Morse Code: How far would you go to survive another day?

By J.D. Miller

The year is 2043.

World War III is far from over.

Cities around the globe have been torn apart, and former alliances have broken down. Just as the war looms closer to Australian shores, enemy battleships are ambushed and thousands are killed at sea.

Ash Griffin, a lone survivor, seeks refuge on a remote island somewhere in the Whitsundays. Before long, Ash realises he is not alone. A pilot from the opposing military has also washed ashore.

A game of cat and mouse ensues, but Ash cannot deny his own demise is imminent.

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: Dec 20, 2019
• ISBN: 9781925952599

J.D. Miller

J.D. Miller, MA, CPP-G, MAC is a certified professional counselor and award-winning writer. He has been published in several professional publications and made numerous TV appearances. This novel draws primarily on his experiences working as a substance abuse counselor, treating heroin and crack addicts in the most violent, impoverished neighborhoods in Washington, D.C. He currently lives in Warrenton, Virginia with his wife, son, and three dogs.

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36

1

Seconds before fire ripped through the vessel, he’d been peacefully dreaming.

Ash Griffin felt like he was floating, his weightless body gently rising towards the sky, rebelling against gravity in a silent triumph. He slept, and although he was not due to rise for several hours, an ear-shattering explosion forced Ash to wake from his slumber.

Eyes bursting open, he froze as the boom echoed out, followed by screams of sheer terror.

The fire alarm screeched down the corridors. Emergency red lights flickered throughout the sleeping quarters, and just as Ash tried to adjust to his current predicament, a second explosion rocked the entire ship.

Fellow marines began to scramble from their bunks, arming themselves with the closest weapon in reach. Ash tore back the covers, threw his legs over the edge of the top bunk and jumped down.

He landed barefoot in three inches of water.

Heart jackhammering against his chest, Ash sprang into action. He dashed out of the sleeping quarters, colliding into his comrade as he sprinted down the corridors. He pressed on through the chaos, up the staircase, and stumbled out onto the main deck.

An orange haze surrounded him, as plumes of smoke blanketed the night sky. He ran, half shielding his face from a flurry of embers, as he headed towards the control room. Ash felt the intense heat scorch his exposed skin.

Just as he turned the corner, the reality of the situation hit him with full force.

The entire ship was engulfed by flames.

Planes roared overhead, engines buzzing furiously as they circled the vessel. A low whistle could be heard, growing louder by the second. Ash caught a glimpse of a falling missile just moments before it struck the front of the ship.

More screams followed; the screeches of unrestrained horror.

Ash, along with the rest of the marines, had been trained to cope in moments of high conflict. Several years of hard work and dedication had enabled the men to prepare for surprise attacks from the enemy. However, now that the moment had arrived, all those days of training were lost. Nothing could’ve prepared them for this.

Ash glanced out towards the ocean. The other naval ships in his fleet were also under attack and the enemy had them surrounded.

Ash darted down the deck, running towards the mission bay. He desperately hoped he could somehow defend his company but he knew the situation was getting bleaker by the minute.

Just as the front of the ship came into view, Ash realised he was already too late. The first missiles had dropped, killing several of his comrades on impact and the rest could not be saved.

The enemy was relentless and there was no chance to make a reprisal. The naval ship’s armaments had been blown to bits from the first explosion.

Ash looked to the very front of the vessel and painfully acknowledged certain defeat. The stern was already beginning to dip into the ocean. There was no question about it – the ship was going down.

There was nothing he could do. The missiles were still falling and he was unarmed.

Hoping for orders, Ash turned towards the operations room to find it burning in a violent inferno. He had merely minutes to evacuate, if he had any chance of survival, but Ash wouldn’t abandon his brothers. If they fell, he would fall with them.

To die fighting, was to die with dignity.

However, many fellow marines did not feel the same way and they were diving overboard. Life and death situations bring out the true colours in people. Some may think they are brave and courageous, but when faced with a probable demise, so many would crumble into cowards.

