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Pradatorius


Rhodesia
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Ndola, Rhodesia

Johnathan Taylor awoke in his Ndola apartment as the sun progressed close to high noon. He was sweaty, despite the triangular blades of his fan whipping around at high speed. He sat up in his bed, his tank top damp from the heat, rubbing his eyes. He had decided to sleep in on this day, as he had no 'business' to attend to that early in the morning.

He took his time preparing himself for the day, cooking in his sleepwear and eating before hopping into the dilapidated shower. His apartment was fairly run down, which was common for Ndola residences, considering the economic class of people who generally populated the majority. In fact, Taylor felt very out of place. The city was almost entirely populated by Bantu peoples, who had populated the city in vast majority since even the days of Transvaal. There were a few other whites besides himself, namely the heads of the mining companies and a few other corporations that had stake in the place, but Taylor did not know any of them, as he was of a different class altogether.

Taylor was a smuggler, he moved drugs under the table, his services being all the more profitable now that the government had banned any and all drugs. He would be on his way to Livingstone later in the day for a 'business meeting,' as he liked to call them.

---

Classified Location, Labor Camp for Political Dissidents

Captain David Price patrolled the area around the hidden labor camp the government had set up. He was a Selous Scout who had been 'transferred' to the SAS and from there, his name promptly disappeared from any official or unofficial records. He had been stationed to guard the labor camp, his duties calling for the suppression of violence from those within, and the prevention of any intruders.

He made his way through the tall, lightly tan grass. His current patrol route had him out in the grasslands not far from the camp, which was located in the Bush not far from there. He carried a light machine gun and allowed his eyes to sweep the horizon for any Bantu's or intruders heading in his direction. None came, and all was quiet.

scoutguner.jpg

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Livingstone, Rhodesia

Taylor made his way to the downtown area of the city after a long drive from Ndola. Livingstone was a much nicer city than Ndola, but not the part of town he was heading to. He was not just going downtown, the savory part of which was very nice, the streets lined with high profile shops and nice cafes, but rather slightly more South, where the high class part of town ended, and the slums began.

The buildings quickly transitioned into run down, seemingly abandoned buildings. The walls were decaying and covered in grime, with boarded up windows and filthy streets and alleyways. Not far from the transition point, Taylor met up with his contact, McCarthy. McCarthy was a tall man, with brown hair and green eyes. He was white, and had a rough look about him. It looked like he hadn't shaven for days, or changed his clothes for that matter.

The two clasped hands and greeted one another as friends. McCarthy spoke first, with his thick English twang, "Haha, funny to see such a white boy in this part of town."

Taylor had the same sort of accent, though not quite as strong, "Good business in the parts for a white boy such as me, haha. You got somethin' for me, eh?"

"Yeah, come with me."

McCarthy led Taylor into a building adjacent to the alley they had met in. Inside were dozens of crates filled with illegal substances. "Here's what your lookin' for I believe."

Taylor smiled, "Yes, that's what I'm lookin' for."

"You got the money?"

Taylor set the briefcase he was carrying onto a table nearby and opened it. Inside were thousands of Pounds. "Here you are, and I'll even through in the briefcase," he jested. McCarthy laughed at this.

"Your a good man, Johnny, a good man. Always a pleasure doing business with you. AYE! LADS! Get to packin' the cargo, our mover's here!" As McCarthy shouted the commands, they were obeyed by the hands inside the building, which was apparently an abandoned car shop that had been vacated years and years ago. The men began loading the 'cargo' onto an old, enclosed safari jeep.

"Now listen, Johnny, they're havin' military exercises just North of town, eh? You're gonna have to take the Bush Roads outta here. Head East for a ways til you're clear of all the patrols and drills, then take our load here North towards Serca. You know who to meet there."

"Aye, that I do."

"Good man."

After the loading was completed, Taylor made his way out of the city, heading east into the jungle.

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Rhodesian Bush; Outside Livingstone

The wipers on the old safari vehicle did not have much trouble brushing off the light drizzle that had begun falling. It was nighttime and the SUV made its way through a very narrow dirt path that was for some reason classified as a 'road.' Fern and low tree leaves and branches brushed along the front of the vehicle making quite a noise, and Taylor fought to see what was ahead of him. High beams don't really penetrate foliage, only fog. Taylor was getting tired and his body began to fatigue. Soon his vision was very dim and blurry and his reaction time was impaired.

What did snap him out of it, however, were lights up ahead of him. Adrenaline shot through Taylor's veins. "Damn it," he thought to himself as he slowed down. He expected cops, as he wasn't really sure of where he was at this point, but much to his surprise, the situation was much worse.

