Authors: Taylor Anderson
Matt nodded. Two more impacts, less sharp but still heavy, jarred the ship.
“Lucky hits from those cruisers,” Commander Herring shouted from the starboard bridgewing. “Though I can’t imagine how they managed it. Their formation is quite disheveled!” Matt’s eyebrows rose. Herring actually seemed to be
enjoying
himself!
“Damage report!” Matt demanded.
“Stand by. Fire six!” Bernie yelled.
“Fire!” Minnie squeaked, then listened. “Those two not punch through; they maybe skate in. Leave big leaky dents, though!”
The first dreadnaught thundered again, quickly followed by a few rounds from the second. The enemy had gone to independent fire, but there was no coordination and any gun might be shooting at
Walker
or
Mahan
. There was no denying that Grik gunnery had improved, but more concentrated fire would’ve been more dangerous.
“
Mahan
reports hit on her port torpedo mount—but she already shoot fish. She also hit on aft deckhouse, an’ takin’ water in her steering engine room!”
“Tell Captain Brister to hold her together and follow our turn. Right full rudder, Paddy! Bring us about to course two zero zero!”
Rosen spun the big brass wheel. “Right full rudder, aye! Making my course two zero zero!”
A moment later
, Walker
shuddered under a double hammer blow inflicted by the third dreadnaught.
Matt heard Minnie demanding a report while Bernie and his assistants scampered toward the starboard torpedo director. “How much longer?” he asked Bernie as he passed.
“Any second . . . I hope!” Bernie shot back.
* * *
“Well, our shootin’s done,” Silva grumped as the ship heeled sharply and began her turn.
“No, it ain’t!” Pack Rat denied. “We still shoot at cruisers!”
“Yeah, but now we’ll be shootin’ at what Mr. Campeti tells us to.” He glared at the battleships. “I sure wanted to cut me a notch for one of those bastards!”
Silva’s feet left the deck and he landed on his face near the port-side ready locker. He jumped up like a shot, but he was stunned. “There’s fire!” he yelled, seeing a blossom of flame aft, and the sight of it associated with the ready locker alarmed him. He shook his head.
Fire’s aft. No immediate danger o’
these
rounds cookin’ off.
He shook his head again and took another look. The ship’s Nancy seaplane was shredded and burning, its wings drooping down on either side of the catapult. Jeek,
Walker
’s air-division crew chief, was leading a charge toward the flames with a hose, and Silva saw Spanky on the aft deckhouse, pointing and yelling. Other ’Cats were bailing out of the 25-millimeter tubs on either side of the burning plane, some lugging ammo boxes.
Should’ve flown the damn plane off,
he thought,
or pitched it over the side like they did last time, but nooo. It wasn’t runnin’ right, an’ Jeek didn’t want to lose another one like that
.
Skipper’s too soft on the flyboys sometimes,
he decided, neglecting to remind himself that
he’d
agreed the plane didn’t pose much of a fire hazard in action against ships armed only with solid shot.
There was yelling below him from the galley, and he realized one of the big Grik balls must’ve hit there, to toss them around so. The most recognizable voice was Earl Lanier’s, roaring like a gored bull, and Silva wondered briefly if the filthy, bloated cook had taken another one in the gut. He turned and scanned his gun crew. Lawrence was helping a semiconscious Pack Rat off his seat. The ’Cat’s helmet was gone and his forehead wet with blood where he must’ve conked it on something. Gunny Horn was up, looking aft. A few ’Cats were sitting on deck, but seemed okay.
“Larry! You an’ Poot get the ‘Rat down to the wardroom. Might as well put Earl outa our mis’ry on the way. At least check his mates.” He looked at his talker. “Any more business for us?”
“Caam-peeti say ‘secure, an’ check on number t’ree gun.’ It drop off the fire-control circuit!”
Silva glanced to starboard, but couldn’t tell what was going on over there. “What’s with you guys?” he yelled to starboard. When there was no response, he shouted at his crew. “Whichever o’ you mugs that ain’t dyin’ better come with me to see if those guys’re okay or need a hand.”
The Grik dreadnaughts continued their rumbling fire, and tall splashes rose all around the ship.
Walker
’s number one gun sent a tracer toward the cruisers—which Silva could see now, as the ship’s turn continued; they’d become scattered, flaming wrecks, like burning brush piles in the night. He nodded satisfaction and looked aft again, but the bright flames and smoke kept him from seeing the first torpedo slam into the lead Grik ship.
* * *
“We get hit!
