A Political Solution

Like a bad dream in slow motion the water off the port quarter parted into a foamy spray to revel the black curved dome of a submarine. From the wheelhouse, Barbara saw it a microsecond before its shattering impact cut Starfish in half. On the fore deck, Jack's back was to the working davit as he felt the impact of its arm sweep him overboard.

Starfish's hull was penetrated forward of her wheelhouse. The vociferate howl of ripping metal briefly overran the quiet resolve of the fog-shrouded sea. With little resistance her bow section went down like a stone tossed by a small boy into a pond. The aft section struggled briefly as if protesting its pending death, and then silently dropped from the surface.

Cold gray fog again reclaimed and covered the water. A muffled unheard cry of a solitary gull echoed the efforts of the Coast Guard to contact the doomed vessel on VHF radio.

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