Red vs. Blue: Beginnings
Chapter Twelve: As Per Protocol
Depths of Space
Wyoming glanced with satisfaction at the explosion that engulfed the pelican. Had to sacrifice his banshee of course, but there was plenty more where that came from. Of course, he may not even have to continue his work as a freelancer. The two juicy pay checks that were coming his way, they reeked of luxurious retirement. And not "reeked" in the bad sense.
The freelancer turned his attention back to his target, namely the pelican that was transporting Private Tucker. His mission was to retrieve him. However, given that his employer; Captain Flowers, was dead and had already handed over the pay check, he saw no reason to do such a thing. He'd simply latch himself to the ship, gain entry, kill everyone inside and prepare to enjoy a life of luxury.
The power of the Griff cannon was definitely impressive, considering that he was already in sight of the target. Wyoming readied his pistol and attached a grapple, ready to latch onto the pelican. He wasn't going to have much time to aim, given the speed at which he was approaching the craft, but Wyoming was confident in his abilities.
The moment had come. Wyoming would shoot over it in about 4.7 seconds. He raised his pistol, got ready to fire…then froze. His body wasn't moving. The pelican shot on ahead while he remained suspended in space.
"Oh I do say, what is the meaning of this?" the freelancer exclaimed to no-one in particular. It was therefore very surprising when someone, or something, responded.
"I do apologise reclaimer, but I'm afraid that you'll have to bear with a change of plans." The voice was calm and robotic, but Wyoming could have sworn that there was a degree of smug satisfaction.
"And who the devil are you?" he demanded over his radio, trying to maintain his usual arrogance but partially failing. "Enemy or friend?"
His contact chuckled; "That is a choice that you yourself have to make. Perhaps you will understand more once I…enlighten you."
"And what if I don't want to?" Wyoming declared. "I'm a busy man, I don't have time to play silly games."
There was an eerie silence before the voice responded, this time almost coming out as a growl; "I never said that you had a choice, Reclaimer." Before Wyoming could respond, yellow light washed over him, and space became slightly emptier.
Mobile Station 'Red Giant', current site of Red Command
Upon arriving at Blood Gulch, Griff thought that he'd seen true levels of insanity. A sergeant who by all rights should never have made it past the rank of private, a fellow soldier with an aptitude for kissing one's ass to such an extent that he should have had his mouth clogged by faeces and a Blue who shouldn't have been using a sniper rifle given his poor aim. Of course, the last factor wasn't that surprising. All Blues were cocksucking arsefuckers, incompetence came as no surprise.
So here he was in one of the landing bays of a mobile station, the current HQ of the Red Army leaders (Red Army? Did that make them communists?). Nothing particularly unusual apart from the fact that the colour red was everywhere. What was unusual was the fact that they and the pelican had simply appeared in the landing bay.
They'd been greeted by deck staff, as protocol dictated. However, they seemed to be more glad that they were actually here than wondering at how that came to be. They'd reported it and hurried off. Something big was going down, and all Griff could hope was that it didn't affect him too much.
Sarge claimed to know what was happening, though he wasn't giving out any hints, claiming that it was classified. Perhaps the actual data was, but Griff knew that Sarge knowing the secrets of current events was as likely as the chance that he'd start treating him as a fellow human being.
Simmons was pacing around, seemingly deep in thought. "Probably thinking of new ways to kiss Sarge's ass," thought Griff. Well, he wasn't that interested in aiding in the Spaniard's thought process (Simmons was a Spanish name after all, it made sense).
Griff turned his attention to the only other individual in the landing bay, a soldier wearing brown armour who was currently servicing a Longsword Fighter, muttering under his breath. He seemed to be someone that Griff could relate to. He headed over.
"Hey pal, I understand that you're working hard and all, but I don't suppose you know where I could get something to eat," Griff asked.
"Yeah, I know," replied the soldier without looking up. "And I suppose that you want me to get it?" The sentence came out with a definite touch of resentment.
