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Thread: Jungle Jitters

  1. #1
    Join Date
    Oct 2001

    Default Jungle Jitters

    (Cambodia, 1973)

    The two helicopters hovered like dragonflies above the clearing. Eight men glided down ropes to the ground and vanished into the jungle. The two aircraft rose up into the moonless night and flew away.

    The men ran like wolves for an hour before lying in the brush for an hour watching the trail and listening to the night.

    S/Sgt. Michael Horton, U.S. Marine Corps, watched the two CIA agents study their map. His four men were deployed around the perimeter. The Englishman, an older SAS sergeant, gripped his carbine and mumbled to himself. Horton was sure that he was praying. Again.

    Horton didn't know why he and his team were in Cambodia with two Agency spooks and a weird Brit and he didn't really care. Another day, another mission. Horton didn't really care about much at all. He used to be fascinated by firefights, but even that had become distant and abstract. Sometimes it seemed like the gunshots had nothing to do with him anymore.

    They took to the trail again, moving quietly, weapons ready. The jungle was thick and dark. Intelligence sources indicated a low level of enemy activity in this area but somehow this failed to reassure the soldiers. They weren't office pogues or errand boys, sent to the PX for cigarettes.

    Cpl. Billy Baron barely felt the weight of his pack as he ghosted down the trail on point. Billy enjoyed his work. Nothing was as exciting or challenging as war. Every sense was alive as he probed the darkness and filtered the night sounds for signs of the enemy. He held a police-style pump shotgun, more effective in a short-range encounter on a jungle trail than an assault rifle.

    Billy paused and signaled a halt. The others went prone as Billy duck-walked to the edge of the clearing ahead. A village, dark and silent, lay before them. About 20 bamboo houses were scattered about. Horton joined Billy, and after a moment Warren Peterson, one of the CIA agents, moved up next to them.

    "Is this place on your map?” whispered Horton to the agent.


    "Pretty fucking quiet. I ain't sure, but it looks deserted to me, Sarge,” offered Billy.

    "What's the name of this burgh?” asked Horton.

    "That's classified, Sergeant."

    "Fuck you."

    "Your opinion is noted. What are we waiting for?"

    They filtered forward and crept through the village. After a few tense minutes they discovered that it was deserted. They found some damaged huts, discarded rifles of World War Two vintage, and what might have been blood stains but no bodies.

    Before dawn they were walking through a valley looking for a trail that would take them up into the mountains. They found it just after sunrise. An hour later they stopped and ate cold C-rations before crawling into the brush and falling asleep.

    L/Cpl. Mark (Marco) Santelli sat under a tree on watch. He wanted a smoke, but none were permitted on a mission. The scent of burning tobacco carried far. He chewed gum instead and watched the lush green mountains around him.

    Sgt. Carlos Martinez dreamed foul dreams. He saw an old stone church filled with kneeling worshippers. The priest, faceless and unidentifiable, droned on without actually saying anything. Carlos noticed a green mold quickly spreading across the walls of the church. The mold spread to the congregation. He saw boils and hideous lesions forming on the image of Christ on the crucifix. He saw green spots spreading on his own hands. Darkness caught him and he passed into deeper, dreamless sleep.

    The team woke at about noon, ate again, and started walking. They had seen no sign of human habitation since the deserted village. The highlands possessed a deep, unbroken quiet.

    Near sunset, as they approached the pass, they smelled a cook fire. The team froze while Billy slipped out of his pack and crawled forward. An hour later he returned.

    "Tribal marcs with mostly Chinese weapons.” he said softly, "There're six of them, bunkered in behind a rock and log palisade 'bout four feet tall. Didn't see no radio"

    "Cover?” asked Horton.

    "They've got it cleared back about a hundred meters except the hill behind them. A quiet fella could get to within twenty feet of 'em without being seen."

    Horton looked at Peterson.

    "Well, Spook,” he began “What are the mission parameters at this point? We don't know where we're going or what you're up to. We're just here to protect you. What I need to know just now, Spook, is how noisy I can be protecting you from those gooks up in the pass. You could hear a shot a long way up here."

    Horton knew that Peterson didn't like him but, predictably, didn't care. He enjoyed fucking with Agency spooks. It put a little sparkle into an otherwise dreary day.

