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The Spy Ship

Brent King
Deckhand M/Y Steve Irwin

The spy ship taunts us. Sometimes she creeps towards us until she is but a few miles astern and the harpoon on her bow can been clearly seen. Her superstructure rolls violently in these beam seas as if she were a rabid dog running blindly among the mobs of white horses. She would tower above us if she were alongside, yet she hangs back. Often she follows just beyond our horizon so that only a bleep on our radar belies her presence.

Our engines thunder on. Pistons fire, cranks whirr, and the propeller shaft turns upon itself a thousand times a minute. Four strong blades of brass corkscrew through the water to push us on to wilder seas. The incessant thrum of the diesels pervades every space in our ship. When I dream, I dream of riding a howling demon to the edge of the world with another chasing close behind. When I wake, the engines howl on and the spy ship is still nipping at hour heels.



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