A/N: Hello all and welcome to chapter 71. With this, we officially begin the final arc. Chorus is finally here.
*Chapter 71*
"Journal entry 101. It's been a long time since I've done one of these, so I suppose it is best to get caught up. Everything can be traced back to Project Freelancer, the experimental project gone horribly wrong. The men leading it were corrupt and the soldiers in it were blind. Guess which side I was on. After the project began being investigated, I was sent in to do the dirty work. I collected armor, weapons, AIs, and equipment, but I was too slow. Everyone fought over the remnants of Project Freelancer; I didn't think I could really trust anyone after being shot in the back. But…then I met the Reds and Blues of Blood Gulch, plus a few friends. All who shared a common interest of taking the project down, and we did. The Director, the AIs, rogue agents; they're all gone. As for us…well we're shipwrecked. Crashed on our ride home. I just hope someone finds us soon. This is Agent Washington signing—"
"FIRING MAIN CANNON!"
"Oh goddammit, what now!?" Washington groaned into his fist. He was so not paid enough for this shit. Now he knew the real reason Maine handed over leadership of the Blue Team to him without a fuss; in fact, Wash would say the big bastard was happy about it. Being in charge of a bunch of rag-tag idiots was not fun in the slightest. Between Tucker's stupid complaints that he wasn't having sex anytime soon thanks to Kaikaina taking Junior back to his home planet and Caboose being…well, Caboose, it was very fucking stressful.
Cursing everything and everyone under his breath, the blue armored Freelancer stalked over to the source of the sounds. Surprise, surprise; the Reds for some reason took the tank and were now shelling their own base with it. Wash was less surprised than he wanted to be and sighed, walking over to Simmons who stood outside the tank.
"What the hell are you guys doing?" Wash asked in exasperation.
"Well well, if it isn't our good friend Agent Washington," Sarge drawled, swiveling the tank's 90 millimeter cannon at him. Of course the senile old man would be driving. Who else would come up with this?
"Don't try to butter me up, Sarge." Washington scowled under his helmet. "…and please refrain from pointing that at me."
"Fine," Sarge muttered.
"We were just borrowing the tank for a little construction work," Simmons explained.
"Really? Who the hell did you ask, fucking Caboose?" Wash rolled his eyes.
"Probably…" Caboose said suddenly behind him. "Not my fault. Tucker told me to." Yep, there it was. Classic blame it on Tucker protocol. Nice to see that being shipwrecked on this shitty little planet on the ass end of nowhere didn't change some things.
'Maine you asshole.' Washington prayed for someone to give him strength. "Sarge, get out of the fucking tank. Your base is fine."
"Not a chance, Blue!" Sarge chuckled. "Possession's nine-tenths of the law! The other tenth is a tank! And I've got both!"
"Get out of the fucking tank you senile old fuck!" Grif yelled, nearly getting blown up for his efforts. "Son of a bitch!"
"Finger slipped?" the trigger happy old man tried.
"Get. Out. Now." The blue armored Freelancer shouldered his BR85. He was done with these damn games. Their situation was way more dire than the Reds and Blues realized; the communications dish they salvaged from the wreck of their ship was in serious need of repairs and the ones most gifted with maintaining equipment had either fucked off entirely, pregnant, or currently trying to build the most impenetrable hole anyone had ever seen. Seriously Reach, what in the literal fuck? Where the hell does someone find automated turrets in the middle of a jungle?
Growling reluctantly, Sarge climbed out of the tank, all the while ranting and raving. "This is an outrage! Blue Team's base is closer to the crash site! You've got an unfair advantage!" Oh dear God, this again?
Wash groaned into his fist and wished he became a farmer instead. It would be a hell of a lot less stressful than dealing with these idiots. "Sarge, the Reds and Blues aren't fighting anymore. We're just camped at opposite ends of the canyon in…color divided teams…while heavily armed at all times." Okay, maybe Sarge wasn't completely insane for thinking the Red vs. Blue war was still going on.
"True. But have you considered that fighting is just in our blood?" Sarge asked. Oh shit he was serious. "If we're not constantly trying to stab each other in the back we're surely die.
"Dear fucking God, I hate you." Washington sighed and ignored Sarge clapping him on the shoulder with a hearty chuckle.
