“How did you know they would leave?” Shinya finally asked.
“I didn’t,” Brister rasped. “I thought we’d have to fight through them. Those horn calls must have been a summons for all their reserves. They have to be gearing up for their final push.”
They saw nothing of the city besides the flickering light of the fires, and the smoke was so dense they could hardly breathe. Cannon fire still thundered defiantly, however, and bright flashes lit the smoke-foggy sky to the north.
“I suggest we let the troops rest a couple hours, if we can,” Brister gasped. “Then we’ll form them up.”
“I certainly hope you know what you’re doing,” said Lord Rolak.
Perry shrugged. “Hey, this stunt is mainly based on what you guys told me—and Bradford’s cockeyed notions. I have no idea if it’ll work. Maybe we’ll at least create a diversion.”
“It will be better than dying here,” Shinya agreed, “trapped and cut off. You were right to silence the guns. There was nothing more they could contribute.” He paused. “I apologize.”
Brister waved it away. “Nothing to apologize for. I’m sorry I called you a Jap bastard.”
Shinya chuckled. “I called you worse. In Japanese.”
A runner approached. “Sirs,” he said breathlessly, “the iron ship of the enemy is passing into the bay. More Grik ships are leading it in.”
They looked to the west. Even in the darkness they saw the black, pagodalike superstructure of
Amagi
silhouetted against the sky. Smoke laced with sparks swirled from her stack, and small shapes moved behind the railings as she steamed relentlessly into the bay. It was a terrifyingly vulnerable moment. The ship was absolutely enormous, and in spite of her litany of imperfectly repaired wounds, she radiated an overwhelming, malevolent power. At this range her main guns were little threat to the fort, but the numerous secondaries and antiaircraft armaments certainly were. In the light of the many fires, the occupants of Fort Atkinson had to be visible.
Surely they see us,
Brister thought.
If they did, they made no sign, and the reason was obvious: the defenders in the fort were helpless. As far as the Japanese knew, the guns were knocked out, and even if they weren’t, they’d have no effect against such a leviathan. She’d shelled the fort only to protect her allies, and whoever remained crouching behind its walls was no concern of hers. The Grik would take care of them at their convenience.
In spite of his relief, and his intent that she should, the
fact
that
Amagi
was ignoring them as harmless stoked the rising anger in Perry Brister’s soul.
“We’re going to make them wish they’d blown us to hell,” he croaked.
“Why did we stop firing on the fort?” Kurokawa demanded, entering the bridge behind Sato. So far, the captain had spent the bulk of the “battle” on the flag bridge. Commander Okada spared him a nervous glance. He was shocked to see him wearing a pistol, of all things.
“The enemy there is helpless, sir. We have knocked out their guns.”
“Precisely the best time to strike! Wipe them out while they cannot reply.”
“Captain,” Sato responded stiffly, “they could do little to reply
before
we silenced their guns. Against us, at any rate. Our ammunition is desperately low. I assumed you would wish to save what we have for the American ship. Besides, we don’t know what surprises they may have awaiting us.”
Kurokawa’s face reddened, but he didn’t attack as Sato expected. Eventually he even nodded. “Quite right, Commander. We can always pulverize the survivors in the fort at our convenience later. They are clearly cut off.”
“Yes, Captain,” Sato replied, with a sick feeling in his gut. He’d done everything in his power to avoid this moment, but there’d never been any real chance. He couldn’t openly recruit supporters willing to defy the captain, and despite their hideous allies, they would, before this night was done, certainly battle the Americans—their legitimate enemies. To take their side even now would have lost him any support he had. He wondered if his and Kaufman’s message got through. Not that it made any difference. His soul seethed with torment, and he knew
Amagi
had become a ship of the damned.
“Any sign of the American destroyer yet?”
“No, sir,” he managed. “Signals indicate it has wreaked havoc with our ‘allies’, though.” Sato couldn’t hide the bitter satisfaction in his voice when he made that report. To his surprise, Kurokawa chuckled.
“Excellent! The Americans will have depleted their ammunition as well, and besides, when we destroy them, it will show our barbaric friends who wields the
real
power here. The more Grik the Americans destroy, the more impressive our victory will seem! Let me know as soon as the enemy shows himself!” He paused, then added grimly, “This time, there is no place for him to run.”
