| Home | Introduction | Articles Index |

| Links | Durant Imboden |

John Doe / 2

Suddenly there was a loud crunching noise,

and a klaxon echoed in the cavernous steel belly

of the ship.

"Attention, all hands!" bellowed a voice from

the loudspeaker on the bulkhead. "We've been rammed

by an unidentified submarine. Go to your damage-

control stations at once. Security crew, prepare

depth charges for launch."

Metzer sighed. Ever since Vietnam, he had been

waiting for the day when he could again fight hand

to hand with an enemy. Now that he was under attack,

he had to stand by like a tourist while the Navy

defended him.

Damned swabbies! he muttered to himself. Why

does the Navy get all the fun?

"Excuse me, sir," said one of the white-coated

scientists, who brushed past the general to press

a red button on the cryogenic capsule.

Metzger stared as liquid nitrogen steamed

from an escape valve. "What are you doing?"

"Defrosting her, sir," explained the young

scientist. "If the ship sinks, the clones will

have to join us in the lifeboats."

[ To manuscript preparation article ]

Copyright © 1996-2002 Durant Imboden. All rights reserved. Credits.