A day out with Red vs. Blue:

Showdown at Blood Gulch

By Starath

Author's Note: Special thanks to Lady Venom for proofreading this chapter. Onwards to chaos and misadventure!

Grif caught the grenade. He didn't want it.

"Here Donut!"

The other Red soldier hastily backed up. "I don't want it!"

"But you and grenades get along so well!" Grif shook his hand. The hissing grenade clung to his palm. "I need this limb for later use!"

"My limbs are important too!"

"Not as important as mine!"

Caboose laughed in a manner that wasn't human. "You're running out of time…"

Sarge shoved Donut to the side and swapped his assault rifle for his favorite shotgun. He aimed at Grif. "Hold still, Private!"

"What the— No! I'd rather take the grenade! The gren—"

The sharp POW of the shotgun reverberated through the hall. The grenade flew backward and stuck itself on the wall behind Caboose. A furrow the size of a shotgun shell smoldered in Grif's open hand. He wavered.

"Sarge…?"

"Move it you knuckleheads!" Sarge pushed Grif and Donut back the way they came. "Before it—"

The grenade went off. Debris showered them and pinged off their armor. Thick blue smoke made it impossible to see beyond a few steps. Donut stumbled. His comrades grabbed him by the arms and hauled him out of Blue Base. When they broke out into sunlight, Grif released Donut and staggered about, puffing for air.

"You two alright?" asked Sarge.

"That Blue is scary!" whined Donut.

"Sarge," Grif managed to say, "I gotta know—"

"Before you read too far into it, don't! If anybody's gonna waste you, it'll be me! Or a long fall! Or a misplaced 747 jet engine!"

"But not some lousy Blue?"

"I should hope not! What would I do if I needed to initiate Operation Meatshield?"

"Hey, where's Simmons?" asked Donut.

Grif straightened up. "You mean that trembling maroon lump behind the jeep?"

A spitting blue grenade landed at his feet. Grif suddenly had more energy to run with. "Move over Simmons!"

Donut followed right behind him. "Wait for me!"

"What is this?" barked Sarge, "Coward's Day? Get back here on the DOUBLE!"

The exploding grenade blocked out any replies he probably hadn't gotten anyway. Sarge grumbled and wiped dirt off his helmet's faceplate. When he looked up he stared down the barrel of an assault rifle.

"Hello, Sergeant," said Caboose. He sounded like he was smiling. And like he had a cold. Caboose usually sounded… dumber. "It seems your men have deserted you."

Sarge didn't flinch. "Poppyseeds! Shows how much you know. They're in standard back-up position!"

"Hiding under the Warthog?"

"Of course! What better place is there?"

Caboose snorted and muttered something about being surrounded by idiots. Sarge met him visor-to-visor as if the assault rifle wasn't there. "Listen you, you can frighten off my men but you can't scare me!"

"Oh really?"

"And we're not leaving without what we came here to get!"

"That insignificant piece of blue cloth? Honestly, the games you soldiers play. Is it really worth your life?" Caboose laughed, but there was no merriment in it. "You're more pathetic than I gave you credit for!"

"Don't make me angry, Blue." warned Sarge. "You wouldn't like me when I'm angry."

Caboose waved the gun an inch from his faceplate. "Bring it, Red."

Church glanced over his shoulder to be sure Tucker had followed him. His comrade popped out of Red Base's teleporter, coughing. His teal armor was black.

"Again?" cried Tucker. "Seriously, what is up with these things?"

"Who cares?" said Church, breaking into a full-out run. "We need to move! Sheila, are you on to us?"

The Scorpion-class tank rumbled away from Red Base. Her voice came through the radio. "I'll be behind you at top speed. Go!"

Tucker hurried after Church. "Why is it this canyon always feels bigger when you have to run through it?"

Automatic gunfire erupted in the distance. The crack of a shotgun answered it. Church tried sighting through his sniper rifle's scope as he came up a hill, still running. No good. Too unsteady.

"Hang on Caboose…"

Sarge had avoided getting shot by bashing Caboose under the chin. Just barely. Tufts of grass sprang out of a trail of bullets meant for his head. He dodged for cover. There wasn't any. Sarge landed in a crouch and fired off two rounds. Caboose neatly sidestepped them. The Blue soldier backpedaled in a wide arc, putting more distance between them. Sarge sprang up, cursing. Too much distance and his shotgun's close-range power would be worthless.

"Git back here you walking target!"

"Come and get me, oh glorious Red leader!"

Caboose fired at Sarge's feet to make him dance. Sarge leapt sideways and pulled the trigger. A shotgun round pinged off Caboose's helmet. He staggered and shook off the impact. He reloaded his clip and gunned Sarge down.

"I can reach you, fool! Can you reach me?"

Sarge threw himself into a tumble and came up running. Caboose's aim was better than usual—he felt his armor pucker across his thighs and buckle over his ribs. Turning, he fired three rounds. Caboose was too far away for them to be effective.

