“Click. That God awful, revolting, disgusting… annoying doesn’t begin to cover it, click?”

“Yes, sir!”

“Captain,” Prael said sternly. “You are a United States Naval Officer. Did John Paul Jones flinch in the face of English gunnery? Did Spruance back off at Midway? Did Dewey flee from the Spanish? No. Nor shall you flee that God-awful click, Captain! If it makes you feel any better, we’re reasonably sure that the admirals, may their souls rot in hell, keep her in her position as a test of all XOs. To make CO, you have to be able to stand… The Click! If you can stand the Click, no lesser torture will do. But that is for tomorrow. Have you noticed the time?”

“Oh, Christ,” Bill replied, accessing his plant. “I must have muted the alarm!”

“Or never noticed it in the face of The Click,” Prael said, nodding. “It can do that. It’s a most amazing sound. But we have other places to be. Right. Now. Dress fast.”

“How’s it going, son?” Steve Bergstresser asked.

“I’m ready to go,” Eric replied, still fiddling with his collar button. It was that or stand around twitching.

“Come ’ere,” his dad said, turning him around. He touched his son’s cummerbund into place and pulled a probably imaginary bit of lint off the spotless uniform. “It’s going to be fine. Admittedly, the chapel is packed…”

“Oh God,” Eric groaned. “Dr. Pierson is going to have a heart attack! He can’t afford a wedding this big.”

“Dr. Pierson is a former submariner,” Mr. Bergstresser said. “He’s practically bubbling over. He’s got three admirals and the Ccommandant attending. It’s the first time I’ve ever seen a father of the bride happy about paying for a wedding.”

“I just wish it was over,” Eric replied.

“A common problem,” Steve said. “Weddings are for brides.”

“And honeymoons are for grooms,” Josh added with a grin.

“Watch your tongue, young man,” Mr. Bergstresser snapped. “All that the groom is required to do is show up on time.”