    "We'll neutralize them after sunset, discreetly. Keep an eye on them,” Peterson said, a bit too evenly, before moving over to confer with his partner.

    "Yo, Sarge, will you teach me how to neutralize people, pretty please?"

    "Fuck you, Oliver.” Horton muttered absently, "Sgt. Martinez, take Marco and watch our little gook buddies up there. I hope they enjoy their goddamn chow, man."

    L/Cpl. Oliver Jefferson chewed his canned ham and eggs without admitting to himself how bad it tasted. Instead he watched the quiet CIA spook, Lester McCormack. Oliver knew that Lester hated blacks. The agent was quiet but his contempt was plain. In the nebulous Southeast Asian military intelligence community it was rumoured that Lester had killed two blacks, Army Rangers, on an op in Laos. Idly, Oliver speculated on ways that Lester might be promoted to the rolls of honored dead. It might be feasible, and if it went down clean enough Horton would probably back him up.

    Peterson and Lester talked quietly while eating. Billy and Oliver slept. Horton watched the Brit, looking for clues on the mission. His name was Robert Harris. While he was obviously fit and keeping the pace with no problem, he had the expression of a man with his nuts in the grinder. He prayed frequently. At least Horton knew that a sergeant in the Special Air Service was nobody's sweetheart and wouldn't need anyone holding his hand in a firefight.

    An hour after dark the eight men slipped like shadows through the darkness. Near the pass they left the trail and began to climb the slope. It took over three hours to get into position and only a few heartbeats to kill the guards with silenced handguns. The bodies were carried to the edge of the cliff and thrown off, the weapons hidden.

    The trail descended into a valley. By dawn they had left the trail and were travelling down a dry riverbed. Shortly after ten they came upon a spring-fed pool next to a ruined temple. They needed a rest and a chance to clean up. Horton took the first watch while the others ate, relaxed, oiled their weapons, and washed up. Marco explored the temple.

    Sgt. Martinez loafed around the camp watching the shadows lengthen as the afternoon waned. He was on guard, but the quiet of the mountains left him melancholy. Thoughts of home and family drifted through his mind. He wandered into the temple to look at the carvings Marco had discovered. He found the depiction of fish and octopi disturbing. Shivering in the afternoon chill, he sought the sun outside.

    He was standing by the pool tossing stones into the dark water when he glimpsed movement in the depths and knelt to look closer.

    -Make America Nazi Free!

    -Agent of Satan, but my duties are largely ceremonial.

    -"Personally, I play a warlock to set people on fire as they run in fear while I steal their souls. As an added perk, I play an undead warlock so I can eat their brains afterwards. I suppose a better question is, why do people play anything else?" (Unknown WoW forum poster)

  2. #2
    Join Date
    Oct 2001

    Default Re: Jungle Jitters

    Horton came awake to the sound of a scream. He looked wildly around, struggling to orient himself. From the pool he heard thrashing and grunting. The team was awake, clutching weapons and seeking an enemy. Horton and Peterson raced to the pool and stopped.

    Blood glistened from the stones at the waters edge and dripped softly from the leaves of the trees overhead. The water churned and frothed, shot through with streaks of red and brief glimpses of a camouflage clad body held by something dark. After only seconds the water settled, red tinted, opaque with silt, and littered with small pieces of green plastic and bits of cloth.

    "Motherfucker!” someone behind Horton screamed.

    From the corner of his eye he saw two grenades fly into the pool. He turned and dove into Peterson, taking them both to the ground. Water and mud erupted into the air and showered them all. There was a moment of silence.

    Everyone began yelling at once.

    "Shut the fuck up! Shut the fuck up!” screamed Horton as he grabbed Peterson by the jacket, "What the fuck was that? What just ate Carlos? What was in the pool? I'm gonna blow your balls off!"

    Lester started to move and Oliver hit him from behind with his rifle butt. Lester found himself laying on the ground with the muzzle of an assault rifle in his mouth. Horton had his pistol under Peterson's chin.

    "How the hell would I know? Do I live here? Do I shop for fucking groceries here? Am I a fucking fish scientist or something?" Peterson yelled back, "It was probably a goddamn alligator!"

    "Ain't no 'gators in the Cambodian highlands, asshole", muttered Billy as he watched the pool.

    "I think it's time you told us what the hell we're doing up here, Agent Peterson", Horton said calmly, "or I will order Oliver to start cutting your sidekick into bite-size chunks for whatever is in the pool."