"Cover…"

The rock? Not big enough. The tree? Too far away. The Warthog? Currently occupied by three morons who would rather hide than fight. Sarge momentarily lost sight of Caboose when he disappeared around the curved wall of Blue Base.

…Blue Base?

Sarge studied the ramp leading to the base's roof. It looked the same as Red Base's. He reloaded his shotgun shells and grunted.

"Right. Easy."

Bullets kicked up a line of dirt in front of him. Caboose had backed away from Blue Base, well out of shotgun range.

"That's what he thinks. Heh."

Behind the jeep, Donut wished he had popcorn. He was crouched between Simmons and Grif, all three of them peeking over the Warthog's gunner platform.

"I had no idea Sarge was so kick-ass." said Grif. "But don't tell him I said that."

"Of course he is!" said Simmons. "He's Sarge!"

"Shouldn't we help him?" asked Donut.

"And ruin the show? No way! This is Red versus Blue. It's classic." said Grif.

"I suppose." Donut shrugged. "I wish we had a snack, though. You know, like the movies."

Grif offered him an open box. "Crackerjack?"

Sarge waited for Caboose to reload his weapon before he began his run to Blue Base. He bobbed and weaved in true military style to avoid the next hailstorm of ammunition. He sprinted up the ramp and onto the roof.

"Fool!" cried Caboose, "You're exposed up there, just waiting to be shot!"

Sarge plowed across the rooftop and leapt.

"Heee-yaaaaah!"

He fired off four rounds before he hit the ground, each one hitting Caboose's chestplate harder than the last. He landed and rammed the Blue soldier's stomach with the butt of his shotgun. Caboose groaned and doubled up. He fell to his knees.

"Aw, don't like it up close and personal? Too bad! Looks like you just got Sarge'd!"

Sarge's shotgun went off twice. The first shell struck Caboose's hip armor. The second missed. Sarge cried out in surprise when Caboose smashed his helmet into the sergeant's legs. Losing balance, he tumbled backwards. His elbows took most of the impact but his head cracked onto the ground. Dazed, he saw the sky and Halo ring far overhead; that's when he saw a shadow, and felt the barrel of an assault rifle pressed to his throat.

"Impressive," said Caboose, "But futile."

Sarge jerked his leg around and slammed it against Caboose's heels. Caboose jolted forward and gasped. Sarge's shotgun prodded his stomach.

"I wonder who has the quicker trigger-finger?" Sarge asked him.

Neither soldier moved. They stared at each other in a grim, uneasy silence.

Simmons jumped up. "That's it. He needs help."

"Aw, can't we watch a bit longer?"

He took the driver's seat of the Warthog. "NOW, Grif!"

Donut climbed up onto the gunner platform and spun the turret around. What he saw behind him made him yelp. "Uh oh!"

"What is it?" asked Grif.

"Here come the Blues! With their tank!"

He scrambled into the passenger's seat. "Screw this, I'm not staying."

Simmons stomped on the accelerator. The Warthog heaved into motion just as several sniper shots whizzed by.

"Fuck!" Church cried. "I missed them!"

"Like that's anything new?" demanded Tucker.

"Get them Sheila!"

The roar of cannon fire boomed once. Simmons jerked the steering wheel hard to the right. The impact of a tank shell thundered into the ground where the jeep was seconds before. Donut watched the tank take aim again. He held the Blue soldiers at bay with the gatling gun. A boom sounded from the tank.

"Incooooming!"

The cry galvanized Simmons into evasive maneuvers. The Warthog's rear wheels briefly left the ground when the tank's round landed too close. He regained control and drove toward Caboose and his leader.

"Grab Sarge!" he yelled.

Caboose saw the jeep just in time to jump clear of being run over. The vehicle separated him from his enemy.

"NO! Out of my way!"

"Sorry Caboose, fun's over now!" said Simmons.

"My name is O'Malley!"

"Whatever!"

"What the? Is that you, Grif?"

"Unfortunately!" He hauled Sarge into the jeep. "Time to go!"

"You can't have him!" said Caboose, "He is mine to kill!"

Donut stopped firing at the tank and swiveled the gatling gun to point at him.

"I'll… kill him some other time!"

Sarge was scarcely off the ground when Simmons gunned the accelerator and sped away.

"No, wait! My favorite shotgun!"

"You have more at base!" yelled Grif over the engine and another explosion.

"Oh shit shit shit!" Simmons saw the tank turret swing around. Scorpion versus Warthog? No. He focused on the Blue soldiers in front of them. Church took aim and shot out the jeep's left headlight. A second sniper round skimmed past Grif's visor.

"The hell?" he yelped. "Are you trying to get us killed?"

"This had better work," Simmons said through clenched teeth.

On the gunner platform, Donut saw the hill ahead of them and the Blue soldiers beyond. The tank halted, its cannon barrel fixed on the Reds. His gatling gun did nothing but make it laugh.

"Simmons, the tank!"

"I know!"

