A tale of jungle adventure and topless ladies. It is a long one, so I broke it apart into four chapters...
Kamilla's dark brown face is a mask of rage, as she struggles unsuccessfully to keep her emotions in check. She kneels down beside the still breathing form of a woman, brown skinned like herself, yet dressed so much differently...
The jungle protector is clad only in a tightly cut loincloth of leopard skin - held in place with a leather belt where a long bladed knife nestles inside a scabbard hanging from her left hip. A necklace of animal claws depicting her status and courage dangles between her ample breasts, which swing free in the humid jungle air.
Her lovely cocoa tinted flesh glistens with moisture, her hair is cropped short, a tight nest of thick kinky threads. Her body belongs to an athlete, long and lean, covered with solid, well-defined muscles; beauty and strength defined.
Kamilla's face, even twisted in anger, shows beauty... the beauty of strength, a regal sort, with strong jaw line, and sharp dark eyes which miss nothing. Their hardness melts slightly, as she takes hold of the woman gently, lifting her to a sitting position beneath the shade of the tree.
Unlike the jungle queen, the lady is clad in modern clothing. Tan skirt, matching short sleeved shirt, the latter emphasizing her generous chest. Tall white socks emerge from the tops of shin high boots. Her hair is slightly longer than Kamilla's, and spills over her ears.
An ugly red stain soaks the front of her shirt, and the protector quickly determines the source... a savage hole is torn in the cloth, and deep into the woman's torso. Blood bubbles out of the wound with each ragged breath she takes.
Kamilla quickly determines a knife blow is the cause of this... aimed at the heart, but not quite doing the job. Unfortunately, the damage is bad enough...
"Oh, Tara..." she says softly. Childhood friends, the pair had grown up together before Kamilla learned of her destiny and obligations. They had separated when they came of age, with one remaining in the jungle to defend it, while the other had went to the city to be trained as a doctor... promising to return to help the people.
In fact, she had been returning home when the party she was traveling with was declared overdue, leading Kamilla to investigate...
Tara's eyes stir, fluttering open. A trickle of blood dribbles from the corner of her mouth, and she struggles to speak.
"Ka... Kamilla?"
The protector nods, forcing a smile.
"Yes, Tara..." she says softly. "Try not to strain yourself... you don't want to make it worse..."
Tara manages a weak smile, then coughs wetly. She spits out a mouthful of red stuff.
"Little... little late for that..." she says, and looks directly into Kamilla's eyes.
"Even now... I... I can read you like a book... see the truth in your eyes..." Tara gasps. "You can't fool me... I'm dying... I can feel it... I'm a doctor now, you know..."
Kamilla feels her eyes clouding up, but blinks them clear. No time for that foolishness. Later, yes... later she'll mourn. But now...
"What happened?" she asks Tara, seeing death reflected in her eyes. It is something with which she is all too familiar.
"There were two blonde women... Germans..." Tara says, her voice now a weaker whisper. "They took the boat... stabbed me... shot everyone else..."
Kamilla's burning eyes scanned the forest floor around them. Bodies of two dozen others lay scattered about, regular passengers on the river ferry. Women, children, some elderly men. All dead. All by violent means.
Kamilla looks back at Tara, noticing her face is no longer reflecting any discomfort. Sometimes, in its final moments, death can be merciful.
Tara coughs wetly. The jungle guardian holds her tightly as life rapidly fades from her friend.
"Where? Where were they going, Tara?" she says softly but firmly. "Where?"
"Downstream... heard one say Victoria Landing... to meet... Von Klerk..."
Kamilla feels anger overwhelm her sorrow. Von Klerk! That fat bastard! So he's making a run for it... with an escort, no less...
"Funny..." Tara gasps. "None thought... us natives could understand... German... Bitches didn't even believe I was a doctor... when they..."
Kamilla feels the last of her friend's life drain from her, even as she watches her eyes glaze over. Her own eyes overflow, and for a moment she indulges the emotions sweeping over her, sobbing quietly as she cradles Tara's body.
The moment ends, and she gently leans her friend against the tree, taking the time to close her sightless eyes with her hand. She hears a motor launch approaching from the river, likely the jungle patrol she notified of her concerns before heading out herself.
Angrily, she wipes the tears away from her eyes and face, glaring intensely at the carnage around her. That damn war had left this part of the world untouched until now... and if this is a taste of what kind of people were involved...
The patrol will take care of these poor souls, and I will handle Tara... there will be time. Then...
I will avenge you, my friend... Kamilla silently vows. I will avenge all of you...
Standing on the dock, Von Klerk mops his forehead with a well used cloth handkerchief, wiping the sun burnt skin clear of the greasy sweat which keeps beading upon it. He adjusts the wire rimmed spectacles perched on the end of his squashed nose, the dark eyes sunken deep into a round, nearly hairless head.
The white tropical suit he is wearing is sweat stained, and barely contains his corpulent frame. In his left hand hangs a leather satchel, in his right, a Walther P-38 which looked out of place in his chubby fist.
"Frauleins..." he nods in greeting to the two blond haired blue eyed beauties standing in front of him.
Hilda and Greta were tall statuesque ladies from good Aryan stock, who looked so much alike they could have been sisters. Greta's hair is done up in a short loose braid, while Hilda's hair was a closely cropped page boy, cut razor straight at earlobe level.
Both wore nondescript khaki safari style clothing and shorts cut to mid thigh. Jungle boots and high socks completed the outfits. The pair also wearing soft cloth forage caps perched atop their heads.
Von Klerk notices the lack of insignia, but the outfits were unmistakably of Afrika Korps issue.
Both are armed. Greta has a MP-40 machine pistol slung over her left shoulder, with pouches containing three spare magazines hanging off her web belt. Hilda contents herself with a Mauser pistol, which nestles inside a holster strapped across her waist.
Greta eyes Von Klerk with barely disguised contempt. The fat pig is a disgrace to the Master Race... if it was up to her, they would leave him for the natives and take the satchel themselves... but one didn't become a Valkyrie by disobeying orders.
Hilda felt the same as Greta. Both were old comrades in the unit, a branch of the SS which some dismissed as nothing more than a ladies auxiliary of that fanatical force. But few knew how highly trained and ruthless the Valkyries were, and when the war began to go against the Third Reich, they were secretly deployed as elite commandos for unorthodox missions.
Such as this one. Escorting the criminal kingpin Von Klerk and his diamonds out of Africa to a safe haven in South America, to help finance the rise of the Fourth Reich.
Hilda smiles thinly as she nods in response to Von Klerk's greeting. Like all unpleasant tasks, it is best if it was done quickly.
"Von Klerk..." she says. "Shall we go?"
He nods, glancing nervously over his shoulder. Behind him on the shore is the trading post he operated for the last 20 years, one he will never see again.
Hilda notices his glance, and locks eyes on his. The stare is icy, and he shivers.
"I trust you took precautions to cover your trail. No traces?"
Von Klerk shakes his head. On cue, the building erupts into flame with a soft "whoof" sound.
"No traces..." he replies quickly. The answer seems to satisfy Hilda, but Greta merely glares at him. Still, his fears ebb when she turns away to step back onto the boat.
Inside the burning building lay two young native girls and their mother, sprawled across the floor. The trio were dead... the children from poison, served to them at lunch by their very own father, their mother followed them into the spirit world by a 9 mm Parabellum bullet which shattered her head when it entered the back of her skull.
After all, Von Klerk could ill afford to explain why, as a citizen of the Nazi empire, he sired children with a member of a different race...
Relieved no one would ever know his secret now, he hops onto the boat, but it is only when they head out on the river does he begin to breathe again.
Jungle Justice - Ride of the Valkyries
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PM2K
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Jungle Justice - Ride of the Valkyries
Last edited by PM2K on Sun Oct 12, 2014 5:23 am, edited 1 time in total.
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PM2K
- Always Remembered
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- Joined: Wed Apr 15, 2009 6:14 pm
- Location: Eastern Ontario
Re: Jungle Justice - Ride of the Valkyries
Part 2
Perched high in one of the many jungle trees, Kamilla frowns. The column of greasy smoke marks Victoria Landing, Von Klerk's trading post and the center of his criminal empire. Poaching, smuggling, selling innocent girls into sexual slavery... there is no end to his crimes. The bastard even kept one of the native girls as his plaything... fathered two children with her, too...
I hope they are all right... she thinks, promising to look them up... but first, she has to make sure the swine doesn't escape.
Von Klerk is a smart one... he stayed in his trading post and remained out of her reach. Tempting as it had been to end his foul existence, she wouldn't disobey the laws of the local government, enforced by the jungle patrol. Instead, the pair had engaged in a deadly dance for more than a decade, with Kamilla thwarting his schemes where she could, only to gnash her teeth in frustration at her inability to end him ones and for all.
Now, though... now the bastard will have to get through the jungle to escape... her jungle, where Kamilla's law ruled supreme. Despite her heavy heart and thirst for revenge, she finds herself smiling grimly. It ends, Von Klerk... it finally ends... for you and your allies...
She uses the treetops and vines to make swift progress across the jungle terrain. Von Klerk's post marked the far point of most river travel, and the edge of the known territory. What few people knew, since they never went further downstream, is how much of the river remains uncharted. Anything laid out on a European map is at best speculation... and only Kamilla and the people of this land knew there is no way any boat was going to make it far...
"Damn it!"
Von Klerk sweats through his clothing and gasps heavily as he drags himself painfully slow across the rough landscape. It is a constant mantra of German curses and complaints, which irritates his escort to no end.
