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Gods And Sergeants by Hunter Killer
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Gods And Sergeants-Halcyon Days
Date: 19 July 2006, 6:48 am
I've got another fiction for you, guys. Haha, perhaps some of you remember the crappy author with my name? That was me. But now I have learned. I am better! So I like to think. So enjoy some RvB, yo. ;) -Hunter Killer
Gods and Sergeants
Red Versus Blue Chronicles
The Prologue- Halcyon Days
In the late summer of 2556, the UNSC Union Of Worlds reported over 200 worlds under the flag of Humanity. With the innovation of the Mark Three Slipspace Drive, ships were going faster than ever.
However, there is great unrest in the galaxy. Hostility between planets escalates, as each blames the others for the recent string of troubling events including the failed mercenary program that wielded Tex, Wyoming, and other equally deadly mercenaries wreaking near-havoc in several sectors.
Unable to maintain the peace as Human space becomes so thoroughly polarized, the Union of Worlds is absolved and the UNSC armed forces ceases to be an effective entity.
Two sides face each other, driven by a mistaken rage: The Blue Alliance, adopting an eagle with twin cross-swords and intent on stopping The Red Republic, a reformed version of the UNSC, taking a snake with 'don't tread on me' as their flag.
As active hostilities are imminent, the last platoon of soldiers arrives on the planet of Avalon, where a hundred thousand soldiers and civilians are taking their stand: Red, or Blue.
For the 777th Infantry, regiment flags are taken down and burned, as is the seal of the UNSC Army, as the soldiers enter the massive starport. On either side of the massive floor crowds gather around the Red and Blue flags, fluttering in the breeze and the rain falling from the sky.
Four friends stood on opposing sides, two with the Reds, two with the Blues. "This is it," Church said, adjusting the blue armband around his dark-green marine armor. Simmons nodded and said, "It is."
No one could say it, but all were regretful that their friends were parting ways. Then Simmons saluted. "Goodbye. Good luck. I'll see you in hell, guys." The blues saluted, and Grif followed last. As usual. Then they turned, both physically, and their thoughts, to their sides.
The day was November 16th, the last time the four ever thought they would see their counterparts.
Private Church, radioman and de facto commander of Blood Gulch Outpost Alpha's Blue Army Garrison, was completely alone with his thoughts, his sniper rifle's scope, and a mile of canyon, devoid of all life, his team nor the enemy, save him. He was on spy duty again, and he could see across the valley on another cliff ledge Donut trying [and pitifully failing] to be stealthily spying on his team.
Church drew his attention between Sarge and Simmons making Grif do physical exercise at big gunpoint, to their jeep, wrecked yet AGAIN, to the very unstealthy pink private. "Will someone please tell me why we haven't won yet?" He asked himself, and mental images of Tucker's rock popped up. "Oh. I get it."
Because of the fact that a glitch on his HUD disabled his motion sensors whenever he accessed the scopes of his rifle, he didn't notice a blue-armored soldier entering the caves where he was.
"Church?" The disjointed voice of Caboose startled Church into firing at the floor twice on accent.
Due to his incredible [lack of] aim, the deadly AP bullets bounced across the field dozens of times, crisscrossing like spider webs, finally inflicting twin holes into Donut's shoulder plate. "O wow o wow o wow! Son of a biscuit!"
He turned and looked at Caboose, and took a deep breath to prepare his usual vocal assault on the mentally ungrounded blue private when something stayed his anger. He watched as his friend/stalker/killer sheepishly presented a hand-written valentine card on worn and folded blue paper. "Um… Church… I made this for you."
Church took it in his armored gauntlet and read it. "Two my friend, Church. Tank u. – Kaboose." He looked up and despite himself, grinned. He couldn't spell his own name right nor the word 'too' but he remembered how to spell Church. For some reason that broke through his barrier of angry apathy, and he even found humor in being tanked by the 'team-killing fucktard' who once killed him.
Caboose looked down, expecting the inevitable yelling from his friend, who yelled. A LOT. Especially at him or anything related to him.
"Caboose? … Thanks." The blue armored rookie looked up, completely surprised. "I appreciate it, man." Church could pretty much feel the happiness radiating off the blissfully grinning Caboose.
"Let's get back to base, dude. There's pretty much no point in spying on the Reds. Unless they're trying an idiotic plan of attacking us with the orange guy in front, there's nothing really to report." He slung his Sniper Rifle in favor of his Battle Rifle.
Caboose nodded. "Plus, Commander Pop n' Fresh might be angry at you for shooting his buttery goodness." Church found himself mellowing intensely, not even able to react angrily to this statement of stupidity in the highest degree.
Meanwhile, at the Red Army's Blood Gulch Outpost 1, Donut had arrived in the base, crying like a girly man [which he was] and demanding medical aid. The Red Team had assembled, well Simmons and Sarge had assembled. "Alright, Simmons, get the tweezers. Grif! Act as a human barrier between all fluids and Dr. Simmons and myself, heh heh…"
He looked around, and after hearing none of the usual complaints, he noticed the orange driver wasn't around. Normally he would be overjoyed but the thought of red blood messing up his red armor made him yell into the base, "Grif! Double-time! No wait, quintuple time, turdbelly!"
