The sea, restless in iron-grey uniform, cringes when he hears the screaming, last minute instructions shouted out by his commanding officer, the approaching storm.  The time to strike is now; there is no turning back.  The wind at his back drives him up and over the aging defense system and into the city.  Despite knowing deep down in his heart that what he is doing is wrong, there is nothing he can do to hold himself in check; any protestations are quickly lost in the hurricane of sound; he invades, but it's not his fault.  He is only following orders.

(c) 2005, Karla Dorman.