Just then, another missile plummeted from the sky, falling directly into the mission bay. There was a burst of white light. It was almost blinding. The force sent a shock right through the ship and Ash was unable to keep on his feet. He fell back like a domino, crashing down hard on the deck.

Dazed, with a high-pitched frequency ringing through his ears, Ash pulled himself back onto his feet. Maybe twenty-five or so metres in the distance, he saw a pile of bloodied bodies. They had been thrown across the vessel from the most recent attack.

Suddenly, one of the bodies began to move – it was his lieutenant. Half of his face was severely charred and he was missing his right arm, yet still, he looked directly towards Ash and made eye contact.

Just as he prepared to dash over to assist him, the lieutenant shouted out, forcing Ash to stop in his tracks.

Hey! yelled the lieutenant, nursing the bloodied stump at the end of his elbow. G-Get out of here! Go.

Ash shook his head defiantly, refusing to stand down in the line of duty.

Abandon ship! shouted the lieutenant. R-Right now!

He couldn’t move. It almost felt like his feet were anchored on the deck.

T-That’s an order, lad. I am still your c-commanding lieutenant...

The enemy planes were heading back for another attack. Ash could hear the engines growing louder with every second. Although leaving the vessel and the dying marines behind would be a great dishonour in Ash’s eyes, he did not want to disobey his lieutenant.

Forcing away his reluctance, he gave a salute and advanced towards the railing. He waited until the very last second, and then he jumped.

Keeping his legs together and bringing his arms by his sides, like a pin, he dropped into the ocean. The Coral Sea engulfed his body, and the screams were now but a distant noise. Ash held his breath as he swam towards the surface, narrowly missing falling debris as he swam.

When he finally breached the surface, a final missile dropped into the centre of the naval ship, triggering an eruption of metal panels and shrapnel. Ash dived down once again, trying to dodge the wreckage. He swam as far away from the ship as he could, and when he could take no more, Ash rose to the surface to take another breath.

Barely able to keep his head above the water, he surveyed the damage.

The ship was sinking fast. The vessel could hardly be seen behind the billowing smoke, but still, it stood no chance. Within a few minutes, there were no longer any screams.

An eerie silence lingered in the dark of the night.

Ash jerked his head around, desperately searching for any survivors, but there were only lifeless bodies floating on top of the ocean. He continued to tread water, becoming increasingly more exhausted by the second.

By luck, a large plastic panel floated by. Ash threw his torso over the top and latched his hands firmly around the edges. Breathing hard, he tried to find his composure.

Ash was no stranger to adversity. He had conquered far greater challenges in the past and he had seen his brothers die before him on several occasions. However, with every hit, you are weakened. Ash knew every man had his breaking point.

The rival planes had completed their mission, and they were long gone. The enemy had yet another victory. Filthy bastards.

A little delirious, Ash looked up, as if he expected the heavens to offer some level of reassurance – but there would be no answer tonight.

Glowing embers and dust rained down from the sky, and that was the last thing Ash remembered seeing before the current dragged him out into the open sea.

2

The sun beat down on him in a persistent burst of heat.

He opened one eye. His head throbbed. Every second of consciousness was excruciating, but Ash gritted his teeth and tried to bear it.

He was stranded, in the middle of the ocean, awaiting certain death.

Ash had been floating on a plastic panel for close to twelve hours.

His arms were still draped over one side of the panel, and his bare arms had been scorched red by the unforgiving sun. However, his lower half had been submerged in water overnight, and his legs felt like dead weights, nearly dragging him down into the deep abyss.

Ash longed to quench his thirst. How long could he last this way?

Surely he had only days – perhaps even mere hours – before he reached his end.

He tried to lift his head off the plastic panel, but it just bobbed around like a buoy caught in a rip current. Ash swore he could feel his brain sloshing around in his skull.

He closed his eyes again, knowing his time was limited. He was not afraid of death. Dying was inevitable, yet still, waiting for his demise was almost worse than death itself. He just wanted it over and done with. In fact, in that moment he considered letting go of the panel and permit the ocean to swallow him whole. With any luck, maybe he’d sink to the bottom like a stone.

