“The bow’s a sieve, and she’s down four feet by the head. I just came from there. A Jap bullet came through the goddamn hull and got me in the goddamn ass! Everybody’s out of the aft fireroom but the Mice, and they’re in water up to their shins. If we don’t head for shore right damn now, the fish’ll get us all!”
Matt nodded, but at the same time he knew he couldn’t give up.
Amagi
might be finished—
Walker
certainly was—but as long as the battle cruiser was afloat, she was a threat. He couldn’t break off before the task was done—not as long as they had a single shell for the number one gun. It had to end here, now. If
Amagi
got away and somehow survived, Baalkpan would never survive her eventual return. Worse than that, the sacrifice of all those who’d died and suffered this long day and night would have been for nothing.
“Soon,” Matt promised. “We’ll break off soon.”
“God damn it! Why won’t that unholy bitch just sink?!” Silva raged into the night. He could barely see through the blood clouding his vision, and he suspected his left eye was ruined. A swarm of paint chips and bullet fragments were the cause. Even so, he could tell
Amagi
was listing twenty-five or thirty degrees—but that was where it stopped. Low in the water and creeping along at barely five knots, the Jap was still underway and entering the center of the channel. He’d thrown shell after shell into her stern, and there’d been no visible effect other than a growing, gaping hole in her fantail. Now, no matter how hard they searched, the runners who’d been bringing him shells couldn’t find any more.
Machine-gun bullets still rattled off the splinter shield, but only a few. It was as if the Japanese sailors knew
Walker
had done her worst, and had nothing left to throw at them. They were going to get away.
“Mr. Silva!” came a cry behind him, and he whirled in shock. Through the warped, twisted hatch on the starboard front angle of the superstructure appeared a small girl and a striped lizard.
“What the
hell
are you
doing
here?” he choked. “Goddamn, there’s bullets and bombs . . . and we’re fixin’ to sink! Get your stupid asses under cover, for crissakes!”
Rebecca looked at her companion. “Well, Lawrence, clearly we’re not wanted, and apparently they don’t need
this
as badly as we thought—with everyone running around looking for them!” It was only then that Silva realized the small girl and large, but still sore lizard were struggling with a heavy, four-inch-fifty shell suspended between them.
Torn, he glanced at the retreating battle cruiser. For the moment the incoming fire had stopped completely. Maybe the enemy gunner was out of ammunition—or he’d simply given up. “Shit!” he groaned disgustedly. “Gimme that; then get the hell outta here!” He sprinted across the blood-slick deck to meet them. “Let me guess: Lieutenant Tucker still thinks you’re with O’Casey and vicey-versey?”
“I tried to sto’ her,” Lawrence announced virtuously, but the girl only grinned.
“My safety is still primarily
your
responsibility, Mr. Silva. I have no control over assumptions others might make,” Rebecca stated sternly. “Besides, whether they like it or not, or even know it, my people must be represented in this fight!”
“Skipper’s gonna kill me,” Silva muttered with absolute certainty, taking the shell in his massive hands. He noticed with a sinking feeling that it was high-explosive. “Here,” he said, resignedly, handing it to the loader, “let’s make it count!” He glared back at the girl. “I’ve pulled some stupid stunts, but this . . . at least get behind the splinter shield!”
Rebecca’s grin faded. “Your eye!”
“Just a scratch.” Silva turned to Pack Rat, the Lemurian pointer. “Well? Quit screwin’ around, and let ’em have it!”
“You gonna aim for us?” Pack Rat cried sarcastically. His gunners were all Lemurians, too short to look through the sight and push the trigger pedal too. They could elevate and traverse if he guided them, though. He was positive just a few more rounds would finish
Amagi
, but they just didn’t have them. A single HE shell wouldn’t make much difference.
“Yeah, if somebody’ll load the goddamn thing!” he growled disgustedly. It was then that he saw his trainer was down. “Hey . . . Lawrence! Get your stripey ass on the training wheel!”
Lawrence’s jaw went slack. “Trainer? I?”
“Yeah, trainer, you! Step on it!”
The breech slammed shut, and Silva squinted with his good eye through the telescopic sight mounted on the left side of the gun. Only the smallest part of his consciousness even noticed when a tiny hand squirmed its way into his clenched, bloody fist.
