It was a rough night out on the open sea. Nobody dared to venture out. Nobody, that is, except Lt. O. M. Jamal in his island-hopping bathtub.
Jamal had sailed long and hard that night, and his arms were aching and burning from paddling with a single boat oar. Twice he almost lost his Franklin stove overboard, and Jamal did not have his diving gear.
Finally, Jamal found his destination. He had found an island. It was completely treeless, yet an abandoned apartment building stood in the center of the isle. This was the fourteenth island Jamal had found; they were all just like this one.
Jamal cautiously entered the building and began to set up his equipment, cursing his wartime friends with colorful oaths. All was going well, and a large batch of bomb crack was brewing.
Just then, a mighty rumbling started from deep within the Earth. Jamal, sensing danger, packed up his stove quickly and sailed for open sea. When he looked back, all that was left of the island was a writhing mass of snakes. Jamal knew that the snakes were rising, and he began to brew another batch of salty ocean bomb crack.
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