Sierra Tango Yankee X-Ray

The bizarreness of this statement made Rendell let go. He looked to the side, as the younger man got to his feet again, more calmly this time. Their boat lurched less alarmingly.

Cutting through the fog, another vessel glided silently across the black mirror-like surface of the water with a stately grace. It was like theirs, low and simple, but longer. Two dark figures, partially obscured by the pale mist, sat in the rear. At the front, another stood facing out, piloting the vessel with a single long pole. The figure was shrouded in a long black robe, the cowl pulled up against the night air. The pole made no sound as it moved up and down, in and out of the oily water, even the faintest sloshing of liquid lost in the expanse of still night air and the encircling fog.

“Hey! Hey! Over here!” the young soldier was shouting, waving frantically at the figures in the boat. Rendell felt a deep, cold dread settle into his stomach. He did not want to see the face of the man who piloted the boat. He had a fair idea of what it would be. His gaze flitted to the silky water, dark realisation stealing over him like night falling.

“I never made it back to base,” he said softly.

“Yeah no shit,” the kid said, taking a moment out of his frantic screams to cast a contemptuous glance at Rendell.

In the gliding boat to their left, the shrouded boatman slowly turned its hooded face, but whatever terrible visage waited beneath that black robe was hidden behind a wisp of swirling mist, as the boat slid into the bank of fog beyond. The two shadowy passengers drifted out of sight, and away, into the Stygian night.

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This is me: home-writer, book-reader, dog-lover and occasional poet. I make this website to share my and my friends texts with You, dear Reader. Please: read carefully, don't be scary, upgrade your mood and be king and leave your comment. :)