“And Graavois would still wonder where our caarriers are. He haad to find us for our—your—next surprise to work.”
“Maybe . . . but damn.” Matt looked guiltily at his friend. “We could’ve lost Big Sal too.”
Keje nodded. “And Waalker. Do you think I don’t know why she and Mahaan were here to protect us?” Matt nodded, a complex expression on his face. The two destroyers had fought fires as well, as soon as they finished rescuing Saa-Leebs’s crew. They couldn’t save the carrier, but they helped keep the flames pushed off her stern where all the survivors had gathered.
Sandra hugged her husband, trying to infuse him with her love and confidence. She knew more than anyone how cold calculations involving lives tore at him. And they’d lost so many over the last few weeks, here and in Africa. Sandra suspected, when the final tally came, their military casualties over the last six months would exceed those of the previous two and a half years. And the percentages were catching up with their closest friends and Matt’s old destroyermen just as fast.
Cries of joy cracked the somber mood and they turned to see another pair of familiar faces as Fred Reynolds and Kari-Faask rushed to join them. They’d set their Nancy down at the edge of the same lee Big Sal formed for the boats, and a crane had just lifted them aboard. It had been a bumpy landing but there was no danger. Fred and Kari had lost a lot of planes over time, but never one that was undamaged. Kari, a mushy cigar clamped in her mouth (which Petey regarded with interest), embraced everybody in the Lemurian way before catching herself and stepping back alongside Fred to salute. They both looked tired but exuberant to be back among so many friends, and quickly gave an enthusiastic eyewitness account of the crushing raid on Martinique. That finally added an exclamation point to Tikker’s, Nat’s, and Garrett’s dry wireless reports. Until then, the success of the operation had seemed vaguely abstract to many still absorbing the loss of Maaka-Kakja and Saa-Leebs. An excitement started to swell among them, even in Matt.
Keje raised a speaking trumpet toward the milling crowd of survivors. “Sailors of Maaka-Kakja! Waalker and Mahaan will come around to refuel as soon as the boats are out of the waay. If you caan help, you know how, but we must clear this area to extend the hoses.” Willing hands joined the effort while others stayed out of the way. The last boats were brought aboard or sunk by a stutter of Blitzerbug fire in their hulls. Walker took station first (with four boilers now, she was the thirstiest), and fuel lines were rigged. As soon as oil was pulsing through them, Spanky came aboard and joined the group. He grinned at Fred and Kari, then shook his head back over his shoulder. “What a goat rodeo. With Gilbert back, Walker’s engineering plant couldn’t be in better hands, but . . . well, you’d think him and Isak would be glad to see each other, after so long.” Isak Reuben and Gilbert Yeager weren’t only the original “Mice,” they were half brothers. “Maybe they are, in their way,” Spanky conceded, “but they went straight to bickering over who was senior—Isak for staying with Walker all along, or Gilbert for being Chief in a flat-top.” He rolled his eyes. “Glad they’re Tabby’s problem.”
The low-pitched, indignant roar of Chief Bosun Jeek reached them from the fo’c’sle below, countered by Tabby’s equally distinctive voice, arguing over oil that splattered the deck. “Then there’s those two. There’ll never be another Chief Gray, but Jeek’s the closest ’Cat equivalent. And officer or not, Tabby’ll scrap with him when he gives her snipes hell.” He looked ruefully at Matt. “I guess us old Asiatic Fleet sailors didn’t set the best example for naval etiquette.”
Matt laughed, and it sounded strange coming from him. He’d brooded over the complexity of the plan ever since they came through the Pass of Fire. Given the disparity of forces, it was complicated of necessity and he really hadn’t expected all the pieces to fit so well. Now, despite their losses, and the even more dangerous phase they were entering, the big puzzle actually seemed to be coming together. “No, but I think the fighting example is the most important right now. We’ll work on our manners after the war.”
“Yeah. So what’s next?”
