"Yes, sir!" the weapons officer snapped back at once.

"Firing Point Procedures. Prepare to fire a water-slug on tube two."

"Sir, I confirm torpedo tube two is empty. Weapons in tubes one, three and four are secure." A call was made to the torpedo room to re-confirm what the electronic displays announced. In the torpedo room, the chief looked through the small glass port to make certain that they wouldn't be launching anything.

"Tube two is empty by visual inspection. High-pressure air is online." the chief called over the communications circuit. "We are ready to shoot."

"Open outer door."

"Open outer door, aye. Outer door is open."

"Weps?"

"Locked in."

"Match generated bearings and shoot!"

The weapons officer pushed the proper button. USS Maine shuddered with the sudden pulse of high-pressure air out of the torpedo tube and into the sea.

Aboard USS Omaha, six thousand yards away, a sonarman had been trying for the past few minutes to decide if the trace on his screen was something other than clutter when a dot appeared on the screen.

"Conn, Sonar, transient, transient. Mechanical Transient bearing zero-eight-eight, dead aft!"

"What the hell?" the Officer of the Deck said. He was the boat's navigator, in the third week of duty in the new post. "What's back there?"

"Transient, transient - launch transient bearing zero-eight-eight! I say again, launch transient dead aft!"

"All ahead flank!" the suddenly pale lieutenant said a touch too loudly. "Battle stations! Stand by the five-inch room." He lifted the command phone for the captain, but the general alarm was already sounding, and the Commanding Officer ran barefoot into the attack center, his coveralls still open.

"What the fuck is going on?"

"Sir, we had a launch transient dead aft - Sonar, Conn, what else do you have?"

"Nothing, sir, nothing after the transient. That was a launch-transient, HP air into the water, but sounded a little funny, sir. I show nothing in the water."

"Right full rudder!" The OOD ordered, ignoring the Captain. He hadn't been relieved yet, and conning the boat was his responsibility. "Make your depth one hundred feet. Five-inch room, launch a decoy now-now-now!"

"Right full rudder, aye. Sir, my rudder is right full, no course given. Speed twenty knots and accelerating," helmsman said.

"Very well. Come to course zero-one-zero."

"Aye, coming to new course zero-one-zero!"

"Who's in this area?" the CO asked in a relaxed voice, though he didn't feel relaxed.

"Maine’s around here somewhere," the navigator answered.

"Harry Ricks." That asshole, he didn't say. It would have been bad for discipline. "Sonar, talk to me!"

"Conn, sonar, there is nothing in the water. If there was a torpedo, I'd have it, sir."

"Nav, drop speed to one-third."

"Aye, all ahead one-third."

"I think we scared the piss out of him," Ricks observed, hovering over the sonar display. Seconds after the simulated launch, the 688 on the scope had floored his power plant, and now there was also the gurgling sound of a decoy.