A/N: Hello all and welcome to chapter 72. In a way, I feel incredibly old. It's been what, seven years? Goddamn that is a lot of my life invested in telling this story.

*Chapter 72*

South made it back up to the remains of their crashed ship and found Maine had kept himself busy with their task of recovering supplies. The massive Freelancer was growling irritably about missing out on the experimental tech onboard, but it was better than him raiding the armor caches to try and give himself a new paint job. All of the black and red paint had already been claimed anyway. Goddammit Reach.

"Find anything else useful?" she asked.

Maine turned around and showed a stash of some of the UNSC's newest toys. Specifically, brand new assault rifles and battle rifles. Nothing fancy, but they wouldn't have to worry too much about running out of spare parts in case they had to make repairs in the field. And assault rifles in general had a nasty habit of needing them. Whether or not this new model was made out of more quality bits had yet to be tested, but that was something very easily accomplished.

They just had to ask Reach to direct Tex's anger onto a loaded one for five seconds and let her have at it. She'd riddle one of the Reds or their shitty makeshift fort with bullet holes and they'd get their answer whether or not the new assault rifle was more reliable under duress. All in the name of science of course.

And maybe to help improve the Red Base a little. Bullet holes added character. It also sent a message to stop trying to bring radioactive armor into the vicinity of someone who was pregnant, something the Reds only just realized and was more than a bit concerning. The last thing South wanted was another Junior running around. One weird alien baby was enough for a lifetime, thank you very much.

"Ooh, very nice." South picked up an assault rifle, making sure it was unloaded before shouldering it and taking aim down the spark-lit ruin of one of the ship's corridors. "Feels lighter than the previous model. Not bad."

South just had to make sure that the magazine could handle being stuffed with cut up crayons in the event they had to give Caboose a weapon. Blue Team had a nice little run without anyone being shot by Caboose and didn't want to ruin the streak now. Though if the Reds decided to raid their base for supplies, it could be troublesome.

Who the hell was she kidding? The whole Red vs. Blue war had long since ended. They were just stuck at opposite ends of the jungle canyon in…color divided teams. While walking around in full armor and carrying some form of weaponry at all times. Okay, maybe the Reds had a point. A point on their heads, but a point nonetheless. Goddammit, this sucked. All South wanted to do was enjoy a nice tropical vacation in the Caribbean with her boyfriend after a lifetime's worth of hell. So much for hoping for that. Shipwrecked, surrounded by an uninhabited jungle in the middle of nowhere, and with a broken communications tower. Good start to retirement.

"Maine, do you ever wonder why we're here?" she asked exasperatedly. "Like why we always get wrapped up in some form of fuckery?" 'Is there ever going to be an end to this bullshit? Even Reach is tired of it and he's been through much worse.' The retired Spartan was definitely annoyed with their situation, hence why he was busy making the most impenetrable hole this side of the galaxy out of spite. Seriously Reach, what the fuck? Was he raiding the ship whenever they weren't looking or just stealing from the Reds to be petty? At this point, South's money was on the latter.

Still, she wouldn't deny one thing; he knew how to make one hell of a command center. Bastard even had good alcohol stashed away, the lucky fuck. He also didn't have to deal with Tucker's constant bitching and moaning about Church and Carolina fucking off on a daily basis. Good God, how does one have so much time to complain and so little time to do what he was asked? If it kept up, South was going to petition for his exile.

Maine let out a hiss followed by a sharp grunt. He was tired of the bullshit called their lives, too. The big man was looking forward to finally sipping on a nice cold martini; instead, they had a fuckton of shitty beer and only one bottle of tequila. That was nowhere near enough alcohol to get them through this mess sane and in one piece. At least Reach had whiskey he was willing to offer whenever they needed a stiff one.

After today, she was more than willing to accept a drink or two if it meant she didn't have to deal with the Blues for a few extra minutes. Wash had already patched a call through on the local COMs and debriefed her as to why he had to wrestle the tank out of the Reds' hands. She was in no mood to deal with them sober if she could help it.

