Drag: I can't believe it!
Turf: Well you better believe it,
after months of searchin' we finally found some Blues that need blastin' ,
no matter the cost to ourselves.
This war is bigger than any individual soldier.
Our prime directive is back in effect.
Cherry, set a crash course for the blue base.
We're gonna crush these bugs!
Cherry: Brush what rugs, sir?
Turf: No, crush the bugs.
We're gonna crush these bugs!
Cherry: Oh, of course, sir.
*Alarm sounding*
Morgan: Uh, Colonel?
Don't you think you're being a little bit rash?
Cherry: Setting course for blue base!
Turf: Do you think they'd call George Washington rash!?
Cherry: Verifying coordinates!
Drag: George Washington never tried never tried to crash a space ship into a military compound,
hidden in a canyon, filled with blue armored Space Marines!
Turf: Sounds like I got one up on Washington himself!
Sink your wooden teeth into THAT, George!
Cherry: Calculating Suicide route!
Morgan: Suicide route?!
Who even calls it that?
Santos: Must be a glitch in our vocal-translation-protocol
I should make a note to fix that.
Drag: We'll all be dead by then!
Santos: You don't have to yell at me, jeez, fine,
*I'll* go fix it!
Peake, let's go!
Drag: We work with idiots!
Turf: *sniff* Brave idiots!
Godspeed, soldiers!
Cherry: Suicide crash-protocol disabled.
Turf: What the- ?
Just what do you think you're doing, soldier?
Morgan:Hear me out.
We don't know anything about these blue soldiers.
There could be a ton of them we haven't even seen yet.
Sure, we could crash into their base and take out a couple of them,
but how many others would survive?
Even if we really, REALLY want to wipe the Blues out,
we should learn more about them, right?
Turf: Hmm
well I don't like the idea of restraint.
I must admit I do admire your commitment
to the complete genocide of all Blues.
What do you suggest?
Morgan: What about a good old-fashioned Scouting Party?
We'll send three of us down there,
maybe assess their numbers,
scope their location, so that maybe we don't have to kill ourselves?
Turf: Hm, not kill ourselves, you say?
Okay.
Whichever one of you two wanna join my Scouting Mission,
step forward now.
...
Turf: Captain Morgan, Private Sue,
thank you for voulunteering
Sue: Dammit.
Morgan: We didn't move!
Turf: Uh, I'm pretty sure I saw you move a little.
Morgan: Not at all!
Turf: Well maybe a little.
Moran: NO!
Turf: Well too bad, this was your idea!
Cherry, prepare the transporter!
We're going down!
Santos (singing to himself): Fixing machines,
Just fixing machines,
Just cause she's AI doesn't make-her-mean
UH!
Santos: Hey Peake, could you hand me that wrench?
Peake?
Where'd he go?
Santos: What the...?
Santos: Peake?
What's going on?
Peake: Oh, hey!
Aliens: PEAKE!
Morgan: Woah.
Sue: I know, everything looks so... Low-res...
Turf: No, you idiot, look!
M80AB- Main Battle Tank
AKA The Scorpion.
These Blues are packed with some serious firepower.
Morgan: If we had tried to crash that ship,
that tank could've blown us out of the sky!
Turf: Hmm, suicide AND no blue casualties...
You may have earned yourself commendation.
Morgan: Thank you, Sir.
Turf: Okay, soldiers,
if we want to kill these Blues
we've gotta take out that tank!
Sue: Seriously, I thought it was just our monitor
but everything looks REALLY blocky!
Peake: So...
You know how the ship crashed, and we just assumed
the life forms on board died?
Santos: Yeah, we checked EVERY Bathroom stall.
No sign of anything!
Peake: Yeah... so
That was the problem
We didn't look very hard.
I came down here a month ago,
and found them hiding in the cargo hold
next to a bunch of empty incubator things.
They seemed pretty hungry and scared,
so... I brought them some food,
and I guess they think I'm their leader or something?
