Once the lights of Lahaina are visible again, I have to correct my heading to the left. After another stretch of no lights, I need to detour to the right until I see the lights again.
That’s basically how lighthouses work. When you’re on a waterway and see a white flashing light, you go straight towards the lighthouse. The light appears red once you are too far left (red = portside = left), so you have to correct your course to the right. If it glows green, you must steer to the left.
Tonight I don’t have the luxury of different colors for guidance, but as long as I stay in the area where the lights are just out of view, I should arrive exactly at the base of a cliff on the most easterly end of Kahoolawe.
Around 10 p.m., the contours of Kahoolawe appear out of nowhere. Bull’s eye! A few minutes later, I'm on my paddleboard right in front of an almost perpendicular cliff.
Out at open sea, I felt safe and was in good spirits. Now I feel queasy. It's scary alone in the dark in front of this island. I’m in the restricted area, don’t know if I'm already being watched, and am about to enter an island, on which tons of unexploded ordnance are laying. As if that weren’t enough, there are also an unknown number of people who have already tried to kill me. A vague feeling tells me they will try it again if I give them the chance. The fact that I chose to do civilian service over military duty after I finished school is not exactly reassuring. Combat experience, or at least some form of weapons training, would likely be more useful at this point.
I slowly paddle until the Kanapou Bay opens up in front of me. The beach is long and narrow, exactly how I imagined it thanks to Google Earth. The backcountry seems to be much more impassable and also steeper than expected, as far as I can judge in the dim moonlight. As the crow flies, it’s only two miles from beach to bunker.
My board slows down abruptly when the nose runs onto the firm sand of the beach. I step off the board into ankle-deep water and say softly to myself, "So... see that you get off this island alive..."
Chapter 6
The beach is basically like any other, yet it feels like I’m running on eggshells. I can’t stop thinking about all the duds that are just waiting to finally explode. I hope that stops soon; after all, I'm going to be staying a while.
I quickly pull the boards over the sand into the bushes that line the beach. I take cover and listen. Apparently, my presence seems to have gone undetected so far. I put on my camouflage and prepare the backpack. Next, I assemble the folding shovel and start to dig a pit for the SUP boards. My efforts don’t exactly end successfully. The vegetation consists exclusively of shallow rooting plants. After a few inches, I hit an impenetrable layer of tightly intertwined roots. I have no other choice but to shovel sand over the boards until they vanish. Not perfect, but good enough to withstand a distant view from a cliff or a passing motorboat.
My trekking adventure tour is about to start. From Kanapou Bay, two dry rivers lead through a gorge to the top of the cliffs. This has several advantages: a riverbed has a moderate slope and inside a ravine I’m barely visible compared to flat land. I follow the dried-up stream on my right-hand side. According to Google Earth, that one has eroded deeper into the rock. In addition, this one leads me pretty close to the bunker.
In order not to attract attention, I move slowly and carefully. I hope the dry river does not have any high waterfalls. I‘m not in the mood for climbing steep rocks right now. Years ago, I was snowboarding in the Alps and followed a riverbed off the slopes. The deep snow was great and I was proud of my idea to board in the riverbed, because I figured I’d be safe there. Unfortunately, this very river did indeed have a waterfall. By the time I noticed this, it was already too late to brake. My only chance was to jump down the cliff sideways hoping to touch down in the steep side slope. You usually don’t hurt yourself when landing in a bluff with a thick snow cover. At least it’s definitely better than falling a couple of feet onto flat icy ground. It actually happened just like I planned, except for a quick stopover in a fir tree.
Tonight I'm lucky and I’m spared a climbing session. Around midnight I reach the point where the riverbed runs into the barren plains of the backcountry. The bunker is located about one mile northwest of me. After spending half the day on the SUP and climbing in the dark for two hours, I’m no longer in the mood for a rescue mission. I wish I could sleep now. Once Steve is free, we’ll have to leave the island in a hurry. So I can’t do anything more today! Besides, I don’t know what condition I’ll find Steve in. If he’s hurt and I have to drag him to the beach and pull him on the board over to Maui, I’ll be in a fine mess!
Before I take a rest, I want to find out more about the bunker. Outside the riverbed, the terrain is completely flat, with nothing that could provide me cover. Walking upright, I’d stand out like a bull in a rabbit cage. I have no other choice but to move forward on all fours. This is quite exhausting, and I’m definitely not setting any speed records like this. The sky is exceptionally cloudy, so after a while, I carry on upright as soon as a cloud moves in front of the moon.
Did they also test mines here? Ugh… scary thought. Think of something else fast!
After a while, I see a light. The bunker seems to be inhabited. This is good. If Steve really is on the island, he’s probably imprisoned in the bunker. I figure the bunker is only getting used by the disarmament company. If there’s still any NAVY around, they’ll more likely be in the buildings on the south coast. I assume the army has nothing to do with Steve's kidnapping, so Marc Andrews has to hide him from the soldiers. What better place than an old bunker?
