Chapter 9: The Federal Army of Chorus

F.A.C. OUTPOST 37

WEEKS EARLIER

The weather outside the facility was certainly colder than a witch's bosom, but inside the building, discussions were getting heated. News was spreading rapidly that Locus had managed to get a hold of the Blood Gulch Reds and Blues. Some soldiers said that the group had been badly wounded in the attempt, others said that half of the Reds and Blues had been taken by their enemies, but everybody was assured that soon they would recover those Spartans and together they would bring down the New Republic.

In the building of the outpost, one Fed soldier was getting tense, and with good reason. Soon the newly healed Reds and Blues would meet up with their leader and given a great opportunity.

At that moment, the door slid open and another soldier marched into the room. Nodding to his friend, he turned round, "Bring in our guests."

As he spoke, three figures entered the room, each wearing black undersuits trimmed with the colors of their respective armor and bound in heavy handcuffs. The first soldier to come in had the look of someone who'd been through hell and back several times, despite being in his early forties; his grizzled brown hair was disheveled and uncombed, his grayish green eyes had shadowed circles under them and a long scar ran across his forehead from the top of his right eye to the edge of his scalp. The Feds knew this figure as the former Freelancer, Agent Washington, now appointed leader of the Blues.

The second figure that came after him was much older than Washington, in his early fifties, but he had the air of someone used to giving orders; his gray hair was neatly trimmed in a typical military style, his stern chin was speckled with stubble and his squinted eyes showed defiance, even when he was handcuffed. There could certainly be no doubts that this man was the tightfisted leader of the Reds, known simply as Sarge.

By contrast, the figure that came in last was much younger than the others, with blonde hair, blue eyes, and a somewhat suspect air that heightened the confusion of the Fed, already growing when he noticed the pink trim of his undersuit. However, that was hardly unexpected of the Reds' youngest recruit, Private Franklin Donut.

The Fed that led them into the office turned to their guests, "Just wait here. The General will be along soon to meet you personally."

With that, he turned and left the room.

As soon as he had left, Sarge quickly broke the silence, "Dirtbags! Each and every one of 'em! The soldiers: dirtbags! The medics: dirtbags! That good-for-nothin' mercenary, who shoots a man when he ain't even lookin': you best believe he's a numero uno dirtbag! And you!"

He turned to the lone Fed in the room, "You know what you are?"

"Ooh, ooh, me!" Donut cried, raising his cuffed hands, "Pick me, Sarge!"

"Shut up, Donut!"

"But I was gonna say 'dirtbag'."

"What? D'oh, Donut, for the love of... Now you've gone and given away the answer to my rhetorical question!"

"I have an idea," Wash cut in, irritated by the Reds' discussion, "Let's play the quiet game."

"Ooh ho ho ho," Donut chuckled, "It. Is. On!"

"Great Monopoly's top hat, Wash. Now is not the time for games! Now is the time for action!" Sarge started shaking his arms around, trying to get free, "Come on, help me get out of these cuffs. There's a certain someone in this room that I feel like bludgeoning to death!"

"Just use your feet, Sarge," Donut suggested, "If he fights back, I'll beat him off ya!"

"You're not thinking, Donut! That'll just alert more guards."

"Well, if I can't beat off a room full of dudes, then what have I been training for this whole time?"

Wash gave out an exasperated sigh, "I would really like to play the quiet game, please."

Just then, the door opened again and the lone Fed jumped to attention, "Officer on deck!"

Wash, Sarge and Donut turned round as two more Feds entered the room, each taking opposite sides of the door. Moments later, another soldier sauntered in behind them. He was dressed in white armor like the Feds, but his had gold trim and his shoulders bore the stripes of a general. Though his face couldn't be seen, Wash could somehow tell that this soldier had the confident air of a leader, and yet didn't seem like a soldier at all.

"Ah, so these are our special guests," the head soldier declared in a gentle British accent, as he marched towards the trio, "Agent Washington, Franklin Donut, and Sarge."

