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Chronicles of Corporal Wilkens: Part One: Deployment
Date: 5 September 2005, 7:47 pm

Deployment +03 hours: 32 minutes: 23 seconds ( Corporal Wilkens Mission Clock ) /
City Block Designation 003-012, Earth

The sky was red. Like a fire, almost. The Covenant forces had invaded Earth little more than three hours ago. Major Raley from the UNSC command post in this region had deployed Wilkens and his squadmates right when the Covenant had hit land. He was there to defend a relatively small city block in the populous of New Mombasa. Things weren't looking good, two of his squadmates were already dead, wiped out from a Grunt's well-aimed Plasma Grenade. One was Lieutenent Harker, his commanding officer, the other was a Corporal Dean. He had taken their melted dogtags, and moved on. That was only twenty minutes ago. His squad was left with Pvt. Rail, Pvt. Cowen, and a PFC. McArthur. Not exactly the kind of squad he had hoped to be deployed with. Three greenhorns weren't going to offer much help. He had taken command when the El-Tee had taken a chest full of plasma fire and dropped like a rock. There was nothing else he could do.

They had been assigned to a two-story drug store. The group were dug in fairly well. They had barricaded the door that led to the top story, so no one could come up behind them. Pvt. Cowen was fiddling with his combat harness when a loud explosion rocked the building.

"Report!" shouted Wilkens.

"Sir, I have a large squad of Covenant at my window!" Rail shouted back.

"Range?" Wilkens asked.

"I estimate 30 meters, sir!"

"Good, hit the C-4!"

Pvt. Cowen hit the detonator for the plastic explosives the squad had hid around the building. Twin plumes of fire and smoke raced towards the sky, along with a mix of bodyparts from the various Covenant races that were decending on the building.

Then, two more plumes of fire and smoke went up as the last of their C-4 were detonated. Those were their last ones.

Despite the explosives, plasma fire soon stuttered up from the street and Wilkens was forced to put his head down, or get it burned off. He blindly tossed an HE-DP grenade out the window and waited for the explosion before he popped his head up and caught a Jackal off guard. He put two bursts from his BR-55 rifle into the thing, and watched with pleasure as it went down. But it was soon short lived as he was forced to duck once again, as even more plasma fire stuttered by, and blew chunks out of the store's insta-crete foundation.

The rookies were doing better than he expected, despite their inexperience in combat with the Covenant. Cowen was the sniper of the group, and wasn't afraid to show it, as he put a round through an unknowing Elite's left temple. It toppled to the ground without a sound. Pvt. Rail was also doing well, killing two Grunts and a Jackal with one of his grenades, and then popping back up to put a burst into yet another Grunt's head. McArthur, by contrast, wasn't moving at all. He just sat there in the corner shaking, obviously scared out of his wits.

"Dammit Private, fire your weapon!" Wilkens barked, but knew it was in vain.

The Private just sat there shaking, but before Wilkens was about to chew him out again, he peeked his head out, and was about to fire, when trio of shots from a Covenant Carbine went through his skull, and out the other side.

Wilkens cursed under his breath, and ran over to McArthur's position. He glanced out the window, and noticed that the Covenant on this side were no where to be seen anymore. That's when he heard something that sent a shiver down his spine. He turned around, facing the door that lead to the floor they were on. He heard movement behind the door. Wilkens stared in disbelief as an Elite's energy blade cut through the baracade the squad had erected, which consisted of an office desk, two chairs, and a money vault that were found on this floor.

The cruel-looking instrument was then pulled out, and Wilkens only had enough time to shout "About face!" to the rest of his squad before an Elite's boot rammed into the door, causing it to splinter, and sending all of their barricade items flying.

The two Privates were closest to the door, and were dead within seconds, as a mix of Elites and Jackals poured into the room. Wilkens got two shots off at the red veteran Elite that lead the attack before he stumbled, and fell out of the windowsill.

He fell for a mere second, before he hit the ground, and felt something go crack! His arm was broken. Wilkens screamed in pain and cryed out in anguish. But he knew that his only way out of this hell hole was himself. There was nobody around for the next mile of cityscape or so, atleast of the human nature. The UNSC forces were spread too thin for that. The next squad in this area were atleast a full afternoon's walk with his injury, and the sheer amount of Covenant forces he would have to dodge.

The Corporal stumbled, and ran away. He had to find cover. At all costs. There was a large office building up ahead. He sprinted for that. Luck must have been on Wilken's side, as either the Covenant forces in the area didn't see him, or simply didn't care. He was unarmed, and alone, they must have figrued he didn't pose much of a threat.

Wilkens slipped inside the broken glass door, and headed toward the stairs. Perhaps the upper levels might offer him some good places to hide, or even better, the roof. He might be able to catch pilot's eye or even jerry-rig a distress call with the offices computers. But that would have to wait. What he wanted right now was something to hold his arm.

He found the company's medical supplies, and did the best he could to wrap his arm in a thick gauze rap, put it in a sling, and hope for the best. 'It wouldn't last forever', he thought, ' but it would last until I get out of here'. Wilkens slipped into a corner behind an office cubicle, and slowly sat down, carefull of his arm. The light was begininng to fade, and the Corporal fell into a deep sleep in a matter of minutes. Nothing could hint toward what would happen the next day, but he prayed it was extraction.

TO BE CONTINUED...

Chronicles of Corporal Wilkens: Part Two: Med Supplies, Bums and a Plan
Date: 9 September 2005, 8:06 pm

Deployment +06 hours: 08 minutes: 37 seconds ( Corporal Wilkens Mission Clock )/
City Block Designation 003-009, New Mombasa, Earth

It was late afternoon, and Corporal Richard Wilkens woke up to a lot of pain. His arm felt like someone had shoved a combat knife clear through it, and out the other side.

He had to get something for the pain. It would slow him down.

Wilkens went back to the abandoned offices' medical closet, and scoured through everything. There were no intravenous pain medications, not even a little bio-foam. It seems some bum had went through the place, and taken all the medical supplies, or the evacuees had simply taken most of the supplies when they left. Either way, he was only left with a few over-the-counter pain pills. He downed them in one gulp, and cringed at their bitter taste.

The Corporal went down a few flights of stairs, and eventually found the building's "commissary", or what passed as one, and looked around at the devastation. It was a small place - only a few vending machines, but that wasn't the problem. They were all smashed open, and a mixture of glass and plastic littered the floor. There was nothing left. His suspicions about a bunch of looters was confirmed. The evacuees wouldn't have taken the time to raid a couple of vending machines, their main goal would've been to get to the bomb shelters, scattered throughout ever city on Earth, he figured.

'So', he thought, 'food will be a problem'. All he had left was two MREs, or Meals Ready to Eat, and his canteen of water. Even that was only half full. Luckily, the building's water supply hadn't been shut off, so he re-filled the canteen with water from one of the water fountains scattered throughout the building. Hopefully it would be enough to last before he made it back to base, and some nice, Navy nurses.

He staggered back up the many flights of stairs towards the roof, passing knocked over computer monitors, broken glass, and then . . .a body. He quickly pulled out his side arm, an M6C pistol, a stripped down version of the M6D. Wilkens clicked the safety off and cocked the gun, putting a round in the chamber. Luckily, it hadn't been lost when he took the tumble that had broke his arm, as his Battle Rifle had. The looters he had suspected of must've been through here, or they were still here. Wilkens turned on his gun flashlight, a modification he had made himself, and crept through the darkened room. It was easily 50 yards length wise. Richard put his back against a wall, and was careful not to get near the dark cubicles.

"Hello?" he shouted, but received no response.

Suddenly, shadows moved on shadows on the opposite side of the room, and he fired three shots, in quick succession, but they all missed, as the black figure ran. He decided to try again, "Hello!" he shouted again, more like a demand for a response this time in place of a question.

This time, the figure answered, but not in words, but in a charge. It was quite obvious it was a homeless person, with his rags as clothes, and his dirty face. He carried a two by four, which he swung visciously at Wilken's head, but he ducked, and the man missed. The Corporal had had enough, and fired a quartet of shots into the center of the figure, and saw it go down. But that's when the rest jumped him. There were four more, and they all had various blunt weapons; a wooden chair leg, a pipe, another two by four, and a fist - sized rock. Wilkens didn't have enough time to reload, and the men were charging from all sides, so he did all that he could do, he fired his last five rounds in his pistol into the figure to his right. Now he had a way to escape the marauding men. He dashed to his right, and reached for a second clip, and jettisoned the other one. The magazine hit home just in time, as the last three men sprinted for his position.

He spun on his heel, brought his gun to bear as best he could with one hand, and six successive shots rang out, and three bodies fell. Wilkens slumped down the wall. His arm hurt like hell. He must've bumped it on something in all the excitement. He grunted in pain, but decided it would be best to get to the roof, in case there were any more looters.

Corporal Wilkens staggered back to the stairway, past the beaten-to-death body he had found earlier, and up the stairs he went.

