Chapter II

A week has passed. Red squad is struggling to get Operation RR to work, but between Donut's suggested dance routines and Grif's constant attempts to incorporate break segments into the plan, they were getting nowhere fast.

"This isn't going to work," the Master Chief said with an exasperated sigh. He pressed his fingers to his temples and began to massage them. "Donut, we can't do your 'Ain't No Holla Back, Girl' routine. We just don't have that kind of time. It's a shame, too, because I just got that step, pivot, step part down right."

"Aw man, that's bananas," Donut said sadly.

The Chief walked away from the makeshift table littered with dozens of possible attack plans. "And we absolutely cannot stop for breaks, Grif," Chief said. "There's just no time."

"Oh, so we can perform a dance routine out in the middle of the canyon, but we aren't allowed to stop for five minutes to take a nap?" Grif snapped.

"The dance routine was supposed to be a diversion so Simmons could sneak into the base and take the flag," the Chief explained. "Taking a break would only make us easy targets."

"I wish Sarge was here," Grif complained. "He'd just make us charge the base and shoot at them until we're out of ammo. Then we'd retreat, or advance toward future victories or something like that."

"Nobody's running out of ammo or retreatingon my clock," Chief said.

"I could try to buy it from them again," Donut suggested.

"Too risky," the Chief said. "Even the stupidest enemies aren't that stupid."

"Wait . . . yes they are!" Simmons shouted. He pulled up the files on all the Blues that he made during the time when they worked together on a computer. Caboose's file popped up on the screen. Master Chief leaned in closer.

"Private Michael J. Caboose? What about him?" the Chief asked.

"We could trick him into helping us! You remember about the whole teleporter crisis, right?" Simmons asked.

"Yes, Private Caboose was sent to a seemingly miniaturized version of our current location with the Sergeant," Master Chief recalled. "They encountered another Red and Blue war and were only able to escape thanks to Caboose's unprecedented brute strength and hostility. How does this help us?"

"He's strong, but it makes up for his complete stupidity," Simmons continued. "See, Donut was captured by the Blues at one point and he made friends with Caboose. We could use this to our advantage!"

"We could send Donut over to the Blue Base at night and have him paint Caboose red, making him think he's on our side," Grif said eagerly. "Then, he could wake up Caboose and have him bring the flag back to our base! It's the perfect plan!"

"No, it . . . wait, that is the perfect plan," Master Chief said confused. "How did you think of that so quickly?"

"If it's a plan that doesn't involve me doing any work, I'm happy to contribute," Grif said happily.

"Ok, that's the best plan we've had all week so let's go with it. Simmons, Donut, come with me. Grif, you stay here," the Chief ordered.

"Yes sir," Grif said.

The other three headed down to the lower level of the base and began to fine tune the plan.

"Simmons, you'll stay back with a sniper and keep us informed of any enemy activity. Donut and I will infiltrate the base and paint Caboose's armor red," the Chief explained. "We'll extract the idiot and the flag, commandeer their M12 LRV and pick you up on the way back. Are we clear?"

"Sir, yes sir," Donut and Simmons replied in unison.

"Forecast calls for heavy rainfall tonight, and then clear skies for the rest of the month. If we want to save your Sergeant before its too late, we do this tonight," the Chief said grimly. "It is currently eight thirty p.m. Eastern Standard Time and it has just started sprinkling. We will launch our infiltration at nine thirty p.m. EST when the rain is in full swing."

"Why do you go by Eastern Standard Time?" Simmons asked. "Why not military time?"

"Oh please, who uses military time?" the Chief asked.

"Everyone in the army," Simmons replied.

"Exactly," the Chief stated. "If the Blues ever got a hold of our mission data, all the times would be screwy. They wouldn't know when we're attacking because our clocks are set differently."

Meanwhile . . .

"Hey Tucker, you remembered to set all of our clocks to Eastern Standard Time, right?" Church asked.

"Yeah, now stop talking. I'm trying to teach Tucker Junior how to say pimp. Come on, pimp. Pi-mp."

Back at Red Base . . .

"That is a pretty impressive strategy, sir," Simmons commented.

"It is, isn't it? Alright, let's go over this again. The timing has to be flawless," the Chief said.

The three Red soldiers reviewed the plan for the next hour, going over every excruciating detail as the rain outside steadily grew stronger. Occasional shouts and curses from Grif echoed down into the hangar whenever the satellite signal was lost for the TV. By nine thirty, the three soldiers had memorized each of their parts and began to gather their gear. The rain was at its peak performance now, coming down in endless sheets. There was no lightning, so they didn't have to take that as a variable in their mission success. The sound of the rain would give them a clear getaway when they took the warthog, and if Simmons was forced to neutralize any targets, the rainfall would mask the sound of his sniper fire. Nine thirty came, and the three soldiers crept out into the rain.

"Alright Simmons, I'm marking the position I need you to cover with a waypoint," the Chief said through the comm. system.

An arrow appeared on Simmons' HUD and he took a prone position on the hill. A blue light winked on Master Chief's HUD signaling that Simmons was in position.

"Ok Donut, let's go."

The two soldiers ran as fast as they could towards the base. They stopped and took cover near a trio of rocks just outside the base.

"Ok Donut, we're going in," the Chief declared. "Get that paintbrush ready, there's no turning back."

To Be Continued