"We may not be fighting, but you are still closer to the food store than we are and that is something I will not stand for," Grif added, wobbling out of the base with a cigarette in hand.
"You won't stand for anything, you fat fuck," Simmons retorted, bringing a snort of laughter out of Sarge.
"If you were six feet closer you'd be sorry," Grif threatened.
"If we don't ration the supplies we have on hand we'll all be sorry," Blue Team's leader snapped, all three of the Reds looking at him. Finally he had their attention. "We need to get that communications dish online ASAP. If we run out of food before we can make a distress signal, we're dead."
"Buzzkill…" Grif muttered.
Washington rolled his eyes and climbed into the tank to drive it back to base. Maine and South were busy scouring their crashed ship for supplies, which meant Tucker was alone. God knows what he was doing with his time.
"Come on Caboose; let's go have us a chat with Private Tucker." Wash could feel his temples hurting already. "And why the hell are there so many fucking pedals in this thing!? What the fuck!?"
Grif sighed and took a drag on his cigarette, shaking his head. "Sarge, I know that Wash is kind of an asshole at times, but do you seriously think they of all people are going to try and attack us?"
"He has a point, sir," Simmons admitted reluctantly. "Wash, Maine, and South are all too busy doing maintenance work to even think about an attack, and Reach…has fucked off to build his own place with Tex."
He gestured to the fort in between both Red and Blue base, which was also currently being guarded by two automated machine gun turrets salvaged from the wreckage and God knows how many bullets their old leader had stashed inside. Unless Reach said you could enter, you were not getting in. Grif learned that the hard way via lockdown paint to the groin when he tried to raid the Spartan's liquor cabinet. As a result of Reach's sudden burst of protectiveness, the fortress he built had been christened as, 'Fort Fuck Off'. Simmons wouldn't put it past him to take the rocket turret from a Warthog to add to its defenses.
"This is unacceptable! Our base is in desperate need of renovations!" Sarge roared, brandishing his fist.
"Dude, why are you so hung up on that?" Grif asked wearily. "We're shipwrecked, surrounded by a mysterious and seemingly uninhabited jungle, and you're worried about the condition of our makeshift fort."
"Besides, it's not even that bad!" Simmons added.
"I…wouldn't go that far." Grif grimaced.
"What, what's wrong with it?"
"Seriously? There's a giant fucking hole in the roof! Every time it rains, which is seemingly every other four hours, I get washed into the corner!"
"And the west wing is made up entirely of sandbags and rain tarps." Sarge pointed to the pile in question, one sandbag falling off the stack to prove his point.
"Speaking of, if we've got rain tarps, then why aren't we using them to plug the fucking hole in the roof? It just reeks of laziness and it isn't from me," Grif added. "Besides, you're only defensive right now because you built the base."
"I did a better job than you would have, asshole." Simmons glared at the fat orange soldier.
"That's not exactly saying much." Grif snorted in laughter. "But at least I would have put it in a better location. I wanted to put it by Reach's place, but he keeps fucking shooting at me."
"But this is the best location!" Simmons yelled in frustration. The best artists were never recognized in their time. "The sunlight here is perfect for my vegetable garden, meaning we won't run out of food, and the heat generated from the ship's engine should keep us from freezing to death in winter!"
"…aren't Slipspace drives also radioactive?" Sarge deadpanned. All three of the simulation troopers stared at the massive engine that was currently hanging over their base. Okay, maybe Reach had a point as to why he built a secure base instead of bunking with them. His wife was pregnant after all and they didn't need another Junior running around.
"That explains why my hair keeps falling out. And why all your cabbages have three heads." Grif pointed at the plants.
Simmons felt the tears well up and let out a sniffle. "I thought I was just really good at farming…" He thought after all these years of constant failure he would finally make it as a farmer and show he could be useful other than just piggybacking off of Sarge. But nope. Reality is a cruel bitch is it not?
"No, Simmons." Grif snickered. "You're good at other things, like always being on time and maintaining your virginity."
"Oh yeah? Well we'll see who gets the last laugh when my crops produce a bountiful harvest!" Yeah, Simmons really couldn't think of anything better to say in response.