They went on for ever. Or so it seemed to him in his injured and fatigued state, but finally he reached the door to the roof. It was locked.

Wilkens unstrapped his M6C, took a step back, and fired the last six shots in the chamber around the doorknob. He kicked the knob with all his remaining strength, and it flew out the opposite side. Richard reloaded his pistol once again with one hand, and pushed the loose door open with his shoulder. No contact. 'Thank God', he thought, as he looked out onto the vast city. It was amazing to look at. The sun was just begining to wane, and he wondered what time it was. His watch had been broken when he fell, so he had no way of knowing the exact time. But he guessed it was around 1400 hours - two o' clock civilian time.

He holstered his pistol and went to the side of the building. He tried to eye anything that might be helpful. Wilkens spied dozens of Covenant soldiers moving into the city from various places. 'Stinking bastards', he thought. This city, no, this planet would not fall to the Covenant. There was no way that would happen. Not on his watch, he said as he eyed a Covenant capital ship hovering in the distance, with a grav lift leading to the surface and spilling out troops and vehicles like evil seeds being planted.

They would be made to pay. One way or another. He would make sure of it.

Just before he had been deployed into this sector, he had heard rumors on his Pelican ride down that a certain 'Master Chief' was also being deployed via the In Amber Clad to this section of the city also. Supposedly it was the last Spartan super-soldier. He had dismissed the rumor as little more than a tall tale to get the troops' morale up. But just then, he spied a Pelican dropship lifting off to the east. Wilkens took out his minocular and spied the Pelican's service number on the side, it read,

DF- IAC: Alpha- 342

He assumed the "IAC" part meant it was most likely from the ship that those initials matched, the In Amber Clad. Seeing as how all the other Pelicans on Earth were almost exclusively from the ground forces, this seemed the likely explanation. If that Pelican had just deployed fresh troops, perhaps he could hook up with them and get some evac. Richard estimated it was less than half a click away from him. Of course, he had to factor in the inevitable Covenant forces in the area, but he may be able to avoid most of them with a little stealth work. He cursed under his breath, this would be a whole lot easier if his radio wasn't integrated into his helmet via a boom mike, which he had lost in the fight in the drug store.

Wilkens decided to head toward the dropship's dropzone, and wrapped his arm even tighter with more gauze when he got back down the stairs to the main floor where the medical cabinet was. This was going to be many things, but it wasn't going to be easy.

The Chronicles of Corporal Wilkens, Part 5: War Sucks
Date: 21 October 2005, 9:25 pm

Deployment +06 hours: 56 minutes: 29 seconds ( Corporal Wilkens Mission Clock )/
City Block Designation **Unknown**, New Mombasa, Earth

As Wilken's got up, he noticed that his arm didn't have that 'hot iron rod piercing his flesh' sort of feel. The drug definetly worked.

"Sir!" Wilkens shouted the Lieutenent.

The group halted dead in their tracks.

"Make this quick, we have to get going".

"Sorry, sir, but, I don't have a gun. The only thing I have is my sidearm, with low ammo, and an acuired Plasma Rifle, with a dead battery."

"Private Marcus, arm the man", he replied, then turned around and shouted, "Let's move!"

Private Marcus jogged up to the Corporal and unholstered his side arm, a small sub machine gun. The SMG wouldn't do Wilkens much good if they encountered any more Jackal snipers, but it was a start. Evidently, the Private also had forgot the small problem of Wilkens' broken arm - something Wilkens resented. With the kick this thing had, and how the barrel tended to rise, he would have better luck throwing stones.

He decided to deal with it, and sprinted up to the group ahead, which had gone through a small, residential doorway. Private Trocardo had a handheld RM-CM device, or Road Map/Civilian Map device. It served as a sort of map, but included every feature of a city, including the residential areas, and houses. It was only issued for use in the military, and police units, for obvious reasons.

The hallway they were going down soon ended into a small road, with a large group of Covenant warriors populating it, including about six startled Elites, a dozen Grunts, and a quartet of Jackals - all of which were hungry for bloodshed.

There was no time to think, as the all five of the small human squad opened up on the unsuspecting aliens. Three Elites went down in quick succession, as a grenade went off, and a shower of blood filled the air.

Wilkens nailed a Jackal and Grunt from behind with forty-eight rounds of 5mm. Trocardo put a burst into an Elite's head, and watched it go down. The Master Chief was like a machine, Wilkens was amazed. It was like the Chief's skills of warfare were as built in as taking getting up in the morning.

The Spartan pulled a methane breather off of a Grunt, bashed a Jackals head in with the butt of his BR-55, and caught an Elite off guard, sticking a captured plasma grenade to his head, then turning around just in time to take down a fleeing Grunt. It was over in seconds.

'The bastards didn't stand a chance', Wilkens thought. But, in the end, out of the dead bodies, the group found that one Elite was missing.

"Maybe we just miscounted", Trocardo suggested.

"No, I'm telling you, I counted six Elites when we got here", Marcus replied.

"God damn it people, let's move!", the Lieutenent barked, "We're sitting ducks!"

He gave a short hand signal, directing the group down the street to their left, past a couple of overturned vans.

Just then, Wilkens thought he heard a muffled sound come from Marcus - who was on their six. He whipped around in curiosity to find an Elite, presumably the one that was unnaccounted for, holding Marcus in a headlock, suffocating him - trying to make it a silent kill.

Wilkens gave a yelp, and everyone turned around.

The Master Chief was the only one to step up, as the rest backed away, he leveled his rifle square at the Elite's elongated head. The Elite decided he should keep the Marine alive, and use him as a hostage, as he lightened up on his death grip, and pulled the human up to neck length, and hid himself behind it.

The Chief took one, cautious step forward, but the Elite gave a low growl, and whipped out a plasma sword with his free hand, and put it dangerously close to the Marine's neck, so much that it left a small cut.

'This isn't going to turn out good', Wilkens thought, as everyone else no doubt were thinking as well.

The Elite seemed to be frightened, though Wilkens couldn't figure out why, other than perhaps the Chief. But, whatever spooked him through him over the edge.

"Help....me..", Private First Class Marcus managed to whisper out of his strained throat, but it was in vane.

The Elite burrowed the cruel device into the Private's side, burning through his organs, and out the other side. The Chief reacted only as a Spartan could, and lunged forward, ripping the sword from the Elite's grasp, once it was out of the Private's body. He took a step forward, and, using the alien weapon, plunged it deep within the Elite's chest. It didn't die instantly, however, as it managed to get in a few good whacks on the Chief's head, before it grunted, and went limp.

The Chief withdrew the device, and holstered it - the sword turning off a second later.

The Medic sprinted forward, to the limp Marcus, a friend since Boot. He knew it was in vane to check for a pulse, but did anyway. Nothing. His throat got tight, but held back all signs of it.

The squad then took all necessities - MREs, water, ammo, and wrapped the body in a thermal blanket from the Trocardo's pack. They dumped the poor Marine in a small home to their left, and prayed nothing would find it - atleast, nothing unhuman.

There was no time for mourning, as the group turned toward their objective, though not moving.

"Sir, I suggest we get head out", the Master Chief, seemingly oblivious to the dead Marine's impact on his squadmate, said.

"Agreed," the Lieutenent said, with the same stone cold tone as the Chief. "Let's roll people."

Wilkens now had a rifle to contend with. He was thankful for the extra firepower, but wielding it one-handed was just too damned awkward. He stuck with his SMG, as he slammed the side-loading clip home, and felt a pang of regret for the dead Private. 'Nothing could be done to change it', he reassured himself.

A small allyway later, and they were there, in front of their objective. The Hotel Zanzibar - an older building, built when this part of Mombasa was new.

The squad stopped and scanned the area from behind an overturned commercial car - not much unlike the model Wilkens had had his little adventure with. They spotted some Marines hiding in the hotel. A good sign. Unfortunately, there was the problem that they were pinned down, by exactly five Grunts, and one Veteran Elite, leading the group. Not to mention a stationary plasma turret.

'Things just don't seem to be getting better', Wilkens thought, as the Lieutenent briefed them, and he checked his gun. He sighed, and dashed forward.

The Chronicles of Corporal Wilkens: Parts 6 and 7: Seperation, Devastation, and Rescue
Date: 21 November 2005, 1:52 am

PT 6

Deployment +07 hours: 13 minutes: 22 seconds ( Corporal Wilkens Mission Clock )/
City Block Designation **N/A**, New Mombasa, Earth

The Master Chief was leading. He put a burst into the Grunt manning the plasma turret, and then charged ahead to tackle the infuriated Elite.

Wilkens held back, as ordered, and unslung the Battle Rifle, steadying it on a nearby house railing. He looked through the small scope attached to his BR-55. He hit the small tab on the scope, and the Elite's head filled the scope. He put two bursts into the alien's head, just in time. The Master Chief finished him off with a kick to the chest, followed by sustained bursts from his own BR-55.

