Part 2: Session Two: Bad dreams come true.
Session 2: Bad dreams come true....then I awoke in my bed to that oddly quiet yet alarming telephone. It had all been a dream. A nightmare. My insecurity must be catching up with me.
I wipe the sweat from my face and recompose myself. There was no way today was going to be nearly as bad as that nightmare.
---
VOTING RESULT: 3
CO: This better be important.
XO: Good morning, sir. We just received urgent traffic from from COMSUBLANT.
I still don't know who that is, but it can't be as bad as that dream, so I'm not worried.
---
VOTING RESULT: 2
CO: You handle it, XO. I'm beat.
XO: Sorry, I can't do that, Skipper. The transmission is EYES ONLY. You will have to sign for it.
Oh, well, what a coinkidink.
---
VOTING RESULT: 1
CO: Give me a minute... I need to hit the rain locker.
XO: Aye, sir.
He's staring at my bald head, isn't he? Him and his beautiful dark chestnuts locks. Lucky bastard. If I had that hair, and lost 25 pounds and also 30 years, then I'd be so darn confident.
CO: (sarcastically) Yeah, I'm rested.
I can only really be sarcastic when no one is around. I mean, I'm in charge, so they might actual do what I say. I learned that lesson the hard way. That was a lot of asparagus.
---
VOTING RESULT: 3
CO: Man, I've got to get rid of this headache before I even thinking about COMSUBLANT.
Whoever that is.
Foster: (over intercom) Captain, your presence is requested in Sonar.
CO: Damn...
Well, I guess this will keep me from having a heart attack.
---
I wish I had a model submarine in my quarters... it'd be so swooshable.
---
XO: Captain.
Foster: Thank you for coming sir. Um, here's the situation. We just pulled the towed array for scheduled maintenance. It's a routine thing, you know; just a few hours of downtime.
CO: Is this going to be a long story, Ensign?
Foster: Well, it's weird. We've got this, like, sound short. It's like an intermittent buzz at 5 hertz. And the volume changes with our speed. When we go fast, it gets louder. When we go slow, it gets softer.
The only thing I know about 'hertz' were the 'hertz donuts' I got back in basic training.
---
VOTING RESULT: 2
CO: Did you try isolating it with the other passive sets?
Foster: The noise is there, Captain. I cross-checked with the other towed array and the WLR-9.
Good work! I think.
---
VOTING RESULT: 3
CO: Best guess, Ensign. What is it?
Foster: Well, sir, I-I didn't invent this thing, but I've never picked up a sound at this low a frequency.
Wow, we're as useless as this Ensign. Way to ruin whatever was left of my ego.
---
VOTING RESULT: 2
CO: Run a second diagnostic on the Sonar, Ensign. Contact me when it's done.
Foster: I'll get right on it, Sir. I'll have it for you in three hours.
XO: (clears throat)
Foster: Okay, two hours.
XO: Make sure you let us know as soon as you have it.
---
Wooooosh. I feel better already.
---
XO: Take that down to the old man. Get a signature.
Wheeler: Yes, sir.
XO: Thank you Mister Wheeler.
Hey, I don't appreciate the age-discriminatory workplace you're creating.
Master Chief: EYES-ONLY usually means it's gonna get ugly.
It couldn't be as ugly as that dream I had, so I'm not going to sweat it.
It's so cramped. Why can't we get a porch, or a breakfast nook or something. At least on Star Trek they have a holodeck. Maybe I'll grow a beard...
Wheeler: Lieutenant Wheeler, Sir. I have your message.
Oh, right, that urgent, top secret military communiqué that I just plum forgot about. How silly of me.
Wheeler: There you go, sir. Right by the X.
Sheesh, he thinks I'm so stupid that I don't even know how to sign my own name.
Oops. Oh well, no one checks these anyway. Why do I have to sign something on a submarine? I'm the boss, allegedly.
CO: That will be all Luietenant.
Wheeler: Sorry, Sir.
What are you apologizing for? Oh no. Is my insecurity so obvious that everyone's becoming hypertensive around me?
Oh well. What's this thing say?
CO: EYES ONLY: Compromised patrol area Yankee Victor, okay. Seventy-two hours ago, Libyan Kilo submarine effected exit of Med gained open sea. Though tracked by US forces, Kilo has broken contact. Subject sub is believed to be headed north at patrol area Yankee Victor. At present time, threat to your mission and platform is considered slight. You're advised of this developing situation so you may take appropriate action. Disclosure of this message to your officers, men left to your discretion. Continuation of your deterrent patrol considered paramount. All other considerations secondary, SUBLANTS and et cetra etc.
No... it can't be. That's impossible.
It's the exact same letter from my dream. How? Is it my imagination? Am I just going stir crazy?
