ing hate you, Palomo!" he yelled after him.
It took another half hour for Tucker to figure out the zoom, and after that, things became very quiet. The later it got, the less movement there was outside. Other scouting groups were calling it a night and retiring to the base. But he wasn't watching for a warthog or a mongoose; he was waiting for a lone figure to come stumbling back, tired as hell, but none the worse for wear.
Two more hours passed without a sign of Agent Washington. Palomo's relief came in and Tucker cursed them out and went back to watching the horizon. "Come on, man. Where are you?" Not long after that, Carolina came in.
"So you're the crazy guy that took over the west tower? Why am I not surprised?"
"Go away, Carolina."
"What happened to going to bed?"
"Look, if you're here to bang, let's get to it. If not, then you can see yourself the f #$ out."
"Oh my gosh, why are you so perverted? Why can't any of you just act like normal human beings?"
"Because they're not normal human beings," Church popped up on her shoulder.
"Oh, you're one to talk!" Tucker snapped at him.
"Even in my situation, I'm more normal than you!"
"Your situation? You're a glowing midget strapped to this b* &#'s shoulder!"
"Oh shit! Did you just say that?"
They both tensed up and turned to Carolina to gauge her reaction. She took an intimidating step towards Tucker, when Church stepped in, "Come on, is killing him really worth it?"
She growled.
"Oh, you know what? Screw it! I'm not gonna pussy-foot around you just 'cause you can kill me. If you're gonna do it, then f *&ing do it already, because I've got other shit on my plate right now!" Tucker turned his back on them and resumed his lookout.
Carolina and Church could hardly believe their eyes. Neither could remember a time when anyone dared to turn their back on her. She left the tower without another word. Church stayed.
"Is this all about Washington?" he asked his friend.
"What makes you think I want to talk to you, Church?"
"I don't know! Maybe because talking's the only thing we've ever really been good at?"
Tucker didn't answer.
"We can make fun of the reds. That's always fun. And it's just so easy." He waved in front of Tucker's face, "C'mon, man! Talk to me!"
"What the hell do you want me to say? You want me to tell you I feel like a dick for letting Wash go off by himself? Or that I'm mad as hell he didn't listen to me? Or maybe that if something terrible does happen to him, it's gonna be my fault?"
"If you're that worried about him, why don't you just go?"
"I said I'll give him 'til morning, so I'll give him 'til morning. Until then, I'm going to assume he's fine."