Atop the edge, Tucker, Rho, and Caboose were watching Epsilon talking (well, more so yelling) with the Reds.

Caboose: What happened?

Tucker: One of the Reds just shot Church in the foot.

Rho: Man, he really fucked with Donut's personality.

Tucker: 'The hell does that mean?

Rho: (quickly) Uh, what, nothing!

Epsilon: Ow, that fuckin' hurt!

Tucker: Do you think we should try to help?

Caboose: I don't really see how we can, (aims rifle) I can't really get a clear shot of Church from this angle.

Rho: Caboose.... down.

Down below, Epsilon is holding his foot and slightly bouncing on his other to keep his balance.

Epsilon: Ow, man you guys are a bunch of dicks. I just got this foot.

Simmons: Four minutes left.

Epsilon: I just wanna say, that you guys are all mixed up. You're doing it wrong.

Donut: Doing what wrong?

Epsilon: This, your team, like, where's Grif?

Donut: He's in the base cleaning up, he loves to keep things tidy.

Epsilon: No, no, no, see? That's not right, this isn't the way things are supposed to be. It got all confused somehow. Grif isn't tidy at all, he's filthy.

Slade: Grif? Filthy? Mate, what the hell have you been eating in your MREs?

Simmons: He's gonna wash his hands for a week if he hears you say that.

Epsilon: Grif, come on, get out here man!

Grif: (from inside) I'm doing my second coat of floor wax! That's when the shine comes to life. I'll be out in a minute.

Epsilon: Ugh, Sarge come on, be Sarge, yell at him. Get him out here.

Sarge: Why would I yell at a subordinate? Seems unfair to yell at someone who can't yell back.

Epsilon: What? That s- what?!

Sarge: Hey, sorry about calling you fellas subordinates.

Epsilon: This is so lame.

Slade: Says the wanker that just decided to walk up to us and become a one-legged arsehole!

Sarge: No offense meant, boys.

Donut: None taken, boss.

Simmons: I actually kinda like being talked down to.

Slade: What the what, mate?!

Epsilon: Okay, seriously? Sarge, come on. You love being in charge, tell these guys to, you know, shape up or do something.

Sarge: Well, I guess they could be doin' a better job.

Donut: How?

Sarge: Uhh, I just want you guys to feel like you're reachin' your full potential.

Donut: I know I am.

Simmons: Me too.

Slade: (scoff) Doubt mine could even get any higher.

Donut: My potential is so full, I feel like I could fill up a couple other soldiers' potentials.

Simmons: God dammit, mine's just the regular kind of full.

Epsilon: Donut, come on, man. This isn't you, you're supposed to be, you know, free spirited. Not some kind of repressed, overachieving jarhead.

Donut: Oh, really? How 'bout I shove that sniper rifle up your ass and show just how much shit you've been spewing?

Slade: Jesus, mate! Don't need to go that far!

Epsilon: And Slade, how are you not angry at any of this?! You're supposed to be the hothead of the group!

Slade: What's there to get mad at them for? I mean, yeah, Simmons is kind of a baby, but that's just more annoying than anger-triggering, mate.

Simmons: One minute left.

Epsilon: Dude, what fuckin' clock are you using? It's only been like fifteen seconds.

Simmons: Yeah? Well, what about me, blue guy? Am I supposed to be different too, you know, someone less nerdy and not lonely every second of the day?

Epsilon: No, you're pretty much spot on, Simmons.

Simmons: Oh, okay. Great.

Donut: (cocks rifle) I've heard just about all I want out of this guy.

Epsilon: Uh, I'm leaving, just remember, this isn't the way things are meant to be. You know it, and I know it. Donut, you're a nice guy. You're not a jerk, try expressing yourself a little bit. You know, like, start keeping a uh, like a journal, or a diary or something like that.

Donut: (clearing his throat) A what?

Epsilon: Nevermind, nevermind. I'm leaving, I'm leaving. I'm gonna limp home now, okay? (limps) Ow, (limps) ow, (limps) ow, (limps) ow.

Sarge: The nerve of that guy. He's just tryin' to get in our heads. Right?

Donut: (mumbling) How did he know about my diary?

Simmons: Your what?

Donut: Nothing! I have, I have to go, log, log this in, in my logbook.

Donut heads inside Red Base.

Grif: Donut! Don't track mud in here! You know better!

Sarge: What do you think, fellas?

Simmons: Hard to say, sir. He was talking nonsense, but he sounded so sure of himself. I think he should count himself lucky he got out of this one alive.

Slade: No argument with ya on that, mate.

-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-

The Freelancers' Pelican shoots away from the exploding Insurrectionist facility.

479er: Incoming transmission.

Carolina: I got it, this is vehicle Four Seven Niner, go for secure.

F.I.L.S.S.: Secure, hello Agent Carolina.

Carolina: Good morning, F.I.L.S.S. Nice to hear your voice.

F.I.L.S.S.: Is this a bad time? You sound, occupied.

Carolina: The LZ got a little... hot. We may be late for the rendezvous, but we'll get there. Don't leave without us. And tell the medics to prep for wounded.

California: (calls out) Rachel, I'm fine!

