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Bushnell Laser Rangefinders

Indiana Bushnell, the world famous archaeologist and seeker of antiquities, stared into face of the Nazi. “Now, Dr. Bushnell. You will hand over the Fusion 1600 ARC rangefinder. I need its binocular/rangefinding capabilities.”

“Never,” Indiana muttered as he strained against the ropes that held him. It had been terrible to collect the sacred rangefinders of the ancient Optics tribe, and he wasn’t about to give them up. The Bushnell Elite 1500 was the same one that the army used, and the Bowhunter Chuck Adams Edition was ultra compact and lightweight, made especially for bows. A Nazi punched him in the stomach and he grunted.

The villagers had asked him to collect the rangefinders, to bring peace and prosperity back to their small hamlet. Their hunters used the Legend 1200 ARC since it offered bow, rifle, bullseye, brush and scan modes. Their golfers loved the Pro 1600 Slope Edition, since it told them exactly how to play. He had found the Yardage Pro laser rangefinder deep in the bowels of an ancient temple. He had quickly exchanged it for a bag of sand of equal weight, but he had been too slow.  Poisoned darts flew out of the walls, and he had been lucky to escape with his life.

The Nazi screamed in his face, “Tell me where the rangefinders are!” He nodded to a big Nazi who swung a nine iron. “Fritz over here needs to improve his golf game, and the Tour V2 Slope edition will give him a precise fit to the hand while delivering the exact distances he needs.”

Rikki Scott, noted American singer, had helped him get the Medalist range finder away from the temple goons who had hidden it in their evil shrine. The Medalist works quick with a natural feel to the eye, and was able to find any pin on the golf course. But then after he handed it to her, she dropped it into a pit full of alligators. If not for the white water rapids, and her screaming, the gators would have gotten him.

The Nazi swung the golf club and Indiana saw stars. He fell to the ground and he could feel his blood trickling on his neck. “Surely your life is worth more than a Sport 450 rangerfinder, Dr. Bushnell?” the Nazi muttered. “Bring the girl.”

A high pitched scream came to Indiana’s ears. They had caught Rikki.

The Nazis brought her to Indiana, and Fritz swung his club. “Wait,” Indiana said. “Let her go and I’ll tell you where they are.”

“See, I knew you could be reasonable.” The Nazi nodded and they released her. She ran up to Indiana and helped him to his feet. “I’m sorry, Indy,” she whispered.

He glared at the Nazi. “They’re in my boots, secret compartments.”

The Nazi pointed to Fritz, and he bent over to check out Indiana’s shoes. Indiana kicked him hard in the head, and then jumped up. Hands bound, he ran over the Nazi and yelled, “Come on,” to Rikki. They headed for the old rope suspension bridge.

“Can we make it, Indy?” Rikki said as she untied him.

He switched the Yardage Pro XGC  rangefinder to his eye. He didn’t need the 100 golf courses programmed into it, but its accuracy would help him judge the distance he’d have to cut the bridge ropes. “You bet we can make it. It will be just like riding those elephants.”

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