He paused at the end and turned to face them, "I... am so sorry!"

Sarge was about to make a rude retort, but his words froze on his lips, "Say what now?"

"Guard," the head soldier called, "Uncuff these men at once and return their weaponry and armor, for God's sake!"

"Yes sir," The Fed took out a set of keys and began to unlock Sarge's cuffs, "Really sorry about this, sir. I'd appreciate it if you decided not to bludgeon me to death."

"Ah, I suppose I could settle for near death," Sarge decided.

The Fed then released Donut who stretched out his arms, "Goodbye, handcuffs! Aw, wait, I didn't even get to use my safe word."

As the Fed undid Wash's cuffs, Donut quickly whispered, "It's 'chrysanthemum.'"

Then three more Feds entered the room, one carrying three guns and the other two holding pieces of armor.

"Excellent," the leader announced, "I regret to inform you that most of your armor was damaged during your... incapacitation. But we took the liberty of acquiring replacement pieces from the shipwreck. Your weapons have been polished and reloaded-"

"Okay, wait, stop," Wash cut in, pushing the Fed who'd freed him aside, "Stop!"

"Um, what is it, Agent Washington?" the leader asked puzzled.

"What is it? What is it?!" Wash snatched up his battle rifle and turned to face the leader, his eyes narrowed, "First, you send men to kill us. Then you send men to capture us. And now that we're here, you're giving us guns and armor and saying you're SORRY?!"

"Uh..." The leader looked quite nervous, "Is that a problem?"

"Only for you," Wash growled, aiming his gun at the leader's head, "if you don't-"

"O-oh dear!" Suddenly, the leader lifted his hand up to his head and then fell to the floor in a dead faint.

"Ah, crap," the Fed muttered, "Someone get the medic."

"What a weenie," Donut scoffed.

XXX

A few hours later, Wash, Sarge and Donut waited outside the medical ward as the Feds' leader was treated. While they waited, they had each dressed in their armor and taken a look at themselves. Donut's pink armor was pretty much the same except for a new shoulder plate, Sarge now had a new torso plate that looked incongruous next to his original battle-scarred red armor, and only Wash's armor seemed to have escaped serious damage.

Now Wash paced around the waiting room, shaking his head in confusion, "I don't understand. None of this makes any sense."

Just then, the ward's doors slid open and the leader came out, accompanied by another Fed whose armor had purple trim.

"Now just take it easy for the rest of the day," the Fed informed her patient, "Remember, you're no good to me dead. Although I suppose I could run some experiments on your body."

"Uh, thank you, Emily," the leader replied, chuckling nervously, "Your help is always appreciated."

"Anytime, General Doyle! Now if you'll excuse me, I have limbs to amputate!" And with that, Emily turned and went back into the ward.

"Of course," Doyle muttered as soon as she was out of earshot.

Then he turned to the others, "Gentlemen, I'm afraid I have nothing but apologies for you today. It must be the thin air up here, I-I've been doing a lot of traveling lately and my body's still adjusting to-"

"I'm not in the mood for apologies right now," Wash cut in, "So, uh, Doyle, right?"

"Oh, uh... well, yes. Very observant," Doyle gave the group a courteous bow, "General Donald Doyle of the Federal Army of Chorus, at your service."

"At our service?" Sarge asked.

"Full service?" Donut added.

"Okay, General," Wash continued, "Let me catch you up to speed on what the past few days have been like for me. I've got a canyon of shipwrecked survivors all trying to hail a rescue, when a squad of soldiers, all wearing your uniform, come down and attack us with your leader, a big black-suited guy who goes by the name of Locus. Then once he leaves, I've got another guy named Felix telling me you and your soldiers have been terrorizing this planet and to top it all off, that we're wanted men for crashing on it in the first place!"