Hilda shakes her head as Greta maintains a watch on the jungle surrounding them, weapon at the ready. Fortune hasn't been on their side so far since they set out. The river route to the sea as originally envisioned back in Berlin turned out to be a series of rapids, ending their journey at the top of a steep waterfall.
Thus stymied, the trio abandoned the boat and were faced with an overland journey around the falls. The Valkyries were confident they can find another craft to take them to their rendezvous, a U-boat waiting for them off the sea coast.
Unfortunately, they are finding themselves held up by Von Klerk's sluggish progress, and the sub wasn't going to wait forever. They had three days.
Hilda and Greta exchange glances, just as they reach a wide, and sluggish stream. Now taking point, Greta reaches the water first, noting the stream is shallow. Some instinct nags at her, and she cautiously probes the water with her left foot. The bottom is firm... but a sudden pain makes her extract her leg in a hurry. Looking down, she sees blood trickling down her calf from several places.
"Something wrong?" Hilda asks as she brings up the rear. She has her Mauser in hand, a wooden broom handle shaped stock attached to it.
"Please... I got to rest..." Von Klerk wheezes. These two women are inhuman... but are well suited for the SS, he thinks.
Greta notices movement in the water. Dark shapes dart about in the shallows, and a cold smile slides over her face.
"It's nothing..." she says, sitting down on the gentle stream bank. "Must have hit a root or something..." She reaches into her pack and removes a first aid kit.
"Von Klerk... I think we can take a break while Greta tends to her leg..." Hilda says. "You can refill your canteen there, if you like..."
The promise of cool water brings energy to Von Klerk's plodding stride, and he is soon standing at the edge of the water. He still holds the satchel, while his pistol has been tucked into his belt.
"Is that water clean?" he said, knowing of the dangers of jungle fevers. It'll be just like those two to get him sick and abandon him.... but no... their orders were quite specific. Him and the diamonds, at the cost of their lives if necessary. He used all of his pull in Berlin to make sure of that arrangement.
"It is..." Greta says casually, as she disinfects her leg with sulfa powder. "You should wade out a bit though... animals tend to stir up the edges of watering places..."
Von Klerk looks at Greta, then Hilda, who shrugs in response.
"Don't worry... the bottom is quite firm..." Greta says, wrapping her leg in gauze and a cloth bandage. "It's a bit too shallow to swim in, but I bet it would feel good on the feet..."
Von Klerk looks again at Hilda. She nods in response.
"We have time for a break..." she says. "We sometimes forget you are not a soldier like us... so I apologize for driving you so hard..."
Von Klerk nods, and smiles. He places his satchel beside Greta, and removes his socks and boots. He takes several steps forward, then stops at the water's edge.
"There's no leeches in this, is there?" he asks.
Greta grins in response. It is a surprisingly sunny smile, perfect teeth gleaming in the sun, which filters through the jungle canopy.
"No leeches... I can guarantee that..."
Von Klerk unscrews the cap of his canteen and wades in, splashing several yards away until he is waist deep in the water. He begins to fill it, unaware of the numerous dark shapes which dart towards him...
Greta ties off the bandage as Hilda walks towards her comrade. Her expression is quizzical, but before she can say anything her head jerks up in reaction to a shrill scream coming from the stream.
Greta smiles to herself as the waters around Von Klerk foam violently, and rapidly turn crimson. The German's eyes bulge in horror, and he struggles to escape the stream, lurching slowly towards the shoreline.
"Dear God!" Hilda exclaims, staring in shock as she watches Von Klerk being torn apart before her eyes. His shrill cries couldn't be considered human... they were too high pitched for that. He topples over, belly flopping into the bloody waters as his legs disintegrate, tendons and muscle shredded by the teeth of swarms of cannibal fish.
Half floating, he squeals as the fish slam into his fat stomach, his body thrashing on the surface, sending water and scraps of flesh flying in all directions. The sheer pain of it overwhelms Von Klerk completely, as the carnivorous animals attack everything within reach of their teeth.
As Hilda stares incredulous, Greta rocks in place, gently biting her lip to keep silent. Her groin has flared to life, and she feels herself becoming wet and slippery. A sadist, she always found herself aroused by violence and agony, but this is beyond any of her own experiences. It takes all of her discipline to keep from pleasuring herself during the gruesome spectacle.
Finally, Von Klerk falls silent, save for a bubbling moan as he sinks beneath the churning water. Hilda shudders at the sight of his right arm reaching out helplessly... it is half skeletonized, all bloody bone and scraps of meat, before, thankfully, the grim sight slips into the stream for the cannibal fish to finish the job of stripping it clean.
She looks over to Greta, and tries not to shiver at the glow shining in her eyes. She is a good and loyal comrade, but seeing this side of her always made her cold.
The water stops foaming, and Greta stands up, grabbing the satchel. She looks to Hilda and smiles.
"Shall we go? I think we can find a safer place to cross if we follow this further upstream..."
Hilda glances over to the now still waters. She manages to suppress another shudder, then walks slowly after Greta.
Perched high in one of the many jungle trees, Kamilla frowns. The column of greasy smoke marks Victoria Landing, Von Klerk's trading post and the center of his criminal empire. Poaching, smuggling, selling innocent girls into sexual slavery... there is no end to his crimes. The bastard even kept one of the native girls as his plaything... fathered two children with her, too...
I hope they are all right... she thinks, promising to look them up... but first, she has to make sure the swine doesn't escape.
Von Klerk is a smart one... he stayed in his trading post and remained out of her reach. Tempting as it had been to end his foul existence, she wouldn't disobey the laws of the local government, enforced by the jungle patrol. Instead, the pair had engaged in a deadly dance for more than a decade, with Kamilla thwarting his schemes where she could, only to gnash her teeth in frustration at her inability to end him ones and for all.
Now, though... now the bastard will have to get through the jungle to escape... her jungle, where Kamilla's law ruled supreme. Despite her heavy heart and thirst for revenge, she finds herself smiling grimly. It ends, Von Klerk... it finally ends... for you and your allies...
She uses the treetops and vines to make swift progress across the jungle terrain. Von Klerk's post marked the far point of most river travel, and the edge of the known territory. What few people knew, since they never went further downstream, is how much of the river remains uncharted. Anything laid out on a European map is at best speculation... and only Kamilla and the people of this land knew there is no way any boat was going to make it far...
"Damn it!"
Von Klerk sweats through his clothing and gasps heavily as he drags himself painfully slow across the rough landscape. It is a constant mantra of German curses and complaints, which irritates his escort to no end.
Hilda shakes her head as Greta maintains a watch on the jungle surrounding them, weapon at the ready. Fortune hasn't been on their side so far since they set out. The river route to the sea as originally envisioned back in Berlin turned out to be a series of rapids, ending their journey at the top of a steep waterfall.
Thus stymied, the trio abandoned the boat and were faced with an overland journey around the falls. The Valkyries were confident they can find another craft to take them to their rendezvous, a U-boat waiting for them off the sea coast.
Unfortunately, they are finding themselves held up by Von Klerk's sluggish progress, and the sub wasn't going to wait forever. They had three days.
Hilda and Greta exchange glances, just as they reach a wide, and sluggish stream. Now taking point, Greta reaches the water first, noting the stream is shallow. Some instinct nags at her, and she cautiously probes the water with her left foot. The bottom is firm... but a sudden pain makes her extract her leg in a hurry. Looking down, she sees blood trickling down her calf from several places.
"Something wrong?" Hilda asks as she brings up the rear. She has her Mauser in hand, a wooden broom handle shaped stock attached to it.
"Please... I got to rest..." Von Klerk wheezes. These two women are inhuman... but are well suited for the SS, he thinks.
Greta notices movement in the water. Dark shapes dart about in the shallows, and a cold smile slides over her face.
"It's nothing..." she says, sitting down on the gentle stream bank. "Must have hit a root or something..." She reaches into her pack and removes a first aid kit.
"Von Klerk... I think we can take a break while Greta tends to her leg..." Hilda says. "You can refill your canteen there, if you like..."
The promise of cool water brings energy to Von Klerk's plodding stride, and he is soon standing at the edge of the water. He still holds the satchel, while his pistol has been tucked into his belt.
"Is that water clean?" he said, knowing of the dangers of jungle fevers. It'll be just like those two to get him sick and abandon him.... but no... their orders were quite specific. Him and the diamonds, at the cost of their lives if necessary. He used all of his pull in Berlin to make sure of that arrangement.
"It is..." Greta says casually, as she disinfects her leg with sulfa powder. "You should wade out a bit though... animals tend to stir up the edges of watering places..."
Von Klerk looks at Greta, then Hilda, who shrugs in response.
"Don't worry... the bottom is quite firm..." Greta says, wrapping her leg in gauze and a cloth bandage. "It's a bit too shallow to swim in, but I bet it would feel good on the feet..."
Von Klerk looks again at Hilda. She nods in response.
"We have time for a break..." she says. "We sometimes forget you are not a soldier like us... so I apologize for driving you so hard..."
Von Klerk nods, and smiles. He places his satchel beside Greta, and removes his socks and boots. He takes several steps forward, then stops at the water's edge.
"There's no leeches in this, is there?" he asks.
Greta grins in response. It is a surprisingly sunny smile, perfect teeth gleaming in the sun, which filters through the jungle canopy.
"No leeches... I can guarantee that..."
Von Klerk unscrews the cap of his canteen and wades in, splashing several yards away until he is waist deep in the water. He begins to fill it, unaware of the numerous dark shapes which dart towards him...
Greta ties off the bandage as Hilda walks towards her comrade. Her expression is quizzical, but before she can say anything her head jerks up in reaction to a shrill scream coming from the stream.
