Sandison looked at him hesitantly. “Captain . . . Baalkpan’s almost due north.”
“I’m well aware of that, and so is the enemy. They’ll expect us to hightail it there as fast as we can because that’s probably what we ought to do. There’s no moon and once we’re out of Nerracca’s glare, no one will ever see us.” As if to punctuate his point, Amagi’s latest salvo erupted in the sea behind them, on and around the helpless Home. None of the shells came close to the destroyer and Matt didn’t even flinch when they detonated.
“That’s not what we’re going to do?” Sandison asked. His eyes were wide. In spite of the rage that threatened to engulf him, Matt almost laughed at the young officer’s expression.
“No, Bernie, we’re not. We’ll use this excellent moonless night to our advantage for another purpose. We’re going to steam south until we arrive off Amagi’s starboard beam and then we’re going to turn directly toward her. At that point you, Mr. Sandison, are going to slam our last three working torpedoes into her goddamn side.”
Bernie gulped. “Aye, aye, sir.”
“The enemy ship is destroyed, Captain,” Sato Okada said quietly but urgently. He was standing beside Kurokawa on Amagi’s bridge. The middle distance was awash with flames, both from their allies’ ships and from the giant Tree Folk vessel. “I recommend we cease firing and conserve ammunition.” Kurokawa turned to him and regarded him intently. His eyes reflected the flames of the burning ships like little mirrors, and Sato suspected with a shudder that that’s what they were. Mirrors to his soul.
“The American destroyer? Do you think we got it?”
“Impossible to say. As soon as it began to tow the bigger ship directly away from us, it was lost to view.” Sato almost shrugged. “There were many explosions. Perhaps she was hit. Right now, however, we are wasting ammunition.”
“Oh, very well, Commander,” Kurokawa growled. “You may cease firing. We will steer toward the wreckage and see for ourselves. If we did not sink the American ship, we almost certainly damaged it. She will fly as fast as she can to her lair and we will catch her soon.” He paced the length of the bridge as though lost in thought while Sato gave the order to stop the bombardment of the burning, sinking hulk. A moment later he returned to Sato’s side. Strangely, there was a smile on his face. “A most impressive display for our allies, I should think,” he said. “None of them could stop the enemy ship, and yet we did it with contemptuous ease. I expect a greater say in matters after this!”
Sato bowed, but he cleared his throat. When he spoke, his voice was brittle. “Before it grew too dark, the lookout reported that the enemy ship seemed to be packed with refugees. Civilians.”
“So? It was to be expected. They have evacuated Surabaya.” The captain’s gaze grew intent once more. “They are the enemy, Commander Okada. You would do well to remember that.” His expression became coldly philosophical. “Besides, we gave them a quicker and more honorable death than the Grik would have afforded them.”
Sato turned away to conceal his disgust. “Honorable,” he whispered.
“We’ve outpaced our escorts for once,” Kurokawa said with satisfaction as he glanced astern. “I expect the flagship will signal us shortly, as soon as it catches up. When it does so, you will inform me at once. I will be in my quarters.”
Sato bowed and, to his immense relief, the captain left the bridge. Staring at the distant glare, he wondered about what he had seen. When the report came that the American destroyer was actually towing the enormous enemy ship, once again something stirred within him. Rather than make an easy escape, the destroyer had done everything she could to aid her slower consort. That was honor. They may be the enemy, but Sato could still find it within himself to respect them for what they’d done. He wondered why Kurokawa could not. His hatred had blinded him to everything but revenge. Something was fundamentally wrong with this entire situation, but he had no idea what to do about it.
Effectively invisible, Walker steamed south at twenty-five knots with a bone in her teeth and blood in her eye. Chack remained in the crow’s nest, occasionally calling out a range and bearing to the target whenever Amagi fired her guns, but that didn’t last much longer. Finally, she wearied of wasting ammunition and her salvos at last ceased. Chack’s reports grew farther apart and less certain as he tried to pick the battle cruiser from among the stars she obscured. Nerracca was still an inferno behind them, but it was clear by now, even to the enemy, that no one could possibly survive aboard her. Matt was staring at her with a profound sense of loss and failure. He wondered if she would never sink and end the agony at last.
His reverie was interrupted when Chief Gray escorted a young Lemurian female onto the bridge. Her fur was scorched and it was impossible to tell what color it had been. She was also entirely naked except for a towel someone had given her to replace her lost kilt. In spite of her disheveled appearance, she looked vaguely familiar. As soon as she saw him, she threw herself upon the wooden strakes of the wheelhouse and clasped his leg below the knee. Matt looked at Gray for an explanation.