Content with an assist, Wilkens was just about to go ahead to the awaiting group when he was grabbed from behind. The Elite covered his mouth, and ordered his squad of eight Jackal's forward. The Marines were unsuspecting. Two of the Jackals also had Beam Rifles - an ugly Covenant copy of the human sniper rifle.

Wilkens kicked and kicked, to no avail. The Elite only held him more firmly. After the Jackals were in position, he dragged the madened Corporal Wilkens forward, toward the concealed Jackals. The Elite produced a short howl, and the Jackals all stepped out from cover, and the humans turned and looked around.

They found Wilkens being held hostage, and some not-too-friendly-looking Jackals.

Richard Wilkens kicked at the Elite's shin, but knew it was in vain. In fact, it angered the Elite. He unsheathed his holstered plasma pistol, and burrowed it into Wilken's skull, growling close to Wilken's ear, The Corporal obliged, and stopped struggling.

The Master Chief, the Lieutenent's Marines, and the Marines from the hotel all leveled their rifles and submachine guns at various aliens arrayed in front of them, waiting for some reason, or order to fire.

Unexpectedly, the Elite stepped forward, past the Jackal lines, dragging Wilkens. It surprisingly uttered passable English, though obviously did not enjoy it.

"Put your weapons down, or I will kill him", it said, and shoved the plasma pistol's barrel deeper into Wilkens' skull.

"Sir?" Private Trocardo asked, frightened.

"Don't listen to him", the Lieutenent whispered back, "We're not budging. I sure as hell am getting tired of these hostage -"

The sound of a low drone filled the air around the group, cutting the el Tee off. A Phantom appeared, gracefully gliding through the buildings behind the Covenant squad. It's three attached plasma cannons locked onto their targets, and large, bulbous, globs of scarlet - white energy filled the air, speeding toward the Marine position.

"Fall back!" Lieutenent Roeder screamed, as one of the Marines from the hotel was blasted in half, and the ground around them was being melted by the hundreds of streaming plasma. The Master Chief, the Marines, everyone dashed into the building for cover, leaving Wilkens alone.

The Elite let go of Wilkens, and tossed him to the ground, giving a good kick as a token of his appreciation. The Phantom lowered to the ground, and the Jackals quickly started riding up the small grav lift at the ships port side. The Elite turned, and was about to walk away when he glanced back, just in time to receive a ferocious blow from a fallen two by four which Wilkens had picked up when the Elite had let him go.

The skirmish lasted mere seconds. The Elite was just too strong. He punched Wilkens in the chest, and clubbed him with the plasma pistol. Wilkens was no match. He got up again, attempting to run again, when the Elite decided he wasn't in for a chase, and fired a shot at Wilkens back, hitting him square between the sholder blades.

Wilkens thought the Elite had come up and punched him - atleast that was what it had felt like. He did not realize that he was bleeding immensly from the back, and that he had a gaping hole by his left shoulder. That is why, when he received no further attack, and continued to run, Corporal Richard Wilkens was astonished when he felt as if all the energy left him as if it were blown away by the wind, and he suddenly felt exhausted.

Corporal Wilkens crashed to the ground, meters away from the Hotel Zanzibar. He couldn't move, couldn't call for help. He just lay there, helpless, as the Marines were gone - into the depths of the building, and was left there alone.

Luck, it seemed, was not on Wilkens' side. He passed out.

PT 7

Deployment +08 hours: 46 minutes: 03 seconds ( Corporal Wilkens Mission Clock )/
City Block Designation **N/A**, Hotel Zanzibar, New Mombasa, Earth

When Corporal Richard Wilkens finally came to, he awoke to intense pain in his back, almost a gnawing pain. He groaned aloud.

That's when the stray Jackal gave a chicken-like screech of surprise, and jumped back, waiting for attack. The damned thing had been eating Wilkens alive, from the plasma hole in the Corporal's back.

Wilkens started to rise, but shrunk down in the pain. He quickly unholstered his SMG, and with one hand, put 23 rounds into the lone Jackal.

Richard crawled to the hotel wall, and leaned against it, barely being able to breathe, feeling so tired. He wiped his face with his sleeve, and took a glance at the Jackal. It had no weapon, no shield device. Wilkens found it strange that this lone Jackal had found him, and not notified any Covenant forces.

'Screw it', he thought. Pondering about the conceptions and reasons of a stray Covenant asshole wasn't going to get him any help, or fix the hole in his back.

He reached back, slowly, to his left shoulder with his right hand, and came back with a hand full of blood. He screamed aloud painfully. Wilkens had a huge sense of helplessness, of crying out, of dying in front of a god damned hotel, not being able to move, in the middle of a disastrous invasion.

Wilkens passed out again.



When he awoke, he found just what he had wanted to find right before he had his little tumble and broken his arm, at the begininng of his deployment. He was in a hospital bed, and around him were four Navy nurses, completing an assortment of different tasks.

He tried to talk, but nothing came out. Wilkens was in a small, brightly lit room, with no windows. There were other beds around them, each with other wounded soldiers in them. One was missing a limb, another had his eye out, and a few others were suffering from plasma and needler impacts. One of the nurses saw that he was awake, and came to him.

"Everything's going to be alright", she said, "You're on the UNSC frigate In Amber Clad , you're in no danger, soldier".

Wilkens was struck with a strange sense of his voice coming back to him. He tried to say, 'what happened', but all that came out was "...happened?"

The nurse looked at him, obviously not having a clue as to what had happened to him. "I do not know how or when you were evacuated, but you were. That is all I know."

"..ank..you", Wilkens managed to say, as the nurse turned to tend to a screaming patient.

So, all he knew was where he was. He didn't know how he was found, if the Covenant were repelled -

Just then, the ship rumbled, and the lights flickered. He felt a slight acceleration, they were moving. "What's happening?", he said, getting the full ability to talk back.

One of the nurses turned, and addressed Wilkens, "I don't know", then, turning to another nurse, "Get on the line with the Bridge, find out what's happening."

Corporal Wilkens tried to sit up, and found it surprisingly easy to move. He reached back to the plasma hole. It was filled, and a bio-layer was over it, with a skin graph from him over that, then bandages. It didn't hurt. He checked his arm - there was no pain in it, either.

He attributed this to the advances in medicine and surgery in the military. They could now go in, and mend a bone, and leave but a whole the size of a hair with robotic surgery. The bone was then "melted" back together, in a way, leaving no pain afterwards. Wilkens was grateful for this. If they were being pursued, or were pursing, he predicted this ship would need all the soldiers it could get.

Wilkens rose, and retrieved his fatigues from the nightstand next to his bed. A nurse turned to stop him, but looking at his chart, found that he had been checked out as O.K. by the doctor onboard. She opened the door for him, and he quickly walked out, going to the restrooms. Once there, he ditched his hospital clothes, and donned his old, burned, battle worn army fatigues.

"Will a Corporal Richard L. Wilkens please report to the Bridge, immediatley", a male voice from a nearby speaker said. Evidently, the nurse had notified the Captain, or whoever, that he was awake.

Wilkens was no Navy tech. He hadn't been on a spacecraft for years, not since the War had started, and he was shipped out to Earth. So, he had no idea where to look for the Bridge, and had no idea where on the ship he was at the moment. So, Wilkens had only the signs on the floors to go by.

After a short walk, Wilkens was met with two Navy security officers, sent to escort him to the Bridge. Wilkens nodded, and slicked his hair back, as they lead him through the many hallways of the ship. All Wilkens wanted to know was what the hell was happening.

The Chronicles of Corporal Wilkens Part 8: News, A Mission, and...Another Halo?
Date: 15 January 2006, 9:12 pm

Deployment + *Unknown* (Unaccounted Time Loss) ( Corporal Wilkens Mission Clock )/
UNSC In Amber Clad, moving on outbound vector from Earth

Author's Note: I'm very sorry it took so long for me to do this again, so this one is a little longer than usual, as payment.

Wilkens checked their insignia. A private, and private first class. He turned to the one on his left, "Hey, do you know what's going on here? Why are we leaving Earth orbit?"

The man was a Marine. Not just any Marine though, part of the 103rd. He was a Helljumper. The insignia was sewn onto each of their sleeves. Wilkens hadn't noticed it just seconds before. "Sir, we ourselves do not know, and that's why we're taking you to the Bridge", the man said, sounding somewhat obnoxious in his wake.

Wilkens stopped, and the men in front of him did too. "Do I detect a hint of disrespect to a higher ranking officer here, Private?"

"No, sir!" he answered, and they started walking again, unlocking a metal door ahead that read "Bridge" with a keycard. "Not at all"

'Damn', Wilkens thought, 'ODST's are hard even on commanding officers not in their group'. He made a mental note to report the man later, reading his name stenciled on his cap.

The two stopped at the door, and turned to guard the hallway. Wilkens stepped onto the Bridge.

