“This haze is something else,” said Senior Chief Nguyen as she leaned over the bulwarks on the fantail.
“Yea, it just makes everything look so bleak,” replied Lieutenant Slater.
The fuel trucks were lined up on the pier, and a chain of the Bristow’s most junior sailors were passing food onto the ship, hand over hand.
“Here’s bleak, but take a taxi forty-five miles inland and you’ll be in in a different world,” said the Senior Chief. “Antigua is like something out of a story book, and I’m headed there as soon as they pipe liberty.”
“Not me,” he said.