"Wow, thanks!" exclaimed Griff. "Let's see, I'll have-…"
"Oh right, rely on Phil why don't you?" exclaimed the soldier. "Service the fighter Phil. Clean the floor Phil. Do everything Phil!"
Griff blinked a few times before answering; "Nice piece of rhetoric. Kinda dismal though."
"You'd be dismal too if you had to put up with the crap that I have to," muttered the soldier apparently called Phil.
"Griff, what in Sam's hell are you doing?" exclaimed a voice suddenly. To Griff's dismay, he saw that Sarge was walking over.
"Relax sir, I'm just hanging out," protested Griff half-heartedly, knowing that Sarge's onslaught would continue.
"Indeed? And have you thought about this poor soldier here? He could catch your laziness."
Griff sighed; "Sir, I suppose that saying that that was the most retarded thing I ever heard will do me more harm than good."
"Correction. It won't do you any good," snarled Sarge. Fighting the urge to cower in fear, Griff turned to Phil for support, but his…acquaintance had gone back to servicing the pelican.
"Thanks for the support pal, it really made a difference," said Griff sarcastically.
"Whatever," muttered Phil. "It's not as if you'd return the favour." It was at this point that a beeping could be heard, a light flashing on the upper wall. "Bout time," Phil murmured, heading over to the lever that opened the hanger doors.
"Huh? What's going on?" asked Simmons absently. His mind was primarily on the words of the monitor.
"A FedEx pelican bringing in a small shipment," explained Phil as he typed in the key code to gain access to the lever that would open the hanger doors. "Bought time it showed up, the fleet's due to enter slipspace in about fifteen minutes."
"Fleet? What fleet?" exclaimed Griff.
Sarge sighed; "Why don't you look out the hanger and actually use your eyes, you lazy piece of-…"
"Alright, alright, I get the point," interrupted Griff, not willing to endure lecture no. 7759. He looked out the hanger bay doors and let his mouth fall open in awe. Frigates, destroyers, cruisers, even carriers. All were contrasted against the void of space. It was as if the entire Red space fleet was in one place. Something big was definitely going down.
"Ok, I'm ready to open the hanger," said Phil. "You guys better get behind cover."
"Can't you open it now?" asked Sarge.
"Why?"
"Oh, never mind," sighed Sarge, seeing that Griff had increased the distance between himself and the hanger doors. Shrugging, Phil opened them.
The vacuum of space was a bitch, but luckily it didn't have to make its presence known for long. The pelican shot through into the hanger and began its landing sequence, albeit a little shakily. Phil raised an eyebrow, having seen many ships enter and leave this hanger. Either something was wrong with the pelican or the pirate was a total noob.
The pelican touched down and its rear ramp decended. Out staggered a soldier in tan armour, holding a bottle of beer in one hand. It was the same one that had brought the sniper rifle to Blood Gulch.
"What in Sam's hell do you think you're doing?" exclaimed Sarge. "Drinking and driving, that's not fitting of a Red Soldier. This is the same kind of behaviour that I expect from my least favourite private!"
"What?" exclaimed Phil. "How would you expect this from me?"
"I meant Griff."
"Oh," said Phil. "Sorry. I'm used to being the least favourite. Man, life sucks."
"Relax fellas, I'm not drunk," said the tan soldier.
"Your stagger suggests otherwise," pointed out Simmons.
"Oh don't worry, I've just had the time of my life!" The declaration came out high pitched. Almost two high pitched.
"Wait a minute…" said Phil slowly, walking over. The soldier was still caught up in whatever pleasant memories that he was experiencing, so he made no move to stop Phil from taking off his helmet. Only thing was, it wasn't his helmet. It was a case of it being her helmet. A female with long blonde hair and sparkly blue eyes, at this point in time conveying a sense of trepidation.
Phil sighed; "I should have known."
