Close call Asses - End

Once the switch was made Max spoke into the phone hanging around his neck. “Station one, locked on target, commence firing.”

The rumble and the clicking sounds were loud as the five inch gun mounts swiveled around following the firecontrol radars signal. Then, once the big guns were in place, the booming was almost deafening.

Max scooted back to lean against the bulkhead. There, he opened the phones’ storage box, and pulled out two Playboy magazines, tossing one to the kid.

“Thanks, Max,” the kid said, going straight for the foldout.

As the two sailors studied the magazines like their lives depended on it an odd thing was happening. The radar that had been locked onto the target sleeve moved a fraction of an inch and began climbing the wire cable that was attached to the Tomcat.

Yelling from the airplanes radio got their attention. As the pilot shot straight up in the sky he was screaming, “Cease fire, you assholes. I’m pulling the sleeve, not pushing it!”

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