Date: Sun, 17 Jun 2007 13:26:36 -0700
From: Nick Stark <nickstarkusmc@hotmail.com>
Subject: Plantation Road Chapter 5

Plantation Road, Chapter 5

by Nick D. Stark

Nick was kicked back in a chair, drinking a couple beers with the park
rangers.  The same men had been assigned to the park the entire eighteen
months that Nick had been bringing his trainees through.  Generally
speaking park rangers are a quiet, solitary bunch, considering their job
is lonely and in a remote location.  Of the three rangers, the least
talkative was a smaller, lean and wiry guy named Deacon.  Everyone called
him Deke though; noone actually knew what his fist name was.  Deke
usually sat back and listened and watched what was going on around him,
participating little.  In his small bunk room, he kept his body fit and
toned through punishing sets of situps, pushups, and calisthenics.  He
never showed his body to the other men though, often showering in the
middle of the night in the communal head.  However he was friendly
enough, and the group of rangers and Nick kept up a conversation for an
hour or so.

Nick looked at his watch.  He decided he'd better see if could catch
sight of either of his teams.  Hopefully they would already be across the
stream and out of the park lands, onto the plantation lands.  In which
case, after making a quick loop down by the dirt road which ran along the
hill above the stream and scanning the area with binoculars, he would
circle back to the river road and lay in wait ahead of the men, to see
who got to the rendezvous point first.  Nick thanked the men for the nice
cold beer on such a hot day, standing and shaking their hands one by
one.  As Nick stretched to shake Deke's hand, his tight shirt stretched
across his pecs, outlining them, with dark hair swirling out thickly all
around.  His biceps and shoulders bulged.  Nick had always come in
wearing a shapeless camouflage shirt before, but now Deke saw his
powerfully built body.  An idea formed in his head.  After Nick departed,
Deke volunteered to do the rounds of the park boundaries.  It wasn't his
turn to have to do it, but the others were happy to let him face the hot
sun and dusty dirt roads.  It was standard to take a hunting rifle loaded
with tranquilizer darts when making the rounds, in case of an emergency,
such as non-native predators stalking endangered species as prey on park
lands, in which case they would be shot with a dart and relocated far
away from the park lands.

Rusafov's men could tell by his tone that he was pissed off that the
hairy chested stud Marine captain had slipped through his fingers, and
that they'd better not fail.  It had been easy enough to follow the dust
cloud blown up by Nick's jeep as he headed to the park headquarters, but
then he'd disappeared inside for over an hour.  They couldn't get too
close in their vehicles, since they weren't supposed to even be on park
property.  However they knew the rangers' habits and schedules well, and
knew that the entire staff was currently inside.  Finally Nick emerged.
The men radioed in status to Rusafov.  "Visual confirmation of
target."  They knew what the reply would be.  "Pursue and retrieve,"
buzzed through the radio.  Nick put the jeep into gear, and Rusafov's
men prepared to follow.  Just as they started to pull out in pursuit,
they saw one of the rangers emerge.  Shit!  They killed the engine
quickly, got out, and melted into the dense greenery.  They would have to
follow on foot.  Based on the direction Nick was headed, they knew they
would have a chance to intercept him as he crossed the bridge at the back
of the park boundary.  They would signal for Nick to stop on some pretext
of needing help, and once the vehicle was in park they would have their
man.

When Deke came up to Nick's jeep, he was already slumped over in the
front seat, sideways, awkwardly spilling over into the passenger seat.
He spotted the dart in Nick's shoulder.  May as well leave it there to
make sure it's fully drained into the stud's bloodstream.  His huge arm
was limp against his body, the side of his muscled hairy pec straining
the fabric of his olive drab rib knit tank top.  First things first, the
ranger tugged on Nick's left arm to sit the unconscious Marine up in the
driver's seat.  The strong male odor reached his nostril's as Nick's
hairy pit was exposed.  Now in a sitting position, it was easy to make
short order of the Captain's shirt.  Two quick flicks of a hunting knife
sliced the shoulder straps, and a slice down the front exposed Nick's
hard hairy torso.  Deke pulled the scrap free and tossed it in the back
of the jeep.  No sense leaving it lying around to be discovered.  He
pushed Nick's head back against the headrest.  Strange, both nipples
were covered in band aids.  He ripped them off.  Underneath, the large
tits, barely discernible in the thick dark hair, were clearly healing
from some rough treatment, slick with Vaseline.  Duct tape quickly joined
Nick's wrists and ankles, and covered his mouth.  Deke didn't bother
covering Nick's eyes; it was unlikely he would awaken and even if he
did, it didn't matter if he saw where he was being taken.