Greta smiles to herself as the waters around Von Klerk foam violently, and rapidly turn crimson. The German's eyes bulge in horror, and he struggles to escape the stream, lurching slowly towards the shoreline.
"Dear God!" Hilda exclaims, staring in shock as she watches Von Klerk being torn apart before her eyes. His shrill cries couldn't be considered human... they were too high pitched for that. He topples over, belly flopping into the bloody waters as his legs disintegrate, tendons and muscle shredded by the teeth of swarms of cannibal fish.
Half floating, he squeals as the fish slam into his fat stomach, his body thrashing on the surface, sending water and scraps of flesh flying in all directions. The sheer pain of it overwhelms Von Klerk completely, as the carnivorous animals attack everything within reach of their teeth.
As Hilda stares incredulous, Greta rocks in place, gently biting her lip to keep silent. Her groin has flared to life, and she feels herself becoming wet and slippery. A sadist, she always found herself aroused by violence and agony, but this is beyond any of her own experiences. It takes all of her discipline to keep from pleasuring herself during the gruesome spectacle.
Finally, Von Klerk falls silent, save for a bubbling moan as he sinks beneath the churning water. Hilda shudders at the sight of his right arm reaching out helplessly... it is half skeletonized, all bloody bone and scraps of meat, before, thankfully, the grim sight slips into the stream for the cannibal fish to finish the job of stripping it clean.
She looks over to Greta, and tries not to shiver at the glow shining in her eyes. She is a good and loyal comrade, but seeing this side of her always made her cold.
The water stops foaming, and Greta stands up, grabbing the satchel. She looks to Hilda and smiles.
"Shall we go? I think we can find a safer place to cross if we follow this further upstream..."
Hilda glances over to the now still waters. She manages to suppress another shudder, then walks slowly after Greta.
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PM2K
- Always Remembered
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- Joined: Wed Apr 15, 2009 6:14 pm
- Location: Eastern Ontario
Re: Jungle Justice - Ride of the Valkyries
Part 3
In the trees, where she had heard screams a half hour ago, Kamilla works her way downwards to the lower branches, which stretch out over the sparkling waters. Her sharp eyes spot the glitter reflected from a pair of wire rim glasses, which sparkle on the stream bed beside the scattered bones of a human. Enough clothing remains intact for her to identify the remains.
"Von Klerk... rest in Hell, you bastard..." she hisses. She feels no pity for the man who has brought so much pain and destruction to so many over the years. Being stripped to the bone by cannibal fish was almost too good for him...
Using vines, she lowers herself down to the ground carefully, looking for traces of the other two. They will not escape jungle justice, any more than Von Klerk did... I'll see to that.
Kamilla scans the ground carefully, and within moments spots traces of movement through the tropical forest floor. The boot prints were clear in the soft earth.
She smiles coldly. They weren't making any attempts to hide their trail.
Thus equipped with a bearing, she quickly calculates where they have to go. Still heading towards the river... The jungle protector nods. Their maps won't help them there. No map drafted by Europeans would, for few have actually been there, and fewer still returned at all...
Kamilla seizes a vine and quickly works her way up to the midlevel heights of the forest canopy. Her prey have certainly proven themselves in resilience, moving so quickly through the rough terrain. Their ruthlessness is beyond question, and they are well armed. But they are still strangers in a strange and dangerous land, which she knows intimately...
Greta swings around, scanning the undergrowth intensely. Hilda watches her comrade's head dart about, and finds herself looking around.
"Something wrong, Greta?" she asks. Since the steppes of Russia and beyond, she has learned to trust her comrade's instincts.
"We're being followed..." Greta says quietly, swinging the MP-40 around in time with her glances.
Hilda clicks off the safety of her Mauser and begins to really peer into the thick brush enveloping them. Out of reflex, her ears strain to hear any sounds which shouldn't be there.
"Near.... or far?" she whispers.
"Near... I feel it more than see it..." Greta's lips tighten, her body tingling with excitement. "Whoever it is, they are good... keeping out of sight..."
Hilda squats down as she unslings her pack. Releasing the straps, she reaches inside and extracts three items: a wooden stock with a squared butt, and two Mills bombs, hand grenades stolen from a British armory.
Greta smiles as she listens to the sounds of Hilda attaching the stock to the back of her pistol. A quick glance at the grenades brings out a wide grin of anticipation.
"We'll have to see if those Tommy crackers still have any fizz left in them," she says, voice barely above a whisper. Von Klerk had passed them along to them during the boat ride. Except for a bit of rust, they look to be intact.
"Good time to find out..." Hilda says. "I'm thinking eight o'clock..."
Greta nods, and the pair turn slowly to face that direction, which lies somewhere behind them. Hilda keeps the grenade hidden behind her right hip, in case their pursuer has sharp eyes.
The moment Greta reaches the eight o'clock position, she crouches. In a blur, Hilda, still holding the Mauser but in her left hand, brings her right hand with the grenade to her outstretched index finger, which hooks the ring of the pin. Smoothly, she pulls it free, and tosses the smoking metal egg into the jungle....
BOOM!
Kamilla is slammed to the ground by the shock wave caused by the grenade's explosion. Her breath is gone, her head spins and roars from the blast's concussion. Her keen hearing has ceased, replaced with a whistling sound.
Stupid... stupid.... STUPID!
I underestimated them... let my anger and arrogance get the better of me... and now they have the upper hand...
Kamilla struggles to move, to regain her senses. I have to move... I have to move now! She pictures the pair approaching her, weapons at the ready... and knows at close range, she has no chance...
Her numb limbs stubbornly refuse to obey her commands, her mind responds only sluggishly. Still, with sheer force of will, she begins to slowly crawl, low to the ground and under the thick undergrowth of fern-like broad leafed plants. She hopes she'll have time to recover some of her capabilities... her eyes water and blur, unable to focus, her hearing has been effectively stopped up... but she can feel strength and sensation slowly returning to her arms and legs...
Time... given time I may have a chance...
Then a smoking grenade lands in front of her nose, and Kamilla recites a quick prayer to the Goddess and the forces of nature she has given her life to protect as she reaches for it...
Greta rises slowly, confusion on her face. She can see the smoke and dust still rising from the first blast, but the second...
"You don't suppose that one was a dud?" she asks Hilda, only to see her comrade running at her using all of her speed. Moments before the Nazi commandos collide, Greta spots a round object arcing out of the brush towards...
BANG!
The explosion knocks both over, sending then sprawling. It is this time Kamilla uses to retreat deeper into the jungle to regroup.
Greta shakes her head, feeling her braid move around loosely, unconstrained by her campaign hat which was blown off by the blast. Feeling something trickle down the side of her face, she wipes it away to see it is blood.
Guess I got nicked... she thinks, almost laughing. Considering how close the grenade had landed, a few scars seem a small price to pay...
Hilda, who appears unscathed, staggers to her feet, then looks at her comrade. Her expression elicits a frown from Greta.
Worried now, she begins to feel around for injury... and in moments finds scraps of mangled meat where her right ear used to be. Parts of her right cheek also feel shredded, and it is just now she realizes her right eye is no longer present. Greta howls with rage.
"You bastard!"
Staggering to her feet, she fires her machine pistol into the jungle, emptying a magazine in the process. She is fumbling to exchange it for a full one when Hilda grabs her by the shoulders and spins her around to face her.
"Greta! Get a hold of yourself! You're a soldier of the Reich! Act like one!"
Greta grits her teeth into a snarl, then, taking a series of deep shuddering gasps, manages to calm herself down.
Hilda gently forces her down into a sitting position, and then begins to tend her wounds, making an eye patch to cover the gaping eye socket which stares sightlessly ahead.
When she tries to administer morphine for the pain, Greta angrily slaps the needle away.
"No drugs!" she hisses. "The pain... helps me focus...."
"Our opponent... who do you think it is?" Hilda asks, as she ties the bandages around Greta's head. "U.S. Army Ranger? British commando? NKVD assassin?"
"No..." Greta replies. "Not them... This person... feels different... acts different..."
Hilda nods in agreement. So far, this person has not returned fire, if one discounts the grenade being thrown back. So whoever it is, he was incredibly disciplined, or wasn't carrying modern weaponry.
Or maybe it is a her... Hilda feels herself smiling despite the circumstances. Now wouldn't that be something...
Finished, she helps Greta up, and quickly the pair load up with their gear, ensuring their weapons are at the ready. Wordlessly, Greta hands Hilda Von Klerk's satchel, who slings it over her left shoulder. The pair head out again, making their way in the general direction of the river.
Wounds aside, they have a rendezvous to make...
Kamilla leans against the trunk of a massive tree, gathering her strength. The wounds on her body are coated in a gray colored gum, courtesy of this tree's rubbery sap. A selection of herbs and roots she hurriedly gathered helps to ease the throbbing in her head, and her eyes are finally able to focus on their own.
The whistling in her ears has faded somewhat, but still interferes with her hearing. Her left ear continues to pulse with a stabbing pain, and reaching to gently probe it with her left index finger leads her to discover blood has been trickling from it.
I have been lucky... so damn lucky...
It was nothing short of a miracle that grenade had a faulty fuse, one which burned slower than it should have, or I'd be one with the spirits now...
That burst of gunfire one of the Germans aimed her way had come close, but fortunately she was low enough to the earth to avoid the bullets. Still, it has been a close thing so far...
Kamilla's mouth narrows grimly. These two cannot be permitted to leave the jungle alive. If word got out about this unknown part of the dark territory, there would be no stopping them... Others of their kind would return, leading to so much pain and terror...
