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“It’s upside down,” Lilly said.

“Ah, no,” Jason replied tentatively. “That swirling mass of white at the bottom is the cloud cover over Antarctica. You can see Africa stretching out to the north, with that distinct green band of jungle giving way to the sands of the Sahara.”

Lily turned her head to one side, leaning over and looking at the image sideways as she spoke softly, saying, “I remember it differently.”

Jason laughed.

“Only a handful of astronauts have ever seen Earth quite like–“ He stopped mid sentence, changing tack. “You know, I do remember reading that the command module was inverted relative to Earth when the crew took this photo.”

He walked over beside her and pulled the poster from the wall. The tape came away easily.

“You’re right,” he added, turning the poster upside down and sticking it back on the wall. “There’s no reason to choose any one orientation over another. If anything, this picture should be viewed the way Cernan, Evans and Schmitt saw it. Looks kinda strange, though, doesn’t it? We’re so used to seeing north as up we assume that's the way it should be.”

“It looks better,” Lily said, smiling.

Jason stood there for a second, examining the poster of Earth set on a jet black background. Thinking about it, he added, “With the Sahara desert encircling the bottom of the world and the lush greens of South Africa rising up toward the top, Earth looks like an alien world.”

Lily said, “Earth is an alien world.”

Jason raised an eyebrow in surprise at her comment. He started to say something, but Lily spoke first.

“And this one?”

“Oh,” Jason replied, losing himself in another poster. “Those are sand dunes on Mars, but it’s the dark fuzzy sections that are most intriguing. Current thinking is they’re the result of subterranean aquifers bursting through to the surface during summer.”

The two of them sat on his bed and talked into the early hours of the morning, talking about stars and planets, about Korea and America. Jason found Lily captivating, intoxicating. At times she seemed to barely grasp English, at other points she showed a surprising depth of intelligence, as though she knew far more than she was letting on.

There was something about Lily. Jason felt like he’d known her for years. He wasn’t one for concepts like déjà vu, but he could have sworn they’d met before.

When the conversation finally started to slow, Jason offered her his bed. Regardless of how much he protested, Lily insisted on sleeping on the loveseat. She said she wanted to keep watch over the intersection. She sat there, curled up with her head on a pillow, staring out the open window. Jason draped a blanket over her, promising he’d help her look for her father in the morning. He wasn’t sure how he was going to keep that promise, but it seemed to be the right thing to say.

“Jason,” she said, as he turned off the lava lamp and hopped into bed.

“Yes.”

“Thank you for being such a gentleman.”

Lee woke to the sound of waves crashing and gulls squawking overhead. He was drifting with the tide. He could feel himself bobbing on the waves with his head kept out of the water by the headrest on his lifejacket. A chill ran through him. His feet were numb. Blood oozed through the cracks in his chapped lips.

Dawn was breaking. The sky was grey. Rain drizzled in the early morning breeze.

Lee felt his body spasm, jerking itself awake. He turned and saw a jagged cliff looming overhead. Waves broke at the base, crashing on the rocks. Looking around, he could see sand dunes not more than a mile away. Clumps of grass leaned to one side with the prevailing winds, but the beach below the dunes wasn’t visible over the choppy waves.

He tried to swim against the tide, but he was too weak. His chest hurt where bruises had formed following the crash. The seatbelt harness in the Sea King had bitten into his waist and upper chest. It had saved him from being impaled on the control stick during the crash, but that salvation had come at a price.

The rolling swell dragged him toward the rocks. Over the next few minutes, he watched as the surge washed over the jagged rocks before pulling out briefly, and then swirling in again, crashing on the shore, throwing brilliant white spray thirty to forty feet in the air.

Waves pounded the rocks.

Seaweed wrapped around his legs.

How long had he spent floating at sea? Just one night? Could it have been more? He felt as though he'd been drifting for days, but this had to be the morning after. His head ached from dehydration.

Lee kicked to free himself and began mentally timing his swim. If he could drift in on one of the surges, hold himself near the shore and then climb onto the rocks as the swell retreated briefly, he could scramble up beyond the waterline. Lee didn’t like his chances, but he didn’t have a choice. One way or the other, he was going to end up on those rocks, and soon. It was just a matter of in what condition.

Salt spray flew through the air as another large wave broke over the rocks.

Waves surged and crashed, pounding the rugged cliff base.

Lee felt his body being lifted on the swell. He fought to get close to the rocks, drifting to within a few feet of their jagged, black edges. Barnacles and seaweed littered the shore. In the back of his mind, he felt the rhythm of the sea. To anyone watching, it would have seemed like suicide, but he could feel the might of the ocean subsiding briefly as he struck out for the rocks.

