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Midway Island
14 February
Buck crouched down in the thick brush as he watched the group of armed men spread out and search for him. The setting sun behind him cast shadows against the brush and trees, making it easier for him to blend in with his green flight suit. As he watched the men search, Buck pulled out the face paint kit from his vest and smeared green and black paint on his cheeks and forehead to minimize the reflection on his pale white skin.
He could hear a radio squawk in the background as the men continued their search a few dozen meters away. They didn’t appear to be keying in on his location. A few moments later, the man with the radio motioned to the others and they started back to the black Humvee.
Buck pulled out his radio as the Humvee disappeared from view. He powered it on and scrolled through the menus, hoping for a message. As the radio reacquired satellites, a new message appeared on the screen. UNABLE EXTRACT PASS SALUTE.
SALUTE was the acronym for the standard reporting format for enemy activity. It stood for Size, Activity, Location, Unit Identification, Time observed, and Equipment observed. Buck realized they were likely using him as a scout to get more information for a possible rescue mission for the President. He had no problems with that, realizing that the leader of the free world was a much higher priority than a downed fighter pilot.
Buck went to work typing out the message on the radio’s frustrating keypad. Using arrows, he had to scroll up and down to find each letter of the message. He typed 75-100/UNK/AIRFIELD/NONE/0355Z/MPDS SA IMV and pressed SEND.
The message was his best guess given what he had seen from the air and his limited time on the ground. He estimated a force of seventy-five to one hundred fighters. Their activity as unknown, other than the siege on Air Force One and their attempts to capture him. He estimated their location to be somewhere near the airfield and its buildings and they had no unit identification. Giving the current Greenwich Mean Time from the GPS clock on the display, Buck passed the time and ended with the equipment he had observed – man portable surface to air missiles, small arms, and infantry mobility vehicles.
After several minutes, a new message appeared on the screen. RR T+30 OUT. The message confirmed Buck’s suspicions. He was their best chance at real time battlefield reporting. He had been instructed to recon and report back thirty minutes from the timestamp on the message.
It went against all of his survival training to leave a perfectly good hole-up site, but he was no longer in survival mode. He had just been tasked to continue his mission from the ground. He had to lay the groundwork for a rescue mission so that the snake-eater operators could come in and do what they do best. His sense of duty overcame his sense of self-preservation.
Stuffing the radio back into his survival vest, Buck started moving. He had seen a small shack at the edge of the brush near the beach on his way to find a hole-up location. He decided that trying to get in, get supplies, and establish real communications might be his best bet.
He moved slowly and deliberately, careful not to make much noise as he made his way to the clearing. He kept an eye out for enemy fighters and patrols as he moved forward. He could hear the rattle of a Humvee’s diesel engine in the background. Whoever they were fighting was well equipped and well trained. They were either highly trained and well-funded mercenaries or Special Forces of a foreign country. He wasn’t sure, but Buck thought he heard the apparent leader speaking Chinese on the radio earlier. If that were the case, it didn’t bode well for the already strained relations between the two countries. It would mean he was witnessing the start of a world war between two nuclear powers.
As he neared the edge of the brush and trees, Buck drew his M9 from his survival vest and readied it. He didn’t feel comfortable getting into a shooting war with the mercenaries, but he also didn’t plan on going down without a fight either. He flicked off the safety and continued forward. The shadows of the trees just past the small shack helped conceal his movements. Time was on his side in that respect. Soon he would be able to sneak around the tiny island in complete darkness. He only hoped the mercenaries hadn’t brought Night Vision Goggles for their mission.
The sign on the building read CLIPPER HOUSE GALLEY. There were bicycles and run-down golf carts parked in a paved parking lot in the back, a relic of the days when Midway Island had people living and working there. Buck followed the boardwalk up to the side door. The door was unlocked and partially opened. With his gun raised, he carefully pushed the door open with his left hand and entered slowly.
The room was dark. It appeared to be a dining area of some sort. There were chairs stacked on oval tables throughout the small dining facility. Buck continued moving forward, clearing left and right as he moved. It looked like no one had been inside for months.
