Author's Note.
Yay, second actual fic.
Sorry about the other one though, going to take some time to get inspiration to go for it again. Kinda bored as hell though.
Okay so, I've actually been wanting to do this one for awhile. Red vs Blue Warbound. Cool, I guess.
Book 1 of a possibly five book series, all based during the Blood Gulch Chronicles. There is changes and there is an OC. Basically, starts a little before the first episode and I guess will end after the last of the first season. Book 2 should be with the second season and yada yada yada.
Hopefully, you'll get the hints and bits. Warning: Cussing and many other things.
Disclaimer:
Halo is a product of Bungie and Microsoft. Red vs Blue is owned by Rooster Teeth. This is a nonprofit fan-story. All original characters are owned by the author.
Flamers can take their asses elsewhere, cockbites.
Chapter 1 – The Stand of Arms
The "day" began with the trumpet. It wasn't an actual trumpet, just something Sarge had recorded and played when the sleep cycle ending. It always reminded Deanis of the Calvary, though that wasn't the proper name for it. In fact, it didn't even sound like the Calvary.
With the wake up call, the "day" began. Each of the lesser soldiers did the daily rituals, most of them did anyway. Two of the three privates actually hit the showers, the other slept in. Lazy prick.
The shower room was large enough to be used by more soldiers than what inhabited the base. Deanis always had one of the five large stalls to herself, Simmons occupied the one at opposing end from her. Shower, 2 minutes. Sometimes Deanis would race to see if she could get out before Simmons. A good laugh at the red, shy face he'd give her when she was dripping wet and dressing in her white, field underwear always made the "day" better.
This wasn't one of those days. She got out about six seconds after Simmons, and he was already out of the bathroom by then.
The trudge down the hall was never a bother. There were only four soldiers in this base, which could easily contain much more than that. Her personal bed room was one of many door less rooms.
Deanis dressed in the usual attire. The full body-suit, red army issue, field work battle armor. It was red, the usual color for any enlist, officer or rookie. For the past two years since she'd been stationed here, she had been considered the rookie for Red team. The emblem for a PV-2 was carved yellow into both her arm platings.
Breakfast next. The cafeteria wasn't very impressive, being small, gray and dull. Not even red army banners hung from the walls. The tables were built into the floors. The small room reminded Deanis of a very small school cafeteria, or a jail lunchroom.
Small MRE for the morning meal. Disgusting things, after eating them for two years straight, anyone would cringe. The third private finally came out, still lazing in his armor. His belly stuck over his pelvis plating. Lucky enough Sarge wasn't here at the moment, or he'd be getting it. Again.
Today was patrol for Deanis, while her two other squad mates got to stand guard on the bases roof. With the standardized M5BM, or field named the Assault rifle and Deanis's own personal M6D Navy issue pistol, she set out to make her rounds around Red Team territory. Orders are to shoot anything that isn't red army on sight, everyone else takes battle positions on that mark.
Blood Gulch is about one of the most boring, desolate places on the planet. Being more than a few thousand light years away from Earth, on a planet whose rotation on its axis synchronizes so well with its movement around the sun making day eternal on this side of the world, it takes more than a toll on anyone. Not to mention this system is completely outside the human-alien war taking place in the systems away from here.
And all that has gotten anyone here? A fucking stupid civil war, that appears to be a stand still because nobody does anything. The only reason that a red army base is even stationed in this abandoned area in the middle of nowhere is because the enemy, Blue army, has a base stationed in this abandoned area in the middle of nowhere. A complete waste a resources to the Covenant-Human war that's going on.
Fighting a bunch of blue soldiers, while humanity is on the verge of extinction to aliens. What the Fuck is Command thinking?
Deanis never argued though, she never could argue. She was one of the many draftees, didn't even want to go into the Army. Let alone Red army. But she wouldn't complain. The pay check was at least good, not to mention the benefits.
The red soldier walked along side the canyon walls. Unlike blue base, red base was in direct sun. Direct Eternal sun. Funnily enough, it actually isn't that hot out. But that could be the armor regulating heat.
