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The Chronicles of Corporal Wilkens, Part 5: War Sucks
Posted By: Major Silva<majorsilva@aol.com>
Date: 21 October 2005, 9:25 pm
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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.
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