Valkyrie under water
By Captain Corc



The strange underwater explosion in the Mediterranean in the last week of 
July--officially attributed to a volcano--actually had a much more 
spectacular source than that. Diana the Valkyrie is too modest to tell the 
story.  Or maybe she prefers to write about her sexual rapine and her other 
dealings with men.  Whatever the reason, through an extraordinary 
coincidence (and a great deal of research), the writer of these presents 
(just love those old phrases) is in a position to relate what really 
happened.  The extraordinary coincidence must forever remain 
undisclosed - Diana has promised lethal penalties for revealing certain 
aspects of this tale and Diana always keeps her promises.  Her literary eye 
also tells her, quite rightly, that the remarkable coincidence is not part of 
the real story anyway.

At the risk of blemishing Diana the Valkyrie's reputation as a constant and 
voracious consumer of men, the truth is, not even a valkyrie is able to 
maintain the pace depicted in most of her stories. Keep in mind, she does 
warn you right off that they are works of fiction.   So, rather than with an 
image of killer thighs being applied to a hapless man's midsection, our 
story begins with Diana the Valkyrie reclining in a deck chair with her 
chocolate stained nose buried in a copy of "The Tao of Physics".  Her 
object was to review the postulations made in that book  in the light of 
recent discoveries in the realm of quantum physics.  That, and just to relax 
and indulge herself a little in one of her small vices - smearing chocolate 
upon various body parts.  It being a public locale and not feeling 
particularly adventurous at the moment, she restricted herself to just a dab 
on the nose.  Beside her on another deck chair was her companion in her 
more placid moments.  He was a somewhat dumpy man of years 
approaching the territory of what Diana calls "old dears", that being in the 
neighborhood of fifty.  Diana had chosen him, to his delight, mostly due to 
the fact that he seemed quite smitten with her and at the same time, 
oblivious to her cabin mate Linda - perhaps the only man on board capable 
of such a feat.  He also had that forlorn and helpless aspect of a guy who 
required looking after and that appealed to the more tender inclinations of 
the Valkyrie.  So, she adopted him for company in her quiet times.  At first 
it was an act of charity.  But as she discovered he possessed the rare gift of 
silence and was long past the phase of puerile masculine competition, she 
began to grow fond of him.  He had calmly accepted the fact that she was 
brighter than he and had responded to her statement that she was a 
valkyrie with such ease that she hadn't even been forced to crush his hand 
in her grip.  She did bend a nail, but only because he pleaded with her to 
display her prowess, not because he demanded proof.  

As it happens, valkyries have powers even more unusual than superior 
strength and the ability to still find extremely rare winged horses.  Diana 
the Valkyrie has a capability that may be unique among valkyries.  Perhaps 
inspired by the history of her beloved island home, or maybe under the 
pressure of the necessity for vigilance, or possibly just through evolution, 
she has developed sonar capabilities.  Since it's not a skill she's 
consciously acquired and it has no precedent in lore or physiognomy, even 
Diana herself cannot say precisely how it works.  Unlike a bat, she does not 
have to emit squeaks audible or otherwise.  And she does not receive the 
echo in her ears.  The echo registers in the bone of her forehead, forming 
an image in her mind.  No mere blip, but an actual and accurate silhouette 
of the target.  Diana claims she has been sonar capable since she was a 
little valkyrie (not that long ago, the writer hastens to add) and has refined 
the trait through years (again, not that many) of practice.  Thus, no matter 
how many activities she may be attending to, she can scan for attack as 
well, if she wishes.  Or she can scan just to amuse herself.  This particular 
day, with her mild companion beside her, she, with the sea born instincts 
of her island race, was on the alert.