Two
hits on lead Grik waagon!” Minnie cried, just as a cheer exploded on the starboard bridgewing. “Spanky say, ‘They beat-i-ful!’”
“We saw them, Minnie!” Matt said, as
Walker
’s bow came around, “And they were!”
Walker
had been taking a beating from the big Grik guns, and Matt was growing increasingly frustrated. So far, there’d been no crippling damage and his ship still responded with the nearly new vitality she’d exhibited since her overhaul, but she was getting hurt. The towering waterspouts that rocked the first enemy dreadnaught relieved Matt as much as Bernie, who was practically giddy with excitement. All his hard work had been vindicated, and perhaps what he considered a long-ago failing had been purged at last.
“Well done, Mr. Sandison!” Courtney complimented grandly. “Oh, well done indeed!”
“Congratulations, Mr. Sandison,” Commander Herring said sincerely.
The ironclad slowed immediately, and was already listing heavily to port. Suddenly, a
third
phosphorescent waterspout rose beside her, aft, raining debris in the sea around her and accelerating her roll.
Matt sobered. “Okay, back to work. That one would’ve missed ’em all if the first one didn’t slow.”
“Silence!” Bernie shouted at his torpedomen. “Sorry, Skipper,” he added.
“Don’t be sorry. That’s already more hits than we ever got against the Japs! It’s kind of weird having a torpedo you can count on.”
“My course is two zero zero!” shouted Paddy Rosen at the helm.
“Very well,” Matt replied. “Stand by starboard torpedoes, but let’s wait a minute more to see if we get any more hits with the first salvo.”
“Aye, aye, Captain,” Bernie replied, his voice determined.
“Campeti says number three gun is back up, and asks can he engage the waagons?” Minnie reported.
“By all means,” Matt answered, and the salvo bell immediately rang.
Most of the Grik guns had gone silent for a moment, as word about what happened to their lead must’ve spread through their remaining ships. The range had opened during the turn as well, and for the last few minutes they’d just been pounding water. Now they resumed firing as first
Walker
, then
Mahan
steadied to make another run. Plumes of spray erupted around the old destroyers amid the tearing-sheet sound of incoming shot.
Walker
’s bow lanced through a tremendous splash just as a hundred-pound ball skated off the fo’c’sle; tore a leg off the number three shellman, sending the poor ’Cat spinning into the sea; and clanged off the newly reinforced plating on the front of the bridge structure. Matt was grateful and relieved to hear Chief Bosun Gray’s distinctive roar: “Get that gun back on target, damn your useless tails! You don’t like gettin’ shot at? Shoot back! Goddamn. Do I have to
show
you how to do it after all this time? I thought you were real
destroyermen
, not a buncha pansy-ass, mouse-chasin’ housecats!” He’d missed Gray in the pilothouse during this fight—he usually stopped in now and then—but it was unusually crowded and he was needed where he was.
A final waterspout jetted up alongside the third ironclad, the one that had, frankly, given them the most trouble. Steam and sparks vomited into the sky from the aft funnels, and almost immediately a tremendous, bright blast blew away a quarter of the armored casemate, sending funnels, guns, bodies, and hundreds of tons of shredded timbers and shattered plating spinning away in the dark.
“Killed it, by God!” Commander Herring exulted. Matt nodded amid the cheers that thundered aboard his ship. He raised his binoculars to watch the huge ship dip low by the stern while more, smaller explosions crackled inside the remainder of the casemate.
I hope you’re in there, you bastard,
Matt thought, meaning Kurokawa.
And I hope every ghost you’ve helped to make is in there with you, watching you burn
. He shifted his glasses to the first ship in line in time to watch it lay on its side and begin to fill. That left only the middle ironclad, and he looked at it.
“Second target turns to port,” Minnie relayed the word from the crow’s nest.
“I see it,” Matt acknowledged. “They’re going to try to close the distance and hammer us.” He looked at the ’Cat stationed at the lee helm. “All ahead flank! However much they’ve been taught to lead us, let’s throw ’em a curve. Signal
Mahan
to match our speed if she can, or fire her torpedoes as soon as Perry likes the range. Once she does, she’s to make smoke and zigzag the hell out of the line of fire. I don’t want anybody else hurt killing this last one, if we can help it.”
“I . . . I don’t know what the torpedoes’ll do if we launch them going that fast, Skipper.” Bernie warned apprehensively.
“Between us and
Mahan
, we’ll be pointing six fish at that damn thing. I bet at least one’ll hit, and since it doesn’t look like they spent much time worrying about compartmentalization, that should do the trick.”
Bernie took a deep breath. “Aye, aye, Captain.” He moved back to the director. “Stand by for torpedo action, starboard.”
