Dynamo
Master of Plot Devices
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 Posted: Thu Mar 06, 2008 12:46 pm Post subject: Outpost 101 - Chapter 2 |
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D’s War Journal
Entry 2:
Things have been pretty quiet here at Outpost 101. Then again, it’s always quiet here since there’s no enemy to fight. Serge was called back to command for something, so he left Simmons in charge. The new recruit was supposed to arrive yesterday, but he’s not here yet. But this isn’t necessarily a bad thing. With Serge gone and nothing to do it’s given me some time to write in my war journal. Grif and Simmons are using their free time to talk about important matters.
D looked over his shoulder from his place by the teleporter to see Grif and Simmons talking.
“Hey, Grif,” Simmons said. “You ever wonder why we’re here?”
“It’s one of life’s great mysteries, isn’t it?” Grif said. “Why are we here? Are we the product of some cosmic coincidence, or is there really a God watching everything, you know, with a plan for us and stuff? I don’t know, man, but it keeps me up at night.”
There was a moment of awkward silence between the two of them before Simmons said, “What? I meant why are we out here in this canyon?”
“Oh, uh… yeah.”
“What was all that stuff about God?” Simmons asked.
“Uh… nothing.”
“…You wanna talk about it?” Simmons asked.
“No.”
“You sure?”
“Yeah.”
D turned back to his journal and wrote, Yes…important matters. He closed his journal and put it away to join Grif and Simmons.
Grif turned to him and asked, “Hey D, you writing in that diary again?”
“For the last time, it’s not a diary, it’s a war journal!”
Simmons continued. “Seriously though, why are we out here? As far as I can tell, it’s just a box canyon in the middle of nowhere with no way in or out.”
“I know,” Grif said. “Serge made me scout the entire canyon for enemy troops. We’re the only ones out here in this God forsaken wasteland.”
“Grif, scouting the entire canyon means scouting the entire canyon, not walking 50 yards from the base before giving up and going for a nap,” D said.
Grif turned to D and said, “Now you’re just splitting hairs.” He turned back to Simmons and said, “But you’ve got a good point there. I mean, I signed up for the army to go fight some aliens. Next thing I know Master Chief blows up the whole Covenant armada and I’m stuck in the middle of nowhere with you a***oles.”
“Gee, thanks,” D said.
“Talk about a waste of resources. I mean, we should be out there finding newer forms of intelligent life, you know, and fight them,” Grif said.
“Yeah, no sh*t,” Simmons said. “That’s why they should put us in charge.”
“Excuse me, sirs?” a new voice said. Everyone turned to see a blue armoured recruit standing behind them.
Grif saw the newcomer and said, “Oh, crap.”
“Yeah, the people in the big spaceship told me to talk to whoever was in charge here.” His voice made him sound like a child trapped in an adult’s body. Not exactly young, but not exactly mature either, or smart for that matter.
“Sorry man, Serge is at command getting orders,” Grif said. “Ain’t nobody in charge today.”
“Actually, private, he left me in charge while he’s gone,” Simmons said.
Grif turned to face Simmons and said, “You are such a kiss-ass!”
“Also,” Simmons continued, “he told me if I had any trouble from you I should,” he cleared his throat and tried to imitate Serge’s voice. “Get in the warthog and crush yer head like a tomato can.”
Both Grif and D stared at him for a few moments. D was the first to break the silence. “That’s the worst impression I’ve ever heard.”
Simmons ignored him and turned back to the newcomer. “Okay, rookie, what’s your story?”
“Uh… I didn’t bring any books with me,” he said.
“…What?”
“No, he means what’s your name and why are you here?” D asked.
“Oh, my name is Caboose, and I’m here to fight some scary aliens.”
“Caboose?” Grif asked. “What kind of name is that?”
“I think it’s the name of that car that rides at the end of a train,” Simmons said.
“Yeah, I know that,” Grif said. “It just sounds stupid when you make it someone’s name. I think someone needs a new nickname.”
“But I like my name,” Caboose said. “My mom always said it’s what made me special.”
Everyone stared at him for a few akward moments. Again, D was the first to break the silence. “…Okay, private Caboose, we’ve got a very important job for you. Here’s the deal-”
“I just refuse to call him Caboose,” Grif said.
D ignored him and continued. “We’ve got a very important mission for you. You think you can handle it?”
“Oh! Oh! I’m good at doing stuff! What’s the mission?”
“We need you to go to the store and get two quarts of elbow grease,” D said.
Grif added, “Uh, yeah, and pick up some headlight fluid for the puma, too.”
“Um… the what?” Caboose asked.
“He means the warthog,” Simmons answered.
“You do know where the store is, right rookie?” D asked.
“Uh, sure, of course I do! Sure, no problem.”
“Well, what are you waiting for?” Caboose turned around and stared walking toward the edge of the base’s roof that had no ramp. “The ramp is over there, Caboose,” D said, pointing to the cement ramp that led to the ground.
“I knew that,” Caboose said as he turned around. “I just got to turn around, that’s all.”
D, Grif and Simmons went to the edge of the roof and watched as Caboose ran off to find the store. “How long you think until he figures out there’s no store?” Simmons asked.
“I don’t know,” D said. “I just wanted him away from me. He’s even dumber than you guys.”
Grif turned to D. “Oh, shut up. You write in a diary, you girl.”
“It’s a WAR JOURNAL!”
A few minutes later…
“Let’s see, where’s the store?” Caboose asked, obviously talking to himself. He had already gotten himself lost, despite the fact that this was one huge box canyon with Outpost 101 stationed in the dead center of it. “If I don’t get back soon with that head light grease and elbow fluid they’re not going to be happy with me.”
He kept walking until he saw something in the distance. “Hey, what’s that?” He focused his eyes so he could see what it was. “Hey, it’s a tank! And where there is a tank there is people to drive the tank. I bet they are friendly people, maybe they can tell me where the store is!” |
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When I give food to the poor, they call me a saint. When I ask why the poor have no food, they call me a communist. |
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