Blatantly (or maybe not so) ripped off of "Red versus Blue". I've never played Halo in my life, but I've played Call of Duty which is really not the same thing at all. In case you didn't realize it, this was the disclaimer.
Playing War Except Not Really (Allied v.s. Axis)
1. In the Middle of Nowhere [and with a Broken Leg]
France did not like getting shot. In fact, most of the time, France took great care to make sure that he was surrounded by people who made better targets than himself. At the very least, France liked to make sure that the people around him could distract whoever was doing the shooting long enough so that he could flee to safety.
Unfortunately, stepping on a landmine was not the same thing as getting shot. The fact that France stepped on a landmine in the middle of nowhere, basically screwing up his right leg could be attributed to an accident, or bad luck, or the Axis Army messing with him but being very savvy about it. Then again, France was not convinced that it was entirely the Axis Army's fault. Still, as much as he loathed the entire three people that made up Allied Army, France was on their team and depended on them to at least get him out when his legs were basically useless and he needed medical attention.
"Allied base; come in Allied base," France said into the radio piece.
There was a click and then a familiarly unwelcomed voice answered, "This is Allied base, how may I help you?"
That accent did not belong to anyone in the Allied Army, but France would be damned if he didn't recognize that voice. Incredulity over-ruling his pain for the moment, France asked, "America? Is that you?"
"France? Hey! What's up?" France could almost imagine America tilting his chair back, balancing precariously on the hind legs and resting his dirty combat boots on the communication table that England meticulously cleaned every other day.
"What are you doing in Allied base?" France asked, because America was not there when France left Allied base three hours earlier.
"Oh, yeah, well, I joined the army. You know. Yeah." There was silence, and then, "So what's up, buddy? Why aren't you around? I thought you were still fighting the good fight."
That was when France remembered and the pain in his leg began surging back twice as strong as if to make up for those few seconds that he forgot his leg was broken, and that he was bleeding. Instead of verbalizing his suffering with unmanly girl-whimpers, France gritted, "Listen, I stepped on a mine; I need a medic."
"That sucks," America genuinely emphasized through the headset. "I wish I could help but we don't have a medic here; sorry."
"What happened to China?" France immediately asked.
"I think he's in the mess hall," came the flippant response; and it sounded like America was chewing something between his words. "Oh wait, never mind, he just walked in."
"And you can't send him why?"
The chewing sound was gone and America only scoffed, "What? China with his fake medicine and his Chinese voodoo magic? Please, he'll just kill you. You need a real doctor."
"It's not fake medicine! I went to Cambridge; I have a medical degree!" France heard China's accented voice faintly from the other end of the line.
France did not have the time to deal with this when he was bleeding. He really didn't want to die from bleeding out; or from an infection. America being an idiot did not help his mood, just like how slowly but surely dying in the middle of nowhere did not help. "Just send China."
"Sorry, Buddy; no can do." The bastard sounded as if he were just shrugging and not really caring about France's plight.
"And why not?"
"Look, the fact is that we don't have the manpower to send someone out to get you. We only have four guys and a Jeep here, you know? Who knows when those Axis jerks will invade? They're conniving little bastards, if you hadn't noticed."
"I'm dying in the middle of nowhere!"
"See, now you're just being a drama queen," America answered, and France couldn't really deny the bit of truth in that statement. "Just patch the wound and you're fine."
"What the-My leg is broken! I can't walk!"
"Who are you talking to?" France heard China ask.
"It's France," America stage-whispered. "The idiot walked onto a landmine and screwed up his leg."
"Oh. Good. I was beginning to think that coward was going to hide behind the rest of us forever. Maybe he'll finally be a man and do the right thing by facing the enemy head on."
"Tell that bastard I can hear him and that if we're going to talk about being a man, he should put on some muscles so that he stops looking like a prepubescent girl."
"France called you a girl," America relayed. "Well, he said you look like a girl. I'm not sure what prepubescent means."
"You can tell France that he can-" The line went silent and France thought the connection finally died. France cursed because even if he was not going to die, he still have a bullet lodged in his leg and could barely attempt to stand let alone walk. A moment later, the radio came back on.
"Sorry about that; dropped my donut. And by donut, I mean pen. And by pen, I mean grenade. It's okay though, the pin didn't come off."
"Oh for the love of," France cut himself off before he took God's name in vain; then again, he was never very religious anyway. "How the fuck am I supposed to get back to base with a bum leg?"
"I don't know; crawl?"
"And what if the Axis Army captures me?"
"You'll be fine. Oh, gotta go; I hear England yelling at Russia again! I love it when people yell at Russia. See you later!"
And the line cut off that time with more finality than the first time. It was then that the end of a MP43 entered France's line of vision at the proximity of six inches. He slowly looked up and stared into the face of the blond haired, blue eyed, Axis soldier holding the semi-automatic rifle at him nearly point blank.
"Ah merde."