Author's Note: This story prompt was inspired by Eolian1.
X is for Xeralf
To be completely honest, this was really all Blade's fault. The Chief should have really known better than to leave an entire box of red sharpies on his desk. The permanent markers were known smokejumper magnets…this time it had only taken Drip a few hours to discover and 'borrow' them. If the missing markers had been discovered quickly, the whole situation would have ended with a tongue lashing and then return the markers. But this time the whole team had been called out on a major fire located in the national forest that surrounded the park, and by the time they returned Drip couldn't remember where he squirreled away his contraband.
To Blade's credit, the helicopter kept his temper under control…but those who knew him well knew just how thin that thread of control was. The Chief had handed off Drip's punishment to Dynamite, before quickly excusing himself to his hanger. Cabbie had excused himself soon after to make a purchase of replacement markers off of Amazon using his personal funds, because Crysler knew they didn't have enough wiggle room in the base's budget to purchase another box of sharpies with Air Attack Funds. Maru had followed suit, ushering Dipper out to let smokejumpers deal with the smokejumper business.
Dynamite sighed as she looked at her ragtag bunch of vehicles. "Drip, what was going through your head when you took those markers?"
"That we all needed matching sharpie mustaches." Drip stated happily as he bounced slightly on his treads.
There was a ripple of approving murmurs from the other smokejumpers and Dynamite couldn't stifle her groan. "Stop that right there, especially you Avalanche." Dynamite stared daggers at her lieutenant. "You of all vehicles should know better. If you wanted sharpie mustaches you should have ordered sharpies using your own money, or at the very least asked if you could borrow one of the markers. Understood?"
There was another murmur of agreement from the smokejumpers that was completely drowned out by a particularly cowed Avalanche's reply of "YES, MA'AM."
"This brings us to punishment. Drip, you are on latrine duty, by yourself, until you find the missing box of sharpies." Dynamite watched Drip as she spoke and while he was annoyed at the added chore, he was still too chipper for her taste. What the little digger didn't realize was latrine duty was the least of his punishment. "Drip, I am also assigning you to be support for a team of researchers for the entirety of their visit to Piston Peaks."
Drip's face quickly shifted from neutral to a pout. "Do I have to?"
"ISN'T THAT A BIT EXTREME?" Avalanche tried to advocate for his friend.
Dynamite leveled a pissed look at the dozer. "No, no it isn't extreme." She shifted her focus onto Drip. "Drip borrowed and then lost the last box of red sharpies on base. Sharpies that the Chief needed to get his work done and he did it because he thought that sharpie mustaches were apparently more important than the Chief's work. If anything, a week and a half of being a mule for team of scientists is light punishment. Understood?"
"YES, MA'AM." Avalanche's voice once again drowned out everyone else on his team, but Dynamite could see the other vehicle's lips moving so she was satisfied with he response.
"Good." She bobbed slightly on her tires. "Now everyone but Drip is dismissed."
As Avalanche ushered Blackout and Pinecone out of the main hanger, Dynamite leveled an icy glare at Drip. She really was getting too old for this.
The following Monday, Drip nervously sat nervously between Dynamite and Blade on the tarmac waiting for the scientists arrive. Blackout had kindly packed him a lunch and snacks, which meant that Drip was pretty sure that he was going to survive the experience…but he still couldn't help but feel like a prisoner on his way to execution. A week and a half…8 whole days of sitting quietly while scientists did their sciencing was going to be so mind-numbing that Drip was genuinely worried he might die of boredom.
Drip's eyes focused on a pebble on the edge of the tarmac as he heard the crunch of tires heading up the base road, willing the scientists to turn around and save Drip from his terrible fate…but they didn't turn around and soon a set of tires entered the little skid steer's vision.
"Good morning!" The new arrival said cheerfully. "You must be Chief Blade."
"That is correct." Blade said with his customer service tone.
"Thank you so much for being willing to loan us a member of your team to help with this project." The vehicle bobbed slightly on their tires. "I know that it is the rooftop of the fire season up here and this probably leaves you a little bit short-staffed, but they gave us a very limited window to complete the soil survey of the Park. We were able to pound out the well-traveled areas of the Park, but we quickly realized that we were going to need some additional help with the backcountry work."
Drip's curiosity started to get the better of him and he allowed his eyes to flick upward towards the vehicle…correction, vehicles that were parked in front of him. There was Ford-750 who was equipped with a flatbed and strapped onto that flatbed was a small tug, roughly the same size as Patch, and a skid steer. All three vehicles were painted in the white, green, and blue of the NRCS.
"Well, we are giving you Drip, a vehicle who has a practically endless well of energy, so make sure that you give him plenty of hard work to do." Dynamite smiled sweetly up at the team, but Drip couldn't help but catch the predatory glint in her eye. It took all of his self-control not to shutter.
"I suspect there will be enough hard work to tire us all out." The Ford said with a proper laugh. He turned his focus to Drip. "You ready for some backwoods camping?"
Drip's eyes got a little bit bigger. All the stuff that Dynamite made him pack suddenly made a whole lot more sense. He couldn't help but feel a little bit conflicted. On one tire, backcountry camping meant that he was going to get stuck with these scientists 24/7 for the length of this expedition…on the other tire, it was backcountry camping. Who in their right mind would say no to the opportunity to get paid to go backcountry camping?
After a few rotor beats, Drip finally managed to spit out a couple of words. "I…I guess?"
The Ford gave Blade an amused look. "Endless energy, eh?
"Believe me, once he warms up to you, you will not be able to get him to shut up." Blade smirked back.
The Ford backed up slightly so he could properly eye Drip. After a few moments, he gave a slight bob on his tires. "Challenge accepted. Load up Drip, we have work to do, and sunlight is a wasting.
And with that Drip started one of his most memorable adventures of his life. It turned out that soil scientists were not nearly boring as botanists or wildlife biologists. Instead of waiting quietly as the scientists made their observations or collected samples, Drip was actively encouraged to help dig holes, make mud pies, and get dirty.
Next thing Drip knew the soil scientists had started to teach him some of the secret language that soil scientists used to talk to each other. He learned that most of the soils around base were Andisols (which meant that they were formed by volcanic ash) or Alfisols (which meant that they were mountain forest soils). All of the soils were classified as Xeric, because of the amount of precipitation that the Park got in an average year. Drip took to his newfound vocabulary like a Grumman Goose takes to water, and he was so ready to see if he could get his fellow smokejumpers could say Aquandic Haploxeralfs five times fast.
By day three of his adventure, he was clearly so engrossed in his newfound tasks, that Dynamite started to only make radio contact with him twice a day (once at breakfast and once a dinner), and Cabbie stopped making flyovers to make sure that he was still alive.
Sadly, eventually, all good things must eventually come to an end, and it was time for Drip to say goodbye to his new friends. It was so hard to know that his week and a half of digging holes was over because next to firefighting, soil scientists clearly had the best job out there. The only comfort Drip had was that he was returning to the best job, firefighting, and the promise that if the NRCS team needed to come back to the park to do another soil survey that they would ask for him by name.
End Note: What can I say, soil scientists have some of the most entertaining field trips. If you have any prompt ideas for the letter Y, please let me know.
Also, if you haven't voted on if you want me to continue this story for another round, or if you want me to try something new, take a look at the options at the end of W is for Whistle Stop and let me know what you want.
