Church has seen some shit in his time in Bloodgulch. Tucker sleeping naked, Caboose eating gummy bears off the floor of the base, he swears he even saw Florida and SARGE at a motherfucking tea party together (though he keeps that last one to himself). But he had never before seen Caboose. Driving a tank...well this couldn't end well.
Caboose was not driving just any tank either. But one that appeared to be self-aware, and had a lot of sass on them. How could Church tell? Well-
"Is your ass jealous of the amount of shit that just came out of your mouth?" Questioned the tank to Tucker, who had not five seconds ago dropped an, aptly described, shitty flirt line. On the tank. Church wondered if his taste in close friends was the result of brain damage.
"Shut the fuck up you stupid freaking tank." Tucker retorted,
"Her name is Sheila." Corrected Caboose, who was currently sitting on the top of the tanks turret.
Despite coaxing of Caboose by Florida involving cookies, the child-like blue refused to budge from the tanks side. Church watched all this with a certain amusement, he had learned to stop being exasperated with his friends' idiocy, at least for the most part. There WERE some times when even a little bit of bullshittery became all too much for one day. Though these usually involved Tucker being pervy, or Caboose setting fire to the base kitchen.
"Or it was both of them…"
Church thought quietly as he recalled one of the earlier years of their team when Caboose & Tucker had thrown grenades into the base toilets. Florida had been mostly calm and reserved himself to pissing in jars. While Church lost his shit, figuratively speaking, it was lucky for everyone Caboose was smart enough to know how to fix it up, or he may very well have literally lost his shit too.
Church's was shaken out of his humorous reflection of his strange history with his crew by the sound of an eardrum-shattering explosion right next to him.
Then Church was flying backwards, the canyon passing below him at light speed blurring the bland colors as he hurdled through the air. Also, he was screaming in a pitch higher than a 5 year old girl in the choir.
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"AIIIIIIEEEEEEEEEEE!" came the screech of what Simmons assumed to be some kind of canyon eagle.
Needless to say, when he saw the huge shadow rapidly approaching their location near the blue base he dove for cover screaming.
Grif was able to savour this moment to point and laugh at his partner who was hiding in a bush, ass skywards. Right before a flying blue landed directly on top of him, toppling both to the ground hard.
The two soldiers in orange and dull blue armor exchanged groans of pain as they rolled about on the solid ground. Simmons chose this moment to peek out of his bush, which is when he spotted Church. A BLUE ATTACKED GRIF! Simmons immediately radioed to base,
"Sarge, SARGE! A blue took down Grif!" Simmons frantically whispered. On the other end Sarge clenched a fist in anger.
"Diabolical...no doubt those stinkin' blues saw us coming and laid a trap!" He shouted, slamming down a fist onto the table.
"O son todos realmente estúpidos Or you're all just really fucking stupid." Lopez deadpanned,
"Damnit lopez now isn't the time for jokes! Though that was a good one...tell it again later!" Sarge shouted,
"Maldito infierno Fucking hell..."
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Simmons continued to frantically ask for help until there was the sound of a rumble approaching.
Once again assuming the presence of a large canyon creature come to take vengeance on unwelcomed settlers, Simmons dodged into new cover, only to headbutt an already staggering Grif right in the chest. Sending both reds tumbling to earth.
The two were able to force themselves into crouching/sitting positions in time to see the real cause of the trembling earth. That being Caboose, in a giant. Fucking. Tank.
"Sup, bitches." it also had an attitude apparently.
"WHAT'S GOING ON SIMMONS?" Yelled Sarge through the red teams radio.
Simmons stayed very quiet. Two more blues then approached from the flanks of the tank. Simmons recognized these as Captain Florida, and Tucker. Grif recognized them as fuckface, and prick.
"Well hiya there reds," Florida gave a friendly two-fingered salute to the pair which earned a confused glance from everyone, "We're just here for Church!"
"YOU FUCKERS ALMOST KILLED ME!" The blue in question gave an outburst.
Suddenly, quick as a flash, Grif pulled a magnum and held it to the head of the blue.
"Can't have him assholes!" Simmons gave his friend an incredulous look. Was he really trying to hostage scenario a bunch of people with a tank!?
"Sarge, we've got a blue hostage, also the enemy team is here with a tank." Grif talked through the radio.
"Well then, just come back here nice and slow. Don't start any business no need for anyone to get involved-"
"Captain Florida is here too sir." Simmons butt-in on the radio.
There was the sudden sound of scrambling on the other end of the line before the screech of the warthogs tires and the beginning of the reds little song could be heard as it took off.