Disclaimer: Still don't own.
Episode 2: The Second Mission
After searching most of the day, Sarge found his missing soldier snoozing against a tree, rifle held loosely in his hands on top of his crossed legs. Pausing briefly to consider how uncomfortable that position must be, Sarge bellowed, "Grif! Stop lazing about! Them dirty Blues are up to something!" Grif jerked, rifle falling off his lap, before he groaned and stood up.
"Are they now? Well isn't that just horrible," he said, trudging off toward the base. Sarge shook his head at the Private's attitude.
"The Blues don't have to deal with this," the Sargent muttered before running after his soldier. He quickly outstripped the ambling man. "Double time soldier!" he shouted.
"Ya know, it's not as though there's anything urgent to do in this place. Why tire yourself out running in this heat?" Grif remarked, making no move to catch up with his CO. Sarge scoffed.
"Fighting the Blues is urgent Private Grif!" he countered. He heard Grif sigh and could just picture him hanging his head and slowly shaking it at the statement.
"Of course you'd think that," the younger man muttered. Not long after that, they were greeted at the ramp to the roof by Simmons.
"Hello Sarge! How are you today sir?" he asked cheerfully, completely ignoring Grif.
"Suck up," Grif muttered, sulking in the corner.
"Slacker!" Simmons countered. Grif snorted, looking away and toward Sarge.
"So. Why are we here?" the orange soldier asked, forcing the older man to acknowledge his presence.
"Glad you asked! We're going to blow up Blue Base!" Sarge declared proudly. Grif sighed.
"Oh. Right. Blue base. Sure," he groused, then slouched back inside.
"Where are you going, Private!" Sarge bellowed after him.
"To see if we have any C-4!" Grif called back, surprising his two teammates with his initiative.
/*/
"Crazy Sargent. Schmoozer Simmons. Five minutes. Just blew up a base," Grif muttered angrily as he stalked through the storeroom of the base. No C-4. Not even a box of grenades. "How are we supposed to blow up a base with no explosives?" the young man asked. He sighed. "Why are we even here?! What are we doing?! Why are we fighting?! It doesn't make any sense!" He sighed again and sat down. "Ya know what? There is no point. So, I don't really have to do this. I already have a reputation for being a slacker, and here in Blood Gulch, I have no reason to change that. Fudge it, I'm not helping blow up a base that has no point and houses soldiers I have no real beef with," he decided, and took an extra five minutes to just relax before he started making a mental inventory. This would serve three purposes: letting him know what they have, where everything is, and train his memory. It was perfect. At least, it was for him. He discovered that they had more ammo for Sarge's shotgun than for their rifles or side arms, along with a musty smelling punching bag and a single crate of bandages. He scoffed. "We are so dead," he muttered, looking at the truly pathetic assortment of medical supplies they had at their disposal. He made a mental note to add bandages, antiseptic, and painkillers to the supply list. "I wonder if Marly would mind teaching me some first aid. Supplies don't really help if you don't know how to use them," he mused aloud before shaking his head and continuing his tour through the storeroom. "Ho? What's this?" he wondered, picking up a long pole with thicker portions at each end. He must have hit a button somewhere on the haft because the ends suddenly started to hum with energy. "Oh ho, yeah! That's pretty cool!" Grif exclaimed, twirling the staff around a few times as he'd been taught when his father had forced him to attend Kapu Kuialua lessons. He found the power button and deactivated the weapon, but made a note of where it was stored for future reference. He rather preferred a staff over a knife for close combat. Once he was done combing the storeroom, Grif returned to Sarge with the sad tides that they had no explosives.