His voice then took on a fierce tone, "So please, if you could do your best to convince me not to kill you this very second, that would REALLY BENEFIT THE BOTH OF US!"

"Uh, yeah!" Sarge added, nervous at Wash's harsh tones.

"Yes, I see," Doyle sighed, "None of this happened the way that I wanted. Please follow me and I'll explain."

They left the ward and walked down the passage.

As they went, Doyle turned to the Crew, "Tell me, how much do you know about the New Republic?"

"They don't try to kill us for starters," Sarge replied.

"A note of equality, yes," Doyle agreed, "But uh, what else do you know about them?"

"They're rebels, fighting to overthrow a corrupt leadership," Wash responded more clearly, "They heard our distress call and hoped we could help."

"And you heard all this from a mercenary, hired to assist them at all costs?" Doyle raised a curt eyebrow, "A bit of a biased source, don't you think?"

As they left the passage and came out onto a balcony that overlooked a snowy courtyard, Wash looked confused, "Biased?"

"Indeed," Doyle replied more fiercely, "These 'rebels' aren't looking to free this planet, their aim is to dominate it! They were given ample opportunities to move to a former old society, somewhere else on Chorus. It is a large planet, I can assure you. But noooo, they are determined to uh, 'take back what is theirs!' I'll admit, times were hard, but as a planet cut off from the rest of the galaxy, we did our best to govern the people. But it wasn't enough. Suddenly buildings were exploding! There were- there were riots in the streets; complete and utter panic everywhere! These were not acts of freedom, they were acts of terrorism!"

He slammed his fist on the railing, "And we could not risk warriors of your caliber allying with them."

"So you sent your men to kill us?!" Wash cried.

"Absolutely not!"

"I've got a few cracked ribs that beg to differ!" Sarge grunted, rubbing his chest, "And a headbone that strongly disagrees!"

"Again, I must apologize," Doyle replied regretfully, "The way this was handled was not at all what I had wanted. Upon hearing your arrival on Chorus, I ordered Locus to confirm his findings and bring you to us as soon as possible. Unfortunately, it appears as though I should've been more specific in the exact method of you acquisition."

"So what, this is all your mercenary's fault?" Wash scoffed, "Y-You expect me to believe that the general of an army can't control his own men?"

"Y-You're mistaken in assuming I have any control over Locus whatsoever! He is a dog, that has long since broken from his leash... But I need your help," Doyle turned and leaned over the railings, looking down at the Feds' activities below, "As I'm sure you already observed, I'm not a battleward soldier ripe with military expertise. On the contrary, I was simply next in line to run the army should something happen to its leader."

"What do you mean?" Wash asked, "Lieutenant General? Major General?"

"Uh..." Doyle looked rather embarrassed, "Personal secretary to the Brigadier."

"What?!"

"Where'd all the other guys go?" Donut asked.

"Some of them left before things took a turn for the worst," Doyle admitted, "But uh, hmmm... most of them were killed. Yes, definitely they were killed. Not many of us left these days, I'm afraid."

"But you're supposed to be the Evil Empire, with giant warships and floating space lasers!" Sarge cried, "Not camping out in the snow! That stuff's for rebels, and the sadly endangered polar bear."

"Well, we are doing significantly better than before!" Doyle huffed indignantly, turning to face them, "We still have multiple bases of operation, and Locus has managed to acquire top-notch military equipment! He even helped us strategize some of our more recent victories. Though I would not consider your rescue to be one of them."

"I also wouldn't consider it to be a rescue," Wash added.

"Well, I can assure you that he was punished severely for taking such drastic measures against you! I made sure he wasn't paid a single penny for the job!"

"How comforting."

Doyle sighed and shook his head, "Gentlemen, I am fully aware that I may never gain your trust. But let me be perfectly clear: we are not your enemy. The New Republic has your men and I can promise you, they are likely recruiting them into their rebellion as we speak. Now I can inform my troops not to attack them, but I cannot stop them from defending themselves. I'm... also unable to promise you a safe escape from Chorus in the middle of this conflict. Most of our ships are shot down before they can escape our atmosphere."