"Yeah, I hear you." The silver blonde scoffed and patted his shoulder affectionately. "The sooner we get off this damn rock, the better. I hear Reach has purchased some nice property in the Caribbean back on Earth."

Maine's growl was low and deep.

"We are not keeping that crappy furniture we first had sex in." South rolled her eyes.

A disappointed grumble echoed in his throat.

After Tucker had finished sorting the weapons caches and checking each one to make sure it was operable, Washington had another task for him. Great. More work. Still, he had little room to complain. Dragging it out meant they all stayed here longer. "What now?"

"Just a brief simulation exercise." Tucker did not like that little smirk his leader bore. "Inside the tunnels, you'll find an elaborate obstacle course designed to test both your reflexes and your skill. Since this is your first time, I'm not expecting a world record. Just do your best."

"Oh you've got to be fucking kidding me." Tucker groaned and his shoulders slumped. "Can't I just go do some sprints or something? I might have a miserable fucking life, but at least I'll have glorious calves."

"I could ask Reach to run you through it if you'd like," Washington offered helpfully.

Yeah, fuck that. Tucker was in no mood to get hit in the dick by lockdown paint.

"You know what, I've changed my mind."

"You're changing it? And you think the new one will be any better?"

"Oh fuck off." The aqua-armored soldier rolled his eyes as his leader chortled, though in his helmet he was smirking a little. Wash might be a pain in the ass sometimes, but Tucker wouldn't deny he had a sense of humor. As poor as it could be some days. He spent way too much time around Reach.

"Alright, fine. I assume that you're going to ask what the UNSC's motto is, right? Because I know that one."

"Really?"

"When in doubt, rub one out." Tucker smirked.

"Dear god, just do the fucking course." Washington groaned. "3, 2, 1, begin." He fired his pistol at Tucker's legs to get him running.

"Shit!" Tucker jumped into the caverns and immediately broke into a sprint, swapping his DMR for his energy sword to cut through a pile of wooden pallets that blocked the tunnel. Shit, if this was all there was to the course, then this would be a breeze.

A trio of orange traffic cones had been laid out on a few crates to his left not much further ahead and he disengaged the sword's plasma blade to stick it on his thigh. His DMR was drawn and he fired, hitting two of the targets. "Fuck!" He was going to hear it for missing a shot, but he couldn't go back for it. Waste of time.

Tucker kept sprinting down the corridor, leaping with dust raining down on his armor. He tried to rub it away from his visor only to find he had not timed his jump as well as he thought. Underneath his feet were a few simulation mines that caused armor lockup. "Oh son of a—"

The next thing he knew, he was bent over in the most uncomfortable position known to man, unable to do anything to move out of it until his armor unlocked. His ears were hammered by a shrill alarm in his suit and he groaned in agony, forced to be in such a humiliating position. His suit beeped a few times and the armor lock feature reset, letting the aqua armored soldier to crawl to his hands and knees to the next part of the course.

He immediately ducked upon seeing gunfire flash over his head and he wasted no time in returning fire. His DMR flashed up and he put two bullets into a holographic projection of a soldier. The projection flashed away and he dusted himself off, shaking his head. "What the actual fuck!?"

When the hell did Wash even find the time to set all of this up? They had only been here for like a fucking week. The only way he could have gotten the entire obstacle course functioning was if he roped in Maine and South to help. And there was no way of that happening; ever since Maine stepped down as captain and appointed Wash in charge, the two of them had stayed as far from Blue Base as physically possible. Anytime equipment needed recovering, they were the first to volunteer themselves for it.

Honestly, Tucker couldn't blame them a bit. He wanted to be as far away from this place as possible. He was more surprised that Maine and South didn't try to start sleeping in the remains of their ship now.

