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“You will think of something,” the boy said softly, perhaps reading the heartache and anguish written on Lee’s face.

Tears came to Lee’s eyes. He reached out to touch the child’s hair only to realize he was reaching with his wounded hand. Blood had soaked through the bandages. Jolts of pain shrieked through the torn nerve endings, but he couldn’t pull back.

With his index finger and thumb, he touched gently at the boy’s forehead, brushing loose strands of hair to one side. He expected the boy to be repelled by the grotesque bloody ball of rags wrapped around his hand, but the boy smiled. It was almost as though he knew what would happen all along, and somehow already knew about Lee’s brutal wound.

Tears rolled down Lee’s cheeks as he whispered. “I wish I could believe you. I wish I deserved your faith, your confidence.”

They were never going to escape, Lee knew that. As soon as Sun-Hee’s brother found a vehicle he could start, the noise of a diesel engine turning over would shatter the silence like an air raid siren. Within minutes, the camp would be crawling with soldiers.

Sniffing, Lee added, “If only I had wings to fly, I’d take you away from here. I’d take you somewhere you could be safe.”

Lying there, Lee felt helpless.

The pain surging through his hand was too much. He cradled his arm.

After all he’d been through, this was the lowest he’d fallen. Being captured, beaten, tortured, humiliated and deceived had been heartbreaking, but he’d never given up hope. Now, though, he felt defeated.

Being free from his cage beneath the barracks had raised his spirits, but now the impossibility of escaping the camp struck him like a physical blow. What could he do? There was nothing he could do to escape this military base, let alone North Korea. With all he’d endured, the sudden, overwhelming realization of his helplessness was crippling. Lee wanted to curl up into a ball and die quietly in his sleep, but there was the boy. The boy demanded that he be brave.

A moth flew past, fluttering on the breeze. Its wings beat at the air, allowing it to defy gravity as the tiny insect danced among the moonbeams just a few feet away from where they lay.

Lee watched as the moth settled on one of the outer support pillars for a few seconds before darting back into the air and flittering out of sight.

Moonlight glistened on the cars and trucks in the motor pool.

Ropes led from the rotor blades of the imitation Bell helicopter beyond the trucks, holding the blades in place so they wouldn’t turn with the wind.

Lee was about to crawl out of hiding when the soft crunch of boots on pebbles marked the return of Sun-Hee’s brother. He and Jason pulled themselves out from beneath the administration hut as the brother came over. He had his rifle slung over his shoulder and his head bowed as if in defeat.

“The quartermaster’s office is locked,” the brother began. “It was unlocked when I last checked not more than an hour ago. We are trapped. We have no way to escape. One of the other guards must have checked the door and locked it behind me.”

“And he may have just saved our lives,” Lee replied, getting to his feet. “We were never going to be able to drive out of here. They’d catch us before we’d gone a quarter of a mile. But we just might be able to fly out of here.”

Lee pointed at the dark outline of the Bell helicopter beyond the trucks. Sun-Hee’s brother followed his gaze.

“Are you mad?”

“Aren’t you?” Lee replied, taking Jason’s hand and creeping across the gravel road. They slipped into the shadow of a truck as Sun-Hee’s brother came up behind them.

“You can fly a helicopter?”

“Yes. I’m a pilot.”

The three of them jogged lightly down between a row of trucks and halftracks, rusting howitzers and broken trailers. Most of the trucks had flat tires. From what Lee could see, they’d been stationary so long the air must have long since leaked away, leaving them stranded on their rims. Several of the trucks had been cannibalized for parts.

The chopper was a two seater Bell helicopter. Lee hoped it was in better condition than the trucks or they weren’t going anywhere.

“Get the ropes,” he said to the soldier.

Lee crept up to the cockpit, staying in the shadows of the helicopter. He pulled on the stiff handle and opened the plexiglas door.

Jason clambered in.

Lee left him there, turning and pulling the covers off the engine seated behind the bubble shaped cockpit.

Oil had dripped on the ground directly beneath the engine. Fresh grease was visible on the metal nipples of the flywheel. That was a good sign. Someone had been maintaining the helicopter.

With his good hand, Lee ran his fingers over the copper piping and steel tubes, tracing the fuel line, pushing his mind to remember his training flights a decade before. He twisted a small butterfly valve below the fuel tank and primed the engine, wondering how much fuel there was in the thin sheet metal tank.

Sun-Hee’s brother ran to the other side of the helicopter, pulling the ropes and releasing another rotor blade.

Lee hopped into the pilot’s seat and familiarized himself with the controls, quickly identifying the various toggle switches and warning lights. He worked the pedals, feeling how stiff and sluggish they were. As he expected, there was no ignition key, just a master switch. He pumped the throttle to get fuel flowing and flicked the master switch. The hum of an electric pump was a good sign, bringing a smile to his face.

“Jump over the back,” Lee said to Jason as Sun-Hee’s brother ran over to the cockpit. There wasn’t much room behind the seats, but there was enough space for Jason to crouch down, sitting on a toolkit.

Lee flicked several toggle switches and brought the engine slowly to life. The exhaust spluttered and coughed. He kept the clutch engaged, disabling the rotors while the engine came up to speed.

“Halt!” came a cry from the motor pool.

One of the guards had a rifle leveled at them.

Lee worked with the cyclical control, revving the engine. He engaged the rotors. Slowly, reluctantly, the rotor blades began to turn.

A shot rang out.

Sun-Hee’s brother had his door open, with one foot resting on the chopper skids. He fired his rifle in response. The guard took cover behind one of the trucks.

“Shoot through the metal,” Lee cried and Sun-Hee’s brother responded, firing at the wheel arch. A body slumped to the ground, sprawling on the gravel.

Several other guards came running over from the barracks.

The rotor blades wound up to speed and began thrashing at the air.

White cracks appeared in the plastic dome of the chopper. It took Lee a moment to realize they were bullet holes. With the deafening roar of the engine, he couldn’t hear the shots being fired.

He pulled back on the cyclic control stick with his injured right hand and his face contorted in agony. With his left hand, Lee worked the collective, adjusting the pitch of the blades as he increased the throttle. His heart leaped with joy as the chopper lifted off from the motor pool. A soft touch on the right foot pedal corrected some yaw, while a nudge of the cyclic counteracted a slight pitch to the right. For a moment, he was back in basic training. The sensation of hanging in the air, even if only a foot above the ground, had never felt so good. The artificial cyclone thrown out by the helicopter forced the soldiers back, kicking fine stones and debris into their eyes. Several kept firing, but Lee could see they were firing wide.

The helicopter gained height, clearing the huts and then the trees as they raced away from the camp heading due north.

“You are going the wrong way,” Sun-Hee’s brother yelled over the noise as he fought to close his door. He pointed behind them, back to one side at the gates of the camp slowly receding into the darkness.