"Up yours! I'm not coming out!"
"Well why in betty's bloopers not?! Donut has sustained injuries that are possibly mortal and you're still just a slothful idiot, refusing to help a comrade in arms!"
At terminal, Donut said, "What?!"
Grif said, "A commercial brake's on in five minutes. You want me earlier than that you'll have to get Simmons in here with a chaingun."
Simmons turned. "Relax, Donut. I'm sure Sarge is just strategically bluffing."
"I'm not bluffing, Grif! This may be Donut's last day on this Earth and you're staying in the damn base?!"
Donut just glanced at Simmons, who had no remark this time, even if he had tried.
"This isn't Earth, this is a frontier world out of the way, even of The War. And tell Donut he owes me 10 bucks when I see him in hell."
Sarge sighed. "Simmons, get the Chaingun."
"Right away, sir!" Simmons ran off.
Sarge turned to Donut. "Alright, get that armor off, Butterfly, let me see your wounds." After less than ten seconds Donut was naked from the waist up. "Wow, you're really quick at that, eh pinkie?"
"Yeah, Sarge! Let me tell you a story about how that came in handy—" Sarge panicked but was saved as Grif ran up the ramp onto the topside of the base, a line of bullets and the roar of the chaingun following him, yelling "Cockbite" while huffing and puffing. He stopped next to the two of them, and Simmons emerged from the ramp too, saluting. "Sir, Turd Acquisition Plan Delta-31252 completed!"
Grif looked over. "Delta-31252? Never mind, I don't even want to know." The two 'official' Red soldiers both nodded to him. "So, anyway Donut, how'd you get hit? Who did it? Caboose? The black armored thing? Did the teal dude get his sniper rifle?"
Donut shook his head, and whimpered. "Church."
They stared. "Wait, Sarge, isn't Church the cobalt guy who can't hit anything with a sniper rifle? Ever?"
"Yes, Simmons."
"And he hit Donut."
"Damn. Our enemies are improving, then."
"Um… actually I watched him and he got startled by something, and fired at the ground. I have no clue how it hit me."
"… well his aim is so horrible it's graduated to godly status! He's been taking lessons! They must have been reinforced with more snipers! Those blue jackals, using their ranged weapons to attack our perfectly legitimate spying strategy…"
Grif had a bad feeling where this would lead. They hadn't had a good battle in nearly a week now.
"Time for a counterattack, men! And turds! Speaking of which, Grif! Tend to Donut's wounds while me and Simmons take the Warthog out and take out that Church guy once and for all."
"Fine, less running for me." Grif shrugged and sat Donut laying the floor, half-naked. "You know, somehow I'm going to still regret this. A lot."
"C'mon, Simmons! Take the turret, like usual." The two reds got into their vehicle, which was operational, if just barely, and drove off, trails of dirt flying after them as they soared over the rolling hills.
For a moment the sight was almost impressive, then Sarge hit a rock, fishtailing pathetically before regaining his course, and Grif sighed. That was more like it.
"Um… Church? What if the Reds get angry that you shot Lt. McMuffin? Not that I'm not very proud of you for hitting the enemy for your first time."
"Then they can shove it, Caboose. There's no possible way they could catch us with the headstart we've got, even if they use the teleporter, because I saw their Puma thing, and it was wrecked completely…" The engine roar in the background gave him plenty of reason to cuss. "Oh FUCK no."
Church turned and peeked over the tall hillside over the dirt path he was on, and saw the jeep flying towards them, flames and smoke trailing from the back. "Caboose, stop running, get over beside me, and get down."
Caboose obeyed rapidly, seeing the jeep. "It's the Puma!"
"You mean the Warthog?"
"How about we call it the Pumhog? Or the Worta?" Church sighed and reloaded his Sniper Rifle.
Then two explosions landed above them, sending a plume of dirt into the blues, and a final one behind them. Simmons reloaded the turret as the jeep passed just overhead, almost running them over. Caboose tackled Church, using his body to shield his friend.
"We need help! Call Fucker on the radio, Church!"
The warthog circled around down the path, and the turret was almost ready for another attack. Church clicked on the radio for team chat. "Tucker! Come in, Tucker! We need some fucking help, man!"
"Church? How's the spy mission going? Why aren't you back yet like usual?"
"The reds are attacking with their Rocket Hog this time! We're in the middle of the canyon, in the hills! Get the girls and get over here now!"
"I don't know, man. How about in five minutes?"
"We're about to DIE!"
"We?"
"Caboose is here."
"Make it ten, dude."
"Tucker, if I die again your ass is haunted. I swear to fucking GOD…"
"Okay, okay! Yeesh. We're on our way to the rescue, Church. Hey, Tex! Grab your gun and get outside. Church needs help and he specifically asked for you and Sheila, the girls who are obviously way better than he is." Church sighed and shook his head, hanging up.
