Sorry about the wait. I've realized that I cannot specify a single day of the week as to when new chapters will be added so just check back every so often.


"Hourglass 505 here, I've lost my starboard cam and am going in hard!" The pilot shouted into his mic.

The pelican was too close to turn back now. Pelican drop ships had a total of four thrusters mounted on pivoting cams, two main ones on the tip of each wing and two secondary cams on the tip of each tail fin. Its main starboard side thruster had been melted off in the explosion and the pilots were struggling for control.

The pelican, codenamed, hourglass 505, and its cargo of twenty five marines and gear, roared toward the fast approaching station. It was going to have to be a horizontal landing, as landing vertically was impossible without a perfectly even distribution of force from the thrusters.

Reilly held on to the handhold above her, battle rifle strapped around her chest. She gripped the weapon tightly with her other hand as the drop ship shuddered. There were no portholes in the ship, no way of knowing what was racing past her outside. She was in someone else's hands now and there was nothing that she could do about.

So why whine?

"Hourglass 505, we are proceeding at stand off distance, your on your own until we can land," the pilot of a second pelican replied over the frequency.

The other two pelicans in the boarding party followed about a half kilometer behind Hourglass 505, standard procedure as a damaged ship could lose it at any moment, taking out anything around it. The outer airlock doors were open and waiting, all the pilots had to do was bring this ships velocity gauge to zero within that airlock.

The airlock gate was nearly three stories high and five wide, a pretty large target at first glance. But when your piloting a badly damaged, fifteen ton ship, at two hundred-fifty miles per hour, with nothing to cushion you but a meter thick wall of titanium should you miss, you wish that opening was ten times bigger. The pilot threw all three of the drop ships remaining thrusters into reverse.

The ship slowly decelerated to 200 as the airlock raced into view. The ships metal frame let out a low, stressed groan as the loss of speed acted on its inertia. Both pilot and co-pilot had their hands on a single control stick, their combined strength struggling against the forces pushing on their ship. The ship continued to slow but with only one primary thruster, the process simply could not be completed in time.

The airlock was upon them, the climax soon approached. Physical contact with an object, no matter how small or brief was a pilot's worst fear. A skilled aviator new just how much damage could be caused if even a small part of the ship made contact with another solid force. At the speeds air born flight traveled the power of an impact was incredible.

Alas, as the smallest of twitches in the pilots trembling arms nudged the control stick back, just slightly, the roof of the pelican edged up against the ceiling of the airlock. The dreaded force of friction made itself known in a brilliant display of sparks and the unbearable shrieking of scraping metal.

Attempting to correct, the pilot pushed his arm forward, once again, with the incorrect amount of force due to the sheer vibration of the ship. The drop ship lurched off the metal surface and angled hard for the floor.

Reilly braced herself as she was tugged helplessly against her harness once again. The G-forces generated by the station were beginning to take affect, making the radical motions all the more powerful. The pressure suddenly eased for a split second, before the ship came crashing hard to the floor, still moving.

In the chaos of controlling the damaged ship, the pilot had not taken the time to fasten his own safety harness and as a result was sent hurling downwards, head first, into the cockpit dashboard. Sparks erupted and steam clouded the visor as the man's head collided with the dash. Electricity crackled as the man slumped to the left, blood dripping from his destroyed face. The co-pilot didn't even look.

The only thing that was on his mind was landing this ship. Through the steam and blood spattering on the windshield the pilot kept his hold on the stick as the ship rattled across the vacant airlock bay, slowly losing momentum. The inner door was coming closer and closer. Shifting to the side by the unbalanced propulsion of a single main thruster, the ship struck the right wall, the damaged wing slicing through power conduits and circuitry until it finally snapped off completely.

The pelican spun on its axis, to the right, so that the port side was going to strike the inner blast door upon impact. Thoughts raced through the pilots head amidst the sparks and smoke, a small fire now starting on the dashboard. The marines need to live, they need to fight, the pilot screamed to himself. He couldn't let the passenger section of the pelican strike the gate. In a desperate attempt to right the ship so that the cockpit was facing forward once more, the pilot shifted the remaining starboard thruster, the one on the tail, to face backwards.