Kamilla rises to her feet, a stern determination set on her face, as if in stone. No... for the best of everyone, for generations yet born, they must die... even at the cost of my own life...
In the trees, where she had heard screams a half hour ago, Kamilla works her way downwards to the lower branches, which stretch out over the sparkling waters. Her sharp eyes spot the glitter reflected from a pair of wire rim glasses, which sparkle on the stream bed beside the scattered bones of a human. Enough clothing remains intact for her to identify the remains.
"Von Klerk... rest in Hell, you bastard..." she hisses. She feels no pity for the man who has brought so much pain and destruction to so many over the years. Being stripped to the bone by cannibal fish was almost too good for him...
Using vines, she lowers herself down to the ground carefully, looking for traces of the other two. They will not escape jungle justice, any more than Von Klerk did... I'll see to that.
Kamilla scans the ground carefully, and within moments spots traces of movement through the tropical forest floor. The boot prints were clear in the soft earth.
She smiles coldly. They weren't making any attempts to hide their trail.
Thus equipped with a bearing, she quickly calculates where they have to go. Still heading towards the river... The jungle protector nods. Their maps won't help them there. No map drafted by Europeans would, for few have actually been there, and fewer still returned at all...
Kamilla seizes a vine and quickly works her way up to the midlevel heights of the forest canopy. Her prey have certainly proven themselves in resilience, moving so quickly through the rough terrain. Their ruthlessness is beyond question, and they are well armed. But they are still strangers in a strange and dangerous land, which she knows intimately...
Greta swings around, scanning the undergrowth intensely. Hilda watches her comrade's head dart about, and finds herself looking around.
"Something wrong, Greta?" she asks. Since the steppes of Russia and beyond, she has learned to trust her comrade's instincts.
"We're being followed..." Greta says quietly, swinging the MP-40 around in time with her glances.
Hilda clicks off the safety of her Mauser and begins to really peer into the thick brush enveloping them. Out of reflex, her ears strain to hear any sounds which shouldn't be there.
"Near.... or far?" she whispers.
"Near... I feel it more than see it..." Greta's lips tighten, her body tingling with excitement. "Whoever it is, they are good... keeping out of sight..."
Hilda squats down as she unslings her pack. Releasing the straps, she reaches inside and extracts three items: a wooden stock with a squared butt, and two Mills bombs, hand grenades stolen from a British armory.
Greta smiles as she listens to the sounds of Hilda attaching the stock to the back of her pistol. A quick glance at the grenades brings out a wide grin of anticipation.
"We'll have to see if those Tommy crackers still have any fizz left in them," she says, voice barely above a whisper. Von Klerk had passed them along to them during the boat ride. Except for a bit of rust, they look to be intact.
"Good time to find out..." Hilda says. "I'm thinking eight o'clock..."
Greta nods, and the pair turn slowly to face that direction, which lies somewhere behind them. Hilda keeps the grenade hidden behind her right hip, in case their pursuer has sharp eyes.
The moment Greta reaches the eight o'clock position, she crouches. In a blur, Hilda, still holding the Mauser but in her left hand, brings her right hand with the grenade to her outstretched index finger, which hooks the ring of the pin. Smoothly, she pulls it free, and tosses the smoking metal egg into the jungle....
BOOM!
Kamilla is slammed to the ground by the shock wave caused by the grenade's explosion. Her breath is gone, her head spins and roars from the blast's concussion. Her keen hearing has ceased, replaced with a whistling sound.
Stupid... stupid.... STUPID!
I underestimated them... let my anger and arrogance get the better of me... and now they have the upper hand...
Kamilla struggles to move, to regain her senses. I have to move... I have to move now! She pictures the pair approaching her, weapons at the ready... and knows at close range, she has no chance...
Her numb limbs stubbornly refuse to obey her commands, her mind responds only sluggishly. Still, with sheer force of will, she begins to slowly crawl, low to the ground and under the thick undergrowth of fern-like broad leafed plants. She hopes she'll have time to recover some of her capabilities... her eyes water and blur, unable to focus, her hearing has been effectively stopped up... but she can feel strength and sensation slowly returning to her arms and legs...
Time... given time I may have a chance...
Then a smoking grenade lands in front of her nose, and Kamilla recites a quick prayer to the Goddess and the forces of nature she has given her life to protect as she reaches for it...
Greta rises slowly, confusion on her face. She can see the smoke and dust still rising from the first blast, but the second...
"You don't suppose that one was a dud?" she asks Hilda, only to see her comrade running at her using all of her speed. Moments before the Nazi commandos collide, Greta spots a round object arcing out of the brush towards...
BANG!
The explosion knocks both over, sending then sprawling. It is this time Kamilla uses to retreat deeper into the jungle to regroup.
Greta shakes her head, feeling her braid move around loosely, unconstrained by her campaign hat which was blown off by the blast. Feeling something trickle down the side of her face, she wipes it away to see it is blood.
Guess I got nicked... she thinks, almost laughing. Considering how close the grenade had landed, a few scars seem a small price to pay...
Hilda, who appears unscathed, staggers to her feet, then looks at her comrade. Her expression elicits a frown from Greta.
Worried now, she begins to feel around for injury... and in moments finds scraps of mangled meat where her right ear used to be. Parts of her right cheek also feel shredded, and it is just now she realizes her right eye is no longer present. Greta howls with rage.
"You bastard!"
Staggering to her feet, she fires her machine pistol into the jungle, emptying a magazine in the process. She is fumbling to exchange it for a full one when Hilda grabs her by the shoulders and spins her around to face her.
"Greta! Get a hold of yourself! You're a soldier of the Reich! Act like one!"
Greta grits her teeth into a snarl, then, taking a series of deep shuddering gasps, manages to calm herself down.
Hilda gently forces her down into a sitting position, and then begins to tend her wounds, making an eye patch to cover the gaping eye socket which stares sightlessly ahead.
When she tries to administer morphine for the pain, Greta angrily slaps the needle away.
"No drugs!" she hisses. "The pain... helps me focus...."
"Our opponent... who do you think it is?" Hilda asks, as she ties the bandages around Greta's head. "U.S. Army Ranger? British commando? NKVD assassin?"
"No..." Greta replies. "Not them... This person... feels different... acts different..."
Hilda nods in agreement. So far, this person has not returned fire, if one discounts the grenade being thrown back. So whoever it is, he was incredibly disciplined, or wasn't carrying modern weaponry.
Or maybe it is a her... Hilda feels herself smiling despite the circumstances. Now wouldn't that be something...
Finished, she helps Greta up, and quickly the pair load up with their gear, ensuring their weapons are at the ready. Wordlessly, Greta hands Hilda Von Klerk's satchel, who slings it over her left shoulder. The pair head out again, making their way in the general direction of the river.
Wounds aside, they have a rendezvous to make...
Kamilla leans against the trunk of a massive tree, gathering her strength. The wounds on her body are coated in a gray colored gum, courtesy of this tree's rubbery sap. A selection of herbs and roots she hurriedly gathered helps to ease the throbbing in her head, and her eyes are finally able to focus on their own.
The whistling in her ears has faded somewhat, but still interferes with her hearing. Her left ear continues to pulse with a stabbing pain, and reaching to gently probe it with her left index finger leads her to discover blood has been trickling from it.
I have been lucky... so damn lucky...
It was nothing short of a miracle that grenade had a faulty fuse, one which burned slower than it should have, or I'd be one with the spirits now...
That burst of gunfire one of the Germans aimed her way had come close, but fortunately she was low enough to the earth to avoid the bullets. Still, it has been a close thing so far...
Kamilla's mouth narrows grimly. These two cannot be permitted to leave the jungle alive. If word got out about this unknown part of the dark territory, there would be no stopping them... Others of their kind would return, leading to so much pain and terror...
Kamilla rises to her feet, a stern determination set on her face, as if in stone. No... for the best of everyone, for generations yet born, they must die... even at the cost of my own life...
-
PM2K
- Always Remembered
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Re: Jungle Justice - Ride of the Valkyries
Part 4
Greta and Hilda stare at the limply hanging ruins of the bridge, its ropes hacked apart. Another setback... courtesy of their unknown hunter.
"The rendezvous..." Greta says grimly. "We won't make it in time..."
"We'll make it..." Hilda replies, her tone equally as hard. "That U-boat will wait for us... it has to... their orders are ironclad..."
"To wait three days... and we thought it would take half that time..." Greta growls. "Damn maps are useless!"
Hilda sighs inwardly. Her comrade is right. Their charts are worthless out here... The only thing which they can rely on is the compass.
"Well... the coast remains west, the river here swings west, so west we go..." she says, taking a reading from the small metal device. "Our comrades in the Kriegsmarine will be off the coast close to the mouth of this river... so..."
Greta looks around, her grip tight on the machine pistol.
"And our friend?"
Hilda smiles thinly.
"Don't worry. If he stays true to form, he'll be following close by... and you'll have a chance at getting your revenge..."
Greta bares her teeth in a rough semblance of a grin.
Kamilla follows, staying high in the trees, close yet not too close, while keeping the pair in sight. The strain of travel and battle weighs on her, as do her injuries, yet she pushes on, knowing she cannot put off confrontation much longer.
They are getting close... so close to the lower third of the river... Outside of her domain, this territory is peaceful, with many villages along it. It would be easy for the pair to seize a boat, and from there only a few hours of easy travel to reach the coast.
They would have been there already if I hadn't taken out the bridge.
Looking ahead, Kamilla sees the tall grasses and reed seas marking the marshes lining the river banks, stretching as far as the horizon. No one went in there, not even her, for the hazards are too great. And yet...
