Marine Reading List Novels & Stories

Maps, screens, compasses, polished metal, the rich hum of the engine. I blink. A laugh almost escapes my lips at his little drama. “This is it?” I ask, eyebrows raised. “This is why you flew me all the way out here? To show me how a yacht is controlled?” Roman looks at me. That silent look he’s mastered. The one that says absolutely nothing yet somehow speaks volumes. Then he turns to the Captain. “Captain,” he says smoothly, “can you confirm the waters we are currently on?” The Captain straightens. “Yes, sir. We’re sailing through Bimini Bay Waters, internationally recognized for allowing legal marriage ceremonies at sea.”

By sunset it’ll be in everyone’s ears, tidied up and sharpened. The Marinos fleet is the heartbeat you don’t see. Five trawlers with names that all start with “Saint” because Nonna Marinos said so—Saint Lucia, Saint Irene, Saint Maria, Saint George, Saint Spiridon—rolling out before first light, rolling back in when the horizon does that pink-and-gold theatre trick. Their sheds out by the slipway smell like diesel, brine, and coin. People grumble about quotas and bycatch like they grumble about weather and taxes; they still line up for fresh prawns at Christmas like the end of the world’s coming and only shellfish will save them.

” “Yes it is very roomy. It is spacious that other usual vessels of this kind. Has a small stateroom.” “Then it will be also crewed by, as you put it in, me, Susan and Harrison. We need more power along with firepower if we come up against the guards,” said Nathan. “True,” Marley stood up, the map rolled and back in its case.” I have got things to arrange, consult someone about weapons.” Both Nathan and Susan knew he meant Harrison, but was being typically cautious since MacArthur and Vermont were present. He turned at the door. Jane was quiet till this now.

March grabbed my upper arm and hauled me out of my seat. I tried to hide the pain that shot through my arm, but a soft groan escaped me. I felt my feet briefly leave the ground as he pulled me toward the door. The humid breeze outside sucked the unsteady breath from my lungs. Marcus let go of my arm and I stumbled against the outside railing leading up to the door. “Who is the Marine,” he spat. I straightened, but didn’t have a chance to answer when Marcus tumbled forward over the railing, landing on the gravel. Madden stood at the door. “Get in your vehicle, we’re leaving.”

Please rank the items based on their importance to your survival. Mr. Romero hands out individual ranking charts. In the first column is the list of items: a sextant, a shaving mirror, some mosquito netting, a 25-liter container of water, a case of Army rations, maps of the South China Sea, a floating seat cushion, a 10-liter can of oil/ petrol mixture, a small transistor radio, 20 square feet of opaque plastic sheeting, a can of shark repellent, one bottle of 160-proof rum, 15 feet of nylon rope, 2 boxes of chocolate bars, and an ocean fishing kit and pole.

To augment the crew, twenty of the Marines have spent the last five days getting a crash course on how to sail the vessel, just in case. It’s a beautiful morning. The sky is a bright, cloudless blue, making the ocean a deep, sparkling blue as well. The oncoming breakers—not all that high, thankfully—rush toward the shore in bands of shining white foam. The wind is fairly stiff out of the northwest, making it cool down here by the water, but not cold.

Now I can honestly say that I did not name her myself for the Bettie where I come from would have us faster into the ground than up in the sky. Big Bettie is a UH-1Y Venom Marine Helicopter, fitted with a machine gun and cannon. Seats a Pilot, Co-pilot, crew chief, gunner, and 8 combat-equipped Marines. Of all the things that I still desired to become was a pilot of one of these mean babies. But guess there is only so much that I can stretch myself at. I have the basic knowledge that one needs to get you out of a bind when for any reason we seem to lose both men at the controls, but I shall admit I will not get you very far.

Dawn said while staring right at me. "Fuck off, Dawn. You don't know anything about me!" I squealed. I couldn't stand here quietly while she spouted bullshit. I felt Logan's arms wrap around me. "Shh...she isn't worth it." Dawn ignored me and kept her eyes on him. "Consider this my final warning. Stay away from Marina. Eddie, Mike, Jason, they all fell for her lore and look where they ended up? Dead and buried. You'll be joining them very soon," she hissed.

It was only five short, trembling, pain-fuelled steps, but it felt like I had run a marathon and I was light-headed. I clung to the frame of the bed, steadying myself and catching my breath for a moment before pulling myself upright and reaching for the shelf for stability. My eyes scanned the spines. A bible, obviously, made sense and I had predicted as much. The English Pilot, Fourth Book, Treatise of the Sphere and of the Art of Navigation, A Mariner’s Guide to the Coasts of the Spanish Main, De Iure Praedae, and something that looked totally out of place, Clarissa’s Folly: Or, The Wager of Hearts. There were also a number of books that were blank on the spines, which was interesting.

It glided through the water, and occasionally the water would splash on their faces, causing Mary to giggle. Mary suddenly stood up, tired of sitting down, her buttocks aching from resting them in one place. Her exploring spirit had come alive—not that she ever had one before—and she moved closer to the edge of the yacht, looking down at the clear water for any sign of life. "Are there any fish in this water, or perhaps dolphins?" Mary's voice thinned in excitement, and the shrill ring could be heard as she remembered the brochures she had gone through. It mentioned something about dolphins.