It was much smaller than what he had been on nearly 25 years ago - a ship called the Madison. This ship was only about eight meters across, and around nine or so back. Quite small. The Captain of the ship was not at their station, and only a few officers were at their's. He looked ahead. Tactical viewscreens, engine readings, and more were arrayed in front of him.

The main 'window' in front of him was dark, as he knew their was nothing to be seen in Slipspace. Strange though...he hadn't felt the jump into the interdimensional space. Just then, the door behind him opened to let a large white man in. Wilkens expected it was the Captain, and was surprised that he was only a Lieutenant.

The man saw Wilkens up front, with his combat gear on, and stepped closer to speak. "Corporal, I suppose you have not been briefed on what is happening yet?"

"No, sir", he replied, saluting.

"Good, then come with me."

Wilkens stepped up the few steps to the upper portion of the ship, and walked out the open door with the Lieutenant. Then, in the light, Wilkens recognized the man. It was Lieutenant Roeder, from the squad with the Master Chief, that Wilkens had been with on Earth. So, the squad had survived.

The Corporal's eyes widened a little, and he stopped. Roeder stopped too. "Corporal?"

"I'm sorry, sir, I was just surprised to see you again, I thought you had all died."

"It'd take more than that to take the Chief down, I'll tell you", he answered in his low, gravely voice. He turned and started walking again, and so did Wilkens. It seemed the Lieutenant was only such a hard- when in a combat situation. Nevertheless, with that beside him, Wilkens still didn't know what was going on, but decided against asking Roeder directly, as he was most likely taking him to the Captain anyway.

The ship stopped, and Wilkens felt the slight deceleration. They had dropped out of Slipstream. He decided that either they had already been traveling for quite some time, or this was part of the Cole Protocal. But Wilkens didn't see the usefullness in the latter anymore, seeing as how Earth had already been found by the Covenant.

Roeder led Wilkens through a blast door, and through a short hallway, until they came to a stop. It was marked 'Armory'. 'What the hell is going on?', he thought.

"Sir?", he said aloud. "Aren't we going to see the Captain?"

"First off Corporal, the commander of this ship is just that, a Commander, second, it's a woman, and third, to answer your question, no, we're not going to see her."

"Why?", he asked, forgetting to tack on the 'sir' part.

"She specifically asked me to find you, and debrief you before we deploy."

"Deploy, sir?"

"Yes, deploy. We followed the Covenant ship that was in orbit above Mombasa through Slipstream, tagging on the tail end of their slipspace rupture, while you were in surgery. The Commander thinks the Prophet aboard the ship may be going somewhere special, perhaps to get more ships, troops, whatever. And where ever that place is, she wants us to capture the Prophet for interrogation, and possibly in exchange for a truce between the Covenant and us."

"These Prophets, you see, are the highest ranking members of the Covenant, and all the various ranks and species of the Covenant worship them. I don't know the details, but that doesn't matter. What does matter is that this Prophet may help us end the war.", he smiled slightly, "Not willingly, of course."

"Thank you,sir. But I still do not know how I got here. I mean, on this ship. I thought I had died."

"That'll all be explained in detail at another time, Corporal. But I guess I can give you the rough idea of what happened. We came back for you after the Phantom had left, and called for immediate evac. And after a few minutes, you were extracted, along with Trocardo, who took care of you. The rest of us went on with the mission. The original plan was to bring you to the closest HQ, but during the flyover, it was determined that the Covenant ground forces had attacked it. So, you were brought to the closest human-controlled
base of operations that we could find. Here.", he tapped his foot on the bulkhead, "Answer your questions?"

"Yes sir, thank you."

"Good, you're already late for suit up.", Roeder said as he unlocked the armory door with a keycard.

There were a few other Marines in the room. It wasn't one of those "closet armories" - the ones with just weapons on shelfs and what not. This one doubled as ready room, complete with lockers.

The Marines were all staring out windows, into space. Wilkens heard one say, " I can see bodies...floating with the rubble."

Both Roeder and Wilkens went to the nearest porthole without a Marine at it, and stared out. They were right, there were bodies among the various city sections. Both of their mouths dropped open slightly, as they saw something..else..in the distance, in front of the debris. 'The ring was huge, Wilkens thought, easily as big as if you took a ring-shaped portion out of the Earth, and turned it around.

"Is that..." Wilkens started, but the Lieutenant cut him off with a wave of his hand.

"Guess that's our target".


Wilkens had suited up quickly, grabbing a rifle and an SMG, and around six clips of ammo for each weapon, respectively, along with a helmet - he had lost his own. Roeder had told him to not go light on the ammo. He was now in the Pelican bay, a few decks down from the armory. Sergeant Johnson had radioed in saying that Commander Keyes was planning on capturing the Covenant ship. It had landed in the middle of a lake, among quite a few strange buildings.

That was their first target, and if that failed, their secondary target was to retrieve a device called the 'Index' before the Prophet did.

The Master Chief, and a few Helljumpers were going to make a drop in pods, were going to take the first target. While Johnson and Roeder's squad, which included Wilkens now, would take the second target. To Wilkens, it sounded like the easier of the two. Atleast, it did now.

The Chronicles of Corporal Wilkens: Part 9: Brother
Date: 23 February 2006, 11:57 pm

Deployment + 8 hours: 43 minutes: 18 seconds (Lieutenant Wilkens Mission Clock )/
Coastal Grid thirty-two by twenty-four, UNSC command structure A-9

Lieutenant Tyler A. Wilkens had served in the Marine Corps for only around 7 years. Unlike his brother, Richard Wilkens, he had excellent combat experience, offworld. Corporal Wilkens had only served on Earth, and the short-lived ground operation on Kappa IV in 2531, where the Covenant had set up a small facility. Kappa IV had been known for it's literally tons of various fossils and ancient artifacts. Scientists had often wondered if humans had first evolved there, or if the mysterious "Forerunner" race of aliens the Covenant seemed so fond of.

Corporal Wilkens had been sent there, along with the rest of his battalion-strength company, under a Colonel McGreer. The landing, through Pelican dropships, didn't go so well. The Covenant had been expecting them, somehow, and had opened up with "Shade" emplacements, along with a few Seraphs and Banshees. Colonel McGreer had never made it to the ground, his Pelican was struck with a few Shade blasts, and two direct fuel-rod cannon hits from the Banshees. It burst into flames, and plummeted toward the ground. Corporal Wilkens' dropship met a similar fate. The forward cabin, housing the pilots was hit, and all surviving Marines, of the twelve on board, were forced to jump. They grabbed parachutes from the overhead compartments, and dived toward the ground.

Only through luck, and good leadership did Wilkens and his team survive, escape Covenant clutches, and use a backpack-radio to signal to the UNSC ship in orbit that had deployed them, the Meriwether Lewis, for help. Turned out, only around 37 Marines of the battalion had survived, most of the Pelicans had been shot down. The few that had survived radioed for help, like Wilkens. None were able to complete the operation, the UNSC pounded the Covenant position from orbit, just like the Covenant had been doing for so long. Every man of Wilkens' squad had survived. Wilkens had received the Medal of Honor for his bravery in the field.

Lieutenant Wilkens still remembered the joy, and awkwardness displayed on his brother that day. But, last he had heard of Richard, his brother had been taken onboard the In Amber Clad for "proper medical treatment", whatever that meant. Lieutenant Wilkens still couldn't believe his brother hadn't gotten a promotion to a higher rank. Sure, his service experience in fighting the Covenant was limited, but that's mainly because he was never deployed offworld. To the Lieutenant though, his brother deserved something for his heroics.


The Lieutenant was in charge of a small platoon of around twenty five men, on the coast of New Mombasa. It was to be a fallback point if anything happened to the city, and anyone was cut off from the nearest base - Camp Rathbourne - or if the base itself was hit.

His men had dug in well in the short time the Covenant had been here. They picked a spot between boulders, and the clifface, all the while being in view of Old Mombasa sitting quietly across the bridge. Their position couldn't be easily seen from above, and the boulders obstructed the view of it from across the bay. The platoon only had about three medics, and maybe two Navy techs, but the rest were all seasoned soldiers like the Lieutenant.

Their postion, which Sergeant Richards had jokingly dubbed, 'Camp Crevasse', didn't offer much on the lines of comfort. They had a canopy stretched over head, colored so it blended in with the cliff and rocks, but other than that, and a radio station and a few cots, they had nothing but the survival gear they had been deployed with. This troubled Wilkens. What if the Covenant weren't beaten? What if more ships came? He glanced up at the single Covenant capital ship hanging above the city arrayed in front of him. A purple grav beam stretched like an arm to the ground, every once and a while deploying companies of Covenant troops.

He wondered what was happening over there. He longed for leaving his position, skipping across the water, and joining the fight. But he had his orders.

"Hey, Lieutenant!", shouted Sergeant Richards.

Wilkens walked over to him. He was listening to their UNSC COM.

"Listen in", Richards said and took off the headphones, handing them to Wilkens.