She winces, all too aware of her state of being. My wounds are still too great... my strength, close to its limit... and they keep moving forward, working their way around the sea of reeds... getting closer to...
Kamilla's eyes narrow. No... if she is to make a stand, it would have to be here. Or all would be lost.
Whispering a silent prayer to the Goddess, she swings across the tree tops towards the deadly wetlands...
The timing had to be perfect.
As Hilda and Greta follow the edge of the marshes, Kamilla stalks close, staying low in the tall grasses like a lioness. Concentrating on their impending deadline, while sweltering under the fierce tropical sun, neither seems aware of her presence.
She now notices the satchel, and how Hilda holds it close, protecting it. Must be important... but it was the sight of Von Klerk's initials impressed into the leather which prods her into action.
Using all of her remaining strength in a burst of speed, Kamilla dashes past them like lightning, knocking Hilda over and seizing the satchel before dashing into the thick curtains of marsh reeds.
"You... savage!" Hilda snarls, and putting the stock to her shoulder fires several aimed shots with her Mauser in the direction the jungle woman had run off in.
Responding in kind, Greta opens fire with her MP-40, burning off half a magazine in a brief burst of automatic fire. She had to be careful with her ammunition, as she only had one more magazine left.
"Dammit! Who the hell was that?" she says. Her eye patch rusty with dried blood.
"Some native... must be..." Hilda snarls. "God damn it... after all we've been through... to lose it now... so close to the finish... and to some primitive!"
"We haven't lost it yet..." Greta says grimly. "And that dark skinned bitch will regret it when I catch up to her..."
Kamilla winces as she makes her way through the tepid wetness of the marsh, easing herself between the thick stands of tall reeds and grasses. She tries to put out of her mind the burning pain caused by the bullet which creased her right side, nicking one of her ribs.
Her right ear picks up sounds of pursuit - her left ear remains deaf and useless - and as she calculated they are charging through the wetland like water buffalo.
So... now what?
For once, she is at a loss for a plan. Taking the satchel had been an impulse, a way of slowing the pair down by forcing them to wade through the wetlands, but beyond that...
Slinging the satchel around herself, the strap threading under her claw necklace and between her sweat shiny breasts, Kamilla grips the hilt of her knife, which still swings from its scabbard around her hips. A gift from an explorer she had rescued years before, it has saved her life many times over, and with luck, will do so again.
Her bare feet feel their way through the sodden base of the reeds, which tower well above her head. Warm, slimy water squirts through her toes with each step, and the ground has a certain lack of firmness which concerns her, shuddering under her weight.
Stay close to the areas where the reeds are thickest, she thinks. I can't afford to get bogged down out here...
Greta curses under her breath as she fights her way through the reeds. Hilda lags behind, breathing heavily.
Their clothing is soaked through with sweat and swamp water, the humidity punishing them the way a hammer punishes metal hot from the forge.
To ease their discomfort, both had removed their undershirts, and drape their Afrika Corps uniforms open over their bare breasts. It really didn't help that much...
"Damn... how did she get so far ahead?" she says, wiping her forehead. Her eye socket and the ruin of her ear stings and throbs under the bandages.
It has been rough going. The pair were finding it difficult to make their way across the spongy terrain, yet were still making progress.
They still couldn't catch up to their satchel thief, though, and that was proving to be frustrating.
Hilda finds herself growling. We don't have time for this... the U-boat will not wait much longer, despite the risk of leaving behind a fortune in precious stones.
"We have to end this quickly..." she says. Greta stops in her tracks. Her legs sting from grass cuts, and are splattered with wet earth.
"What do you suggest?"
"We split up... I sweep left, you right... and make lots of noise doing so..." Hilda says. "I think our little savage has gone to ground, and is a lot closer than we think."
Greta frowns. They would be able to cover more territory, true, but there's risk in each going off on their own.
Seeing the concern in her eyes, Hilda smiles.
"You remember when we were hunting partisans in the Ukraine..." she said. "It is always better to flush them out, and into our guns..."
Greta blinks, then nods. But she still intended to get to the bitch first...
Despite hearing her pursuers fighting their way through the marsh somewhere behind her, Kamilla resists the urge to move more quickly. It is far better in this terrain to leave no traces of her passage. Makes it easier to melt into the reeds, stay low and hidden.
Ambush, then. Lead those two deeper into the marshes, and try to...
The reeds vanish in front of her, a change so sudden she stumbles forward, her feet and legs plunging down into a wet slurry of clay colored slime. Kamilla is up to her thighs in moments before, out of reflex, she leans back, her arms and hands bracing on the firmer ground she had been walking on moments before. She silently curses her carelessness.
Looking ahead, she sees a shallow puddle maybe ten feet across, speckled with a half dozen lily pads. It rests between thick stands of reeds which surround it on all sides.
But just below the thin skin of water lies a bed of quickclay, a deadly trap for the unwary, as Kamilla finds out as she tries to extract her legs from the gray colored soupy mixture, and finds it nearly impossible to move them.
Struggling, the bottom of the puddle rolling and quavering in response to her movements, she is still thankful she hadn't blundered into it further out. She grits her teeth, straining against the thick clayslime, which sucks hard on her limbs as if a hungry beast.
Goddess... give me strength...
Slowly, painfully so, the quickclay releases its grip on her limbs. Kamilla notices the muck from below is darker than that on the surface, darker and greasier. It releases a sulfurous stench as her thighs break through the top layer of mud, her skin thickly coated in filth.
Kamilla's arms scream in agony as they tremble from the strain of effort, sweat streaming off of her body. While she wants to cry out loud, she stays silent, knowing all too well the price of giving away her position.
Finally, she feels her buttocks touch the solid shoreline of the quickclay pit, and allows herself a moment to rest. Her thighs are now fully exposed, and Kamilla takes the time to wipe the worst of the swamp slime from her flesh. Her calves are still stuck, but she feels it won't take as long to free them.
Goddess... I've never encountered anything like that before... She has been in quicksand a few times, once as deep as her chest, but was able to escape with less effort than from this horrible mess.
After a moment, Kamilla slowly works herself backwards, wiggling to loosen the clay's grip on her lower legs. If I had been out there even a little further from the firm ground I'm on now, I never would have gotten out...
Standing on solid ground, Kamilla cleans off the rest of the sticky mud, the satchel still in place around her, when she hears something... a rustling...
She darts sideways, but not quite fast enough.
A long staccato burst of gunfire slices through the reeds and grass, and Kamilla feels something hot slam into the back of her left leg, sending her sprawling. She rolls through the green stalks and leaves, the icy grip of shock threatening to crush her...
Struggling to breathe, she tries to rise to a crouch, in order to crawl away to hide somewhere, to regroup. She hears the steady tramp of someone making their way towards her position. A cold metallic scraping and a harsh click tells her...
A vicious impact caves in her ribs, forcing a strangled cry to dribble out of her mouth. Kamilla rolls in reaction to the blow, delivered by a hard, mud covered boot. She catches a glimpse of a blonde haired woman towering over her, have her face covered in cloth, before a second impact knocks the wind out of her... followed by a third, and a fourth...
Greta's breath rasps out of her as she kicks and stomps the prone figure of the native who stole the satchel, her braid swinging. Not once in her fury does she realize this is the same person who disfigured her, or who has been hunting her and Hilda all this time. She doesn't even notice the satchel, so focused on hurting the person who inconvenienced her and her mission.
She switches to the MP-40, now containing its last magazine, and folds the wire stock forward so as to use the machine pistol's butt to continue her assault on Kamilla, who has stopped moving save to cover her head.
"You caused me a great deal of trouble, savage..." Greta snarls, even as she delivers more blows. Crumpled at the Nazi's feet, Kamilla focuses on one thing... one thing to get through this...
Greta delivers one last kick, one which glances off of Kamilla's left ear, and stands back as her victim writhes on the ground. She raises the weapon, aims it at Kamilla's head... then lowers it.
Greta slings the weapon over her shoulder and reaches over to her left hip to draw her bayonet free.
"I prefer to use this..."
Kamilla's eyes widen slightly as she sees the two foot long blade. Remembering Tara's wound, she locks eyes with Greta and frowns. The German smiles as she slowly turns the weapon so it glitters in the sunlight.
"Oh, you noticed my bayonet?" she purrs. "I love it... the way it glides into people... with just a little shove. You know, I can end someone's life in an instant with this... or make them last for hours... begging for the end."
Kamilla watches Greta approach, her hand gripping her own knife, which she had shifted beneath her hip to conceal its presence...
"I did one of your people, you know... with this very blade..." Greta grins. "We needed a boat, you see, and the ferry came along at just the right moment..."
Kamilla feels her rage building, but she restrains it.
"Oh, she begged us to spare the others, offered to guide us wherever we needed to go, as if we need one of her kind to help us... and it wasn't as if we were killing people... And when I stabbed her, I did it in a way where she would last for hours..."
Greta stands directly over Kamilla, who's eyes burn with fury. Noticing this, Greta laughs, and leans over to trace the tip of the blade across Kamilla's chest.
"Any last words, savage, not that I'd ever understand your primitive gibbering..."
Kamilla surprises Greta by grinning through the pain. Greta looks at her, puzzled by her reaction.
"Just a couple..." Kamilla says, in near-perfect German. "Fuck you, you Teutonic bitch!"
Her right hand is a blur of upward motion as she drives her knife deep into Greta's crotch, sinking it hilt deep into the place where the German's leg and hip join.
Greta shrieks in agony, her back arching as she tries in vain to escape the blade. Kamilla twists the weapon, then drags it downwards. Hot blood splashes over the jungle protector's bare chest and face, yet she doesn't hesitate, sliding the sharp edge to split her opponent's inner thigh open nearly to the knee, destroying the femoral artery in the process.
