Doing the right thing is never easy. Sometimes, as in the case of giving tired old warships a respectable resting place, it's downright impossible.
One quiet summer night some nine years ago, I swear I could hear them groan. Their watchkeepers will claim they're alive, for those deeply guttural sounds find their way to you, making your hair stand on end, despite your best efforts to somehow push aside the enveloping darkness. The tingling sensation of being watched washes over you and brings a chill to the spine enough to shake all but the most fearless, or at least those who pretend to bravado.
