Central Brazil, 1938
[March 19th, 1938 @ 7:05 am UTC-4]
Dawn is poking its gray fingers through the moisture-heavy jungle canopy as Indy and Meg arrive at the Manaus airstrip. After begrudgingly leaving Ace to her own devices, the trek from the TARDIS hadn't been too arduous, and they've made good time. They skirt the lengthy clearing together, staying out of sight, and hunker down in the cover of some broad-leafed foliage to survey the target area.
It promises to be another oppressively humid day, typical for the rainforest climate. Under the first touch of the quickly rising sun, dew is already steaming gently off the grass of the deforested area. And really, there's not much more to the airfield than that. There's no control tower, no hanger, not even a windsock. A quarter mile stripe of hard-packed dirt serves as the runway, and it cuts across in front of two rickety tin-roofed buildings. The larger is presumably some kind of office, while the interior of the smaller open-fronted structure confirms it as a maintenance shed.
A pair of scarlet macaws glide effortlessly across the field, their graceful shadows passing over a far uglier winged beast that is chocked near the shed. The flying machine in question is an outdated twin-prop bi-plane with an open fore and aft seated cockpit, possibly a short-range reconnaissance aircraft once upon a time. It doesn't look to be in best state of repair now though. Two local men in oil-stained overalls are engaged in some light mechanical work on the left hand engine. A third is fueling the plane from a rusty old tanker truck, so it is apparently airworthy enough for today's journey.
There are no other signs of life at the moment.
Indy takes all of this in from his and Meg's vantage point in the bushes, assaying the situation against the Plan. He looks a little grim. Understandably so, given that there were no guns on board the TARDIS, and Meg hadn't brought hers along either. He feels naked without one, and not in that nicely liberating Thursday way.
Dawn is poking its gray fingers through the moisture-heavy jungle canopy as Indy and Meg arrive at the Manaus airstrip. After begrudgingly leaving Ace to her own devices, the trek from the TARDIS hadn't been too arduous, and they've made good time. They skirt the lengthy clearing together, staying out of sight, and hunker down in the cover of some broad-leafed foliage to survey the target area.
It promises to be another oppressively humid day, typical for the rainforest climate. Under the first touch of the quickly rising sun, dew is already steaming gently off the grass of the deforested area. And really, there's not much more to the airfield than that. There's no control tower, no hanger, not even a windsock. A quarter mile stripe of hard-packed dirt serves as the runway, and it cuts across in front of two rickety tin-roofed buildings. The larger is presumably some kind of office, while the interior of the smaller open-fronted structure confirms it as a maintenance shed.
A pair of scarlet macaws glide effortlessly across the field, their graceful shadows passing over a far uglier winged beast that is chocked near the shed. The flying machine in question is an outdated twin-prop bi-plane with an open fore and aft seated cockpit, possibly a short-range reconnaissance aircraft once upon a time. It doesn't look to be in best state of repair now though. Two local men in oil-stained overalls are engaged in some light mechanical work on the left hand engine. A third is fueling the plane from a rusty old tanker truck, so it is apparently airworthy enough for today's journey.
There are no other signs of life at the moment.
Indy takes all of this in from his and Meg's vantage point in the bushes, assaying the situation against the Plan. He looks a little grim. Understandably so, given that there were no guns on board the TARDIS, and Meg hadn't brought hers along either. He feels naked without one, and not in that nicely liberating Thursday way.