Greta falls backwards into the reeds, blood spraying out of her leg with every beat of her heart, and lands in a seated position. She knew a mortal wound when she sees it, yet still tries with her hands to clamp it shut. Her face is twisted in pain, a ghastly pallor gliding over it as her life squirts out between her fingers.
Kamilla scuttles backwards away from the thrashing form. The Nazi soldier is getting visibly weaker, the color draining from her skin as fast as the blood seems to be pumping out of her. Her sole eye no longer sparkles, but fades, the light gradually dimming.
Kamilla examines her own wound, her good ear listening to Greta's labored breathing. Shouldn't be long now... Looking carefully, she sees the Goddess has been with her again. The bullet had gone through her thigh cleanly, missing artery and bone. There is infection to worry about, of course... the horrid clay still coats her legs... but the jungle patrol had medicines for that, if her own remedies proved insufficient.
A gasping sound draws her eyes to Greta, who has flopped onto her back, head lolling. Blood no longer spurts out of her, but trickles, and she is no longer twitching. Kamilla looks over her dying form with vague disinterest. She had avenged her friend the moment her knife entered her enemy.
Yet, she cannot resist speaking to her one last time.
Creeping up to Greta, she whispers in German to the dying woman, seeing in her left eye enough life remains for her to understand her perfectly.
"When you reach Hell, tell what's left of Von Klerk it was a savage named Kamilla who sent you..." she says.
Greta manages to cough and gurgle a bit in response, then shudders, her jaw slack. The light fades from her exposed eye as the last of her life leaves her...
Crawling away from the body, Kamilla gingerly feels herself for more injuries. Her ribs feel cracked, but despite the sharp pain from breathing too deeply, she feels she can survive this to make it back...
A sharp crack of a pistol freezes her in place. A round buzzes past her head.
Looking around slowly, she sees the second Nazi standing across from her, the wide space looking so much like a harmless mud puddle lying between them.
"I wouldn't move if I was you, savage..." Hilda says in English, her uniform shirt hanging open to expose her generous sized breasts. A set of round ID tags hangs from a chain around her neck to nestle between them. Her right hand holds the Mauser, its wooden butt tucked under her arm.
She looks over Kamilla, seeing how she is crawling and soaked in blood. She doesn't see Greta's body lying hidden among the reeds.
Seeing the satchel, she reaches out with her left hand.
"If you please... you have something which belongs to me... I doubt you understand its importance, but I do want it back..."
Kamilla grins then, a wide, open mouthed smile as she slowly removes the satchel from her person and rises to her knees, holding it up.
Hilda snorts. Idiot... not even worth a bullet. Looking at her bloodied state, it looks like she won't last long in this marsh...
Nodding slowly, gesturing with her hand.
"Yes... that's right... the satchel... toss it over here..."
Kamilla, still grinning, lobs the leather bag, while making it look like she slips, landing heavily on her injured ribs. The pain makes her gasp, but it is worth it, for the satchel lands on target with a splash, right in the middle of the wet clearing.
"Idiot!"
Hilda curses in German, and fires twice at Kamilla, one bullet striking her upper left arm. She winces, yet doesn't move.
The blonde adjusts her cap. The rendezvous is in less than a day, and I'm still stuck in this damn jungle...
"You know... I think you are worth a bullet or two..." she says, and walks towards the satchel...
Hilda manages to take three long splashing strides towards her prize before the quickclay shivers under her footfalls and melts, sucking her down to her knees in a mere instant. Frowning, and not yet aware of the situation she's in, she leans on her right leg to try and extract her left, only to drive it deeper to mid-thigh.
Cursing, she tries to free her right leg the same way, only to sink her left leg.
"Dammit! What the hell is this?" Hilda exclaims, the crotch of her shorts a hand span away from the quivering surface of the muck she's trapped in.
A bark of laughter explodes from Kamilla, sparked by the incredulous expression on her foe's face. The German glares at her, and raises the pistol, looking surprised to see her target merely looks at her as she moves into a sitting position.
"What... what's so damned funny?" Hilda spits, as the liquid clay sluggishly shifts around her.
"You, actually..." Kamilla replies, enjoying the look of surprise on the blonde haired woman as she speaks in German. "Not knowing that's a quickclay pit you're trapped in... and you'll never get out of it..."
Hilda glares at the jungle protector, then at the surface of the clay, which is now pressing hard against her groin. She looks again at Kamilla, who smiles grimly in response.
"I speak from experience... it took all my strength to get out of it earlier, and I was right beside the edge..." she says. "Who's the idiot now?"
Hilda begins to struggle, wriggling her pelvis, twisting her waist, but this only encourages the quickclay to gulp her down faster... Before Kamilla's eyes, the Nazi rapidly sinks into the gray quaking mass, which consumes her hips and surrounds her waist with thick rings of clay.
Hilda, her face reflecting the desperation she is feeling, points her Mauser at Kamilla.
"You... I order you to get me out of this bog!" she barks, even as she settles to her ribs in clayslime. The uniform shirt eases apart on the sucking surface, allowing her breasts to bounce freely in time to her struggles.
Kamilla smiles, but is too tired now to laugh.
"Or what? You shoot me?" she says. "Then what?"
Hilda cringes as the clay oozes over her torso. Her feet can't find any hint of a bottom in the sticky mire.
"If I'm going to die, you'll die first!" she snarls, her pistol steady despite her situation. "You know I can't miss at this range..."
Kamilla sighs. Then, her gaze hardens. Looking directly at Hilda, she speaks quietly with firm conviction.
"If the Goddess wills it, then I'm prepared to die..." she says. "I took a vow to protect this jungle at the cost of my life if need be... and if it means I must die to ensure the likes of you never return, then I offer my life gladly..."
Hilda stares silently, even as the slimy clay licks the undersides of her breasts. Her arm drops, and for a moment the Mauser rests on the wobbling surface of the pit.
Kamilla matches her stare, unflinching.
Hilda's eyes narrow, and she raises the pistol again. She flinches as her chest slips under the churning clay.
"Then I send you to your Goddess..."
Kamilla doesn't blink or flinch as she stares down the barrel. The German notices how there isn't a trace of fear in her eyes, and then knows for certain this has been their mysterious opponent all this time.
She slowly squeezes the trigger.
CLICK!
Hilda stares at the Mauser, unsure if it jammed or is out of ammunition. The hungry clay flows over her shoulders and surrounds her neck. She finds her left arm has been swallowed, and is firmly sealed beneath the thick surface. Only her forearm and hand gripping her pistol remain of her right arm.
Kamilla continues to watch, her face passive. She knows she's beaten me, Hilda thinks, and shivers despite the warmness of the quickclay surrounding her.
"Please... help me..." she says. "You've beaten me... See, I surrender to you! I am your prisoner! It would be inhuman to allow a prisoner of war to die while in your custody!"
Kamilla keeps staring silently. Hilda is chin deep now, her right hand opening to let go of the Mauser, which vanishes beneath the clay.
The clayslime slaps at her lower lip, and stops up her ears, her hat is pushed off her head by the rising edge of muck, She starts clawing at the clay with her free hand, but it is a feeble effort.
"Look.... look... jungle queen..." Hilda pleads, pausing to spit out clay which slops into her mouth. "The case... inside... diamonds... a fortune... you can take it all, and more... there's more..."
Kamilla looks over to where the satchel rested, only to see the last of it slip out of sight in the clay, liquified by Hilda's struggles. She looks over to Hilda to see only her face is visible, while her right hand flexes.
"You have nothing of value to offer me..." Kamilla says quietly. "And that which I did value, you have already taken and can never give back..."
She slowly rises to her feet and makes her way around the pit, heading out of the marshes. Behind her, she hears Hilda's final pleadings...
...which are choked off as her mouth slips under, filling with liquid clay. Her eyes bulge, her final breath gurgles and bubbles as her nose presses into the thick surface...
Her hand waves and clenches at the dank air as Hilda's eyes and forehead melt into the heaving clayslime. Slowly, fingers wiggling and clawing, it slips under as the quickclay bubbles and heaves for a time, then calms...
Greta and Hilda stare at the limply hanging ruins of the bridge, its ropes hacked apart. Another setback... courtesy of their unknown hunter.
"The rendezvous..." Greta says grimly. "We won't make it in time..."
"We'll make it..." Hilda replies, her tone equally as hard. "That U-boat will wait for us... it has to... their orders are ironclad..."
"To wait three days... and we thought it would take half that time..." Greta growls. "Damn maps are useless!"
Hilda sighs inwardly. Her comrade is right. Their charts are worthless out here... The only thing which they can rely on is the compass.
"Well... the coast remains west, the river here swings west, so west we go..." she says, taking a reading from the small metal device. "Our comrades in the Kriegsmarine will be off the coast close to the mouth of this river... so..."
Greta looks around, her grip tight on the machine pistol.
"And our friend?"
Hilda smiles thinly.
"Don't worry. If he stays true to form, he'll be following close by... and you'll have a chance at getting your revenge..."
Greta bares her teeth in a rough semblance of a grin.
Kamilla follows, staying high in the trees, close yet not too close, while keeping the pair in sight. The strain of travel and battle weighs on her, as do her injuries, yet she pushes on, knowing she cannot put off confrontation much longer.
They are getting close... so close to the lower third of the river... Outside of her domain, this territory is peaceful, with many villages along it. It would be easy for the pair to seize a boat, and from there only a few hours of easy travel to reach the coast.
They would have been there already if I hadn't taken out the bridge.