Tucker paused to catch his breath, only to find himself in a completely different scenario. "Who the fuck are all these people!?" He sprinted past Scorpions and Wraiths clashing, gunfire from Warthogs spraying out across the battlefield. Wash, what the fuck?

He pumped his legs as fast as he could, sprinting towards the end and ducking under plasma bolts. 'What the actual fuck!? What sort of shit is this!?' Tucker heard the whistling of a mortar cannon and immediately ducked, leaping up to the next part of a course.

Which sent him down a very steep ride in the back of a Warthog turret. "What the fuck is going on!?"

Washington smirked and took a sip of coffee, patiently waiting for Tucker to come out of the other end of the tunnel obstacle course. He clicked the timer and hummed. Not a bad time at all. Reach's work had paid off. "Not too shabby. How are you feeling?"

Tucker was panting, visibly shaking from the adrenaline rush that he was experiencing. "What the…what was all that?"

"Just a little something I've been working on in my spare time." Washington took a very vocal slurp of coffee. "Take a bit of time to catch your breath; the adrenaline will wear off. In the meantime, it looks like I owe Reach a drink. His training did you good."

Caboose jumped down from the top of Blue Base, excited to have his old helmet back. South and Maine had fashioned one for him so he could remember what he looked like. Long story.

However, the minute he hit the ground, the helmet's visor flickered out. "Hello? Who turned out the lights? Why can't I see anything!? Am I blind!?" Son of a bitch…

Washington groaned into his fist and once again regretted his career choice. 'Oh for…' "Goddammit. Why can't this be easy for once?" Now they had another thing to fix besides the fucking radio tower. "Caboose, come here. I'll reset your helmet's visor settings for you."

Tucker guided the now blind Blue over towards the Freelancer and he set his coffee down on a nearby crate. "Alright, let's get this over with."

Caboose tripped over a tree root. "Ow."

Washington's eye twitched and he felt more of his hair turn grey. Leadership was aging him much faster than he thought. How much more of this was he supposed to take before he finally snapped? 'There is so not enough alcohol in the fridge to cope with this.'

Fuck it, the next time South and Maine were down, he was going to raid the captain's cabin for some decent booze. They could play babysitter for a bit. He earned a five minute break from this nonsense.

Caboose was helped to his feet by an exasperated Tucker and cautiously carried him over to Wash. "Hold still." He yanked Caboose's helmet off and quickly hit the reset on the visor. It flickered back to life and the Freelancer crammed it back on the simulation trooper's head. "Alright, now try."

"Nope. Still can't see," Caboose answered promptly.

"Open your eyes," Washington deadpanned. Fuck this, he was becoming a farmer when he got back to Earth. It would certainly be a lot less stressful than dealing with simulation troopers too dumb to be left alone near live firearms. Hell, he'd probably be pretty damn good at it. How hard could it be?

Or he could become a certified forklift driver. That sounded nice too.

"Oh my God, I can see!" Caboose proclaimed proudly.

Washington sighed and dragged his hands down the side of his face, praying for someone to give him strength. 'Come on, Wash. You can do this. You have to see it through.' Once he was done, he gestured to the tunnels that hid the incredibly complex obstacle course. "Now that you're able to see where you're going, I have a little exercise for you. Inside here you will find an elaborate course designed to test your—"

Caboose went in and not even a second later was already at the end. And the mines had blown up in spectacular fashion. "Wow! That was fun! I'm going on a walk now!"

…

Washington looked at Caboose's retreating form and then at Tucker. "Did…that just seriously happen?" He blinked stupidly for a few seconds, trying to come to terms with the fact that Caboose just completed an entire obstacle course in the span of half a second. Tucker reached into his armor and pulled out a pair of cigars that the Blue Team raided from the shipwreck and offered it to him.

Fuck it.

Washington accepted it and caught the box of matches to go with it. "So…I think that's enough drills for a day. I should…go fix the tower…"

"Mind if I come with?" the aqua armored soldier asked wearily. "I'm bored out of my fucking skull here and I do not want to spend the rest of the night babysitting that blue boy."

