|03-18-2010, 06:22 PM||#511|
Join Date: Jul 2008
I'm very much looking forward to your new project Troy.
|03-20-2010, 03:04 PM||#512|
Join Date: Sep 2008
Location: Northwood, NH
I'm shortening up the "Jungle Has Eyes" story. It meant to lead to a certain point and since I've added another project to my workload I want to make sure I get to that point before XMas, lol.
|03-20-2010, 03:05 PM||#513|
Join Date: Sep 2008
Location: Northwood, NH
The Jungle Has Eyes pt 2
Outback paused, kneeling down and looking at the tracks. Tiger. Large one. It was somewhere ahead of him. The tracks were a couple of hours old. He’d been following an old hunter’s trail, most likely cut by the Tucaros long ago, when he’d come on the tracks. They entered from the jungle to the left and followed the trail east, the direction he was heading.
He had been out here almost a week. On his own. Which was the way he liked it.
The small team had met up with Recondo, Pathfinder and Big Brawler at one of the Tucaro villages. It was there they were going to make their camp. They had a lot of area and a lot of targets to cover, so it hadn’t taken Recondo and Claymore long to set up assignments. Big Brawler and Claymore would remain at the village to coordinate activities and collect the intelligence as it came in. Bulwark and Shooter were to remain there as well and provide security. Sparrow and Vagabond were headed for the capitol city of Rio Lindo. Recoil and Foray were designated Team 1. Mapman and Ambush were Team 2, Foray and Mossback were Team 3 and Pathfinder and Boonie Rat were Team 4. Recondo and Outback were allowed out solo. The other teams were assigned the various camps that Cobra had reportedly taking over. Recondo and Outback were given two separate assignments.
He had gone east, towards the coast. He knew he was getting close, the air was starting to get a tangy salt quality to it. Soon enough he figured he would start to hear the waves. But what to do about the tiger? He didn’t want to have to kill it and he sure didn’t want it to kill him. But it was in the way of where he was going.
Yesterday afternoon he had been atop a high cliff about twenty miles back west. It had taken extra time to get to the top of the cliff but he knew it would give him a better view of the upcoming land and he always liked to know what he was getting in to. From the top of the cliff he could see the coast, most of it cliff edge but the land sloped down to a small beach surrounded by cliffs on three sides. A protected area that would be all but invisible from the sea unless you were right on top of it. A pirates cove. But it had been another oddity that had gotten his attention. There was a good sized clearing a couple miles back from the beach, hard to get a definite distance from this angle. The clearing was backed up to a cliff, at the bottom of the sheer rock face, the same that formed the north edge of the cove’s protection. The south land was sloping down to the bottom of that cliff, and sloping from a high point on the west down to the low point at the eastern beach. It was hard to tell but there was something in that clearing. Not tree or wood. Something man made.
So he had taken his bearings, not relying on the GPS, where spotty satellite coverage could easily get him turned around. But not lost, Outback was never lost.
It had been luck finding the old trail, as it was going where he wanted to go and if he was right about what he’d find, the trail would lead him directly there. It was possible the tiger would veer off the trail, instinct telling it that the trail and the structure at the end was man made, but then Outback would have to worry about a tiger roaming the woods around him.
It was the tiger’s home, he reminded himself, he was the intruder.
He set a slower pace, being sure to not make noise as he went, or as minimal as possible knowing that the tiger would have better hearing and would know he was upon it before he would know. He unslung his assault rifle, clicking the safety off, and released the clip holding his long knife in place. The gun was a last resort. Gunfire would echo for miles around here.
About another mile down the trail the tiger’s tracks headed north towards the cliff that was visible through the dense jungle. He kept the same pace going forward, but also kept looking back, pausing and listening. For all he knew the tiger was paralleling him, waiting for the prey to let it’s guard down.
It was another two miles, a long and slow two miles, when the trail ended. It opened out into the clearing he had seen yesterday. The trail came in from the side so he didn’t see what the clearing contained until he turned to the north.
Nestled against the cliff was a one story concrete structure, roughly fifteen feet high and with sloping sides. The concrete was pitted with age, the steel double door in the middle of the face hanging on its hinges. Three slits were cut into the concrete on either side of the door. Vines and other growth grew on the building.
“Now this is interesting,” Outback said aloud.
Recondo had gone back to the beginning, to the first plantation where they had watched Cobra take over. The same one where they had seen Cobra inspecting the machine with the saw blades. His job was to track that machine down and find out what Cobra intended to do with it. Easier said than done. First he had to find where they had taken it.
It had taken a couple of days but he had found where it had been taken. He had started by following the road, looking for any signs of where a large truck or the tracked vehicle itself would have driven off the road or taken a turn. Lucky for him that the main road from the nearest town to the plantation was the only one heavily traveled. It had allowed him to see when the markings left by a heavy tracked vehicle had turned off the main road and taken a side one towards the west.
So he had followed that road and been rewarded.
It had ended at a small base in the middle of the jungle. He had checked the GPS and the maps and it was not one that had been indicated. It didn’t look new or hastily built. Three low Quonset huts and two small buildings made of logs. There was no fence and a single watchtower build in the middle of the camp. The tracks had led to one of the Quonset huts. He assumed that it had been giving a tune up and anything wrong with it had been repaired. He had known it was no longer there.