Santos: Peake, why didn't you say anything?
Peake: I did. Several times,
but everyone just ignored me.
Santos: That... sounds about right,
but I-I don't think you understand.
You've got a cult of Aliens,
Nay, an ARMY!
With an army of Alien soldiers, we could do whatever we wanted!
No more taking orders,
no more searching for Blues!
*GASP*
We could take over the ship
and turn it into the flying spaceship-wine bar I've always dreamed of!
Peake: uhh.... what?
Aliens: PEAKE!
Santos: With Turf, Morgan and Sue down in the canyon,
the only one left on the ship besides us is...
Drag: Santos!
Peake?
Is anyone there?
Where'd everybody go?
Alien: Peake?
Drag: Well.
This isn't good.
Turf: Okay, let's recap the plan.
Step 1:
Isolate the tank by distracting the enemy.
Step 2:
Neutralize the tank, so we don't get our asses blown into bits.
Step 3:
Destroy the tank.
Step 4:
Eviscerate the pathetic and now harmless Blues.
Now that that's clear-
Morgan: Wait.
Those are just words.
How are we actually supposed to complete those steps,
like, Step 1,
How do we distract all those blue Soldiers?
Sue: I could distract them with some sort of dance!
Like a... Desert Dance!
Morgan: I'm not gonna say that's the worst idea I've ever heard,
but maybe we could do something a bit more
strategic.
Turf: Hmm. We could rig that mountain over there with 12 tons of C4 and blow it to hell.
There's nothing more distracting than an exploding mountain.
Morgan: Let's just assume we don't have enough firepower for that.
So, maybe we just make some noise from that hill.
Turf: Perfect!
Morgan: Step 2...
Sue: What if we steal it?
Like... the tank.
What if we... steal the tank?
Morgan: That's... actually not such a bad idea!
If we took control of the tank, finishing off the Blues here would be no problem.
What do you think, Colonel?
Turf: I was just thinking we could bash their heads in with some heavy rocks,
but I guess using the tank would be more efficient.
... Rats!
*heavy breathing*
Aliens: ... Peake? Peake?...
Drag (exhausted): Oh thank god.
I've gotta get in touch with the Colonel and let him know the ship's overrun with aliens!
Cherry?
Cherry: Yes sir?
Drag: I need you to contact Turf!
Cherry: Compact Smurfs?
But they're already so small, Sir!
Drag: No! Contact. Turf.
He's down in the canyon.
You need to let him know, that-
Cherry: Oh, I'm sorry. I can't do that.
Drag: Why not?
Cherry: My Communications-link has been modified.
I am unable to make any external transmissions.
Drag: That doesn't make any sense.
Who would modify your-
God damnit, Santos!
If this is related to your damn spaceship-wine bar idea, I'm gonna kill you!
Okay Cherry, I'm going to need you to navigate me back to the bridge.
I need to reach the others manually.
Cherry: Not a problem, Sir!
To reach the bridge, follow the hallway you just came from.
Drag: No, no. It can't be that way. It isn't safe!
Cherry: Oh, well. In that case you'll have to use the maintenance access route.
Drag: Okay... where's that?
Cherry: It's through the engineering bay.
Alien: Peake! Cherry: You'll have to climb through the turbines
to reach the maintenance ladder.
Unfortunately, the turbines are located behind a restricted-access Laser-grid.
Drag: Laser grid?
Cherry: That's correct.
Also, did I mention that the maintenance ladder is on the outside of the ship?
Drag: UAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHH...!!!
Turf: So, everyone's clear on what to do?
Sue: Desert Dance, got it!
Morgan: No Desert Dance!
Turf: Okay, it's time to execute Operation Smash'n'bash!
Hold on to your butts, boys, cause this is gonna get nasty.
On my mark!
3
2
1
Caboose: Oh hey, guys!
Who are we hiding from?
Morgan: FREEZE!
