Chapter One: Arriving
"So, this is the new place," Grif commented, sitting up in the Warthog's passenger seat as the vehicle rolled into Rat's Nest. "The new base looks, well...like a rat's nest. Apparently, the name fits well."
Simmons sighed as he stopped the Warthog. "Yeah, whatever." He had been in a bad mood ever since they received their relocation orders back in Blood Gulch. And since he read who got promoted. "I still can't believe that they picked you as the new Sergeant. Couldn't the pick someone who was actually suited for the job?"
"You're still sore about that?" Grif jumped out of the vehicle, and looked around for his troops. "I thought after the first million times you bitched about it, you'd have gotten over it by now. But it looks like I was wrong."
"Oh, trust me, it doesn't end there," Simmons retorted. "You haven't been on the job for more than a week, and you've already broken three rules on the trip over here. All of which are more than simple misdemeanors."
"You know what, Simmons?" Grif asked, folding his arms. "I don't give a shit. I've finally got a job I'll be good at. All I have to do is sit around and tell people what to do and they'll do it. And if there's nothing new to do, they'll have to do something they already did before, but better this time. For once, I won't have to do anything."
Simmons rolled his eyes, and pulled his Battle Rifle from the weapon rack in the Warthog. "Being a leader is more than giving orders. You'll have to lead us in combat, and make all the tough decisions that come with the job. Not only that, you'll have to be a role model to all of your subordinates. You know what that means."
Grif nodded. "Yeah. It means that they're all going to respect me for bossing them around, and you'll be jealous because none of that respect will be aimed at you."
"That's not the point," Simmons replied. "You'll have to give up smoking and drinking. Otherwise, we'll have a five more Grifs around, and that would just make me have to kill myself. They would all be fat and lazy assholes like you."
"Don't insult a superior officer like that," Grif snapped. "If I hear one more complaint from you, I'll put you in the women's quarters. Trust me, you're the one guy that would find that to be hell."
"Wait, there's going to be girls here?" Simmons asked, suddenly sounding worried. "Why wasn't I informed of this? I didn't plan on this!"
Grif smirked. "I didn't tell you simply because I wanted to see the look on your face. Normally, I would've waited until the troops actually got here before letting you know, but I thought you might want to know in advance. You know, so you won't kill me later."
"Grif..." Simmons growled.
"What the hell is your problem?" Grif asked with a shrug. "So what? We're getting two girls on the team? It's not like it's the end of the world."
"But...but what if they, you know," Simmons said, awkwardly rubbing the back of his neck. "What if they try to talk to me? You know that I don't like it when girls pay direct attention to me."
Grif sighed. "Yes, I am aware of that. But you really need to break out of your shell. You know, be more of a people person. Some guys have trouble talking to girls, and I have a solution for that."
"Part of me wants to stop listening, since this is probably going to be stupid. But, the other half of me wants to keep listening to see just how stupid." He shrugged. "Go ahead."
"Simple," Grif replied. "Just talk to them like you talk to guys. Brush gender aside and think of them as a person in general. Not male or female, but human." Grif paused, letting that sink in. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to go steal pillows from the soldiers' bunks. I want my bed to be the most comfortable. That's where I'll be spending most of my time anyway."
Simmons watched as Grif walked away. His mind was processing the advice that the orange one had given him. To be honest, he was surprised that he found some truth in it, rather than it being complete crap like he had expected.
He put his rifle on his back, and began walking toward the bunkhouses when he heard the whine of a Mongoose engine.
A figure in red armor pulled up to him and dismounted the ATV. With a single fluid motion, the trooper whipped off her helmet, revealing a cascade of blonde hair. Tucking her ODST helmet in the crook of her arm, she saluted Simmons. "Private Lindsey West reporting for duty. Are you Sergeant Grif?"
"Um..." Simmons replied, nervously locking up. Talk to her like a person, his mind reminded him, not as a girl. "No...I'm not." He stared into her dazzling blue eyes, feeling something stirring inside of him. Even though he was the smart one, he had no idea what it was. And that scared him a little bit.
"Can you tell me where to find him, then?" she asked, dropping her salute.
"He's, um...in the bunkhouses."
Lindsey smiled and nodded. "Thanks." She held her hand out to Simmons. "Most people call me Lin for short. You?"
"Oh me? I'm, um...Dick Sim-Richard Simmons," Simmons stammered. "Most people just call me Simmons though." He looked over to the door to the bunkhouses, and saw Grif peering out at them.
"Shake her hand, dumbass," Grif ordered over the radio. "Don't just leave her hanging."
"Oh, right." Simmons hesitantly shook her hand, and sighed quietly in relief when Lin took her hand back with a smile, and headed toward Grif. "That actually went pretty well," he told himself, leaning against the Warthog. "Perhaps this won't be so hard after all."
