4
Last Alarm
Chapter Four
The Floating Airport
"We sleep soundly in our beds because rough men stand ready in the night to visit violence on those who would do us harm."
Winston Churchill
For Chris Kyle
SEAL Team Three
1974-2013
Location: Tokonosu International Airport –
Maintenance Hanger #7.
"B" Wing Side of Airport
Time: 1715 Hours
Date: Two Weeks Prior (Z-Day)
The last airport shuttle out of a small convoy of several others came to a halt at its second to last stop at Tokonosu Airport Maintenance Hanger #6 "B" Wing, to drop off its load of maintenance mechanics and office personnel for the overnight shift.
As soon as these groups of passengers were unloaded, the shuttle would then drop of the last eight workers at its final stop which was Maintenance Hangar #7, or "Purgatory" as many of the workers liked to call it, located one quarter mile up the road from Hanger #6, which was an assignment most of the employees who worked at Tokonosu International Airport avoided.
Set at the remotest part of the island, Hangar #7 was often used when the other maintenance hangers were over-filled with downed planes in need of repair of some sort or whenever specialized work was required that would put too much of a strain on the other mechanics and required extended periods of down time.
Located between Hangar #7 and Hanger #6 were a small fleet of light aircraft parked awaiting maintenance, or in some cases, awaiting pick-up by their respective owners or corporations that owned them after all repairs had been completed.
Because of the hangar's isolated location at the furthermost end of the "Floating Island" also contributed to making it a place few wanted to be assigned.
As the passengers filed out of the shuttle, and the driver closed the doors behind them, the shuttle drove off in a belch of diesel smoke as the driver then continued his route to drop off his remaining passengers and then start the long process of picking up workers retiring from the day's shift, and transporting them to the dock to await the ferry returning its load of tired workers home.
As the mechanics filed into the hangar, there were the usual conversations between friends, and some of the female office workers were also happily chatting amongst themselves.
One of their number however, was not feeling very sociable, as one of of his friends noticed his unusual behavior and walked over to check on his friend.
"Hey, Jiro, you alright?" The man's friend, a man by the name of Nakamura asked a little concerned upon seeing the sickly look of the mechanic.
"I'm feeling a little tired, but I'm ok." Jiro replied his breathing a little heavily his brow wet with sweat.
"You sure? You look a little pale." Nakamura insisted. "You wanna call in sick? We can cover."
"No, I'm fine; I used too much sick leave when I had the flu. I'll just get some tea and pop a couple of aspirin and I'll be OK." Jiro said with a weak smile on his face as he suddenly began to cough and immediately covered his mouth with his hand, as his friend noticed a rather large adhesive bandage was wrapped on the top of Jiro's right hand.
"Hey! What happened to your hand?" Nakamura asked slightly alarmed at seeing the large bandage.
"Aww, it's nothing." Jiro replied waving his friend off. "Some drunk grabbed ahold of me when I was at the subway, and I had to punch him in the face to get him off me because the guy just wouldn't let go."
"One of the cops saw us fighting and then grabbed him and wanted me to stay and file a complaint, but I didn't want to be late for work so I beat it out of there." Jiro added.
"I did cut one of my knuckles on that jerk's teeth though."" Jiro said as he gazed down at his hand. "It bled a bit, but one of the ferry workers put a band-aid on it."
"It looks pretty bad." Nakamura said noticing how pale the skin was around the bandage.
"Naw, it really isn't that bad." Jiro said shaking his head. "The bandage is so big though, it just looks worse than it really is.''
"Well, ok, just remember to let us know if you need a break." Nakamura said clapping his friend on the back as they walked through the entranceway leading into the locker room.
"I'll do that." The sick man said as he closed the door behind them.
Time: 2230 Hours
Location: Hangar #7
"B" Wing
"Sorry Jim, I asked them again, but they won't send any coffee over here. Your just gonna have to live with soda or tea." The big man with the salt-pepper beard wearing a black polo and khaki BDU pants yelled from across the hanger.
"CRAP!" I said disappointed yet again while the group of men lounging upon the stacks of pallets all around me broke out in laugher at my frustration.
"Doesn't anybody in the Pacific drink anything but tea?" I grumbled, ignoring their taunts.
"I got some Nescafe in my pack, Jim…." My buddy Andrew said from his makeshift bed several feet away as I glanced over at him. "Help yourself mate."
"Uh…..no thanks buddy, better save that for later." I said politely as Andy shrugged and then shut his eyes.
Andy was one of the guys on BLUE Team who had also been my mentor when I first got hired at Laidlaw, and had also become my best friend during my employment with the company.
He was a former British SAS trooper who had been wounded years ago before and had worked in "private security" for some time before eventually becoming an operator with Laidlaw and also serving as one of the instructors for all the "new hires".
Andy was a tough nut to crack at first when I first met him, and as an instructor he was as tough as they come as he whipped me into shape and guided me into the world of covert operations and taught me all I needed to know of what was expected of me as a team member as he ground my face into the dirt.
I've always had nothing but the highest respect for the SAS, and they are top notch in my book even though very little is really known about them, and I was really stoked about being taught by Andy.
And even though I learned a lot from him as far as "discretionary warfare" and combat skills was concerned, I didn't learn very much about the "Boys from Hereford" themselves because Andy seldom talked about his days with "The Regiment".
But because I held the men that I was now working with in such high regard I gleaned everything I could from Andy as well as the rest of the guys at Laidlaw knowing full well how rare a privilege it was to have been selected by these men to have been hired on as a team member, even though I was really only a fill-in medic.
And old Andy and the rest of the guys had not cut me any slack either as I was hammered day after day to learn the basic skills to be able to work alongside these men.
But despite Andy and the other guys kicking my butt all over the place, Andy was a great instructor and ended up being an equally great friend.
But he had shitty taste in coffee.
And despite Andy's generous offer I wouldn't have drank the Nescafe he had brought with him if my life depended on it.
I'm no coffee snob, but that stuff tastes worse than Ovaltine, and compared to that crap tea was like fine wine in comparison.
I realize that many nations around the world look at tea the same way we Americans enjoy coffee and the British are legendary for their love of tea, which is fine for some folks as far as I'm concerned.
But truth be told, I could never enjoy a cup of tea in the morning the same way I do a good cup of java.
Don't get me wrong, I like tea, I'm just not a big fan of that stuff except for when I have a head cold.
Now my idea of great tea that I absolutely love is good old-fashioned Texas sweet tea that's been brewed in the sun, with just the right amount of sugar on a hot day.
Oh yeah, awesome stuff.
But its coffee that is my real drink of choice, and is my guilty pleasure any time of day.
But a close second is sweet tea, although ya gotta watch out for some of the local places back home that put so much sugar in their tea that it almost resembles pancake syrup when you try to drink it and will send most diabetic's into shock just by looking at it.
But whenever summer comes around, nothing says Texas like slow-cooked barbeque and sweet tea…
And breakfast tacos of course, especially my two favorites, *carne guisada with cheese and *papas con huevo.
(*Carne Guisada – Beef Tips and Gravy)
(*Papas con huevo – Potatoes and Scrambled Eggs)
Yup, good old-fashioned Tex-Mex cooking.
Dang it. Now I just made myself hungry just thinking about it.
Ever since we left our training grounds back in Nevada, I'd been dying for a decent cup of coffee, especially after what happened on the way over here.
The aircraft that the private security company I was currently employed with, Laidlaw Security International was an Antonov An-12 which was an old Russian job bought after the Cold War as surplus and then refurbished for use as a cargo plane.
When the owners of Laidlaw had purchased the thing, it was already pretty beaten up by the Russian Military who had decommissioned it, but the shape of the plane and the price was apparently good enough for the relatively new private security company founded by a bunch of former Spec Ops guys.
Cheap bastards.
And while the plane was not exactly a Mil-spec C-130, it filled the need it was intended for as the demand for private security contractors skyrocketed as the plane, like the men, were pushed pretty hard to fill the demand.