Now the hard part.  Lifting 225lbs of dead weight out of the front seat
and dumping him in back.  Pulling by the arms, Deke got Nick out of the
seat and dragged him to the back.  Lifting under the armpits, he got
first the shoulders, then the entire torso up on the bed.  After that it
was easy enough to lift the hips and legs up.  Having secured Nick's
limbs with duct tape made this easier.  Pulling on Nick's cap and
sliding into the driver's seat, Deke started up the jeep and headed back
the way Nick had come.  Deke checked the rearview a couple times to make
sure the cargo hadn't moved.  Not a chance; Nick was heavily drugged.
I'd like to be there when they try to break this one, he thought to
himself.  The four Marines on maneuvers, who had doubtless been brought
in by now, had two good specimens in them, plus one skinny blond kid who
might prove to have some value.  The fat Polack was deadweight; he
wouldn't survive til sundown.

Indeed three Marines were on their knees, arms cuffed behind them, lined
up wearing only dogtags from the waist up.  The fourth was out cold lying
on his back, also cuffed.  He was the hairy chested Italian; his tags
read "DeRossi."  Quinn's tags bounced visibly on his lean torso as he
shook in fear.  If this was part of the training, he wasn't prepared for
it.  Davison knelt beside him, face resolute, arms flexed but not moving
a muscle.  Only a scant trail of hair disappeared from below his navel
down his hard belly into his camouflage pants and web belt.  Kowalski was
on the end.  Pasty, pale, his torso covered in dark hair, he was totally
out of shape.  He was also shaking, near to crying.

Quinn's eyes followed the man walking back and forth in front of the
line of prisoners.  He was eyeing them, but not saying anything.  Armed
guards stood behind the Marines.  Quinn understood that there were to be
no firearms in the exercise; or maybe they gave you misinformation to
simulate what real combat is like.  He had also heard of prisoner of war
exercises; maybe that's what this was.  He was trying to work it out in
his head so intensely that he almost missed the dark suited man surveying
them nod and gesture to one of the guards.  Almost before he could
realize it was really happening, the guard placed a gun to the lower back
of Kowalski's head and pulled the trigger.  Kowalski grunted and pitched
forward.  Blood quickly formed a pool under his destroyed face.  As two
other guards pulled the corpse away by the legs, Quinn pissed his pants.

The man nodded, and Quinn and Davison were roughly lifted to their feet
by hands pulling them up by their armpits.  DeRossi was dragged by two
men, each holding him under an arm.  His head lolled, still knocked out.
Once inside the building, the cuffs were released.  The two men who
removed Kowalski joined them in the building, guns ready.  "You men
strip naked," one said to Quinn and Davison.  Quinn was too shell
shocked to do as he was told.  Only when Davison started silently obeying
did Quinn follow along.  Once they were naked they were told to strip
their buddy.  Silently they obeyed.  They were led to individual prison
cells and locked in.  Guards loafed at the open door.  Noone paid them
any attention.

The Marine Corps jeep entered the plantation through the service gate,
far from the river road and shielded by ancient oaks.  The gate guard
peered into the back of the jeep at the bound man before nodding Deke
through.  Damn, he thought, I'm in the wrong business; I wonder how much
bounty he gets for bringing in high quality goods like that.  Deke drove
up to the back of the mansion house.  His approach had been called in, so
DeLucien was waiting as the jeep came to a halt.  "So you got him;
Rusafov will be furious that what slipped through his fingers you were
able to bring in."   Deke smiled, already counting the money.  "He's
prime; I've known Captain Stark here for a while, never thought of him
as a prize until today, when the Captain here told me that the Corps is
shifting their training to another part of the Parish, so it was logical
to take him now, or we wouldn't have a change again."  DeLucien ran his
hand admiringly through the thick pelt on the meat of Nick's pec.  He
grazed the nipple, pulling the hair back from the softer pink tit.
"Magnificent."  He looked up at Deke.  "I'll have the money deposited
as usual.  Tell the men to unload him."  Then he strode away as one
might dismiss a servant.

Quinn was still shaking.  The guards didn't seem to care of the
prisoners talked.  Davison quizzed Quinn about what happened to him and
DeRossi after the teams parted, but could only get one word answers out
of Quinn, who kept asking, "What's going on?  What are they going to do
with us?"  The only interruption was when an older gentleman showed up,
dressed well and wearing glasses.  The guards opened DeRossi's cell and
let the man in, who quickly knelt and examined the Marine.  He pulled a
few things out of a bag at his side.  He gingerly felt all over
DeRossi's head.  The doctor wasn't started when Davison asked, "Will
he be okay?"  The doctor looked up.  If he was surprised at seeing a fit
naked man in a prison cell in the middle of the Louisiana plantation
country, he didn't show it.  Davison could tell he was aware of whatever
the operation was going on here.  "He has a mild concussion.  Apparently
he put up a fight.  He'll need to be careful for a while and not exert
himself.  That may not be possible however; that's not up to me."  With
that the doctor exited the cell, closing it behind him.  He stopped at
the door and said a few quick things to the guards, then left.  Quinn and
Davison passed a lonely night.


To be continued...