/*/
Sarge wasn't happy about the lack of explosives. Or Grif's disinterest in the whole thing. And, of course, their plan failed. Completely. Due in no small part to their total lack of explosives. Of course, after the failure, Grif took the fall. Through it all, he just stood. Simmons watched him carefully through out it all, wincing slightly as Sarge's voice got louder and louder. This was the worst dressing down he'd ever heard Sarge give, to anyone. The Sargent was throwing verbal knives at Grif, and yet the man just stood there and took it. The more Simmons watched him, the more he felt there was something off about Grif. Something the maroon soldier couldn't pin down. And he wasn't sure if it was a good thing. Of course, he couldn't tell if it were a bad thing either, so he decided to let it lay for the time being. Simmons' eyes were drawn to Grif's tightening fist. For a moment, he actually thought the other man might try to deck Sarge, but then Grif just turned on his heel and walked away. He may be a lazy slob, but Simmons couldn't deny that it took a strong man to walk away from a dressing down like that without doing something foolish. For that, Grif had Simmons' quite respect. "Where are you going Soldier!?" Sarge yelled, causing the ever so slightly trembling Grif to freeze.
"Away. Don't bother looking for me," Grif said. The beginnings of respect for Grif Simmons held grew just a little at that. Short, sweet, and moderated. Sure the words quivered with rage, but not enough to be considered insubordination or talking back to a CO.
"Humph. Going to take a five hour nap you big baby?!" Sarge asked. Grif snorted, resuming his deliberate walk toward the door.
"Yeah. I'm gonna take a five hour nap," he said sarcastically before vanishing into the canyon.
"Humph. Fine. Simmons! We need a plan." Simmons sighed, momentarily wishing he could join Grif in slacking off. Sarge was best dealt with in small doses or with back up.
/*/
Grif, however, wasn't slacking off. He had dragged the punching bag he'd found into an out of the way spot and was doing his level best to reduce it to scraps of cloth and a pile of sand with his bare fists. Not wanting his armor ripping into the bag, he'd removed it and laid it by the canyon wall, working in only his black under-suit. Grif channeled his anger and frustration into his hits and found the repetition and dull pain cooled his temper. When he was calmer, he stopped and stretched out. That done, he ran the Red portion of the canyon for a few minutes before returning to his bag. Basic training came back and he fell forward for push-ups. It took him the full five hours to get through the routine basic had pounded into him against his will. That done, Grif found a stream and rinsed off before putting his armor back on and heading back to base, considerably calmer. "Grif!" Simmons called. Grif groaned. He really didn't want to have to deal with the suck up right now. "I'm sorry." Wait. What?
"Why are you apologizing?" Grif asked, blinking behind his visor at the maroon soldier. Simmons shifted from foot to foot.
"Well, Sarge really let you have it. And I just stood there and let him. I..." he said, looking down and away. Grif shook his head with a sigh, his earlier anger and indignation gone.
"Look, Sarge is just the kind of guy who yells for no good reason. It's fine," he said, really feeling his five hours of PT.
"Well... good," Simmons said awkwardly, still not looking at his teammate. Grif nodded and clapped a hand on Simmons' shoulder as he passed. Somehow, that one simple gesture conveyed more than words. Simmons smiled at the quiet understanding Grif offered. It was nice, having a prickly friend who was just as awkward as him when it came to actual human interaction. After that day, Grif slowly set up his own gym next to the canyon wall, out of sight from the base, along with a very basic obstacle course that he'd go run every morning and every evening.
/*/
It had been three weeks since his mission with Agent Black and Grif was getting a little anxious. After he'd set up his gym area and obstacle course, he had started using target practice for on-base stress relief. And it was starting to show. This troubled him because he saw himself in the Blues, and had already recognized that he had no real problem with them. Though... he sometimes considered shooting their irritating Captain in the head. He was just so... chipper. It was creepy. No-one should be that chipper in the middle of a war zone. Still, he couldn't be such a good shot in this canyon. So, he started aiming around the Blues instead of at them. However, this still left the problem of his increasing activity and overall fitness. He tried to combat this by washing off after a good work out and either going to bed or finding a decent napping spot the others might not have checked yet. It wasn't a perfect system, there were only so many decent napping spots five minutes walking distance from Red Base after all, but it convinced Sarge. It took him another week to recognize something. That one death defying mission he'd gone on as Agent Orange had finally done what his whole life thus far had failed to do. It had motivated him, made him into a fighter. He realized that he wanted to go on another mission as Agent Orange. He wanted show Marley how much he'd improved.