Deanis switched on her radio. Thanks to the neural implants, standard issue to any Red or Blue army soldier, all she had to do was think about it. Didn't even have to do much. Mainly, she'd listen for chatter. Most chatter was idle, and most channels were silent. You didn't get much of anything in the middle of nowhere.
As luck would have it, the blues had once again, left on their radios. She could hear them plainly, a bit with a little static but that's standard.
"-What're they doing?-"A voice asked.
"-What?-"Said a rougher voice.
"-I said, what Are they doing?-"Repeated the first.
"-God damn I'm getting so sick of answering that question!-"The second voice half deafened Deanis's ears. The shrill sound of the radio and static amplified the yelling.
"-You have the fucking rifle, I can't see shit, don't bitch at me cause I'm not going to sit up here and play with my di—"
"-Okay look, they're just standing there and talking. That's all they're doing. That's all they ever do is just stand there and talk.-"
No shit Sherlock.
"-That's what they were doing last week, that's what they were doing when you asked me five minutes ago. So, five minutes from now, when you asked me 'What are they doing?' my answer's gonna be, 'They're still just talking and they're still just standing there'-".
There was a brief silence on the open channel.
"-What are they talking about?-"
"-You know what? I fucking hate you.-"
The conversation stopped. Sighing, Deanis switched off her radio. Not even the blues were interesting enough, if just a little bit entertaining to those who could stand them. The only thing that was ever interesting around here is when Red and Blue finally clash, and it's a battle of dodging bullets and hoping you shot someone.
A sudden click, and the radio crackled to life. Someone was broadcasting on all red army channels.
"-Ladies!-" A familiar gruff, southern accented voice yelled, "-Front and center on the double!-"
"Yes Sir!" Deanis said, out of habit. The radio was clicked off, and the red soldier double-timed it back to Red base. Wasn't far, she had been going around in circles for the last few hours anyway.
Sarge wasn't a giant of a man like anyone would think. He was in fact an inch taller than Deanis and she's the shortest one on red team. He was quite the commanding figure, with the drill sergeant routine, the shotgun and the amount of years he had been in any kind of military service. Not a man you'd cross. At all.
The other two privates had reached Sarge before Deanis did. Simmons was the thin and lanky, with only the armor that gave the appearance of bulk. He was maroon, the Private emblem etched into his armor like Deanis's. He was also the second in command, and Sarge's favorite.
The last was the team's lazy, fat bastard. Clad in orange armor with the emblems barely visible, Private Grif leaves much to be desired.
The three stood at attention.
"Hurry up, ladies," Sarge said, "This ain't no ice cream social."
"Ice cream social?" Simmons asked. Each private gave looks to one another, if looks could be seen through the visor.
"Stop the pillow talk you three," Sarge commanded lightly, "Anyone want to guess why I gathered you here, today?"
Not surprising, Grif spoke up.
"Uh, is it because the war's over and you're sending us home?" The dumb-ass.
"That's exactly it private," Sarge mocked, "War's over. We won. Turns out you're the big hero and we're gonna hold a parade in your honor. I get to drive the float, Deanis gets the wee little clown car and Simmons here IS IN CHARGE OF CONFETTI!"
"I'm no stranger to sarcasm sir," Grif said a matter a fact. The dumb fuck, should've kept his mouth shut.
"Goddamn it, private!" Sarge yelled, "Shut your mouth or else I'll have Simmons slit your throat while you're asleep!"
Here come the threats.
"Oh I'd do it too," Simmons said eagerly. Fit to please. What a card.
"I know you would, Simmons. Good man," If you mean a kiss-up, "Couple of things ladies. Command has seen fit to increase our ranks here at Blood Gulch Outpost Number One."
"Oh crap," Grif spoke, again, "We're getting another rookie."
"Fuck off," Deanis muttered.
"That's right, dead man," Sarge confirmed, not hearing or not caring about Deanis's comment, "Our new recruit will be here within the week, but today we received the first part of our shipment from Command."
Oh boy.
The privates gave looks again as Sarge turned his back to them.
