The Middle Watch

Through the darkness I strain to glimpse the tiny light, uncertain at times whether it is there or not.  I adjust the optics of the binoculars, ranging slightly up and down with the focus to see if I can get a clearer view.  It is there, I am sure it is there but then can I now see another light emerging from the gloom?

I fix my sight on the possible light as the ship rises and dips slowly, we almost tread water at 5 knots, riding the swell.  There is no noise on the bridge, no hiss of the radio, no clatter of headsets.  Voices are low and dark shapes move anonymously to check and scan indicators.

The operations room below is silent, they have not yet noticed the contact, if indeed it is there.  It is there, I am sure it is.  The crew sleep, just watchkeepers sedately making checks and watching their screens.  Electronic ears ready to alert, infrared eyes waiting for target indication.  Tasteless coffee is sipped, the clock ticks slowly onwards.

The lonely engineer shuffles along the deck, making water in the night and checking systems.  Others carefully dismantle the generator, invisibly maintaining the power.  Reminiscing over the last run ashore and planning the next.

On the upper deck in the cool warm breeze a seabird maintains a lazy station on the beam of the ship.  The air search radar sweeps slowly, purposefully around, humming as it scans the air.  The navigation radar sweeps much faster, urgently seeking contacts, yet almost noiseless.  The signal halyards make a gentle slapping noise, just to keep the beat.  The white foam breaks gently on the bow and moves, hypnotically, down the waist.

He cups his mug as he stands on the quarterdeck, following the wake of the ship.  It is long since his cigarette was finished, but he lingers and savours the peace.  With a sigh he steps back through the door, clipping it shut, he returns to his station.

The ship never sleeps, but she slumbers with poise during the middle watch.