Chapter 6: S.O.S.

In the canyon, all was quiet. A small flock of birds landed by the caves to gather some seeds then suddenly a loud whirring noise rang out from inside the cave, followed by a loud yell that startled the flock.

"It's alive," Caboose called out, "It's alive! It's ali- Aw, now it's dead."

But then another loud whir rang out.

"No, it's alive again!" Caboose cheered, "Oh thank God, that was close."

XXX

At the Comm. Tower, unaware of their teammate's actions, Rhode and Tucker glanced over some equipment at the tower's base then looked up to where Washington was still working, "Okay, how 'bout now?"

Wash flicked the radio's switch on then off again, "Nothing."

"Hold on," Tucker disappeared under the tower for a while then came out again, "Okay, try it again."

Wash flicked the switch again, "Still nothing."

"Crap," Tucker groaned.

Wash then ran up to the edge of the platform and looked down at Tucker, "Hey, what exactly are you doing down there?"

"Oh, you know... calibrating."

Wash raised an eyebrow, "Calibrating."

"Yeah."

"You haven't done anything, have you?"

"Nope!" Rhode answered.

"Dude, I don't know what I'm doing or why you sent me here," Tucker said.

"Right," Wash sighed, turning back to the radio, "Guess I should have expected that."

"Hey, Wash," Rhode then called out, "I think we got a situation."

"What kind of..." Wash tailed off as he looked up and spotted the Reds approaching the Tower, "Oh."

"Good to see you too," Grif snorted.

"What do you want?"

"We figured it'd be a good idea to come over and lend a hand," Sarge replied.

"No, that's a terrible idea," Wash retorted, "Please don't touch anything."

"But we could provide tech support!" Simmons insisted.

"Have you tried usin' any D batteries?" Sarge added.

"Power isn't our problem," Wash replied impatiently, "These battery arrays are solar."

"Well, there's your problem. This baby needs to be converted to diesel on the pronto!"

"Solar is field-standard for communication systems."

"Well, ooh-la-la, Private Hippy!" Sarge replied in a mocking sing-song voice, "Hey, I got an idea: Why don't we just plant a garden and grow some organic sun-dried tomatoes, and open a farmer's market? Then on the first Saturday of the month, when the UNSC ships show up to buy some fresh sustainable produce, we just hop aboard and ride back on the power of love!"

Wash glared at him for a moment, "Tucker, if they touch anything, or if he makes any more suggestions, prod them with your sword."

"Oh yeah," Tucker chuckled as he switched on his sword, "Now that's something I can get behind! Bow chicka bow-"

He paused suddenly, "Wait, no! No no no no no!"

"Fine," Sarge huffed, "Well, I guess you don't want any help from our incredibly advanced robotic companion."

At this, Lopez Dos.0 stepped forward and waved to the Blues.

"Ola." (Hello.)

"Nope!" Wash called out.

"Racist," Grif muttered.

"Hey tree-hugger, what if I told you it runs on recycled cooking grease?" Sarge teased, "It's perfect. Grif sweats the stuff."

"What else was I supposed to drink once we ran out of soda?" Grif agreed.

"There's always water," Simmons replied.

"Please," Grif scoffed, "What are we, cavemen?"

"I said no," Wash yelled.

"¿Seguro que no quieres ayudar?" Lopez Dos.0 asked, pointing to some disconnected cables hidden behind some crates. "Esto parece ser una solución relativamente simplé." (Are you sure you don't want help? This looks like a relatively simple fix.)

"Whoa," Rhode gasped, hearing the robot's words, "Is that Lopez?!"

"Not exactly," Simmons then whispered behind his hand, "This one isn't very smart."

"En serio, chicos," Lopez Dos.0 insisted, "Estoy buscando en el problema. Yo puedo arreglarlo ahora." (Seriously guys, I'm looking at the problem. I can fix it right away.)"

"Umm, guys?" Rhode said, but everyone ignored him.

Tucker stared at the robot for a moment, "How can you tell?"

"Oh, a mother knows," Sarge replied.

"Bueno," Lopez Dos.0 decided, "Si nadie me va a parar, voy a arreglar se torre de radio." With that, he ran off towards the cables and set to work. (No one is going to stop me, I'm going to fix your radio tower.)

"Go right ahead," Rhode gestured quietly.

"Why don't you three go check on our food supply?" Wash suggested, "It's been a while since I've done a full inventory."

"You can't shove your grunt work on us!" Simmons snapped, "What do we look like?"

"Uhhhh... Grunts?" Tucker replied.

"Tucker, I want 100 squats," Wash ordered.

"What? But it was leg day yesterday!"

"You are a space marine, private. Every day is leg day."