Drowning was not the way he wanted to go, but it was better than dying of dehydration or sunstroke. However, it would also be the easy way out. Ash had been raised to fight to the bitter end, no matter how bleak.

With that thought in mind, he held on.

He drifted for hours, growing increasingly more nauseous as he rocked from side to side in a never-ending cycle. Even his grip around the panel had loosened up. Maybe he would just simply slide into the sea without even realising it.

Ash used his remaining strength to force his eyes open. At first, the light blinded him, but as his eyes began to focus, a dark silhouette was beginning to take shape ahead of him on the horizon. He tried to squint, but his eyes were betraying him.

It was several more minutes before the image came into a clearer view.

There was no mistaking it now; he saw an island. Dry land. Perhaps only three hundred metres away.

A pinprick of hope enabled Ash to lift his head from the plastic panel once more. He could’ve passed out, but pushing through the dizziness and disorientation, he managed to stay conscious. The panel floated nearer to the land. The shore was in sight.

Minute by minute he was getting closer. Ash wanted to kick his legs and paddle in – just to speed up the process – but his body protested angrily.

Wait it out. Not too much further now.

In time, the size of the waves began to grow and pushed him closer to shore. Just ten metres out, a wave began to curl directly behind Ash, and slammed down on his back. The panel flipped out from underneath his torso as the wave engulfed him. Underwater, Ash was thrown in all directions; his head narrowly missing the sea floor as he tried to gain control. When the wave passed, Ash used the remainder of his strength to breach the surface. He broke through. Still alive.

Just as he tried to take in a fresh breath of air, another wave crashed behind him, pushing him straight onto the shore.

Ash’s body smacked down onto the beach. He grabbed fistfuls of sand, trying to find something solid to hold onto.

Before another wave could hit, he dragged his body out of the way, leaving a clear trail in the sand from the shore. Ash didn’t stop until he’d reached the dry sand, heaving uncontrollably. He must’ve swallowed several mouthfuls of seawater, because his stomach felt full and bloated. He was so damn close to being sick.

Ash lay there for some time. Not daring to move, not daring to open his eyes.

Fighting to stay awake, Ash listened as the waves behind him crashed onto the shore, almost rhythmically. He wanted to appreciate the sounds of solitude, but he couldn’t – survival was still his one and only priority.

Slowly, he lifted his head. Pushing his arms down into the sand, he climbed onto his knees and surveyed his surroundings.

The sand was soft, pure and untainted by man. In the distance he saw towering tropical trees and dense bush land.

From this view, he couldn’t quite tell the size of the island, but it seemed reasonably large. Was it inhabitable? Only time would tell.

When Ash could take no more of the heat, he climbed to his feet. Staggering towards the shade, Ash struggled to keep himself upright, feeling as though his legs were encased in cement.

When he was finally out of the blazing sun, he collapsed under a tree and rested his beaten body. Exhaustion pulled him in all directions, but in order to survive he needed three things – water, food and shelter.

Ash rolled over and tried to summon the will to stand, but his limbs ached and throbbed, forcing him to rest.

Eyes fluttering with each weary minute, his head lolled to one side as he drifted into a numbing slumber.

***

He awoke a few hours later – dehydrated, dazed and edging closer to death.

Ash forced himself to sit upright. He looked to the sky and tried to work out the time of day. Judging by the sun’s position, it was the middle of the afternoon.

As he stretched out his cramping muscles, a distinctive buzz could be heard from the west as the sound rapidly increased in volume.

A helicopter came into view. Although it was still a fair distance on the horizon, Ash knew it was an enemy aircraft. He immediately jumped up and sought refuge behind a few shrubs.

He would rather be left stranded than captured by the enemy.

Watching from his hiding place, the helicopter flew closer to the island. No doubt it was a border patrol copter, surveying the ruins of the sea battle from the night before.

There was a flag painted on the side of the aircraft. It was red and blue with five white stars centred in a constellation.

Australians. Without doubt.

Ash gritted his teeth in hatred, but soon the helicopter passed over and was long gone. When he emerged from the shrubs, his stomach growled and churned in discontent.