“Port a little,” he crooned, “port . . . port . . . Good! Up, up . . . Good. Shit! Stop when I say ‘good,’ damn you! Down . . . Good!” He stepped aside. “Fire!” Pack Rat stomped on the pedal. The gun barked and recoiled backward, but Silva was watching the tracer. It struck right in the middle of the gaping hole aft, and he thought he saw a brief flash deep inside the ship.
“A hit!” Rebecca cried excitedly.
“Woop-te-do. Might as well throw hand grenades at the bastard,” Silva explained dejectedly. “Well, that’s that,” he said, squeezing Rebecca’s hand before letting it go. Suddenly he hurt all over, and he was sick inside as well. “Beat feet back to the pilothouse. There’s no sense standing around and getting shot if we ain’t got no more bullets! I’ll tell the captain we’re dry.” He started to turn.
“Silva, look!” Pack Rat shouted. Dennis did.
Amagi
was suddenly leaning a little farther to port and veering hard right.
“What the hell?” he murmured. “Maybe we hit her steering engine or something?” Whether that was the case, or
Amagi
had simply tired of the dog yapping at her heels and decided to present her remaining broadside of secondary guns and destroy the nuisance that tasked her, Silva had no idea. He knew the latter would be the result, however, and
Walker
heeled as the captain saw it too. Sluggishly,
Walker
turned hard a’port, but her grace and quickness were gone. The short delay was just enough to put her at a disadvantage, and there was nothing she could do. Silva clutched the girl to his side and braced himself for the final fusillade, while
Amagi
continued her sharp turn, out of the main channel, and into the prepared lane they’d left the day before. She was drawing considerably more water this time when she passed directly over the MK-6 magnetic exploder—and the cluster of depth charges it was anchored to.
The sea convulsed around her, just under the number two turret, and her entire bow heaved up upon the gigantic swelling of foam. Then a geyser of spray erupted forth and completely inundated the forward half of the ship. There was very little flash, but the sound of the blast was enormous.
Amagi
collapsed into the hole the charges left in the water, the sea closing over the bow before it shuddered back to the surface like a submarine. Only now, it was . . . crooked . . . somehow. The outline of the ship had visibly changed, and even as they watched, it contorted still more. Water surged near the base of the forward superstructure, but there was red paint visible beneath her pointed bow.
“
Broke her goddamn back!
” Silva bellowed. “I
knew
it would work!” Pack Rat looked at him incredulously, and Rebecca threw her arms around his waist.
Captain Kurokawa was thrown against the chart table by the force of the blast. His head struck the edge, and he lay stunned for several moments. He comprehended a great roaring, surging sensation, as well as screams and urgent shouts.
Amagi
heaved beneath him, and the deck began to cant.
“Nooooo!”
He didn’t recognize the cry that escaped his lips. It was primordial. Staggering to his feet, he looked about. All the windows were smashed, and sparks fell like fiery rain from shorted conduits on the overhead. The flames that engulfed his ship aft boiled to unprecedented heights—then began to subside. The tilt of the deck was becoming more extreme. “No!” he shrieked again. The bridge seemed deserted of all but bodies. Those who’d left their posts would pay, he grimly swore. Then he saw movement on the blistered bridge wing. Still groggy, Kurokawa recognized the American, Kaufman, by his beard and skinny frame. The man was whooping with savage joy, even as the ship sank beneath him. Fumbling at his side, Kurokawa slipped the Nambu pistol from the leather holster and moved carefully across the sloping deck.
“This is the cost of your madness!” came a feeble shout from beneath the wreckage of the engine room telegraph. Without hesitation, Kurokawa snapped off a shot in the direction of the voice. He was rewarded by a moan of anguish. Looking closer, he peered into the sputtering darkness to see Sato Okada. Just as he thought. He leveled the pistol at the dark form and advanced.
“Your treachery has brought us to this, Commander.” His voice was almost calm, but his eyes bulged with maniacal fury. “My strategy to subvert the Grik, and ultimately have them serve us, would have succeeded in the end.” He straightened. “It will yet. They will win the battle and the ship will be saved. I will continue to serve the emperor in spite of you, wherever we are!” Carefully, he aimed the Nambu at an eye that seemed to glow in the darkness. “You won’t live to see it, however.” His finger tightened on the trigger.
More sparks seemed to pour from his eyes, and he crumpled under the force of a blow to the back of his head. He vaguely knew the pistol had fired again as he fell. Rolling over, he looked up in time to see his attacker. Skinny arms raised above his head, clutching a twisted piece of conduit, David Kaufman stood silhouetted against the burning night beyond the windows.