Walker
and
Mahan
lanced forward, closing the range on the last Grik dreadnaught. If Kurokawa hadn’t been on one of the others, he was certainly aboard this one, and it seemed like everyone on both destroyers knew this was more than just an attack to avenge the loss of friends and ice the cake on the Allied victory at the second Battle of Madras; it was a remorseless execution of a rabid beast. The Grik fired furiously, but just couldn’t cope with the near thirty knots
Walker
suddenly
achieved, and the twenty-seven that
Mahan
somehow managed. At the same time, both destroyers punished the massive ironclad with rapid, accurate salvos that had to be doing damage at this range. Three yellow flashes pulsed at
Mahan
’s side, one after another, and she turned sharply away to starboard as soon as the torpedoes were clear. Brister probably hoped this would particularly confound the Grik gunners.
“Tubes one through five, in salvo!” Bernie cried. “Fire one . . . Fire three . . . Fire five!” He took a deep breath and stepped back from the director. “All torpedoes expended, Captain Reddy,” he said formally, as a near miss threw water on the bridgewing.
“Very well. Left full rudder, Mr. Rosen. Make smoke!”
“Left full rudder, aye!”
“Make smoke!” Minnie said in her mouthpiece. It was dark enough that they’d soon be invisible to the enemy, but the smoke should hide their wake. Matt also thought it could have the added psychological effect of making the enemy think they’d just vanished. At least for a few moments—long enough to get out of range and turn to see what happened. They didn’t quite make it.
“Hit! Hit!” Minnie screeched. “Lookout says two
Mahan
fishes is hits!”
“Secure from making smoke!” Matt ordered. “Rudder amidships. Slow to two-thirds!”
Walker
had described a surprisingly tight circle for her hull shape, and the enemy was back off her port side, about three thousand yards away.
“Look at her blow!” Gray reveled. The Chief Bosun had finally appeared on the bridge. “We’ll never know if
we
hit her or not!”
It was true. Massive explosions racked the wreck, and any of
Walker
’s torpedo impacts would’ve been lost in the violence of the cataclysm. Everyone in the pilothouse was watching with binoculars or Imperial telescopes, and so many of the crew had raced to port to see, the ship was heeling slightly.
“We did it,” Matt whispered, his words lost in the tumult. He hadn’t doubted they could, and unlike so many before, this action had been largely voluntary. But he felt tremendous relief that they’d succeeded so well, with such small loss compared to what the rest of the fleet had suffered, and he was deeply satisfied that they had—most likely, he cautioned himself—finally destroyed that madman Kurokawa. He smiled as his ship and her people continued celebrating.
“Cap-i-taan Brister on
Mahaan
sends ‘Bless us all!’” Minnie shouted over the din.
Matt grinned wider and raised his glasses to find
Walker
’s truncated sister. There she was! Just north of the burning hulk, she was turning back toward them. Matt was watching her fondly when something—it had to have been one of
Walker
’s own torpedoes, thrown horribly off course—suddenly exploded without warning against
Mahan
’s thin steel and blew her bow completely off.
* * *
Hisashi Kurokawa slowly lowered his binoculars and stared at the distant, dying flares on the dark, moon-dappled sea, his heart surging with a rage like he’d never known before. It dwarfed the puny piques that once would’ve left him ranting homicidally. He’d tamed those comparatively whimsical things to the point that they barely changed his expression unless he just wanted to vent. But
this
! This fury was so profound that it vaulted him beyond the ability to rant, and actually struck him speechless.
He’d known his escaping squadron would have to fight its way past Trin-con-lee, at least, but didn’t think there could be much of anything there that might harm his remaining battleships. He had, in fact, intended to transfer aboard one before dawn so he could lead his force from a more powerful (and protected) platform. Doubtless, part of what stoked his rage to such a height was the realization that if he’d already been “safely” aboard one of his precious capital ships, he’d be dead. Only fate—or was it destiny?—had led him to board the cruiser
Nachi
during the breakout from Madras. He’d expected a fight then too, but the armor-piercing bombs didn’t worry him. He knew where the enemy got them, and they couldn’t have many. No doubt they’d make more, but if they already had, they’d have used more at Madras instead of reverting to the smaller weapons. Besides, even if they had all the big AP bombs in the world, their planes would have difficulty hitting his ships in the dark. No, what guided his decision most was the prospect of facing whatever enemy weapon had destroyed his battle line earlier that day, and he’d considered it only prudent to place himself aboard a less tempting target until he knew what that weapon was. Now he did.