Savage Indiana Jones

R and R

2nd of July, 1939

Two years of almost uninterrupted boredom, mostly desk duty with the occasional diplomatic or escort flight thrown in. I think I would have gone completely stir crazy, if not for one special mission. Of course all aspects are classified so can’t speak of it or even write about the details.

Father is still insisting that I retire my commission and come home to run our family affairs. No doubt either he or mother made some call that have exiled me to my current duty. I’ve made several appearances to appease him, and remind my younger brothers who the next in line is. Mother is still worried that I will come home in “One of those shiny ‘boxes’,” her euphemism for a military coffin.

I’ve kept discreet tabs on the rest of the team, can’t have the Germans trying to take retribution. I don’t think we were identified at the base, or that a signal was sent out for that matter, but no sense in taking chances. It seems that they are each doing well. The reports from our operatives are fairly bland. Suffice it to say they are all going about their daily routines and lives. I have a suspicion that they are only letting our operatives see what they want them to see.

Still no news on the strange German soldiers the team and I encountered off the coast of Australia. And still no sign of Mitchell-Hedges, as far as British Intelligence can tell. I was tempted to contact Hezekiah, but didn’t want to make him nervous. One would think that even if Mitchell-Hedges were dead, news of his demise would have made the news, considering he is fairly well known in the academic communities. Call coming through, hopefully this will be better news…

Rafe Armytage

A Hell Beneath High Water

The clam chowder had been a bad idea.

Fourteen hours of flying afterward didn’t help matters.

I can barely remember what had happened, Rafe’s organization was concerned with the Germans. And there was an ex-soldier turned priest who had some plans or something, but they shot him down, and we picked him up.

They asked me if I could watch the boat. I guess I must have at leasted seemed lucid enough. Actually now that I think about it I must have had some conscious of mind, because now I recall really tossing some Nazis around.

I was there watching the boat when gunfire started breaking out, down the coast near a building. Hopefully my friends had cover. I would have to go help them either way. Naturally they can’t be trusted to manage themselves. The soldiers didn’t see me coming. With a single kick I had knocked out a machine gunner, and then began a grid through the ranks. I did sustain a minor wound through my left shoulder, but otherwise I was a war machine.

I mean even while I as stuck at the machine gun these bastards still couldn’t hit me. My adrenaline was pumping and my heart was pumping back at its normal speed.

There was one more communications building and a guard tower. I managed to take out the tower with a tank, can’t remember which lever was fire though. Rafe hung up the one officer in the communications building. Then we hijacked the submarine at the base and headed down.

We had two sets of plans that weren’t matching, and the comm building uses and odd signal for the construction crews. The Obvious Conclusion? Two bases and a magic portal between them. Duh!

I was bothered as we drove through. It was claustrophobia though. It was the machines and cranes moving metal back and forth between a base and a portal. The Nazis on the radio warned us not to head through the portal as we bluffed our way onto the forward base. They were concerned of the beast beyond the shimming window to another world.

They called it Leviathan.

I’m guessing they ain’t talking about the Hobbesian right to rule. No, they live with that leviathan every day.

Guess we’re talking about Job’s. You know the one, shell like shields layered upon eachother, impenetrable to arrow spear or sword, viscous claws to tear asunder, lighting shooting from it’s mouth, the works. What the hell are these idiots getting into? Generally speaking when there’s a beast around that can chew you to shreds you avoid it right? Or is this desire to not be eviscerated something only I have.

If you had seen the crafts this thing had got itself onto. I mean, construction cranes freak me out(a different story for a different time). These teeth marks are a close second though.

While undercover I check into the main control room. There were some faceless iron-cross wearing fella who I really hope to avoid. Something wrong with their complexion. Then I got to pretend I was German and got to see the enormous super weapon they were building, but that will have to wait until later.

Hell in its Eye
Last of SanFran

With my blade I smashed another one of the demon foo dogs. After taking out most of the cultists things got even weirder and now I had to get my hands dirty, all up close and personal. Rafe had stayed up top with his rifle taking pot-shots. Chuck was dealing with his father; Indy hadn’t swung in to help yet.

“I thought you said you had that one!” I shouted at him as one of the statue beasts lunged towards me.

“I said angry, not down.” Rafe replied. I spun and brought my blade down smashing it’s head.