“I’m sure you caught the gist on the radio, but Fred and Kari made it real. We licked ’em at Martinique and Gravois ran off in Leopardo. He wants Admiral Gherzi to meet him and they’ll head for Puerto del Cielo together.” Matt waited while his friends nodded appreciatively, then continued. “What most of you don’t know is that we caught a single quick transmission from Courtney and the Repub Fleet. They rounded up and smashed a supply convoy meant for Gravois and Gherzi, which means not only are they more desperate for fuel than ever, that little oiler we’ve been keeping tabs on at Puerto del Cielo is the only resupply they have, and why they have to head that way.” He shrugged. “We just have to figure out where they’ll meet, and get there first. No sweat.” He acknowledged the uncomfortable chuckles before adding, “One good thing: though Colonel Mallory couldn’t hit Gherzi with his bombers, saving the few he had left for tonight, he hammered Gherzi’s scout planes pretty hard with his last three P-40s, homing in on their radio signals while the enemy was still theoretically in range of our ‘base’ at Santiago. Even if the scouts squealed about the P-40s before they died, Gherzi won’t worry about them now he’s out of what he thinks is their range. So if he isn’t totally blind, he can’t have more than a couple planes left. It’s a damn big ocean, and with luck, we should be able to get the drop on him.
“So now . . .” He sighed and looked at Keje. “Big Sal’s out of it. Take her to Port January and offload any supplies Seepy Field night need, then make for Mobile. The Nussies can’t do much for our steel ships, but they can fix your wooden flight deck.”
“A fine suggestion, Cap-i-taan Reddy,” Keje agreed, “and I’ve already told Cap-i-taan Atlaan to do so. I’ll accompaany you in Waalker, however. I aassume you’ll proceed in her?” He blinked amusement when Matt guardedly nodded. “Then we caan shift both our flaags at once! My Home is safe, and you caan’t leave me when you take yours into haarmful waaters again. I will not miss this,” he added defiantly.
Matt didn’t even try to argue. Whatever happened, Keje had earned the right to be there. He said nothing to Sir Sean Bates for the same reason, or even Sandra, though he desperately wished she’d stay with Big Sal. She’d made her feelings clear long ago and Matt refused to throw down the “who’ll take care of our son?” card. He knew she thought about it every day. But young Fitzhugh Adar Reddy would be lovingly cared for regardless of what happened to them. In the end it came down to their commitment to each other. They’d started this odyssey together and would finish it that way. Sandra deserved to be there just as much as Keje. And where Sandra went, so would Diania. . . . Silva and Lawrence were a given, though Matt still hadn’t decided whether to use them in Walker or send them to Chack in Sular. He blinked resignation in the Lemurian way.
“You can’t leave us neither,” Fred and Kari chorused. “We just got back! Though . . .” Fred looked askance down at the newer-model Nancy perched on Walker’s pitching seaplane catapult. “You think we might swap planes? We’re kinda partial to ours. Just gettin’ used to it, in fact. And I’ve never flown one o’ those souped-up crates.”
“We can give that one to Mahan.” Spanky smiled. “She took a hit against the aft deckhouse that wrecked hers. Not much other damage, and only a few light splinter wounds to some of her people, but the plane was trashed,” he added for Matt’s benefit.
“Very well,” Matt said lowly, “I guess everything’s settled.” He looked at Spanky. “Go back aboard Walker. Make room for our additions, then put Ed on the horn to Colonel Mallory and tell him all of Jumbo’s and Tikker’s remaining bombers that can make the trip will fly south to join TF-Jenks and TF-Tassanna. We’ll squawk their positions after they respond to the code they’ve been waiting for. Ben’ll have to stay behind with the fighters—and his P-40s. He’ll hate that, but Madraas has her own fighters, and Ben has to defend Seepy Field and provide
air support for Nussie troops going ashore at Martinique. Then?” He paused, considering. “As soon as I’m aboard Walker, we’ll look at the chart and find someplace for everybody—and I mean everybody—to converge. Between the League fleet and Puerto del Cielo.”
Spanky whistled. Everyone knew the object of all their operations so far had been to set up the very Allied “David” versus League “Goliath” scenario now in motion—after inflicting as heavy and blinding a preliminary beating on Goliath as they could, of course. The first part had succeeded, but now David must face his larger adversary, toe to toe. They could only hope they had enough sling stones in their poke to do the job. “That’s a long haul for us, especially if we don’t chase right up Leopardo’s skirt—which I wouldn’t recommend. That would leave her, and probably Gherzi, between us and our guys.”