So, there they were, this unlikely pair, floating in the Mediterranean sun 
along with the rest of the ship's compliment, she enjoying the sensuous 
contact of soft chocolate and he snoring softly under a straw hat.  A hint of 
a breeze stirred the sea tang about her, warming her thoroughly British 
heart and somehow, the aroma of baking bread made its way up from the 
galley causing her to squirm lasciviously and unconsciously begin to 
unbutton her blouse.  She caught herself with a little secret smile and made 
a mental note to tease her many admirers with this strange urge she has to 
get naked whenever she smells baking bread.  Suddenly, a massive 
vibration swept through her head.  She swung her legs around in order to 
sit upright and get a better fix, knocking her companion to the deck in the 
process.  He peered up at her from under the sprawling wreckage of his 
deck chair and saw her face intently sweeping the sea like a radar dish in 
an arc of approximately 160 degrees and her hand held out in his direction 
in a gesture which clearly warned him not to attempt to interfere.  

He watched her with bemused and complacent interest.  What could she be 
up to now?  She was such a constant and spectacular surprise that he'd 
grown accustomed to being astonished at every turn by something about 
her.  He had learned very quickly to be patient and wait and knew that all 
would be revealed in Diana's own good time.  So, he propped his head up 
with his hand, lolled on the deck and waited, regarding her with the 
complicated mixture of avuncular indulgement, paternal affection and 
sheer desire with which he struggled constantly and unconsciously as 
Diana scanned the sea.  Satisfied she had fixed the position of her target, 
she dropped contact in order to preserve her sanity.  Even a valkyrie can 
only take so much, and the echo was the strongest and most head rattling 
she had ever encountered.

"I've pinged a sub," said Diana, looking down at her companion with a 
gentle smile.  "Be a dear won't you and just run down to my cabin and 
bring up my soft black bag?  There's a good bloke."

He went to do her bidding without question, glowing somewhat at being 
called "bloke" rather than the usual "old dear".  He was halfway to his own 
cabin before he remembered he was supposed to be going to HER cabin 
and had absolutely no idea where it was.  He whirled to find Diana right 
behind him with a wide smile on her face, arched eyebrows which spoke 
volumes (as they say) and her cabin key in her hand.

"You might need this, luv," she said.

He took the key sheepishly, returned the smile and was about to say 
something when Diana put an index finger over his lips and said, "Do 
hurry.  It may be dreadfully important."

Diana headed back on deck to track the sub and he hasten off in the 
general direction of her cabin, holding out the key to every steward he 
happened into and being directed this way and that by skinny Lascars who 
spoke a language no one on board had every heard before.

Meanwhile, back on deck, Diana leaned over the starboard rail and picked 
up the sub once again.  The echo resonated so strongly in her head that she 
squinted.  "Seventy five hundred yards and closing at a depth of 100 feet," 
she muttered.  "Could be training maneuvers, I suppose, but there's 
something I don't like about this.  Where IS that man?  I might have 
known better."

"That man" was at that moment entering the cabin of Diana the Valkyrie 
and being confronted by the towering figure of Linda, the blonde who had 
laid waste to passenger and crew alike, striding on a pair of legs that left 
men breathless in her wake along with an assortment of women, too.  
Stepping back from the level of her solar plexis, he craned his neck upward 
and informed the blonde apparition that Diana had sent him for her soft 
black bag. 

"Oh, you're Diana's geezer," Linda exclaimed.  "I should watch her closer.  
I pick a geezer who ends up in bed with pneumonia and doesn't even have 
as much money as he says and she has you running errands for her.  I 
know she's smarter than me, but something is definitely wrong with this 
picture."

Linda pointed to the bag in question, Diana's geezer grabbed it and nearly 
dislocated his shoulder attempting to lift it.  Wincing with pain, he 
managed to wrestle it onto his back by putting his arms through the hand 
straps and hoisting it like a back pack.  Bent nearly double, he wheezed his 
way out of the cabin to the accompaniment of Linda's giggles and 
staggered back on deck.  Diana was so preoccupied tracking the sub that 
she didn't notice his return until he got within fifty feet of her - close 
enough to hear him gasping.

