The crack enlarges as we float silently down the river, rifles resting on our knees ... until finally the boat disintegrates and we are submerged in cool deep water.
We swim the sixty metres and drag ourselves up on to the shore, guns clinging to our backs. We lie there for a while, just regaining our breath, before hopping up and taking stock of our surroundings. We are in a clearing, surrounded by trees, with the calls of the birds and bugs loud in our ears. I take out my machete and slash a path further into the jungle.
Eventually we come to a farm with the barns burning and sheep and cows lying butchered in the paddocks. The young farm owner was throwing buckets of water on to the fire but to no avail. My men and I got bucket and helped put the fire out before asking questions.
"Who was it?'
"Why did they do it?"
Of the answer I was stunned. It was my old arch enemy Croc. Apparently he had broken out of prison and now he and his band of criminals were here in the Amazon on a gold finding mission. He deserved to be in prison and it was my job to take him there.
After fixing the boat I decide to go after him with my crew and my kid brother Roger. We prepare to hoist off but before we could depart the solemn young farmer hopped on with a cry of ... "Let's get him!!"
This was greeted with cheers of approval as we floated down the river. It wasn't long and we noticed smoke gently rising into the air before being whisked away on the wind. We beach our boat and head away to investigate.
Our arrival was greeted with yells of uproar and before we could blink we had twelve blow darts, tipped with lethal venom, levelled at our chests. We slowly raise our hands and after removing our guns and knives they shove us into a small wooden jail cell. We looked round at the flimsy door with the solitary guard behind it. Luckily they hadn't noticed the small black knife strapped to my thigh. On the strike of midnight we force the door and scramble through before clocking the guard unconscious with the butt of the knife. Rapidly we bolt over to the door where they had stashed our guns and machetes. It takes two hard smashes with a boot to send the door flying inwards. I quickly grab my Winchester 323 rifle and sling it over my shoulder before strapping my machete to my belt in preparation for what may lie ahead.
With a shock the lights click on and the alarm whirs into action as we are padding silently towards the cover and safety of the trees. We crawl back to the boat and continue our journey down the river. Suddenly we are thrust into the swirling crashing white water rapids.
"Push off the rocks with your oars!" I yelled over the noise.
Soon we come to calm still water where we notice, with a start that snaps me out of my sleepy daze, a boat rolling with the current down the river. I realise that the boat is Croc's. I quickly swing the gun up to my shoulder before pulling the trigger. With a crack a crew member slumped across the edge of the boat before plopping into the water. Then the force of the current pushes Croc's boat behind a cluster of grey rocks.
Suddenly we hear a Hippo as he stomps down on Croc's boat, forcing all of its occupants into the piranha infested water. We fly past, hoisting up Croc and his bedraggled crew members before imprisoning them in the make shift jail we had rigged up.
Wearily we start the long journey home.
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