"Glad to see you still have that virginity on lockdown, buddy." Grif flipped him the finger and went back inside to run through his porn collection again. "Also, dude? I think I broke the urinal in the laundry room."
"We don't have a fucking urinal in the laundry room."
"…oh."
Very few things scared Tucker, especially after he fought the Meta. Those few things were, in no particular order: Reach, Maine, Tex on one of her bad days, and Caboose in a tank. And guess what, Caboose was seemingly in a tank and its main cannon was pointed right at him as he stood outside Blue Base next to a bunch of equipment he was cleaning.
"Oh fuck…" Tucker gulped and gripped his DMR a little bit tighter.
"Hello. We are back." Caboose popped out from behind the tank.
"Caboose? Oh thank fuck I thought you were in that thing." Tucker let out a sigh of relief. "Wait…who is in that thing?"
Washington climbed out of the hatch. "Hello, private." Shit.
"Fuck me…" the aqua soldier muttered.
"Tucker, what's the one thing we tell you every day?" the blue armored Freelancer asked, stalking over to him.
"Wake up," Tucker deadpanned.
"The other thing, smartass?" Washington hissed.
"For the love of God, stop sleeping naked?" Tucker tried. To be fair, it was humid and hot. Sleeping naked should be allowed in these extreme circumstances.
"Don't let anyone touch the tank. Goes double for Caboose." Wash sighed.
Tucker looked at the tank, then past that to see a giant hole just above Red Base on the opposite side of the canyon. Good God, what the hell were they doing with it? "Okay, I can see where you're going with this. My bad, dude. He slipped away on one of his walks while I was cleaning." He was asked to clean any equipment they salvaged, not babysit. He knew better than to argue with either South or Maine.
Washington sighed and took off his helmet, suddenly looking a good five years older already. If this was what leadership did to someone, then Tucker was glad he never volunteered for the position. "We need to be more responsible with the supplies we have on hand. I don't like the look of this place and would really love to get us a rescue ship out of here."
"I know, I know." Tucker rolled his eyes. "Maintain our equipment, ration the food, and don't let Caboose near anything that will kill all of us. Why the hell do you think we've been loading his gun with crayons for this long?" Hey, he saw what the dumb Blue did to Church with a tank. Freelancer Command had a keyboard shortcut to report his teamkills for a reason.
"And always report to me," Washington added.
"Do we have to?" Tucker groaned.
"Yes!" The Freelancer scowled. "I even made use of that old Blue Team organizational chart. Why the hell is Sister ranked below even Caboose?"
"Don't ask me, dude. We never really used it. Church would just shout orders and we'd get around to them eventually. Or never."
"He was an inspiration to us all." Caboose sniffled.
"Well, Church and Carolina decided to fuck off on their own without so much as saying a goodbye. Maine was your acting captain previously after Florida kicked the bucket so if you want to I can just as easily retire and put him back in charge if you'd like?" Washington offered helpfully. "How does that sound to you? Or even South? Tex?"
Each name made Tucker wince.
"That's what I thought." Washington rolled his eyes. "It falls down to me, and while I'm sure some of you guys hate the prospect of work, we have to if we want to survive."
"Great pep talk, coach," Tucker drawled sarcastically, scratching at the stubble that had started to form on his chin. "Why don't you ask Reach to help you fix that tower so we can leave then?"
"Does it look like I'm in the mood to try and dodge lockdown paint? I don't even think it's actually him shooting either."
"…good point."
Shit, Washington had it bad. Tucker hated the fact that he had to actually try to be a semi-responsible soldier, but the other options of making a life for himself here or dying weren't exactly appealing. He just wished he had his best fucking friend with him. Sure, Church had his moments where he shouted at them constantly, but the two of them had gone through a lot of shit together. He'd give up alcohol if it meant he could have his friend with him.
His leader looked past him at the crates of supplies that had been cleaned earlier. "What's all that?"
"Ah, just some standard weapons." Tucker shrugged. "According to the ship's manifest, it was carrying a large supply of experimental tech too. Most of that is on the other part of the crash. South and Maine are searching to see if there's anything we can use to improve the base at least somewhat. Better idea than shooting it with a tank."
If there was one thing that he couldn't complain about, it was that Wash did let him work at his own pace and unsupervised to give him a taste of what it meant to be a soldier. He wasn't always going to have a hand to hold through everything. Responsibility.
