The shortest night
From Tristan's observation spot on a small hill, the shipyard looked deceptively small. There were only ten ships in various stages of completion bobbing on the waves; on the shore stood a couple dozen one-floor buildings and some machinery.
There were no lights there, except for the searchlights of the night guards. The owners of the place had built it to be hidden from the sea and from the air. Tristan would've had a hard time finding it in the dark if he wasn't using his heat vision and binoculars.
Cooler air leaking through the seams of buildings drew contours of them—like a watercolor drawing. Unlike them, the sun-warmed ships were slightly yellower than the surrounding water.
"I see four pairs of guards from here, patrolling the perimeter," Tristan said, then listed their positions and routes. "We will have a couple of bombs to spare. I want one to be planted at their radio tower, and the other…"
He paused, thinking.