As a child, Lee had hunted lobster in the turbulent water off the Chungnam coast in South Korea. He and his father would each don a snorkel, mask and flippers and fish at the top of the tide, taking advantage of the slack and change in currents. Drifting just a few meters from the rocky shoreline, they could easily avoid being thrown onto the rocks. Lobster would scuttle around the rocks beneath the swell, anywhere from ten to fifteen feet below the surface. Their spidery legs and spindly antenna would waver with the current. With a burst of speed, they would pump their tails and shoot through the water, escaping at the first hint of a threat. His father taught him to be decisive, not to hesitate when grabbing at these small monsters of the deep. As long as he grabbed the carapace of the lobster, its massive claws couldn't reach him.

“Just like the old days,” Lee muttered. He'd never tried this before, but he knew it was possible. Normally, he and his father would swim to a sheltered area or to a waiting boat, but he'd seen other fishermen clamber up onto the rocks.

Lee felt the moment come in the wash of the waves and the rise of the swell. The rising swell lifted him up as his boots scrambled for a hold. He kicked hard at the water, grabbing at the slick rocks, managing to catch hold and climb up. Within seconds, he was level with the base of the cliff, escaping just as a wave pounded the rocks behind him, soaking him in white spray.

Lee was breathing hard as he cleared the lower, wet rocks, surprised by the rush of adrenaline and the tingling sensation in his fingers. He was shaking.

“Ha!,” he cried, stopping for a moment and looking around, enjoying the excitement of escape. The rush of adrenaline faded, leaving him feeling spent.

As the adrenaline wore off, Lee found the world spinning around him. He felt sick. A burp brought the taste of salt water to his mouth. Seconds later, the raging sea seemed to follow and he vomited, spewing into a tidal pool and gagging as bile stretched from his mouth to the rocks beneath his feet.

A bitter, cold wind whipped along the face of the cliff, chilling him. Lee staggered closer to the cliff, wanting to find a wind break.

Rocks gave way to boulders. Landslides marked where the weather had washed away sections of the embankment.

Lee walked on, wiping the spew from his face. His hands were numb. The water in his boots squished between his toes as he struggled over the uneven rocks. His focus seemed narrow as though he had tunnel vision. The world had been reduced to the sharp, jagged rocks and boulders in front of him. He was suffering from the early stages of hypothermia. Try as he might, he couldn’t shake the feeling that he was going to die on those rocks.

The wind howled.

Lee climbed higher.

Gulls glided on the wind above him, casually watching him.

He was alive. For a moment, he stopped and let that realization sink in. Furthermore, if he’d survived, others could have survived as well. His mind flashed to thoughts of his crew, the US Navy SEAL Lieutenant Andrews and his team, and he wondered if any of them had made it to shore. Were they huddling somewhere among the sand dunes, trying to survive the cold? He looked out across the ocean, hoping to make out the sight of a DayGlo-orange lifejacket bobbing on the swell. The sea rolled away from him, dark and foreboding, unrelenting and unforgiving.

Making his way around the side of the cliff, Lee headed toward the beach he’d caught a glimpse of in the distance, wanting to get into the warmth of the sun. From his vantage point, he could see a rugged coastline, windswept and barren, stretching for miles as it curved into the haze of sea spray.

There was someone down there on the beach, not more than a couple of hundred yards away.

“Hey,” he yelled, waving his hands over his head in excitement, but his cries were drowned out by the crash of the waves.

Was it Andrews? He couldn't be sure.

Lee was buoyed. It never occurred to him he was stranded in North Korea, in a hostile country intent on destroying its southern neighbor.

He waved his hands again, but the dark figure didn’t respond. Whoever it was, they were pointing at the low cliffs running along the edge of the beach. The man jogged a few feet and then turned and pointed again, which confused Lee. It was only then he heard the crack of gunfire over the pounding surf. The unrecognizable man shot at someone, but he was so far away the vision of the handgun firing and the smack of the shot echoing through the air were disconnected in time. The crack of gunfire arrived a second or so after the the man's arm recoiled with each shot.

Several dogs burst onto the beach, running down from the sand dunes. The man was shooting at them with a handgun. The dogs attacked him, knocking him to the ground and tearing at his body. Lee stood there stunned, watching as a pack of dogs savaged the man, tearing at his arms and legs.

Several North Korean soldiers ran onto the beach, following hard behind the dogs. They were shouting and waving their arms, but Lee couldn’t make out what they were saying. It was only then he realized he was standing there in the open wearing a DayGlo-orange life jacket. Had they turned, they would have seen him instantly.

Lee dropped behind a weathered, worn boulder and pulled his life jacket off, tossing it on the rocks. Peering out from behind the boulder he watched as the soldiers kicked at the body lying on the wet beach. From where he was, Lee could see blood running on the sand, mixing with the waves rolling across the gentle slope leading down to the ocean.

More soldiers came running down from the dunes, their indistinct cries carried on the wind.

Lee turned away. Sitting down on his haunches, he held his hands up to the side of his head, pulling at his hair as he groaned, saying, “No, no, no.”

For a brief moment, he had felt a surge of adrenaline at the excitement of not only being alive, but in seeing that someone else had survived. He’d forgotten where he was. He was stranded on a North Korean beach. This could have been one of the craggy beaches on the Taean peninsula south of Incheon, but the cruel reality of his physical location was brought thundering home to him by the body lying on the sand.

