A/N: Just a heads up, since people are sensitive about this kind of thing now. I did rate this story Mature for a reason. This chapter is kinda violent. There are battles with deaths and injuries. You have been warned.

Disclaimer: Red vs. Blue belongs to Rooster Teeth, not me. I make no profit from this, and no copyright infringement is intended.

Chapter 19

Grif groaned in frustration and rolled out of his bunk as the ship's klaxon blared to life. He shoved on his armor and jogged to the aircraft hangar still wiping the sleep from his eyes. The entire place was bustling with an activity level that hinted at carefully controlled panic.

"Double time ladies! We have enemy contact!" Sarge was shouting, looking as put together as ever, as the ODSTs headed for their pods. An entire squad of grim looking ground troops was strapping into Grif's pelican.

"What's going on?" Grif asked Russell as he jogged up. "I thought we weren't due to drop until oh seven hundred."

"We came out of slipspace and they were everywhere!" Russell said hurriedly. "It's questionable whether we're even going to be able to get to their base on the surface at this point."

"If we can't get there, then why aren't we leaving now and forming a new plan? Furthermore, how did they even know we were coming?" Grif demanded.

"We don't know that they were expecting us. They could be here for resupply or something. It doesn't matter though. That's for the intelligence people to worry about. We've got to try and clear a path for Sarge and the others, or they'll be shot out of the sky," Russell said as they strapped into their ship.

"Hey you two," Sarge called and they looked over their shoulders as the cargo ramp of the pelican was raising. "That sky is lit up like the Fourth of July. Be careful out there. And do me proud." The doors closed on Sarge's last words and Grif couldn't help but feel a deep sense of dread. He looked over at Russell, but the man already had his helmet on and Grif couldn't see his face. He wondered if it reflected the same feelings that Grif was sure were showing on his own face. He shoved the feelings down and tried to focus on the job at hand.

Russell lifted the pelican off the ground as Grif got the guns warmed up, and they headed out into the fray. Grif was momentarily stunned when they exited the ship almost directly into enemy fire. He'd been in his share of firefights by now, but nothing on this scale. He was overwhelmed by the sheer volume of debris already floating around the battlefield and the number of ships in the air. Fiery pops of explosions flashed in front of his eyes and he had trouble focusing enough to aim. Russell was already dodging out of the way of enemy fire.

"You still with me Grif?" Russell called out to him.

"We're gonna die out here," Grif replied weakly.

"Shut the hell up and do your job!" the leader of the troops behind him snarled.

Grif did his job, but it didn't take long to see he was right. This had been an ambush, plain and simple, and they were hopelessly outmatched. He fired into the fray and Russell piloted them excellently, but there was simply nowhere safe to turn, every inch seemingly covered in enemy combatants. As they entered the atmosphere of the planet, the ship shook violently, struck from behind by an enemy weapon. Alarms went crazy as Grif struggled to compensate for the damage.

"This is Sierra-42. We're taking heavy fire!" Russell called into the radio. "We're going to have to set down. We won't make it to the drop zone in one piece at this rate!"

"Are you kidding?" Grif cried. "We have to do something else, we'll be sitting ducks out there!"

"We'll be roasted duck if we try to keep flying!" Russell responded. At that moment, they were struck again and the ship lurched violently to the side. "Son of a bitch. Hold on, we're going down!"

The aliens apparently didn't think "going down" was good enough though, because they kept firing at the pelican. Grif thought they would be in pieces before they ever hit the ground at this rate, but he kept trying to keep the ship functioning anyway.

It was no use though, and as the belly of the ship slammed into the ground he heard the wrenching sound of tearing metal and the pained screams of the men behind him. Grif felt something snap in his chest, and as his head slammed into the inside of his helmet he blacked out.

xxx

Grif returned to consciousness slowly. He could hear mostly static and a few barely there voices on the radio. He blinked, and his vision, which had been tinted red, cleared.

'Is there blood in my eyes?'

He shifted, and groaned in pain. Something was definitely broken. And he could tell he had a concussion.

'And to think I considered signing up for this shit voluntarily at one point.'

He looked around then, and nearly choked trying not to vomit in his helmet. The ship was destroyed – the scattered remains strewn behind them for several hundred meters. The mangled bodies of the squad they had been carrying accompanied the trail of wreckage. It was a miracle the pilot's seats were intact. Not that it actually mattered. Grif turned slowly back to the pilot's seat, and stared at what he had turned away from at first.

Russell was still in the pilot's seat next to him, gripping tightly, but his head was turned at an impossible angle. Grif didn't bother checking; it was obvious the man was dead. He was glad Russell's helmet was still on so he didn't have to see his friend's face.

'Gone. They"re all gone. Dad. Mom. Kai. My squad. Why is everyone always fucking gone? What did I ever do to deserve being alone? Being the one that has to take care of shit? Why do I even fucking bother if I still end up alone?'