It wasn’t even hunger; mostly a result of the ingested sea water.

Ash longed to sleep off the pain, but there was hardly time for it. Ash took the opportunity to explore the island while he still had the energy.

He remained in the shade as he began to walk the perimeter. By his best guess, the island was roughly fifteen hectares, and it inclined to a prominent peak in the centre.

As Ash walked, he kept a keen eye out for edible plants, but found nothing. Then again, he was in a foreign land, and didn’t have the slightest clue what plants could be deemed safe for consumption.

The further he walked, the narrower the shore became. He was probably no more than twenty-minutes into the walk when he stumbled across a small cove littered in debris. Ash felt his heart sink when he realised the debris mostly consisted of broken fragments from the navy vessels.

There were pieces of twisted metal, baggage and personal belongings. The debris had probably washed up on shore in the last few hours – the last remnants of a brutal attack.

There were no signs of bodies yet, but no doubt his company had perished in the battle. Ash didn’t know if he was the only survivor, but perhaps he was.

He edged closer towards the debris, curious to have a closer inspection. He was hoping to find tools of a useful nature, but all the personal items were mainly waterlogged digital devices. There were also a couple of empty containers, but one particular item caught Ash’s eye.

Amongst the debris, he found a metal briefcase.

He crouched down and tried to open the latches. Locked. He then lifted the briefcase from the sand and assessed the weight. It was not too heavy and better yet, as he gently shook the case, he could hear objects moving about inside.

Ash inspected the latches. The locking mechanisms seemed to be operated by a three-digit code. He tried a couple of combinations, but after growing impatient, he decided to take a different approach.

Carrying the briefcase by his side, Ash found a large rock by the shore and put it to good use. He smashed the rock against the locking mechanisms, over and over, feeling somewhat primitive.

At last, the latches popped open, spilling its contents all over the sand.

The briefcase had been water tight, but unfortunately the materials were of little use to Ash. There was a lot of paperwork, a couple of pens and a pair of black-lensed sunglasses. Junk. Nothing but rubbish in his eyes.

However, amongst the clutter, he found a notebook.

Although it was hardly what he needed right now, Ash took a moment to sit in the sand as he flipped through the pages.

It had belonged to his now fallen lieutenant.

Shaking his head sadly, Ash found hand-written notes detailing deployment strategies, and sketches of the latest sea vessels.

When he turned to the first available blank page, Ash began to write. He printed the date in the left-hand corner, and then made his identity known.

November 10th 2043

My name is Ashley Griffin. I am 31 years old, born on the 28th of September 2012, and I am a Royal Marines Commando. Unfortunately, my fleet was attacked in enemy waters overnight and the ships went down.

I was left floating in the water for almost twelve hours until I washed up onshore, on an island somewhere in the Coral Sea.

I am quite certain I will not survive.

He then signed his name, snapped the notebook shut and tucked it under an arm. Ash would document his final days, in the hopes that somebody would discover it eventually. He then pocketed a pen and covered up his eyes with the sunglasses.

Ash left the cove and continued on with his journey, knowing that nightfall would soon be upon him.

3

There was an evening storm.

Ash sat by the shore, watching as the clouds gathered on the horizon, slowly growing darker as they rolled towards the island.

There were low rumbles of thunder, and occasionally a few flashes of lightning. Although nature was truly mesmerising, Ash wasn’t waiting to be entertained – no, he was hoping for rain. Fresh, pure, rain.

He had scoped the island and had wandered around the entire shoreline in just a few hours. There had been no signs of food or water. The island was uninhabitable.

If it rained, he had some hope that it might fall into nearby ditches and trenches. Ash could easily survive a couple of weeks, provided he had fresh water to drink. Without it, he probably only had a few days left.

He waited. The claps of thunder were growing louder.

Then, a speeding droplet landed beside him, denting the sand. Slowly, more droplets, more dents. The rain dropped inconsistently, hitting Ash on the shoulder once or twice. Before long, the clouds above burst open, releasing a stream of water.