Tucker groaned as he began his squats, "This is bullcrap."

"Ha!" Grif gloated, "Who is the grunt now?"

"Your sister was my grunt if I remember correctly."

"What did you say to me?"

"No one is a grunt," Wash yelled, losing his patience, "Now both of you be quiet."

Grif bowed his head, "Simmons is kind of a grunt."

"Hey!" Simmons snapped, "What the crap?!"

"Ah, can it, Private Grunt," Sarge ordered.

"Yes, sir," Simmons replied.

Grif and Tucker snickered.

"I said BE QUIET!" Wash bellowed, smashing his fist into the radio box... and suddenly the radio switched on with a loud trill.

Grif's jaw dropped in amazement, "Holy crap..."

"It's working..." Wash stared at his fist then back at the radio then gave a disbelieving laugh, "I don't know what I did, but it's working!"

"Camaradas! He reparado la torre de radio!" Lopez Dos.0 called out, emerging from beneath the platform, "¿Estás satisfecho con mi actuación?" (Comrades! I have repaired the radio tower! Are you pleased with my performance?)"

"Lopez, you're ruining the moment," Sarge scolded.

"Congrats," Rhode said in pity.

Quickly, Wash switched it on and began his broadcast, "Mayday, mayday, this is Agent Washington, can anyone read me? Over."

They waited tensely, but there was no reply.

"Maybe they're screening our calls," Grif suggested.

"What do you mean 'they'?" Simmons asked puzzled, "Who's 'they'?"

"I dunno, people who know us?"

"What?"

"Look, I wouldn't pick up the phone if any of you guys called me."

Wash tried again, "Mayday, mayday, we are survivors of a shipwreck and are in need of immediate rescue. Please respond."

"Don't call them back right away," Tucker said, "You gotta wait or else you'll look desperate."

"But we are desperate!" Simmons pointed out.

"EVERYONE SHUT UP!" Wash screamed.

And everyone was immediately silent except for Grif who just breathed, "Whoa..."

Taking a breath to calm down, Wash got back on the radio, "Mayday, mayday, this is Agent Washington and the Red and Blue troopers of Project Freelancer! We are stranded, does anyone copy?"

He waited for a response but none came.

"Mayday, this is Agent Washington, I am a soldier."

Still no reply.

"Is anybody out there?"

Again, the radio was silent.

"Can anybody hear me?!"

Then finally a faint voice, slightly obscured by static, responded on the radio, "Hello? Is someone there?"

"Yes!" Wash cried out in relief, "Yes, we're here! Do you read us?"

"Hello?" the voice called out, "Is this a prank call?"

"No no no no, this is real!" Wash insisted, "Please you have to listen to me! My men and I are shipwrecked!"

"It's an emergency!" Simmons yelled.

"Black Hawk down!" Grif shouted.

"Code Red!" Sarge bellowed.

The voice was silent for a moment then... "What? Like a lightish red?"

At this, everyone's jaw fell open in shock.

"What the crap did he just say?" Rhode breathed.

"'Cause I mean, red is a pretty broad spectrum," the voice continued, "There's scarlet, vermilion, like a deep burgundy."

Immediately, Sarge ran up to the radio and pushed Wash aside, "Donut, is that you?"

"Sarge?" the voice gasped in amazement, "Oh hey guys, what have you all been up to?"

"We're stranded in the middle of the jungle with dwindling food and limited supplies."

Donut let out a low whistle, "That sucks."

"No kidding, moron!" Grif shouted.

"Donut, I need you to listen to me," Sarge called out urgently, "You need to send help. Call Command."

"Command?" Donut asked puzzled, "I think I know a guy if you want to turn this call into a three way."

"No, don't do that," Sarge cut in, "I need you to write down these coordinates."

While Sarge gave the coordinates, Wash turned to the others, "Who is Donut again?"

"Cheery guy," Simmons explained, "Pink armor."

"Kind of stupid," Grif added.

"And a little..." Tucker waved his hand horizontally.

Wash then remembered something. "Wait, did I shoot him once?"

"Bingo," Rhode replied.

"Got it," Wash said, "And he's competent enough to trust with our lives?"

At that moment, Donut spoke up, "Sorry, did you say five or nine?"

"I said eight," Sarge replied.

"Oh."

"Right..." Wash quickly took over from Sarge, "Okay, Donut, these are our last known coordinates but be sure to let the rescue team know that we've got no clue where we actually landed."

"Don't worry, guys," Donut reassured, "No matter how deep the bush, Private Donut always finds his man."

Sarge swapped a very nervous look with Wash, "Roger that, son."

"What was that?" Donut called out, as static frizzled into the radio, "You're breaking up."

