Authors: Taylor Anderson
“I’m doing my best!” Horn yelled, dropping an empty magazine and fumbling for another.
“Then quit goofin’ around an’ do better! I’joorka,” Dennis cried, “try and do what you done before! Get as many arrows as you can to fall in that tub up yonder!”
“I try. It hard to gather Khonashis! They get lost in dark an’ killing!”
Silva thought there were forty or so warriors present. “Do it with these! As soon as you shoot, we go up! The arrows ought to at least keep their heads down long enough for us to board!” He pulled his precious.45 and placed it in his left hand, then drew his 1917 Navy cutlass. “Give the word or hoot or whatever you do!”
Another burst of 25-millimeter fire sprayed the trees, a little to the side, but I’joorka raised his odd cry again and added what must’ve been instructions. A final cry loosed the arrows, and Silva flipped his head so his helmet would lay farther back. “Let’s go!” he roared. The long gangplank connected the dock to
Hidoiame
just forward of amidships on her starboard side, and it juddered and bounced under running feet. A Japanese sailor appeared at the top, rifle at port arms. His expression showed amazement, then terror that the attackers had already made it this far. He had no time to register another thought before Silva’s first pistol shot struck him below his left eye. Another sailor was behind him, but the falling body kept him from raising his rifle in the confined space. Silva shot him too, then bolted left, toward the elevated gun platforms aft. A dozen yipping Khonashis followed. Lawrence turned right, leaping the bodies, and charged forward with his own squad, his bayonet leveled before him.
Gunny Horn’s BAR pounded the night and finally silenced the Japanese machine gun, but the weapon they’d captured earlier went quiet as well. The sound of battle was still growing, however, and at least one more of the perimeter guns had gone down. Dennis resheathed his cutlass and scrambled up the damp iron rungs of a ladder. The arrows from below had stopped, and the surviving gunners on the .25 were starting to peer over the lip of the steel tub when Silva jumped in from behind, his 1911 Colt already barking. The gunners sprawled on the bloody deck, joining two others with arrows in their bodies.
“Quick!” Dennis roared at the Khonashis who’d followed his charge. “Check the other tubs!” He pointed in case they didn’t understand. He stabbed the magazine release button with his thumb, and the empty magazine clattered on the deck. His left hand had already grabbed a full one from his pouch, and he slammed it in the well. Lawrence’s.50-80 rifle boomed forward and smoke drifted aft in the dim light of an open porthole. Dennis quickly scanned his surroundings. There was a screech from a nearby gun tub, quickly silenced by ringing swords. More rifle fire erupted near the fantail, and small, high-velocity bullets crackled past. He couldn’t worry about that. His squad of Khonashis would have to deal with it. He started to try to bring the 25mm up to support the attack in the woods, but realized he couldn’t do that either! The jungle battle around and within the perimeter was a seething, chaotic mess. He was almost sure Abel’s force, at least, had broken through on its right, but it had become impossible to differentiate targets. Even where he
knew
the Japanese were, he couldn’t shoot the powerful weapon without risking friendlies beyond! He swore.
Horn’s muzzle flashes were at the top of the ramp now, pulsing outward. He would’ve come up as a rear guard, Dennis was certain, which meant most of their boarding party had to be on the ship. He wondered if that meant there were seventy or eighty of them, or just ten or twelve by now. He snatched at a Khonashi lizard running aft. “I’joorka?” He shouted. The warrior waved behind him, and Silva saw the creature. At least he thought it was him. “I’joorka? Is that you?”
The warrior joined him, breathing hard. “It is I.”
“Good.” Silva waved at the cluster of gun tubs. “We can’t use these—too dangerous to our folks—but you gotta keep the Japs from takin’ ’em back!”
“I do it!”
“Swell! I’m goin’ forward. You keep an eye on the companionways too. There’s bound to be Japs below, tryin’ to sneak up at us.”
“Yes! Good!”
Dennis pushed his slide release, chambering another round in his Colt, then hopped the tub and ran back the way he’d come. Horn was lying prone on the deck beside the two sailors Dennis killed, but two more had been piled across the gangplank and Horn was using them for protection and a rest. Beside him, two men were trying to figure out the second Type 11 they must have captured, and several crossbowmen were covering them.
“Hey, Gunny,” Silva called.
“Hey, yourself,” Horn shouted between bursts. “This is the most goofed-up fight I’ve been in since I don’t know when!”
“Yeah. Ain’t a patch to some
I’ve
seen lately. Kind of a hoot, though, huh?”