F.I.L.S.S.: Understood, it sounds like the Director was right to send you along to assist the teams. Though he was certain that Agent California would make the mission a success.

Carolina: (huffs) Of course he did.....

F.I.L.S.S.: All Agents accounted for, excellent work.

Carolina: F.I.L.S.S, I see a blank spot in the head count. Please verify.

F.I.L.S.S.: We will see you at the rendezvous, Agent Carolina. Fly safe, and have a nice day.

Carolina: Roger that, Carolina out. South, check our six.

South: Heads up, we've got company back here.

Three Longswords fly behind the Pelican.

479er: Who are your friends?

Carolina: Just some people we met at the party.

479er: They seem nice.

The Longswords open fire on the Pelican, while 479er maneuvers around them.

Carolina: Nice moves, firing missiles.

Carolina fires the missiles, but the Longswords evade them with ease.

South: Can't you get us out of here?!

479er: I'm working on it.

California pushes himself out of his seat, ignoring the pain in his body, and hits the button that opens the back of the Pelican.

479er: What the hell is going on back there?!

North: Cal, where are you going?!

California: (cracks neck and rolls shoulders) To lay some hate.

Cal jumps out of the Pelican and dives towards one of the Longswords. He activates the thrusters on his back and halts his approach, sliding down the roof of the ship and grabbing onto the back of the Longsword with one hand.

Carolina: What happened?

North: Cal just jumped out of the ship!

Carolina: He WHAT?! Why didn't either of you stop him?!

South: Uh, hello! Have you MET Cal? He's YOUR boyfriend after all!

The lock on light begins beeping.

South: What's that noise?

479er: They have missile lock.

South: That's bad.

479er: Yeah, that's bad.

South: Take evasive maneuvers!

479er: I'm trying.

South: Well, try harder!

479er: Hey South? Do me a favor, would ya?

South: What?

479er seals the door to the loading dock.

479er: Thanks.

South: You stupid bitch!

The Longswords fire their missiles at the Pelican.

479er: Releasing flares.

479er fires off flares to deter the missiles, but still ends up getting hit. The pilots in the third Longsword prepare to lock on until they a hear a loud thump on the hull and jump as they see Cal appears in front of the windshield.

California: (salutes them) G'day mates. (reels back fist) Mind making some room?

Cal breaks the windshield and throws both pilots out as they scream, falling to the ocean below. Cal hops in behind the controls as the emergency shield fills where the windshield had been broken by the green and red Freelancer.

California: All right, let's see what this thing can do.

Cal punches the thrusters and shoots towards the opposing Longswords and locks on with missiles, blowing them both to pieces. Cal pulls the Longsword alongside the Freelancer Pelican.

California: Now I'm up one on you, love! Hahaha!

Carolina: (fuming) When we get back to the ship....

479er: Cut the marital dispute! We got more bogeys incoming!

Several more Longswords shoot up behind the ships, firing at them both.

South: I hate flying!

North and South are thrown around the loading bay. South hits her head against a seat, falling unconscious. North grabs his sister holds her as they continue to flail in the bay.

479er: Hey, everyone hold on back there. Things are gonna get a little um...

Carolina: Bumpy?

479er: Yeah, well I was gonna say crashy, but bumpy works. Cal, see what you can do to keep 'em off our ass!

California: Copy that.

Cal reverses thrusters on the Longsword and falls behind two Longswords, firing his turrets at them. 479er flies the Pelican into an ice canyon to try and avoid the Longswords' missiles, to a bit of success.

Carolina: Countermeasures depleted. North, get moving. I'm clearing you for equipment usage.

479er: Whatever you're gonna do back there, do it fast.

North straps South, who was still unconscious, in one of the Pelican bay seats.

North: Stay safe, kiddo.

479er: North, North!

North starts making his way to the ladder, and climbs up to the middle of the Pelican.

North: Well, here goes nothin'.

The Longswords fire off another volley of missiles, but are blocked off when North activates his drop shield. The Pelican then starts heading downward towards the ocean.

Carolina: Pull up, pull up!

The Pelican manages to get balanced before crashing into the ocean. The rendezvous light begins flashing.

Carolina: There's the rendezvous point, if we're gonna make it, you better punch it.

North collapses back into the loading bay in, exhausted from the force of the missiles tolled on his shield. A yellow beam is shot in the distance, destroying one of the Longswords.

Carolina: Whoa!

The clouds begin to clear, revealing a UNSC Frigate, which fires off another beam from where the MAC would be, destroying the other fleeing Longsword. Cal taps his helmet.

California: Mother of Invention, this is Agent California in the remaining Longsword. Do NOT fire! Repeat: this is Agent California!

F.I.L.S.S.: Understood, Agent California.

479er: Mother of Invention, we're inbound.

F.I.L.S.S: We will have medical personnel waiting for you in the landing bay. Welcome home, Four-Seven-Niner.

Carolina: Thank you F.I.L.S.S. Good to be home. And Cal?

California: Yeah, love?

Carolina: DON'T EVER FUCKING DO SOMETHING LIKE THAT AGAIN!

Cal flinches from the ear-rape he endured over the radio.

California: (cringing) You're the boss, love....