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20 December

Posted on February 13, 2011 by Captain P. Fawcett

Our ardour is currently somewhat dampened; the recent monsoon rain has caused severe mudslides, at every turn our path is blocked by fallen trees or boulders, which hinder our already slow progress. In one place the whole trail has disappeared having plummeted into the yawning chasm below. We tread a knife-edge, every perilous footfall a step closer to home. C.F.

9 December

Posted on February 13, 2011 by Captain P. Fawcett

Galvanising the men, we prayed to our Gods, dug deep and for the whole day attempted to get a rope across this Stygian flood, alas our frantic efforts came to naught. Having by now lost two souls to this water course from Hell and with no Charon to guide us over. We abandoned all hope and crestfallen we voted to retrace our steps. C.F.

8 December

Posted on February 13, 2011 by Captain P. Fawcett

Awoke early. I remembered last evening, the passing thought that young Dent possessed such a delightful voice was quickly overtaken by the dawning of the enormity of our predicament.

Rousing the men we broke our fast with the remnants of last nights charred flying squirrel. We then set to the problem in hand, notably how to cross this raging stream that blocked our path. C.F.

7 December

Posted on February 13, 2011 by Captain P. Fawcett

Exhausted we eventually happen on a fast flowing river, a treacherous torrent swollen with the late monsoon rains.

We set up camp for the night, this God-awful day is done we can proceed no further. A fire is lit allowing us to dry some of our clothes; it also serves to keep at bay the hounds of hell that aurally surround us.

The weak flame shedding enough light to facilitate the painful removal of the blood-seeking leeches that now cover our arms and legs, this slow exacting process eats further into my private stock of Sullivan’s finest Turkish cigarettes.

Needs must what?

A hearty singsong precedes a fitful, nightmare of a sleep! C.F.

7 December

Posted on February 13, 2011 by Captain P. Fawcett

Torrential rain is making the going very tough, underfoot its a veritable quagmire sucking at our very will. The expeditionary force hacks its way slowly foot by foot through the humid jungle, every man jack drenched to the skin and playing host to leeches who feast on our spirit and sap their energy still further. C.F.

 
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