“Wait!” he cried, and to his amazement the man actually did. The final blow didn’t fall, and Kaufman stood gasping, waiting expectantly. Kurokawa shot him. With a roar of rage, Kaufman raised the pipe to strike, but the Nambu barked again and again, until the conduit clattered feebly against the deck beside Kurokawa’s head.
Kaufman was on his knees. “Goddamn sneaky Japs,” he murmured, and pitched forward onto his face.
Amagi
groaned in agony, and Kurokawa quickly pointed the pistol at Okada, where he still lay trapped. “Where were we?” he asked.
“You were going to shoot me, but you can’t anymore. The magazine is empty.”
Kurokawa jerked the trigger, but nothing happened. Where did all the bullets go? “No matter!” he barked in frustration. “Your reprieve will be quite short, I assure you! As soon as the battle is over and the damage attended to, I’ll have you executed in disgrace!” There was a shuddering rumble deep within the ship, and Sato Okada began to laugh. “Silence, you fool!” Kurokawa raged.
Okada stopped laughing and just looked at him for a moment. “You are the fool, Captain. There will be no repairs!”
Matt and Spanky were both standing now, staring in shock through the empty window frames. Less than four hundred yards away,
Amagi
quickly settled toward the silty bottom of Baalkpan Bay. Her bow broke away and capsized before it went down. The rest of her sank on a relatively even keel. Boats went over the side, and hundreds of white-clad forms scrambled into them, or as high in the superstructure as they could go. The water wasn’t particularly deep, and chances were, much of the ship would remain above the surface. Many would survive. Chief Gray staggered onto the bridge without a word, and even Reynolds stood to see.
Great clouds of steam and smoke gushed skyward aft as the sea closed over the fires. A heavy detonation rumbled across the water, and soot and steam belched from the stack. Finally the savaged fantail disappeared from view with a tremendous, thundering gurgle of escaping air. Only then did a heartfelt cheer erupt from
Walker
’s survivors.
Finally!
Matt thought. His entire body felt almost rubbery with relief.
My God
. . .
Finally!
He closed his eyes briefly in thanks. A few Grik ships frantically tacked past the smoldering wreck, headed for the Makassar Strait.
Walker
had nothing left to shoot at them.
Matt looked at his watch. “Oh two five eight, Mr. Reynolds. Please record it in the log.” He looked at Gray. “Now, if only things are going okay ashore,” he said grimly, watching the fleeing ships. It was impossible to tell if they were going to reinforce the landing in the south, or just running away. He had no idea if they were winning or losing the battle on land, and all of Baalkpan seemed to burn.
“Survivors?” Gray asked with distaste, gesturing at the boats in the water and the protruding pagoda. Matt shook his head.
“They’re fine for now,” he said. “If we take time to bring them aboard, they’ll just be in the water with us. How fast can we push her without putting too much stress on the forward bulkheads, Spanky?”
McFarlane seemed distracted, concentrating. “Six knots?” he hazarded. “Faster than that and you’ll drive her under. Slower and she’ll sink before we get there. I expect you’ll try to make it to the shipyard?”
Matt nodded sadly. “That’s my hope. I’ll angle her toward shore, though, just in case she doesn’t make it.”
He looked back at
Amagi
’s wreck as he spun the wheel for home. “I wish Jim could’ve seen this,” he said.
By some freakish miracle of buoyancy,
Mahan
’s stern still floated. The entire forward part of the ship had been obliterated by the blast, removing the flooded weight that would have quickly pulled the rest of her down. The explosion also heaved the shattered aft section backward against the continued thrust of her single screw. The watertight integrity was completely gone, however, and the stern was filling rapidly. Escaping air shrieked through the many rents, and the deck tilted ever downward.
Jim and two ’Cats had dragged Sandison into the meager protection of the battered aft deckhouse before the huge explosion drove them to the deck. One of the ’Cats was blown over the side, but the other had been there to revive him. Still lying on the deck, Jim watched with stunned bitterness, and a profound sense of betrayal and futility, as
Amagi
began to steam out of the harbor in spite of her massive wound. He’d killed his ship, and who knew how many of her crew, for nothing. Then, to his bleary-eyed astonishment, he saw
Walker
giving chase.