Chronicles of Sergeant Clark [b][u]Chapter 1: Death Desert[/u][/b] Sergeant Clark trudged through the sand. His shoulders sagged with the heat. Clark looked up, the mountain range did not seem to be getting any closer, yet the dark figure on the horizon did not seem to be getting any smaller either. That dark figure happened to be why Sarge was out in the middle of nowhere. Following a man who seemed to never grow tired. Then again, neither did Clark. Wishing the black armor he was wearing was gone, he put one foot in front of the other. Over and over and over. The monotony was starting to wear on the Sergeant. If something didnt happen soon... That thought was interrupted by what sounded like warthog in the distance. Clark perked up. His squad? Could it be? A lone warthog was rolling in towards his position, Clark started to make out who was inside. and they werent ODSTs, so it most defiantly was not his squad. Sergeant Clark threw himself down on the side of a dune. BR already in hand he started to wait. The noises of the engine came closer. Suddenly, it cut out. The sound of tires moving over sand came to a stop. Clark estimated they were only a couple of yards from the top of the dune. This could be bad. Voices started speaking. "Find em yet?" one of the voices said. This one sounded very gruff. As if it were from a hardened veteran. No doubt he had that look about him as well. "No yet sir." Another replied. "Though we found his HEV nearly buried in the sand 45 miles back. Couldnt have gotten far, its only been 2 days." Silence... Footsteps neared the edge of the dune where Clark was hiding. Clark tightened his grip on his BR, ready for anything and everything. The voices continued talking again, "Got the stats on this ODST yet?" The gruff one said. "Yea we got him, Names Sergeant John H. Clark, lived in the USA on Earth untill 19 when he volunteered for the Marines. He was top of his class and ended up as an ODST 3 years later." The gruff voice cut him off there. "Spare me his life story, get to the point" There was a shuffling of papers, then the second voice spoke up once more. "He was awarded the Medal of Honor for his service in the Covenant war, and is known as one of the best ODST's out there sir" "The best of the best eh?" The gruff voice replied. "Well he aint good enough for us by god." Footsteps started back to where Clark presumed the Warthog to be. Before they reached it, there was a deafening boom. Sergeant Clark went to cover his ears, but by then it was too late. His vision was blurred and ears were ringing. Shell Shock they called it. He had experienced it more than once before. Once his vision and hearing recovered, Clark grabbed his BR and peaked over the edge of the dune. 3 men lay dead on the ground, their blood slowly seeping into the thirsty sand. The warthog lay in ruins. Tires were thrown 30 yards clear of the carcass. Once more a voice spoke up. "Your a dead man" Clark started to turn. Thinking that all the men were dead, he wondered where this voice had come from. He turned and saw Arnold Zakahov. A russian ex ODST. He was wearing full Khaki armor with his old Custom Black Jolly Roger on his armor. He was also once part of Sergeant Clark's Squad. Once kicked out, he vowed to kill them all, one by one. He had succeeded. Clark was the only one left of his old squadron from the Covy wars. Clark realized that it was his turn now. Sergeant Clark was going to die. [Edited on 11.01.2009 6:29 AM PST]