Spy Tugs
Spy Tugs Pic(s)
The rust-streaked hull of the Spy Tug, Giggle and Gulp, cut silently through the inky, oil-slicked water of the midnight harbor. Its powerful engines were throttled to a mere whisper, a deep aquatic hum felt more than heard. A single, watchful eye, its cyclopean searchlight currently dark, scanned the endless rows of shadowy shipping containers stacked like a metallic city. Inside the cramped, warm wheelhouse, the scent of old coffee and salty brine hung heavily in the air. Captain Miles adjusted the gain on his hydrophone, listening for the telltale ping of his target amidst the chorus of lapping waves and distant foghorns. Every creak of the old boat’s frame was a familiar conversation, a language of strain and resilience he understood perfectly. His mission was simple: to observe the clandestine meeting scheduled for Pier Seven, a place known for its questionable nocturnal activities. Suddenly, a soft, rhythmic thumping echoed through the hull, a sound that didn't belong to the natural symphony of the port. Miles’s hand froze above the console, his breath catching in his throat as he strained to identify the new, intrusive noise. The Giggle and Gulp, his trusted partner, seemed to hold its own breath, poised and waiting in the profound darkness.
Comments
Post a Comment