/*/
Routine had firmly settled in at Blood Gulch. Then, after Grif had begun to wonder if he'd just dreamed that Agent Black had kidnapped him to a hostile alien base, The Phantom scooping him up. Again. "Hey Dex! Sorry I've been away so long. I was preparing a present for you!" Marley said before bouncing over to a crate and prying the lid off. Dex slowly walked over and saw...
"Armor?" he asked, a little puzzled. From what he could tell from the jumbled mess of titanium alloy, it looked much the same as Marley's aside from being dark orange.
"Uh-huh! Your Agent Orange armor! And don't worry, you can switch it to 'standard' and it'll change into a replica of the armor you have now," Marley said, clearly very pleased with herself. Dex grinned and stripped to his under armor. Marley whistled as she took in the changes the last month of self-imposed training had wrought. "Somebody's been drinking his milk," she commented offhandedly. Dex felt himself flush and sped up slightly. Having a woman old enough to be his mother checking him out was a little unsettling.
"Yeah, well, I wanted to be ready the next time you came calling," he said, focusing on putting the armor on. Marley chuckled behind him, shaking her head.
"So, super slacker taking the back seat?" she asked as he clicked his helmet into place. He chuckled, his bearing shifting ever so slightly.
"In a manner of speaking," he said turning around. Marley shook her head as she watched his entire bearing change.
"Yeah. No. He's taking a back seat right now. I can tell. It's like Dex and Grif are two different peo..." she began, giving him a considering look.
"Sides," Dex cut in, recognizing the shift she was talking about, having felt it the moment he touched back down in Blood Gulch. "Grif is the super slacker hiding the... Dex," he said, unsure of just what he was becoming now that he'd left behind the slacker. Marley sighed.
"Okay. Whatever man. I need to explain how this armor is different than your old armor. First, it's nothing but a blur in HUD. Second, it has better tech. Better shields, better sound dampeners, and a stealth unit, meaning you can blend in with the backgrounds, like camouflage. There's also a healing unit, but the bigger the injury, the longer it'll take to heal, same as with natural healing. Just go easy on the stealth and healing units, too much stress can either burn them out... or cause them to overload your armor. There's a reason Master Chief was given an AI ya know," she warned, giving him the School Teacher Eye of Doom. Dex nodded, showing he understood. Marley nodded back and continued. "You'll notice the helmet has a gray visor and the rest of the armor has gray highlights. These can change color and will become your usual orange when in 'standard' mode. Also, in 'Agent' mode, it's a noticeably darker orange. Should help keep Agent Orange and Private Grif separate. Especially when I find someone for the other sets I had made," Marley said, motioning at the three other crates. Dex nodded, taking note of how many suits were left.
"So... five Agents?" Dex asked, looking back to his partner.
"Eventually. Now, about the mission," Marley said. Dex sat down and leaned back, arms crossed over his chest.
"I'm listening."
/*/
Marley smirked. It was kinda eerie, seeing Grif like... like... York! That's who he was reminding her of! Agent New York! Still, she kinda liked it. Making a change. Next was Simmons, but she wasn't sure when to bring him in. He couldn't vanish for extended periods of time quite as easily as Grif. But she couldn't plot now. She had a mission, and Dex would be wonderful back up. "Alright, it's a backwater base, a step up from Blood Gulch, but hostile aliens are hitting it pretty hard. Our job? Get the soldiers out. Easy, right?" she said. Dex snorted.
"Yeah. Easy as pie. What's the catch?"
"Um. Aliens?" Marley tried. Dex looked like he was thinking it over, then he nodded.
"Sure, I'll buy that. How long?"
"Touch down in ten. Familiarize yourself with your new armor as well you can now, we'll be heading into full combat far too soon," Marley told him before vanishing into the cockpit.