"..........saying again, we have reason to believe the Covenant ship is powering their slipspace drive. They're-"

A crowed had gathered round, and Sergeant Richards flipped the switch off the headphones setting. Wilkens took them off, his mouth gaping slightly, and realizing the sound was now coming through the speakers.

"....Sir, I'm recommending pulling out ALL UNSC forces within the blast area."

"What 'blast area'?, Private Conahue asked aloud.

"Agreed Colonel", a gravely voice chimed in, "Is grid station thirty-two by twenty-four secure on the coasts?"

Wilkens just had to answer, "Yes, sir. We're ready to take any friendlies."

"Who the hell is that? Son, do you realize this is a private channel?"

"This is Lieutenant Tyler Wilkens sir, in charge of grid station thirty-two by twenty-four. And no, sir, it seems your broadcasting on the regular E-band", Wilkens replied, checking the designator on the machine in front of him.

"Damn it! Colonel, you and the Lieutenant switch the channel P-9-3-0, on the double!"

Wilkens knew why he was mad, that means every listening UNSC soldier, base, or ship in the area has been blasted with their conversation.

"Sir, will grid station thirty-two by twenty-four be safe from this "blast" that's going to happen?" Wilkens asked, remembering the words the Colonel had said.

"Yes, Lieutenant", the first voice of the Colonel answered, "Your position should not be struck by the resulting blast. Now, General, as I was saying, we should evacuate this instant. Readings suggest the ships reactors are coming online, and their Slipspace generators are fully charged. Hurry!"

Wilkens didn't think there was much more to say on his part. He flipped the switch back to "headphones", and walked off. He put his hands on his head and got up. The Sergeant took the seat again and put on the headgear.

"Sir", Corporal Gordio approached him, "should I start preperarations for the evacuees?"

"Yes, get the-", Wilkens started, but his gaze was turned away toward Old Mombasa.

The Covenant capital ship's grav beam turned off. It's engines flared, and it started to turn.

"Sergeant, any word from the General?"

"No, sir, nothing", Richards replied.

Wilkens spotted the In Amber Clad move to intercept, and a couple Pelicans get aboard. The Sergeant got up from his seat at the radio, and all of Lieutenant Wilkens' company gazed at the site. Twirling bands of light appeared near the Tower structure in Old Mombasa.

"Oh my god", Wilkens whispered.

"Sir?" Richards asked.

"I understand now. The ship isn't going to jump in orbit - and risk the orbiting MACs, it's going to jump inside the city .The gravitational forces of the Earth will warp the Slipspace rupture. The ships may get through to Slipstream, but it won't close like normal - the energy will be drawn together and down, toward the earth from gravity. All that energy will be compressed so much, that it won't be able to hold, and it will discharge. That's what the General meant by 'blast zone'."

"Are we gonna make i-" Corporal Gordio started, but the sight cut him off.

A brillant light appeared - a Slipstream field - and both the Covenant ship, and the In Amber Clad, looking like a speck, went through the rupture. Just as Wilkens had predicted, a large blast swept through the city.

"Get down now! Behind the rocks, go, go, go!" Wilkens barked.

Some of the company listened, but a few dared to gaze at the light. It was brilliant. A large, purple -tinted "bubble" of sorts erupted and sped through the city, like a flood. Buildings were disintegrated at it's epicenter, but as it went outward, it tore things out of the ground - like buildings, offices, lamp posts, stop signs, everything - and sent them flying.

Wilkens risked a look, the bubble stopped, and all the cityscape it had collected were tossed at extreme speeds toward New Mombasa, on Wilkens' side of the bay. The bubble itself curved upward, and morphed into a cascading brilliance light made of particles of superheated gas, which was swept away in the wind, like nothing happened, and soon completely melted away from sight.

The various cars, large boulders of duracrete, and glass that was expended toward New Mombasa, however, did not meet a similar fate. A large piece of cable, probably from the bridge, flapped like a whip toward the Marines' position. Soldiers scattered as the cable came crashing down to earth, taking two of their fellow Marines with it. The cable took one off at the chest, and another's legs off.

The first Marine was dead instantly, but the other screamed excruciatingly.

"Medic! Tend to him!" Wilkens cried, pointing at the man.

One looked up, and seeing who Wilkens was pointing at, got up before the others, and raced to the legless man, but a pole from the city slammed into his chest, impaling the man, and pinning him to the nearby clifface. He was either dead, or unconscious. Wilkens guessed dead.

Lieutenant Wilkens risked his own life, dodging fist sized concrete blocks going to the Marine, then dragging the screaming man to the medics behind the nearest boulder. Dust rolled in from the city, and a rain of small duracrete pebbles followed.

"Sir, looks like the worst of it is over", Corporal Gordio said.

"Agreed, you and Nelson help the medics. The rest of you are on cleanup. We may still be expecting Marine survivors." Wilkens answered. "Sergeant Richards, you get on the radio, try to find any active signals."

"Yes, sir!" he responded, and dashed to his seat at the radio.

"And everybody cover their mouths, no telling what this dust is made of", Wilkens added, knowing that some of it was probably from disentegrated humans and Covenant. The medics started passing out gauze pads, wadding them together, in preperation for the dust storm.

"Sir, no currently active signals in the area. Only active ones are from space, even then - it's only a few, maybe 60 total." Sergeant Richards told him.

'So, Wilkens thought, 'the battle in space isn't going so well either. "Acknoweldged Sergeant. Go on to calling each individual channel in the area, maybe someone's just a little shell shocked at the moment."

"Yes, sir", Richards responded.

Wilkens stared out through the dust, spotting a group of Marines hauling a twisted steel girder out of the way. He decided to help out too, assisting Private Conahue and a couple PFC's push a desk sized block of duracrete out of the way, and onto the beach, adding to the growing wall of cover from all the debris. Private Conahue slapped him on the back, and said, "Thanks, sir," out of breath.

Wilkens wiped sweat from his forehead. He wasn't sweating because of the work, but because it was just so damn hot here in Africa. "No problem, Private".

The Lieutenant went on to assist a group of Marines relieve the dead medic from the clifface. They had to use an arc welder that one of the technicians had brought. The medic fell to the ground. The legless Marine expired later on that day, from loss of blood. Altogether, three losses, not counting the hundreds of soldiers that had undoubtedly died in the city.

By late evening, the dead Marines were buried, and a small, private service held. Wilkens clutched their dog tags in his left hand, thinking of what to say to their families. All the while, Sergeant Richards was trying each channel on the radio again and again. Until finally, only about an hour after the funeral, he got a break.

"Again, this is grid station thirty-two by twenty-four to-", he checked the channel clipboard, "To grid station Alpha zero-four. Please respond."

"Grid station thirty-two by twenty-four, this is Alpha, repeat this is Alpha. Damn good to hear somebody's voice."

He turned to Wilkens, his eyes wide,"Sir, I got somebody!", Then responded to the man, "hold on, I'll let you talk to my superior." he said to the man.

Wilkens looked at the radio light, "Alpha zero-four? This is Lieutenant Wilkens. How many in your company?"

"Lieutenant, we got three here, one wounded. This is Corporal Eliss. Permission to advance to your fallback coordinates?"

"Granted, we could sure use the help. Over and out." Wilkens answered. He checked the map tacked onto a cork board, leaning against the clifface. They were roughly a mile away, behind Wilkens' group. Strange. Why would someone on this side of the bay need assistance? He guessed that the area inland got hit harder by the debris than the coast, as things were probably shot upward, rather than straight-out.

Wilkens recalled the rank of the man - a Corporal. He wondered what his older brother was doing. And if he was alive. Lieutenant Wilkens prayed to god the reports that his brother was on the In Amber Clad were true. Although, that would mean he was advancing toward trouble, rather than away from it.

The Chronicles of Corporal Wilkens Part 10: Honor, and Duty
Date: 23 June 2006, 1:55 am

Author Note: I'm real sorry this took so long. For two reasons really. One, I was busy setting UNSCDF back up, and two, I really wanted this entry to be longer and generally more detailed. I hope you like it!



Deployment + 0 hours: 3 minutes: 18 seconds (Corporal Wilkens Mission Clock )/
UNSC In Amber Clad, moving into position above Delta Halo ring

"Alright, ladies", Lieutenant Roeder addressed the 12 men arrayed in front of him, all of which were going to be on the same Pelican as his, "Get ready for a fight. They know we're here, and they ain't going to just give up. Our objective, as you all know", and everybody did know, "is to recover an artifact known as the Index. This Index is key to the Covenant activating the ring. Obviously, we can't let that happen. Now, everybody here is to take a stim shot, and load up on ammo. I want that", he gestured over his soldier to the weapons lockers, and ammunition cases, "gone. We will most likely not get resupply from the ship, so we're going heavy. After we land, stay close. Now go get your gear."