I lower myself to the ground and crawl on all fours, using the good-old beetle technique. I start scrambling in a semicircle around the building. Everything looks peaceful from the outside. I can’t see any guards. There’s really no reason they would need to be overcautious: the bunker is located in the middle of a restricted area on an uninhabited island. If I were the boss, I wouldn’t be expecting intruders. For that reason, Marc and I apparently think alike - even after an hour of intense observation, I discover no guards or patrols.
The bunker looks like a big house with a flat roof, just with thicker walls and no windows. I guess windows are kind of a disadvantage when bombs are detonating nearby. But when you’re trying to take a look inside, a window would be really handy. I need to know how many people are inside. Maybe there’s a chance I can hear something through the door. I slowly slide across the gravel parking lot towards the building.
Halfway there, the door suddenly flies open. I instantly freeze and remain motionless. Damn, I'm so stupid! Why didn’t I sneak up from the side? With my face in the dirt, I hold my breath and wait. The cone of light through the open door disappears. After all, I'm fairly well camouflaged in the dark. I hear footsteps and dare to look up. If I’m discovered, at least I’ll be able to defend myself.
A man stands in front of the bunker and lights a cigarette. He inhales the smoke, and blows it into the night sky. For a moment he stands there observing the stars. Then he starts to move - thank God, not in my direction. He saunters towards some rocks next to the bunker. There he sits down, facing the sea. Unfortunately I’m lying directly between him and the sea. Sure, I'm almost invisible in my camouflage outfit, but even if I do only look like a stone, the guy must be surprised that there’s something big lying in the middle of the parking lot.
I don’t dare move. My only option is to slowly roll to the side, but with a backpack on, one tends to roll rather poorly. So I pretend to be a rock and hope the smoker continues to be ignorant of his surroundings.
Phew, I'm tired… just don’t fall asleep, Tom. That would be a grotesque picture: me drifting off, the smoker still not noticing me, and the next morning me lying in camouflage clothing and a backpack, peacefully asleep right in front of the bunker. Madness.
Oh no, now he’s smoking another one! Damn addict!
So I have to fight another round against weariness and hope not to be noticed.
After he has f
inally satisfied his deadly addiction, he flicks his cigarette butt away and goes back into the bunker without turning around. When he opens the door, someone from the inside raises his voice in greeting. For a moment I'm back in the light, but remain undiscovered.
Lucky me! Something good actually comes out of all that: just one voice greeted the smoker when he returned. The smoker was alone, so there’s a good chance that there are only two people in the bunker. This is quite something.
I have absolutely no interest in getting caught, or ending up in a similar situation again. So, I decide to hide in the backcountry. My plan is to reach the summit of the volcano. From there, I’ll have a good view of the bunker without being seen myself. As my fuming friend just demonstrated, people always look out at the sea. No one turns his back to the sea just to admire a barren mountain. In any case, I’m safer at the summit than at the beach. Moreover, no one expects a nightly visitor anyway. If anything, I'm going to get caught by chance or stupidity. Apart from the two guys inside the bunker, there are no guards. Since the building has no windows, and the walls seem to be soundproof, I simply stand up and walk away.
Of course I keep my eyes on the door and I stay on the alert, ready to drop down to the ground on a moment’s notice to reprise my role as a stone. Fortunately, no one else comes out to admire my acting skills and I reach my destination without further incident.
Slightly below the summit, I look around for a suitable place to rest for the night. I find a nice place in a ditch. The now-dry river has eroded under the rock in a curve. Hidden by the overhang, I’m well protected and, on top of that, it’s reasonably comfortable. I’m not afraid of any rain, but feel better with the certainty of not being able to be seen.
Good night.
When I wake up, it’s already bright, very bright actually. Judging by the position of the sun, I would estimate it’s around 10 a.m. I didn’t expect to sleep so long. On the other hand, yesterday I paddled at least a double marathon, crawled on all fours for hours and night-climbed a mountain. Well, the mountain’s summit is only 1,300 feet above sea level, but I was still really tired. Despite the hard ground, I feel rested and refreshed.
Time to explore the island.
I breakfast on canned beans and pack my things together. Carefully, I poke my head out of the hiding place and check my surroundings. The coast is clear, so I crawl out of my hideout, straighten up, close my eyes and take a big stretch.
Suddenly, a deafening roar comes out of nowhere. My ears hurt and quit their job. I hear nothing but a loud noise; it feels like I’m holding my ears right into the exhaust stream of a supersonic jet. The noise didn’t start gradually; it was just there without any warning. Startled, I open my eyes just in time to see a helicopter a few feet in front of me. It’s flying pretty low and fast. In fact, it had already flown over me before I realized what was happening. Shocked, I fall backwards into the creek bed, where I had slept.
Crack! There’s really nothing more wonderful than getting torn out of a moment of peace and relaxation, just to hit a rock with the back of your head. Not to mention the fear I suddenly felt in every inch of my body!
In my panic, I turn around to see what the helicopter is up to. Did they discover me and now the hunt is on?
No, the helicopter flies straight, unaware of, or at least unimpressed by my presence. Seems like my beginner’s luck has not yet run out!