Fair enough reason. Maybe he'd pick up some mechanical skills too.

"Sure. Just let me grab my tools." Washington shrugged. He didn't have a problem with Tucker tagging along. If anything, the company would help to prevent him from going completely insane from boredom and keep his temper at bay too. He jogged over to one of the crates and picked up his toolkit, hearing a variety of socket wrenches clatter together inside.

He winced when he realized just how unorganized the toolbox was. Carolina would have snapped his neck for this sort of carelessness. If there was one thing she was OCD about that he'd kill for now, it was her tendency to make sure every tool was in the right place. 'Why the fuck did you run off? We need you two here. Badly.'

Wash didn't want to say it aloud, but the strain was getting to him. The constant hustle and worry of his team was not doing him any favors.

He took a drag on the cigar generously offered and coughed horribly. "Ah, fuck!"

Tucker chortled at the Freelancer's coughing fit, taking slow drags with smug satisfaction. "What's the matter, big bad Freelancer can't handle a little smoke in the lungs?"

"Oh shut up." Washington wheezed and caught his breath, taking the drags a little slower so he wouldn't gag and look like a bigger idiot. "So why did you really want to tag along? I doubt it was just to have a chat and learn valuable skills."

"Dude, this kind of techno bullshit would have gotten me beat up in high school." Tucker snorted. "I just wanted to mention how this doesn't exactly all add up."

"Go on…" Washington wanted to know where he was headed with this. Maybe Tucker was actually capable of using that stuffing between his ears for something other than keeping a helmet on.

"I mean, this ship was fucking huge. That's a pretty big crisis if you ask me. Not a single crew member lived, yet we haven't even seen so much as a sniff of a rescue team. The galactic positioning system should've alerted a colony within seconds of a mayday."

Washington stopped and stared at him. "…how do you know that? I mean, you're not wrong, but how do you know about that?"

"Even if the ship were to crash, the galactic positioning system would let the nearest colony know and rescue would be imminent. Isn't that grand?"

"Yeah cool, nerd stuff. Hey is it just me, or is that blonde really checking me out?"

"The…pilot?"

"Yeah, she's definitely checking me out."

"Wait you can't go over there!"

"Hey baby, I heard you were a pilot. Think you can pull up on my throttle? Bow chicka bow wow."

BLEEEP! BLEEEP! BLEEEP!

"I, uh, learned it from a book?" Tucker tried.

"I don't believe you. Then again, I don't really care." Washington snorted and with him in tow, they made their way over to the communication tower they were building. It was still a complete mess; wires were laying haphazardly everywhere and the Freelancer grimaced as one of them sparked for good measure.

"Alright, should be an easy fix here." He opened his toolkit to find his soldering iron and found it was missing. "Hey, Tucker? Have you seen my soldering iron?"

"Nope." Tucker shook his head, looking at the blank black screen of the tower's monitor.

"Goddammit. This would be so much easier if I didn't have to constantly fucking run around looking for tools," Wash grumbled.

"Think the Reds took it?"

"Men, it appears as though our shitty fort does not meet my ridiculous standards." Washington drew a shotgun and did a piss poor imitation of Sarge. "Let's steal Washington's tank and shoot it at our wall! That'll fix it!"

…

"Yes I think the Reds took it," the Freelancer deadpanned. "You stay here and shoot anyone who isn't named South, Maine, Reach, or myself. I'm going to get my fucking soldering iron back."

Fuck this jungle and especially fuck the Reds.

Tucker grinned and made sure his DMR still had some ammo in it. "I can do that."

A/N: And that's it for this one. Typed out before work while somewhat sleep deprived. I have terrible habits. If you want to join the server, here is the link to it. Just let me or a mod know how old you are so we can get your roles set properly.

-Kagerou#0007

Server link: /natnWXjCMB