The Prologue (1941) - Part I

[Tarotdragoon]

Russo watched the others leaving the stuffy little room, still sitting dumbly on the couch the map having been snatched off of him by the suited american, he waited till the Richard safari fellow was mostly out of the room and scoffed

"This is madness" he said somewhat disgustedly but still smirking at the nonsense of it all, he shook his head and stood up off the decrepit sofa with a tortured squeal and traipsed out the door after the others to his own musty little cabin.

He wanted to go to the cargo deck to see if his guns had made it through the voyage, but after a small mental tussle decided against it. 'not going to be much use for them here anyway, god only knows why I took em' with me' he thought to himself removing his boxy Browning pistol from it's holster. He checked the slide was working smoothly then threw a magazine into the pistol and chambered a round, making sure to slip the safety on before placing it back into the leather holster and buckling the strap over the top. He threw his gear together picking it up off the little bunk and into his rucksack, then slipped off his jumpsuit, getting changed into something a little more suitable for the climate, a vest-top, shirt and safari trousers, before slipping back into his large brown walking boots. He slipped all his gear into his pack, onto his belt or into the pockets of his trousers, wrapped his scarf round his neck, grabbed his jacket and began lugging his pack out the cabin and up onto the deck.

[Neull//]

After Max is done he moves to the cargo area…Charles told them that they have been issued various gear for the expedition which is available in there…

[BowenSilverclaw]

Having packed all his gear John heads up to meet the rest in the cargo area as well.

[Nanshork]

Richard goes to the deck since he was told he would take posession of his new gear once it was unloaded and Wilkes said he would meet the group on the deck.

[Tarotdragoon]

Hearing the door clatter behind him Russo turned around to see Richard, the HUGE rifle/cannon propped on his back by a thick leather strap, vaguely he wondered what exactly he expected to shoot with that thing. he draped himself over the side of the boat hoping to look relaxed and sociable but coming across more uncomfortable as the metal railing he had all his weight on was both cold and very hard,

"What do you think about all this, mr... Richard was it? you're the big game safari hunter right?"

[Nanshork]

Richard nods. "Aye, I'm Richard.  You are Russo if memory serves me correctly.  To me this is nothing new.  I've served in both wars as a scout and a sniper, and I am the big game safari hunter as well."

[jacemachine]

Max Hawkins and John Kestrel

John and Max. Two men who couldn’t look more like opposites of each other both find themselves walking down towards the cargo hold of the freighter. They pass a number of disheveled crewmen going about their work in preparation for docking in port. The ethnic diversity of the party had nothing on the sailors of the ship. Men with skin colors across the spectrum working together for a common purpose. During the time spent traveling on the ship amongst these men, you’ve seen firsthand the honest comradely of the crew.

Then you have men like Hitler who wanted to take that all away. It was madness.



When you reach the cargo hold, you find that there are already people inside; More crewmen speaking to each other in the languages of the Caribbean, and at the ready to unstrap the cargo as soon as the ‘Kingston Queen’ made land.

A large well-built Haitian approaches you. He is wearing a well-loved sailors hat, and a sweaty once-white undershirt.The other men glance your way, but go back to their own conversations.

“Can I hep you with enyting?” He says in heavily accented English. He smells like the couch in the lounge, and the cigar he’s chomping on is smoking like a chimney.

[jacemachine]

Jon Russo and Richard Jameson

Up on deck where you’ve made an attempt at small talk. There are nine other passengers up on deck as well, standing apart in small groups. Travelers, like you and your current company. Talking amongst themselves in a jumble of ethnic sounds.

The ship starts to lose speed as it prepares to enter port.
Puerto de Santa Boca, still at least a mile away, can be seen. A Spanish colonial-style sprawl, it is dotted with Cieba trees and palms growing in thickets.

The recognizable profile of a German U-Boat is visible in the harbor. Dozens of boats and ships coming and going fill the area surround it. The low hills of mountains are the canvas the town is built across, and it seems like everything is a deep verdant green. Lush and full of plant life.

Richard and Russo you shield your eyes from the morning It is heavily humid, and your clothing starts to stick to your chests.  Monkeys are screaming and birds are chirping in a loud cacophony around you.

[[ May I have Spot checks from you gentlemen? ]]

Henry Loder and Eisen Abendroth

The two of you stand in the hall just outside the Lounge. It's painted metal walls echo the footsteps of those men who have just left.

[[ Do you go back to you rooms to gather your belongings?
Do you just go up to the deck to see what's up?
Do you head to the cargo hold for some reason?
Or do you have something else in mind...? ]]

[j0lt]

Loder goes back up to his room to collect his well-used archaeology kit and pistol, both of which he stuffs into a duffel bag that he slings across his back.  He then straps his machete to his thigh and heads up to the deck.

[Nanshork]

Spot: 33  (20+13)

I WIN! 

[BowenSilverclaw]

"We came to check on the progress of unloading our gear. I hope you don't mind." John replies to the large Haitian.

