The sheltered west side of the island is a bit friendlier than the east. The soil is widely covered with grass, and there are a few old wooden houses. Presumably those used to be shelters or straw storages back when they tried ranching here. Pretty nice. In case I have to stay another night, I could make myself really comfortable here. People will pay a fortune for one night in an old hut with a bed of straw in the Alps.
After an hour, I suddenly hear the helicopter. Damn, I have not checked for it for quite a while. Since there is no wooden hut within reach, I have no other choice but to let myself fall into the deep grass and hope for the best.
The pilot has returned to its sporty style of flying and shoots only a few feet above the ridge past me. Anyone who flies like that, fortunately, has no time to enjoy the view. Therefore, I remain undetected again. But gradually I start feeling extremely unhappy with myself. Since yesterday evening, nothing but pure luck has saved my ass at least three times. Lucky streaks all eventually break at some point. I need to be more careful!
The helicopter touches down at the barracks. Through the binoculars, I see a man entering the aircraft before the pilot takes off again. This time I have enough time to look for a suitable shelter. The helicopter is heading to Maui. Closing time for today.
In the barracks, there’s not much going on. A few pick-ups, another truck and two jeeps are parked in front of one building. Altogether, there are about 20 barracks, a helicopter landing pad, a power generator and, a little farther away, a fuel depot.
At the beach, there are some deck chairs and some half oil drums that have been converted to grills. The site is not fully inhabited; at least two thirds are empty.
"An electricity generator and fuel storage," I think, "Rambo would now build a bomb out of a dud and his watch and blow everything up." Unfortunately, I’m not wearing a timepiece, so I drop the idea.
The thought does cheer me up though. I picture Rambo in part four or five, where he freed a bunch of prisoners from a camp. His instructions to the team were: "We go fast in, make a clean kill, and go fast out.” After this precise briefing, everyone goes his way and knows to the exact second what he has to do and when. Fast in, clean kill, fast out. Stick to this plan and nothing can go wrong. Maybe I should give it a try…
If only it were as easy as it is in Hollywood. Like a boy asking a girl out in one of those teen movies:
Boy: “Wanna go with me to the concert on Friday?"
Girl (just to clarify the situation): "Is this a date?"
Boy (grins sheepishly): "Yes, I think so."
Girl (grinning now): "Then, yes."
Boy (with a big toothy smile): "All right, see you Friday!"
And there you have it. When and where they meet is irrelevant. Naturally, both are on time on Friday, and it will be a great evening. Just like Rambo: fast in, clean kill, fast out. Who does what or when, doesn’t matter.
I keep observing the barracks for a while and count a total of six people. Since the boys don’t have much to do, they mostly hang out at the beach or walk around. A couple of freaks might be in front of the computer or playing war games on a Playstation. That makes a good fifteen people in the barracks. This, plus the guys at the bunker, makes a total of about forty people on the island. In any case, I have to be quick with my rescue operation and escape with Steve before they notice what's going on.
I actually intended to watch the barracks all night, but I knew nothing about the helicopter when I made this plan. The presence of an aircraft is not good for my escape plan. I could possibly trick speedboats, but a helicopter is a different story: it can scan very large areas very quickly.
Maybe it makes sense to strike tonight. The helicopter has gone off to Maui. Who knows if it does that every evening?
On the way back to my base camp, a plan forms in my mind. Actually, it’s quite simple: fast in, out with Steve, and fast away from this island.
Halfway back, I discover a convoy on the only road: the truck followed by six quads. I lie flat on the grass and take out my binoculars again (I definitely got my money’s worth with these puppies!). Two people are sitting in the front of the truck and another seven are on the cargo area in the back. Together with the quad riders, that makes a total of fifteen people. Somehow I've either miscalculated or more than two people were back at the bunker. I have no other choice but to watch the bunker in the evening sun and give myself the benefit of the doubt.
The sun has already dropped quite low by the time I arrive back at the top. I don’t have much time: sunsets in Hawaii happen fast. I open a can of delicious beans and lie in wait. There’s only one jeep in front of the bunker and absolutely no activity. I get no further clues as to how many people are inside the bunker. So be it… with the dying moments of daylight, I check my equipment and get ready.
With a loaded crossbow in my hand, a knife in the belt and loaded tasers in all outer pockets, I start my descent towards the bunker.
Now the moon illuminates my way. I'm not overly cautious; even if a guard’s smoking in the parking lot, he’ll be looking out over the water. When it comes to choosing between an ocean view and a mountain view, the ocean wins every time. Plus, you’d have to look very closely to discover me in the dark. Since nobody here is expecting an attack, no one will be overly vigilant.
Just before reaching my destination, I’m a little more careful, walk in a crouch and try to be as quiet as possible. I’m approaching from the northwest side, and reach the site just behind the boulders where the guard had his smoke yesterday. I carefully peak past the rocks to scan the parking lot and the adjacent building. Nothing to see and nothing to hear. It's like I'm the only person in the world.