Wilkens strode across the metal grating along with the eleven other men, and grabbed a sub-machine gun, an M90 Close Assault Shotgun, and six grenades, two of which being incidneary. He took twelve clips for the SMG, and near one-hundred buckshot rounds for the Shotgun. He put on his old battle scarred armor, and a combat vest over it, which offered various pockets and things for ammo, and any other supplies one might need in the field. Although, with all of Wilkens ammo, all available pockets were filled as tight as possible. He clipped two grenades onto his belt, and threw the rest in his backpack, along with around 12 MREs. He hoped it was all he would need. He was eager to get back to Earth.

After all the troops had gathered all available supplies and ammunition, they met the Lieutenant in Pelican Bay 01. Wilkens could see more than six other Pelicans in various stages of preparation. All pilots were in, and a few, including the Pelican next to their's, had it's group of Marines already on. There were two Pelican bays, each having eight Pelicans in them. A total assault force of approximately sixteen transports. Seemed like overkill to Wilkens. Fully loaded, each Pelican could carry around twelve troops, excluding the pilots. That times the number of Pelicans, equaled roughly around one-hundred ninety troops.

Of course, they would be proportioned out to various areas of the ring, but only in one section. Two targets. This "Library", and the Prophet of Regret. Only a few squads were dedicated to helping the Master Chief on his way to the Prophet, the rest of the Marines were going to be attacking the Library, and securing an area around it. Hopefully it would go as planned.

Deployment + 15 hours: 51 minutes: 18 seconds (Lieutenant Wilkens Mission Clock )/
Coastal Grid thirty-two by twenty-four, UNSC command structure A-9

Lieutenant Wilkens scanned the area with his binoculars. Nothing. No sign of Alpha 04's squad. "Try him again", he shouted down to Sergeant Richards to try the station's radio frequency again. He know there wouldn't be any response, but it couldn't hurt to try.

"Yes, sir", Richards responded, and put on the radio headset. "This is UNSC Coastal Realignment Station 14, stationed at grid twenty-four by thirty-two calling Alpha-04....."

Wilkens scampered down the rock he was standing on. It had been hours, where the hell were they? He had climbed up the rocks on the coast with Private Conahue near a half hour ago, hoping he would see Alpha's squad coming in from Old Mombasa. They had said they were close. 'Maybe', Wilkens thought, 'there's still Covenant in the city. Any way he saw it, he decided a rescue mission was in order, even if there was only a few broken, bloody bodies to be rescued and buried.

"It was worth a try, sir", Conahue said, and turned to go down the rope leading to the beach below.

He let Conahue climb down the rope first, and glanced back at the city. It was a smoldering wreck. Covenant bombardments had left gaping holes in buildings throughout the city, and smoke swirled into the dim, orange sky. Fires dotted the city scape, and Wilkens could see small orange, blue, red, and other colored creations moving about the city. Yes, there was still Covenant there. Damn.

Lieutenant Wilkens grabbed the rope, and slid to the ground. "Nothing, sir", was what greeted him below. Nothing from Alpha-04.

"Alright, Sergeant, pack it up. We keep watch in shifts, three at a time. Me, Conahue, and Diess are first. Next is Sergeant Richards", he looked at the Sergeant's tired eyes, and decided against it. "Let's give the Sergeant a rest. Instead, next will be Giers, McConolay, and Platts", he looked at McConolay, remembering how notorious he was for over-sleeping, "Don't worry, we'll wake you up. After that, you pick three to wake up, and so on. As for now, hit the hay." He pointed to their pre-fab memory structures. Most quickly dashed to each of their quarters. They had all been on edge since New Mombasa had been destroyed - nearly six hours ago.

He waited until they were all in their quarters, and slumped down next to Conahue, leaning against the rockface under the command station's canopy. Diess was manning the radio for any active military channels. They had received a transmission from a different station once more, after Alpha's, but lost it immediately.

There was nothing to do now but wait. Until tomorrow at least. That's when he would propose his search and rescue mission for the city, and ask for any volunteers. He didn't expect many, since it was likely most that went were not coming back. But he knew Conahue and Richards would. They were close friends, ever since boot. Conahue always used to be a joker, playing pranks on people, telling jokes, that sort of thing. But since the Covenant were spotted in the Sol system a day ago, he hadn't even cracked one of his sly smiles.

Diess, on the other hand, was an enigma. He didn't talk much, and tended to stay away from most people. Usually opting to be alone during recreation hours. To Wilkens, he just seemed . . .strange.
The only other thing Wilkens knew about him was his rank of Corporal.

"Diess, you and Conahue go up to the lookout post", he gestured over his shoulder to a small, rocky plateau a couple dozen yards away, which was high enough you could see past the rock wall and essentially both cities were visible. "Don't forget night vision, and take some long range NV scopes too, try to scout out the city. Report back at 0500." It was 0300.

"Yes, sir!" Conahue jumped up, grabbed his pack, and started to make his way to the plateau, Diess unenthusiastically trailing behind silently.

Wilkens took a seat at the radio himself. It was their lifeline - without some contact to the UNSC, they couldn't last another week without resupply. Ammo wasn't a problem, no one had an opportunity to pop a shot off, but food and fresh water were going to be trouble. The Mombasa Bay in front of them offered plenty of water, but was all saltwater, and they didn't have the equipment to refine it to drinkable water. So, while Wilkens and the search party were out the next day, he would inform the rest to keep the radio active at all times, and to start rationing to two meals a day.

He reached down for his pack leaning against the radio station's table. Feeling around, he felt, and pulled out a standard issue MedKit. Wilkens slowly, drowzilly rolled up his right sleeve. Reaching into the opened medical kit, he found a pressure injector, and some "wake up" stimulant. He put the small tube of stimulant into the pressurized syringe, and heard it click. Putting it to his arm, there was a lance of pain as the small stub of a needle lunged forward into his vein, injected the UNSC-made stim via a small puff of air, and went back into the injector. It all took less than a second.

Wilkens hit the needle ejector and the stub, the size of the tip of a safety pin, shot out into the sand. As he put the injector ands stim back into the kit, another needle slipped home, ready for use. This new syringe method had replaced the comparably long and awkward act of pushing a tube filled with the drug through a long, thin needle, into the bloodstream which existed up until the 21st century.

Soon Wilkens eyes no longer felt tired, and he immediately begun work on checking all the radio channels again, with little hope. He thought about flipping the switch to auto scan, but since he had just woken up, of sorts, and had plenty of time since the others came back, he decided to manually switch between channels, and send a pre-made transmission out to each and every channel. He felt sorry for Richards, this was quite boring.

Deployment + 0 hours: 9 minutes: 18 seconds (Corporal Wilkens Mission Clock )/
Pelican Dropship en route to Library construct on Delta Halo ring

Gorgeous. It was a beautiful yet potentially deadly sight. Wilkens' dropship was just one of over 16 other Pelicans en route to the Forerunner installation. Sunlight glinted off of one of the Pelicans next to theirs, and all sped through the clouds, tearing them apart in their wake. Wilkens went back into the troop compartment and took his seat, strapping himself in just as the Pelican shook violently. Just then, the same Pelican Wilkens had been looking at burst into flames, and unwillingly banked left and tumbled to the ground.

The Pelicans broke their formation, and decreased in speed as their elevation lessened with each passing second. All around Pelicans opened up at the tiny various turrets and anti-aircraft weaponry dotted below, all manned by Covenant and shooting. Rockets flew down and impacted, sending bits of technology and bodies everywhere, large 70mm chin gun rounds stitched lines on the earth and through bodies all over. Large spits of orange, red, green, and blue plasma sped towards the sky, hitting their targets occasionally. In most cases, not doing much damage.

It seemed the Pelicans were winning, but as the Library closed, it was all too clear that this fight might not be winnable. Near the structure ahead, dozens of Banshees circled, and at least six Phantoms hovered and glided through the various buildings, dropping troops as they pleased. But as the Pelicans closed on the Library's position, the various Banshees and Phantoms turned, and all fired straight at the oncoming human force. The Banshees' fuel rod cannons were the worst, and two Pelicans immediately took direct hits. One in the nose, the other in its left starboard engine.

Three more Pelicans were down, then a forth. Then two more. Only around 8 Pelicans were left. Here and there the enemy ships were put down, but in the end, the Pelicans, after deciding that there wasn't going to be anyone left to complete the mission, put down outside of the proposed LZ close to the Library. Just as Wilkens' Pelican was turning around to the newly established LZ, it took a burst of plasma fire on both of its' starboard engines.

He heard one of the pilots curse, then say, "We can't control it! Bail, bail, bail now!"

Wilkens jumped up and made for the door, all the way struggling to put on the parachute that had been strapped under his seat, as were the rest of his team members. The back door soon explosively jolted open, and fell to the earth so far below.

"Everyone try to aim for that bend in the river, got it?. Good, now go, go, go!" Lieutenant Roeder shouted just before he, Buzzard, and Michaels lept out of the quickly descending ship.