/*/
Dex walked around the ship, getting a feel for how the new armor fit, how it moved. It was different from his old suit. Lighter almost, though that might have been the more streamlined construction and it's greater flexibility. He ran through the few forms he remembered, immersing himself in this still so new part of himself. It was different, it was weird, but he liked it. He liked being Agent Orange. Sure it was kind of a dorky name, but it worked for him. As he checked out the systems in his new armor, Dex thought about the other three Agents who hadn't been brought into the fold. He wondered if Marley would pick up more people from Blood Gulch. Curious, he opened the other three crates. Maroon, Red, and Burgundy. Seeing the first two, he immediately thought of Simmons and Sarge. But who would take the Burgundy? Dex shook his head. Sarge and Simmons weren't going to be Agents. 'But what if they were, Dex? What if she did?' the little voice in the back of his mind whispered. Dex sighed. If Marley did bring in the rest of his team from Blood Gulch, he'd just have to act like he didn't know. He'd have to pretend. And maybe, if they figured it out, they would too. Maybe they would leave Blood Gulch as their safe place. The place where they could unwind. Their illusion of a peaceful looserville where nothing was expected of them and they could afford to fail. Grif shook his head. He was over thinking this way too much. He went back to thinking about the mission. A rescue mission. Shouldn't be too hard. Right? He snorted at himself. Yeah. Right. He was so going to be hurting after this.
/*/
A Pelican class drop ship touched down in the forest surrounding Remnant Outpost 17, about a mile outside sensor range, and an orange armored Spartan stepped out. "You sure about this Black?" a worried male voice asked over the radio, the orange armored soldier anxiously checking his weapon.
"Absolutely Orange. When you get to the ODSTs, clear an LZ and send up your flare, I'll pick you guys up. I'd let you take this part, but I don't think you know how to pilot a Pelican," a female voice answered back from the craft. The man rolled his shoulders and set off through the brush. All too soon, he came upon the first line of aliens.
"Show time," he muttered glumly, hefting his rifle and landing as many shots as he could before he needed to reload, charging the line. From there, it was a terrifying blaze of gunfire, far too many jarring impacts from punches and kicks, and so much screaming he nearly lost his voice. But he got to the objective.
"Who are you?!" the pinned soldiers asked the Spartan as he ran toward their shelter. The undeclared soldier landed four more head shots and wounded a Jackal before leaping over their barricade, spinning on his back, and coming up with his gun aimed at the advancing hoard.
"Agent Orange. Now would one of you please lend a gun, I need to signal our ride," he said, blasting the head off an Elite with a calm that was eerie even to him. He didn't see the three soldiers at his back nod and take guns off their more drained comrades to start firing as well. He was a little too busy shooting aliens and trying to get the pounding in his ears to die down and the sick feeling of fear to recede until a more convenient time. However, he did notice when the bullets started taking out enemies. Orange nodded and sent up the flare for Black, praying she'd come before he freaked the ODSTs out by screaming bloody murder. What followed was the longest three minutes of Orange's life. Bullets ripped past his head from the three soldiers by his side, purple needle like shot whistled toward him, energy shields crackling as they worked to deflect the projectiles. It took just about everything Orange had to hold the enemy at bay until Black came for an evac, but when she came, there was nothing Orange would have rather seen than that open cargo bay door.
"Everybody in!" Black yelled over the loud speaker as she held the Pelican steady a foot off the ground.
"You heard the woman! In in in!" Orange yelled over the roar of the engines, still firing, now on his sixth clip. The soldiers piled in, dragging their wounded. Orange didn't move until the ship started to pull away, then he ran and jumped into the still open bay, tucking and rolling to clear the now-closing door.
"That... was awesome!" one of the ODST soldiers said, awe clear in his voice, head pointed in Orange's direction. Orange sighed, leaning against the wall of the transport. He felt like a giant bruise, most certainly not the awesome figure of epicness the injured ODST seemed to see him as. It was shaping up to be a pretty bad day for Agent Orange.
"Black," he called and oh fudge berries, even that hurt.
"Yea Orange?" Black's far, far, too amused voice called back. If he could spare the energy, he'd have glared at the cockpit.
"Next time, you get to go charging into a ten-hundred-to-one battle." The pilot laughed, and didn't that just rankle? He heaved his aching body into the seats and strapped himself in. He didn't fancy getting tossed around in the back of a Pelican. Not in the condition he was in.
