Adult-FanFiction.org : Cartoons

Iskaria: The Big Green	By : Collip99 Category: +S through Z > Thundercats Views: 3510 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own the ThunderCats or any character or events associated with it. I do not own or make any money from the ThunderCats or from this fiction

Chapter List
- 3
- 4
- 5
The moon rose and all was quiet (apart from the forest dwellers nocturnal cacophony).
His wristwatch beeped at 4am. Elan rose from warm slumbers and looked around. It was pitch black and the night-shift was still in good voice. Elan got out of his bag and rolled it up. He had stayed dressed when he got into bed, a trick he’d learnt. He had stayed comfortable and relatively unbitten. He squeezed out of his polyprop and, with head torch illuminating his way he packed up his essentials. Elan stacked his possessions on an anti-grav sled. Without the sled his mission would be impossible. It was also essential for carrying live cats back through the jungle once restrained. Sled stacked he left the copter and Glaudus and headed into the forest. By the time sunrise came to the deep forest, Elan was standing by, and working his way up, a small but surprisingly lively river. He sat on a mossy log and sipped his canteen of fresh water. He looked at his watch; 8:02am. He wondered how long it would be before Glaudus headed back.
Glaudus was in a mess. He had gone to bed at the same time as Elan, but he had also gone to bed with a hip flask. A whole flask of rum had done the rounds and now he rolled out of his cot bed looking like a mattress. His head pounded and his tongue felt like it was wearing a cardigan. He looked at the clock; 08:16. The sun was well up now and he really wanted to make tracks. He shambled to the cockpit and practically fell over Elan’s roll of skinning knives.
“Oh yes…very organised…oh well…” he grumbled and slumped into the pilot’s seat. Glaudus remembered he needed to do his pre-flight checks. He remembered and then decided not to bother. It was, after all, going to be a smooth, hassle-free flight. He powered up engines one and two. His flight board was green and he increased the throttle. With a grating whine he pulled back the yoke and left the beach behind.
He also left behind a decent sized pool of oil. The damage had happened half a day before, during the turbulence and the storms. The final straw had been the uneven landing. That had ruptured the main oil pump. Something that, had Glaudus bothered to look, could’ve been fixed enough to safely get home. However, the checks hadn’t been done and now engine one was running hot with no oil to lubricate. After five minutes, the rum-befuddled Glaudus saw the red light and heard the annoying buzzer.
Something was wrong.
“Crap…” he tapped the red light a few times (like that ever works!). His altimeter read two thousand metres. He pushed the yoke forward; he needed to lose height and fast. Thick, black, greasy smoke now billowed out of engine one. Glaudus knew he had to try and get back to the beach. Unfortunately, the copter was now imbalanced and despite Glaudus throttling back engine two the copter handled like a bitch and was barely given to keeping any kind of straight line.
The altimeter read seven-fifty. Glaudus’ pilot training (and it was a long time back) kicked in and he started scanning the vista for landing sights. What he saw was trees, trees and more trees! No beaches, no clearings. Nothing. Glaudus knew he was screwed, but his job was to make sure it was only screwed and not fucked (yes, there is a difference!).
Four hundred.
The now desperate pilot committed the last act of a desperate aviator. He turned the fuel off to both engines. Now a crash was inevitable, but, gods willing, a fireball was less likely, although success was by no means guaranteed.
One hundred.
Less than ten seconds and Glaudus now knew he was going to end up if a fucking mess. The trees were tall, ancient and gapless. He checked his harness, drew his legs to his chest and closed his eyes.
Elan got up, stowed his canteen and started pushing the sled again. The terrain was inclined and progress was slow going. By the time lunchtime came around he had finally made some level ground. His brow was beaded with sweat and his clothes were saturated. The temperature was in the thirties and the humidity was in the nineties. Elan quietly cursed the forest. There was no breath of wind and no relief to the heat and stifling, oppressive humidity. Even the local wildlife found it too hot to bother making too much noise. They preferred to watch the human struggle through the day and then keep him awake at night (Nature is truly a wonder like that). Elan chewed on some jerky to keep his strength up and stopped. And stared. In front of him was stonework. Ancient. Crumbling. Definitely work of civilisation though. He left the sled in ‘Park’ and walked up to the mossy, grey stones.
“I'll be damned…a genuine temple…or something like that…” Elan cooed. He walked into a roofless passageway, where it was at least cooler. Inside the ‘temple’ at the end of the passageway was an ornate pond, or pool. The water was clear and remarkably cold, as Elan dangled a finger in it. He looked at his watch. 2:02pm. He rubbed his chin. He estimated he had another three hours of useable light. He could push on, or, given the hard day so far, set up basecamp at the temple. He nodded to himself.
“Basecamp it is…” he walked slowly out of the stonework to begin pitching his tent and arranging his items.
Approximately forty kilometres to the south of the ancient, ruined ‘temple’ was a new, ruined copter. The tail section lay one hundred metres away from the main wreck. Engine one was also far removed from the chassis, lodged as it was, in a mighty tree top. Against the odds, pilot Glaudus had survived. He opened his eyes. His body ached in many different ways. He tasted blood and his left leg felt decidedly ‘not right’. The view was a bit of a head-scratcher too. The stoved in windshield looked very leafy and green. It took Glaudus a good three minutes to realise that the copter had it’s nose in the dirt and he, in his harness, dangled some two metres of the ground. Not a tragic distance to fall in the event of harness failure, but given that there was an instrument console, yoke and smashed windshield between him and the ground, not a pleasant option either.
“Fu-uck…” he groaned. He thought about his harness but instead decided to fathom what bits of his body were OK and which were not. His nose was bloodied, but not broken. He may have lost a tooth or two. His hands were lacerated, but nothing more than scratches. His right leg and foot seemed normal. His left leg.
“Ahhh...left leg may be…What? Fractured? Broken?” he moved his ankle. That seemed OK. He moved his knee. That was not OK. He blacked out.
Glaudus came to after a few, pain absent minutes. He was about to start assessing his leg damage again when he heard something.
A rustle.
But not the rustle of wind in the trees (of which there was none anyway). Not the rustle of a monkey gathering fruit in the canopy. Not even the rustle of bit of chewed up copter making their way back to the soil with the assistance of gravity. No. This was a heavy and relatively concerted rustling of someone approaching without much care of making noise.
“H-Hello?? Who’s there? Can you hear me?? I need help!”
Glaudus listened. Silence. Certainly no reply to his plaintiff cry for assistance. No rustling either. Glaudus’ right hand scrabbled around for his pistol, his emergency pistol. It wasn’t there and that wasn’t surprising either. The emergency pistol was the same two metres ahead of him as the ground was. Glaudus now had a choice. Drop down two inevitably painful metres to the ground, but also to his pistol. Or, stay where he was and hope he wouldn’t need his emergency pistol after all. Considering the tragedy initially occurred at two thousand metres, this last zero-point-one-percent was proving to be a real bitch for Glaudus.
- 3
- 4
- 5
You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.
Report Story

Iskaria: The Big Green