"Oh, you poor dear," she said, running to him and easily lifting the bag off 
his back with one hand.  "I'm SO sorry.  Will you be all right?"  The man 
croaked out that he thought he'd survive while Diana dug her Valkyrie's 
Sonar Recognition Handbook out of a side pocket.  She rapidly flipped 
through the pages while her companion remained on his hands and knees 
with his ribs working convulsively and a most alarming rattle emitting 
from his throat.  Without conscious awareness, Diana moved a leg close to 
his head to allow him the comfort of propinquity to what she knew was one 
of his favorite regions of her anatomy.  Soon she could feel his less frantic 
breath on the soft skin behind her knee and she knew he was reviving and 
at that moment, she found the page she was looking for.   

Lightheaded and more than usually addled from exertion, Diana's 
companion could only comprehend that he was on his hands and knees 
with Diana the Valkyrie's powerful yet beautiful and evocative leg before 
his very lips - exactly the position he had yearned for in one or more of his 
various fantasies.  He had no idea how he'd gotten there and he didn't 
really care.  He could only imagine that he was there with permission and 
for a purpose and what could the purpose be other than to adore this 
strangely potent woman?  Next thing Diana knew, she was feeling his lips 
on her calf.  She reached down and gently placed her hand on the back of 
his neck.

"Not now, sweetie, there's no time," she said, kneeling to help him up.  
"We have a problem to attend to.  Shake your head vigorously, that's a 
good bloke.  Things are going to get hectic and I need you to stand watch 
for me."

As Diana helped her weaving but recovering and apologetic companion 
across the deck to the starboard rail, she continued to explain.  "You see, 
that sub I pinged is, as I feared, a U-boat.  Specifically, Kriegsmarine 
Unterwassenboot U53, commissioned in 1940 and reported sunk by a 
torpedo plane pilot of the Ark Royal in April, 1941."

"Unterwassenboot?"

"It's a little pet name I use, dear.  Be that as it may, apparently, she wasn't 
quite as sunk as that bloke thought 57 years ago, because she's out there 
very close to periscope depth and I'm quite certain she means to sink us."

"But-"

"I really wouldn't know, sweetie.  All I can say is that she's not a ghost, 
she is a U-boat and whether she's manned by moldy Germans who believe 
they are still at war or Libyan terrorists out for a bit of fun, she is acting in 
precisely the manner prescribed for stalking and shooting a ship of our 
speed and configuration.  Now, really, we don't have much time.  All I 
require you to do is watch for interference and warn me when it's coming.  
I'll handle the rest."

"Yes, Diana."

Diana swept the U-boat again.  It had closed to 2000 yards, running at 
periscope depth and she could feel the outer torpedo doors open.  Time was 
indeed of the essence.  She unzipped the bag and withdrew the British 
made Shrike-Valkyrie sonar guided anti-submarine missile and launcher 
which, with womanly foresight, she had packed just in case.  It was a nifty 
little thing, similar to a Stinger in that it was designed for portability and 
single person from the shoulder firing.  The launcher and missile together 
weighed only 30 pounds.  The weight of the bag came from the Browning 
.50 caliber machine gun plus tripod and ammunition which was also in 
there.  One can never be too careful and if a company in Olympia, 
Washington wants to present a Valkyrie with a Browning .50 caliber 
machine gun out of gratitude and appreciation, the least a Valkyrie can do 
is haul it around against the possibility of serious trouble.  Of course, there 
is nothing a Valkyrie can't handle with just her bare hands and a blade of 
some kind, but Diana could conceive of a situation where there just 
wouldn't be time for a good, old fashioned slice-`em-up rumble.  Like this 
one, for example.  She could survive a torpedoing, in fact, it might even be 
somewhat of a thrill.  And when the sub surfaced, she would simply climb 
aboard and slaughter everybody.  But there were bound to be casualties 
from the sinking cruiser and Diana was too tender hearted to selfishly 
allow others to be maimed and killed just so she could have a bit of fun.  
With a sigh for the hectic pace of modern day life which doesn't seem to 
ever allow for protracted displays of combative prowess, Diana lifted the 
launcher to her shoulder, pinged the sub once more and fired.  The little 
Shrike-Valk zipped off the launcher and made its way whooshing above the 
water like a peripatetic corkscrew.  

