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Thursday, May 11, 2006

Holy Shit!: A Nautical Tale

The large waves rocked the ship softly in a manner which made Palmer find himself drifting to sleep. Each time he closed his eyes, Doctor Milano would slap him mildly about the face and remind him to stay awake.

The wound in his upper arm was still bleeding profusely and the Doctor was worried.

"I don't know how much more I can do. He may not make it through the night."

Captain Heaton nodded as he listened to the Doctor's words. Continuously smoking his pipe, Heaton leaned forward and stabbed his left index finger into the Palmer's wound.

"Sweet creeping Jesus! Why would you do that?!" Palmer cried out.

Doctor Milano looked at both Palmer and Heaton with wide eyed amazement.

Captain Heaton continued smoking and nodding. "Yep. He's probably screwed" the captain pronounced.

Placing more bandages on the now agitated wound, Palmer assured the captain he would do all he could for Palmer.

"Make his death quiet and painless. It's over for him. Do that thing you did for Schmidt last week."

Milano's eyes grew as wide as a couple of Lincoln Mercury hubcaps. "But...but...you made me do that to Schmidt."

"Put him out of his misery is what you did. Nothing wrong with that," the captain replied, still pulling on his pipe with an air of nonchalance.

"But...Schmidt only had a splinter. In his right hand. He would've pulled through."

Captain Heaton leveled his gaze on Milano. "This isn't a time to second guess ourselves. Schmidt was crying out in obvious pain. You did what you had to."

Milano dropped his head and muttered something softly which the captain only partially heard. Just as Heaton was about to inquire as to what it was specifically Milano wanted him to do with his ass, someone came rushing down the stairs and into the cabin.

Between gasping breathes the man was able to blurt out, "Sir! Trouble in the waters!"

Captain Heaton nodded and followed the young officer up to the deck.

Squinting in the sunlight, Heaton saw four men pointing out to sea and muttering amongst themselves.

"It's that damn whale again, sir. It looks like he plans to ram the ship," the young officer intoned.

"Well," Heaton began, pulling his pipe from his mouth and tapping the ashes out on the deck, "I guess we will have to submerge."

"But sir," the young officer cried out, "this isn't a submersible."

The captain nodded. "I guess you better tell the lads to start holding their breath. Submerge!"

Submerge they did, but the whale rammed them in spite of their evasive maneuvers.

All were lost.

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