“You made it angry, I made it dead!” I flashed the Brit a thumbs up. He didn’t seem amused. Whatever. Can’t always make others appreciate how competent I am.

A mist grew around the slayed beast, rising from the remains. Like the ghost of a topple Ming vase. “It seems you and I have different definitions of the word dead.” Bastard. Now was not a time for his ego. It seemed this vase was pissed and was going to be back with a vengeance. I couldn’t pursue the ghost immediately, I had his little foo buddy to deal with.

Not that is was difficult though. Damn statues are hollow, cheap; must have been made in China.

Very soon there were other enemies to be dealt with. The dead were rising from their slumber, something I’m not wholly accustomed to, but with those damned Aztecs and their magic, and the tattoo that still seems to move. Well let’st just say that once you’ve seen the world doesn’t work how you think, an open mind has you.

I was about to take of a zombies head but.


Sigh. I turn towards the ledge and shrug. “You really don’t want me to get ahead of you.” How petty could he get taking what was obviously my target.

After the fighting it seemed Chuck’s dad was dead. I really don’t want to think about that, being possessed and then having your humanity slowly drained away, withering into a shadow of who you are with no power even over your own body. I really, really need to stop thinking about this. Instead I should worry about what I should have for breakfast tomorrow. I heard this city has great clam chowder.

Chuck Lament
My feelings fight each other like two samurai in a doomed contest of equally matched skills— both will die, yet they cannot put aside the duel. On the one side, I am tormented by my sadness for my father, who died well in the end, trying to withstand a demon’s will; on the other hand, I feel that perhaps he, or I, have dishonoured our family by these actions.

Because I dealt the blow that ended his possession, and his true life, at his own request. Had I not entered into this life of activism, and adventure, perhaps he would not have been drawn into the web of lies and dark magic that caused his loss from the world. My mother’s life will is a hollow shell, our name is cast with dark spatters— it is my fault? Is it his?

And how can I avenge him? These thoughts war within me, disturbing my rest each night, and running through my waking mind at all times. I feel as if I must burst out, destroy something, and the next moment, I have a tender care for the world that still is, and weep that my father cannot see it now, and more, because I let the past keep us apart for too long. And now, it is too late. 
A Real Mess of a Fight

My feet grinded to a halt. It wasn’t that I was afraid of the flames, I was just a bit concerned for my hair. Despite being sopping wet, who know’s what could happen. The shaking of the sharks below wasn’t helping much. Then I saw Chuck soaring on a rope across the water, followed by some newcomers that I assumed were on our side. So I dashed through the flames, praying that the wood doesn’t collapse beneath me sending me into the maws of the carnivores below. As I dashed through chuck shouted out me, “The slow fish is the cooked fish.”

I kept running past a group that had been beaten down. I fire again with my derringer into to fray still aways. This time I wasn’t so luck, and somehow the bullet ended up in a barrel besides me. Chuck was busy kung-fu-fighting, Armitage was nowhere to be seen, and our mercenary friend was pulling some room hopping run and gun manuevers.

I cart-wheeled sideways picking up a colt left beneath me. Taking careful aim I fired at the the martial artist fighting attacking Chuck. I really didn’t mean to hit him between the legs. No, really. I don’t have the finesse for such an attack.

I’ve got a bulletin (for) you.
Better keep an eye out for those young guns.
“Better keep an eye on those bullets.”

Not the cleverest, but one takes what they can get.

Chuck took out a few more mooks, and I fired off a few more shots. Reloading the Colt quickly would be out of the question, so once this barrier of foes, I double-checked how many bullets we I had before moving forward to support Chuck. it isn’t easy checking the Chambers when you don’t have the proper gunhand. If I was going to get one of these, I would have to have it made special (not that price would be an issue).

Moving forward I had a perfect shot through two doorways. Chuck was being double-teamed by two more of the skilled amrtial artists, but he managed to bob and weve between them. Even when they pulled out the flash paper he managed to outmanuever and counter them with a chain in one hand and a sword in the other.

The Sword of the General Cheng was not a very impressive sight. It was large; I could probably hardly carry it on my shoulder, but it was not the gem-encrusted beauty my mind imagined. Chuck managed to claim the sword, but continued to gith agin with his improvised weapons.

