Three – Of Course This Will Work

Leaving Donut with the unconscious Freelancer, Grif wandered up to the top of the base toward the sound of Sarge and Simmons talking. He found them standing over the pile of equipment taken from the Freelancer: a marksman rifle, a healing unit, and a broken-down pod. Grif recognized it as one of those Armor Enhancements from the Freelancer warehouse.

He was still traumatized from the Speed Unit incident.

"Hey, what's going on?" he asked.

Sarge looked away from Simmons. "Nothing that concerns you, numb nuts."

"We're trying to fix this teleporter device the Freelancer was wearing," Simmons explained. "It looks he was using a lot, but something went wrong and he ended up here."

"Guess it's his lucky day," said Grif. "He winds up in the most useless piece of real estate in the galaxy."

"At least he can't go anywhere without this." Sarge knelt down and began to move around the wires inside a carbon-scored module. "Works just like one of the base teleporters, but built for one suit of armor."

"Glad the Meta never got his hands on him," Simmons remarked. Grif nodded vigorously.

Sarge began to hum to himself while he worked. Grif was almost tempted to watch, but that sounded it would require concentration, which was another kind of work. And work wasn't his thing.

Then again, who needed to work when you had a teleporter…?

Grif walked over to the edge of the base with a casual air. "You know, Simmons, I think this might be a great opportunity for us."

"What are you talking about?" Simmons looked back at Sarge, then back at Grif. "Hold on. This is just like what happened at the warehouse! You want to use the teleporter to disappear when Sarge has work for us."

"Simmons, I'm hurt." Grif gestured at the module in Sarge's hands. "It's a piece of valuable field equipment, good for any kinds of scouting missions and sneak attacks on Blue Base… and all you can see is a tool for slacking off? For shame, Simmons."

"Forget it, asshole. This plan of yours is never going to work."

"Of course it'll work. And best of all, Sarge doesn't realize he's building it for me."

Simmons gave a loud sigh and dropped his head. "You know what? I'm kind of curious to see how you'll fuck this up. Let's do it."

Cal's first glimpse was a vivid shade of pink. He thought it was his eyes adjusting, but he couldn't stop seeing pink. When his eyes finally adjusted, he saw through his visor that he was staring up at a soldier in pink armor.

He must've hit that canyon floor pretty hard.

"Where…?" He groaned. The back of his head was still burning. More teleporter discharge. "Where am I…?"

"Oh, you're awake!" The trooper leaned in. "Welcome to Red Base!"

Red Base. Definitely a simulation trooper. Cal sat up very slowly. At least his sense of balance was recovering. "And where's Red Base?"

"You must be new here." The trooper puffed himself up with pride. "Finally, somebody else gets to be the new guy! Let me fill you in, rookie. I'm Private Donut and this is Blood Gulch Outpost Number One. We're fighting the Blues to claim their flag, they're fighting us for our flag… you know the drill. And believe me, I know a lot about drilling fresh meat!"

Cal thought he heard that the wrong way. Then he shook his head. "Ugh, okay." He reached for his lower back. When he didn't feel the teleporter there, his mind cleared. "So, Private, let me ask you something."

"Sure!"

In one fluid motion, Cal had snapped himself off the bench and onto his feet. He slammed his palm under Donut's chin and used his other arm to hold him up against the base wall.

"What," Cal hissed, "did you do with my teleporter, and who do I have to kill to get it back?"

"Oh, no!" Donut flailed in his grip. "Please, sir! I'm too young and too pretty to die!"

Cal raised the pressure on him. "Talk to me, maggot. Where's. My. Teleporter?"

"Sarge has it, Sarge has it!" The pink private kicked desperately. "Please, make it stop!"

Without warning, Cal let go of the kid. He watched Donut fall onto his knees and gasp for air.

"Consider yourself lucky, Private. I make it a point not to hit kids." He paused on his way out of the recovery room. "Especially not kids wearing pink."

But before Cal left, he heard a weak voice growl, "It's not… pink… it's… light… red!"

The next thing Cal knew, there was a loud hiss, followed by something bright and blue landing at his feet. He had just enough time to recognize the plasma grenade and throw himself into a diving roll when it exploded.

