Flint had been taken by surprise by the sudden change of atmosphere. Of course if you had looked at him you wouldn’t have noticed. He had preferred the rain however, to wherever he was now, too hot and damp. He began to rack his brain, really look around, it was some sort of forest he knew that much, and the fauna was not American, neither European. Maybe South American, hell for all he knew he could be in Asia. No, he had to stick with the facts, he was still at the manor home, just some kind of magic wards protecting the place. Flint began to walk along what seemed like a trodden path. He needed to find the manor, or at least whatever the manor was hidden under in this place. 

The ground under Flint began to become more messy, leaves seemingly covering where a path once was twigs seemingly placed to look random rather than naturally forming, it seemed someone was attempting to hide the path, or possibly to hide a trip…

The thought was interrupted by the familiar click of a grenades pin being removed. 

Luckily Flint’s reactions whereas on point as they were 60 years ago, and the man was covered in solid rock as the explosion occurred, the shrapnel chipping away at the dirt and stone but not making its way through, Flint shifted the barrier out of his way as he wiped the sweat off his brow. 

“That was a close one…” Flint muttered to himself, trailing off as he soon realised this wasn’t any ordinary jungle, this was a battleground. Just not one he had thought in, it was a guerrilla war, a lot more sneakiness and a lot more camouflage. Like some of his brethren in Japan, the war Flint avoided to be shipped off to France. 

This was going to be ‘fun’