“You always were nuts. Get down, wilya, before some Jap knocks your noodle off.”
“I gotta check on Larry, forward,” Silva replied. “I’joorka’s gonna finish clearin’ the topside, aft. You just keep any more Japs from gettin’ aboard.”
“You got it.”
Silva trotted forward, his boondockers making remarkably little noise on the linoleum-covered deck. He’d seen
Amagi
while they were breaking her up, and the scorched-and-melted linoleum had been a surprise at the time, but he kind of expected it now. It was probably handy with the right shoes, he reflected, but slick under his leather soles. “Japs are so weird,” he muttered, seeing another unidentifiable fixture attached to the deck. No doubt it did
something
, but why couldn’t it look like anything it ought to do? At that moment he was all alone, though he could hear fighting ahead. He passed every hatch and port with care, half expecting shots from within, but so far there didn’t seem to be anyone belowdecks. There
had
to be Jap snipes aboard! At least one boiler was lit to power the pumps and the few lights he’d seen. Maybe they’d already come up and had their go?
He clambered up the stairs to the long, raised fo’c’sle, and almost tripped over a pile of bodies lying in a twisted, bloody heap. There were Japs and Khonashis there, but no Lawrence, he was glad to see. There was another
boom
ahead, muffled, maybe inside the long, narrow bridge structure, followed by the dull popping of a semiauto pistol. He darted through a hatch—and right in the middle of a brawl. Two Khonashis lay dead or hurt just inside the cramped space, but the rest, five or six, had closed with their enemies before the pistols could overwhelm their swords. The lizardlike Khonashis used their teeth and claws just like Grik, and Silva couldn’t help feeling an inner, visceral twinge. He saw Larry then, pinning a man to a bulkhead with his bayonet, wailing with a vocal savagery he’d never seen in the little guy. Larry was a killing fiend when it came down to it, but he was usually quieter about it.
A sailor managed to work his pistol around to shoot the Khonashi man he grappled with, and when the man fell, Dennis put two bullets in the sailor. He got a quick opening and shot another man, but there was just so little room and the desperate fight so fluid! He yanked out his cutlass and dove in.
“More Nips comin’ down the companionway from above!” he shouted, seeing legs pumping down the stairs beside him. He stabbed at one, tripping what looked like an officer, and the man tumbled headfirst to the deck. He hopped the handrail and started up, but found himself face-to-face with another officer, pointing one of the stumpy-looking Nambu pistols right at Silva’s good eye. Maybe it was the sudden appearance of the towering, one-eyed, blood-smeared apparition that gave the Japanese officer pause, but Silva didn’t hesitate, and stabbed forward without thought. The pistol must’ve drawn his aim, because the clipped point of the cutlass pierced the officer’s hand and drove up through his arm alongside the bone. The pistol clattered down the stairs, and the man screamed shrilly. Dennis dragged his blade free with a savage snarl.
“I surrender! Surrender!” the officer squalled. Dennis checked his killing blow and glanced at the braid on the bloody sleeve.
“Okay, Commander Nip. Up you go!” He motioned back up the companionway. “One wrong move, and I’ll split your goddamn spine! Larry!” he yelled down. “Quit”—he grinned—“skylarkin’ around with those Japs and get your stripey ass up here!”
There were several unarmed men waiting nervously on the bridge, and the remnants of Lawrence’s squad took them prisoner. There was no discussion of terms and none officially surrendered, but the only choice was instant obedience or death. None courted the latter.
“Any o’ you the captain o’ this tub?” Dennis demanded. No one answered, but he knew Japanese rank insignia and he saw the furtive glances. He rested the tip of his cutlass against the chest of an officer who glared back at him, teeth grinding, eyes bulging. “You’re the guy. Kurita, ain’t it?” Silva’s eye glittered with hate, and he smiled in that frightening way he sometimes did that left no doubt what he was capable of. “You’re gonna wish my ol’
Walker
had sunk your murderin’ ass!” He paused then and frowned. “But much as I’d enjoy skewerin’ you right now, for what you done to prisoners an’ civilians, there’s a few folks who deserve to watch you die more than me.” He pushed forward with the blade until the point drew blood. “You’re gonna
hang
, mister!” He finally stepped back and waved the Khonashis forward. “Tie these bastards up good.”