    "You're bluffing."

    Lester screamed as Oliver thrust a knife into his shoulder.

    "Shit, that ain't a half inch deep, man. I thought you CIA dudes were tough."

    "I'll ask you one more time, Agent Peterson. What is going on up here?"

    Peterson glared at Horton for a long moment.

    "I don't know."

    "Can I kill ol' Lester now, Sarge?"

    "Wait one, Oliver."

    "Roger that. Don't keep me waiting too long."

    "Say again, Agent Peterson?"

    "I don't know what's up here. My orders are to investigate this area with the assistance of Sgt. Harris from the British SAS. He's some sort of 'special expert'. The Company is waiting for his report, not mine."

    "You're shitting me."

    "I shit you not, Sergeant. I snooped around and found out that a jet went down near here. The pilot bailed out O.K. but he got lost. He was found by some friendlies eventually, but he was crazy. Whatever he told the shrinks alarmed someone, though. I don't figure the Limey."

    Everyone looked at Harris, even the bleeding Lester. The Englishman stood there, clutching his weapon. Somewhere nearby a bird called. The late afternoon sun cast long shadows across the clearing.

    Billy smiled and said, "What's happening, man?"

    "Yes. Well. It's a bit difficult to explain", began Harris.

    "Take your time, man. We got some."

    "My family is an old bloodline. We've traveled extensively, both in service to the crown and on private affairs. Your government requested aid in identifying certain things the downed pilot reported, a bit of help sorting things out."

    "I don't follow you", said Horton.

    Harris turned and walked toward the temple, speaking as he went.

    "This temple is a type familiar to my ancestors, with an interesting history. It's convenient, too."


    Harris disappeared into the ruins. The others stood there, waiting.

    "What the fuck, over?" said Billy.

    "I don't know", Horton muttered, “Oliver, let him up."


    "Hey, Sgt. Harris", Billy yelled.

    From within the temple came a hollow, booming sound. It was followed by an undulating cry. Everyone stared, bewildered.

    Billy heard a splash and looked around quickly.

    "Sarge!" he screamed as he pointed.

    The pool was beginning to churn and froth.

    The six men burst into action, grabbing weapons and packs. Horton took a grenade and primed it.

    "Into the ruins! Move! Billy, look for booby traps!" he yelled before lofting the grenade into the water.

    They ran through the doorway as the grenade exploded. Horton, last through the door, turned and looked behind. The water was churning violently now, and the pool was overflowing its banks and flooding the area. He turned and ran into the temple.

    They stood in the main room, now roofless from the passage of time. A round stone altar dominated the centre of the room. It was carved with an endless school of squids or octopi swimming around and around. The walls were graven with disturbing humanoid-reptilian figures. There were two other doors, one opened to the rear of the building, the other into a dark, moist chamber. There was no evidence of Sgt. Harris.

    "Billy, Lester, check out back for tracks", said Horton.

    Lester looked to Peterson, who nodded. The two men left.

    "What the fuck was he talking about? What's with his family? I don't get it," Horton said to Peterson.

    "I have no idea. I don't know what the fuck I'm doing here. I don’t know what the fuck is going on!"

    Deep in Horton's mind something stirred. A thrill of anxiety ran through him. He was scared, but he was interested. This mission was so far out of normal parameters that he was excited and intrigued. He wanted to find the Brit and wrench a few answers from him.

    Two shots were heard from outside. By the noise, it was Billy's shotgun. Horton and the others ran out the back door, weapons primed. Billy and Lester stood over a bloodied body near a tree. The body was naked except for a rope belt supporting a knife.

    "Caught this guy hiding behind the tree", Billy said as he fed two shells into his weapon, "He was gonna shoot Lester, but I zapped him anyway."

    Lester, who had been examining the body, looked up angrily.

    "Knock it off, Billy", snapped Horton, "What's he got, Lester?"

    Lester glared at the Marines for several seconds before answering.

    "He's got an M-1 carbine in poor condition with about twelve rounds in the magazine, a rusty knife made from a file, and this", he handed Peterson a green jade pendant, "But this boy is ugly and funny looking, that's for sure."

    Marco knelt by the body and turned the head face up.

    "Sarge, this ain't no Cambodian. Shit, he's got filed teeth."