"Can't argue with you there." Wash chuckled. "You're doing a good job. I think Flowers would be glad to see you turned out decent."
"Stop, you'll make me blush," Tucker drawled.
"There's the Tucker I know." Washington snorted. "I'm going inside with Caboose; I'm trusting you to keep an eye on things until Maine and South get back. If the Reds come…shoot them with the paint."
Tucker grinned. Now that was definitely an order he could get behind. Bow chicka bow wow. "With pleasure."
Reach sighed in frustration when he heard the motion detectors go off inside the fort he had built. 'For fuck's sake, what now?' With an annoyed grumble he hit a few buttons on the display, holo-projecting his head outside the base to see who it was. "Who is it?"
"Jesus fucking Christ, you scared the shit out of me!" It was South. Oh. "We found the ship's medbay and managed to grab some tech from it. Figured you would be in the market for that sort of thing?"
"You can come in." Reach clicked the display off and let the doors hiss open, ignoring Eta's remark about how much of an asshole he could be at times. He poured himself a whiskey drink as South came into the base of operations and the silver haired woman was puffing a bit as she lugged some equipment in.
"Fucking hell," she groaned, setting it down next to the other medical supplies they salvaged. "Where the hell did you find a holo-projector in the middle of a jungle?"
"Rewired some of the ship's small displays." Reach sipped from his cup. "Comes in handy every now and then. Tired of the Reds coming up here with their radioactive armor. You have no idea how hard it is to constantly spray down everything they touch. Want a drink?"
"No thanks," South declined, shaking her head. "Have to go back up in a bit to make sure Maine isn't getting lost in the sets of armor. Acting like a kid in a toy store. By the way, how's Tex handling everything?"
"WHY THE FUCK ARE THERE NO GODDAMN HOTDOGS IN HERE!?" Tex roared in fury from deeper within.
South winced at the sound of breaking glass that followed the angry bellow. "Never mind, forget I asked. How are you coping?"
Reach held up his drink. "I have this for a reason. Cravings are getting bad and she's…well, not exactly happy about the idea of giving birth on a planet that seems to have no one on it. Hormone rush. It'll wear off. Or she'll actually attempt to murder one of the Reds. Either way, I'm fine with it."
South snorted and took a proper look around. "Nice little command center you've built here. How many of those turrets do you have?"
"Two for now on the perimeter." Reach finished his drink and stood up, gesturing to the rocket turret of a Warthog. "Found this earlier, plus a few dozen spare rockets for it. We add this to the defenses and if we do get attacked, then they'll regret it." For some reason he didn't know, he felt as though their crash wasn't an accident. Too many things happened at once. The ship tried to jump into Slipspace, power down, and change course all at the same time. Too coordinated, too perfect.
"You feel it too, then. Good, it's not just me and Wash going crazy." South sighed. "Can you think of anything?"
"Not a thing." He shook his head with a grimace. "And I don't like it. Project Freelancer is gone, we're free men and women again."
"You are a pretty hot commodity and the UNSC didn't exactly take best to news of your retirement," she reminded. "Married or not, a Spartan is pretty damn valuable. Your suits cost more than our damn Longswords, for God's sake."
"So much for spending the rest of my life on a nice resort somewhere in the Caribbean, huh?" Reach snorted. "I'll keep watch on our perimeters and make adjustments to our hovels as much as I can. If someone did want our ship to crash, they'll get a lot more than they bargained for." They all had a lot of work to do to keep themselves alive for however long they were going to be stranded for. That communications tower needed a lot of work.
After South had left, he went underneath his desk and pulled out a toolkit. Some wrenches, piping, wires, and a pair of channel locks big enough to be used as a weapon.
After he finished pulling out the tools he needed, he glanced up and saw Tex standing meekly in the corner, tapping her index fingers together. "Sorry…I'll clean up the glass…"
The ex Spartan gave her a kiss on the forehead, ruffling her hair. "Don't worry; we're getting out of here. You know me."
"When you make a promise, you keep it. I do know how to pick them."
A/N: And here we are. As always, thanks for the support and if you wanna join my server, it's always open.
-Kagerou#0007