AN: So, what my friend (I was going to say 'what one of my friends' but let's be real, we have only one friend that understands all our fandoms, or most of them) on RT site and I came up with, when reflecting that Grif somewhat resembles Klinger from M*A*S*H.

So, Yes, it's not the most prettiest story of them all, no, I don't care, and yes, it is being posted. XD Warning for minor swears, by the way.

-:-

Freelancer Agent Washington just stood and shook his head; he couldn't believe that he was actually going through what was happening right then. "Sarge, for the millionth time, we need to focus are resources on getting our communications up and running, and staying alive; not on petty battles for a piece of fabric."

"Says you," a red armoured soldier grunted. "How are we supposed to keep up the morale of the teams without a little healthy fighting?"

Washington groaned. "Someone will get hurt, and that will take up even more resources. Sarge, I'll promise you a battle after we make fix our communication beacon."

Sarge harrumphed at Agent Washington, a man clad in blue armour. "You blues should fight, get the blood pumping. We're staging a surprise attack at 0900 tomorrow, so be prepared." The red soldier then turned and left, leaving the blue slightly confused.

"Surprise? But you just- never mind." Washington sighed as he made his way back to the blue 'base', which was just a bunch of ripped up ship parts from their crashed ship. The reds had something that resembled a base, the blues had wreckage and a cave in a mountain.

None the less, when he arrived back at base, he informed his troops, or what passed as troops, of the incoming reds in the morning. He highly doubted it would actually cause any harm, seeing as knowing the Reds, Grif wouldn't be awake by then, Simmons didn't prove an actual threat, and Sarge was, well, Sarge.

Everyone in the crash site went to sleep that night, not entirely sure what to expect for the next day, but that was usual for everyone; anything could happen. Caboose could get smart suddenly, or Sarge would suddenly love blues. Anything was possible.

-:-

The next morning arrived quicker than most would have liked, but they embraced it none the less. In Blue Base, Tucker held a pillow over his head while Caboose jabbered away at him, trying to get him out of bed. Meanwhile Washington stood there, nearly barking orders at the two lame excuses of soldiers, trying to get them semi organized.

Over at Red Base, Sarge yelled orders at Simmons, who dutifully followed them to the best of his capabilities. Most of which pertained to getting Grif out of bed so they could launch an attack on Blue Base.

All in all, it seemed like a fairly usual morning for the reds and blues.

"Grif, get yer keister out here. We're mounting an attack on Blue Base."

From somewhere inside Red Base, someone tried to get further into their bed sheets, not wanting to participate in the day's planned activities. "I don't wanna," someone groaned. "Can't I call in a sick day?"

"Negative, you've used both yours and Simmon's up already."

Grif moaned and fell out of bed, putting on his orange armour, half asleep. He then slowly walked out to the front of the base, leaning against a post, yawning.

"About time, fat ass," a maroon coloured soldier said, looking at the orange one.

"Not my problem, kiss ass," the orange one retorted, then turned to Sarge. "Permission to sleep through the mission, sir?"

Sarge grumped at Grif. "Permission denied, we need all hands on deck for this one. For today is the day we capture the blue's flag."

"We haven't been able to do that since Donut took it," Grif pointed out. "What makes you think we can accomplish it today?"

"Grif! I have superior tactical knowledge to assist us in this battle."

The orange one crossed his arms. "Because that makes total sense, with our communications down. Permission to leave, Sarge?"

Sarge just grumbled at the orange soldier and ordered the two soldiers to get in their vehicle and attack the blues.

A little ways away, Washington, Tucker and Caboose were all surrounding the tank at their base, trying to decide who would drive it.

"Caboose always gets the tank, it's my turn," Tucker said, leaning against one of the treads.

"Yes, but I'm the only one with actual military vehicle training, so I think it'd be best if I used the tank."

Caboose just looked at the two. "I think I should get a turn." He paused for a minute. "Tanks like me. A lot."

However, after ten more minutes of arguing, the Reds showed up, and while the others were in a state of confusion, Washington jumped in the tank and aimed it at the Red's jeep.

Grif, driving the jeep, saw the tank barrel point at their vehicle and cranked the steering wheel to the right while slamming on the brakes.

Tucker and Caboose stood on the ground, guns pointed at the Reds, while the two vehicles just idled, neither one firing their weapon.

"Well, this is awkward," Tucker said, looking at the Reds.

"I agree," Washington said, looking at the Reds with the tank. "Why don't you guys just give us your flag again, and there won't be any injuries?"

Sarge looked at Washington. "How about something different? Why not take Grif's dignity?"

Tucker groaned. "You've already used that one."

Sarge grunted. "I thought of something more humiliating. For some strange reason, Donut put some of his fabric on our ship. We can drape it on Grif, and make him a makeshift dress." From the jeep, a loud groan was heard. "I am willing to offer that."

Washington sighed. "Fine, go get the fabric, I'll grab some rope to-"

"Why don't I just sew him a dress?" Tucker said suddenly. Everyone looked at him. "What? It keeps my fingers nimble."

Washington shuddered. "I do not want to know."

Sarge harrumphed. "Alright, Blue. I'll get the fabric, you sew the dress. It'll most likely be pink."

-:-

A day, and many pricked fingers on Tucker's part, later, Grif was now standing between the two bases in a pink dress made for his embarrassment. However, under the helmet he wore, he was grinning. "You know, this is probably the best day ever," he stated, surprising everyone. "I've always wanted out of this army, and now I can get out; thanks Sarge."

Sarge began to grumble. "What in sam hell are you talking about, Grif?"

"I can now be discharged from military service. Section 8, Sarge."

"What kind of blasphemy is this?"

Simmons sat in the jeep a bit back from the crowd. "Sir, Section 8 is referring to being 'mentally unfit' for service, as dressing in dresses for example."

Sarge grumbled some more before yelling at Grif to take off the cloth immediately and that he was indeed fit, however unfit he was, for duty.

However, right before he took of the garment, Grif looked around. "Simmons is a witness, as are the Blues," he yelled.

Washington just stood on the sidelines, watching the scene unfold before him. He stared at the ground and sighed heavily. He had left a highly dangerous spec ops unit for these idiots? Sometimes he couldn't understand the choices he made in life, this being one of them.

"Carolina, if I ever find you again, you owe me, big time," he said under his breath.

-:-

AN: Tada, there, finito. Donzo.