Author's Foreword
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This is my sixteenth submission to Literotica and my first in the "Exhibitionist and Voyeur" column. All my short stories are set up for voting and comments; you are invited to leave your words of praise if you like what you read. Feel free to visit my profile to access the archive of my older postings.
Enjoy!
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First Lieutenant Jake Ambrose looked around the conn and yawned. It was 2227 hours and the
Seafarer
, a United States nuclear submarine, was patrolling somewhere between the southeastern tip of Florida and Cuba. They were monitoring the area for possible surface traffic; word was the Russians were sending warships to Cuba as a way of waving the flag in front of their long-time ally Fidel Castro while simultaneously thumbing their noses—discreetly—at the Americans. The seventy-man crew of
Seafarer
should have been relieved a couple of weeks ago for provisions and shore leave, but word hadn't yet come down from the brass at the Pentagon. Nerves were getting frayed but they still had a job to do.
Lt. Ambrose went to the sonar operator and looked at the screens over his shoulder. There was nothing to see and nothing to report. He was toying with the idea of calling a drill of some sort to rouse the bored crew and get their blood pumping. The thought crossed his mind to "accidentally" hit the General Quarters button so the klaxon would make everybody jump out of their skins before racing madly to their stations. He sighed to himself and put the thought out of his head; Captain Meschberger would surely have a conniption if he did. Ambrose poured himself yet another cup of hot, strong coffee before wandering over to the helm.
Sometimes, commanding the night shift was a bitch.
The one other officer and the six enlisted men on duty tried not to be obvious as they watched Ambrose out of the corners of their eyes. They knew Ambrose had high career hopes and was itching to distinguish himself somehow. He wanted to command a destroyer or a missile carrier or something, but had volunteered for submarine duty as a way of proving he could handle anything. Boring nights on patrol like this was simply his way of paying his dues in the hopes of one day commanding an aircraft carrier, his ultimate dream posting.
The helmsman, Dave "Cheeky" McDougall, could feel the "First Louie" standing behind him. His breathing stirred the hair atop his head. Cheeky wanted to tell Ambrose to go lock himself in the head and flog his log or something, but for once the petty officer kept his mouth shut. He hoped something would happen to cause Ambrose to go away, stop breathing on him and let him man his post in peace.
"Conn, sonar contact," the sonar operator called. Cheeky smiled to himself as Ambrose crossed to the sonar station to have a look.
"What do you have, Ping?" Ambrose asked.
The sonar operator, Perry "Ping" Zimmerman, looked up. "Surface contact, sir. Four small screws, making eighty turns per minute, overall length about seven hundred feet."
"Cargo freighter, tanker, man o' war? What?"
"The screws are too small and too fast to be a cargo vessel or tanker, sir." Ping shrugged. "Medium-sized man o' war, maybe, but more likely a cruise ship."
"Position?"
"Range twelve thousand yards directly astern, course one-seven-zero degrees, speed fifteen knots," Ping reported. "He'll pass almost directly above us, sir. ETA, twenty-two minutes."
"Will he pass to our port side or starboard?" Ambrose inquired.
"To the starboard. The range will be about forty yards."
That put
Seafarer
to the east of the contact. If the weather was clear topside, there was a chance their periscope could be silhouetted against the moon if they went up for a look. Ambrose went to look through some charts. The enlisted men breathed a sigh of relief for the contact; the Lieutenant needed something—anything—to keep his mind occupied, instead of breathing down their necks.
The other officer, Ambrose's XO, went to his side. "What are you thinking, Jake?" he asked, too softly for the men to hear.
"I want to go up for a look," replied Ambrose. "Where are the bloody moonrise charts?"
The XO pulled out the proper chart and the men studied it. "We'll have a window of sixteen minutes between the contact's arrival topside and local moonrise," Ambrose noted. He turned to the helmsman. "Helm, I want our course adjusted to parallel the contact at a distance of thirty yards by the time he passes above us."
"Aye, sir," Cheeky called, making some calculations. "Adjusting course two degrees to starboard for three minutes, fifty-four seconds before resuming original heading."
"Very well," Ambrose called.
Seafarer
's deck tilted three degrees to the right as the submarine silently turned to get into position. The other men were looking much sharper as they manned their posts, knowing they were preparing to go to periscope depth for a look-see when the contact arrived above them.
Ping kept track of the contact and reported its position every five hundred yards its distance from them decreased. He would switch to calling out distances every fifty yards once the contact arrived to a point five hundred yards astern. Ambrose, the XO and the men waited as the target crept up on their position.
"Conn, sonar. Range, two hundred yards," Ping called.
"Helm, make your speed twelve knots," ordered Ambrose.
"Twelve knots, aye," Cheeky called back. "New ETA, nine minutes."
The men standing duty waited as the contact came toward them at a much slower rate, now that
Seafarer
had accelerated to just three knots below the target's closing speed. Ambrose intended to accelerate to their speed of fifteen knots once the contact was abaft their starboard beam. Then they would have sixteen minutes to check out the contact before local moonrise would silhouette their periscope, thus giving away their position and presence. Minutes passed.
"Conn, sonar. Range, seventy yards," Ping called.
Seafarer
was ahead of the target vessel by just her own length now, thirty yards off the sub's starboard side.
"Helm, make your speed fifteen knots and go to periscope depth," Ambrose ordered. By the time the sub attained the new speed, the target ship and their submarine would be directly off each other's amidships. When the periscope broke the surface, it would be 350 feet behind her bow and 350 feet ahead of her stern. This would allow an even scan of her port side with a minimum of the visual effect called "keystoning."
"Fifteen knots, aye," Cheeky called back. "Coming to periscope depth." The deck angle increased to five degrees nose-up as
Seafarer
made her way toward the surface.
Ambrose waited and ticked off the seconds in his mind. After all the work needed to get into position, he hoped there would be at least
something
to see.
"Conn, helm. Periscope depth, sir," Cheeky reported.
"Very well. Up periscope."
Ambrose stepped up to the periscope as heavy-gauge motors and hydraulics hummed while the massive column moved upwards. Once in position, he peered through the viewfinder as he swung the periscope around to find the contact.
As Ping had presumed, it was indeed a cruise ship. Against the dark night sky, the well-lit vessel looked like a multi-layer wedding cake bedecked with a hundred of tiny lights and strings of lights. Ambrose could see people strolling on the decks or standing at the rail as they watched the night-blackened ocean. He glanced at his watch—fourteen minutes to local moonrise. He slowly scanned the ship.
"What do you make of her, sir?" the XO asked.
"Cruise ship," Ambrose reported as he continued to visually scan the vessel. "Probably the
Atlantic Princess
, judging from the logo on her funnel." He was about to say something else when the XO saw a startled expression appear on his face. The scan stopped as Ambrose peered intently through the periscope.
"What is it?" the XO asked nervously.
Another few seconds passed, then Ambrose stepped back. His eyes were wide and his eyebrows were standing at full attention. He wordlessly gestured the XO to have a look, a wolfish grin on his face.
Curious, the XO stepped up and looked through the rangefinder. Ambrose watched as a startled expression appeared on his face. The XO pulled back after a few seconds, grinning like a kid with the world's biggest secret. "You know you gotta share this," he said, very deadpan.