    The dead man was obviously not oriental. The skin was pale and greenish-white, the face broad and flat, wide mouthed and lipless. His teeth were small and sharply pointed.

    The men gazed down at this for a long moment. Then a pair of birds erupted from a tree with loud cries. The six men looked at each other before turning abruptly and running for the temple. Lester fired a long burst toward the tree the birds had fled, emptying the magazine of his rifle. Billy spun and threw a grenade behind them into the bushes. A few shots hit the temple as they ran through the door. The grenade exploded and there was a scream.

    Oliver ran to the other door and peered out. Furtive naked figures carrying a variety of rifles were creeping toward the temple. His quick shot sent one tumbling as the others dove for cover. Horton ran up to him and handed him his pack. In seconds they were ready to go. Horton looked around at the roofless ruin.

    "We all throw grenades over the wall. They blow, we go. Out the door, break left, run for the ridge about 300 meters away. Oliver, you and I also throw smoke. Billy, point. I'll be tail end Charlie. Move!"

    Six grenades sailed over the wall. As they exploded amidst screams, two smoke grenades followed. Billy stepped out and ran, firing his shotgun blindly in the smoke. The others were right behind him. As Horton cleared the doorway and started running he was absorbing and processing sensory data at an incredible rate. He was aware of a foul, fetid odour. He saw Oliver knock a pale attacker down with a thrust of his arm before blowing him open him open with a burst at point blank range. He heard yells as someone rushed through the back door of the temple they had just vacated. He saw Agent Peterson's head explode as a shot caught him in the jaw, his body falling to trip Marco and send him sprawling. He saw a rock near his foot vanish when a bullet hit it. He saw three naked men run up and begin to point their rifles at him.

    Horton fired three times in less than two seconds, knocking down the three enemies. Marco rolled to his feet and was hit in the left arm. He got up and ran, the arm limp and covered in blood. Horton jumped over Peterson's body and followed.

    The five men broke out of the smoke and stopped. Lester screamed and dropped to his knees, a spear sticking through his stomach. There was a crowd of naked men throwing spears at them, though with little accuracy. Oliver and Horton dropped them all with sweeping bursts. A foul, moist wind enveloped them and they heard a long dragging sound from behind them. They spun about.

    "Sweet Jesus protect me!", screamed Billy.

    -Make America Nazi Free!

    -Agent of Satan, but my duties are largely ceremonial.

    -"Personally, I play a warlock to set people on fire as they run in fear while I steal their souls. As an added perk, I play an undead warlock so I can eat their brains afterwards. I suppose a better question is, why do people play anything else?" (Unknown WoW forum poster)

  3. #3
    Join Date
    Oct 2001

    Default Re: Jungle Jitters

    Coming at them from the smoke was a thing, a hideous corruption of nature. Horton absorbed its appearance in a single glance that burned it into his mind. In a detached way he decided that he was not shaken by the creature's appearance that much. It was a giant worm, perhaps three feet thick and forty feet long. It was pale yellow and covered with scabs and sores. Its head was all circular mouth, a pulsing valve filled with hooked teeth, surrounded by a mane of waving cilia. There were no eyes. The detail that caused bile to rise into the back of his throat was the woven rope collar that the worm wore, hung with stones and skulls. It had been domesticated.

    The worm moved quickly toward the stunned men. Horton realized that they were just standing there watching.

    "Move!" he screamed as he fired the remaining rounds in his weapon to no apparent effect.

    They ran, leaving Lester bleeding on the ground before the worm. He watched it silently slide towards him, lowering its mouth to the ground as it came. The worm paused as it reached him and the waving cilia gently caressed his face as he began to shriek. It's mouth slid over Lester's head and compressed. The shrieking stopped.

    Horton, Oliver, Billy, and Marco ran through the jungle. Marco was badly hurt and continued to lose blood, but he had a pistol ready in his good hand. They were off any trail, cutting through any brush that was sparse enough to let them pass, and heard undulating cries all around them.