I kept to the corned taking shots in, and so slowly it seemed we mopped up the area. All except for one gangmember peeping out from around a crate. Before he could ambush anyone though, I leaped around the room and disabled him with a gentle shot to the shoulder.

Looking around I realized that collection work is, and will always be, a mess.

Down the Hill and Across the Lake

The Chikong mooks were definiely well trained. I was have a hard time landing a hit on the single one I was fighting. Not even when he slipped. I offered him help to stand as a feint, but my follow help totally floated past him. I guess I should try punchng less and kicking more seeing as can only throw out so many unches with one hand.

Chuck was bashing mooks left and right with bottles until he was armed with two very threatening looking glass knives


I felt moisture on my face. Damnit, Armitage had gotten blood on my dress again. Shouldn’t he show a little more restrained with that trigger of his. I could of totally handled this guy on my own. He really should let a girl have more fun before he goes fireing off his bullets.

I ripped open my violin case and pulled out a pocket pistol. He just had to go and escalate the thing. And really it wasn’t fair, I would only have four shots: two in the derringer I was drawing out and two in the one strapped to my leg beneath my dress.

I fired twice and nailed one guy in the shoulder… Perhaps I should start carrying a couple more of these things. I mean it is a pretty big case and with spare bullets it’s not much room. I’ll just have to patiently reload them all, and maintain them.

I leaped onto and over a table in an attempt to kick down another one of the scrubby red caps. I would have hi him for sure if my mind wasn’t focused on more important matters. But if I switched to a larger pistol I would have to dealing with the recoil. Sigh. Dad, if only you hadn’t taken me to see that project of yours, this wouldn’t be an issue.

Then, the schmuck threw a glass of alcohol in my face. Damn, my dry cleaning bill is just going up an up. Maybe, Chuck can get me a discount.


And those that were left were running. We gave chase immediately. Well, the others did… I umm… well I tripped and umm, well fell down a couple of flights of stairs. Not my proudest moment, but well… I was being shot at, cough coughyeah I was definitely being shot at at the time. Because I just couldn’t fall down the stairs, I’m far better than that.

And a word of advice to all the kiddies out there. If a elegant (if a bit frantic) dame happens to falls down a flight of stairs, don’t spit gum in her hair, otherwise she will knock over your ice-cream cone and steal your bike.


Thanks to the hilly nature of the city and the traffic I managed to catch up my friends in a stylish open-roofed car (check with Armitage, car’s aint my thing). I leaped into the bck seat letting the tiny bicycle tumble down the rest of the hill. Before I could jump onto the fish truck (hi-jacked by the Chikong of course) we hit the waterfront.

After dealing with one speedboat, I leaped into the next nd gave the drive a good elbow to the nose. Chuck followed as did our resident Mercenary. We easily dealt with the three Chikong. We then spoted the warehouse/dock/Obvious Chikong Base™. I jumped into the water to try to swim stealthily. That was kina broken by one of the boats being since in as a missile. I hope that wasn’t the boat I left my case on. That sword is an antique.

I climbed across the wall and found the entrance. Running in I saw that it was now bathed in fire. I assumed it was out boat attack. I could see one guard, perhaps sixy or so yards away. I reactivel crouched so I could rip my second derringer from it’s place on my hip without messing with my dress too much (even more of a pain now that it was wet).

The thing about my pocket pistols is that they are not really designed to fire that far. The range was definitely pushing it. These tiny thing are designed for poker table range. The bullets fly so enough that given ten or so feet you could actually see the bullet as it flashes through the air like a fly.

I watched my tiny circket of steel soar beyond my sight, where it grew to small to see. The guard was just turning towards me when his head jerke back and he fell.

I stared at my tiny baby of a firearm.

How Many Noodles in Each Bowl
How Many Noodles in Each Bowl

The Stare Down wasn’t quite the dirtiest in eatery I have ever had the honor to sit down in, but it would probably sit in a cozy spot in the top ten. It had a population of miserable drags who had been out too late the night before nd were just recovering. The scum who had survived the night in Chinatown and were just trying to sort out their existence. Their storys the stuff of angsty third rate philosphers who spend their days chain smoking in french coffee house. Our group were look into the existence of a Chinese death cult established in the literal underground of the city. Above ground their territory only extend over two or so blocks. This rat infested establishment being right in the middle. Maybe I was grasping at straws, but perhaps the “Stare” was the way “Down” into the darkness below.
The door opens and three men entered; faces twisted into angry grimances sat below red caps. Red caps: these were the Chikong Tong, and they looked like they wanted a fight. I was starting to get tired of dawdling about with no direction. No mind maps, no trying to figure out who sent a hit on who, no italian mobster assassins, no missing ancient Chinese swords, just the chance to bring my knee it someone’s face and get some good clean information.

