Game of Shadows

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Capt. Jack Harris nearly jumped out of his bed, jolted from his slumber by a racket he’d not heard in over almost a week. The alarms ringing throughout the ship weren't exactly a pleasant sound when one was in the midst of a deep slumber. Not that he slept deeply anymore. He hadn't in years, not since the war had started. Ever since his ship entered the war, Harris had adapted. He’d almost gotten used to the wildly erratic schedule that changed in an instant when aboard a United States naval vessel. The last week, however, had spoiled him. No enemy sightings and no threats had resulted in several good nights of rest in a row, a phenomenon that now seemed to be at its end.

Exhausted, he swung his feet over the edge of the bunk and quickly strapped on his boots. In mere seconds, he was jogging to the bridge to see why the alarms had been set off. He could have rung the bridge from his quarters, but it was only a thirty-second walk — and a shorter run.

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