Most of the guys by now were used to the creaking, groaning, shrieking, thumping, and bumping of the old aircraft, but for me being the newbie on board and the only guy who had never set foot on a plane before I got hired with this company….
Well, I'm not ashamed to say, I was scared shitless.
Being an old ex-military cargo plane and not a commercial passenger bus, I really didn't expect much in the way of comfort, and as we flew over the warm waters of the Pacific and encountered those thermal updrafts I'd always heard about in the news after a plane crash, well, I was just happy that we managed to stay in the air and not come crashing down into the sea.
Of course, everyone laughed at my fear, but damn, I wanted a cup of coffee bad when we finally reached the coast of Japan to settle my nerves.
Originally, we were supposed to land at Tokyo International Airport to refuel and relax for twelve hours and hopefully, see a few sights, but as we were making our way across the Sea of Japan, one of the warning lights of one of the port engines of our plane flashed red indicating a fire even though there was just a lot of smoke but no visible flame coming out.
Immediately declaring a Mayday our pilot Glenn, formerly with the U.S. Army's 160th S.O.A.R. Regiment "The Nightstalkers" shut off the engine and touched down at Tokonosu International Airport built on a small island off the coast of Japan.
And upon closer inspection of the engine once we were towed to a maintenance hangar, it was determined that Number Two Port Engine had experienced some sort of mechanical failure that was repairable, but significant enough to require having the engine removed to replace the part and then re-install the whole engine.
The company of course, wanted us to press on to meet the deadline of our "contract", so as soon as the engine was repaired and all was in working order, we were to go wheels up without my ever setting foot on the Mainland of Japan, a place the inner otaku in me had always wanted to visit.
And if that wasn't bad enough, since we were all a bunch of dangerous "mercenaries" in the eyes of the Japanese Airport Security, the airport authorities decided in their wisdom to place us as far away from the Main Hangar and as far away from any other human contact or coffee urn as it is humanly possible to do so on an island.
Then to add insult to injury, they made us wait in the hangar under guard for the duration of the repair, which was now in its sixteenth hour after awaiting five hours for the mechanics to finish maintenance on a Bell 214-ST helicopter that was used to ferry maintenance crews from the airport to the Mainland.
The hours of boredom and the ugly looks from the Japanese mechanics and security people didn't make my first welcome to Japan all that memorable either.
Of course, it was something I needed to get used to. The ugly looks and suspicious reactions were all part of the job. Employed in places were Americans are disliked if not vehemently hated, I really couldn't expect bright smiles, open arms and warm fuzzy hugs where I was going.
Not that I wasn't used to that in a small part already, there are some places even in my own home state I don't venture alone.
"Just so you know, they've got great coffee where we're going Jimbo." J.R. the bearded fellow said with a grin. "Of course, it might give you the shits for a week."
"Thanks Boss, I'll remember to use the head in your quarters if I drink any." I shot back as J.R. laughed and walked back to talk to Glenn, our pilot.
J.R. Wallace, was former SOF-DELTA and Team leader of GREEN team, with Chris Adkins another former DELTA trooper as his second in command, and leader of BLUE team.
Intelligent, confident, a pure professional as most SF guys usually are, I grew to like the guy pretty much from the start.
Extremely popular with the guys in the company back home as well as having earned a good name for himself in the Spec Ops world, a lot of the guys at Laidlaw told me that I had lucked out in getting selected for his team.
And in my opinion I had to agree, that J.R. was one of the few people I ever worked for that I ever truly respected.
As a firefighter, I worked under the command of many men for many years and while most were good men to work for, there were only a few that I had really come to genuinely trust and respect, and J.R. Wallace was one of them.
And to this day, I still have no idea why he approved my being hired as a tactical medic for Laidlaw, much less accepting me as a member of his team.
When it comes to the world of private security, most of the big name companies hire only the biggest, brightest, strongest, most experienced cream of the crop guys they can from former DELTA, Green Berets, SEAL Team, Rangers, PJ's, and the Nightstalkers.
So when Laidlaw made it known they were in the hiring process, they extended their hand out to these same individuals in the hope of firmly establishing their status in the international security game.
And they did indeed succeed in getting some excellent people to work for their company, and with their ballooning success, soon found themselves in desperate need of more personnel as private security contracts started to pour in.
So once again they put the word out to their fellow elite.
But apparently everyone else were all busy, so instead they called me.
The lack of response to Laidlaw's request for more people was not because Laidlaw was a bad company or financially unstable for that matter. But as a company just starting out on its own, they couldn't compete with the big boys just yet.
And even though most of Laidlaw's Operators knew a lot of guys that would have been great assets for the company, competition was just too fierce because the benefits and pay offered by the big boys was just too good to pass up for most people.
But while the Operators of Laidlaw were not hurting extremely badly in the personnel department, what they were really short on was experienced combat medics for their teams.
There were plenty of highly-trained former Air Force PJ's available as well as military medics for hire after they had finished their careers in the Military. But as prized as they were, the big boys were scooping up any and all they could find.
Normally, every soldier in the military goes through medical training, even some advanced stuff like suturing and I.V therapy and lung decompression, which is especially true with the SF guys who are required to go behind enemy lines were no medevac can reach them if they get hit.
But being able to treat yourself in the field and then having a guy whose specialty is actually being trained as a medic are two different things, although the bosses at Laidlaw did manage to snatch a few combat medics though.
But as the company continued to grow and demands for their services grew and new recruits were getting harder to find, the owners of Laidlaw began to look at "other" options.
And then evidently they hit rock bottom, so they gave me a call.
When I had applied at Laidlaw, it had merely been on a whim as I found out from a friend of mine in a neighboring Department who was a former Marine that there was a "Private Security Company" in desperate need of "medics" for overseas security.
Intrigued by the fact that most of the men that were employed at Laidlaw were former Special Operations personnel, I sent in an application.
And when I sent in my application to be a Tactical Medic for Laidlaw, with no military experience, no previous baptism by fire, no operational experience of any kind, as well being over 40 years of age which is an age when most guys are thinking of retiring out of the Fire Department…..
Well to be honest, I never expected to hear from them again.
Three months later, I got the call.
"HOLY CRAP!" Were the first words that came out of my mouth after receiving the phone call as J.R. chuckled on the other end of the phone line.
And so after 25 years of working as a Firefighter/Paramedic, I finally decided to call it quits with the Department I worked for, after getting that phone call from J.R.
And when I finally stepped off the plane after my first flight ever from San Antonio to Las Vegas and was whisked away by a couple of Laidlaw personnel in a van to the undisclosed training grounds in Nevada, I fully expected to go through an ordeal similar to a young Marine recruit's first few moments stepping off the bus at Parris Island, and have some psychotic Drill Instructor screaming in my face and pushing my head in the sand with his boot.
Instead, I was made to feel extremely welcome on my arrival and treated with the utmost respect as I was introduced to the guys whom I'd be working with, as well as meeting the rest of the Support Staff at Laidlaw, and then given a tour of the company's training facility and their barracks.
And then after settling in and changing into tan BDU's and going through the normal pre- employment formalities, learning the history of the company, job requirements and physical tests, I was then given a small tour of the Kill House.
And that's when my first real test occurred.
I knew all about Kill Houses from my experience as a reserve tactical medic with the Police SWAT Team back home.
However, unlike the Military, most Police Departments do not let the medic carry a weapon, which is a bad idea in my opinion, but is often times the case.
And also unlike the Military, a Kill House used by SWAT and a Kill House used by Special Operations are also vastly different because the SWAT Teams are not allowed to use live ammo and real live people standing in as hostages in their CQB training at the Kill House.
Which is not at all like the way the American Spec Ops and the SAS train in *CQB.
And so as I walked in the middle of the Kill House and was told to feel free to look around, J.R. excused himself to go to the head and closed the door behind him as I looked around the simulated living room with old bullet riddled furniture, stand up targets, and sand-filled tires lining the walls all around.
I had a feeling about what was about to happen next, but it's one thing to mentally prepare yourself for something and then to actually experience is quite another.