“The iron ship is entering the bay,” General Esshk observed, standing on the quarterdeck of the great white command ship of the Invincible Swarm. So far, as was expected, they’d viewed the battle from a distance. They’d watched the annihilation of the cream of the Swarm as it forced its way past the troublesome fort guarding the mouth of the bay. The Uul that landed on the southern coast seemed to have fared somewhat better.
Tsalka nodded. “At last, perhaps we will gain some advantage for having tolerated those insufferable creatures,” he said, meaning the Japanese.
“Kurokawa’s plan seems to be working, Lord Regent,” Esshk agreed. “His insistence on multiple attacks is contrary to doctrine, and at first glance seems to fly in the face of the very principle of the Swarm—yet never have we been able to utilize so much of our force at once. Many of our Uul have been slain—an unprecedented number, I fear—yet we have certainly ‘softened up’ the prey in preparation for his mighty ship to enter the bay. He did also put a stop to the slaughter of our ships by the guns in the fort. I am inclined to consider it a brilliant tactic.”
“His ‘tactics’ are indeed effective. Wasteful of Uul, but effective,” Tsalka agreed.
“The destruction of the fort of the prey was impressive, and accomplished at such a distance so . . . effortlessly. . . . We would have to watch these new hunters, even if they were not so disagreeable.”
“Their power is great”—Esshk nodded—“but so is the power of the prey.” He hesitated, then mused aloud, “Worthy prey after all.” He glanced at the regent consort. “Perhaps we should have made the Offer? Never has any Swarm been mauled so. I fear, no matter how this battle turns, even this Invincible Swarm will remain but an empty shell.”
“Perhaps,” Tsalka agreed, and uttered a long, sad hiss. “But that is the lot of the Uul: to die in the battle of the hunt, doing what they love, what they were bred to do. But there is no way we could have made the Offer. We face the ancient Tree Prey, the ones that escaped! They were not worthy of the Offer before, and long have we hunted them. The prey may have grown since last we met, but it’s still the same prey. The Offer cannot be made. Even so, I grieve for the Uul we will lose in this hunt. And I do envy them,” he added wistfully.
“Of course. As do I.”
Tsalka watched the massive iron ship drive deeper into the bay. “We should advance, I think,” he said. “It’s not the place of the Hij to gather the joy of the hunt to ourselves, but I would not have it said the New Hunters alone were responsible for success. I fear the Uul look to the iron ship too much as it is.”
“I agree,” General Esshk replied. “As may we all before this hunt is over.”
“Lookout reports Jap battle cruiser, bearing two zero five degrees!” Reynolds shouted. He gulped. “She’s coming in.”
Walker
had been steaming back and forth on the west side of the bay at the mouth of the inlet for over two hours now. To all appearances, she looked as if she were watching the distant battle with impotent frustration, her magazines empty at last. That wasn’t far from the truth.
Matt tried to freeze the expression on his face so the searing apprehension he felt wouldn’t show. All of
Walker
’s actions that day, and now into the night, had been building to this precise moment—when she’d deliberately put herself in
Amagi
’s sights. Now that the moment was finally at hand, doubt and fear warred with the certainty of necessity. So far everything had gone as they’d expected. In other words, nothing had broken their way. They’d slaughtered the enemy on a wholesale level beyond comprehension, beyond what any truly sentient species could endure, and reports from the city told of Grik piled as high as the walls. But still they came. It was up to
Walker
and
Mahan
now, just as they’d expected and dreaded. It was up to them to strike a blow that might shatter the enemy’s single-minded, maniacal will. To replicate the panic they’d seen in front of Aryaal. Hopefully.