Ash opened his mouth gratefully as the cold, refreshing water dripped down his throat. He revelled in the satisfaction. The water cascaded down his body, soothing his sunburn, easing the tension – if only momentarily.

The storm rumbled across the sky, putting on a show with spectacular flashes of forked lightning.

He looked out towards the ocean seeing an empty blackness, but it didn’t remain that way for long.

The helicopter was back.

Roaring overhead, the aircraft was accompanied by several fighter jets, circling the skies as if stalking prey.

A burst of light nearly blinded Ash as the helicopter flicked on a spotlight across the ocean. In a panic, he feared that he had been spotted – but no, he was not the target.

Now that the spotlight was beaming down onto the murky depths, Ash could see several dark shadows moving underneath the water, perhaps just half a kilometre from the island. They were enormous and shaped like cylinders.

He climbed a nearby tree, desperate to get a better look. His vision was somewhat skewed in the heavy rainfall, but he could see the shadows were gaining speed.

And then the fighter jets opened fire, unleashing a hellish fury directly at the moving shadows. Bullets penetrated the top of the ocean, but instantly vanished as they entered the deep blue, having little or no impact on the moving shadows. The jets fought relentlessly, desperate to take down the unknown mark.

Ash watched. Hypnotised.

Although he couldn’t be sure what the Australians were up against, it was clear they wanted the target to be killed or destroyed.

However, the Australians had picked an unwinnable fight.

There was an ominous glow from the deep abyss, like a fire burning under the sea – of course, that was not possible – but Ash couldn’t explain what he was seeing.

Something exploded out of the water, striking one of the fighter jets.

The jet seemingly split in two; a clean cut right through the middle. The aircraft began plummeting from the sky, just as the pilot ejected himself from the cockpit.

His parachute was activated. The jet crashed down into the ocean. The pilot tried to gain control over his parachute but the storm had brought along some intense gale force winds, pushing the pilot far out to sea. His parachute had been picked up and was blown away until it was no longer in sight.

Good riddance.

Ash felt no remorse for the enemy.

The glow surrounded the shadows, but it gave away no clues. The remaining jets continued to fire, almost erratically, but then retreated along with the helicopter.

The aircraft dispersed and vanished into the night. Ash watched until the moving shadows could no longer be seen, and the only source of light was the occasional lightning strike.

The sea battle had started and ended within a short space of time, but Ash was left without answers.

He carefully climbed back down from the tree, and then tried to seek refuge from the rain under some nearby palm trees. Feeling a new bout of exhaustion, Ash curled up under the tree and forced himself to sleep.

***

At first light, tropical birds woke Ash from his slumber.

The storm had passed over and the sunrise was eerily peaceful. The skyline was a blend of yellow, orange and deep pink.

He sat upright, feeling his muscles seize up. Gritting his teeth through the pain, Ash stretched his body out and then climbed onto his feet.

It was only dawn, but Ash felt the humidity push down on his chest in an unwelcomed presence.

Say what you want about British weather – he still preferred it compared to this hellhole.

The sun began to rise on the horizon. The light cast over the ocean, almost blinding him. For a few moments, Ash went about his morning rituals like he always did; he took a piss, scratched his stubble and wondered about breakfast.

Reality bit back hard. His optimism did not last long.

Now that a new day had begun, Ash knew he needed to keep busy and keep his mind occupied. He crashed back down into the sand and grabbed his new prized possession – the lieutenant’s notebook.

Ash patted down his trousers and located a pen; he then began to write,

November 11th 2043

Today is Armistice Day.

On this day in 1918, hostilities ceased as the war headed towards its eventual end. However, history repeated itself in 1939, and now again – a hundred years later.

That’s what they’re calling it now – World War III. It doesn’t surprise me. We’ve had this coming for a while.

I’m more than four years into my service, and the war has been long and arduous, but far from over.

I have some news though; last night I witnessed strange shadows moving underneath the water, about a kilometre out to sea. This triggered an aerial attack from Australian fighter jets, but the shadows retaliated by opening fire and brought one of the jets down.

The enemy then retreated. I still don’t know exactly what the shadows were, but it left the Australians running scared.