And to confirm my suspicions, suddenly there was a loud explosion as the door behind me was breached with a small charge and knocked away with a terrific crash off to my right, as three heavily-armed men dressed in combat vests and wearing balaclavas over their heads and also carrying H&K MP-5 submachine guns entered the doorway and then started double-tapping all six stand-up targets around me, only a few feet away.
The entry team didn't use a flash bang thank goodness, but the dynamic shock and awe of the attack was enough to send anyone peeing in their pants and running home to mommy as I forced myself to remain completely still as bullets and wood splinters flew all around me.
And then as each man finished their sweep of the room, yelling "CLEAR" as they did so, they then paused to look at me standing in the middle of the room as I stared blankly back at them as J.R. then silently walked in behind them with arms crossed, studying me for my reaction.
I blinked at all of them for a second before I turned my head and looked at the tight groups of their shots on each target, as I then flashed them the biggest grin I could and told them with my ears still ringing.
"GUYS, THAT WAS SO F_CKING COOL!" I said like a kid who had just passed his driver's test. "PLEASE tell me you're gonna teach me to do that!"
As dorky as I must have appeared at that moment in time, I still managed to make some of the toughest men on earth laugh that day, and after several months of intense training with them, I had also succeeded in making some great friends as well.
The next six months were brutal, and that doesn't even come close to describing what I experienced those first twelve months as I trained with Andy to be an "adequate" member of GREEN Team.
There was a lot to learn about working with these guys and I pushed my tired, forty-year old, beat-up body to do what they taught me which barely scratched the surface of the things that they knew, I'm sure.
Small unit tactics, reconnaissance, weapons training, small explosives training, breaching, IED recognition, ambushes, night ops, days ops, tactical driving, room clearing, rappelling, fast-roping, helicopter ops, emergency care in the field, communications, spotting for the sniper whom I was paired up with, and lots, and lots, of target shooting.
And that's just a small part of the stuff I was taught.
Despite all that intense training, I really was not being trained to be a commando per say, but I was being given enough basic training in those very skills to at least be able to function with the guys as a medic if things went south.
In all respects it was very much like a probie fireman being put on an elite Rescue Squad who doesn't have the proper training or experience to be there in the first place and really doesn't belong in such an elite unit at all.
But he'll either get up to speed real quick or die.
And after my training was over I knew enough that I could actually contribute to the team as a competent member instead of just being dead weight, but I was still in no way equal to their level.
I never knew 100% why they hired me in the first place, instead of pushing to find an experienced combat medic from somewhere, but truth was, as pumped as I was at being accepted onto the team, I wasn't gonna push the subject.
For me, it was the opportunity of a lifetime, and I wasn't going to quit or fail, so help me.
Now, here I was, part of a team made up of former commandos, a shit-hot former military pilot, and one 44 year old beat-up former Firefighter/Paramedic enroute to some isolated area in the country of Africa by way of a Westerly route.
And the reason for taking such a route was because we couldn't get permission to fly over certain airspace, so (thank you very much you pricks) we had to take the long way, in the opposite direction with a grueling two day stop over (in oh, so horrible Hawaii), and were now stewing in a hangar in Japan waiting to get our plane fixed.
And what was our highly covert and equally dangerous mission?
"We were to escort some engineers along certain pipelines in Africa and protect them from locusts, snakes and scorpions". J.R. had said which I had to admit made sense, because I wasn't really an experienced operator, but just a fill-in medic, and so the only missions that I was allowed to go on in this company would be in locations that were not "hot", so to speak.
Still, even though it was a far cry from the normal image that most people have about the world of Special Operations, it was like a dream come true for me.
Regardless of how lackluster my first assignment as a "fill-in medic" with the team sounded, I still felt like a probie fireman all over again.
Scared to death at setting foot into a new unknown world, but euphoric at the same time that I was starting a new exciting life amongst the type of men I had greatly admired since my youth.
It was too awesome for words, with only one hitch.
"Wish there was some damn coffee around here." I grumbled, had been my only complaint so far.
"It's gonna be awhile before they finish up boys, so might as well sack out if you can." Glenn, our pilot said as he walked back to us after speaking with the mechanics.
"How long?"Steve, the team sniper and former Australian SAS trooper that I had been paired up with asked grumpily.
"Two weeks." Glenn said straight-faced, although he was really only joking of course.
It was a joke amongst all of us in the company, that if you had a dilemma of some sort, the answer was always "two weeks" until there would be a solution.
It was a joke from a movie called "The Money Pit", where the joke throughout the entire movie was that when the homeowner, played by actor Tom Hanks, asked when the repairs to their house would be finished, the answer was always "two weeks" by the construction company foreman on a job that actually took several months to finish.
Guess you had to see the movie to appreciate the joke.
But all joking aside, the delay was causing the company time and money, and given that we could not leave the hangar, the boredom was not all that welcome either.
There were already a few guys stretched out on the pallets around us, and since there really wasn't much we could do, or anyplace we could go under the watchful eyes of the two airport rent-a-cops watching us, I decided to follow his advice and stretched myself out over a bed of plastic pallets and bubbly wrap, and under the bright lights of the maintenance hangar, I passed right out.
Location: Tokonosu International Airport –
Maintenance Hanger #7.
"B" Wing Side of Airport
Time: 0430 Hours
After working several consecutive hours straight as soon as he had reported to work, forty-eight year old Hideki Matsura, a 22 year mechanic with the airport, wiped his brow and lay his tools on the bench next to him.
Matsura was one of eight mechanics working the graveyard shift in this hangar, and after several hours of hard-pressed work to finish the repairs on the plane and hurry the American mercenaries off Japanese soil, the veteran mechanic decided he had earned a smoke break.
While his younger work mates helped themselves to some soft drinks from the vending machine. He told them he'd be back shortly, and walked toward the locker room where his smokes were on the other side of the hangar.
As he passed the Americans sleeping on the pallets near the entrance to the locker room, he nodded his head to the guard standing watch over the Americans and walked through the door. He grabbed his pack of cigarettes out of his locker, and then went out the side entrance leading to the back of the hangar and lit up.
Enjoying the smooth tobacco, Matsura stood against the hangar wall facing the auxiliary roads leading to the maintenance section of the airport and stared out over the sea to the twinkling lights of the city of Tokonosu on the Mainland.
"Damn Americans." He grumbled under his breath. "Bunch of cowboys, shooting their guns and causing trouble everywhere they go. Why don't they just stay home and mind their own damn business and quit bothering people?"
As he blew out a long stream of smoke from his lungs and it cleared on the misty early morning air, he noticed a shadow that looked like a man walking in the dark, along the side of the road.
"Odd." Matsura thought to himself as he watched the lurching figure. "What's he doing out here all alone? The next shift's not till six. There shouldn't be anybody else out here. "
Just as Matsura was finishing his smoke and watching the stumbling man moving towards him, the lights in the parking lot and the hangars dimmed.
That was nothing new, they had been having trouble before, and the electrical guys seemed completely inept at fixing the problem.
Something about trouble with the new components in the power grid or whatever, was their excuse, so power outages, while rare and definitely not welcome at an airport as busy as this one, was not real cause for alarm as far as Matsura was concerned.
However, as the man came closer to one of the streetlights in the road about 150 feet away, he noticed the man was moving in a stumbling, lurching type gait and it almost sounding like he was moaning.
"Great." Matsura said aloud in disgust. "The guy's drunk."
"Hey!" He shouted to the shadowy figure. "What's wrong with you?"
"What the hell are you doing out here drunk?" Matsura shouted angrily as the man seemed not to hear him and continued on his way.
"Hey, I'm talking to you stupid!" Matsura yelled, and then angrily started to walk towards the man to see who was stupid enough to arrive drunk for his shift.
And as he angrily marched towards the drunk, the man suddenly seemed to hear Matsura's angry shouts and slowly turned to face him, and stood completely still as if waiting for him to arrive.
"Are you drunk or just an idiot?!" Matsura yelled at the man as he was about twenty meters from the man when the lights suddenly blinked out.
"Aw, hell." Matsura swore. "Now what?"