Looking ahead, Kamilla sees the tall grasses and reed seas marking the marshes lining the river banks, stretching as far as the horizon. No one went in there, not even her, for the hazards are too great. And yet...
She winces, all too aware of her state of being. My wounds are still too great... my strength, close to its limit... and they keep moving forward, working their way around the sea of reeds... getting closer to...
Kamilla's eyes narrow. No... if she is to make a stand, it would have to be here. Or all would be lost.
Whispering a silent prayer to the Goddess, she swings across the tree tops towards the deadly wetlands...
The timing had to be perfect.
As Hilda and Greta follow the edge of the marshes, Kamilla stalks close, staying low in the tall grasses like a lioness. Concentrating on their impending deadline, while sweltering under the fierce tropical sun, neither seems aware of her presence.
She now notices the satchel, and how Hilda holds it close, protecting it. Must be important... but it was the sight of Von Klerk's initials impressed into the leather which prods her into action.
Using all of her remaining strength in a burst of speed, Kamilla dashes past them like lightning, knocking Hilda over and seizing the satchel before dashing into the thick curtains of marsh reeds.
"You... savage!" Hilda snarls, and putting the stock to her shoulder fires several aimed shots with her Mauser in the direction the jungle woman had run off in.
Responding in kind, Greta opens fire with her MP-40, burning off half a magazine in a brief burst of automatic fire. She had to be careful with her ammunition, as she only had one more magazine left.
"Dammit! Who the hell was that?" she says. Her eye patch rusty with dried blood.
"Some native... must be..." Hilda snarls. "God damn it... after all we've been through... to lose it now... so close to the finish... and to some primitive!"
"We haven't lost it yet..." Greta says grimly. "And that dark skinned bitch will regret it when I catch up to her..."
Kamilla winces as she makes her way through the tepid wetness of the marsh, easing herself between the thick stands of tall reeds and grasses. She tries to put out of her mind the burning pain caused by the bullet which creased her right side, nicking one of her ribs.
Her right ear picks up sounds of pursuit - her left ear remains deaf and useless - and as she calculated they are charging through the wetland like water buffalo.
So... now what?
For once, she is at a loss for a plan. Taking the satchel had been an impulse, a way of slowing the pair down by forcing them to wade through the wetlands, but beyond that...
Slinging the satchel around herself, the strap threading under her claw necklace and between her sweat shiny breasts, Kamilla grips the hilt of her knife, which still swings from its scabbard around her hips. A gift from an explorer she had rescued years before, it has saved her life many times over, and with luck, will do so again.
Her bare feet feel their way through the sodden base of the reeds, which tower well above her head. Warm, slimy water squirts through her toes with each step, and the ground has a certain lack of firmness which concerns her, shuddering under her weight.
Stay close to the areas where the reeds are thickest, she thinks. I can't afford to get bogged down out here...
Greta curses under her breath as she fights her way through the reeds. Hilda lags behind, breathing heavily.
Their clothing is soaked through with sweat and swamp water, the humidity punishing them the way a hammer punishes metal hot from the forge.
To ease their discomfort, both had removed their undershirts, and drape their Afrika Corps uniforms open over their bare breasts. It really didn't help that much...
"Damn... how did she get so far ahead?" she says, wiping her forehead. Her eye socket and the ruin of her ear stings and throbs under the bandages.
It has been rough going. The pair were finding it difficult to make their way across the spongy terrain, yet were still making progress.
They still couldn't catch up to their satchel thief, though, and that was proving to be frustrating.
Hilda finds herself growling. We don't have time for this... the U-boat will not wait much longer, despite the risk of leaving behind a fortune in precious stones.
"We have to end this quickly..." she says. Greta stops in her tracks. Her legs sting from grass cuts, and are splattered with wet earth.
"What do you suggest?"
"We split up... I sweep left, you right... and make lots of noise doing so..." Hilda says. "I think our little savage has gone to ground, and is a lot closer than we think."
Greta frowns. They would be able to cover more territory, true, but there's risk in each going off on their own.
Seeing the concern in her eyes, Hilda smiles.
"You remember when we were hunting partisans in the Ukraine..." she said. "It is always better to flush them out, and into our guns..."
Greta blinks, then nods. But she still intended to get to the bitch first...
Despite hearing her pursuers fighting their way through the marsh somewhere behind her, Kamilla resists the urge to move more quickly. It is far better in this terrain to leave no traces of her passage. Makes it easier to melt into the reeds, stay low and hidden.
Ambush, then. Lead those two deeper into the marshes, and try to...
The reeds vanish in front of her, a change so sudden she stumbles forward, her feet and legs plunging down into a wet slurry of clay colored slime. Kamilla is up to her thighs in moments before, out of reflex, she leans back, her arms and hands bracing on the firmer ground she had been walking on moments before. She silently curses her carelessness.
Looking ahead, she sees a shallow puddle maybe ten feet across, speckled with a half dozen lily pads. It rests between thick stands of reeds which surround it on all sides.
But just below the thin skin of water lies a bed of quickclay, a deadly trap for the unwary, as Kamilla finds out as she tries to extract her legs from the gray colored soupy mixture, and finds it nearly impossible to move them.
Struggling, the bottom of the puddle rolling and quavering in response to her movements, she is still thankful she hadn't blundered into it further out. She grits her teeth, straining against the thick clayslime, which sucks hard on her limbs as if a hungry beast.
Goddess... give me strength...
Slowly, painfully so, the quickclay releases its grip on her limbs. Kamilla notices the muck from below is darker than that on the surface, darker and greasier. It releases a sulfurous stench as her thighs break through the top layer of mud, her skin thickly coated in filth.
Kamilla's arms scream in agony as they tremble from the strain of effort, sweat streaming off of her body. While she wants to cry out loud, she stays silent, knowing all too well the price of giving away her position.
Finally, she feels her buttocks touch the solid shoreline of the quickclay pit, and allows herself a moment to rest. Her thighs are now fully exposed, and Kamilla takes the time to wipe the worst of the swamp slime from her flesh. Her calves are still stuck, but she feels it won't take as long to free them.
Goddess... I've never encountered anything like that before... She has been in quicksand a few times, once as deep as her chest, but was able to escape with less effort than from this horrible mess.
After a moment, Kamilla slowly works herself backwards, wiggling to loosen the clay's grip on her lower legs. If I had been out there even a little further from the firm ground I'm on now, I never would have gotten out...
Standing on solid ground, Kamilla cleans off the rest of the sticky mud, the satchel still in place around her, when she hears something... a rustling...
She darts sideways, but not quite fast enough.
A long staccato burst of gunfire slices through the reeds and grass, and Kamilla feels something hot slam into the back of her left leg, sending her sprawling. She rolls through the green stalks and leaves, the icy grip of shock threatening to crush her...
Struggling to breathe, she tries to rise to a crouch, in order to crawl away to hide somewhere, to regroup. She hears the steady tramp of someone making their way towards her position. A cold metallic scraping and a harsh click tells her...
A vicious impact caves in her ribs, forcing a strangled cry to dribble out of her mouth. Kamilla rolls in reaction to the blow, delivered by a hard, mud covered boot. She catches a glimpse of a blonde haired woman towering over her, have her face covered in cloth, before a second impact knocks the wind out of her... followed by a third, and a fourth...
Greta's breath rasps out of her as she kicks and stomps the prone figure of the native who stole the satchel, her braid swinging. Not once in her fury does she realize this is the same person who disfigured her, or who has been hunting her and Hilda all this time. She doesn't even notice the satchel, so focused on hurting the person who inconvenienced her and her mission.
She switches to the MP-40, now containing its last magazine, and folds the wire stock forward so as to use the machine pistol's butt to continue her assault on Kamilla, who has stopped moving save to cover her head.
"You caused me a great deal of trouble, savage..." Greta snarls, even as she delivers more blows. Crumpled at the Nazi's feet, Kamilla focuses on one thing... one thing to get through this...
Greta delivers one last kick, one which glances off of Kamilla's left ear, and stands back as her victim writhes on the ground. She raises the weapon, aims it at Kamilla's head... then lowers it.
Greta slings the weapon over her shoulder and reaches over to her left hip to draw her bayonet free.
"I prefer to use this..."
Kamilla's eyes widen slightly as she sees the two foot long blade. Remembering Tara's wound, she locks eyes with Greta and frowns. The German smiles as she slowly turns the weapon so it glitters in the sunlight.
"Oh, you noticed my bayonet?" she purrs. "I love it... the way it glides into people... with just a little shove. You know, I can end someone's life in an instant with this... or make them last for hours... begging for the end."
Kamilla watches Greta approach, her hand gripping her own knife, which she had shifted beneath her hip to conceal its presence...
"I did one of your people, you know... with this very blade..." Greta grins. "We needed a boat, you see, and the ferry came along at just the right moment..."
Kamilla feels her rage building, but she restrains it.
"Oh, she begged us to spare the others, offered to guide us wherever we needed to go, as if we need one of her kind to help us... and it wasn't as if we were killing people... And when I stabbed her, I did it in a way where she would last for hours..."
Greta stands directly over Kamilla, who's eyes burn with fury. Noticing this, Greta laughs, and leans over to trace the tip of the blade across Kamilla's chest.
"Any last words, savage, not that I'd ever understand your primitive gibbering..."
Kamilla surprises Greta by grinning through the pain. Greta looks at her, puzzled by her reaction.
"Just a couple..." Kamilla says, in near-perfect German. "Fuck you, you Teutonic bitch!"
Her right hand is a blur of upward motion as she drives her knife deep into Greta's crotch, sinking it hilt deep into the place where the German's leg and hip join.