Wilkens made sure he was last out, and let the pilots go before him, before jumping a mere 100 meters above the ground. He quickly pulled the ripcord, and felt the usual jump, and pull upwards after the chute opened. Richard realized he had waited too long to jump out, and hadn't decelerated enough to make a safe landing. He had only a moment to curse softly before he slammed into one of the tall, fern-like trees below. Then he slipped down into a pool of darkness and unconsciousness.

Deployment + 20 hours: 23 minutes: 45 seconds (Lieutenant Wilkens Mission Clock )/
Coastal Grid thirty-two by twenty-four, UNSC command structure A-9

Bang. Bang. What was happening? An explosion. Bang, bang, bang. Another explosion, this one a little closer this time. Where was he? What was happening? Then he remembered. He had taken a wake-up stim hours ago. He looked at his watch. It was around 0530, a half hour over when Conahue and Diess were supposed to report back.

"Sir! Get up! We're under attack!", an unknown voice called to him.

Lieutenant Wilkens lifted his head up off of the radio station's table, and looked around. Everything was chaos. A few of their fixed gun emplacements were firing hundreds of rounds downrange. Wilkens turned to look. In the rocks ahead on the sandy shore were at least thirty Covenant. The rainbow assortment of colors darted behind rocks, fired various green and blue plasma orbs toward their position.

"Sir, we gotta move, we're vulnerable here!", the same unknown voice pulled Wilkens behind a nearby boulder. That's when the Lieutenant recognized him, it was Richards. "Sir, they took us completely by surprise. Their damned Jackal snipers took out Conahue and Diess in the night, don't know when. Then maybe ten minutes ago, they hit us. Had maybe forty troops. We were over powered. Nobody thought about you sir, the way you were laying, we had thought -"

"No need to apologize, Sergeant. How many casualties do we have?"

"Counting Diess, Conahue, and the few from when the city was destroyed, near 80%. All that's left right now is you, me, six Privates and PFCs, a Corporal, and one medic. I recommend pulling out sir, maybe into the city-"

Wilkens cut him off. "Affirmative, take the medic, and four Marines and retreat South." He checked his map. "At the next Coastal Station. Coastal Station . . . B1."

"Sir? What about you?", Richards asked cautiously.

"The rest of us will be giving you covering fire. Take the radio, and the medk-"

"Sir, no sir! I'll stay too. No way I'm leaving you here alone."

"I appreciate the sentiment Richards, but, with respect, get the hell out of here! We'll catch up, don't worry. Now go!"

Sergeant Richards had a strange look of sadness, anger, and fear imprinted on his face. "Yes, sir." He turned, grabbed the small, portable radio, and put it in his backpack. Then, to the four privates and the medic who were amid the rocks firing downrange at the quickly approaching Covenant forces, he shouted, "Smith, Andrews, Berscher, Colt, Gringer, and Paxton, you're coming with me. We're retreating. Stay low and follow my lead." The sergeant risked one last glance at Wilkens before turning and dashing behind the pre-fab structures that had served as their barracks the night before.

Richards shouted an order, turned around a bend in the rockface which the structures were in front of, and was gone. Wilkens rose from behind the rock, picked up his BR-55 that had been leaning against the now-vacant desk that had housed their radio, and fired a three round burst into an unlucky Grunt's head.

"Marines, hold this line!" He screamed heroically, thinking of Conahue, and all of the other friends he had lost fighting this war, and not caring anymore whether he lived or died.

"Gladly sir!", one of the Marines who was manning one of the .30 caliber portable machine gun turrets answered, and fired a burst of gunfire into a Jackal sniper who had crept a little too far out of his cover.

Wilkens tossed a grenade at a boulder around ten yards away, and heard the screams and body parts that flew after. His heart was pounding, and as he picked off an Elite, and turned to hit another, something akin to a red hot hammer punched into his side.

Chronicles of Corporal Wilkens Pt. 11: Insight
Date: 31 August 2006, 9:03 pm

Deployment + 20 hours: 53 minutes: 02 seconds (Lieutenant Wilkens Mission Clock )/
Coastal Grid thirty-two by twenty-four, UNSC command structure A-9

The pain - there was hardly any. Wilkens fell to the ground, slinking in under the radio station's table. He checked his side. There was a slight dip cut out, near his hipbone. Almost like someone had taken a superheated scoop, and literally scooped out part of his side. He ran his hand along the hole, and his it came up, shaking, with blood running down it's length. He screamed aloud, his eyes wild with fear and disbelief.

One of the Marines, a Corporal Hall, who had been manning the other M247 machine gun, turned toward the noise. He saw Wilkens sqwuirming on the ground a matter of four or so yards away. Hall sprang into action, leaving the gun silent, and quickening the Covenant advance. Being the ranking officer, he shouted an order to the two Privates who were busy taking potshots at the coming assault.

"Retreat!", he shouted, "Let's get the hell out of here!"

"Gladly, sir!", one of the Marines answered. He grabbed his buddy, who was putting a burst of SMG fire into an unlucky Grunt's chest, and pulled him as he ran.

Hall picked up the now comatose Wilkens, and hauled him over his shoulder. Wilkens was either too heavy, or Hall too weak, but Hall simply couldn't get far with Wilkens on his back.

"Marines, covering fire. Now!", he shouted to the two, who were now a good fifty feet away. Hall started dragging the Lieutenant as the Marines opened up, all the while picturing that the beasts approaching behind him were mere feet away. The rocks and boulders behind their original position were scorched with the burn marks of hundreds of discharged plasma weaponry. Hall was scared now, terrified. He didn't seem to be getting any closer to the pre-fab structues that his comrades were behind. Finally, one of them, a Private Mitchell, leaped forward, and started dragging the Lieutenant behind one of the structures. Hall followed behind.

"Sir, get behind here, dammit!", Mitchell shouted. But Hall still moved slowly, feeling more and more tired. He was but a few, short feet away, when he collapsed into the sandy shore, face first. Mitchell stared in awe at what he saw. Hall had obsorbed near ten plasma bolts in his back. Some were just knicks, but others were dead on hits, leaving the spinal bone underneath visible.

Hall's eyes were vacant. They were open, staring right at Mitchell, yet unseeing. Mitchell crawled over to Hall's body, and managed to pull it behind the same pre-fab structure that Wilkens was behind. He turned Hall over on his back, grabbed his dog tags, some ammo, and finally shut the man's eyes. 'Damn it', he thought, 'the man didn't deserve this'.

Corporal Robert A. Hall had just recently enlisted into the Marines. He was young, but had already seen action before on his home planet, which had been invaded by a relatively small Covenant assault. The UNSC forces there, including Hall, had fought hard, and eventually won. Hall had been been given the title of 'Corporal' there, for an act of bravery where he had risked his own life to save a fellow Marine from a plasma grenade. The grenade had stuck to his helmet, and he fumbled to unstrap it. Hall had jumped forward with his combat knife, cut the strap, and flung the deadly helmet forward among the attacking Covenant. He had saved the Marine, and killed several Covenant in the process.

Now, he was dead. He was only in his twenties. Mitchell pulled out his thermal blanket, and placed it over the fallen hero. He then, with the help of Andrews, hefted Wilkens and ran around the bend in the clifface behind the pre-fab structures. It was a long ways ahead to CS B-1. But they could make it, provided the Covenant on their tail didn't catch up.

The distance, though not great, definitely seemed so. It was only about a click or two to Coastal Station B-1, but their trek felt like miles upon miles of running. Judging by the growing darkness, it was getting late. The second day of the Covenant invasion was near ending.

"That's it, Andrews", Mitchell collapsed to the ground, gasping for air, "I'm done."

"We have to keep moving, Mike.", Andrews stood weakily and replied.

"We can just rest for a half hour or so. I just need to take a breath and get something to drink. God, I'm so thirsty..", Mitchell answered back.

"Fine, make it twenty minutes. But then we have to keep moving, man", he set Lieutenant Wilkens down, leaning him against a nearby boulder, "You don't want those bastards behind us to catch up, do you? I don't know about you, but I'm running short on ammunition."

"Same here. Maybe two clips of 9.3mm for the rifle", he chugged some water from his canteen, "and a couple grenades. Man, this'd sure be easier if he'd wake up.."

"How would you feel if you'd just slammed with plasma, huh?, Andrews retorted. "In fact", he reached into his pocket, retrieving a standard issue biofoam injector, "I bet you he couldn't walk even if he was awake. No telling if it melted his hipbone or not." He hit the stub, and biofoam filled the gouge in Wilkens' side.

"Right, sorry. It's just after seeing Hall, and..."

"Nevermind that. Let's just rest a bit, and move on. Hopefully we'll be there before it get's completely dar-". Andrews was cut off as Mitchell's heaset radio that was integrated into his helmet buzzed loud with static.

"Hello? Is anyone there?", Mitchell questioned the static, seemingly.

"Who is this? Where's Lieutenant Wilkens?", answered the familiar voice of Sergeant Richards. They had come back for them!, Mitchell thought.

"Who is it?", asked Andrews.

"It's the Sergeant", he replied. Then, turning away, "This is Private First Class Mike Mitchell, sir, and we have the Lieutenant."