As he stood there trying to peer into the darkness, the auxiliary generators for the hangars in his section kicked on with a weaker pale glow inside the hangar, although the lights outside the hangar remained dark.
"Dammit." Matsura cursed. "Can't those maintenance guys get this crap taken care of finally?"
Cursing as he fished in his coveralls for the small battery-powered torch he used to inspect the inside of plane engines with, the angry mechanic finally managed to fish it out and then clicked the switch on the tail cap, as a bright beam of light shined from the little light and Matsura aimed the beam alongside the rest of the buildings.
As he was scanning the exterior of the hangars, Matsura suddenly heard the sound of footsteps and the moans of the man he had been yelling at earlier as Matsura shined it on the shadow that was now only a few feet away from him.
And as the light settled on the man's head, Hideki Matsura was stunned to see the man's face as the light fully illuminated the man's features.
Matsura's lips quivered, making the cigarette stub still smoking in his mouth fall to the ground, as the man's hands reached for him.
Location: Tokonosu International Airport –
Maintenance Hanger #7.
"B" Wing Side of Airport
Time: 0440 Hours
After so many years of working as a Firefighter/Paramedic, sleep has always been a problem for me. And even on my day off, I don't sleep very well.
Ask any Fire/Medic anywhere, and they'll agree to be experiencing the same problem.
The years of running all night, stress, copious amounts of coffee, stress, bad food, stress, paranoia, more stress, will do that to you.
While we in the Fire Service don't get as many calls as our EMS brethren, when we do get a fire of any sort, you work your ass off, working in what's basically a full body quilt, sucking air out of a limited air supply like a scuba diver, and having to control your breathing so you don't suck it up before you reach the fire or die from suffocation, whichever comes first, while still carrying 100pounds of equipment and a 200 foot section of inch and three quarter line flowing water at 150 psi.
All that while having to work in your gear that's now raising your body temp to well over the human tolerance of being susceptible to heat stroke from your own body heat as well as from the 1500 degree heat burning over your head, and then having to search for victims and not get killed from a building collapse, thermal burns, explosions, backdraft, etc.
Oh, and then you get to help out EMS too.
But I loved it all, and I always will. It was hard leaving a life and a job I loved so much.
But then again, at the time, I had good reason to.
So after years of being blasted awake by the tones going off, and the lights automatically coming on and shining brightly in your face after being jolted awake from REM sleep will mess you up eventually, and as a result, paramedics and fireman have the worst sleep patterns in the business, If they can get any sleep at all that is.
Even on our days off, you still couldn't get enough sleep before the next shift comes around, and that pattern continues well after retirement from what I hear.
I guess it just gets permanently imprinted in your brain.
And as a result, for many years before I turned in my badge, and even now, I still can't fall asleep before midnight, most of the time, and even when I do, I usually wake up several times during the night.
I haven't been able to shake it so far, and it had already been a year since I had retired.
My sleep pattern normally, is to fall asleep by 2330 at the earliest, and then waking up at 0130, 0300, 0500 and 0600 without a miss, unless I'm really exhausted, then it's just 0130, 0300 and 0630.
It was like that even on my days off when I was in my own bed, in my own home, and with no alarms to respond to.
Don't get me wrong, I'm not complaining, it's part of the job. But for those wanting to do this for a living, the effects the job can affect you in many ways, eventually.
And unfortunately for me, even with the jet lag and my immediate crashing out at midnight, my sleep pattern still hadn't changed.
So at 0100 in the morning like so many times before, I blinked my eyes and looked at my watch in the bright lights of the hangar and merely rolled over.
"See you at 0300." I said out loud to nobody in particular and promptly konked out again.
And sure enough, at 300 I awoke again, tossed and turned around a bit and promptly fell back asleep after ten minutes or so.
But at 0440 in the morning, in an aircraft maintenance hangar on an island-based airport off the Coast of Japan, it wasn't my screwed up sleep patterns that woke me up with a jolt.
It was a scream.
"What the hell was that?!" Patrick who was the explosives expert on BLUE Team said loudly as the rest of the guys awakened at the sudden sound of whoever had screamed, with the exception of J.R. and Glenn who had remained awake while the rest of us had been sacked out.
Of course, by now everyone was wide awake and on their feet looking all around as everyone began scanning our surroundings for any danger as I did a head count of all the guys to make sure that the person who was screaming was not one of our own guys.
"Nope, everyone's here." I thought to myself as I looked over at the rent-a-cop over at the wall, and then at the mechanics who were looking pretty freaked out as they ran past us and straight over to the guard standing by the doorway to the locker room as they began speaking in very excited Japanese.
I couldn't remember how many of those guys there were as I did my head count and I was embarrassed at myself knowing that if this had been part of an actual Op, I would have flunked "Commando #101" right off the bat, for not having an accurate count of the people that had been around me all day.
"What happened to the lights?" I asked out loud as I noticed that instead of the extremely bright lights that had illuminated the hanger before, only the glow of several smaller overhead lights and the glow of the small lights over the emergency exits were all that were on now.
"They were blinking off and on a couple minutes ago, and then went out altogether." J.R. replied already in defensive mode, as were the rest of the guys, after all, people don't just scream for no apparent reason, and the lights going out?
Well, that's a big red flag that something's just a wee bit out of the ordinary, as even my totally inexperienced self was in motion as well because when danger is present or even suspected, it's all hands on deck and everybody get "eyes on".
While we were busy scanning the darkness for any potential threats, the mechanics meanwhile, were trying hard to go check on their guy and the guard was trying even harder to calm them down.
While I was busy looking for threats in the darkness along with the rest of my guys, I couldn't help but feel bad for the airport guard who was in a serious bind at the moment.
His job had been to keep an eyeball on our sorry butts, and now he had someone screaming behind the hangar with no immediate back up anywhere around, as he was trying to keep the mechanics calm as they were starting to get agitated that he wasn't checking on their man.
And to make things worse, he was getting no response on his portable radio as he kept attempting to call base for backup.
Talk about being between a rock and a hard place.
A couple of the mechanics roughly pushed past the frustrated guard and dashed through the locker room out towards the rear entrance as he screamed angrily at them to stop, to no avail.
The poor guy was definitely getting towards his wit's end pretty quick, and after the two mechanics had pushed past him, I had half-expected him to draw his weapon and start knee-capping people.
Seeing how quickly the situation was spiraling out of control, J.R., speaking in perfect Japanese to the guard, offered that we would all gladly go and check on his people if he was worried about leaving us unattended.
The man seemed to ponder this for a moment, and then shook his head.
His orders had been specific.
"The Americans do not leave the restricted area, period." His Supervisor had told him apparently as J.R. frowned in response.
Ah well, can't say we didn't try.
The sound of screaming from the two men that had just ran out the back door, took all the fire out of the guard's attempts to prevent us from checking on his people though, as he drew his weapon and then motioned J.R. to come with him.
Glancing quickly at us, J.R. motioned for Patrick, David (who was our comms guy), and Steve, the team sniper that I had been paired with, and myself to follow.
"Bring your bag, Jim." J.R. said as the guard waited for us to join them.
I already had my med pack lying near me and I had already had it halfway slung over my shoulders when J.R. was talking, having learned long ago the habit of keeping it nearby just like every good medic should.
Even though I was the team medic, the guys hadn't used the time honored tradition of calling me "Doc" as most combat medics were often called.
It was nothing personal towards me, but since I was new and not military, they used my regular name.
I wasn't offended either, I prefer people calling me "Jim" just like everyone else.
I really didn't want to earn that particular name anyhow.
Like all medics everywhere, I didn't want to see my buddies hurt or killed, and I'd have been happy to be called "Jim", "Old Man", or whatever, so long as the guys didn't need my services beyond a band-aid.
"Be careful, Jim." Andy said as I walked past trying to catch up to the rest of my team as I gave him a friendly punch in shoulder.
"No worries, mate." I said as I passed him, not realizing just how much my words would come back to haunt me later, as the four of us and the guard proceeded through the front of the hangar to go around towards the back, instead of going through the door in the locker room exit like the other mechanics had done.