It must have been a premonition. A brief glimpse into the future. Forget the 'how.' I know that for some reason, I was meant to know this ahead of time. This time, I'm going to get it right.
Maybe I'm special after all.
---
Foster: Hydrophone effect. Incoming torpedo.
What? I've barely had any time to think about this! What am I supposed to do?
XO: Helmsman. All ahead flank.
Helmsman: All ahead flank.
Foster: Mark-65 continues to close.
XO: Diving officer, 20 degree down bubble. Submerge the ship to 800 feet.
Helmsman: Submerge the ship to 800 feet.
Foster: Conn, Sonar. Hostile weapon bears 190. Speed: 63 knots. Range: 3000 yards. Range decreasing.
God, stop talking over each other for a second.
Master Chief: Topedo's got a lock on us, Captain.
See, why can't you just say it nice and simple like that?
XO: Orders, Sir?
Uhhh...
---
VOTING RESULT: 3
CO: Deploy countermeasures.
XO: Officer of the deck, deploy countermeasures. Full spread.
Oh, don't say full spread. It's making me hungry.
OOD: Deploy countermeasures. Full spread. Aye.
Oh, come on, now I've gotta hit the vending machine.
Foster: Conn, Sonar. SET-65 responding to countermeasures. Torpedo is reversing course.
At least one thing on this bucket of bolts works like it's supposed to.
Master Chief: Mister Kilo's got a new playmate.
Oh my goodness, please let them sink themselves with their own torpedo... I'll get a medal without firing a shot.
Foster: Conn, Sonar. SET-65 detonation. 2500 yards. Bearing 180.
Wheeler: That's the way it's supposed to be.
Yes, that's right. We're supposed to live. I knew it.
XO: She must have hit our countermeasures, Sir.
Master Chief: The guys that make the Yugo have no business making torpedoes.
I always felt bad for the Yugo. It's basically the same thing as a Volkswagen Beetle, except without the nostalgia. I'd drive one... if I could afford any car after all those alimony payments.
---
VOTING RESULT: 1
CO: Bring us back around to clear our baffles. I don't like this one bit.
XO: Helmsman, left full rudder, steady on course 145.
Helmsman: Left full rudder. 145.
Wait, you're just saying 'left' instead of... aft? Starboard? Whichever. What I'm asking is: Why did I spend all those hours pretending to learn that?
I hope I didn't leave the blinker on.
Foster: Conn, Sonar. We have cleared Kilo's probably detection range.
XO: Stay sharp. I don't like any surprises,.
Master Chief: We've broken contact.
Whew. What a relief.
XO: Orders, sir?
Um, return home? Job well done? I mean, we survived... everything fine...
I can tell by your expression that I'm wrong. Again.
---
VOTING RESULT: 3
CO: Remain at general quarters. We're probably not done being shot at.
XO: Aye, Sir. Officer of the deck, maintain course and speed. Rig the ship for good quiet.
OOD: Maintain course and speed. Rig the boat for good quiet. Aye aye.
XO: Very well.
Whew... I need some coffee. This getting shot at is taking a lot out of me.
---
MEANWHILE
Ensign Neff: Were at bingo fuel. We gotta head back.
Commander: I concur. Take us back to the boat, young Ensign Neff.
Danny: Akula's making noise. He's flooded all his torpedo tubes.
Commander: Give me the stick, Brucie.
Neff: Look, Commander. We've got negative fuel numbers.
Danny: Target is opening outer torpedo doors. His sonar's gone active. He's setting up a torpedo shot.
Commander: You sure?
Neff: He's fixing to fire on the Idaho.
Danny: Akula's about to go hostile.
Commander: Don't psych it, Danny!
---
Foster: Conn, Sonar. Hydrophone effect. Surface impact. Bearing 004. Range 200 yards.
Two hundr- wait, two HUNDRED?! What? Where? How? Where are you, Linda Ellerbee?
Master Chief: He's got a lock on us.
Flee! Run! Make haste! Avast! Go! ¡Ándale!
Foster: Impact in 3, 2...
...please stop counting...
Foster: ...1...
XO: Who the hell dropped a torpedo on us?
Why are you asking for me?
Foster: Conn, Sonar. New contact designated Sierra-27. Evaluated to be Russian Akula class submarine.
Master Chief: Whoever invented the rocket-delivered torpedo should have got a medal.
Foster: Range is 72 miles.
Shut up. No one told me it could do that... how was I supposed to know?
XO: Guy wasn't even in our time zone and he boned us.
He's disgusted. Wants to spit in my face. Call me the big, dumb failure that he knows I am. Not only am I an idiot, I squandered my one chance to get it right. Why was I privileged to see that if I couldn't capitalize on it?
The icy black sea rushes in. I turn to run, but walk right into one of those damn railings and whack myself in the ol' crow's nest. I didn't notice much else besides the cold water rushing up my nose.
So cold.