Matt chuckled. “Not my intention. We’ll steam west around Antigua before heading south, relying on scouting reports from Jenks and the other Repub seaplane tender’s Nancys and Seevogels so we don’t run into Gherzi by ourselves. Low on fuel as he should be, he’s never run at high speed since he left Martinique so his heavies’ll still have plenty for a fight,” he warned, “but unless he’s an idiot, he’s had his destroyers sucking his teat so they won’t run dry either. He’ll stay slow.” He looked out at Mahan. Now that the boats had all been taken in or disposed of, she was approaching aft of Walker to refuel as well. “How fast can she go?” he asked.
“Commander Tiaa says she’ll make twenty-eight knots, after her yardwork at Baalkpan. Maybe thirty, if they don’t look at her pressure gauges too hard. Not saying that’s a good idea. . . .” Spanky hedged.
Matt smiled grimly. “And Walker can make thirty, standing on her head, with her new boiler. If Mahan can keep up, swell. We’ll need her. But it’s more important that one of us gets there in time than if neither of us does.” He cocked his head at Spanky. “Remember when we went chasing those Grik ships that raided Baalkpan so we could catch one and look it over? Look the Grik over so we’d know what we were getting into?”
Spanky was nodding. “I talked you into backing down, just sinking ’em.”
“Right. And your reasons were sound. You said that if we broke down, we were stuck. No spare parts, no way to repair the ship . . . hell, we didn’t even have enough fuel left to run the pumps! You were right, then, and I’m glad I listened, but this time it’s different. This is it, Spanky. We’re all in, and we won’t hold anything back for later.”
CHAPTER 47
////// Leopardo
August 5, 1945
Leopardo sprinted due east after escaping Martinique. Ciano and Gravois agreed their first imperative was avoiding the planes and torpedo boats that suddenly swarmed the harbor. The planes would be gone by now, but after sighting the puny but numerous NUS ships—undoubtedly full of troops—they realized the NUS (and torpedo boats) was there to stay. Once Leopardo rejoined Gherzi, they could easily expel them, but the facilities at Martinique were wrecked and its utility was finished. They needed a new, more secure base of operations. Gravois decided that would be Puerto del Cielo—whether Don Hernan liked it or not. He was through tiptoeing around that madman’s sensibilities, and they’d take the city by storm if they must. They’d lost their Spanish infantry, of course, but Gherzi had over a thousand Marines aboard his battleships and cruisers. Even sailors, armed with modern weapons and backed by naval gunfire, would make short work of Dominion troops. And who knew? Dom civilians had sometimes welcomed the NUS and their Allies as liberators. After the drumbeat of daily atrocities at Puerto del Cielo, perhaps its population would similarly welcome the League?
First, however, Gravois and Ciano had to get there in one piece. They remained confident in the overwhelming power of Gherzi’s battle line, but they’d suffered too many unpleasant surprises to maintain their previous disdain for the enemy. Truth be told, they were rattled, and they craved the comforting embrace of Gherzi’s armored ships. The trouble was, after being told to delay his arrival at Martinique, Gherzi had turned west, then south-southwest, to parallel the Windward Isles, and remained at an inconvenient distance.
“We just received a signal from Canet,” reported a messenger. Canet was the Alsedo Class destroyer that first alerted them to the NUS arrival. “She took some damaging hits at close range, but managed to escape as well. She wishes to join us.”
Gravois started to reply, but Ciano shook his head and interrupted. “What’s the nature of her damage?”
“Forward fireroom. Her speed is reduced to twenty-four knots.”
Ciano looked at Gravois. “I’m bound to you and will obey your orders, but leave the safety of my ship to me.”
“Of course,” Gravois granted.
Ciano strode to the chart table and traced his finger across it. “Ammiraglio Gherzi will rendezvous with us twenty kilometers west of the island of St. Vincent tomorrow afternoon. Advise Canet to make her way there independently. Use the islands as cover, and we’ll give her more specific times and positions as we know them ourselves.” He looked back at Gravois. “Alsedos are even less capable than we are against air attack. I don’t want her attached to my hip if we have to maneuver briskly.”
Gravois shrugged. “As you say, our safety is in your hands, though I’m confident the enemy has shot his bolt in the sky.”
Ciano just gazed at him a moment before reminding, “That’s what you said right before their planes ruined us at Martinique.” He turned to the messenger. “Send it.”