Routing power from the port tail thruster to the starboard tail thruster, the pelican began to turn once again, not as chaotic this time however. Though his mind was still on fire, the pilot knew in his heart that he had done what needed to be done. As soon as the ship finished turning back forward, the inner airlock gate filled the pilots view. The nose of the pelican made contact with the blast door and the cockpit crumpled under the weight of the drop ship.

The anonymous pilot closed his eyes; the last glimpse he caught was of the windshield coming towards him. Then he was crushed, his ribs snapped down the middle simultaneously as his chest cavity exploded, all breath gone, his face met the sheet of glass and his skull cracked down the middle. Finally, his bone structure destroyed, his brain began to be pressed within his head, his skin beginning to split as if they had seams. A split second later, the small antennae on top of the cockpit snapped off and pinged to the floor of the airlock bay.

He was actually conscious until that antenna hit the floor.

"Hourglass 505 respond. I repeat, Hourglass 505 respond," the co-pilot of the second pelican said into his mic. The frequency was all quiet. In fact it seemed everything was quiet, no one making a sound. The downed pelican lay lifelessly against the inner airlock door, a small trail of debris strewn out behind it.

The pilots of the second and third pelicans as well as their co-pilots said nothing. There was nothing to say, they could only wait. The two remaining ships began their descent toward the airlock gate when suddenly, the doors began to close.

In a screech of metal, the outer blast doors inched their way toward each other, aiming to seal the airlock. The pilots were crestfallen. Their comrades were trapped now, inside that airlock, and they had no idea what their status was. The ships were still some ways off from the station and as the doors completed the last few feet of their guide railings, the pilots caught one last glimpse of the wrecked pelican within.

Then the doors slammed shut, locking, airtight, and bringing an end to the frantic boarding.

Within the airlock, the inner doors were beginning to part, as soon as the outer doors were closed. Beyond these parting inner doors lay the launch bay and access to the rest of the station. The pelican shifted clumsily as the doors retracted, its crushed cockpit scraping against the moving metal. Then, with a metallic lock, the inner doors completed their opening and all was quiet once again.


She felt something; she couldn't place where it was though. What part of her was feeling this touch? It was to the right slightly, just below her…

Reilly's eyes suddenly shot open and she was staring at a pair of green and grey battle fatigue pants. She lifted her head up to look at who the pants were connected to. She didn't recognize the marine standing in front of her. She then looked to her right, her shoulder still being shaken. She brushed the annoying hand away and came eye to eye with Henry Williams.

"Are you okay," he said, amongst the bustle of activity within the drop ship. His face was obscured for a moment as a gentle wisp of smoke passed by him. "Yeah… Yeah I'm fine," she said, her voice a bit shaky. It all was coming back now as she gripped her battle rifle once more. She slowly lifted her head back and sighed. She was alive, for the time being at least.

Sergeant Machado stood up and took charge of the rambling marines. "Marines, maintain discipline, secure your equipment and prepare to move. We still have a mission to complete. This little mishap changes nothing, our pilots did their jobs and now we have to do ours."

Pilots, were they dead? Reilly thought to herself. She peered up at the bio monitors over head and searched the chart for the two men. The red caught her eye immediately; both pilots were indeed, gone. I'm alive; we all are because of them, Reilly exhaled.

The fazed marine grasped at her harness clasp and released it. She stood up and stretched her muscles. She had been sitting for way to long. As sergeant Machado had instructed, the young woman quickly did a once over of her gear. All pieces intact, she didn't have a scratch on her. Her thoughts returned to the dead pilots. I wonder if it was painful…

Her thoughts were interrupted however, as a distinct noise suddenly caught her ear. It was brief, lasting just a moment and was incredibly faint, but Reilly's keen hearing served her well. The sound was some sort of buzzing, like when a mosquito flies by your ear for just a moment. Trying to listen for the sound again, Reilly closed her eyes. Then, much more loudly, the buzzing filled her head once more. She shuddered involuntarily, as the sound seemed to have come from just above.

She saw that more soldiers around her had noticed the sound, and many were now staring at the ceiling of the drop ship, trying to locate its source. It came again, from a different direction, and then another. Every soul aboard the ship was curious now, and every ear was turned. No one made a sound. In a loud crescendo, the buzzing started softly and increased in volume. It was all around now. Reilly backed away from the wall of the ship and came into contact with the back of another marine. She didn't know who he was nor did she care, but it gave her a warm reassurance to have another gun watching her back.