Grif took several deep breaths. In. Out. In. Out. In. Out. He wasn't actually sure how long he sat like that before he heard a familiar southern drawl cut through the static on the radio.

"We're pinned down …. need backup …."

Grif felt it like a punch in the gut – they were still alive. His ODSTs were still alive and he – he couldn't get to them. The ship was a bust. There had to be others though. He could find one. Grif unbuckled and stood. It was difficult – he was pretty certain he had at least two cracked ribs – but the armor helped.

'Just breathe Grif. In. Out. In. Out. In. Out.'

He unbuckled Russell from the seat and slung him over his shoulder with a groan. No way was he leaving his friend here. He staggered out of the wreckage and walked until he found another ship. The pilot had been shot with some sort of plasma weapon, but there were no other bodies around, so he assumed the team that had landed had at least gotten further than his own. He lay Russell down and then pulled the other dead pilot down beside him.

'Just keep breathing. In. Out. In. Out. In. Out.'

He examined the ship inside and out. Some minor damage to the hull, but mostly just some electrical damage that he set about fixing. He didn't think he'd ever worked so fast in his life. Not even on that first mission out, the first day he'd met Sarge. The first day Russell has thrown him a cheerful smile and a pat on the back.

'Don't think about it. Breathe. In. Out. In. Out. In. Out.'

Grif got the ship online just in time to hear the frigate's orders to retreat. He had fifteen minutes to get back before they jumped to slipspace and got the hell out of dodge. He threw the ship into gear and tuned in to Sarge's radio channel.

"Sarge! Sarge it's Grif! Do you read?"

"Grif? You're alive? Hot damn, son! Well done!"

"I'm coming to get you!" Grif said as he locked on to Sarge's coordinates.

"What? No! Didn't you hear the orders? Get back to the ship! You've got no time!"

Grif ignored him and pushed the ship to its limit.

"I'm not leaving you guys!"

"It's just me now, son. We're done here. Let me go down in battle with the rest of my squad." Sarge said gruffly. "No man left behind. I'll take as many Covie bastards with me as I can."

"No man left behind doesn't mean dying along with everyone else, you idiot! It means I'm coming to get you!" Grif shouted angrily into the radio. This man was a true soldier. This war needed him. Grif sure as hell wasn't going to let him die nobly when he still had fight in him. Men like this protected their home.

"No Grif, I should be with my squad. Get out of here. Go back to the ship!" Sarge growled.

"Am I not part of the squad, asshole?" Grif yelled into the radio.

"Wha – that's enough back talk from you private! Get your ass to safety! That is a direct order!" Sarge yelled, but Grif was already setting the ship down beside him.

"What the blazes do you think you're doing?" Sarge yelled as Grif ran out of the ship.

"You know what Sarge?" Grif said. "Fuck. You." And with that, he tossed the older man over his shoulder and carried him on board, the adrenaline surging so much that he hardly noticed the pain in his ribs. He buckled Sarge in and cuffed him so the man couldn't run back into the fray, then went back for the rest of his people.

Lee had a hole burned through his chest from a plasma weapon. It looked as if Williams had been on the edge of a grenade blast. Grif choked down the feelings and dragged their bodies into the ship one at a time, moving as quickly as he could.

'It's fine. You're fine. This isn't even hard. Just breathe. In. Out. In. Out. In. Out.'

Grif closed the cargo ramp and strapped himself back in as he took off. Sarge hadn't stopped yelling at him.

"Shut the fuck up old man! I never signed up for this god damned war! You did, which means you have to be alive to fight it!" Grif shouted back, because being angry was easier than thinking.

Grif tuned Sarge out and flew then. He thought of Kaikaina, and he thought of home, and he let that propel him forward through enemy lines using debris and other ships as cover. They were still taking fire, of course, but the ship could handle it long enough to make it back to the frigate. Grif ignored the attacks, singlemindedly flying while Sarge yelled about going out like sardines in a can instead of like heroes.

Grif's ribs burned with pain as the ship shook violently from an explosion, and he blinked blood out of his eyes from his re-opened head wound. He ignored it all as he called in to the frigate. He had about a 30 second window to get into the hangar before they jumped to slipspace and his instruments were going haywire, the quick patch job he'd performed earlier already failing under the onslaught outside.

He could barely hear whoever was on the radio guiding him in over Sarge's continuous yelling of insults ("Turn around and let's go down fighting, Dirtbag! I've never run away from a fight in my life!"), but he managed. He didn't bother with a proper landing. He was shaking so hard he just let the pelican skid to a halt across the deck as the hangar doors closed. He felt the lurch as the frigate jumped to slipspace. Sarge was breathing heavily behind him, but was finally quiet. Grif turned to look. Sarge, Russell, Lee, Williams, and the other pilot. He had brought them home. More or less.

Grif could feel the adrenaline crash coming on as the medics swarmed into the pelican and he took a few deep breaths – In. Out. In. Out. In. Out. – and promptly passed out.