    A dark shape fell out of tree on Marco. He screamed as he was enveloped by a huge slug that was eagerly trying to get to the blood pumping from his arm. It fastened its mouth to his wound as he fired his pistol repeatedly into it. Another slug fell next to Billy, missing him narrowly. He blew it apart with two blasts from his shotgun. Oliver turned around in time to see two spearmen running up. He caught one with a burst but the other dove behind a rock. He felt something hit his leg and he fell. His leg was bleeding from a bullet in the thigh. He saw Horton shoot the man that had shot him. Billy ran back to Marco, but found only a broad, slimy trail leading into the brush. The remaining spearman jumped up and rushed Billy.

    Billy knocked the spear aside and kicked his assailant in the crotch. The man dropped and curled up, crying. Billy glanced back to see Horton examining Oliver's wound. The man Billy had kicked uncoiled and grabbed at the spear laying near by. Billy kicked him in the head and drew his pistol.

    "I like you," he whispered, “I like you a lot."

    The man lay on the ground and stared at him, expressionless.

    "I'm gonna invite you over to my trailer," Billy continued, “and let you fuck my mama."

    He shot the man in both knees and elbows, then turned and joined Horton and Oliver. Oliver was sweating heavily and obviously in a lot of pain. He gripped Billy's hand tightly.

    "Get some!"

    "Get some, bro'," Billy replied.

    Horton had bound up Oliver's leg with a field dressing.

    "Billy, get his pack off him..."

    A loud drumbeat cut him off. The Marines looked to see that they had been quietly surrounded. Sgt. Harris, attended by several capering naked armed men and two of the hideous giant worms, had arrived. Harris held a carved jade staff. Horton found that he couldn't focus his eyes on the staff, his gaze kept averting from it. The drummer beat a furious tattoo and then fell silent.

    "I think the time has come, gentlemen. The game's run its course. It has been fun, but it's time to stop playing now."

    Harris raised the jade staff and intoned words unlike anything Horton had ever heard. He began to get dizzy and his rifle slipped from his hand to dangle by its shoulder strap. Though his vision was blurring he saw pale figures approaching. He heard someone shout but didn't really care.

    Billy yelled and lunged forward. He kicked one assailant out of his way and shot three more before throwing aside his empty pistol. More of the pale men rushed him. Harris, still chanting, stepped back a pace. A bullet hit Billy in the chest, another cut a furrow across his arm. He staggered as he brought up his shotgun. Another bullet hit him in the stomach and blood began to run from him mouth. He shot a spearman that was upon him, blowing the man backwards into his fellows.

    "Harris!" Billy screamed, “Harris! I've got something for you!"

    Harris took another step back as Billy pulled the trigger. The blast hit Harris in the shoulder, tearing off his right arm and spinning him around.

    Billy tried to chamber another round but dropped the shotgun. Another bullet hit him and he dropped to his knees. He looked up at the man standing before him, holding an assault rifle.

    "Fuck you. I can hack it," he mumbled.

    The man shot him once through the forehead.

    Horton felt as if he was slowly coming awake. He heard Oliver moan. He saw four pale men kneeling over Billy's body, eating. The two worms were motionless. Flies settled on Harris's body. Horton looked down at his weapon. He considered it. It was an M-16A1 assault rifle. It fired a 5.56mm round and had a maximum effective range of 465 meters. He lifted it, set the selector to single shot. The four men crouched over Billy's body looked up, mouths bloody. Horton shot each one through the heart.

    Harris rolled over and sat up, looking at his arm laying near by. With his left hand he took up the staff. Horton stared.

    "To be qualified for my position, you have to die in your mother's womb", Harris said quietly.

    Horton shot him twice through the chest. Harris fell back and then sat up again. He began to chant. Horton ran. Oliver watched Horton run and realized that he'd have done the same. He rolled over and began to crawl deeper into the brush, dragging his wounded leg. He had gone about four meters when he felt something cool touch his head. There was a sharp pain at the base of his skull, and then he felt no pain at all. He closed his eyes and slept.

    Horton slipped out of his pack as he ran, letting it fall to the ground. He clutched his weapon and inserted a fresh magazine. Branches cut him as he ran, and roots tugged at his feet, trying to bring him down. The bushes parted and he erupted into a clearing. He looked around and realized that he'd run back to the temple ruins.

    He heard another drum behind him, as well as cries of outrage and Harris's sharp commands. As he crossed the clearing warily, he heard someone moving inside the temple. He froze and held his weapon ready. The torn and bloody body of Sgt. Martinez slowly walked out through the doorway. It was chewed and missing pieces, but still recognizable. It walked stiffly but with a rolling gait caused by the loss of half its left foot. Horton pulled the trigger spraying the body and surrounding area wildly. The body twitched when a bullet hit it but did not stop approaching.