Yours truly,

Ash Griffin

He then snapped the notebook shut and collected his belongings. He would begin the search for rainwater, and then find a suitable place to build a shelter.

Ash strolled by the shore, consciously keeping his feet on the softer terrain.

He returned to the cove. It was still shady and damp from the previous night’s rainfall, but much to Ash’s appeasement, the rainwater had fallen into a number of rocky trenches. There was enough there to last a week or so. Hopefully.

The cove was still littered with debris too, but today new objects had washed up ashore.

No bodies yet, but it was still early days.

Ash scoured through the debris, finding more pieces of twisted metal and shrapnel. By luck, he also found some clothing – it was a jacket. It had belonged to a Royal Marines Commando, just like himself. After just a moment of hesitation, Ash slipped into the jacket; it was marginally tighter than his own and he felt a little strange about wearing it, but it would prove to be useful in the cooler weather.

He kept a keen eye out for a pair of shoes amongst the debris, but alas, there were none. Ash would have to remain barefoot.

He was about to turn away and continue his search for freshwater, when a white sheet caught Ash’s attention.

The white sheet was lying on the very edge of the shore and was continuously hit by the rising tide. Ash bent down, rolled up his pants and treaded across the wet sand.

He approached the white sheet curiously, but then froze on the spot when he realised what it was.

Not a white sheet. A parachute.

Ash stumbled backwards, immediately on alert. Although he was certain he knew what it meant, the Southern Cross design inked across the top of the parachute confirmed his suspicions.

He took a minute to compose himself. Ash didn’t want to jump to conclusions; perhaps the parachute could have washed up without its pilot?

However, that possibility vanished the moment he spotted the boot-prints leading up from the sand and into the bushes.

By some miracle, the pilot from the fighter jet had washed ashore. Alive.

Ash stepped back and surveyed his surroundings. No movement. The island was calm and still. Regardless, Ash felt a fire brewing within his brain.

The enemy had survived and was now somewhere on the island.

A complication. No doubt.

Worse still, Ash was completely unarmed. Hand-to-hand combat had never been his strong point, but if he could at least make his own weapon, he wouldn’t be as vulnerable.

He just hoped the pilot was unarmed too.

Crouching down, Ash tore the parachute into fragments. He used the largest piece of material to make a swag and tossed his belongings in the centre.

No doubt the Australian pilot would be hostile. He needed to find that bastard and put him six feet under – otherwise, he would risk losing his life at the hands of the enemy.

Throwing the swag over his shoulder, Ash prepared himself for the hunt and kill.

4

Death was imminent.

Although Ash had taken a few necessary lives over the years, it had been quite some time since his last kill.

However, that would change today. Ash refused to share the island with the enemy. Therefore, the Australian pilot would need to be eliminated. The only problem? Ash could not find his target.

The Australian pilot had washed ashore – possibly armed – and had wandered into the depths of the bush land. Ash had followed the boot-prints in the sand, but he had walked far beyond the shore and the ocean could no longer be seen.

He found himself surrounded by tightly packed trees along with wild, untamed shrubbery. With every step, Ash’s feet crunched down into the leaf litter. His toes sank into the cold layer beneath. He shivered.

Consciously trying to keep the noise level to a bare minimum, Ash tried to walk slowly, but the dead leaves continued to crumble under his feet.

By the same token, it would be near impossible for the pilot to make any movement without a sound, so occasionally Ash just stood still and tried to listen out.

He heard nothing. Just birds.

As he carried on through the bush, Ash feared that he would be helpless without a weapon. But what could he use? Ash scanned his eyes around the bush and spotted a thick stick lying amongst the decaying debris.

Ash picked it up, tested it for sturdiness and then gave it a swing. It was a primitive tool and hardly a weapon, but he would have to make do. Ash could at least sharpen the end of the stick to make it look a little more threatening.

He carried the stick with him until he came to a small clearing. Ash found himself standing on a flat stone. Placing his swag beside him, he pointed the stick to the rock and began to grind it against the surface. Bit by bit, he carved a prominent spike. By the end his hands