"Hey, give that back," cried the girl, yanking the helmet away from Phil and putting it back on. Sarge, Simmons and Griff were staring at her. The damage had been done.
"Yes," she sighed. "I'm female."
"Hah! I knew it! Only females can drive this poorly!" exclaimed Griff.
"Like you can talk," said Simmons.
Sarge let out a growl and started walking forward; "I never thought this day would come," he said slowly. "I've actually met someone that disgusts me as much as Griff." Griff raised an eyebrow. Had Sarge found another individual that he could victimise? Perhaps there was hope for him after all.
Sarge had reached the female individual. "Alright dirt bag. Name and rank."
"Oh can the dramatics pal, I'm not the rookie wearing standard issue armour," exclaimed the female.
"I'll have you know that I'm actually a sergeant, and am thus wearing standard issue armour as part of protocol." His voice came out, filled with venom. "Now answer my question."
The girl sighed, sympathising with Phil. "Private Debbie Chapel," she murmured, facing the ground, pissed that voice filters that were compatible with their helmets wouldn't be invented for another three years.
"Damit, what is the universe coming to?" exclaimed Sarge. "Not only is Red Command letting females into the army, but they're letting them fly pelicans shoddily!"
"Oh go back to the 20th century, my landing wasn't that bad!" exclaimed Debbie. "I-…"
"Yo baby, what's keeping ya?" A voice drifted out of the pelican.
All eyes turned back to the pelican, where the sound of footsteps could be heard. "Where ya gone baby, neither of us have lost our virginity yet."
"Oh my god," moaned Debbie.
Another soldier came striding out of the pelican, this one clad in standard issue blue armour, and like Debbie, was holding a bottle of beer. "Come on, we've barely…oh." Tucker stopped, seeing that the Red sergeant had withdrawn his hulking shotgun.
"I'll deal with you later," snarled Sarge to Tucker. He turned to Debbie; "Care to explain the meaning of this?"
"So we talked a bit and I revealed that I was a girl," said Debbie hastily. "Nothing happened."
"Really? I'm getting a very different impression," chuckled Griff.
Sarge turned back to face Tucker; "Alright Blue, you're about to get intimate with something else. Namely a 12-gauge…" Sarge trailed off. All of the Reds were looking at something above Tucker.
Tucker followed suit. There was some type of yellow, electric light forming. Suddenly there was a flash and two soldiers came tumbling out landing on top of him, one in teal armour and the other in cobalt.
"Bitch," said the cobalt soldier, finishing the sentence that he'd started in the pelican. The teal one looked around. "Ugh, where are we?" he asked. "The afterlife?"
"Not yet," came a voice. A shotgun was pointed down at them.
Installation 08
Deep in the library of Installation 08, there was a flash of yellow light and a soldier clad in white armour came tumbling out. He rose slowly to his feet.
"And where the devil am I?" asked Wyoming.
"In the library of Installation 08," chirped a voice. Wyoming looked up to see a floating orb hovering above him, shining with yellow light.
"And where would this be?" asked Wyoming cautiously.
The orb chuckled before continuing; "Honestly, you reclaimers are hopeless at preserving history. Installation 08 is located…" The orb trailed off.
"I don't have all the time in the world you know," said Wyoming.
"Quite right, you don't," said the orb. "Your phenotype is compatible. You shall be incorporated." The sounds of humming could be heard…of doors opening.
Wyoming didn't exactly feel fear, but certainly trepidation. He holstered his pistol and drew out his MA5B assault rifle. "What's going on?" he asked.
"Protocol can be changed when the need is dire and a golden opportunity presents itself," said the orb, the sound of feet getting heavier. Sentinel Serries 2 is in its prototype stage, but I believe that you should be able to help."
Wyoming went to answer but stopped short, seeing the…'things' that were on either side of him, covering both exits to the chamber. "Oh bugger," he murmured.
The 'things' pressed forward. Heavy lead greeted them.