She had barely moved an inch.
The hours came and went, but the pilot had remained in the same clearing, fading in and out of consciousness.
Ash had stayed in position, watching and waiting. He had placed his swag by his feet, but had both hands wrapped around his weapon. One quick jab should be enough to finish her off.
He was almost starting to see it as a favour to her. The pilot was not in good health and Ash had the power to put her out of her misery.
However, another part of him felt like she deserved to suffer.
Ash shook the thoughts from his mind. He was starting to overthink the situation, and even the smallest sliver of doubt could put him in peril.
He tried to lock his mind on the one objective; kill.
Although night had now fallen, it was almost a full moon. The light shone down on the island and visibility was at its best. Ash could clearly see his target curled up in the foetal position, but if he moved too quickly, no doubt he would be spotted in the moonlight.
Stealth would be the difference between success and failure.
When Ash was certain she had fallen asleep (or had passed out) he slowly stood from his hiding place and prepared himself for the attack.
He held the pointed end of the stick away from his body and carefully stepped over the fallen log. His bare feet gently crushed the leaf litter below, but the target did not stir from her sleep.
He crept closer, hearing his heart thump.
During Ash’s time in the armed forces, he had witnessed countless deaths. In fact, it had almost become normality in his everyday life. He had become desensitised to fatalities. In the early days, the passing of a fellow marine would shake him to the core. But these days? The sorrow never lasted long.
Yet the pilot’s impending demise weighed heavily on his mind.
Now just a few metres away, Ash stopped and studied the woman.
He had finally laid eyes on her face. The pilot’s features were quite striking. However, they were somewhat marred by the horrific burn stretching from the right side of her forehead, across her eyes, down to her left cheekbone. The burn was fresh and it had already started to crust and fester.
If left alone, she would probably die in a few days. But Ash couldn’t bring himself to live with the uncertainty. He risked a few steps closer until he was standing right in front of her. He held the stick high into the air, with the sharpened point hovering above her beaten torso.
His hands were shaking. One quick jab and it would all be over, but he had begun to imagine the aftermath. The strike would not kill her instantly. She would scream. She might be left pinned to the ground. She would bleed out. He would have to endure the sights and sounds until she died.
He tasted bile in his mouth, and suddenly he could not stomach the sickening act of brutality.
Ash swallowed hard and lowered his stick.
This had never happened to him before. Ever. He loathed frailty and weakness, but he could not bring himself to kill the pilot. Not under the circumstances. It would be dishonourable in every way.
Slowly, he exhaled and stepped back. She hadn’t stirred once and perhaps she would never know how close she had come to a callous end.
Ash turned around and tried to work out his next move. If she hadn’t been Australian, he would’ve stepped in and helped her by now. He needed more time to think. Ash barely had the capacity to rationalise it.
He stepped forward, but his barefoot crunched down on a twig. It snapped in two. Just as the sound echoed out into the open, Ash jerked his head around to see that his fear had become a reality.
The pilot jerked upright, pulling a knife from her boot.
He froze. Ash eyed her weapon and then looked down at his own. Outmatched.
There were a few options – fight, flee or surrender. He remained still, waiting for the pilot to make the first move. Only then would he decide.
She had her knife raised, but nothing more had happened. The pilot wasn’t even looking at him. Instead she was staring out into the open.
Slowly, her head began to turn. Now that her eyes were wide open, he could see just how damaged she truly was. The pilot’s eyes were milky and white – staring inertly, as if the life had been sucked out of them.
Ash stumbled backwards – only by a couple of inches – but his footsteps were clearly audible in the dead of the night.
“Who’s there?” she screamed. “Make yourself known!”
He was only standing two metres away – in plain sight – but she could not see him.
Heart beating rapidly, Ash remained perfectly still. The pilot, cradling her arm, stepped closer to him with her weapon raised, but she was no longer looking in his direction. Ash thought about running. No doubt he would make a lot of noise in the process, but the pilot was clearly handicapped and Ash could probably outrun her.
He frantically tried to weigh up his options, but he had unintentionally given himself away. The pilot heard the sound of his heavy breathing.
And then she charged at him.
The blade narrowly missed Ash’s head as he darted out of the way. He broke into a sprint, not daring to look behind, but he stumbled over an exposed tree root and came crashing to the ground. As he rolled onto his back, the pilot was already standing above him and preparing to strike again.
Ash held his stick above his torso as the knife was brought down into the wood, almost slicing it in half.
“I will end you!” screamed the pilot, pulling her weapon free as she prepared to take another stab.
He was on his back. Defenceless. Vulnerable.
Ash had always vowed to face death without fear. However, he could not accept this moment as his last. After all he had been through, it would be shameful to die at the hands of a blinded Australian pilot.
However, fighting or fleeing was no longer an option, nor could he talk his way out of it. Without a voice he was powerless.
Ash rolled his body through the mud, narrowly dodging the furious slashes. At one point, the pilot reached her free hand out towards Ash and grabbed his shoulder. He wrestled free before she could jam the blade through his skull.
Fighting for his life, Ash managed to shove the pilot half a metre by pushing her away with his bare foot, but it only re-energised her anger.
If there was ever a time for his voice to suddenly work, now was the ideal time. However, Ash opened his mouth and tried to force words to the surface.
There was nothing. As always. Just unbearable silence.
If only he could reason with the enemy, then maybe Ash would have a fighting chance, but it seemed like an impossibility given the circumstances.