With our weapons locked away in the plane, the guard was the only one with a gun, so we weren't taking any chances of ending up the same way the mechanics had by following the same path they had as we skirted around the hangar wall with the guard taking the point with the rest of us close behind, while I was rear guard at the end of the line.
There were no lights on outside in our immediate area, although the runway lights and most of the buildings near the main terminal seemed to be working fine, as we quietly approached the rear of the hangar and the guard in front of us had his flashlight out and scanned the ground in front of us as we made our approach.
We all had small Surefire flashlights in our hands, which were much more powerful than the cheap flashlight the guard carried.
But like all military units that operate in the unknown, we intentionally kept ours turned off, a lesson I had learned from these guys that it was always best to stay in the shadows until something presented itself.
The truth was, there was no telling what we were walking into, and if someone was out here killing people, his first incentive would be to attack the cop with the light.
Seems kind of harsh to use the cop as bait that way, but unarmed as we were, it was the smart thing to do, as we walked closer to the back of the hangar.
And as we stealthily approached the rear of the hangar, I thought I heard the sound of slight splashing, as if someone had stepped in a puddle.
And then I heard a sound I'd heard plenty of times before in all my years as a medic…
The sound of bone grating upon bone.
"What the hell?" I thought to myself, a little relieved thinking this might not be so serious after all. "Did all these guys just fall down in the dark and break a bone or something?"
Sounds ridiculous I know, but you'd be surprised how many times I've been to a construction site were one guy fell down and broke a leg, and then a bunch of other workers would end up getting injured falling down the same hole or trench trying to help their fallen buddy.
Instead of one guy with a busted arm, now ya got three or four with all sorts of broken bones and other injuries needing to go the hospital.
Sounds very much like a skit in a comedy act, but surprisingly enough, it happens all the time.
Of course, bone grating on bone is extremely painful, and I thought it quite odd that no one was making any noise at all as the guard walked to the end of the hangar and searched the corner, and after finding nothing, walked out past the hangar to the lot behind the hangar and then scanned the space all around.
We were a few feet behind him and I was busy watching our rear when I heard a sudden gasp and a choking sound come from the guard, who then from what it sounded like to me, started violently puking his guts out.
And after a moment the sea breeze shifted and I got a good whiff of what had sickened the guard as the smell of blood hit me as well as the overpowering smell of excrement, mixed with vomit.
"Someone is hurt really bad if I can smell that much blood, and if the pain was intense enough that someone had voided his bowels then he must be seriously injured." I thought to myself as I quickly donned a pair of latex gloves in preparation for treating an injured patient.
I was waiting for J.R. to give me the all clear and the go ahead to start treating these people, but instead I heard a few sharp intakes of breath instead, and then the sudden reaction from the guys was much different than what I expected to hear.
"WHAT THE F_CK?!" Patrick swore behind me as I heard a couple of startled gasps coming from the others.
"TORCHES ON!" J.R. suddenly barked as we all immediately clicked the lights in our hands on, and scanned around in all directions.
"OH SHIT!" I then heard a couple of the guys say behind me as I fought the urge to turn around and see what the hell had upset everyone so much.
I was trying really hard to avoid craning my neck to see what was going on that was upsetting them so much, but my job was to watch our rear, and if I turned around to stare, someone might sneak up on us. You get the idea.
I couldn't help myself though, and I asked out loud as I was really starting to get anxious at this point.
"Hey guys?" I said the tension finally getting the best of me. "What the hell?!"
But when no one answered, I became really spooked that something must be really wrong for them to be that quiet when suddenly I heard J.R.'s voice yelling "NO!" and then the guard who had apparently just gotten over puking, suddenly fired four shots into the night.
Like I said, I'm not a combat soldier, I'm just a fill in medic, so I did what all people normally do when someone shoots behind them, and I ducked.
And then as I looked behind me to see what the guard was shooting at, I then saw what had made the guys react the way they did, and I stopped and stared at what I saw in horror, instead of turning back around and watching our back like I was supposed to.
Dumb move, but then again, I guess I just couldn't help myself at the time because what I saw was not something I've ever witnessed before…..
And I've witnessed some awful shit in my career.
The three workers were lying within a few feet of each other more or less, and even then, I couldn't really tell if it was all three of them because they were no longer whole.
Because their bodies had been ripped to shreds.
The heads, arms, legs had been pulled from their sockets and the vital organs were spilled on the ground, and blood was everywhere, which explained the strong smell.
But even more shocking, was that in the midst of all that, there were several men dressed in airport maintenance jumpsuits and a couple of women in office worker clothing all kneeling on the ground and completely covered in blood.
And as I watched, one of the women was gnawing on the face of a skull she was holding in her hands while the rest were gnawing on different body parts, each covered head to toe in gore.
I've always prided myself on maintaining my composure on the scene of any fire or accident, and you can ask anyone I've ever worked with, I've always managed to keep it together, no matter how bad the situation or injuries were.
But then again, it's really not that often you see family night at the local airport back lot serving an all-you-can-eat human buffet with all the trimmings.
The guard, quite understandably had freaked out at what he was seeing unfold before him and had fired four shots at the group enjoying their manwiches, dropping two of them to the ground right away, both of them shot through the head.
Almost immediately, the other two who had been shot reacted from the impact of the bullets from the guard's .38 caliber pistol, by raising their heads, mouths all covered in gore, and then standing up and walking towards us.
The guard then fired his last round from his five shot revolver and hit one of the men in the chest, right where the heart should be, which normally should have dropped the guy like a bag of potatoes.
It was a near perfect shot considering how shook up the guard was, but instead of dropping to the ground, dead the man merely shuddered…
And then continued shuffling towards us, as if nothing had happened.
To say that we were stunned by what we had just witnessed would be an understatement, but that doesn't mean we were just standing there waiting to be served up as dessert either, as J.R. instinctively grabbed the guard's arm and was pulling him away as the bloody bunch started to close in on us.
I meanwhile had regained my composure, and was busy looking behind us scanning the dark with my light as I saw a few more moving shadows just out of the range of the beam of light, coming towards us.
"Contact Rear!" I yelled as Patrick and Steve spun around and peered into the dark past my beam of light, as the lights of the parking lot and the hangars suddenly blinked back on.
"OH, SHIT!" I heard the guard say out loud, which under most circumstances, would have sounded almost comical since he had been speaking nothing but Japanese the whole time he'd been with us.
We didn't laugh though, because every single one of us was thinking the same thing as we watched dozens of blood covered people in the back lot and in the roads coming from the airport, heading our way.
Location: Tokonosu International Airport –
Maintenance Hanger #7.
"B" Wing Side of Airport
Time: 0500 Hours
Date: Z-Day
"WHAT THE HELL?!" Andrew yelled after hearing the shots coming from the back of the hangar as he glanced over at his team leader.
"Shit!" Chris, the leader of BLUE team said in frustration as he gave a quick hand signal to the rest of the men standing near him to join the others on the plane who were already breaking open the containers securing their arms and equipment.
Not wishing to violate international law and break out their weapons and cause an international incident, Chris and Andrew had stayed in the same spot since the group of men had left while the remaining members of GREEN and BLUE team were back at the plane discreetly opening the sealed weapons cases on board, just in case the situation went south.
After hearing the shots however, Chris realized that there was no time to screw around, and now as far as they were concerned, the legal stuff be damned.
"EVERYONE GEAR UP!" Chris shouted as he grabbed Andy by the arm as the former SAS trooper appeared to be moving in the direction the shots had come from.
"ANDY, WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!" Chris shouted as Andrew tore his arm out of his grasp.
"OUR MATE'S ARE IN TROUBLE CHRIS….!" Andrew shouted as Chris slapped him in the shoulder.
"GET A GRIP ANDY, YOU KNOW BETTER THAN THAT!" Chris shouted angrily as he also fought the urge to run towards the rear of the hangar himself to help his friends.