There was no guarantee the enemy would break, even if the plan succeeded. They had only marginal evidence to support Bradford’s theory of “Grik Rout.” They’d seen it once at Aryaal, and once aboard
Big Sal
. When things had turned suddenly and overwhelmingly against them, and the Grik found themselves on the defense, they’d fled in mindless terror. It was like a dog chasing a bear. The bear was fearless when attacking, but when attacked, its only thought was escape. They were banking everything that the Grik behaved much the same way. There was glaring evidence the reverse was also true, however. When they’d followed the Grik belowdecks on
Revenge
, the creatures had fought like cornered animals. Of course, that was what they’d been, after all. Just as the bear would finally turn on the dog if it were brought to bay, the Grik fought furiously in the hold of the ship. But there’d been no coordination, no discipline, and it had been every Grik for itself. Except the Grik captain. It hadn’t fought at all, preferring suicide to capture—very much like what little Matt knew about the Japanese. He still wondered if that was significant.
Gray hadn’t seen Grik Rout on Tarakan either. The enemy came ashore and charged and died and killed in the same old way. In the end they’d fought savagely, and the battle raged hand-to-hand—but they’d been cornered too, hadn’t they? The sea was at their back, and there was nowhere for them to go. That had to be their weak spot; Lawrence, as safely as possible ensconced in Matt’s own quarters, believed it might be so. Now all they could do was pray.
At long last the terrible day had dwindled into twilight, and the twilight into an endless, terrible night. The sky was a muddy pall, shot through with flashes of light. Finally
Amagi
was coming—and
Walker
was the cornered beast.
Matt raised his binoculars. The dim shape of the battle cruiser was edging past Fort Atkinson into the bay. She was screened by at least a dozen Grik ships, probably there to soak up any remaining mines. One of the ships exploded and abruptly sank, even as the thought came to him.
Amagi
adjusted her course, carrying her farther into the cleared lane they’d left for her. Matt tensed. The “special” mine was their last chance to do it the easy way, their last chance to survive, more than likely. The minutes passed, and the dark apparition continued to grow, inexorably. Surely she must have passed over Mr. Sandison’s mine by now! He sighed. He’d never really expected it to work. The MK-6 magnetic exploder had let them down so many times, he’d known in his heart it would fail. He was still surprised how let down he felt now that it had once again. That was one break that would have made all the difference.
Matt lowered the glasses and looked at the men around him. He sensed their fear, even in the gloom. They knew their chances were poor, but they also knew they had no choice. Even if they could still flee, they wouldn’t choose to, despite the odds. This was the rematch. The game that was called on account of rain almost exactly a year ago would be played out here at last, and the opponent they faced wasn’t only the hulking brute they associated with all their trials; it was the Japs. Somehow that seemed profoundly appropriate. The terrible battle raging around them on land and sea would be won or lost. Perhaps what they did here would influence that, but regardless, this was
Walker
’s fight, and
Mahan
’s. Nothing anyone else did could influence
that
. For a moment Matt was silent, remembering the long list of names stricken from the rolls since the last time these three ships met, and he could almost feel the ghosts gathering ’round, expecting him to exact revenge or join them in the attempt. He looked again at the men and ’Cats in the pilothouse, and forced a slight smile.
“Just a few good licks; then we run like hell.” He rolled his shoulders and faced the front. Beneath his hand was the back of his chair, bolted to the front of the pilothouse. Part of the ship. Gently, almost lovingly, he patted it. “One more time, old girl,” he whispered, then raised his voice. “All ahead full. Make your course zero one zero.”
“Ahead full, zero one zero, aye,” came the strained reply.
“Mr. Garrett may commence firing as soon as he has a solution. Armor-piercing.”
“Aye, aye, Captain,” Reynolds said, and repeated the order to the acting gunnery officer. “Sir, Mr. Garrett wants to know if he should withhold a reserve?”
Matt shook his head. “No. Give ’em all he’s got.”
Even as
Walker
accelerated, her tired sinews bunching for a final sprint, they saw winking flashes and blooms of fire erupt from the Japanese ship.
Kurokawa was just leaving to return to the more spacious flag bridge—a more comfortable vantage from which to view the battle—when he was stopped by the sighting of the American destroyer. He whirled and paced quickly to the windows.
“Where?!”
“Port bow, Captain,” Sato said in a quiet, clipped voice. Kurokawa rubbed his hands together with glee.
“Commence firing, Commander Okada! I want that ship erased!”
“Yes, Captain.” Sato prepared to relay the order with a heavy heart, but Kurokawa speared him with a cold stare. Sato’s tone had finally penetrated the captain’s euphoria.