"Good. What's the status of the station?"

"Bad, sir. We had to abandon our position, and we took a casualty on the way out."

"Who was it?"

"Corporal Hall, sir."

"Damn, he was a fine man. Too young..", he trailed off.

"Orders, sir?", Mitchell reminded him.

"Yes, listen up Private, we're coming up on your six, so keep your eyes peeled for movement from that direction, and keep your trigger fingers checked, got it?"

"Yes, sir. Estimated time of arrival?"

Sergeant Richards paused, presumably checking something, "Three minutes. Over and out."

The radio clicked off, and Mitchell turned to Andrews. "Here that?", he asked tiredly.

"Yep. I'm just glad that we're getting the hell out of here. I'm sure looking forward to a hot meal and a shower."

"Well, don't give your hopes up. No telling what their situation is. They may have been attacked too. Even if they repelled the attack, there would probably still be considerable damage. And then of course there's the Covenant on our trail... I guess I should've asked about that."

"Yeah, I guess you should'a.", Andrews replied, and yawned, then set his head down on a nearby rock.

Mitchell turned away from his prone friend, and moved to the other side of the boulder they had been leaning against, facing their six. Five minutes ticked by, then eight, finally ten minutes later, and no sign of Richards. It was almost completely dark. The last traces of sun were slowly passing in the distance. He cursed, then shook Andrews violently, desperately trying to wake him up.

"Wha - what is it, man?", he asked angrily, half awake.

"It's been over ten minutes, and there's still no sign of Richards. I think we should start moving toward the station.", Mitchell said away in the direction of the next coastal station - a trickle of fear in his voice.

"Alright, then let's get-", Andrews started, but was interrupted by a muffled moan. They both turned toward Lieutenant Wilkens, who was turning back and forth over and over. Whether from a dream, or from him rousing from his sleep, neither of them could tell. But Mitchell took this as an opportunity to rouse him from unconsciousness. He strode a few paces over to where Wilkens was lying, and started nudging him a bit in the shoulder.

"Sir, wake up, sir!", he whispered, but Wilkens just moaned in his dream-state and turned his head again. Then, shaking him a little harder, he repeated the command. This time, Tyler Wilkens' eyes beat open a bit, and he turned toward the distress.

"What the- Where am I?", Wilkens asked drowsily.

"Sir, you were hit, and we had to abandon the camp. Right now we're headed toward the next station. The Sergeant made radio contact a while ago, saying that he would be here in three minutes. It's been near fifteen. We've decided to move toward Coastal Station B-1."


It all came back to Wilkens in a flood - the hot punch in his side, falling, screaming for mercy. Then the dream. Wilkens gazed down at the ground, remembering the wicked dream state he had been in.
Wilkens' dream had been more of a nightmare, until a moment ago when he awoke. Right after he had been hit, and lost consciousness, it was as if he had been teleported to a different Earth - one in an even worse state of being as the one he was currently lying on. He was in a desert area, with a large city to their backs - spent Warthogs were all around aflame, Scorpion tanks were overturned, spilling out fuel, even civilian vehicles were overturned and set ablaze on a road to his left. All around him lay the lifeless bodies of all whom he loved. His friends, family, even his older brother was there, strewn around on the ground nearby. The "battle" seemed to have been over quickly, though, strangely, only a few bodies appeared to have had plasma burns on them. Indicating they were attacked by something else, other than Covenant. Or possibly, the Covenant that attacked merely didn't have the munitions left - it seemed to be in the near future, days, maybe weeks ahead. He doubted any of their plasma weaponry had any energy left.
Wilkens spotted a few of his family members nearby, unmoving. Striding over to his mother's lifeless body, he dropped to the ground. She was older than he remembered her - he hadn't seen her in a while because of all the fighting. She seemed about near sixty, if not more. Her eyes were wide open; Lieutenant Wilkens bent down to fold them closed, fighting to hold back the tears the entire time. His brother, Corporal Wilkens lay nearby, rifle in hand. Spent shell casings littered the area nearby, indicating that something had attacked the group, and his brother was probably trying to defend his family. His brother had a look of peace about him, which made Tyler move even closer to tears. 'All these people . . . ', he had thought.
Looking down the road, he saw the big picture. Probably near a hundred Pelicans lay destroyed in front of the dusty hills ahead. He surmised that this had been an effort to remove the civilan population from the area - possibly using the Pelicans to bring them to a few awaiting UNSC cruisers in orbit. But it had been a futile effort, since it was obvious to have been an ambush. He looked up ahead, next to an overturned Warthog, and saw it; a glimmer of burnished metal beneath a pile of civilan and Marine dead. He slowly walked closer. It was obvious to be human from the shape, but it wasn't built like any Marine he had encountered before. The man was huge, maybe seven feet tall. Next to him lay a helmet.
But this was no CH252 Combat Helmet that normal Marines or ODSTs wore, this helmet was that of a Spartan. Wilkens dropped to the ground in horror. Earth's last hope, the Master Chief, lay dead at his feet - but somehow, Wilkens himself had survived.

The vision quickly faded as he felt himself being shaken. Then, he had opened his eyes to find himself laying on the coast of a ruined city, reminiscent of the destroyed city he had seen in his dream.
"Sir?", a seemingly unfamiliar man next to him asked. "We should get moving now that your awake -"
Lieutenant Wilkens looked at him dazedly, turned his gaze, and shook his head to clear out the questions in his mind. 'Was it just a dream?', he asked over and over 'Could it be real? Will it happen?' The questions flew through his head over and over, but he supressed them.

"Noted. Let's be moving, shall we?" He glanced at the two Marines quickly with a slight smile. Wilkens unslung his BR-55, and shakily rose, holding the boulder he had been leaned against for stability.

That's when he heard it - a strange noise. Sort of like the crack of a whip, but much faster. Then he realized he had heard the same exact thing earlier that day, just before he had woken to find his troops in battle with the Cov-

"Let's move, Marines! Come on!", he jumped forward and started running; the Marines following confusedly. Ignoring the dull pain still in his side that throbbed with each bound, Wilkens shouted over his shoulder, "By the sounds of that gunfire, the Sergeant needs our help, pick up the pace!" The two Privates were lagging behind, still unaware of the situation - Wilkens was a good eight yards ahead, and over the roaring waves crashing on the beach, it was no wonder they failed to hear Tyler's message, or the sounds of battle ahead.

Seeing their leader growing increasingly farther away, and noticing they were not gaining, Pvt. Andrews and PFC. Mitchell dashed ahead in a dead sprint, leaping over boulders. They eventually spotted the Lieutenant ahead in the sand, seemingly kneeling.

"Dammit Andrews, hurry it up! Something's wrong", Mitchell shouted over his shoulder as he saw the Private start to lag behind. PFC. Mitchell finally caught up to Lieutenant Tyler Wilkens, and collapsed headlong into the sand behind his left shoulder.

"Sir", he panted out, breathing heavily, "What's the . . . matter-" Mitchell started to say, but, looking at the Lieutenant, he saw it. The shoulder patch of a Staff Sergeant lay in Wilkens' right hand. Ahead in the rocks was a massacre. It seemed that each and every rock was covered in what looked like crimsom paint, although a purplish gloss spotted a few areas. Bodies were strewn all around - all Marine, save a lone Covenant Special Operations Elite, attired in jet black armor.

Tyler dusted the sand off of the patch just as Andrews finally caught up, and placed it in an empty pocket on his combat harness. He glanced around, scanning the beach head with extreme scruitiny for any disturbance, and glimmer of hope - or danger. And there it was. Up ahead about thirty feet, the Sergeant lay against a large, Warthog-sized boulder, his left shoulder seemingly sliced off. But, the glimmer of hope came when Sergeant Richard moved his head slightly, and spotted through the cloud of growing darkness, his friend and brother in arms. He managed a weak smile.

"Come on!", Wilkens shouted, and dashed ahead to try to help his dying friend in any way possible. That's when he sensed something was wrong. A slight shimmer appeared in front of Wilkens, and then another "wave" flew by. Another off to his left, two more on his right.

Lieutenant Wilkens did a full 360 degree turn, noting the shimmering areas seemingly all around them, just as Andrews and Mitchell closed in. Mitchell was the next to see the Sergeant ahead, and the shimmering air that now incased the squad. There were six or seven of the things total.

A low pitched warcry was uttered in the direction of the air fluctuation nearest the Sergeant - straight ahead. That's when all of the air around Lieutenant Wilkens seemed to sprout out large, glowing, cruely shapen instruments of death. When activated, each induced a short hissing sound, as if they were snakes ready to strike at their prey. Growling could be heard all around them as Lieutenant Wilkens, Private Andrews, and Private First Class Mitchell went back to back, and the shimmers seemed to draw closer.

"Marines", Wilkens whispered quietly to the two Marines at his side, who were noticeably becoming more and more unnerved. "Lock and load, we have company".

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