I consider disabling the jeep to prevent anyone from rushing to the barracks and alerting the army before we're gone. On the other hand, we might just need the jeep ourselves or someone might catch me messing with the vehicle. No, no, I’m not going to take any unneeded risks. If I don’t get a good opportunity tonight, I’ll go back into my hideout and try again tomorrow. I certainly brought enough beans to do so.
I can’t do anything now but wait. So I sit down, leaning against the rock, and watch the stars. On my balcony in Maui, I spend the evening like this. Here on Kaaholawe, I’m missing a good wine, and I can’t exactly relax. I shift from one butt cheek to the other. After a while it feels like my breathing is so loud that someone’s bound to hear it, even in the bunker. Gradually, I start getting paranoid.
Just when I start to reconsider the whole plan, the door opens and a man enters the parking lot with heavy steps.
My heart skips a beat. I slowly move my legs up and down in order to check whether they’re asleep after not moving them for so long. Happily, it appears they’re both awake and ready for action.
I hear the flick of a lighter followed by a loud exhale and "Ahhhhh.”
I hear two puffs, then steps coming towards me. The smoker has a routine: leave the building, light a fag, stretch the body, and then smoke comfortably from his perch on the rock. Just as I had hoped.
The gravel crunches loudly under his boots. This is just the sound cover I need to shift from a sitting to a squatting position. I lean back on the rock, pressing my left shoulder against the cold stone. Every fiber in my body is tense. This is my only chance. "Don’t screw this up, Tom,” I warn myself. A high-water spring tide is nothing compared to my adrenaline level right now.
The smoker reaches his stony perch and sits down, gazing out at the sea. He just sits, inhales and enjoys the evening. Unsuspecting, he’s sitting a mere foot above me. My anxiety is the only thing keeping me from making my move now. I hold my breath and close my eyes.
I count to three, open my eyes and spring upwards, my right hand clutching a stun gun, which I fire off against the neck of the surprised smoker. There’s a good chance I scream while doing this, but I don’t remember. I still see the blue flashes of the stun gun even after the guy is already lying motionless next to his fag on the ground. I must hav
e blanked out for a moment, because I can’t recall when and how he fell. I’m still holding the electro-shocker where his neck used to be, still pressing the trigger.
I’ve got a back-up taser in my other hand. I’m not sure what would have happened if I gave the guy a double-dose. And thank God I didn’t fire off the other gun in all the excitement and hit myself. That would have been shocking to say the least.
Okay, step one complete. I’ll just take the cable ties and... damn! The cable ties! The cable ties!! I forgot the stupid cable ties. What an idiot! Now how am I supposed to tie him up?
I search the guy, but unfortunately he’s not carrying any handcuffs. A machine gun is hanging around his shoulder. That doesn’t help; I can’t just shoot him. That would be way too loud, and not particularly nice.
Steve was unconscious for a while after he was tased. It seems I don’t have any other choice but to continue my plan and hope that the stunned guard is out of action long enough. If all goes well, I won’t need much time. As you know: fast in, get Steve, fast out.
It shouldn’t be too difficult to bluff the non-smoking guard inside the bunker for a moment. The smoker is wearing camouflage clothing, just like me. I'm borrowing his cap and his firearm. As already mentioned, I didn’t learn how to use weapons during my civil service, but I've seen enough movies to know that a weapon must be unlocked if you want to fire it. I find the trigger lock and turn it. I’d feel more comfortable if I could fire a test shot, but that’s probably not a good idea. I just have to trust that the gun actually goes off when I pull the trigger.
With the cap pulled down over my face, I go to the door, breathe and open it.
The light blinds me as my eyes are still adjusted to the dark. I look around and quickly discover - thank heavens - only one security guard. He looks up briefly and grumbles, "You should stop smoking, Josh. It’ll kill you."
The camouflage clothing and cap are good enough to pass the guard’s quick glance and he draws his attention back to the novel in his hands. His machine gun lies on a table beside him. Slowly, I move towards him, my finger curling around the trigger. I find myself right beside the table. In one fell swoop, I grab his weapon, hurl it away from him, and point mine at him.
He quickly looks up at me in surprise.
"Don’t worry, Josh quit smoking about a minute ago," I say, looking around for something I can tie him up with. Fucking shit, how could I forget the cable ties?
The guard starts to slowly stand up.
"Stay down!" I command.
But that doesn’t faze him. Stony-faced, he looks into my eyes and stands up.
"Sit back down. Immediately. Or I’ll shoot you!" I advise him with a quiet, but slightly rising voice.
Slowly, he takes a step towards me, still looking me straight in the my eyes and says, "You’re not a killer - I can see it in your eyes. You won’t shoot an unarmed man." He raises his empty hands to accentuate his defenselessness. Ah, classic. Well, let's see how that works out.
"My friend,” I say, "That's a really shitty idea. I'm not the type of guy you can easily disarm."
