Chapter 2: Capitol Assets

ARMONIA

DOWNTOWN

Leaving Caboose in what he assumed was his own little world, Grif had now made his way into the heart of the city. As he walked, he took a moment to look around the streets and see the people who walked through them.

"Good morning, Captain Grif," called a tan armored soldier, one of the New Republic members.

"Hey," Grif replied, waving a hand.

"Good morning, Captain Grif!" shouted a soldier in white armor, a Federal Army member, who was helping the rebel with carrying a crate.

"Yeah," Grif said, nodding his head.

Grif paused for a moment to look at the two soldiers working together. It was hard to imagine that, just over a month ago, those soldiers would have been at each other's throats. For months before that, the Federal Army and the New Republic had been at war, each side blaming the other for sabotage, terrorist threats and bringing down the economy of the planet of Chorus. It was only thanks to Grif and his friends, the Reds and Blues aka the Blood Gulch Crew, that they realized that they had been duped by a gang of Space Pirates who had inveigled themselves into the two armies' ranks and thus prevented one of the biggest mass genocides ever recorded in the history of the universe. Now the armies had formed a truce between them, but they always took the time to greet their heroes whenever they could. However, Grif had too much on his mind at the moment to be too polite in his greetings.

As Grif was about to set off again, another rebel, whose armor had yellow trim, came running up to him, "Oh, oh! Captain Grif!"

With a sigh, Grif turned to face him, "Yes, Matthews?"

"Hey! Uh, uh, I just wanted to say, uh, thanks again for what you and the other Reds and Blues did for us," Matthews stuttered breathlessly, "If you guys hadn't shut down that radio tower, we'd be dead."

"Gosh, Matthews, I really appreciate that!" Grif replied with sarcasm as thick as tar, "Almost as much as I did the other fifty-six times you thanked me!"

"Oh, good," Matthews sighed, "I was worried it might start to come off as annoying."

"It does. That was sarcasm."

"Just gonna repress that!"

"What?"

Matthews didn't reply for a moment then looked round as if he only just realized that Grif was standing there, "Oh, Captain Grif! Uh, good to see you. I wanted to thank you for-"

"Look, do you know where Kimball is?" Grif cut off with a grunt, "I need to talk to her."

"Kimball? Uh, I'm pretty sure I saw her in the armory a little while ago."

"Great, thanks," Grif replied, setting off into the street.

"Do you need an escort?" Matthews called out.

"NO!" Grif yelled back crossly.

XXX

ARMONIA ARMORY

"Alright, explain to me again," Simmons stated slowly and carefully, "Why do you need a .50 caliber chaingun?"

The Fed soldier at the front of the queue thought it over, "...Because I'm a gunman."

"Yeah, yeah, I know, I got that, you keep saying that," Simmons sighed, "I mean, why do you need it right now?"

"Hey G-man, hurry up!" yelled a rebel behind the gunman.

"Well," the gunman shrugged, "I mean, how else are people gonna know what I do around here?"

"You're a soldier," Simmons cried, "Everyone's a soldier! You shoot at people, who shoot at you, until one of you dies from all the shooting!"

"Yeah, but that's what I'm sayin'," the Fed retorted, "Without my big gun, I just look like all the regular soldiers."

"No you don't!" Simmons countered, "You've got white armor and red stripes!"

"Ugh, and they're just awful," groaned Donut, joining in the discussion, "I'm thinking we go bold. Maybe red armor with white stripes!"

"Huh?" the Fed asked baffled.

"Donut, just because you're in charge of uniforms doesn't mean you get to redecorate the entire army," Simmons sighed, "Besides, that'll completely ruin his camouflage."

"What camouflage?" Donut asked.

Simmons looked at the gunman Fed then at the other Feds waiting in line with the rebels, "Huh. Good point."

He looked back at the Fed in front of them. "How the heck have you not been shot yet?"

"What?" the Fed asked.

"It's because the New Republic can't aim for crap," yelled another Fed in the queue.

At this, the rebel in front of him whirled round to look at him, "Wanna say that to my face, punk?"

"Hey, cut it out!" Simmons snapped, "The armory is no place for violence. Now calm down, or I'm not gonna give you a gun."

"He started it," the rebel grumbled, turning back to the front.

Simmons shook his head sadly at the brief bout. After the New Republic had moved into the city, Carolina, Rhode, and Washington had insisted that each of the Reds and Blues did their part to help the two armies prepare themselves for battle against the Space Pirates, as well as keep the truce between them. Wash had appointed himself to train the troops in the shooting gallery, Simmons, Donut, and Lopez were in charge of maintaining their equipment and Tucker, Sarge, Rhode, and Carolina led troops out on raiding missions, capturing any base still being held by the Space Pirates. And while their help was extremely appreciated by the two armies' leaders, sometimes old grudges reared their ugly heads, threatening the truce between them. Simmons could hardly believe that they had managed a full month without killing each other.

At that moment, Grif came in and pushed his way to the front of the queue, "Outta my way. Captain on deck. Official officer business."