"So what can you promise us?" Wash demanded.

"Well, if you can help us defeat these terrorists, it would not only save our planet, it would also save your comrades. Then, once the skies are clear, you can leave this forsaken planet once and for all!"

"Hmmm, I don't like it," Sarge muttered, "But I'm not really seeing another way out."

He then gave a conniving look at Doyle, "Unless beating you unconscious would somehow work."

"Highly doubtful," Doyle laughed nervously.

"Drat," Sarge groaned, "I guess I'm in."

Wash turned to Donut, who simply nodded, "No man left behind, right?"

"Right," Wash then turned to Doyle, "I still have one question for you, General."

"Uh, which is?" Doyle asked.

Wash's eyes narrowed. "Where. Are. Our robots?"

XXX

Half an hour later, Wash, Sarge and Donut came into a room inside the compound where they found several technicians working on the motionless body of Lopez.

One technician looked up as they entered, "Ah, you're just in time! We've finished the repairs on your robot, and are just about to boot him up."

He turned to his team, "All right, switch him on!"

The others stood aside, save for one who lifted his hand and slapped Lopez hard on the back.

"Hegahergerk!" Lopez cried out as his systems powered up.

"All right!" the head technician cried, "Fixed up and ready to go!"

Lopez lifted his head, his eyes glowing dark blue like the infamous "Blue Screen of Death" seen when a computer crashed.

Then he blinked and shook his head, his eyes fading to green, and then he spoke, "Hola. Me llamo Lopez. Gracias por la-"

At that moment, he spotted Sarge and his shoulders sagged, "Oh, Dios."

"Bienvenidos, robo-buddy!" Sarge beamed, "You're back in the world of the living! Viva la...viva."

"(I wasn't dead,)" Lopez retorted, "(My limbs just stopped working and they put me in the trash can. It was the most enjoyable experience I have had in years. Then you showed up.)"

"No need to thank us, son," Sarge chuckled, patting his robot's shoulder.

"(I made friends with a space rat,)" Lopez added.

"We have got a lot of catching up to do!" Donut squealed in delight.

"(Fill me in later,)" Lopez muttered, "(I'm sure it's stupid and confusing.)"

Wash turned to the head technician, "Now, what about Freckles?"

The technician looked confused, "Uh, what's a 'Freckles'?"

"Agent Washington is referring to a Mantis-Class military assault droid," came a deep voice behind them, "And you won't find it among this wreckage."

Shivering at that voice, Wash and the Reds turned to see a familiar figure in steel-and-green armor standing at the doorway, who they immediately recognized as the mercenary who brought them here.

"I'll, uh, just look somewhere else then," the technician decided nervously, "Come on, men. Tea break!"

And with that, all the technicians made their excuses and left the room.

"Mierda," Lopez gulped. (Oh crap.)

Quickly, Wash stood protectively in front of the Reds and raised his rifle, "Locus."

"The droid was malfunctioning," Locus continued, ignoring the gun pointed at him, "It refused to surrender, and was therefore destroyed."

Donut gasped in horror, "He's dead?!"

"It was a machine," Locus retorted, "It had no life to begin with."

"(Douche,)" Lopez growled.

Wash felt a pang in his heart at the news, 'I'm so sorry, Caboose.'

"You know," Sarge grunted, pulling out his trusty shotgun, "It takes a lot of nerve to come strolling in here after what you did!"

"Does my presence upset you, Sergeant?" Locus inquired, raising an eyebrow.

"It gives me an itchy trigger finger, I can tell you that."

Wash's eyes narrowed in anger, "What do you want?"