"You'd have to learn how to fly first, Orange!" Black called back. There was a slight click and then another Spartan was coming out of the cockpit. This one was in black armor with gray highlights and an orange visor set into a very familiar style of helmet. She clapped a hand on Orange's shoulder, producing a dull clunking sound, and turned to the rescued soldiers. "We're taking you to another base, same planet. Eventually, you lot are probably going to have to retake that base but for now, who needs medical attention the most? I'll see what I can do for them," she said, holding up her toolbox. This was met with a lot of relief and cried blessings. In the privacy of his helmet, Orange was glaring daggers at Black, who was now at a point where he didn't have to turn his head to glare at her. It wasn't too much later that the world dissolved into darkness and the fear Orange had repressed during the battle. Had he been conscious, he would have been glad of the deactivated mic. His helmet silenced his nightmare screams.
/*/
As they watched the Pelican fly away after dropping them off just outside sensor range of Outpost 9, the soldiers of Remnant Outpost 17 were already working out how they were going to write their reports. "We should get our stories straight," the Captain said. His soldiers nodded and they made camp before gathering by the fire to write their single report.
"Should we mention that it was Agent Black that rescued us? And that he's a she? And that she has a partner?" the Lieutenant asked. The Privates grumbled amongst themselves, some saying yes, some saying no, some saying they should mention that a pair of Spartans helped but not describe them.
"We say we were rescued by Agents Black and Orange," the Captain decided, writing it up. The others sigh, but nod and add their descriptions of armor and skill. Agent Orange was reported as a quick witted tactical genius unafraid of charging head-long into enemy ranks and capable of taking out five Elite at once. A true one man army. Agent Black was still an enigma, but now had a voice. A female pilot with medical knowledge and advanced stealth abilities, Agent Black was now the ideal all female soldiers aspired to.
/*/
Marley listened. It was one of her best skills. Very useful when trying to lend a hand to those in need. So she heard the growing legends about Agents Orange and Black. She smirked, but felt a tingle of unease. Was she really doing the right thing, building up Grif's reputation under the guise of Agent Orange? She shook her head. What was done was done, and Grif didn't seem like he wanted to go back to the way he was before. So, the only thing she could do was make sure she brought him back to Blood Gulch in one piece. Or at least patched up real good. Her background as a doctor came in real handy there. She sighed and checked in on ex-Agent Georgia. "How you doing there George?" she asked.
"You know, the usual. Had to make a pit stop the other day, but it's all good," the man replied. Marley frowned.
"You sound tired George. What's going on over there?" she asked, concern for one of her first rescues raising in her chest.
"Nothing much just... what do you know of Chorus?" A spire of ice felt like it shoved its way through her gut.
"Stay out of it, George. Help will be given, just... not right now. Please, promise me you'll sit tight until I call?" she plead. George sighed heavily.
"Fine. But I'm going to keep fairly close."
"I hear they had a grav ray. Don't get too close or you'll be sucked down and lost for good!" Marley warned.
"Marley, I'll be fine. But maybe we should get the others in on this too," he said. Marley sighed.
"Have you heard of Agent Orange?" she asked.
"Your new partner in crime? Yeah. Sounds tough."
"He's a Sim."
"Seriously?!"
"Yeah. He and the others from Blood Gulch are the reason I got out when I could. Red Team from Blood Gulch is gonna be my go-to for back-up on the relatively low-risk missions. Ya know, prepare them a little. But I promise you, the moment I get something too tough for me to handle, I'll call the other Phantoms. Okay?" George sighed on the other end, then chuckled.
"Always were a stubborn one, Marley. Sure. I'll sit tight. But you'd better keep that promise." Marley smiled.
"I always do. Unless I die. Or get captured and tortured. Then I can't. Not easily anyway," she said. George chuckled.
"Yeah. Try not to do that," he said, right before something in the background made a sparking sound.
"What was that?" Marley asked sharply.
"Oh fudge! Hey, you don't happen to know anything about ship repair, do you? I think my cloaking unit just went out," George asked, obviously trying not to freak out. Marley sighed.
"Well, at least I have my next mission. I'm bringing in a new one, George. I was looking for a good way to bring Rick in anyway," she said, then signed out and headed back to Blood Gulch. It was time for Agent Maroon to make an appearance.
/?/
A/N: And now, time for Simmons to join in Project Red!
A/N 2: Again, this has been re-edited. I personally like the feel of this version better.
Regenengel3 7/09/16