"Just send help as fast as you can," Wash shouted.

"Okey dokey!"

And with that, the connection was lost.

At the base of the tower, Grif gave a hopeful look, "So what happened?"

Sarge sighed and jumped down from the platform, "Well boys, I don't want to jinx us or anything like that, but..."

He then looked up with a huge grin on his face, "We're gonna be rescued!"

"YAHOO!" Tucker cheered, throwing his deactivated sword into the air.

"We're saved!" Grif shouted gleefully.

"I can't believe help's coming!" Simmons yelled.

"Yes!" Rhode pumped his right arm in the air.

Wash glanced at the tower nervously, "Now guys-"

"There's no possible way anything can go wrong!" Sarge yelled out, "Everything is going to be good forever!"

Grif and Simmons linked arms and launched into a wild victory dance. Tucker leaped onto the bonnet of the Warthog and jumped up and down in joy.

"Guys," Wash called out, "It can still be a few days before they-"

But Sarge wasn't listening, "Let's eat all the food rations tonight and then fire all of our excessive ammunition indiscriminately into the air and celebrate!"

With loud cheers, the Reds and Tucker drew out their guns and began to shoot them into the air.

"Then let's fix up that old Warthog that's been hanging around near our base!" Simmons yelled.

The gang's cheers quickly faded into confused mutterings.

"...So we can crash it into the other Warthog because screw it!"

Everyone cheered once again, all except for Wash, "Listen, let's not get our hopes up just yet."

"Aw, come on, Wash, lighten up," Rhode called out, "We did it, we made contact."

Wash thought about it then jumped down to join them, "Well, it is the first good news that we've had in a while."

Just then Caboose came running up to the group, helmet under his arm and a big grin on his face, "Hey everyone!"

"Caboose, where've you been?" Rhode asked.

"Yeah, I went on a walk like you said," Caboose replied with breathless gusto, "And now, everything is going to be good, forever!"

"Told ya so!" Sarge laughed.

"Wait," Wash cried, furrowing his brows in confusion, "Caboose, you were miserable. What happened?"

"Oh, where are my manners?" Caboose gasped, slapping his forehead, "I haven't even introduced him."

"Introduced who?"

In reply, Caboose glanced over his shoulder, "Freckles! Come!"

He put two fingers into his mouth and gave a loud shrill whistle.

Suddenly, loud heavy footsteps came thumping down from the other side of the canyon, shaking the ground and knocking Tucker and Grif off their feet. Wash, Rhode, Simmons, and Sarge just stared in mute horror and even Lopez Dos.0 took a step back in alarm... as a huge machine came stomping into view.

The gun metal green machine looked very humanoid, except it was as tall as two Spartan-IIs standing on each other's shoulders. It stood on two double-jointed legs and had a long column built between it like a metal loincloth. Its right arm ended in a big machine gun turret and its left had a missile launcher in place of a hand. It had a radar dish over its left shoulder and inside its torso, a small white seat was built into it like a small cockpit.

Caboose stepped up next to the machine and patted its leg.

"Everyone, I would like you to meet Freckles!" he shouted, turning to look at the robot, "Freckles, say hello."

The robot regarded the Reds and Blues then focused its attention on Grif and Simmons.

"ENEMY SOLDIERS DETECTED," it announced in a deep robotic drone.

"No, those aren't enemies, Freckles," Caboose replied, "Those are Grif and Simmons... our enemy."

Freckles raised its missile launcher arm and began to power it up, "FIRING MAIN CANNON."

"No!" Caboose scolded, hitting his helmet on its side, "Bad Freckles! Down!"

"YES, MASTER," Freckles replied, obediently lowering its arm.

"Bad Freckles..." Caboose then turned to the others, "So, what have you guys been up to?"

Everyone just stared in horrified silence, except for Grif, "Ehh... um..."

XXX

Meanwhile, in the depths of a dark, misty forest, a lone figure sat under the shade of a tree, listening to the static on the radio. Then suddenly, the static faded and a faint voice called out.

"Mayday, mayday, this is Agent Washington and the Red and Blue troopers of Project Freelancer! We are stranded, does anyone copy?"

The figure sat up and looked towards the radio, listening to the voice, "Mayday, this is Agent Washington, I am a soldier."

He got to his feet and stepped out of the shade, the sun glinting off his armor which was steel-grey with sage-green stripes.

"Is anybody out there?"

He listened intently as the voice continued its broadcast.

"Can anybody hear me?!"

As the radio's signal faded, the figure gave a sinister grin, a grin that was hidden behind his visorless helmet, and picked up his gun...

XXX

And the plot thickens... Till next time guys!