"Grif, what do you want?" Simmons asked impatiently, "Can't you see we're busy?"

"Where's Kimball?" Grif demanded.

"I don't know. Where were you during training this morning?"

"Where do you guys train again?"

Simmons gave an exasperated sigh, "In the training room."

"Oh, right, yeah," Grif said as if remembering, "Literally anywhere but there."

"Well," Donut piped up, "I think I heard Miss Kimball was inspecting the troops over there a little while ago."

"Aw man," Grif groaned, "Really?"

"(Hey!)" Lopez called out, poking his head up from behind a Warthog jeep, "(While you're there, tell Jensen to stop driving cars that she fixes! She drives like a teenager and a grandmother who were somehow combined and were also blind.)"

"Hey, Lopez?" Grif replied, "I don't speak Spanish. I have never spoken Spanish."

"Yeah," Simmons agreed, "Get with the times and just assimilate."

"(Cool,)" Lopez grunted, ducking under the jeep, "(I'm cutting the brakes on your next Warthog.)"

"See ya, morons," Grif called out, running out of the armory.

The gunman watched him leave, then turned back to Donut, "Do you really think my stripes are awful?"

XXX

TRAINING ROOM

BANG! Smith's traffic cone went down in a single shot.

BANG! Bitters' cone went down just as quickly.

BANG! Jensen hit her cone without a hitch.

BANG! Palomo's shot went wide, yet again.

"Lieutenant Palomo!" Washington yelled, halting the training.

"Yes, Agent Washington, sir?" Palomo replied nervously.

Wash made his way to the end of the line until he reached Palomo, "Explain to me how, in light of your recent promotion, you somehow manged to be worst at target practice!"

"Uh, because the newly added pressure of my rank makes me second-guess my actions more frequently in hopes I won't let down my fellow peers," Palomo blurted out hurriedly.

"Well, I don't-" Wash paused mid-rant as he considered the answer, "Oh. Um, I mean, that's understandable, Lieutenant."

"Also, I've been trying to make a smiley face for like nine minutes." Palomo looked up to see the shape of the bullet holes on the wall behind his cone, "Nailed it."

Wash sighed and put a hand over his visor. Once again, his self-appointment of leadership was making him question himself. During that time, he had helped the two armies improve their fighting skills for the upcoming battle, but he also put in time to train the squad members appointed by the four Blood Gulch captains; Antoine Bitters from Grif's squad, Katie Jensen from Simmons' squad, Charles Palomo from Tucker's squad (his only surviving member), and John Andersmith (Smith for short) from Caboose's squad. He also made sure that the rest of the Blood Gulch Crew were just as prepared for battle. The Reds and Blues of course kept themselves in top battle form. All, that is, except for one.

"Wash!"

'Speak of the devil,' Wash thought with a sigh as he turned to face Grif, "Now what?"

"Where's Kimball?" Grif asked.

"Oh! Captain Grif, how nice of you to join us," Wash stated sarcastically, "We missed you at practice this morning."

"Yeah," Grif chuckled, "That's probably because I wasn't there."

"So you weren't," Wash replied curtly, "Which is why everyone is going to give me three laps around the training facility."

All the squad lieutenants turned to him in shock.

"Aww!"

"What the?!"

"That's not fair!"

"Yes sir!" Smith replied with his usual gusto.

"Get moving," Wash ordered.

With muttered grumbles from three of them, the lieutenants set off in a run.

"You're punishing them?" Grif cried out shocked.

"Remedial training," Wash explained, "Disciplining a group for the actions of a single soldier leads to social pressures which typically results in the easy correction of an undesirable behavior. Classic military strategy."

"Thanks a lot, moron!" Bitters yelled out.

"So," Wash said, folding his arms, "Are we ready to begin today's training?"

"Uhhh... No?" Grif replied.

"All right then." Wash turned to the squad, "Let's make that four laps."

"Yes sir!" Smith replied, putting on a burst of speed.

Bitters and Palomo just groaned in dismay.

"Thir, I have an aththma attack!" Jensen protested.

Wash turned back to Grif, "How're you feeling now?"

"I feel like this military's freaking weird," Grif muttered, shaking his head slowly.

"FIVE LAPS!" Wash yelled at the squad.

"Yes sir!" Smith called out, while the others just groaned.

"Man!" Grif chuckled, "This is the best punishment ever!"

"What do you need Kimball for, anyway?" Wash asked, "She's in the middle of a meeting with Doyle."

"So, she's in the war room?" Grif guessed, turning to go.

"I- Wait wait wait wait wait, no!" Wash cried, running in front of Grif, "You're not going anywhere until-"

"Sorry, dude, gotta go," Grif interrupted, walking around Wash, "Uh, just punish them a little more. I'm sure I'll learn my lesson."

Wash watched him leave then his shoulders sagged with a sigh, "Gosh darn it."

Behind him, Smith returned to the shooting gallery first.

"Whew," he panted, "We sure showed him."

Bitters didn't reply, Jensen was wheezing too hard to answer, and Palomo simply collapsed to the ground with exhaustion.