"Lemmee just take a quick peek, Chris…." Andrew said keeping his voice low as he switched into combat mode. "I'll stay in the shadows and see what's what."
"YOU AIN'T NO GOOD TO ANYONE DEAD ANDY, NOW GET TO THE PLANE AND GEAR UP YA DUMB LIMEY!" Chris said shaking his head as he grabbed Andrew by the arm and shoved him toward the plane as he turned his attention towards the Japanese mechanics who were still standing in the same spot as before, completely frozen in fear.
"COME ON!" Chris yelled at them, as he then began grabbing and pushing the group of men towards the plane. "LET'S GO! MOVE IT, MOVE IT!"
As the mechanics then bolted at full speed towards the cargo plane, Chris stopped in his tracks and hesitated a moment hoping to see his friends coming around the corner where they had disappeared.
And as the seconds ticked away, the leader of BLUE Teams concern over the welfare of his friends threatened to overcome him when suddenly, all five men blasted around the corner and at a dead run, headed directly for the plane.
"J.R., what the F_CK is going on man!" Chris yelled as the big man ran up towards him behind the rest of his team.
"GO! GO! GO! GO! GO!" J.R. was yelling at the top of his lungs to his men as he ran towards Chris, his face displaying an emotion Chris had never noticed in his friend's face in all the years they had served together in "The Unit."
Fear.
"Move it Chris, they're right behind us!" The leader of GREEN Team shouted as he grabbed Chris's arm and pulled him along. "HAUL ASS, BUDDY!"
"WHO'S BEHIND YOU FOR F_CK'S SAKE?!" Chris said as he and the rest of the group of running men passed the helicopter sitting in the middle of the hangar.
"F_CKING ZOMBIES MAN! NO BULLSHIT! NOW RUN!" J.R. roared over his shoulder, as Chris looked over at the leader of GREEN Team in disbelief at the man's words.
And if not for the fact that the men were running as if death were on their heels, the leader of BLUE Team would have completely stopped in his tracks believing that this was all a joke.
I'm no long distance runner, and as a matter of fact, running long distances is literally my Achilles heel because I get shin splints really badly, and one of the times it really hurt me the worst was when I tried hard to get into a big city Fire Department like Houston Fire or San Antonio F.D.
In preparing for that test, I had pushed myself way too hard to run in the allotted time with the end result being that wherever I went afterwards, I smelled like Ben-Gay for the next six months while my legs healed.
Funny story, but unfortunately it's all true.
And so when J.R. gave the order to run, I was still carrying my med-pack over my shoulders which is a BlackHawk STOMP II Medical kit that when fully loaded, easily weighs over 65 pounds and would have been pretty hard for me to carry on a long distance run that I've never had to do before.
For obvious reasons though, I had no trouble at all keeping up with the guys in our balls-to-the-wall run back to the plane, despite the extra weight of the pack.
And I probably would have beat all of the guys back to the plane too, if I hadn't been so worried about looking like a coward, and had purposefully slowed down a bit so as not to dishonor myself.
What can I say; firefighters are used to running towards the danger, not away from it.
Of course, then again, what we were running away from back there wasn't exactly someone's cat stuck up in a tree either.
As I neared the cargo plane, a few of the guys on BLUE Team had already armed themselves and had set up a defensive perimeter around the plane in order to protect us from attack while the rest of us hastily readied ourselves for possible attack.
While the guys setting up a defensive perimeter around the plane was to be expected from such combat-hardened veterans, I doubt any of them would believe their eyes once they spotted the type of enemy we were now facing as I ran past them.
And as I ran up the loading ramp into the cargo hold of the plane, I was grateful for the fact that some of the guys had already broken all the seals on the cargo containers where our weapons were stored as all of us started grabbing our gear, while the others were listening to J.R.s account of what we had seen behind the hangar, looks of disbelief visible all over their faces.
And as they listened to J.R.'s story, I do believe that if it hadn't been for the fact that all four of us had witnessed the horror we had seen now coming for us, I'm pretty sure the guys would have then immediately hog-tied the lot of us and locked us away.
But as incredible as our story sounded, nobody attempted to stop donning their gear and weapons in a great big hurry after seeing the splashes of blood on our boots and on our clothes, as the realization that what was happening was really was no bullshit started to hit them.
"Bloody hell, Jim….." Andy said as he walked over towards me after listening to J.R's account of what happened. "Is this for f_cking real?"
"As real as it gets, brother…." I said as pulled my range bag out of the plastic container and set it on top of a box of equipment. "Never seen anything like it myself…."
"But f_cking zombies, man?" Andy said in disbelief as I shook my head, not really believing what I had seen either.
"Buddy, I don't believe in that zombie B.S., either…." I said as Andy was checking his carbine while keeping a watchful eye out the rear cargo door of the plane.
"But after what I just saw, I really don't know what else to call them." I said as Andy suddenly cracked a smile.
"Of course you do, mate….." Andy said with a chuckle at the confused look on my face. "I explained all that to you on the first day we began your training, don't you remember?"
"They're called "targets", ya dumb Yank." Andy said as I rolled my eyes while he chuckled at his little joke.
"Bugger off, ya wanker…" I said in disgust as I grabbed the rest of my gear acting as if I were really pissed off.
It was all harmless banter between friends though, because to be honest, I was extremely grateful to have my best friend standing there nearby to cover my back since this was my first real combat situation and despite the playful banter, I was scared to death.
But despite the fact that we were all in danger, Andy was there trying to help me conquer my own fear despite the unknown danger that I knew was looming closer to our position.
And that's how it is in the Military, Police and Fire Departments whenever a situation arrives that tests the mettle of any person in whatever Service they are a part of.
Whenever we are most afraid, it's the strength and courage of the guy standing next to you that gives you the ability to stand up against whatever trial you face, because you know he will be there for you the same way you will be there for him.
It's more than just simple camaraderie among warriors, and extremely difficult to explain to those not a part of it.
But if there was ever a word that would best describe it, the word would be….."Brotherhood".
Relieved that my life was in the hands of men I knew I could count on, I shook off the remains of my fear and busied myself with putting on my gear as quickly as I could.
For most operations that the guys had been contracted to most of the time, the weapons used for the operation were oftentimes provided by the client, especially in some of the poorer third world countries were weapons such as the AK-47 were plentiful and none of the international laws and other legal hoops had to be hurdled in order for the contract to be fulfilled.
It had usually always worked out pretty well that way since most Special Forces guys are intimately familiar with weapons of various nations, and the same weapon they are using could be substituted in the field in case of malfunction by picking one off a fallen enemy.
And since the ammo and magazines were usually all the same, it made re-supply a lot easier than transporting our own arms from home.
On this particular OP however, the company had made it possible for us to take our own weapons with us, which was why we had a pretty decent arsenal at hand as well as a good supply of ammo.
Using local weapons in another country to accomplish a mission is useful and makes a lot of things easier, but being able to use your own weapon that you've customized to suit your needs and is the same weapon you train and fight with all the time and have gotten used to is always preferable, and as a result, we each had all of our personal weapons with us on this jaunt,
And also fortunately, as was standard procedure if we were going to be transporting our weapons with us, all of the magazines we carried for our weapons were loaded because as Andy had lectured me before when working in Third World countries…..
"You never know when you'll have to come out of a plane under fire, Yank." Andy had growled after telling me some of his horror stories of operating in Sierra Leone.
I doubt Andy or anyone ever figured on ever gearing up to engage killer zombies in Japan, though.
"Why couldn't it have been a Gojira attack instead?" I said using humor to mask my own fear as Andy stood next to me keeping a watchful eye out. "That would have been way cooler and no way could anyone not see that coming!"
"Bloody otaku….." Andrew growled under his breath as he watched me gathering my gear. "Only a fanboy like you would think this shite was cool."
"Don't be hatin', mate…." I said flipping Andy the bird. "Just because England's only claim to fame is Benny Hill and Monty Python."
"F_ck you, you wanker." Andy growled with a grin. "At least our entertainment isn't as weird as that anime crap you watch."
"At least it's more entertaining…" I retorted. "English humor seems kind of dry to me."