"Oh, is that so?" he replies quietly. "I don’t believe you. You're not a coldblooded killer."
Gradually he comes closer, one or two small steps and he could grab either my weapon or his own.
Of course, he’s right; I would never shoot anyone unarmed standing six feet in front of me. I'm not insane. I once went duck hunting with some friends and even felt sorry for the ducks.
I keep locked on his eyes.
"Unfortunately, you're right," I say, convincingly, "I can’t do it,” and let the gun down slowly. To add my own little bit of drama, I nod at my words and bow my head.
Now the time has come where I really need some luck. My right index finger bends and even before the sound reaches our ears, a bullet from my gun crashes directly into his leg. Correction: not just one bullet pierces his leg at three and a half times the speed of sound; no, several do. When unlocking, I must have accidentally set this thing to auto fire.
I almost feel a little sorry for the guy. Now he has at least five bullets in his leg and is lying shocked on the floor.
Well, it’s his own fault. What was he thinking playing games with me? Did he really think I was stupid enough to give him the weapon after just a minute of psycho-babble?
Steve suddenly appears and stares at me, aghast. I take off the cap and ask him if everything is okay.
"Boy, you got some nerve! You run in here, bowl down Joe and ask if everything is okay?!" he replies.
Somewhat thrown off by his reaction, I’m not sure how to answer. Before I say anything, Steve jumps up.
"Of course, everything’s fine!" he yells, "How the hell did you find me? I thought I was fucked out here!" He reaches out and hugs me, but Joe’s heart-rending moans and whimpers abruptly interrupt our reunion.
I stare at Steve: "What should we do with him? My plan was to keep your escape unnoticed until tomorrow morning. But we can’t just leave him like that."
Steve replies, "Looks like you didn’t hit an artery; he’s not bleeding too bad. But we should tie off his leg. Did you bring any cable ties?"
"Oh come on, cable ties? Really! Everyone knows that you tie off injured limbs with a belt!"
Steve gets down on the spot, pulls off Joe's belt and straps it around the injured leg.
"Done," I comment: "Is there anything like a first-aid kit here?"
We find one right next to the door and, using a pair of scissors, cut off Joe's pant leg. We then dump the entire bottle of disinfectant on his wounds.
I start looking for something for the pain, but find nothing. Steve probably has the same idea and conjures up a bottle of vodka from a cupboard. As he begins infusing Joe the vodka, I look around. Up to this point, my operation was more or less very well planned. From now on we have to improvise.
There’s a radio sitting on the desk. I take my gun and aim at it. A split second before I shoot, I come to my senses and secure my machine gun again. Shooting around inside a bunker might not be a good idea. I have no desire to get hit by a ricochet off the wall or floor. So I take an iron chair and hammer it over the radio until it is broken.
"We gotta make sure that nobody alerts the people in the barracks or, even worse, the helicopter on Maui. Are there more radios around?”
Steve replies, "Actually, everyone here has one, but it looks like you smashed both of the guards’ mobiles here along with the desktop unit."
"Good. Say, does your friend Joe actually understand any German?"
"No, I don’t think so."
"All right," I say, trying not to use any words that Joe still could understand. "I came here with two SUP boards. We need a good head start; otherwise they’ll easily catch us. We have to get to the beach and get the hell away from the island."
"All right. What did you actually do with Mike?"
"If you mean the other guard, then he’s outside. Tasered."
"Tied up?"
"Uh, no. Holy crap, I totally forgot about that!" I run outside and look around frantically. Damn, Mike has disappeared along with the jeep. Shit, why didn’t I disable the jeep?
"Why didn’t you tie him up?" asks Steve, stunned.
"Because I forgot the damn cable ties, that's why! Tell me what to do now. In ten minutes, the cavalry will be here. This is not what I was envisioning for our relaxed escape from the island!"
"There are a few quads in the garage and speedboats in the bay over there. It’s our only chance."
We run into the garage and find five quads, keys in the ignition. I swing myself onto one and start the engine. Suddenly, Steve’s standing next to me, an iron bar in his hand. He looks me in the eyes, smiles and swings away.
I have no time to consider whether Steve is actually working with the criminals. I don’t even have time to duck. The iron bar slams down, something smashes, and everything goes dark.
"Those things have no light switches. If we don’t want to be seen
from miles away and make for easy targets, we have to smash the headlights," Steve shouts over the engine noise.
That gives me an idea: "Do those things move at idle?"
Steve replies, "I guess so, why?"
"We let two quads drive at idle in a different direction than we’re going. Even if they tip over, the lights will still shine. That should keep our pursuers distracted for a while."
No sooner said than done. A minute later two wonderfully illuminated, albeit unmanned quads drive uphill, as we head off towards the speedboats in the dark.
We need to hurry. I already see the headlights of several vehicles in the distance that are on their way to us. We drive as fast as possible. But it’s pitch dark and it won’t do us any good if one of us rolls over.
Half way to Hawaii Page 8