XXX

WAR ROOM

"I don't care if your men prefer it," growled Vanessa Kimball, leader of the New Republic, "The fact of the matter is, we are going to run out of ammunition faster."

"But you're not taking the statistical advantage into account!" protested Donald Doyle, General of the Federal Army of Chorus, "Yes, the standard issue Assault Rifle has a firing range of fifteen rounds per second, but if those rounds aren't being fired at the enemy, then that means we have fifteen chances to kill the enemy every time we pull the trigger!"

"Without our mercenaries bringing in supplies, we need to make every bullet count."

Doyle's eyes narrowed as he glared at Kimball, "Are you doubting my soldiers' skill in the battlefield?"

"I am doubting so much more than that," Kimball retorted, returning the icy look.

For a few seconds, the two leaders stared at each other, then Doyle broke off with a sigh, "Ms. Kimball, it has been over a month since we began this truce, and there has yet to be a single day where you have not tested its strength."

"Well, that's probably because I don't like you!" Kimball snarled.

"Hey!" came a voice behind them.

Kimball and Doyle turned to see Grif entering the war room, "We got a problem!"

"Is it tan with a blue visor?" Doyle grunted bitterly.

"Bigger than that," Grif replied, "Now, I'm what most people consider a hero, like a firefighter, or the guy who invented the microwave, or, uh, the Oreo dude."

"Okay?" Kimball agreed slowly, unsure of where this was going.

"So what I want to know is, why a hero, such as myself, is not allowed to have second helpings in the mess hall!"

Doyle looked confused, "Umm... it's because we're low on food."

"Oh," Kimball scoffed, "So you have the common sense to ration our meals, but not our ammo?"

Doyle lifted up his hands in what he hoped was a disarming gesture, "That is hardly relev-"

"Hardly relevant?!" Kimball snapped.

"Hey!" Grif cut in loudly, "I know you guys are having a hard time playing nice, but there are bigger things at stake right now."

"Get out," Kimball growled.

"Like steak, for instance."

"Get. Out."

"We need bigger ones."

"Grif!" Kimball yelled, grabbing the orange sim-trooper's chest-plate, "Leave! Now."

Grif stepped back and grimaced awkwardly, "So, are we just going to put a pin in this, or-"

"Oh my God," Kimball grunted, "Will someone just put him on dish duty for the rest of the day?"

"What?!" Grif cried.

At that moment, one of the rebels came in and took Grif's arm, "Come on, sir. Let's go."

"This is some bullcrap!" Grif cried as he was escorted out the door.

Kimball took a few deep breaths to calm herself down, "Can we just talk about something else for a minute?"

"Right," Doyle agreed with a cough, "Well, the reason I originally came to speak with you was to inform you of our men's most recent assault."

"Wait, they radioed in?" Kimball gasped, "What happened?"

Doyle gave a nervous smile, "Well..."

XXX

CHARON RESEARCH COMPLEX 2C

"Alright, Sarge," Tucker called out, "Give me a beat!"

"You got it, Blue!" Sarge put his fists over his helmet filter and started humming out a rhythm.

"Oh yeah!" Tucker then turned to face the three tied-up Space Pirates and began busting a move, "Dun, dun, dun."

"What?"

"Another one bites the dust! Oh yeah! Another gone, and another one gone, another one bites the dust! Ooh!" Tucker flourished into a moonwalk before twirling around and throwing his hands out, "Yeah! We. Kicked. Your. Butts. Jerks!"

"Get down with your bad self!" Sarge cried.

"Alright, that's enough," Carolina chuckled, meeting up with her friends, "We just took their base. No need for cruel or unusual punishments."

"Are you sure?" Sarge asked with a smile, "I could drop some sick beats on them. Y'know, bust out some rhymes, make it old-school."

He chuckled at the idea.

"Oh for God's sake," Rhode groaned, walking to Carolina's side, "Please don't."

"Hmph, square," Sarge grunted.

Carolina laughed again. She was in a good mood following their latest success. For the past month, she, Rhode, Epsilon, Tucker, and Sarge had been leading the Feds and the rebels across the land, taking out any Space Pirate still remaining on Chorus. Every victory they'd gained on the mercenaries meant they were a few steps closer to stopping Charon's war against them, although sometimes Tucker and Sarge got a little too caught up in their triumph to worry about it.

"Come on," she decided, "Let's get this place sorted out. Intel says they were keeping some Freelancer equipment there."

"Right," Epsilon agreed, appearing on her shoulder, "Sarge, why don't you go check on the Feds? Tucker, you down to handle the rebels?"

"Yeah, yeah," Tucker replied, setting off towards the New Republic while Sarge hurried to join up with the Feds.

Once they were out of earshot, Epsilon shook his head, "In all the years we spent in the canyon, when the heck did he learn to dance?"

"I've got bigger questions on my mind right now," Carolina replied, turning to look behind her.

"Yeah?" Rhode asked, turning too, "Like what?"

Carolina's eyes narrowed as she stared out at some large floating structure out in the distance, "Like what else was Charon studying out here."

XXX

And the plot thickens already! Till next time guys!