Buck continued past the tables and seating area. He passed through a set of double doors into the kitchen. There were bottles and cans strewn about. It appeared someone had been in and taken all the stockpiles of canned food and bottled water. Buck picked up a loose bottle of water from the floor. He had taken the water packets of his seat kit and consumed them immediately after reaching his hole-up site. Despite the relatively cool evening temperatures and minimal movements, he still felt dehydrated. He unscrewed the cap of the water bottle and chugged it down before stuffing a spare bottle into his flight suit pocket.
With the kitchen clear, Buck continued out the side door. Aside from the orange glow of the setting sun in the distance, it was almost completely dark. Buck could see spotlights set up near buildings off in the distance. He assumed that was where the hostages were being kept and started heading that way.
He felt completely out of his element as he continued looking for signs of hostiles. He hadn’t grown up around firearms, and his only experience in shooting had been the M9 qualifications with the Air Force and Navy before each deployment. In each, he had only shot fifty rounds to warm up and fifty rounds to qualify. He hardly felt proficient. His weapon of choice was the 20MM in the Hornet or Viper, and he had been stripped of that.
Stepping into the evening afterglow, Buck plotted his course. Past the parking lot, there was another tree line and what looked like a footpath leading to the next cluster of buildings. He decided that the trees would give him enough concealment to carefully observe the buildings.
After looking for hostiles a final time, Buck took off in a sprint toward the tree line. His boots clacked against the pavement, but it was too late to stop. He had already committed to running out in the open. He just hoped he could get to concealment before anyone saw him. His legs burned as he propelled himself with his steel-toe brown boots. They were much heavier than the shoes he usually ran in.
Buck slowed as he reached the tree line and brush. He crouched down once he was safely concealed and took up a position just a few meters from the walking path. He tried to catch his breath while remaining as quiet as possible.
Pulling out the water bottle from his leg pocket, Buck checked his watch as he downed the water. He was still ten minutes out from his next check-in, but he needed more intel. The galley had been a bust. He needed something actionable to send them.
After catching his breath, Buck moved slowly toward the opening in the tree line where the cluster of buildings was. He saw what appeared to be a set of barracks or housing near two other long buildings and a large house. Just beyond that, he could barely make out another cluster of houses. He figured he was in the island’s makeshift town square where families of people stationed at the former Naval Air Station once lived.
Buck moved south along the edge of the tree line, trying to get a better view. The village was quiet. Buck could hear voices and engines in the distance, but they didn’t seem to be in the immediate vicinity. There were floodlights set up at several of the buildings. Although he couldn’t see movement, Buck decided that he needed to get a better look. The mercenaries were apparently operating out of the village.
Surveying his surroundings, Buck noticed that the nearest building to him appeared to be a school of some sort. In the low evening light, Buck could barely make out playground equipment on the other side of the breezeway that led into a courtyard. The windows were all boarded up, an advantage for Bucky since that meant they couldn’t see out either.
Buck sprinted the ten or so meters to the outer wall of the school, staying low against the cinderblock walls. He wanted to make his way around the building to get a better vantage point of the courtyard. Once that was clear, he hoped to get a view of the barracks. That seemed to be a logical choice for setting up operations.
With his pistol low and ready, Buck made his way down the wall to the breezeway. He peeked around the corner, looking and listening. When he heard nothing, he moved forward toward a set of double doors. The doors had been chained shut, but the windows were not boarded.
Buck crouched along the walls until he reached the doors. He slowly stood, looking into the school. The hallway was dark except for a flood light near the classrooms. Buck strained to look for mercenaries or hostages. When he found none, he continued toward the courtyard.
Still hugging the wall, Buck carefully moved down the breezeway. He stopped every few feet to look and listen. He readjusted his grip on his M9. His palms were sweating, making it hard to keep a firm grip.
As he started to move again, he heard a noise and froze. His heart was pounding beneath his survival vest as he tried to find the source while keeping a low profile. A few seconds later, he heard the noise again. It sounded like footsteps behind him.
With his weapon up, Buck swung around to face the threat. His handgun was knocked out of his hand violently before he came face to face with the barrel of a rifle. They had found him.