The Lotus Eaters

D 466 Portzmoguer, Gallic Navy, Shimmering Sea

Mortain went white, not because the counterattack from the Balboan sub was unexpected, but because of the speed of the torpedo coming for his ship. That wasn't unexpected either; it was still shocking. Bending over the sonar screen, the naval officer simply couldn't bring himself to credit the way the supercavitator ate up the kilometers.

The "major" running the sonar station whistled and said, "Dear God, I don't think we can escape it."

"Head straight towards it," ordered Portzmoguer's captain.

The helmsman turned his head and eyes in the direction of the captain. "Towards it, sir?" He sounded as if he thought that the stupidest order he'd ever heard.

"The things are so noisy they can't use their own passive sonar," the captain explained. "They slow down at a preset point and ping, then adjust and start moving again. If we're not in a position for it to get a bounce from us, there's a fair chance we can lose it altogether. And stop wasting fucking time. Do it! And, Mortain, pass that to the"—the captain looked briefly at his operations board—"pass it to the Montcalm."