Turf: How did you find us?
Caboose: Oh yeah, well I, uhm, saw that guy's Desert Dance
and came right over.
Sue: I told you it would work!
Morgan: It didn't work, you ruined the plan.
Caboose: Ah...
What plan?
Sue: We were gonna steal your tank and blow you up and your pals with it.
Morgan: Shut up!
Caboose: Oh, you mean, like, earlier!
Turf: ...What?
Caboose: Ah, yeah, uh
Yeah, we just, uh, lost our leader to a crazy Friendly Fire... thing
that... totally wasn't my fault.
Hey, why do you guys look so smooth?
Turf: Uh... can you give us a minute?
Caboose: Okay!
Morgan: He seems a little... slow.
Sue: I like him!
Turf: We've been compromised!
Our whole mission is blown if this blue bootlicker utters a word of this to his buddies.
... Where the hell's Sue?
Sue: So it's really important that you don't tell anyone you saw us.
Otherwise we can't kill all of your friends.
Caboose: Ah, that makes sense.
Turf: *sigh*... Imma kill them both!
Caboose: ... That was weird.
Turf: Argh...
Drag: Colonel, we have a problem,
Santos wants a wine bar, so he got the aliens
And now they're a cult that worships Peake
and he wants to take over the ship.
Morgan: We weren't even gone for an hour!
Turf: Slow down there, Drag. What's this about a cult?
Drag: It's a mutiny!
Santos wants to take over the ship!
Turf: Mutiny? MUTINY?
There's only a few things in this world that I hate more than Blues,
and you better bet your ass mutiny is one of them!
Santos: Welcome back, boys!
Morgan: Santos, what are you doing?
Who are those aliens?
Santos: Oh, you mean my cult?
Aliens: PEAKE!
Santos: Uh...
Drag: He wants to turn the ship into a wine bar!
Santos: No I don't.
I just want to turn it into a religious cult that's a front for a wine bar!
Turf: That's enough!
Everyone shut up!
I am your commanding Officer,
and I have something I need to say.
I understand that the last several months have been stressful.
We've been men without a mission.
Digging through deserts and trapped in this crappy tin can.
Cherry: HEY!?
Turf: I'll also be the first to admit
my own high expectations for all of you.
Sometimes I could set the bar too high,
and maybe that's not fair.
But I'll be damned, if I don't see such great potential in all of you.
Lieutenant Drag, you may come off as a cynical asshat,
but when your back's against the wall, you get the job done!
Major Santos!
You may be mounting a mutiny right now,
but that's because you don't ever let yourself feel satisfied.
Where others see a space ship, you see... a wine bar.
Private Peake!
You have a cult! That's pretty impressive right?
Private Sue!
All your ideas may be the worst ideas in the world,
but you're one hell of a dancer!
Captain Morgan!
*laughter*
Turf: You're the only reason I'm making this speech,
and not cracking skulls.
You've taught me that rushing in, guns blazing
isn't always the best strategy.
That sometimes, patience and practicality
can be more effective than bullheadedness.
We're a team!
We're all different, but we're still a team!
And that means more than any old prime directive!
We've got a spaceship!
We can do whatever we want, go where ever we want,
be whoever we want to be!
And we can do it together!
As Friends
Santos: Stand down Boys. We have no quarrel here.
Aliens: Peake.
Morgan: Thanks, Colonel. That... really means a lot.
Drag: Yeah. Thanks, Turf
Turf: Oh, don't get all crybaby on me.
I know it's not a full bar,
but maybe there's room on the ship... for a wine shelf.
Santos: *gasp* Oh do you really mean it?!
Turf: Sure. Why the hell not?
Whaddya say, boys?
Who's up for some shelf-construction?
All: YEAH!
Cherry: Self-Destruction initiated!
Santos: Oh Riiight.
I never fixed the voice modu-
*kaboom*
Caboose:Yup.
That was weird.