Bearded soldiers with black berets lined the edges of the dirt path and a jeep sat by the wayside, lights on and pointing at Taylor's vehicle. In the back, an RPD light machine gun was trained straight at him. Taylor kept his panic within and slowed down, though his thoughts were racing and fear was rising within him. One of the soldiers came up to his window. He had a winged dagger on his beret, he was SAS. The SAS trooper knocked on the driver's side window (on the right in Rhodesia), prompting Taylor to roll it down.

"Well son, I must admit it is a surprise to see anyone drivin' on this road, especially this late at night. What business do you have this far back in the Bush at this hour?"

Taylor had been in situations like this before and did his best to maintain control of the conversation, "I just got a call that my grandmother is sick and in the hospital over in Chipata. I figured the back roads would be faster, what with all the military exercises outside of Livingstone."

The soldiers burst out into laughter, "Your grandma a Bantu boy? You don't look like a coloured to me."

"What? No, of course not, she's a white, she just has lived there for a very long time."

"Ha! Last time I checked, only Bantu's live over there in the scrub. Out of the car, eh?" The soldier's Rhodesian accent really came out with this sentence.

"Damn," Taylor thought to himself once again, opening the door and getting out of the car.

"Give me your ID and proof of insurance."

Johnathan produced the necessary papers and cards for the soldier to peruse. "Search the car."

The other troops complied, opening the back. "Nothin' in here but fruit and a gift basket, sir."

"Check for panels, anythin' hollow soundin'."

The soldiers continued their search and much to Johnathan's dismay, found one of the hidden compartments. One of the soldiers surveyed the drug packs, tossed it to another, then that soldier tossed it to the commanding officer who was questioning Johnathan. He laughed at this, "Got some Colombian bam-bam here, eh? Just heading up to Chipata to visit a sick grandmother, eh? Haha! You think this'll make her feel a bit better? Haha! You're coming with me my friend."

Johnathan had run out of options. He quickly drew his pistol, whipping the officer in the temple and the shooting the soldier on the RPD, incapacitating him. Johnathan jumped back into the driver's seat and gunned it. The soldiers scrambled to help their comrades and get their vehicle moving, but they had fallen considerably far behind. Johnathan's jeep sped through the jungle, leaves whipping at his windshield. All of the sudden, the trees opened up and lights came into view. Before he could react, Johnathan had wrapped the front of his SUV around a very thick power pole.

His head was bleeding and he was extremely dazed. He threw his door open and threw himself out, hitting the ground. He began to crawl and as his senses returned, he got back on his feet and began to run. Spotlights fought to follow him, but soon he was in the thick of the underbrush. He risked a look back. He saw the sign next to the power pole he had hit, "Labor Camp for Political Dissidents." There were barbed wire fences and guard towers, and he even saw one or two of the prisoners coming out to see what all the noise was about. He also saw the guards. Armed and armored soldiers bearing SAS markings and generally hostile expressions. He turned and kept running, but before long he succumbed to exhaustion and stopped to sleep. He covered and hid himself as best he could as he drifted off.

Edited by Rhodesia
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  • 2 weeks later...

OOC: Sorry this took so long for me to post in again, Holidays.

IC:

Labor Camp, Undisclosed Location

Captain Price entered the building he had been ordered to go to. It was a simple building, made out of concrete blocks with a metal roof, a single fan spinning in the middle of the ceiling inside. There were only two lights, making the interior slightly dimmer than outside. The only thing within the room was a table, maps laid out all over its surface.

There were some men in suits, some men in high ranking military uniforms. Then there was a woman, who spoke first, "Captain Price, good to see you sir." She walked around the table and shook his hand. It was the Minister of the State, Annelie van der Berg, which in Rhodesia meant she was in charge of all matters of internal affairs.

Price returned the handshake, "Good to see you Minister. What seems to be the problem? Men in suits and officer's uniforms don't really show up here unless there is a problem."

She looked uncomfortable, "You are...more right than you know, Captain." She turned and walked back to the table with the maps, he followed. "This morning, at roughly 2 a.m., one of our patrols stopped a vehicle heading through the Bush. The patrol that stopped him reported that he was smuggling drugs. The officer was then knocked unconscious, while another soldier was shot, though he did survive. The culprit then went on to crash just outside of the camp. Captain, the government has never gone on record about our little camp here. No one can know, so here is what we are proposing. You find this man, you will be rewarded. You used to be one of the Selous Scouts, did you not? You're our best option here."

Captain Price took this all in, "Will I be working alone, or with a team?"

"Whichever you want."

"I'll go alone."

"As you wish. Here are the details..."

Van der Berg went on to explain all the details. Just after 12 noon, Captain Price set out. He noticed the tree where the wreck had happened and surveyed the ground. There were apparent footprints. Whoever this was, they would be no match for his tracking skills.

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