The blast sent Cal's roll straight into a wall. He hobbled back to his feet and tried to run for the nearest base exit. But he found his path blocked by two more troopers, one in maroon armor and the other in orange.

"Hold it right there!" the maroon soldier shouted. He aimed his battle rifle at Cal's head. "Uh, you're in violation of UNSC Code Section Seven, Subsection Thirty, Paragraph Two!"

"Dude, seriously?" The orange soldier nervously lifted his rifle as he spoke. "You're going to throw the rulebook at a Freelancer?"

"Way to back up me, Grif," said the maroon soldier. Cal let him finish before socking him in the gut and grabbing the rifle out from his hands.

"Speaking of backing up…" The orange soldier—Grif—began to retreat backward, but Cal raced forward and kicked his legs out from under him. As Grif fell, Cal vaulted over him and out into the open air.

This place was Blood Gulch. The coordinates he'd gotten from that data dealer were a scam. As Cal slid along the side of the base, looking for handholds to the top, he knew that the dealer's name would be added to his revenge list once his mission was over.

After a few seconds of careful climbing, Cal made it to the top of Red Base. The platform was deserted except for a single red soldier crouched in the middle over some parts. The soldier had his back turned to Cal and was humming while he worked.

Cal stayed perfectly still until he got a look at what the soldier was tinkering with. It was his teleporter unit. Badly scorched, but still salvageable.

With years of stealth training to fall back on, sneaking up on the soldier wasn't too difficult. Trying to keep him in a rear chokehold, however, was.

"Hah!" the soldier called out. "Clever ruse, son! But you forgot—hrggh—one thing! Never… grr… leave me without my shotgun!"

Cal felt something smack against the side of his helmet. He threw the Red soldier away and dove straight for his teleporter. He grabbed his DMR and healing unit in the same move.

"Sorry to disappoint you, son," the crazy old soldier called out as he pumped his shotgun, "but it looks like you just got Sarged!"

"Not this time," Cal growled. He activated his teleporter and vanished before Sarge could fire.

The green light faded and Cal dropped into a ready stance with his marksman rifle.

He was still on top of Red Base. Now just a few feet to the left.

"Son of a bitch," Cal snarled. He hit the teleporter again, but it only moved him back to where he'd started.

Meanwhile, Sarge was trying to hit him with rounds from his shotgun, but Cal kept dodging with incredible timing. In between disappearing and reappearing, he slammed his fist against the module in frustration.

"Why are you breaking on me now?" He slammed his fist with emphasis as he teleported between different spots on top of the base. "Dammit! Come! On! Start! Working!"

"Ha ha!" Sarge stopped his firing and watched the Freelancer helplessly teleporting back and forth. "Looks like the spider got caught in his own web! Point goes to Red Team!"

"This! Isn't! Funny!" Cal switched off his teleporter and angrily aimed his rifle at Sarge. "I don't know who you people are, but I need to get out of here, so why don't you call in a transport and I'll be on my way."

"Oh, leaving us so soon?" a familiar voice called out. Cal turned, now facing another simulation trooper in blue armor with yellow trim. But the voice didn't match the armor he associated with it.

"I don't believe it." Cal lowered his rifle. "Washington? Is that you?"

Wash nodded. "Hey there, Cal. Been a long time. Why don't you put down your weapon and we'll talk this over?"

Cal's first thought was to protest. Of course he couldn't stay. He had to keep moving. The Counselor wasn't going to find himself. But he remembered Wash from Project Freelancer. Good old Washington, the least crazy agent to make it on the Leaderboard. Even if he hadn't stayed sane for long; Cal had heard all about the Epsilon incident.

At least he seemed sane now.

"Yeah, all right." Cal put aside his rifle and walked over to Wash. Then he stopped and turned to Sarge. "Hey, sorry about the mess. Tell your guys it wasn't personal."

"Hey, up yours, buddy!" one of the Red soldiers called up from below. "Kick his ass, Wash!"

"Can it, Grif," Wash called back. He turned to Sarge. "I'll be back to account for the damage he caused. This won't take long."

Sarge shouldered his gun and nodded. "All right, but you'd better warn us before any more of your old buddies show up around here."

"I'll do my best."