Two Hours Later
"Where the hell is everyone else?" Grif asked, standing outside of the base. So far, no one else had arrived yet, and the sun was beginning to set. "They didn't get ambushed by the Blues, did they? I mean, I guess it's possible."
Simmons shrugged. "That's possible, unless these Blues are anything like the ones from Blood Gulch. Those guys couldn't do anything right. If they tried to ambush our guys, I'm sure they would just end up killing each other somehow."
There was knock on the wall to draw their attention. "Um, excuse me, sir," Lin said, walking out of the bunkhouses. "Command was just on the radio. They wanted me to tell you that the rest of the team had to take an alternate route, and they won't start arriving until late tomorrow afternoon."
Grif sighed and shifted on his feet. "Well then, I guess there's only one thing we can do. Split their dinner rations among ourselves. How does 10-10-80 sound?"
"What? That means that you get enough food for at least three people!" Simmons exclaimed. "And while I know that you usually eat more than that, shouldn't we save it for emergencies? Hide it in case the Blues attack and steal most of our food or something?"
"Great thinking, Simmons," Lin agreed. "He's right, sir," she said to Grif. "I think we should set it to the side."
"You're both right," Grif acknowledged. "But, I like the eating it now part. We're going to do that."
Simmons sighed. "Yeah, I saw that coming," he muttered as Grif walked off toward the mess hall, which was little more than a small corner of the base with tables and chairs made out of crates. There were two refrigerators against the wall.
"Um, is Sergeant Grif always like that?" Lin asked.
"Constantly eating other people's food when they're not there? Yeah, pretty much," Simmons replied. "He's done it so often that he got fatter and fatter, then Sarge and I would have to butter him up just fit him into his armor. The new armor's undersuits are made out of some really stretchy crap, probably made with Grif in mind." He motioned toward the mess hall. "Come on, let's go eat."
Simmons poked at the slices of pizza on his plate. They were decent sized slices of cheese pizza, and they were even thin-crust; Simmons' favorite. The downsize was that they were still cold. "Hey, Grif! Hurry the hell up with the microwave! Other people are waiting to use it!"
"Oh, just be patient!" Grif yelled. Since he had stolen the rest of the soldiers rations for the day, he had ten pieces of pizza, including his own, and he was heating up each piece one at a time for "quality temperature." The downside: By the time he'd finished heating up all ten, the first ones would've already become cold again.
"Meh, I'm done being patient," Lin muttered, taking a bite out of one slice of her cold pepperoni pizza. "It's not actually all that bad cold," she said after several seconds of chewing. "It's great for breakfast." Even though she was acting fine, Simmons knew well enough that she really wanted it heated up.
"Grif, why don't you let us just heat up our pizza first?" Simmons asked. "Between Lin and I, there's only four pieces. If we heat up both slices at the same time for 45 seconds, we'll be done in a minute and a half. Then you can go back to senselessly trying whatever it is you're doing."
He shot a quick look over to Lin, who was looking intently at Grif with a pleading look. Grif looked back at them. "Meh, a minute and a half is too long."
"But you've been trying to heat up those pizzas for the past ten minutes, sir," Lin interjected. "It would be more efficient if you let us go now, and then continue when we're done."
"Screw that," was Grif's reply. "Efficiency is all a lie anyway."
Simmons saw her defeated look as she took another bite of cold pizza, and suddenly felt obliged to help. "Hey, Grif," he said, rising from his crate-chair, "Weren't you taught that it's ladies first?" he asked, motioning to Lin, who looked up at him.
Simmons felt different when she looked at him. Normally, he was a nervous wreck and silently prayed that she would look away, especially when he had his helmet off. Now...it was still the same, although he silently prayed that she wouldn't look away. Something just felt right.
Grif looked at Simmons, then at Lin, then at his pile of pizza. "Fine, whatever," he said, gathering up his pizza and taking to the makeshift table. "Stupid microwave doesn't work anyway."
Simmons looked at Lin and motioned to the microwave. "All yours," he said.
She smiled as she stood up. "Thanks."
As she went to the microwave, Grif looked up at Simmons and gave him a smile and a thumbs-up, and then went back to eating his pizza.
Simmons frowned. "What was that for?"
Grif shook his head and waved it off. "So, Private," he said as Lin sat back down with her plate of steaming pizza, "What's your story?"
"Trust me, it's nothing exciting," she replied. "I was born and raised in New York City, and later joined the army. I was trying to become a Marine, but I guess my test scores were low, so I was shipped out here."
"Let me guess," Simmons said, sitting down with his own pizza. "Was it the time limits? Or that stupid thing about the No. 2 pencils?"
Lin shrugged. "I guess I just suck as a soldier."
"Meh," Simmons replied. "Don't worry about it. We all suck."
Grif laughed. "I think I'm going to make that our new team motto."