Then as quickly as the noise had come, it ceased. Reilly knew now, she knew exactly what it was. The words still in her throat, a loud bang sounded on the roof of the drop ship. Many marines instinctively ducked, raising their weapons up at the source of motion.

"B-buggers on the roof!" A marine shouted. Reilly promptly closed her mouth as another marine beat her to the chase.

A loud high pitched screech permeated the sporadic buzzing. The loud clanking on the roof traveled in a line, as if the creature overhead was moving. A second loud bang struck some distance from the first, and then a third came at the pelican's side. A low buzzing sounded and rapidly increased in pitch as another, loud impact was felt on the port side of the ship, followed by a loud shriek. They were ramming the ship.

"Hold your fire, nobody do anything rash," Sergeant Machado said in a low voice. This was bad, Reilly thought. They were in a desperate position. The drones circling outside were like vultures awaiting the death of a wounded animal. They were trapped inside this tin can and the only way out was through the rear hatch. If they attempted to exit however, they would be sitting ducks on the flat, objectless space of the airlock floor. The drones would be able to pick them off like ants.

Though Reilly doubted that the drones could penetrate the armor plating of the pelican drop ship, they still had the advantage.

Sergeant Machado barely flinched as the next, loud impact sounded inches from him. His options were limited. The floor of the hangar was as barren as a desert, no cover for a hundred and fifty feet in every direction. There was always the possibility that the buggers would lose interest. If they were quiet enough, perhaps they would think that nobody was still alive. Another loud shriek sounded outside and a second, wet impact slammed the pelican, the heavy ship not moving an inch.

Joe Machado had fought buggers before but never did they act so crazed. They were gonna beat themselves to a pulp if they kept hurling themselves at the ship like this. Why were they so determined to get inside and kill them? Joe knew that drones weren't exactly intelligent but they also weren't stupid enough to kill themselves by ramming into a hard surface. So then why were they doing it? Why did they need to kill so badly?

No. That wasn't it. The alien's main goal wasn't to simply kill the humans. The thought was almost spine tingling to the hardened marine.

They were hungry. They wanted to eat. That had to be it; he couldn't think of another explanation for the drone's behavior. The aliens outside knew that there was food aboard this ship, whether they would have to kill it or not. So there hunger crazed eh? The sergeant thought. Hunger was a driving force of insanity, Joe knew that. He didn't like what he knew.

"What are we gonna do sir?" A marine blurted out. Sergeant Machado hesitated. "We wait soldier, if we go out there, were gonna get ripped apart." The marine looked downcast. It was already getting to him; the claustrophobia.

Reilly slumped back down into her seat. A single drop of sweat rolled down the bridge of her nose. With twenty five marines and no form of air circulation what so ever, this dead ship was going to heat up fast. She was in for a difficult time, but she was prepared. Hopefully the men around her had not forgotten their training.


Michael lurched up and squeezed the trigger of his carbine. A line of green energy sliced through the air and struck a grunt square in the fore-head, mid-stride. As the alien fell forward, more covenant scrambled for cover, as additional plasma flashed down the hall.

Hitting the release stud, the mushroom shaped container on the top of the gun was ejected outward, steaming. Michael shoved a second container into the top of the rifle, locking the clasp and retracting the bolt.

The covenant seemed to have heard his fear. Down the hall, figures ran back and forth, one or two shots being squeezed off every so often. Michael lay behind the collapsible blast shield. The barrier had been erected in the hallway leading to the western bridge platform. Michael glanced at the open doorway behind him, the edges blackened and charred from the earlier assault.

Private Brown lay next to Michael, a plasma rifle in his hands. "S-sir, what are we going to do?" He questioned in a wavering voice. The corporal looked to the young man next to him, taking in his status. Oh he was scared alright, but not to the point of irrational thinking, Michael thought. Well what can I say?

"We hold our ground marine, unless you want to charge down the hall of course," Michael said solemnly. "Everyone else is holding their positions, if you would feel safer with one of them, then you are free to join them if you can find a replacement for yourself," Michael added. Private Brown looked downcast. He winced as a green bolt of plasma sizzled over the top of the barrier and struck the far wall.