I glanced to Armitage after finishing the chapter. “Don’t you just hate it when a story begins near the end and then just cuts to the beginning? Then you have to read the whole way back to the start.”
He shrugged. “Don’t really have much the time for reading. Too many of them Mayans we got to deal with.”
“And dinosaurs. I mean, what’s next? Oriental black magic?” Okay, that’s not really what I said.
“Sir Arthur and his knights?”
“We’ll be landing soon.” Armitage held up his watch.
Damn. I folded my book and shoved into my violin case next my two derringers. The great detecive John Kalkoon would have to wait.

Chuck invited us into his family’s noodle shop for lunch. It was quaint. The noodles were good, but the neighborhood was obviously not the best. Chuck’s cousin was stuck in a protection racket, and we had the disfortune of being there come collection time. We managed to somehow not get into a fight right then. Though I may have been recognize. I suppose that’s not too surprising considering the number of one-armed, women crimefighters running around.
After we left the noodle shop we split up. I went to do groundwork, Armitage decided to tale some military types, and Chuck went to sort out family matters of his own.
For the low-low price of $35 I managed to get some information, that may or may not be important. Apparently there was going to be a fight tomorrow, some control would be shifted and one gang would emerge victorious. The Chikong tong apparently had good odds.
It’s surprising what you can learn in Russian trinket shops.
After dodging some stalkers I walked out of China Town I heard a gunshop and dashed to see what it was. After turning a corner I see Armitage holding a corpse in the middle of the street. I tried to stay inconspiculous while I scanned for the shooter. The gun had been hidden in a baguette, which might have fooled a common person, but not someone with not my
Of course I did the obvious thing: chase him into an alley and knock some respect into him. A hired gun, Mafia, ex-military, anonymousy hired. I let him go, but he’s going to hve a hard time getting a date for a week or two. Someone is pissed off at the longshoreman union. How does this tie in with Chinatown; does it at all?
After meeting up with Armitage, he let me know he was heading to meet with his posh British allies. We would meet up again at the museum( we still had to get our acquisitons appraised and labeled). Chuck let us know his father was out of jail but now missing, and may or may not be a member of an underground death cult that is responsible for people being turning up dead with a complexion somewhat redder than it should be.
This is where we found that the ancient sword of General Cheng was stolen. A descendant of the general would be unbeatable if they held the sword. After interrogating the guard we learned we were dealing with the Chikongs.

We return to China Town and we learn what we can from Chuc’s family about his father. We then head to a flowershop where we manage to map out the territory of the Darkness Below. The poor flower salesman was stuck with a fountain he would never be able to sell. We visited an astrology who predicted that I would bring about mass destruction and death, but really who could take that seriously. He, he…….

We were kind of lost of what to do next, that’s when I spotted the Stairs Down.

An Untimely Exit

We left the two mercenaries and the rats behind, and it seemed the others had found the exit we were looking for. I was still too busy staring at my hands, it isn:t every day that you start channeling Aztec voodoo. And Skulls? How corny is that? I mean, next time we turn around snakes will be pouring out of some cultist:s eyes, with wings. Snakes with Wings. Hopefully whatever I have still works when that happens…


My thoughts scattered, and I turned my head to see check behind us, and ran, inner voices screaming horrid profanities unsuitable to be written.

After the round about trip with the false treasure and the pendulum, we had circumvented the halls and were neaer again to the entrance. My bootprint recognizable in the dust. Half of us thought it was the best idea to keep going east, or I think it was east, beging underground is such a pain sometimes.

But nooooo…. Oxley just had to check out that one last room; the one room with the living corpes ready to chew us to bits. I mean, I nailed one right through the eye on the first move, but it’s not like we found anything really worth it, just an amulet and a couple bracelets barely worth a pittance. And we wasted some perfectly good bullets as well.