"The Blues!" cried Sarge, struggling to stay in the jeep and Grif's lap.

"I know!"

"We aren't going to make it!" Grif shouted.

Simmons flattened the gas pedal to the floorboard. The Warthog raced for the hill. The Reds hung on tight.

"Oh—"

"My—"

"Gooooooooood!"

The tank fired just as they crested the hill and left the ground entirely.

Tucker and Church threw themselves flat. The Warthog roared overhead, and underneath, a tank shell whistled by.

"Holy shit!"

"Yeeeeeeah! Suck it Blues!" Simmons landed the jeep and headed straight for Red Base.

After a long moment, Tucker sat up. One hand gripped his chest, over his heart. "Those guys are fucking nuts!"

Church didn't need a heart to feel the ghostly version of adrenaline coursing through his body. "No shit. Isn't anybody normal around here?"

Shaken by the doubly close call, the Blues made it back to base after Sheila. She had pulled alongside Caboose. He fired his assault rifle at the retreating Reds.

"And stay out, cockbites!"

"Caboose, are you alright?" she asked.

He shook his head as if clearing it, then looked at her as if she had magically appeared. "Oh, hi Sheila. I'm just peachy! How are you?"

"Your armor doesn't look, uh, 'peachy'."

Tucker approached them, wiping off dirt and black teleporter gunk. "Are you hurt?"

Caboose shrugged and shouldered his weapon. "I think I'm okay. Hey Church!" He bounced up to his all-time best friend in the whole wide galaxy. "I protected the roof, just like you told me to!"

"I can see that." For once Church sounded more bewildered than annoyed. "Against the Reds? All by yourself?"

"Nah, I had O'Ma—" He suddenly punched himself in the face. "—I mean, yup! All by myself! Pretty cool, huh? It's like somebody else was moving for me!" He took another swing at himself but stopped in mid-motion. "It hurt the first time, O'Malley!"

"Good! That was the point!" A rougher voice, from his mouth, answered.

Church and Tucker exchanged glances.

"See?" Tucker cried.

"Uh, hey, did you guys get the flag?"

"Yeah…." Church pointed at the tank with his sniper rifle. "Sheila's got it."

"Wow, great! Good job guys! Can I see it?"

"Sure. It looks just like ours, though. Except, y'know, red." Church circled Caboose, examining him. "Let's get you inside to check you out. You're pretty banged up."

"Really?" Caboose looked himself over as if just noticing. He laughed nervously. "I've never felt better!"

"Whoa!" Tucker's voice came from inside Blue Base. "Did you have a small war in here?"

Church stepped indoors to see. "Holy fuck! Caboose, what did I tell you about setting grenades off IN the base?"

Caboose poked his head in. The smoke had mostly cleared by now. The walls were covered in grenade residue and bullet holes. A chunk of concrete fell from the ceiling. "Uh… sorry?"

Shaking his head, Church went into the core room. And froze in mid-step.

"Son… of… a… bitch."

Donut hopped off the gunner platform as soon as the Warthog stopped. He ran to Red Base and hugged it.

"Home!"

Sarge crawled out of Grif's lap, making sure to beat on him as much as possible.

"Are you alright, Sir?" Simmons immediately went to his side and supported him before he could fall. "You're awfully trashed."

"Oh really? I wonder why! I was ONLY left to do battle with the enemy on my own, shot at by a laughing tank, then dragged halfway across Blood Gulch, hanging out of my own jeep, AND I lost my favorite shotgun! Now WHY would I look trashed, eh?"

The Red soldiers cringed.

"We're alive." said Simmons quietly.

"And if makes you feel any better, Sarge, your fight with Caboose was awesome." said Grif.

"Amazingly, coming from you, that doesn't do a damn thing for me!"

"But it was amazing, Sarge! I thought you were too old to move that fast!" said Donut.

Sarge growled. "Son, say that again and I'll make you eat your faceplate." He moved shakily, wincing when his armor sparked. "All that trouble for nothin'. What's this team coming to? Bunch of cowards and deserters, if you ask me!"

Simmons coughed. "Actually, Sir?"

"What?"

He kneeled and reached under the Warthog's frame, between the wheel wells. A tightly wrapped bundle dropped to the ground, formerly secured by a metal clip. Simmons picked up the Blue flag and presented it to his commander.

"Mission accomplished, Sir."

Sarge tilted his head, momentarily speechless. He carefully took the flag and unfurled it. The blue cloth flapped lazily when he swished the pole. He laughed.

"You crazy son of a shotgun! You drive like a maniac and steal like a weasel! Well done, Simmons, well done!"

"Thank you, Sir!" He literally glowed.

Donut came out of Red Base and hesitantly approached them. "Um, guys?"

Sarge turned to him, still laughing. "What is it, Private?"

"Our flag is gone."

An abrupt silence fell over the Red soldiers. Finally, Grif sighed.

"Great. Now what?"

"Now what?" indeed! Thanks for reading, please let me know what you think! In the meantime, this is to be continued!