[jacemachine]

Max Hawkins and John Kestrel

"I do not heve a problem as long as you stay clear of my men when the work begins." He motions behind him to the high stacks of wooden cargo crates tied in place by netting. "As you can see, dere is quite a large amount of corgo dis trep. We do not want anyone to get hurt."

[BowenSilverclaw]

"I understand, thanks for the warning. Let me know if I can help with anything." John smiles, before making sure to stay out of anyone's way when the work begins.

[jacemachine]

Max Hawkins and John Kestrel

"You are Emerican? Tell me. Whet brings an Emerican such as yoursef down to dis country?" He asks. "Forgeve me. I em alweys entertained by de different responses. You mey call me Mister Etienne. I em en charge down here." He offers a large calloused hand towards John.

[Flay Crimsonwind]

((Damnit, quoted instead of modified, my bad my bad!))

[Flay Crimsonwind]

As everyone leaves, the stalky German man sighs, smiles at the comment of madness, and with mental agreement decides best to go compose himself.

Back at his room, he doesn't take much care for  trying to hide anything; he honestly doesn't need to, and intends to look as he does. His military bag, a soldier's bag packed with all necessary equipment, hides nothing; it's burlap cloth exterior looks obviously military, and both his sidearm and rifle are worn openly, the pistol in a hip-holster and the rifle slung over his right shoulder, naked and gleamingly clean. He has no clothes but fatigues, and they are the fatigues of the German military. They aren't new looking (truthfully, aside from their modifications to fit the Nazi army, they belonged to his father, and are simply WWI fatigues reinforced and kept clean and fit), but it doesn't mater; that garners him respect from anyone of his "office" or below. Before slipping his cap on, he combs back his hair slick and clean-cut, the official look of the righteous German master-race. The whole of it would disgust him, except that he sees nothing wrong with Germany. Just Hitler and his damned Nazi's, villainizing his patriotic spirit in the eyes of the globe. Slipping his knuckles into a belt-strap glasses case, and with nothing to pack or grab, he heads up to deck, a military cap fit neatly onto his head. The sooner they make port, the better, and he welcomes it...

Seeing his new comrades-in-arms, he crosses over the ship to them, dropping his bag on the deck, but for some reason (natural, by the look of it) keeps his rifle slung on his shoulder. Nodding at each in kind, in a respectful tone, he greets them each with a locking glance and an attempted firm hand shake, "Mr. Russo. Mr. Jameson." He notes the rifle Jameson possesses, and merely smiles. "Looks like we're here for the 'same reasons,' if anyone should ask, eh? Excellent to work with the two of you." Unsure what to make of Russo, he chooses not to think on it; time will tell more about his co-workers than words will. And that may come sooner; he taps Richard Jameson, both obviously seeing it. His hand supporting his rifle strap loosens, but remains firm on the strap.

Spot Check: 18

[Tarotdragoon]

Taking the hand thrust out for him, replying firm grip for firm grip (noting the man's strength), Russo smiles a little and replies to both at the same time

"Yeah I'm Russo, call me John if you prefer, so you big cannon toting types are gonna be the ones protecting us poor diggers from the mean old Nazi huh?"

he looked between the two, both were a rather formable sight, standing, rifles on shoulders, squinting in the sun as it beat down from the pearly blue sky, a circle of fire in an endless sea.
Russo turn to look ((24)) over his shoulder, used to warm, conditions haling from the Adriatic the sun bothered him little. What he didn't like was the humidity, made him glad he haddn't put on his thick fleece lined jacket, the moisture had made him break into sweat almost immediately, it was strangling and cloying and very unpleasant. still he was sure he could deal with it better than some of his more northern european compatriots which made him smile.

"still what are we going to do about that big ol' U-boat sitting in harbor over there?" he directed attention over to the large metal hulk, basking in the water at the port just visible though still far. He gave a quick glance at the huge expanse of foliage and greenery as well, as is swept up and over mountains seeming to drag the mighty peaks down, clinging to them like an army of ants seeking to bring the behemoths down to consume them down in their nests, he shuddered a little dissipate the heat, he hated bugs, despised the damned things.

[j0lt]

Dr. Loder wanders up on deck with his nose buried in his journal.

Spot check: 6

[Neull//]

Max Hawkins and John Kestrel

John and Max. 

A large well-built Haitian approaches you. He is wearing a well-loved sailors hat, and a sweaty once-white undershirt.The other men glance your way, but go back to their own conversations.

“Can I hep you with enyting?” He says in heavily accented English. He smells like the couch in the lounge, and the cigar he’s chomping on is smoking like a chimney.

While John speaks to the Haitian about the progress of unloading their gear, Max cannot resist the smell of the man’s cigar… those cigars are his love…

“Excuse me, my friend, is there any chance you have a spear one of what you are smoking?”

[jacemachine]

Max Hawkins and John Kestrel

Mister Etienne looks in Max's direction and sends a yellowed grin his way. "Ef coures.", he says fishing one out of pants pocket and passing it over to max. He offers one to John as well. "I pecked dese ep in Hevana recently."

The cigar is hand-rolled, and very aromatic. It's an excellent example of Cuba's export.