The hard-muscled youngster paused as he monkeyed up the ladder from the conning tower. "Permission-to-come-on-the-bridge-relieve-the-stern-lookout-sir?" he rattled off in a breath. The officer of the deck muttered: "Granted," returned to his own search of the darkness. Aft, the fresh-eyed lookout took the heavy Navy binoculars from the man on watch, began to scan his sector. Then his voice lifted over the wet mumble of the charging diesel: "Gunfire bearing one seven oh, sir!"
There it was: a pin point flickering on the dark, unmarked horizon. The lookout grinned with satisfaction: the real thing...
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