It was a good thing I was too winded by all the running to vocalize the profanities dancing through my head, otherwise my reputation might never recover. For some reason the hallway just kept getting longer, and longer…. and longer. Chuck dashed far ahead, and I managed to keep going fast enough not to be squashed. I would probaby suffer later for it though.

We broke through the darkness and I was blinded. It sounded like there was a war going on. Then we were attacked, and I grabbed a spear I think, then tried to use my magic again; which may or may not have caused no effect whatsoever. The sun had blinded me. Hopefully our situation isn’t that bad. I mean what’s the worst it could be?

Serpent Agents

Ageo Serrano was an engineer in Sao Luis, Mexico, developing pesticide spraying devices for aircraft. Nine months ago he married Sophie Abrego. The happy couple traveled to Niagara Falls for their honeymoon and settled into an upscale apartment. After a night of dancing and dinner, a very happy

Ageo returned to his apartment and found a fist-sized turquoise serpent on his pillow. Ageo hid it from his wife and snuck out of the house while she was sleeping.

Salviano Lerma was a waiter in Cacapava, Guatemala. During the day he apprenticed with the chef, preparing to take over the position of assistant cook, when the current assistant retired in October. Exhausted, he collapsed in his one-room apartment and slept blissful sleep. That isn’t to say his life was all toil. There was a cantina beneath his apartment that hired the finest mariachi bands. He’d go downstairs to enjoy food and drink and music, or he’d just life in his bed, looking out the open windows, watching the sunlight be distorted by the sheer curtains dancing in the breeze. He came back to his apartment one night, placed a plate of food he’d prepared to eat, went into the washroom to shower the sweat from his body and came out to find a fist-sized turquoise serpent placed on top of his enchiladas. Salviano left without eating his dinner.

Ten days later, atop of a lost pyramid in Mexico, Salviano slowly crept out from behind the statue of Camazotz and slit the archaeologist’s lookout, sent up to the roof from inside the Tepeu statue to survey the lost city. Ten minutes later, a second member of the archaeologist’s team went up the statue. Ageo shot him in the throat with a crossbow.

Salviano and Ageo took the dead men’s clothes and stashed the corpses inside the secret storage compartment along the low western wall. Whispering praises to the House of Serpents, focusing on the loved ones snatched from their lives and sacrificed by the House of Skulls, the agents grew restless and hungry for revenge.

They’d been told by their contact that the Chosen One for the House of Skulls was coming, and it was up to Salviano and Ageo to destroy her before she aided the Skulls.

Twelve hours later, on their knees, hands on their heads, very aware they were wearing dead men’s clothes, Salviano and Ageo paid no mind to the rifle-toting Brit. They seethed in rage at the approach of Mary Middlemass, the woman who would help the Skulls once and for all destroy the Serpents. The mission had failed. The Chosen One departed with her companions.

The agents wrestled with their bounds, but it was too late. They could hear the boulder trap triggered. The two men looked at each other. Ageo had already freed his hands from the ropes, but there was no getting ahead of the boulder. They would not be able to knock the Chosen One to the ground in front of the boulder, ensuring it crushed her as well as the Skull prophesy.

After a long fifteen seconds, the Serpent agents heard the repeated echoes sealing their doom. The boulder had made it to the end of its run. Whether the Chosen One had survived or not was unknown. As for Ageo and Salviano, their failure was complete. Salviano nodded to Ageo, who unholstered thedead man’s pistol, aimed it at the waiter and pulled the trigger before turning the gun on himself.

Glancing Away

It isn’t that I’m afraid, no, of course not. I mean, it’s really just a dead body, mummified yes, but still just that.

I just, don’t much fancy seeing what I might look like in a thousand years time. I mean, the drawing that looked like me earlier, and now this Lady K’abel and Tepayu, tis sky god. Everything thing here is really just a mess.

Was this really that a job, I mean all we came here to do was find this stupid skull. Now I’ll never to be able to go out in a proper summer dress again, with the snake tattoo and all.

At least I’m not dead I guess. That’s one thing I have on this corpse. She might have been a queen, but I don’t see her kicking around New York, takng names. And no, I refuse to believe we are the same person. We may look the same, and I am sure that both of mght have a bit of an ego problem – or had in her case.

I am not a queen though. K’abel doen’t run around the city kicking criminals in the knee-caps.


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