“God, it’ll be good to get my ship clean again, Alston thought. The Eagle had a faint but unmistakable barnyard odor of pigshit, despite all they could do with pumps and swabbing. At least with the breeze on the beam most of it was carried off beyond the forecastle deck, little reaching her here on the bridge over the pilothouse forward of the wheels. The Eagle’s bowsprit was swinging around to the east; at noon they’d come up past Muskeget, the little islet off Nantucket’s western point. “I’d b...etter look Cofflin up right away,” she said to Sandy Rapczewicz. “See if we can’t arrange a barbecue or something for our people.” The XO nodded, a little oddly, she thought. She’d also radioed ahead to have accommodation prepared for Swindapa and Isketerol. I’ll have to find a place myself, she noted. Probably not a problem, with so many houses vacant. And some office space. She hoped Cofflin was as competent as he’d seemed in the brief time between the Event and the Eagle’s departure.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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