G'day guys. ShadeOps here with another story featuring my OC, Thomas "Shade" Williams. This has been in the workshop for a while now, and hadn't had much work on it due to assignments and examinations coming at me from all directions. The joys of nearly finishing high school... :\

Anyway, this is just to kick off the story and set the mood. Won't be too long here. Don't have the endurance or brain power just now to pump out a huge chapter like those of my fellow writers. Enjoy!

Necessity is the mother of invention...

Somewhere in the Middle East...

Shade's eyes opened slowly, the dust and sand falling from his face. Taking in the scene, Shade groaned. The MH-6 was a wreck, the pilot and co-pilot dead, and the supplies scattered everywhere. The desert sand filled the surroundings, with small mountain peaks on the horizon reminding Shade that he was still on Earth. He moved, but stopped as agonising pain shot through his legs. His right fibula had fractured, his left leg heavily cut. He dragged himself to the wreck, looking for the medical kit and a piece of metal or something to serve as a splint. Whilst digging, he found a radio. But as he picked it up, it fell to pieces. His only lifeline had fallen apart in his hands.

After a few minutes, his leg had been bandaged and splinted, a piece of rotor blade providing the necessary support. Another piece of blade doubled as a crutch, allowing Shade to move around on his own. But now he faced a new set of problems. If he stayed, he risked not being found and dying of exposure, hunger, and thirst, or being found by the wrong people. If he departed, he was at the mercy of the wildlife, weather, but had a higher chance of encountering locals who might just help him. But then that had the risk of being harder to find.

Weighing up the two evils, Shade chose the one with the best odds. He would leave the wreck and look for civilisation. He moved to pick up his weapon, an F88SA2, but found it snapped in half. The pilot's and co-pilot's MP5s were jammed in the wreckage, leaving Shade with his Glock 19 and four magazines. It was not the best situation, but considering what could have happened, it was workable. After picking up a backpack from the wreck, he salvaged through the supplies to recover anything that was useable. When he was satisfied with what he gathered, he took out his compass and headed south, towards friendly lines.