Dennis removed his helmet and slung the sweat from his brows with a finger. “Whoo,” he said, looking out the high bridge windows at the darkness beyond; then he strode out on the starboard bridgewing. “Damn thing’s big as a
cruiser
,” he muttered, looking down. Little light from the moon could reach through all the trees and brush rigged to conceal the ship, but he finally got a decent feel for
Hidoiame
’s size. He almost snorted at the idea of poor little
Walker
going up against such a thing, but he’d seen clear evidence of damage here and there, and of course
Walker
had gone up against
Amagi.
Instead he gazed about. One machine gun still chattered to the south, but a roaring tide of what he distinctly recognized as Lemurian voices was surging in from the direction of the prison camp. Horn’s BAR was silent at last, and he hoped it was because he had no targets.
All in all, a pretty happy fight,
Dennis thought optimistically,
and all our immediate objectives met.
A pang rolled his stomach and he remembered
Fristar
.
I wonder how that went?
He walked through the bridge. “Tell your pals to get those Japs the hell outa here,” he told Lawrence. “If they make a peep, they can eat ’em.” Lawrence relayed the command, though some probably understood. More importantly, most of the Japanese surely did.
“Now?” Lawrence asked, joining Silva on the port bridgewing, squinting to pierce the brush and darkness.
“We’ll have to chase the rats out from below,” he patted the rail, “but I’m startin’ to think we may have ourselves a brand-new, slightly used, Jap tin can to add to our humble fleet!” He grinned at his friend, but then turned back to stare at the gloom. “I wish we knew what the hell’s goin’ on out on
Fristar
, though. I don’t see any muzzle flashes out there, so maybe the fightin’s over, but I can’t see the damn big-ass
ship
neither.”
Lawrence squinted harder. “A ’Cat could see. Not I, though.”
“C’mon,” Silva said. “Let’s get out on deck. We’ll see how the fight’s goin’ ashore, but we need to post fellas at all the hatches we can find and make a sweep fore to aft.”
They were about halfway down the switchback companionways when it started. There was a heavy, rending
crunch
, and the whole ship began to lean to starboard. Almost in slow motion, it kept rolling farther and farther onto its side. Silva and Lawrence grabbed the rail and hung on, utterly mystified, as the lights flickered off and the crunch became an all-consuming, ripping, grinding screech. Both fell against the bulkhead that was quickly becoming the deck, and then the entire ship seemed to surge sideways with a wrenching crack. Still they rolled, until the bridge structure slammed down against the dock itself and Silva was momentarily stunned.
“’At the
hell
?” Lawrence demanded, his voice high-pitched, as the light structure around them began to collapse.
“
Fristar
cut her cables,” Silva explained simply, dizzily, “and the tide brought her ashore. That’s why she wasn’t where we was lookin’. She was already on
top
of us!”
The plates rumbled with the vibration of tons of water gushing into the hull, and the hot boiler exploded, jolting them even harder against sharp steel and fittings in the dark.
“We’ve just been sat on by a brontasarry!” Silva laughed bitterly. “C’mon. We better get the hell outa here!”
* * *
“Jesus Christ, Silva,” Alan Letts groaned. “I’ve seen you make messes in the past, but this is . . . amazing.” Letts was standing, hands on hips, staring at the aftermath of the battle—and the catastrophic . . . crushing of
Hidoiame
by
Fristar
Home.
“Yeah? Well, you missed some of my better ones, an’ this ain’t even my fault,” Dennis griped. He was wiping sand from his monstrous rifle, laid across his lap, and sitting near the same overlook west of the cove where he and the others laid the plan that actually went amazingly well—with one glaring exception. Cutting
Fristar
’s cables had been a mistake. But they’d never imagined all those ’Cats they’d seen working on her or towing gri-kakka alongside during the day were being kept ashore with the rest of the prisoners, leaving nothing but a few Japanese caretakers aboard. Perhaps it made some kind of sense, but Dennis couldn’t see it. Ultimately, Pam and Brassey’s boarding party killed or captured all the Japanese quickly enough, but they didn’t have the people to fully man even
two
of the great sweep oars needed to move
Fristar
out of the cove. Just ten of her hundred great sweeps might’ve kept her off the beach against the incoming tide, but two didn’t even slow her down. They tried everything they could while the battle raged ashore. They tied cables to
Fristar
’s guns and tipped them over the side, but they dragged. They even tried to
sink
her, by opening the great seacocks used periodically to flood the ship down, but that was much too slow.
Fristar
took on enough water to make it easier to get her off the beach after they pumped her out, but nothing they’d done could save
Hidoiame
from being crushed like a beer can by a truck tire.