"Hey Bluetard!" Sarge yelled. "You've got one chance to surrender to us. Do so, and your death will be very quick."
"Or what?"
"I'll run you over with the Warthog!"
"… That's a quick death."
"… Quit using your fiendish Blue mind tricks against me and give me an answer, or you're roadkill!" Church sighed. What a dumbass. What was worse, he was going to have to be killed by him and his ass-kisser 2nd in command.
Then he grinned widely, although invisible under his helmet, when a distant voice floated in. "Firing: Main Cannon."
"Uh oh, that's not good," Sarge said, and Simmons nodded. And then the ground about a meter away from the jeep exploded into a large yellow plume with a thundering report and a vapor-trail that reminded Church of his own rifle. The jeep spun in the air and landed with a crash into the dirt.
The two reds leapt out of the jeep, taking cover behind it as another explosion rocked the flaming chassis.
"Suck it, red!" Tucker said, popping up next to Sheila with a battle-rifle and firing off a few bullets to make his point, as Tex rode on top, pulling out a belt of grenades. "We came here to get our local idiots."
"We've been outmaneuvered, Simmons!"
"Don't worry, sir. Your plan was excellent but everyone makes mistakes, sir."
Church and Caboose ran for it, reaching the tank. "Thanks for the save, guys," Church said and his whole team was so surprised at the sincerity that they all turned to look at him, ceasing fire for a moment before going back to humiliating their enemy.
"What are we gonna do about Sarge and his bitch over there?" Tucker asked, reloading his battle-rifle with a clack. "Kill em?"
"Yeah-" Church stopped and looked at Caboose, who was poking him. "What is it?"
"The Purples-" "Reds, Caboose." "-Anyway, those Greens gave us a chance to surrender. We should give them the same opportunity."
Tucker grinned. Finally a chance to see Church yell at the dumbass, which was considered a spectator sport among the Blue Team. But instead Church silently thought a moment and nodded.
"Hey Reds! You wanna just surrender?"
Sarge leaned out and said, "What do you want this time? You can't have the jeep, though!"
Church glanced at the flaming groaning chassis of rusting melting steel. "Gee. You're a tough diplomat, Sarge. Give us your guns and we'll let you jog back to your base."
Sarge glanced down at his favorite shotgun and Simmons whimpered to his only Sniper Rifle since the Battle Of Pants-Time. [the Blood Gulch Teams had given names to the various small skirmishes they had all the time in which no-one died and the only people wasted was some of the extra ammo clips.]
"Or we could just kill you."
"I'm glad we could agree on terms, Blue Team." They tossed their valuable weaponry out. Tucker walked over to grab the Sniper Rifle like a fat dude approaching a Twinkie but Tex leapt from the tank's top, landing near the rifle and snatching it up.
"God DAMNIT!" He took the shotgun disappointedly and sighed. "Get going, Reds." They obliged, running off, abandoning their destroyed vehicle and weaponry to their foes.
"Sir?"
"Yes Simmons?"
"What just happened?"
"We strategically lured them into a false sense of security, Simmons! Prepare our jeep for an attack!"
"…. Um…"
"…."
"…."
"Why in Sam Hell are my plans always being wrecked?! Damned Grif."
"Yes, sir. I'll kick him later."
"Good man."
Tucker laughed, sitting to one side with Church as Caboose sat in Sheila's pilot seat and Tex sat on top of the stinger-like turret, her legs swinging idly as the massive tank ground the dirt and moved towards their base, just coming into sight.
"Nice job, guys. We totally kicked their asses!"
"That's two times in a row," Sheila said. "A new record. I've committed this event to memory."
"So Church, why did the Reds attack you? They've been otherwise pretty quiet lately."
Church explained the situation, and Tucker was literally rolling all over Sheila's outer armor by the time he finished. "So Caboose startled you just to come and talk, and you shot the ground, but your bullets actually hit the enemy? Ha-ha, your aim sucks so much you can't even hit the ground right!"
Church sighed, looking down, until Caboose leaned forward and mimicked his 'scary-voice'. "My aim is just fine, Tucker, just so you know. Muaha." That shut him up, and Church leaned over. "Thanks, man."
Caboose beamed again. "And Church?"
"Yes?"
"Thank you for not yelling at me today."
"No problem." The setting sun framed their base as they pulled in and the crew dismounted, walking inside, jolly. [A/N: Imagine the end-theme from Halo 1, the Longsword ride, here. XD]
"Pull!" Instead of ducks, Sarge had mounted his Grif-cannon with his preferred ammo: a HE Grif round, heh. Now he was in midair, and the Red team jovially opened fire with all their might as the orange-armored soldier screamed in terror. "That's what you get for ruining my plan again, you duck."
TO BE CONTINUED.
So, how'd I do? ^^ be honest, I gave it my best. Chapter One coming posthaste. -Hunter
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