More soldiers poured onto the beach.

Dogs strained at their leashes, trying to pull free and savage the fallen American.

The man had to be one of the SEALs, Lee figured, as he was wearing a black wet suit. The American didn’t move. None of the North Korean soldiers rendered any assistance. They stood around the body. A couple of them sheltered their faces from the wind with their hands, and Lee guessed they were lighting cigarettes. That they could be so callous, so indifferent to the American's slow, painful death stunned him. The American must have been shot, as the dogs alone wouldn’t have killed him. Lee could see he was beyond help, and he found himself hoping the man wasn’t suffering, hoping that death would be mercifully quick.

Rotor blades beat at the wind. Lee could hear a helicopter passing by out of sight beyond the cliff. The engine sounded wrong. It was too rough to be either South Korean or American. The North Koreans were hunting for survivors from the air. They were looking for him, and that realization personalized the danger he felt. If they found him, they’d kill him.

The sound of rotor blades grew louder, echoing off the rocks, making it hard for him to identify where the chopper was coming from. Within seconds, the helicopter would be on top of him. He had to hide.

Lee scrambled into a gap beneath a couple of boulders. Crabs scurried out of sight. He wedged his body in a narrow gap, with his boots resting in water.

A helicopter hovered overhead. It was an old Russian Hind. Its rotor blades thrashed at the air in a vicious tempo. The chopper was almost directly above him. To one side, his discarded life jacket fluttered across the ground under the downdraft. Lee panicked seeing the orange material flapping, knowing it would give him away. He scrambled out of hiding, not sure whether he was too late. His knees and shins scraped painfully on the rocks as he grabbed for the jacket. Above, he caught a glimpse of the tail boom on the Hind as it turned, sweeping over the area. Lee knew there would be at least two spotters onboard, one looking to port, the other to starboard. He rolled back under the boulder, catching his elbow on a rocky outcrop and tearing his jacket. His heart pounded in his chest as he slid back into the gap in the rocks.

The Hind hovered overhead for several minutes, and Lee expected dogs and soldiers to descend on him at any moment and drag him out of hiding, but the chopper left, racing away along the beach before turning inland.

Lee lay there in the cold, shivering. His mind felt lethargic, sluggish. Hypothermia was setting in and he struggled to care. What would it matter if he died here? What would it matter if he slipped into an unconscious state never to awake again? He wanted to care, but his body was shutting down, telling him this was a better death, a kinder death, one free from pain.

Sunlight broke through the clouds, glistening off the wet rocks beyond the shadows.

Lee reached out his hand, resting his fingers on the sharp, jagged rocks, marveling at the warmth soaking into his wrist. The sun coaxed him out with the promise of life. Slowly, he crept forward until he was lying in the sun, sheltered from the wind. He wasn’t sure how long he lay there, but his mind began to clear and his survival instincts took over.

He crept around the base of the cliff until he found a gully leading to the cliff top. The gentle slope led him away from the beach.

The sun had risen high in the sky.

The storm clouds had passed, revealing the azure blue dome of heaven.

Lee couldn’t help but wonder if this was the day he’d die; such a beautiful day.

He looked around from the top of the hill, some three hundred feet above the raging sea. From what he could tell, the tides had swept him onto the headland of a vast peninsula. Various coves and inlets stretched out on either side, with a mountain range dominating the hinterland.

Crouching down, Lee used the waist high brush for cover, watching as a line of North Korean soldiers walked abreast of each other in the marsh behind the cove. They were moving away from him, sweeping the area, whacking the bushes with sticks, flushing out the game, except that their quarry was men. With rifles slung over their shoulders and a couple of dog handlers leading the way, the line of soldiers stretched for almost a kilometer inland. No more than a couple of feet separated any of them.

The helicopter returned, searching the ground in front of the advancing troops. Lee could see a couple of military jeeps parked on the road that wound into the hills. They had to be spotting for the troops, using binoculars to scan the marshland for any sign of movement.

Lee crept backwards, down to the edge of the cliff, staying out of sight. From there, he headed in the opposite direction, although that meant marching north, away from the border. He had no idea where he could go or what he should do. For now, surviving from one moment to the next was all he could think about.

The wind howled across the cliff and out over the ocean, which was good, as that would disperse his scent, carrying it out to sea, making it harder for the soldiers to pick up on his trail with the dogs.

Lee was worried about the helicopters. There were at least three of them. If they caught him in the open, the game would be over.

He struck up a light jog, avoiding the temptation to run madly, wanting to put some distance between himself and the search party but knowing he had to pace himself.

By mid afternoon, he estimated he’d covered roughly ten to fifteen kilometers. The helicopters had long since disappeared. Occasionally, he’d catch a glimpse of one climbing high above the plateau behind him, flying inland. That several helicopters had come and gone by the same route suggested their base was in that general direction. Hopefully, that’s where the soldiers were from as well, he thought.