She took stock of her immediate resources. The pistol at her hip was still secure in its holster, a Walther P38, a gift from Wilhelm when she completed her officer training. A quick check confirmed she had six rounds left. And the knife she carried at her ankle gave her added confidence. It was a small knife, but certainly better than nothing.


    Guns and knives would not keep her alive for long, though. She needed to scavenge for supplies, food, fresh water, materials for shelter. The ship contained resources, certainly, but she would need to supplement those with what she could find in this new environment.


    Standing up, she dusted the remaining sand from her uniform and surveyed her surroundings. The edge of the forest was the logical place to start her exploration. Food, water, and shelter would likely be found there. But the dense vegetation also presented unknown risks, hostile wildlife, poisonous plants, perhaps even unfriendly local inhabitants.


    With that thought firmly in mind, Frieda squared her shoulders and began walking toward the forest''s edge, her hand resting lightly on the butt of her pistol.


    The sand gave way to firmer ground as she approached the treeline, and scattered vegetation began to appear, salt-resistant grasses and low-growing shrubs that thrived in the transitional zone between beach and forest.


    She saw immediately that several of the trees had fruit within arm''s length, bright splashes of color against the green backdrop. Some were appeared to be wild apples, small but edible-looking berries, and nuts that resembled walnuts. But others were completely foreign to her, odd, bulbous fruits with mottled skin, strange pendant-like growths that might be seed pods or might be something else entirely.


    I don''t know half of these plants. They don''t match anything I''ve studied about Pacific island flora. The familiar ones could be safe to eat, but the others... I don''t want to die from something I eat.


    Moving parallel to the shoreline, she kept the beach visible through the trees on her left, unwilling to venture too deep into the forest without a secure way back. The ground sloped gently, and after walking for a minute or two, she heard the unmistakable sound of running water.


    Following the sound, she found a small freshwater stream cutting through the forest, winding its way across the sand into the ocean. The water was clear. She was pretty lucky to find such an important resource so close to her ship.


    The spot where the stream ran out onto the beach was indeed a perfect campsite. It offered access to fresh water, visibility of the ocean and the Yamato, and the resources of the forest without being too exposed or too enclosed.


    As she collected what she needed to set up a primitive camp, Frieda''s thoughts returned to the enigma of her circumstances. Where was she, anyway? None of the terrain corresponded to any Pacific island she was familiar with from her military intelligence. The flora and fauna seemed wrong for the region where the Yamato had made its last stand. And how had she and the ship been transported here, intact but damaged, when the last thing she remembered was certain destruction?


    The possibilities ranged from the rational to the absurd. Perhaps she had been unconscious longer than she thought, and the ship had drifted thousands of kilometers off course. Maybe this was some uncharted island, missed by cartographers due to its remote location. Or perhaps... she really died and this was the afterlife.


    Stolen novel; please report.


    Could I be dead? Is this some strange afterlife? Unlikely. The afterlife wouldn''t include hunger pangs and the need to build shelter. And if I were hallucinating, would I question my own hallucination? Or am i questioning hallucination because i know i''m in a hallucination? Ugh, nevermind, whatever this is, it''s real. Strange, inexplicable, but real.


    By the time dusk approached, Frieda had constructed a small lean-to against one of the larger rocks near the stream''s outlet, using fallen branches and broad leaves to create a simple shelter. She had collected a pile of semi-edible looking fruit, setting aside the most recognizable varieties for immediate consumption and the more exotic specimens for later testing. She had also gathered driftwood for a fire, arranging it in the efficient cross-pattern that would provide maximum heat with minimal fuel consumption.


    She used the small lighter from her breast pocket to start the fire. The lighter had never failed her, and it didn''t now, catching the dry kindling almost immediately. Soon a small fire crackled in front of her makeshift shelter, pushing back the gathering darkness.


    As night fell across the strange beach, she sat cross-legged by the fire, staring into the flames and she thought about everything that had happened so far.


    "Better than getting blown up by an artillery shell I guess," she grumbled, though she was not completely convinced.


    Nightfall ushered in different noises from the forest, chirping, rustling, and every now and then howls that made her shudder. Strange calls that resembled no animals she knew echoed from the depths of the woods. She would rather have slept on the deck or aboard the ship but it was nigh impossible to bring the planks and other materials aboard for a comfortable setup. Even if it could be done she would fear to light a fire there in case it would catch the ship on fire, and that''s the last thing she wanted. The Yamato might be beached and damaged, but it remained her most significant resource.


    Nothing seemed to approach her camp during the night, but sleep proved elusive nonetheless. Instead, she kept the fire fed and her hand near her pistol, watching shadows dance across the sand.


    Close to midnight, Frieda noticed a faint light burning deep in the woods. At first, she thought it might be a reflection of her own fire on some shiny surface, or perhaps a trick of her tired eyes. But as she focused on it, the light remained steady.


    She wondered if her eyes were deceiving her. The light, however, persisted, too steadily to be anything ordinary. It was like the light was calling her, beckoning her into the forest depths.


    "Is that a... settlement," she wondered aloud, excitement growing as she contemplated the possibility that it might be her crew. Perhaps they had survived after all, had made it to shore and established a camp of their own. The thought sent a surge of hope through her.


    "Or..." she continued.


    The alternative was too awful to consider. If this was enemy territory, that light could signal threats worse than predators or starvation. It could be a hostile military outpost, or natives unfriendly to outsiders.


    A much closer sound broke her stare from the faraway light. Every muscle in her body tensed, her combat instincts instantly overriding all other thoughts. She turned, gun drawn in one fluid motion, the barrel pointed into the darkness at the edge of the forest.


    "Who''s there?" she called out.


    "Step outside." The order was clear.


    There was only silence in response, yet Frieda''s instincts cried out that she was not alone. Something, or somebody, was out there in the darkness just beyond the dancing flames of her camp. She could feel eyes upon her, watching, assessing.


    "It''s my final warning." She stated, cocking her gun, the distinctive click carrying clearly in the night air.


    The rustling leaves and crackling bushes at the forest edge intensified. Frieda''s finger tensed on the trigger, ready to fire at the first sign of danger. After a moment that stretched like eternity, a figure emerged from the underbrush. Frieda stared at it in shock and confusion, her carefully cultivated combat readiness momentarily shattered by the sheer unexpectedness of what stood before her.