The view was bleak, much like his future.
The waves rolled along, grey with white crests, unrelenting, unremitting. His stomach had finally settled down after two days of sickness.
What did he care about these countries over the ocean? They could bomb themselves into oblivion for all he cared.
The rain battered the window, but the bad weather would pass soon.
Underneath those foreboding waves they knew they were being hunted by the German U-boats.
He had heard stories from those who had come back. Those who had survived.
He knew the real storm lay in front of him.