Greta shrieks in agony, her back arching as she tries in vain to escape the blade. Kamilla twists the weapon, then drags it downwards. Hot blood splashes over the jungle protector's bare chest and face, yet she doesn't hesitate, sliding the sharp edge to split her opponent's inner thigh open nearly to the knee, destroying the femoral artery in the process.
Greta falls backwards into the reeds, blood spraying out of her leg with every beat of her heart, and lands in a seated position. She knew a mortal wound when she sees it, yet still tries with her hands to clamp it shut. Her face is twisted in pain, a ghastly pallor gliding over it as her life squirts out between her fingers.
Kamilla scuttles backwards away from the thrashing form. The Nazi soldier is getting visibly weaker, the color draining from her skin as fast as the blood seems to be pumping out of her. Her sole eye no longer sparkles, but fades, the light gradually dimming.
Kamilla examines her own wound, her good ear listening to Greta's labored breathing. Shouldn't be long now... Looking carefully, she sees the Goddess has been with her again. The bullet had gone through her thigh cleanly, missing artery and bone. There is infection to worry about, of course... the horrid clay still coats her legs... but the jungle patrol had medicines for that, if her own remedies proved insufficient.
A gasping sound draws her eyes to Greta, who has flopped onto her back, head lolling. Blood no longer spurts out of her, but trickles, and she is no longer twitching. Kamilla looks over her dying form with vague disinterest. She had avenged her friend the moment her knife entered her enemy.
Yet, she cannot resist speaking to her one last time.
Creeping up to Greta, she whispers in German to the dying woman, seeing in her left eye enough life remains for her to understand her perfectly.
"When you reach Hell, tell what's left of Von Klerk it was a savage named Kamilla who sent you..." she says.
Greta manages to cough and gurgle a bit in response, then shudders, her jaw slack. The light fades from her exposed eye as the last of her life leaves her...
Crawling away from the body, Kamilla gingerly feels herself for more injuries. Her ribs feel cracked, but despite the sharp pain from breathing too deeply, she feels she can survive this to make it back...
A sharp crack of a pistol freezes her in place. A round buzzes past her head.
Looking around slowly, she sees the second Nazi standing across from her, the wide space looking so much like a harmless mud puddle lying between them.
"I wouldn't move if I was you, savage..." Hilda says in English, her uniform shirt hanging open to expose her generous sized breasts. A set of round ID tags hangs from a chain around her neck to nestle between them. Her right hand holds the Mauser, its wooden butt tucked under her arm.
She looks over Kamilla, seeing how she is crawling and soaked in blood. She doesn't see Greta's body lying hidden among the reeds.
Seeing the satchel, she reaches out with her left hand.
"If you please... you have something which belongs to me... I doubt you understand its importance, but I do want it back..."
Kamilla grins then, a wide, open mouthed smile as she slowly removes the satchel from her person and rises to her knees, holding it up.
Hilda snorts. Idiot... not even worth a bullet. Looking at her bloodied state, it looks like she won't last long in this marsh...
Nodding slowly, gesturing with her hand.
"Yes... that's right... the satchel... toss it over here..."
Kamilla, still grinning, lobs the leather bag, while making it look like she slips, landing heavily on her injured ribs. The pain makes her gasp, but it is worth it, for the satchel lands on target with a splash, right in the middle of the wet clearing.
"Idiot!"
Hilda curses in German, and fires twice at Kamilla, one bullet striking her upper left arm. She winces, yet doesn't move.
The blonde adjusts her cap. The rendezvous is in less than a day, and I'm still stuck in this damn jungle...
"You know... I think you are worth a bullet or two..." she says, and walks towards the satchel...
Hilda manages to take three long splashing strides towards her prize before the quickclay shivers under her footfalls and melts, sucking her down to her knees in a mere instant. Frowning, and not yet aware of the situation she's in, she leans on her right leg to try and extract her left, only to drive it deeper to mid-thigh.
Cursing, she tries to free her right leg the same way, only to sink her left leg.
"Dammit! What the hell is this?" Hilda exclaims, the crotch of her shorts a hand span away from the quivering surface of the muck she's trapped in.
A bark of laughter explodes from Kamilla, sparked by the incredulous expression on her foe's face. The German glares at her, and raises the pistol, looking surprised to see her target merely looks at her as she moves into a sitting position.
"What... what's so damned funny?" Hilda spits, as the liquid clay sluggishly shifts around her.
"You, actually..." Kamilla replies, enjoying the look of surprise on the blonde haired woman as she speaks in German. "Not knowing that's a quickclay pit you're trapped in... and you'll never get out of it..."
Hilda glares at the jungle protector, then at the surface of the clay, which is now pressing hard against her groin. She looks again at Kamilla, who smiles grimly in response.
"I speak from experience... it took all my strength to get out of it earlier, and I was right beside the edge..." she says. "Who's the idiot now?"
Hilda begins to struggle, wriggling her pelvis, twisting her waist, but this only encourages the quickclay to gulp her down faster... Before Kamilla's eyes, the Nazi rapidly sinks into the gray quaking mass, which consumes her hips and surrounds her waist with thick rings of clay.
Hilda, her face reflecting the desperation she is feeling, points her Mauser at Kamilla.
"You... I order you to get me out of this bog!" she barks, even as she settles to her ribs in clayslime. The uniform shirt eases apart on the sucking surface, allowing her breasts to bounce freely in time to her struggles.
Kamilla smiles, but is too tired now to laugh.
"Or what? You shoot me?" she says. "Then what?"
Hilda cringes as the clay oozes over her torso. Her feet can't find any hint of a bottom in the sticky mire.
"If I'm going to die, you'll die first!" she snarls, her pistol steady despite her situation. "You know I can't miss at this range..."
Kamilla sighs. Then, her gaze hardens. Looking directly at Hilda, she speaks quietly with firm conviction.
"If the Goddess wills it, then I'm prepared to die..." she says. "I took a vow to protect this jungle at the cost of my life if need be... and if it means I must die to ensure the likes of you never return, then I offer my life gladly..."
Hilda stares silently, even as the slimy clay licks the undersides of her breasts. Her arm drops, and for a moment the Mauser rests on the wobbling surface of the pit.
Kamilla matches her stare, unflinching.
Hilda's eyes narrow, and she raises the pistol again. She flinches as her chest slips under the churning clay.
"Then I send you to your Goddess..."
Kamilla doesn't blink or flinch as she stares down the barrel. The German notices how there isn't a trace of fear in her eyes, and then knows for certain this has been their mysterious opponent all this time.
She slowly squeezes the trigger.
CLICK!
Hilda stares at the Mauser, unsure if it jammed or is out of ammunition. The hungry clay flows over her shoulders and surrounds her neck. She finds her left arm has been swallowed, and is firmly sealed beneath the thick surface. Only her forearm and hand gripping her pistol remain of her right arm.
Kamilla continues to watch, her face passive. She knows she's beaten me, Hilda thinks, and shivers despite the warmness of the quickclay surrounding her.
"Please... help me..." she says. "You've beaten me... See, I surrender to you! I am your prisoner! It would be inhuman to allow a prisoner of war to die while in your custody!"
Kamilla keeps staring silently. Hilda is chin deep now, her right hand opening to let go of the Mauser, which vanishes beneath the clay.
The clayslime slaps at her lower lip, and stops up her ears, her hat is pushed off her head by the rising edge of muck, She starts clawing at the clay with her free hand, but it is a feeble effort.
"Look.... look... jungle queen..." Hilda pleads, pausing to spit out clay which slops into her mouth. "The case... inside... diamonds... a fortune... you can take it all, and more... there's more..."
Kamilla looks over to where the satchel rested, only to see the last of it slip out of sight in the clay, liquified by Hilda's struggles. She looks over to Hilda to see only her face is visible, while her right hand flexes.
"You have nothing of value to offer me..." Kamilla says quietly. "And that which I did value, you have already taken and can never give back..."
She slowly rises to her feet and makes her way around the pit, heading out of the marshes. Behind her, she hears Hilda's final pleadings...
...which are choked off as her mouth slips under, filling with liquid clay. Her eyes bulge, her final breath gurgles and bubbles as her nose presses into the thick surface...
Her hand waves and clenches at the dank air as Hilda's eyes and forehead melt into the heaving clayslime. Slowly, fingers wiggling and clawing, it slips under as the quickclay bubbles and heaves for a time, then calms...
Last edited by PM2K on Fri Oct 17, 2014 7:02 am, edited 1 time in total.
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nachtjaeger
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Re: Jungle Justice - Ride of the Valkyries
Excellent. Not only a good quicksand story, but a good story on its own. Love the period feel, a definite 1940s Jungle Adventure of the first water.
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PM2K
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Re: Jungle Justice - Ride of the Valkyries
nachtjaeger wrote:Excellent. Not only a good quicksand story, but a good story on its own. Love the period feel, a definite 1940s Jungle Adventure of the first water.
Thanks, nachtjaeger!
Took me a half-year of fiddling with this to get it completed. I personally would love to see more of these types of tales around... which is why I want to keep coming back to them. -
Rusty Shackleford
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Re: Jungle Justice - Ride of the Valkyries
Really enjoyed this one, particularly for the depth of story. I appreciate you took the time to write the story you wanted to tell. Good job!
Rusty
Rusty
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PM2K
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Re: Jungle Justice - Ride of the Valkyries
Rusty Shackleford wrote:Really enjoyed this one, particularly for the depth of story. I appreciate you took the time to write the story you wanted to tell. Good job!
Rusty
Thanks, Rusty! Really appreciate the kind words.
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