Heading north out of the small camp was a wide and newly made trail. Trees had been cut down, the broken ends of them lining the path. It wasn’t wide, only as wide as the blades on the machine. And it wasn’t smooth. Stumps lined the trail, at the height of the blades.
Recondo had set off, following the trail.
He’d been following it for three days. He’d seen evidence of where the machine’s progress would stop for the day, signs of an evening’s camp being set up. The machine was slow, he’d set a steady pace and it hadn’t taken him long to catch up to it. He had seen a small hill along the path, where the machine was heading, he hoped. It had taken an extra day, he had had to swing out wide to avoid any patrols, but he was now on top of the hill, able to see the machine behind it, using a set of imagers so he could send the pictures back to their makeshift camp.
The machine was as he remembered it. It was obvious that some parts had been replaced, the more rusted pieces of metal removed. He watched the blades chew through the trees in its way, moving incredibly slow. Behind it was a small line of soldiers riding 4 wheeled vehicles that reminded him of the Joe unit’s Tiger Paws, but these had a closed launcher system on the side.
The soldiers themselves were not in any Cobra uniform he recognized. They were various shades of green and had strange helmets fashioned in the image of a skull. Bandoliers formed of bullets crossed their chests, also attached was a sidearm. He wondered if it was still a Cobra operation at first, until he’d seen a standard blueshirt riding on the machine itself.
He had stayed in his position, watching the machine and small troop make its slow progress. It had finally made it past him when one of his biggest questions was answered, how the machine was getting refueled.
A helicopter had flown in, he’d gotten plenty of advance warning to hide thanks to the loud noise of the craft. He watched it stop and hover over the small party. He had heard the noise before as he had tracked the machine, and had assumed it to be a helicopter but he had thought it to be a security patrol. Now he realized it was being used to refuel the machine. He didn’t recognize the make of the helicopter, but he knew the cargo pod attached to it was filled with fuel. How much he didn’t want to guess, taking plenty of pictures so others more knowledgeable in that area would be able to figure it out. The tank couldn’t be full, he reasoned, otherwise the weight would be too much for the helicopter.
He tried to remember if he had seen a pad at the small camp where the trail had started. No designated spot but there was open areas big enough for this helicopter to land. They must truck the fuel up from the city, into the helicopter and then out to the machine.
But why, he wondered.
It was four days later that Recondo had his answer.
The machine had kept going, maintaining a fairly straight line, heading for a mountain. Recondo had taken a big risk he knew, but once he had seen that the machine was making a straight line for the mountain, he had gone on ahead of it. He was glad he had.
There was no guarantee the machine was heading here, but if he was to wager, he’d bet his life’s savings, what little it was.
At the base of the mountain was a dark hole, a manmade cave, the wooden timbers that had formed the entrance rotting away. The remains of a camp, since reclaimed by the years and the jungle, was scattered around the cave, or more accurately a mine, he reasoned by the rotted remains of a wooden handled pick axe he saw near the entrance.
It was hard to tell, but he hazarded a guess that it had been over sixty years since any one had been at this mine. The faded and rusted metal Nazi symbol he found on the ground had led him to guess that.
|03-20-2010, 06:34 PM||#514|
FEED ME MORE!
Join Date: Apr 2009
Location: Korugar, Space Sector 1417
I take it you moved the temple of doom to sierra gordo?
I <3 LJ, Chari, Phoenix, Sweetness, and the Skittles Queen Lady D
owner of page 9301 of GI Joe, Monkeytown
RIP Dark Songstress, Gyre-Viper, samantha
Queen Charijoe's #1 Fan/champion Rising_Phoenix2's lackey TofuNinja's genin Sole Owner of Tali's Lab Total Forum Game kills:18
|03-20-2010, 06:40 PM||#515|
Join Date: Sep 2008
Location: Northwood, NH
Something along those lines, lol
|03-20-2010, 07:36 PM||#516|
Join Date: Nov 2007
Location: Back in the US of A! (NoVA)
Isn't Sierra Gordo in the Carribbean or Central America? Because tigers don't live in the wild on the western hemisphere. Now a Jaguar or Panther. Love the Story. I've missed them lately. Are those Range-Vipers or Jungle Vipers?
|03-20-2010, 08:05 PM||#517|
Join Date: Oct 2008
I was going to bring up the tigers-aren't-native-to-the-Western-Hemisphere point but I see Loose Cannon has already mentioned it. Otherwise, like the story so far.
|03-20-2010, 11:43 PM||#518|
Join Date: Sep 2008
Location: Northwood, NH
Fine, it's a Jaguar. When you see Tiger, replace it with Jaguar.
|03-29-2010, 09:45 AM||#519|
Beard Force member.
Join Date: May 2009
Brian Fantana sez...
"No, she gets a special cologne... It's called Sex Panther by Odeon. It's illegal in nine countries... Yep, it's made with bits of real panther, so you know it's good.
They've done studies, you know. 60% of the time it works, every time. "
That there is over one foot of phallic projectile hurt.
*As referred to world peacekeepers Howitzer*
Hey, I can DRAW! WOOOO.
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