"I'm, uh, fine here, I don't need to run," he said. He could at least try to sound brave. "Your choice," Michael said as he got up on his knees and peered over top of the shield.

A single orange clad grunt trotted down the stretch of hall. The corpses of grunts lay strewn against the sides of the hall, pools of blue streaking the metal around them. The single covenant soldier continued his advance, his eye on the blast shield. Suddenly a figure appeared from below the barrier. The determined grunt warrior raised his plasma pistol. Before he could even attempt to aim however, a green strobe ensconced the figure.

The grunt immediately felt his arm go limp as the radioactive projectile pierced its length. The plasma pistol clattered to the floor along with a spurt of blue phosphorous. The diminutive alien dropped to his stubby knees and exhaled rapidly into his face mask, pain surging though his mind. A second round lanced out and stabbed him in the chest, punching clean through his armor and flesh. He feels backwards, as a high pitched hissing noise filled his ears. Losing the feeling in his lower body, the wounded warrior peered down at his methane gauge.

He felt a soft breeze on his open, flowing wound, proof that he was venting atmosphere. The gauge mounted on the creature's chest was slowly decreasing with every passing second. The grunt struggled to move but he couldn't feel his legs. The grunt cocked his head back as a new wave of pain shot through his side.

Michael lay back down on the metal floor once again. He knew that the grunt was not dead, but he didn't want to waste another shot. The alien was crippled and of no threat; besides the grunt would probably die very soon.

"How many shots do you have left, sir?" David asked. "Thirty-four, marine," he replied.

"Well what happens when we run out?" David asked. Michael felt a slight pang of annoyance at the young marine's nervous questions. "If we run out private, then we use something else besides the gun. There are plenty of other things that you can use as weapons. You still have your knife don't you?" "Yeah I've got it," David responded patting the sheath strapped to his leg.

"Well that knife will never run out of ammo, so you won't have to worry about that when you do use it as a weapon."

The problem was he didn't want to use it. David was scared enough when the plasma was shooting at him from a distance, but to face the covenant at close range was a truly horrifying thought. It would be so easy to get killed at that range; I mean I'd be a sitting duck. I could get shot in the back, he thought to himself, nausea stirring in his stomach. Michael quickly saw the predictable affects that his words had had on the soldier's mind.

"Just conserve your ammo and we may make it through this," Michael reassured the marine. He had to include the 'might' in his statement because he couldn't promise anything. He could never promise anything after all. Not in a war zone.

The hollow clanking of footsteps on the metal floor filled Michael's ears. He looked up at the doorway leading back to the bridge just in time to see Kiesha's small figure pop into view.

"He are you guys-," she managed to get out before Michael sprung from the floor snatched her wrists and yanked her towards him. She stumbled forward and her feet connected with the side of David's legs, sending her sprawling down. The three marines landed in a heap behind the blast shield as a wave of plasma washed around them. Heat washed over Michaels exposed face as the sizzling bolts flashed past them. Green and blue crackled against the shield and wall, droplets melting like butter on a hot skillet as they made contact with the metal surfaces.

"Idiot, you almost got yourself killed!" Michael yelled angrily at the woman next to him as the barrage slowed. Kiesha didn't wince as a bolt whizzed past her head. She didn't even try to retaliate at Michael's comment. She had been a pinch from getting fried. But she was still alive somehow; through all of this she was still alive. It had taken her recent brush with death to realize just how lucky she had been up to this point.

"Are you ok," Michael said, in a calmer voice as the plasma died down. Kiesha looked up at him, a dazed look still on her face. Her emerald eyes reflected something that Michael simply could not place. They were emotionless, staring off at something that he could not see. It was the same look that he had seen in sergeant Ramos eyes the moment before he died. He took in the rest of her face. Her face angled in gentle curves, small droplets of perspiration were formed along the edge of her bandanna. Her lips were parted just slightly and her breathing was low and shallow.

"Barker…" Michael said softly. She blinked once and her eyes connected with Michaels. "I-I'm fine, she uttered finally. The two didn't break their gaze.

David peeked over Kiesha's shoulder: "Yeah I'm okay too sir," he said.

Michael slumped back to the metal floor and heaved a sigh. Where are those reinforcements?