Pigboatcook
02-09-15, 10:46 AM
It is late July, 1942. The dawn breaks bright and clear and the seas a pane of glass across the South China Sea. Below, the radar wizard calls the warning of the approach of winged death. I send the Stingray on a hurried dash into her bolt hole under the sea.
We level out at 220 feet and I set the crew to task to take whatever solace and comfort they can as we wander to the north at a lazy 2 knots. Above, the sun does it's part for the emperor to keep us in the shadows.
I hear the scurry outside my cabin and my first officer pokes his head into my sanctuary to announce a distant contact the voodoo sonar has detected. I scramble to the device and too hear the distant rumble of faint screws turning. A quick plot and a well used pencil reveal the long cautious chase ahead. Do we try, or do we pass? The question teases me as I weigh the cost of intercept. We go.
The chiefs are tasked with torturing the batteries to provide the maximum benefit. I order the Stingray to tax her muscles and cut through the fluid and approach as best she is able. It is 1500 hours when the God of War delivers his reward. The target turned, and approaches from the northeast.
Slowly the Stingray creeps up in the clear sun bathed ocean. Are the winged avengers still above? Will crawling out of the dark show her hand? The crew goes silent as we reach 55 feet. The eye of revenge is raised.
The sea is still flat and the sun brilliant upon the waters. The eye spins to the bearing. There she is, the daughter of Hirohito, not 1000 yards and 15 degrees off the port bow. Her decks packed with tanks from the Empire's foundries. The batteries all but dead, the Stingray opens her forward tubes.
CTD. Neptune laughs.
We level out at 220 feet and I set the crew to task to take whatever solace and comfort they can as we wander to the north at a lazy 2 knots. Above, the sun does it's part for the emperor to keep us in the shadows.
I hear the scurry outside my cabin and my first officer pokes his head into my sanctuary to announce a distant contact the voodoo sonar has detected. I scramble to the device and too hear the distant rumble of faint screws turning. A quick plot and a well used pencil reveal the long cautious chase ahead. Do we try, or do we pass? The question teases me as I weigh the cost of intercept. We go.
The chiefs are tasked with torturing the batteries to provide the maximum benefit. I order the Stingray to tax her muscles and cut through the fluid and approach as best she is able. It is 1500 hours when the God of War delivers his reward. The target turned, and approaches from the northeast.
Slowly the Stingray creeps up in the clear sun bathed ocean. Are the winged avengers still above? Will crawling out of the dark show her hand? The crew goes silent as we reach 55 feet. The eye of revenge is raised.
The sea is still flat and the sun brilliant upon the waters. The eye spins to the bearing. There she is, the daughter of Hirohito, not 1000 yards and 15 degrees off the port bow. Her decks packed with tanks from the Empire's foundries. The batteries all but dead, the Stingray opens her forward tubes.
CTD. Neptune laughs.