Diana leaned over the rail, dropping the launcher into the sea and watched 
as the missile's gyro straightened it out.  It zoomed along for another 500 
yards or so and then nosed under the surface.  At that point, she heard her 
companion yelping that somebody was coming and she turned calmly to 
see two somebodies coming, two somewhat burly and businesslike 
somebodies who plainly intended to deal harshly with her.  Poor boys, she 
thought, all upset over a little sub shooting.  Just as these worthy citizens 
were closing with her, the Shrike-Valk found its target and there was a 
tremendous boil of white water exploding in the sea about ten points off the 
starboard bow about 1000 yards distant.  Goofily convinced that they had 
witnessed an act of terrorism - whoever heard of a British terrorist? -
Diana's attackers attempted to wrap her up for delivery to the ship's 
gendarmes.  Her companion ignored the whole incident, knowing that 
Diana would need no help and inspected the water for signs of torpedo 
wakes.

"Fish?" Diana inquired calmly as she swung one attacker off her arm and 
sent him skidding along the deck into the pool.

"I don't see any," answered her companion.  By this time, Diana had her 
second attacker between her thighs and was applying just enough pressure 
to calm him down a bit.  He became so relaxed he lost consciousness and a 
couple of stalwarts who had decided to join the fray found themselves in 
twin headlocks being effortlessly slung and squeezed until their balding 
pates were glowing cherry red.  Soon they too fell asleep, exhausted by all 
the exercise and Diana dumped them in a heap with the scissor victim.  
The guy bubbling in the pool had clambered out just in time for the wash 
from the explosion to knock him over backwards into the pool again and 
loose people were bouncing like ping pong balls into whatever obstacle 
happened to be handy.  Six skinny Lascars with revolvers, sent by the 
Captain to investigate the furore, arrived on deck just in time to be sent 
skating into Diana's waiting arms.  She gave them a friendly group 
squeeze and the sidearms fell from their suddenly nerveless fingers.  Her 
warm smile seemed to terrorize them and upon being released, they hurried 
off to the galley to plead for brandy to recover from the ordeal.

The explosion was far enough away that the ship barely heeled at all, a 
mere 20 degrees or so, and it quickly righted itself.  But most on board 
were landsmen and found the experience unnerving as well as unsettling.  
Diana's companion was draped over the railing making hideous noises and 
he was not the only one.  Diana took her hat from his limp hand and 
thanked him politely for looking after it.  He waved weakly in 
acknowledgement.  She placed the hat on her head at a rakish angle and 
took a little promenade along the railing to make sure that nobody had 
fallen overboard in the excitement.  No one seemed inclined to attempt any 
further accusations against her and she saw that nobody was thrashing 
around in the water anywhere, so she regarded the incident as over.

There were, however, certain formalities remaining.  A team of Israeli 
MOSSAD investigators pretending to be Cook's Cruise Lines accountants 
helicoptered on board to find out what had happened.  A British destroyer 
and an American sub chaser showed up with brusque questions regarding a 
blip disappearing in a huge bubble on their scopes.  But those who had 
seen nothing could tell them nothing and those who had seen something 
were strangely reticent.  The three men in traction in sick bay claimed that 
they had been relaxing in deck chairs "up there on the hurricane deck, or 
whatever you call it" when they had been suddenly hurled through the air 
and dumped on the promenade, thus sustaining neck and spine injuries.  
The six stewards were insensible from brandy.  The bystanders, with 
nervous and obsequious glances toward Diana maintained in effect that 
"we were just floating along, boss, and BOOM!!! The ship nearly turns 
over."  Diana, belatedly removing a chocolate stain from her nose, just 
smiled enigmatically and shrugged.  Her companion gazed longingly at a 
spot just below the bend of Diana's knee and said "What explosion?"

So they had to give up and officially deem that an underwater volcano had 
erupted.  An act of God.  But we know that it was an act of a Goddess.  
And it can be fairly stated that Diana the Valkyrie fired the last shot of 
World War II in late July, 1998.