"It's called "culture", Yank." Andy said shaking his head in disgust. "Not that you Yanks would know anything about that."
"I suppose I don't…." I said with a grin as Andy glanced at me and scowled.
"Bloody f_cking hell, Jimmy….!" Andy growled in mock disgust. "Aren't you ready yet? I thought you f_cking firemen were used to getting dressed in a hurry."
"Kiss my ass, Andy." I retorted as I flipped Andy off again and then noticed out of the corner of my eye, that the mechanics were quietly standing against the bulkhead in the interior of the plane and staring horror-struck, at all the big scary foreigners with a distinct sense of dread as we armed ourselves.
I guess you couldn't blame them for freaking out at the sight of all of us donning combat vests and stuffing the pockets with loaded magazines, as some of the guys pulled out mean-looking Colt M4 carbines and other weaponry out of their cases and began loading them up, as the cargo hold of the plane was filled with sound of charging handles on carbines and pistol slides being racked, which I'm sure only added to their anxiety.
Obviously, none of the mechanics had any idea what had just happened to their buddies since we were all occupied with arming ourselves and no one had bothered to explain what had happened.
And from all appearances, the security guard that was standing right next to them was still a little too freaked out from what had happened, as well as from watching us gear up while he was still holding an empty pistol to bother telling the mechanics anything either.
I guess old habits die hard, because as much as I needed to focus on gearing up and preparing for an attack, my instincts as a firefighter came back as I saw the frightened looks on their faces, and I decided to help calm their fears as much as I could, as I moved over to the guard and the mechanics and attempted to speak to them in what little Japanese I could remember from my otaku days.
"Oy, kitte yo….." I began using my words slowly. " Watakushi-tachi , tomodachi des."
"Daijobu des….." I said as the men looked at me puzzled. "Wakarimasu ka?"
As I was speaking, I had hoped I was telling them. "Hey. Listen to me. We're friends. It's OK. Understand?" But it had been so long since I last spoke in Japanese, I might have been telling them to go play tamagochi or something.
But I guess I said something right, because they all seemed to relax a bit, and didn't seem so frightened as before as the security guard holstered his weapon, although his hands were still shaking.
Feeling a little more encouraged, I tried speaking a little more to try to help alleviate their fears as I pointed to the guard and continued speaking to them.
"Anata-wa…Hanashite…Anata-tachi…." I said to the guard as I pointed to the mechanics and then pointed out the cargo door of the plane." Bake-mono…... Mo Sugu… Ikimasho."
The confused stares on their faces told me they had no clue as to what I was talking about at first.
But then after a couple more frustrated attempts finally a light bulb went off in the guard's head and he realized I wanted him to tell his comrades about the monsters we had just encountered and that we were planning to beat feet as soon as we loaded up.
I'm glad he finally realized what it was I was trying to tell him because I needed to continue to gear up as well and the fact of the matter was I was using up valuable time in talking to them, but I really couldn't help but try to help calm their fears seeing how scared they were at seeing us all so heavily armed.
But another reason I had decided to calm their fears was that while the guard knew all about the danger we had just seen, for all the mechanics knew, they were being held hostage by international terrorists and might decide to turn on us, and that was the last thing we needed right now.
I have to admit, seeing as how we were all made up of guys whose job had been to fight terrorism, the irony of it all was just too much.
As I quickly doffed my med-pack, I then went to the container and grabbed my rifle case and unzipped it as I pulled out my M4 carbine and combat vest.
We all carried three or four different bags for each man, each particular to each man's job and needs, and each of us had carried a gear bag with all of our personal items, a range bag that carried our rifles, vests and magazines, and a SHTF bag that carried a little bit of everything for when the "Shit Hits The Fan."
And of course, being the medic, I also had my medical pack which I then handed to one of the mechanics, a young kid who was about 20, but looked closer to 12, as I geared up.
Like most of the other guys, my choice of gear was based on the operation at hand as well as personal preference, and since we would be operating in a region of Africa where the climate and the terrain would be hot, dry, and desert-like, most of our gear was lightweight and very few had any armor plate in their combat rigs.
My combat vest was an older, tan-colored BlackHawk Omega Elite Tactical vest that had no provisions for armor, but it was comfortable and lightweight and had six large ammo pouches that could hold twelve, 30-round magazines for my M4, as well as a couple of other pouches where I kept a couple of tubes of camo paint, a compass, and a monocular for reconnaissance.
And as I quickly donned my combat vest and zipped it up, I reflexively checked the pockets of my vest that had already been loaded with ten, 30-round Magpul P-Mags in each of the ammo pouches as well as one 60-round Surefire magazine in the last pouch.
And then after securing my vest, I then attached my tan BlackHawk Mark IV tactical thigh holster to my right leg, as I then removed my Sig Sauer P226 NSW Commemorative pistol from its nylon case and shoved a loaded MecGar 18-round magazine into it and racked the slide, loading a round.
I then placed the Sig in the holster and secured it and then made sure the nylon pouch that held the extra mags for my pistol were secure on my belt as I then reached for my M4.
My primary weapon, like most of the other guys were using, was a milspec Colt M4 with a chrome-lined SOCOM-profile "heavy" barrel, chambered in 5.56.
Each of us had been allowed to customize our weapons as much as we wanted provided that it didn't interfere with the normal operation of the weapon, and so when I had received the weapon at the armory back at Laidlaw, I had then ordered a custom lower receiver for my M4 from Alamo Tactical, which was a gun shop located back home in San Antonio, to replace the factory lower receiver.
Designed and built to be more heavy duty than most normal lower receivers, the receiver I had was built with heavier grade aluminum, and the magwell was contoured like a funnel, making reloading a lot easier and thus, a lot quicker.
While there was nothing wrong with the original factory receiver, I felt that anything that could help me get an edge over any potential adversaries was worth the investment.
And besides, being that the receiver was made in my hometown, I liked the idea of being able to carry a little "piece of home" with me wherever I went.
In customizing my M4 even further, I had also removed the standard *SOPMOD stock, and replaced it with a tan VLTOR EMOD stock and then I also replaced the front hand grip with a RAIL accessories system, that I attached a military DBAL laser and IR illumination system on top, and also mounted a SURFIRE M900V weaponlight on the bottom.
And while most of the guys preferred to use the Aimpoint Red-Dot system as their primary weapon sight, I had instead installed a tan, Eotech 553 for my carbine, and had then attached a tan-colored adjustable Vicker's combat sling to it, before I then had the whole carbine cerakoted in Flat Dark Earth, as a personal touch.
But my M4 wasn't the only piece of equipment that I had customized for my use, as I then reached into my range bag and pulled out a fully-loaded, double magazine set-up stored within that I had put together before we had left Nevada.
Double mag set-ups had always been discouraged for years in the Military due to the extra weight of having two loaded magazines being joined together and causing problems in the field by the mags suddenly falling out of the magwell unexpectedly, during combat operations because the magazine catch couldn't hold up the extra weight.
Improvements in the M4 over time had "fixed" that problem supposedly, but double mags set-ups were still often discouraged, although I myself and some of the other guys used them.
My particular set-up used two, 30 round windowed Magpul P-Mags held together by a MagLink magazine coupler, which was also made by Magpul Industries, and to give myself an additional edge, I had installed on the base of each magazine a Taran Tactical Innovations magazine extender on each one, giving me an additional five rounds in each magazine.
The advantage of my custom magazine set-up was that I now had a total of 35 rounds in each magazine for a total of 70 rounds at my disposal before I had to reload from any of the other magazines on my combat vest, which would allow me to sustain fire longer since all I had to do was quickly switch from one mag to the other without having to reach into a pouch.
As I slapped the Magpul set-up into the magwell of my carbine and then pulled back on the charging handle and made sure my carbine was on "SAFE", I glanced over at the group of Japanese men and gave them a faint smile, trying to reassure them a little as I then reached into the bag for another important piece of gear and pulled out a large sheath knife and strapped it securely to my right calf, as I noticed Andy shaking his head in mock disgust out of the corner of my eye.
