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A red light flashed on Donnie's sonar console. He didn't seem to notice, mesmerized by the porn video he had playing on the sonar screen. After several minutes the red light flashed again. This time, certain synapses in what remained of his brain came unglued and transmitted a warning. "Um . . ." He jerked upright, eyes slowly focusing on the light panel. Fumbling, he killed the video and brought up the normal sonar display. After a moment, he began his automatic recovery sequence. Slowly he wiped the drool off his chin and dabbed at the damp spot on his regulation CSim Navy t-shirt (the one with the leering monkey on the front and a large CSim logo on the back). Clean-up complete, he keyed the intercom. "Bridge, sonar. Objects in the water. Might be sonobouys." Exec Stans had the conn. He dozed in a chair behind the diving control positions. "Huh? What?" It took a moment to shake off the lingering effects of the dream, nay, the nightmare he'd been immersed in when the call came in. A tall woman in black leather was about to apply a whip to his bare back. He had a vague recollection of handcuffs and chains. "Damn!" he mumbled. "Just when things were getting good . . ." "Bridge, sonar. Is anybody there?" Stans fumbled with the handset. "Hello? I mean . . . this is the bridge. Who's calling?" "Sonar. We got aircraft noises and objects in the water. Might be sonobouys." The fog began to clear. "Might be sonobouys? What's the matter, Donnie. Porn flicks interfering with the sonar again?" "No. It's not that. The system detected eight objects hitting the water. Well, ten or eleven really, but some of them were camel poop. You know, we've recorded a good many of those." "Right." Stans glanced at the Chief and rolled his eyes. "Forget the camel poop. What about the other things?" "Well, the computer says they're old Soviet sonobouys. But they ain't working." "Not working, eh?" Stans relaxed. "Well, then, don't worry about them." "Ah. Okay. Just figured you ought to know. I'll keep listening, okay?" "You do that, Donnie. I think that's what the sonarman is supposed to do anyway." "Well. Sure. Sonar, out." Stans hung up the handset. "He's out all right." The Chief laughed, but his expression was serious. "The sonobouys might be worthless, sir, but someone obviously knows we're here." "Yeah." Stans struggled to figure out what the Chief was going on about. The woman in black leather beckoned from the depths of his depraved mind. "What about it?" "We're supposed to be kind of invisible. Stealthy, you know. That's why we drive around in this cramped, smelly old tub. Underwater." "Uh. Yeah. Okay. Well, dive down a ways and make some random turns or something. Jeez. Do I have to tell you every little thing?" Without further comment the Chief began issuing orders to the helmsman and dive plane operators. Stans soon lost track of what was going on. He slumped in his chair and tried to recapture the magic of his nightmare. OG