How could Ash bargain with the pilot when she could not see, and he could not speak? It was an inconceivable coincidence.
In a panic, Ash grabbed a stone from the mud and began tapping it against a large rock within his reach.
Three quick taps. Three slower taps. Three quick taps.
The pilot halted and listened.
Three quick taps. Three slower taps. Three quick taps.
As if frozen in time, the pilot remained perfectly still and focused. She heard a familiar rhythm, a pattern of communication virtually lost for several decades.
Filling with trepidation, Ash felt as though his lungs were tightening inside his chest, but at last the pilot relaxed her stance.
“Who are you?” she asked, sounding unsure of herself. “You’re telling me SOS. I can hear it.”
She knew it. There was a glimmer of hope. Ash kept tapping the same pattern.
“I know Morse, but who are you? Tell me. Now.”
Ash tried to mouth the words, but of course she could not see. He then tried to explain himself using the code.
Ash Griffin.
“I don’t care for your name. What’s your nationality?” snapped the pilot, holding the knife less than a metre from his body. “If you know Morse code then surely you must work in the military? Tell it to me straight – are you a friend or foe?”
Ash knew the truth would get him killed, so he lied.
Australian.
“Then why are you still doing Morse? Speak to me properly.”
I cannot speak.
“Hold on, I didn’t catch that. You’re tapping too fast.”
Ash simplified the reply,
No voice.
“Wait, what-? You don’t have a voice? Are you a mute?”
Ash’s condition was more complex than that, but for the sake of a quick answer, he tapped out a short reply.
Yes.
The pilot lowered her weapon, but not by much.
“Sounds like bullshit,” she hissed. “How do I know you’re not lying to me?”
It is true.
The pilot wasn’t convinced, but she gave him the benefit of the doubt. For now.
“What’s your age and gender?” she asked.
31. Male.
“Then where are we and how did you get here?”
Ash took his time to reply,
We are on an island. In the Coral Sea. I was an Australian prisoner on a British naval ship. It was attacked. I survived.
“Did you say prisoner? We had no records of Australians being held captive on British naval vessels.”
I was working abroad when I was captured by Royal Marines in the United States.
“I’m still sceptical. How can I be sure you’re not actually the enemy?”
You have my word.
“Your word? Is that supposed to be a joke?”
No.
She sniggered, but there was no humour in it.
“Morse code is highly obsolete these days and generally only used by the British military. How do you know Morse?”
I have been a prisoner for a very long time. I have picked it up along the way.
She was silent for a while, but eventually gave a reply,
“Usually I can pick a liar from a mile away. I hear it in their voice or see it in their face, but right now I can’t do either of those things. You don’t talk and I’ve recently lost most of my vision. If I trust you, I’m trusting you in blind faith. Literally.”
Ash looked up at the pilot’s damaged eyes. Although they appeared soulless, he could tell, she feared her fate too.
He tapped out another reply,
You can trust me.
“Then if you shake my hand, we are in a verbal contract. We must work together and figure out a way to get off this island.”
He shook her hand.
“Good. Now to break our agreement would be a heinous act of treachery, so I trust what you’ve told me is the truth.”
Every word of it.
“That joke is getting really bloody old, mate.”
He shrugged, but of course it would go unseen. The pilot’s demeanour had now changed, and she put the weapon away. Now that the knife was out of sight, Ash exhaled deeply and tapped out a new question.
What is your name?
“That’s not important.”
She then took a step backwards. Her boot landed on top of the long stick Ash had carved earlier that day. The pilot bent down, picked it up and ran her hands over the wood. She felt the spike. Her brows furrowed.
“Did you make this?” she asked.
No point in denying it.
Yes.
“Were you planning to attack me?”
I was not sure if I could trust you. I made it for my own protection.
She clutched the stick a little tighter and tried to process the information, but he could tell she was still struggling to believe his story. Ash knew his best chance of survival would be to work with the enemy, but first he would have to establish some level of trust.
Ash eyed the dried blood on her arm.
You seem hurt. I can help.
“There was an explosion inside the plane when my jet was hit. I know I’ve been burnt as I ejected myself, but I’m already dealing with it. I’ll be fine without your help.”
Please. Let me help you.
The pilot shook her head and pointed the stick to the ground. She hovered it over the leaf litter and used it as if it were a long cane. She turned her back, walked away and resumed her spot in the clearing.
Ash finally stood, thankful to be given the benefit of the doubt, but he was more determined than ever to win over the pilot’s respect.
If the Australian air force ever returned for her, Ash could use the pilot as a bargaining chip for his own safety. Cautiously, he stepped over to the clearing. She never said anything, but the pilot could hear him approaching.
Ash sat down opposite her and saw that she’d scooped up some fresh water in a dome shaped disk, and had torn a sleeve off her shirt to use as a dabbing rag.
He dipped the rag into the cool water, wrung it out and then tried to apply it against her charred skin. She flinched and pulled away.
“I told you, I’m fine,” she snapped.
Ash found another nearby rock and tapped it against the ground to give a reply,
Let me help.
She was about to protest again, but Ash rested a hand on top of hers as if trying to offer some level of reassurance. He then gently began to clean off the dried blood.
Now that she seemed calm, Ash tapped out the question once again,
What is your name?
“Ivy,” she replied. “But that’s enough about me. You need to tell me about you. Everything. I can’t rest until I know for sure that we’re on the same side.”