From my spot on Green Beach, at 10:30 every morning, I watched a gray warship slowly cross the horizon, heading toward Puerto Rico.

True, the shipyards resound with the fevered activity required to keep the 600-ship Navy fit, welders' sparks flying off the huge gray warships along the waterfront.

Nine grey warships were anchored in the harbour, and later I saw three helicopters moving north.

He gestured toward the lines of sleek, gray warships moored in the outer harbor.

"The smugglers know there is a big gray warship blocking the river before they even set sail."

A gray warship was charging through the channel at full speed, throwing up a big bow wave.

And in the background, forbidding ranks of gray warships hovered at their moorings, tier upon tier of grim superfiring disrupters parked fore and aft.

By six that evening almost two thousand men from the four gray warships were ashore.

Waiting for the Soviet and American Presidents to arrive, the international audience here occupied itself by comparing the two gray warships anchored in the Marsaxlokk Bay.

Then a gray warship moored in the river, some kind of a permanent exhibit.