Designated Wench
Designated Wench The klaxons howled. The baying din of the dying animal that the ship had become and the deck plates beneath their feet bucked and twisted with each impact until it felt like there would never be solidity under their boot soles again. The three men felt themselves tossed and slammed into the ship's deck and they reflexively clutched against it grasping for something solid in a fluid world of unpredictable movement; it felt like it would never end but it did eventually....