"Lopez," He said, "Bring up the vehicle."
Over one of the small nearby hills, a strange armored, roofless car was drive out. The driver pulled alongside the soldiers. The vehicle looked like a jeep with a mounted chain gun in the back.
"Shotgun!"
"Shotgun!"
"Shotgun!"
"Fuck," Both Grif and Deanis said in unison when they realized that Simmons had claimed passenger first.
"May I introduce our new light reconnaissance vehicle," Sarge explained, "It has four inch armor plating, mag bumper suspension, a mounted machine gunner position and total seating for three. Gentlemen, this is the M12 LRV!" He added, "I like to call it the Warthog."
Warthog?
"Why Warthog sir?" Simmons asked.
"Because M12 LRV is too hard to say in conversation, son," Sarge said.
"I know," Said Grif, "But why Warthog? I mean, it doesn't look like a pig."
"Say that again," Sarge spoke, sounding irritated.
"I think it looks more like a puma," Grif continued. Where'd he get that from? The only thing Deanis thought was that the car looked like a jeep, because it was a jeep. She didn't care enough to go into major detail.
"What in Sam Hell is a Puma?" Sarge asked, angry at the prospect that Grif didn't like the name 'Warthog'.
"Uh, you mean like the shoe company?" Simmons asked Grif. There was a shoe company?
"No it's a big cat, like a lion," Grif explained, making gestures with his gloved hands. There was a silence.
"You're making that up," Sarge stated darkly.
"I'm telling you it's a real animal!" Grif defended.
"Deanis," Sarge said, bringing her attention, "I want you to poison Grif's next meal."
"With arsenic or moth balls?" The question went unanswered. Sarge pointed at the front of the jeep, glaring at Grif through the helmet.
"See these two tow hooks?" He said, "They look like tusks and what kind of animal has tusks?"
A warthog, Deanis expected Grif to say that. Sadly mistaken. Again.
"A walrus."
"Didn't I just tell you to stop making up animals?" Sarge said, angry.
"For god's sake, they're REAL," Grif said indefinite. Sarge looked at Deanis and directed her with his head towards Grif. Understanding the message, Deanis unholstered her M6D. A perfect negotiation weapon. She pointed, point-blank, at Grif's head. He noticed.
"Oh-okay lets not get violent here," He said, nervously. Sarge nodded, and Deanis pulled the trigger. There was a click, and a whimper. The gun was empty. The bullet would've bounced off his helmet anyway. Probably.
"I suggest you keep your mouth shut," Sarge warned, "So, unless anybody else has anymore mythical creatures to suggest as a name for the new vehicle, we're gong to stick with the Warthog." And then he decided to prod, "How 'bout it Grif?"
"No sir," Grif said, defeated, "No more suggestions."
"Are you sure?" Sarge perked, "How about Bigfoot?"
"It's okay."
"Unicorn?"
"No really, I'm cool."
"Sasquatch?" He doesn't realize he just said Bigfoot twice…
"Leprechaun?" Simmons suggested, joining the conversation.
"Hey, he doesn't need any help man," Grif told Simmons, who shrugged.
"Phoenix?" Sarge continued to egg.
"Would Snark be good?" Deanis suggested.
"What the fuck's a Snark?"
"Hey Simmons," Sarge said, "What's the name of that Mexican lizard? Eats all the goats?"
"That would be the Chupacabra, sir," Simmons replied.
"Hey Grif, chupathingy!" Sarge didn't remember nor tried to say the actual name, "How about that? I like it, gotta ring to it."
Grif avoided Deanis for the rest of the wake cycle.
Trivia
M12 LRV - Ahh the Warthog.
M6D - Its the Halo 1 pistol people.
Snark - The Hunting of the Snark by Lewis Carroll who also wrote Alice's Adventures Through Wonderland.
Stand of arms - A stand of arms designated a complete set of equipment for 1 Civil War soldier. It included a rifle, bayonet, cartridge belt, and ammunition box. From common usage the term frequently came to mean only the rifle and cartridge belt.
Chapter 1: The Stand of Arms.