USS Walker
Under a still blustery but clearing morning sky, Ed Palmer marched triumphantly up the metal stairs aft. Longish hair whipping in the stiff breeze around his tanned, boyish face made him look like a teenager on a beach. Stepping up by Keje and Sir Sean, next to Matt’s chair in the pilothouse, he proclaimed with savage glee, “We’ve got the sons ’o bitches!”
Immediately realizing what he said, Ed’s eyes went wide and he took a step back. Matt’s chuckle and “spit it out” gesture reassured him, however, and some of his enthusiasm returned. “Hessen’s still in the League radio loop, and Captain Garrett forwarded what they picked up.”
“What’s the situation at Martinique?” Sandra interrupted. She was sitting on a tall stool secured directly to the deck. Ed looked at her, torn, and Sir Sean laughed at his expression.
“Go ahead,” Matt told him. “I want to know that, whoever we’ve ‘got.’”
“Aye, sir. Well, a couple more destroyers that weren’t hit skedaddled, no one knows where, but all the remaining ships except Impero—she’s their flagship—have surrendered. Not much choice; they’re sunk or sinking.” His face darkened. “The NUS Admiral Sessions is already croaking about who gets salvage.” He shook his head. “Impero’s half-sunk herself, low by the stern, with her screws and rudder on the shallow bottom. She can’t move. But she isn’t shooting either. Nobody knows if her main battery’s operational. Probably is, since she’s got steam, but she’s also got plenty of secondaries. On the other hand, Nat Hardee’s MTBs have her by the throat. He’s got six of ’em idling abeam of her at five hundred yards, ready to slam her full of torpedoes if she makes a peep. He thinks her skipper will behave himself.
“Otherwise, there’s some fighting ashore, but not as much as you’d think. A lot of League troops are surrendering. Seems they figure they’re through, and . . . well, there’s lots of snakes, that love hanging out in their fighting positions.”
“Jesus,” Spanky commiserated, stepping over from the port bridgewing. “Hardly any snakes anywhere else in the world we’ve seen, but Captain Garrett mentioned ’em in his report about the place. I get why nobody’d want to die for it.”
“Especially since we don’t eat or murder our prisoners,” Sandra agreed. “So who—or what—have we ‘got’?”
Ed looked back at Matt. “Leopardo and Gravois will meet Admiral Gherzi this evening, about ten miles west of St
. Vincent Island.”
Matt stood and went quickly to the chart table. “Show me,” he demanded. When Ed did, Matt whistled. “Not sure who’s ‘got’ who. Look at this.” He pointed. “TF-Jenks and TF-Tassanna are here, and here. They can make it if they haul ass. We can too, if we refuel when we get there. Trouble is, as close as they’ll be to Puerto del Cielo, we’re faced with the exact opposite kind of action I wanted. I’d hoped to catch ’em at night and finish ’em in daylight, out of sight of their objective. The psychological effect of that would be particularly important, now. Besides, against those heavies, a night action’s our only hope. The trouble is, if we wait for dark to engage ’em, things’re gonna get tight and they could be at Puerto del Cielo by dawn. We have to stop ’em short of there, at any cost,” he added grimly.
“What about Courtney and his Repub ships?” Sandra asked.
Matt shook his head. “They’re on their way down to the general area and we’ll forward the update, but I don’t think they can get there before tomorrow morning.”
“So we delaay them,” Keje said simply. “Use Madraas’s and New Dublin’s planes.”
“We need them to deliver our final kick in the guts,” Matt reminded, “but Jumbo and Tikker might hit ’em a lick coming down to join us.”
“Would’nae that reveal we’ve another carrier here?” Sir Sean asked skeptically. “Where else could the planes land?”
“Probably,” Matt agreed, frowning, “but I don’t see any other way to slow ’em down. . . .” He blinked suddenly, and straightened. When he spoke again, his tone was hard as iron. “Actually, I do. We will pick a fight in daylight. Evening, rather.” He looked at the others. “They’re scared of our planes, but not our ships. Savoie and her look-alike’ll give ’em a start, especially since they probably think they already got her, but that whole fleet came all this way to hunt us down.” He was warming to his argument. “They won’t run when we show ’em what they want to see. Gravois won’t let ’em! We’ve handed him a mess so far, and beating us decisively is his only way out. Give him a glimpse of our battle line, and he’ll take the bait,” he added confidently.
Winds of Wrath Page 52
