Emil woke on his bunk to the sound of peaceful near-silence. He could hear wind outside the tank’s walls and the rhythmic sounds of his crewmates, seemingly all still sleeping.
To be more precise, he could hear Mikkel’s snores drowning out anything else from the rest of the crew.
Emil considered it a testament to his personal adaptability that the alarming noises the medic made in his sleep barely troubled him anymore.
It was quite the contrast from the first night Emil had tried to bunk down in the man’s proximity. He had woken in a panic at the startling sound of what could only be someone choking to death.
It had taken some getting used to, but eventually Emil had grown accustomed to the ghastly noises after finally being convinced they weren’t a death rattle.
The sleeping quarters were mostly dark, the only illumination a faint grey creeping in through the half-open door from the pilot’s cabin two rooms away.
The room was chilly—Tuuri had taken to lowering the heat in the middle of the night to conserve fuel—but even their supplied somewhat threadbare blankets still made for a warm and cozy bed.
Prior to the expedition, Emil would have never guessed that such worn old bedding could rival the plush blankets he remembered from childhood in terms of luxury.
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