Red vs Blue: A Soldier's Strife

Violent Introductions

The first thing he had learnt when he entered the military, was that he was going to have to get used to not hearing his name for a good long while, at least until he had gained a bit more respect from his colleagues. It had been just over three months, and he had just about gotten used to his new title – Private.

The first few weeks had been rough, for him more than most recruits. While others had trained until their bones broke, persisted and applied until they had earned their respectable start to military life. No matter how their attitudes and performances varied, by that stage none could deny that they had made their choice and that on its own was to be respected.

But not for him.

He was an entirely different story altogether. Apparently his father was so delusional by this point that he thought that wealth and influence could land his only son a position above the rest. Despite protests of every kind, it took a stellar and uncompromising response from the unit's commander to set the business tycoon straight. Still, excessive strain on the chain of command from the variety of suits at his disposal meant that the title of private was his without any need to apply or go through any form of interview.

It wasn't as if he didn't have what it took to be a soldier. His fitness and intelligence were within the requirements, what he was lacking was the confidence and motivation. The wish of his old man had been for him to take up arms and be a hero in the eyes of the people. Unfortunately for him, there was no-one to take up arms against. Still, this fleeting wish landed him in a uniform and a unit; a unit that had heard about his easy pass and background, which quickly provoked hostility.

The Private had made a silent promise to himself on the first day. That he would sieve through all the remarks and cold shoulders and prove himself an able soldier, not for his father, but for himself. With that mentality, he gradually gained the confidence of his fellow unit as every patrol, recon and firefight ended victoriously for them. Their commander had been so impressed with their progress that there were even talks of Sky Outpost on the agenda, an opportunity to really test and improve their capabilities as soldiers.

That was the first time the Private had really felt that becoming a soldier may have been the best thing that had ever happened to him. That sense of blissful euphoria lasted until early this morning, when the gunshots started.

Their base was small, located far across the uninhabited plains of Luyten, providing formidable defense and isolation. A large group of any magnitude was easy to spot with sight alone never-mind their state of the art detection systems. A single character, dashing through the rocky plains, and edging his way around every piece of sensory equipment was a different story altogether.

It sounded preposterous; they were well equipped with over twenty men with some heavy training and experience under their belts. When the first shot was heard, those achievements melted away.

Blood and shredded fragments of armor were scattered around every turn, only one of the victims having the luxury of a bullet to the head. He had woken up to the blackness of a gun barrel staring right into his eyes before all light vanished in a deafening sound of thunder. From that point the base divulged into chaos.

The first few had rushed straight into gunfire as they had sprung from their rooms, some not even in armor yet. A borrowed assault rifle made short work of them before things got really gritty.

Still in a state of confusion, the commander had rallied everyone else deeper into the base in preparation for a counterattack against the invading forces. The Private was fumbling around, desperately loading ammunition into his sidearm. He had just managed to fill up the chamber when the sealed doors burst open before them.

There was a flash of white, and a shard that was once a fortified door was buried into the neck of the nearest soldier. All hell broke loose after that.

Bullets tore through the air, tearing the inside walls to pieces but barely holding a candle to the intruder, whose fluidity prevented even a scratch to permeate his armor. His movements seemed inhuman, rolling, skidding and bending in such a way that was both graceful and sinister. He propelled himself forward, ducking under the wildfire of lead before finding his prey, a heavily built soldier whose battle rifle's slowness was his downfall.

The butt of the rifle was send directly into his windpipe, slipping past the protection of his helmet. His larger body mass made the perfect shield as the attacker drenched in white steel allowed his fleshy back to take most of the heavy fire while he relieved him of his weapon.

What followed was a pattern of distraction, a dance of death. No matter how hard the soldier's pulled the trigger or how quick they dodged, they were miles off from hitting or avoiding the flurry of their attacker. The Private found his vision blurred when he was knocked off his feet by a rifle smashing into him, his skull mimicking a church bell. When his sight and hearing had finally managed to restore itself, he found himself surrounded by his dead squad. It was almost a small mercy in some cases, at least he hadn't had to witness one soldier sliced in half by a rather sharp remnant of the door. She had been perky, but strong, she had even kissed him at that party after they had successfully completed that retrieval. Now he could see the tattered remains of her ribcage sprawled all over the floor.

There was a gruff cry from behind him, followed by a series of precisely timed gunshots. The Private raised his head just in time to see his commander suffer a bullet hole to his chest, crotch and neck. The blood trickled out of each and wound, collecting as a crimson puddle that his body was careless dropped in.

Fear of the most primitive kind filled every corner of the Private's body. Escape. That word resonated in his head like an eternal echo. Had to find an exit, had to run and run like hell. He still had his sidearm. Good. He had a means of defense. Just run and shoot. Run and shoot. Run and –

There was a sharp click next to his ear. His eyes couldn't help themselves, and peered up. The commander's shotgun was staring him dead in the eye. The fear was replaced by an odd sense of numbness, a tranquil kind of cold setting into his skin. Beyond the shotgun was a lean figure, crisp white armor, above standard issue. The helmet was rather intimidating, like something the reaper would wear if he took to the battlefield.

"Well done soldier, you're superiors and kinsmen thank you for your sacrifice" the mocking tone on his voice was no lost on him.

He only managed to squeak out one word before his skull was ripped apart and he sprayed the wall in the richest scarlet.

"Daddy…"

Caboose was very still. The end of the gun was digging into his helmet, no amount of padding was going to stop or even slow a bullet if the opposition decided to pull the trigger. He tried to slow his breathing, trying to remain calm. Unfortunately he was the only one that was calm.

"Holy shit, where did you come from?!" the cyan soldier yelped out, nearly falling on his back from the sudden appearance of this third soldier.

"No wonder this army is going downhill, if that's how you react to an enemy I'm surprised you weren't killed a long time ago" the new figure replied. The voice was deep and undeniably masculine, though there was something about it that bugged Caboose.

"Sounds almost…mechanical..." he thought to himself.

"Freelancer Tex?" he asked aloud, as calmly as possible.

"Yeah, and who you supposed to be asswipe?" the mercenary snapped back, as he did there was shift motion at the back of Caboose's head, the gun moving ever so slightly.

That was his cue.

He spun himself around, a swerving motion that turned him around to face his attacker, but bent back enough to avid the inevitable gunshot. His left hand met their wrist in a quick and precise strike, the result leading the bullet to head off, scraping the tip of the armor over his shoulder. Which nearly manage to take off Tucker's head, earning a particularly girly scream.

Caboose drove a fist into the chest piece of Tex, which was lackluster in strength to say the least. However, it did its job of pushing him back a step or two, giving the Blue plenty of time to gather his bearings.

"I'm the new guy" he retorted smugly.

There was a moment of silence before Tex dropped the sidearm and cracked his knuckles.

"Kid, you've got balls, and now I'm going to rip them off" he threatened.

There was a slight sensation of fear in the back of Caboose's mind; obviously this mercenary was quick to anger and even quicker to retaliate. He cracked his neck, expecting that he was giving to be receiving as well as giving a few bruises in a few moments.

"Come get them" he challenged before adopting an all too familiar stance. Those long winters with an instructor and all those test matches against recruits back at Sky Outpost, something told him this was going to be a tad more difficult.

Tex practically broke the earth beneath him as he dashed forward, impressive speed and fists wired to break bones. Caboose readied his body, a mountain ready to be swallowed by an enraged sea.

Tucker gaped at the pair as their fight quickly broke out amongst the plains of Blood Gulch.

"Aren't we all meant to be on the same team?!"