While I slept, a flurry of activity has awakened on the island. On the northeast flank, I discover three teams that move around in jeeps or quads then stop to work on the soil next to their vehicles. The helicopter cuts sharply over one of the teams and, after a radical descent, it hovers a few feet above them. Each team consists of two people, both wrapped in thick coats and full protective helmets, just like the explosives experts that examine abandoned pieces of luggage at airports. It seems like they actually do defuse bombs here!
A rope drops from the helicopter and one of the ground workers receives it. He attaches it to an object. Shortly after, the helicopter slowly rises, lifting a fat bomb with it into the air. The pilot then flies away quietly and carefully, as if he were taking a stroll in the park!
The guys in lead coats stow something on their quad and then drive out of their trench. I guess the ground teams track bombs and remove the fuse. Since no trucks can drive on the rough terrain, the teams move on quads and jeeps. Once a bomb’s defused and ready for transport, the helicopter gets called in. Voilá, the disarmament company in a nutshell!
I would have bet the helicopter flies to the bunker, but this time I'm wrong. Not until far behind the bunker does the helicopter slowly descend. That must be where I've seen the crane at the bay when I was flying with Bob: Puukoae Bay, where the speedboats are docked at the floating pontoon.
There, the pilot sets the bomb down gently, cuts the rope and speeds away like a bat out of hell, racing to another ground team on a low-level flight with radical turns. I don’t blame him; I would have a similar flying style – well, if I could fly that is.
It must be fun to fly a helicopter however you want: no annoying tourists on board and no air-traffic control telling you what to do. As low as he’s flying now, if there were any trees, the tops would all be hanging in the helicopter’s skids. I have to admit: the boy can fly!
And just like that, the helicopter is already hovering above the next ground team. This time it takes a little longer. When he regains altitude, he has a long white wand in tow. This is definitely not an old bomb. Geez, apparently there are even old rockets lying around here!
The rocket is not being chauffeured to Puukoae Bay, but gets unloaded at the bunker. Apparently it will take a while before the next pick-up is ready, because the helicopter lands and shuts down its engine.
I dig my binoculars out of the backpack to get a closer look at what’s happening at the bunker. Of course I use the binoculars in the shade; I've seen too many movies where the observer gets spotted by the sun’s reflection in his lenses. I don’t buy that nonsense though; you have to have damn bad luck if your enemy actually spies you from miles away by the glint off a piece of glass the size of a quarter. Then again, it’s pretty sunny out and I really don’t want to take any chances. Plus it happens every… single… time in the movies.
The pilot takes a break while the others deal with the rocket. It gets loaded onto a trailer and taken into the shelter.
Lost in thought, I scan the area around the bunker. I’m still deliberating over why the bomb gets unloaded at the bay and the rocket at the bunker, when something suddenly attracts my full attention.
My heart skips a beat. In the middle of the gravel parking lot in front of the bunker, Steve saunters around, just like that. He is neither bound, nor gagged, nor beaten half to death. In fact, he seems quite relaxed, enjoying the good weather. Holy shit, what's going on?!
I stare intensely through the lenses and can’t believe what my optic nerve reports to my brain.
An armed man in camouflage walks over to Steve. They talk briefly, and then the man pulls a pack of cigarettes from his pocket and offers one to Steve. To my astonishment, Steve accepts the offer, pulls out a fag and they start smoking together. Hell, Steve doesn’t smoke! My mind can’t process this: three days ago, we were brutally attacked. Someone tried to kill me, Steve was kidnapped and now he’s here, healthy as can be, chatting with one of his kidnappers and even smoking a cigarette.
I need a moment to think this through, and place the binoculars aside. All this can’t be true!
After a few minutes, I reach back for the binoculars and look further around. In the parking lot, there’s a truck with an open cargo area and a jeep, both in camouflage colors. Except for Steve and his companion, I see no one else. However, two to three people were previously busy with the supplied missile and probably another two to three workers are responsible for the duds. Add to that at least two guards who were in the bunker last night, plus the ground teams and the helicopter pilot. That makes a total of fifteen peo
ple, plus a few others I’d imagine. For now, I assume I have around 20-25 armed opponents. Damn, can someone call John Rambo?
I take a closer look at the ground teams. The guys are indeed armed, but don’t seem to be experienced elite soldiers; more like technicians who have never fired a gun. That kind of calms me down a bit.
In the gravel parking lot at the bunker, something is happening. Apart from my smoking friends, there are now two men on the pitch. They run from an adjacent building towards the truck. The two don’t look like soldiers. They’re not even wearing camouflage. I now notice a not insignificant detail: except for Steve, everyone is armed. I have to admit: when I saw Steve seemingly intact and free in the parking lot, I was second guessing whether he was really kidnapped or if he might actually be in cahoots with the bad boys. But then there would likely be a semi-automatic pistol in his belt as well.
I've seen enough from this part of the island. Before anything, I should find out more about the barracks on the south coast. As long as the helicopter is on the ground, I can move about relatively safely. I leave everything here except for the stun gun and binoculars and start moving cautiously along the ridge on the other side. I search the west side of the mountain with my binoculars and realize I’m in luck: no trace of another ground team or anyone else who might discover me. So on my way south, I stay on the west side, but look over the ridge every now and then to check if the helicopter is still at the bunker.
Half way to Hawaii Page 7
