"Simmons! Where's the oil!"
Simmons was silent for a second. "We… don't have any oil, sir. But we did just get an order of hot tar!" he added, sounding slightly optimistic.
"Excellent, Private! Now, we have some Grif catching to do!" Sarge ran off.
Simmons sighed. "Same old, same old."
Sarge stopped abruptly. "What was that?"
"Nothing, sir."
OoO
101 Ways to (attempt) to kill Grif
OoO
Tar
"Okay, what did I do now? Was it the exploding pie? Or the broken radio? I swear I didn't do it, that was Sim-" Grif frantically ran away from both Sarge and Simmons. "Ugh, I need to work out more…" he gasped as he dropped to the ground, panting.
"Now, Simmons!" Sarge cried, as Simmons threw the bucket of tar on the unfortunate orange clad soldier. There was an awkward silence as the boiling hot sludge completely missed.
"Wow," Grif said in a mock awed voice, getting up. "I am so impressed with your amazing skill."
"Why did you even think that'd kill him, anyways?" Donut asked, poking his head out of Red Base.
Sarge was silent. "Sixteen laps around the base, all of you! I need time to think about how to kill- er, I mean reward Grif for his escape!"
Red Team grumbled. "You had to say it, didn't you?" Grif asked the pink soldier.
Warthog
"Alright men, this is something we can't mess up!" Sarge pointed to a bright red X on the ground. "Now, Grif, stand right there. And whatever happens, don't move."
Grif looked at the bright red X. "Nah, I think I'll go take a nap instead. Too much work to stand there, you know?"
Simmons made a random hand signal to Donut, who gunned the Warthog's engine and attempted to run down Grif. Instead, he hit a miniscule pothole and went flying away in the Warthog, where they crashed in a fiery ball.
Sarge growled manically under his breath. "How did you miss?" he shouted. "He was moving slower than a slug in the bottom of the ocean!"
"That's… called walking, sir." Simmons gazed at the fire before running away to escape more laps.
Shotgun
"Grif! Give me a shotgun shell! It's for… uh, target practice!"
Donut watched from a distance. "You can't seriously think that'll work."
Crack!
"Factory error." Crack! "He moved." Crack! "…"
"I like how you managed to get three shots out of a single shell," Grif observed casually.
Sarge began smacking Grif with the butt of the rifle. "Ow, ow, stop! Mercy!" Grif cried, shielding himself with his arms.
Suddenly Sarge stopped and grumbled under his breath. "Out of ammo," he announced grimly.
Simmons said, "…Um… it doesn't work that way, sir."
Sarge glared at his subordinate. "Who's the ballistics expert here, me or you?"
"Well, neither of us, but I think I would be-" Smack!
"Turns out there was more ammo in there than I thought!" Sarge announced, sounding proud.
"It doesn't work that way!"
Sniper Rifle
"I want to use the sniper rifle."
"Shut up, Tucker!" Church turned away from him and focused on the rifle. "…I forgot how to zoom again."
"Oh, I know! See, when you're in a car, you say 'zoom zoom' and-" a soldier in dark blue armor began.
"Shut up, Caboose! I figured it out." Church peered through the scope. Tucker looked over his shoulder.
"That's the wrong zoom." he pointed out.
"Will you shut up? I got this!" the aggravated sniper snapped.
"Oh yeah, like the last five times you tried to shoot a target! From five feet away!"
Crack! Crack! Crack!
Grif watched as the sniper rounds landed all around him, completely missing him. "See, this is why all the ladies love me."
"Shut up, Grif!" Church howled, throwing Tucker at him.