"So let me get this straight, Private Pink," said Sarge after the Blues had finally left with their tank and music.

"Lightish red!" came the automated response

"The Blues ran over Grif with their tank," he continued as if Donut had not spoken.

"That's right, sir."

Sarge sighed.

"As much as it pains me to say this," the red leader said, "Simmons and Donut, get a stretcher and bring Grif inside. Prep him for surgery."

"Yes sir!" the two soldiers replied, and ran out of the base.

Sarge thought he would never live to see the day where he would lift a finger to save Grif's life. And normally, he wouldn't. But there was this teensy-weensy, itty-bitty, microscopic problem: Grif saved Sarge's life once. Using an illogical method, for sure, but it worked. That meant he owed Grif one. And as much as Sarge would love see the despicable private dead, he would hate it even more if Grif died while Sarge was in his debt.

Of course, Sarge would never speak this sentiment out loud. After all, he had a reputation to protect. He would have to make up a reason for why he would want Grif alive, when he had made it very clear the past few weeks that he hated the orange soldier (using the broadest possible definition for the word "soldier").

Speak of the lazy devil, Simmons and Donut came back inside with Grif on the stretcher.

"All right," Sarge said, "Set him on the floor. I'll wash my hands, Donut, you get the human anatomy charts, and Simmons, see how badly Grif is hurt."

A minute later, Sarge returned to the main room of the base, his hands thoroughly cleaned with hand sanitizer. Usually, he would wash his hands with strawberry yoohoo or pina colata (added flavor to the Army rations), since they ran out of water, but this was an operation, and there were certain protocols that had to be followed.

"What's our status?" he asked.

"It looks like most of his body has been crushed," Simmons reported, "It's a miracle he's even alive."

"I couldn't find the human body charts, but I did find this one of a cow," Donut said.

"Eh, it'll do. He's full of bull, anyway," Sarge shrugged, "Sounds like we'll need to replace most of the major organs."

"But Sarge, where are we going to find an organ donor?" Simmons asked.

Sarge grinned under his helmet.

"Private Simmons," he said in a jolly voice, "I think I found a place to put your body parts after we turn you into a cyborg."

"Crap," Simmons swore after a moment.

"There we are," Sarge said as he finished up on the stitches on Grif, "Looks like our boys are going to live. Of course, it would have helped if someone hadn't been distracting me by giggling all the way through."

Donut made another poor attempt of hiding his humor behind his hand.

Sarge sighed.

"Uh, Sarge, can I ask you something?" Donut spoke up after he was done giggling.

"For the last time, Donut, we are not going to have a male-bonding routine," Sarge snapped, "That only works if both of us are male."

"Actually, I was going to ask why you saved Grif's life," Donut said.

"Conserving supplies, of course," Sarge replied immediately, thanking God for the excuse, "If we lost Grif, we'd lose our one man advantage over the Blues, and we don't know how long it would take for Command to send us a replacement. Not to mention the fact that Grif is our most expendable soldier. If in a crisis situation, there needs to be a man to be left behind on the battlefield in order for an operation to succeed, with Grif there, we'll always know who to pick. You and Simmons are infinitely more valuable than Grif, so it'd be a harder choice."

"Oh," Donut said, apparently believing Sarge.

The red leader mentally wiped his sweaty eyebrow, thankful again for Donut's gullibility. There was no way anyone could ever guess the real reason why he saved Grif.

"I thought it was because you wanted to repay Grif for that time he saved your life…" Donut said, but was stopped in his tracks by the shotgun barrel that was now an inch from his face.

"Private, I could have you court-martialed for that statement," Sarge growled.

"On what charge?" Donut asked with both his hands and voice high.

"Insubordination," Sarge replied, "By insulting a superior officer. Now get this straight: if you even think about that particular reason you made up again, I will consider you more worthless than Grif. Am I clear?"

"Crystal," Donut squeaked, more concerned with the shotgun facing him than Sarge's threat.

"Good," Sarge said, and lowered his weapon, "Now, Nurse Donut, go tend to our patients."

"Yes, sir," Donut saluted, his voice its normal pitch again, and headed over to Grif's bed to hold his hand.

Sarge put his shotgun on the ground and let out a quiet sigh of relief. Another day, another crisis solved.

Author's Note: Truth be told, this oneshot was complete two years ago. Originally, this was supposed to be the first chapter in a collection of drabbles that would look at different perspectives of each of the characters throughout the series. However, I lost interest in the project, and so over time deleted all of the chapters except this one. Recently, I discovered it while looking through some of my old ideas, and finally decided to give it a final brush-over and publish it.

And yes, I know that Donut was not there when Caboose shot Sarge in the head. But he also was not there when Vic was talking about his vasectomy, and he seemed to know about that, too.

"Well that's just what I heard!"