"Aside from my initial examination, the men under my command were ordered to take you alive," Locus explained, approaching the group, "All attacks were intended to wound, all shots were designed to intimidate. Let me assure you, my raid on your base was calculated, choreographed, and designed to apprehend you, like herding sheep to the pen. Were it not for the intervention of the mercenary and his forces, I would've succeeded entirely."

"And what, is that supposed to make us feel better?" Sarge snapped, "'Cause quite honestly it's having the opposite effect."

"It's supposed to make you understand," Locus replied.

"(I understand you're a douche,)" Lopez retorted.

"Agent Washington, I am a professional," Locus continued, "I follow orders, and I complete my missions at all costs."

"I don't care what you think you are," Wash snarled, "You just stay away from me and my men."

"You still don't understand." Locus tilted his head to one side, "Or perhaps... you do."

Wash frowned, "What?"

Just then, the door behind them opened and the Fed from earlier, Emily, came into the room.

"Excuse me!" she called to Locus, "If someone tells you to leave them alone, you leave them alone."

"Of course, Doctor," Locus then pulled out a small storage unit from his pocket and handed it to Wash, "Here."

"What is this?" Wash asked.

"Before your droid was dismantled, I had a technician remove its primary storage unit," Locus replied, "Its 'heart and mind', so to speak."

Wash scowled as he snatched the unit away, "Is this supposed to be sort of apology?"

"Is it?" Locus replied with a shrug.

"This guy doesn't make any sense," Donut hissed to Lopez behind his hand.

"(That's because he's insane,)" Lopez replied.

"I am not!" Locus cried out, surprising everyone.

"(HOLY CRAP, HE'S BILINGUAL!)" Lopez screamed, ducking behind Donut, "(PLEASE DON'T KILL ME!)"

Locus shook his head as he turned back to Wash, "You give meaning to meaningless objects and meaningless people, and risk your lives to protect them. Where's the sense in that? I look forward to your answer, soldier."

With that, he turned and left the room.

"Sorry about that," Emily chuckled, "I promise the rest of us aren't like him. I'm Doctor Emily Grey."

"Oooh, a doctor!" Donut gasped, "That's like a medic who saves people!"

"You a civilian, little lady?" Sarge chuckled.

"Civilian?" Dr. Grey burst into hysterical laughter, "I don't think you realize how bad this planet's gotten! The only people not wearing armor these days are dead!"

"I know you," Wash breathed, putting his gun away, "I heard your voice somewhere. I... can't quite recall where."

"Is that so?" Dr. Grey gave a kind smile, "Well, I performed surgery on you after they brought you in here. Sorry if you find a few new scars. A shot from a concussion rifle isn't bad, but a severe injury to the back of the skull can be a little tricky, especially when your head is filled with pretty little wires and chips. I hope I didn't damage those neural implants."

"I-I'm sure they're fine," Wash stammered, a little disturbed by the way she'd spoken, "Thank you."

"You can thank me by ending this war as soon as possible!" Dr. Grey replied, "Bullet wounds and prosthetic limbs have become so booooring! So, come by my office tomorrow morning for a check up. Once you're cleared, you three will be shipping off."

"Shipping off?" Sarge cried.

"Where are we going?" Donut asked.

"I don't give people orders, boys, I just fix them when they break! Don't worry," Dr. Grey reassured them, noticing their troubled looks, "I'm sure you'll be back. Tomorrow morning, my office, 0800."

Then she turned and went out the door.

"Mmm," Sarge murmured, "Well, what do you fellas think?"

"I think she's... nice?" Donut muttered.

"Not the doc, Donut, the army!" Sarge cried, "The general! The whole dealio! Grif and Simmons are out there with the Blues! Alone, confused! Probably eating and complaining and back-talking! Dern it, Grif, just shut up already!"

"We do what we have to, and go along with it for now," Wash sighed as he looked out the window, his own mind fretting about what Caboose, Rhode, and Tucker were up to right now, "I just hope the others aren't in too deep without us."

XXX

If only you knew Wash... Oh wait. Now you do. Till next time guys!