While most soldiers in combat often carry a sheath knife of some sort in the field, oftentimes their knives are used more as tools than actual weapons.
My knife however, was a straight-up combat blade, and was based purely on my admiration for the UDT/SEAL Teams.
While many of the "old school" Special Forces guys preferred carrying Randall-made knives, at over $600 for the Model 2 dagger that I was looking at, I cringed at the thought of paying that amount for a combat knife that I knew would definitely be beaten up in the field.
Instead, the knife that I finally chose to carry that was similar in design to the Randall knife, was a replica of one of thirty-nine Vietnam War-era SOG UDT Dive knives issued to the Naval Special Warfare Teams that were assigned to MACV-SOG in 1964.
Only one of those knives is known to still exist, and many years later in honor of those men, a company named SOG Specialty Knives made some replicas of those particular knives and called them the "SOG SCUBA/DEMO knife", and made them available for sale to the public.
Now years later, even the SOG SCUBA/DEMO replicas were hard to find, but fortunately, I had been able to acquire one and I was extremely happy about finding it as well as being happy about the price I paid for it.
I had to admit, it was still a little too pretty to use as a field knife with its grip made up of resin-impregnated leather washers, along with the shiny brass hilt and beautiful seven-inch stainless steel blade that had a serrated edge on the spine.
But despite its beauty it was a deadly serious weapon, and so for use in the field I replaced the leather belt sheath that came with the knife, and bought a tan, cordura diver's-style sheath for it instead so that I could keep the knife strapped to my right leg, even though I admit; it really wasn't the best place to secure it.
But in truth, because I had seen old photos of WW II UDT divers walking around with knives strapped to their legs back when I was reading about them in high school, nostalgia was why I chose to wear it in the same fashion despite Andy's constant ragging on me that I looked silly.
But despite Andy's criticism, I didn't let it dissuade me from how I chose to wear my knife because after all, Andy was former British Army SAS and not one of the Royal Navy SBS boys, so what did I care what he thought anyway, as I gave him a shit-eating grin and flipped him off, while he just shook his head again and growled at me to hurry up.
I then grabbed my large SHTF pack and carried it over to where the Japanese stood still staring at us, and handed it to the stoutest looking one of the mechanics.
The pack of choice that I used was an Eberlestock Operator pack colored in Dark Earth, which was the exact same model that Steve, the sniper on my team carried since it was extremely popular with many Military snipers around the world.
And like Steve's pack, I carried a little bit of everything and weighed a ton as fully packed with supplies as it was, including a spare set of clothes, emergency rations, a camelbak system for drinking water on the go, a few boxes of extra ammo for all my weapons, some survival supplies, and a smaller medical pack attached to the outside of the pack by MOLLE straps, and on top of the pack was a spare ammo pouch that held six 30-round Magpul P-Mags .
And because the Eberlestock pack was originally designed for military snipers, I also carried an old, decommissioned U.S. Army M24 sniper rifle that now rested inside the internally attached rifle scabbard of the pack.
Since Steve was the sniper for BLUE Team and always carried his rifle with him, there really had been no need for me to bring mine along as well, but since Steve and Andy had been coaching me on long-range shooting, I had brought it along so I could practice my marksmanship, since our next assignment after this operation was to guard a cargo ship sailing into pirate-infested waters, and having another long range shooter would definitely come in handy.
Still, my primary job was being the medic, and in this particular situation I really needed to be wearing the med-pack and not the sniper pack as I quickly donned it after retrieving it from the young mechanic I had passed it to earlier as I gave the kid a friendly pat on the shoulder and then activated the Eotech holosight on my carbine and then peered through it to make sure it was on.
"Alright, listen up…!'' yelled J.R. so we all could hear. "The plane's down so we can't just fly out of here, and we can't contact anybody by radio for some reason, probably from interference off the buildings."
"That is unless zombies have learned how to use scrambling equipment." J. holding up the guard's portable radio as each of us laughed quietly among ourselves.
"I sent Glenn and Jerry out to the chopper to check and see if they can get the radio working….." J.R. continued. "And hopefully we can call for help and just hold out till help arrives."
"We can also try to make a run for it to one of those other hangars or even all the way to the main terminal…." J.R. added with a frown. "But it's a long hump all alone out there and we don't know how many of those things are out walking around, or if maybe the whole airport is compromised."
"How about the sat phone, boss?" Patrick asked as we all noticed Chris angrily pulling the phone away from his ear and flipping it the finger.
"Chris is still trying…." J.R. said pausing to look at Chris who had suddenly started cursing at the phone.
"What?" J.R. asked as Chris acted as if he wanted to throw the sat phone against the bulkhead in disgust.
"They put me on f_cking hold man!" Chris said practically screaming as all of us chuckleded at Chris's frustration.
"Great, bet you they'll be asking for a credit card number, next." I whispered sarcastically to Andy, recalling an event that actually happened to some U.S. Paratroopers during the American rescue operation in Grenada, which was later panned in the movies "Heartbreak Ridge" and "Transformers."
"Keep trying bro." J.R. said shaking his head as he turned to address us again.
"Our only other option is to fly the chopper out of here and continue to try to make contact with the tower or make a break for the mainland and hand ourselves over to the authorities." J.R. said as all of us grumbled at that idea.
While we were only trying to keep ourselves alive from a horror none of us had ever thought possible, the fact remained that our possibly having to discharge our weapons on friendly soil, as well as stealing a helicopter with Japanese Nationals aboard, and flying over Japanese airspace and quite a few other violations I'm sure we were about to be involved in, spelled out international incident no matter which way you looked at it.
However, our concerns over being locked up in a Japanese jail cell became moot though when Glenn and Jerry ran up towards the ramp, their faces white as I noticed that the guys who were securing the perimeter had suddenly tensed up.
"Boss, we got problems." Glenn said, trying to catch his breath, as J.R. walked over to him.
"What's up?" J.R. asked as Jerry glanced up at him, his face grim.
"Johnny, we got multiple contacts, all over the tarmac." Jerry said as he held his carbine to his shoulder, the muzzle pointed out towards the runway as the rest of us walked out of the rear cargo door of the plane with our weapons at the ready.
And as I stepped off the ramp leading into the plane, I could see just beyond the glow of the hangar lights, dozens of slowly moving figures moving towards us from the runway itself, from all directions.
I had thought the situation was bad, but after gazing upon all those….."things" coming towards us, the real horror of the situation we were in hit me like a ton of bricks.
We were surrounded.
And we had run out of time.
*(CQB - Close Quarters Battle)
UPDATE:8-25-2014
Originally when I had written this chapter, I had not put a lot of detail on what weapons and equipment "Jim" carries in the story as well as a few other details that I felt needed to be addressed, and so I did an update to this chapter which included fixing a lot of grammatical errors as well.
Authors Notes:
One of the biggest problems I had in trying to write this story is that, unlike some stories where the hero magically has an arsenal at his disposal that he somehow slipped through Customs and is now running through Japan, a country with some of the strictest gun laws in the world, without anyone trying to detain him while he shoots every zombie in sight was a bit of a challenge for me. In trying to make this fictional story somewhat realistic even though it really is fantasy, my biggest challenge was, what would an American firefighter be doing in Japan, other than being on vacation, and how would he be able to arm himself short of stealing weapons from the police or military?
It was then I got the idea for the "private security contractor" theme. Firefighters, believe it or not, do indeed get hired overseas, especially paramedics to work at DOD bases and airports and oil rigs. However, I don't know of anyone who would be employed by any of the "private security companies" that exists today. The job is too risky to say the least. However, as you will see in the upcoming chapters, there are other reasons why I chose this angle.
Again, this is a work of fiction, so I hope any of you military folks reading this don't offended by what your reading so far. Again, stolen valor is not my thing at all.
By the way, for everyone that's a paramedic or firefighter or familiar with the name Laidlaw. Yes, it's an inside joke towards that parent company of a certain private ambulance service that I worked for, for 3 ½ years.
I'll be working on Chapter 6 now. Take care!