    Something his Horton from behind and he fell down. As his vision blackened and he lost consciousness he saw Harris standing over him. Harris's right arm was whole and complete now, Horton noticed. Harris spoke as if from a great distance, his voice hollow and echoing.

    "You'll work for me from now on, lad."

    From: Capt. Jerome Hastings, MD, USN
    Naval Hospital
    Manila, Philippines

    To: Col. Roger Lemore, USMC
    Saigon, South Vietnam

    In answer to your inquiries, I believe that S/Sgt. Horton, M. and L/Cpl. Jefferson, O. will be able to return to full active duty with your command within six to eight weeks. The nightmares have stopped and we have discontinued the course of tranquilizers. Despite their ordeal they are recovering at an amazing rate and fully responding to physical therapy.

    -Make America Nazi Free!

    -Agent of Satan, but my duties are largely ceremonial.

    -"Personally, I play a warlock to set people on fire as they run in fear while I steal their souls. As an added perk, I play an undead warlock so I can eat their brains afterwards. I suppose a better question is, why do people play anything else?" (Unknown WoW forum poster)

  4. #4
    Join Date
    Sep 2003

    Default Re: Jungle Jitters

    Not bad, actually. The writing is a little raw, but that's the easiest thing to fix. More importantly, I think you have a pretty good working instinct of what makes a story and scene work, and that's the hard part to teach.

    I could go through it and give you a line by line edit, but the piece isn't exactly filled with mistakes. Like I said, it's just a little raw. This is a function of your taste, of where you're at right now as a writer. With more reading and more writing, your sense of "taste," of what feels right, will improve. If you keep it up, it won't be long before you'll look back at something like this and think "this is horrible!", but that's a good thing. It just means your taste is getting better.

    Check this out, as it might give you some things to think on. Pay particular attention to the part about small-scale scene structure.

  5. #5
    Join Date
    Oct 2001

    Default Re: Jungle Jitters

    Thanks for the link, I will read that when I get home tonight.

    I'm not sure what you mean by the term "raw", can you explain that?
    -Make America Nazi Free!

    -Agent of Satan, but my duties are largely ceremonial.

    -"Personally, I play a warlock to set people on fire as they run in fear while I steal their souls. As an added perk, I play an undead warlock so I can eat their brains afterwards. I suppose a better question is, why do people play anything else?" (Unknown WoW forum poster)

  6. #6
    Join Date
    Sep 2003

    Default Re: Jungle Jitters

    By raw, I mean the amalgamation of your sentence rhythms, paragraph structure, pacing, everything else that just doesn't quite seem "there" yet. It's hard to describe, and hard to correct, because it's not just a matter of saying "give me a little more description here" or "this inner monologue is drifting into info-dumping." Fortunately it corrects itself over time, as a function of you reading and writing more. Reading much and widely will give you an instinctual idea of what a book is supposed to sound like, the "taste" that I mentioned in my last post. Writing more will of course give you more and more practice in executing that "sound" on the page.

    Here's a quote from Ira Glass that might clarify it a little:

    “Nobody tells this to people who are beginners, I wish someone told me. All of us who do creative work, we get into it because we have good taste. But there is this gap. For the first couple years you make stuff, it’s just not that good. It’s trying to be good, it has potential, but it’s not. But your taste, the thing that got you into the game, is still killer. And your taste is why your work disappoints you. A lot of people never get past this phase, they quit. Most people I know who do interesting, creative work went through years of this. We know our work doesn’t have this special thing that we want it to have. We all go through this. And if you are just starting out or you are still in this phase, you gotta know its normal and the most important thing you can do is do a lot of work. Put yourself on a deadline so that every week you will finish one story. It is only by going through a volume of work that you will close that gap, and your work will be as good as your ambitions. And I took longer to figure out how to do this than anyone I’ve ever met. It’s gonna take awhile. It’s normal to take awhile. You’ve just gotta fight your way through.”

  7. #7

    Default Re: Jungle Jitters

    This information provided by you is very constructive for correct planning. I like your work for providing information to the other.

    Last edited by AxtonBelden22; 08-25-2014 at 02:52 AM.

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