“That’s Tassat’s daughter, Tassana,” the Bosun said, his rough voice almost cracking. “I bet she’s about thirteen.” Matt looked back down at her. Now he remembered. She’d been present at some meeting or other, there to attend her father, Tassat-Ay-Aracca, Nerracca’s High Chief. She began to shake with sobs as she clutched him. “She was on the last boat out,” Gray continued. “She helped cut the cable herself, with an axe. Her dad told her to.”
“Tassat?” Matt asked quietly.
Gray shook his head. “He didn’t make it.”
Of course he didn’t. The ebullient Lemurian would never have abandoned his Home while there was anyone left aboard. He might not have even then. A further wave of sadness swept over Matt and he knelt beside Tassana. Queen Maraan joined him there and embraced her.
“You save so many, at such great risk,” Tassana murmured through her tears. “My father bade me honor you with his final words to me. Honor all Walkers for their courage. Nerracca Clan ...” Her voice caught with a shudder. What few of Nerracca’s people that still lived no longer had a Home. “. . . Nerracca Clan never forget,” she finally managed. Queen Maraan gently rocked her back and forth as Tassana began to cry again. She soothed her while Matt continued to kneel beside them, unable to speak. To him it seemed so terribly wrong for anyone to be grateful to him. So many had died. He stood and Safir helped Tassana to her feet. The Bosun started to lead her away.
“How many did we save?” Matt asked him. Gray shook his head.
“I have no idea. They’re packed away below like those damn Vienna scum weenies. Eight hundred? Maybe more.” He looked Matt in the eye. “We couldn’t have taken many more anyway, Skipper. Not and stayed afloat.” Matt said nothing and Gray gently led Tassana toward the ladder. Matt turned and found Queen Maraan’s shining eyes fixed upon him.
“B’mbaado will never forget what you’ve done for us either, Cap-i-taan Reddy,” she said. She motioned at the night. “You go now to try and strike a blow against Nerracca’s murderers and I would be a part of that.” She shook her head. “But I am of no use to you here.” She paused. “My people believe that the God of the Great Light that burns during the day does not see the deeds that take place when he is not above. I do not know if that is true or not. But the souls of Nerracca’s dead have already been carried skyward by the pyre. They know what has happened and they will watch what is yet to be. Whether the Sun sees them or not, He will hear of Walker’s deeds and He will honor you as well.” She smiled at him then. “I am shamed by my inaction. With your permission, I will go where I may be of help. I will join your mate in the wardroom and see if I may assist with the wounded.”
“Of course,” he said. “I’m sure that—” He stopped. What had she just said? “Lieutenant Tucker would appreciate the help, and the company. Please ask her to make a quick report as soon as it’s convenient.” Bowing her head, Queen Maraan left the bridge.
“Capta
in, lookout reports a surface contact bearing one one zero degrees. Range about eighteen thousand. He’s not completely sure, sir, but he thinks it’s her.”
“Very well. Helm, make your course one four zero. Reduce speed to two-thirds.” He caught a couple of raised eyebrows at that. “Don’t worry, gentlemen. That bastard doesn’t have a clue we’re here. We’re going to get in as close as we can and I don’t want him to spot our wake. We’ll keep the steam up in case we have to jump.”
Sandison was double-double-checking his headset connection to Randal Hale, who was the captain of the number one torpedo mount behind the amidships deckhouse on the starboard side. Hale’s station was directly atop the mount. Beneath him, nestled in their tubes, the final three operating MK-15, twenty-one-inch torpedoes in the entire world patiently waited, their safety pins removed. There had probably never been any more lovingly treated and carefully maintained torpedoes in the history of the Asiatic Fleet and they’d been painstakingly tested for every conceivable defect. Each of the three weapons was a marvel of technology and precise engineering and was, pound for pound, the most complicated piece of machinery aboard the entire ship. Not to mention the fact they’d cost the War Department of the United States more than ten thousand dollars apiece.
And nobody really trusted them to work.
There were many theories as to why the American torpedoes had performed so dismally. Much of the problem was undoubtedly due to the fact that prior to the war, destroyer and submarine crews were allowed very little practice in their use. They were fantastically expensive and the budget for the Asiatic Fleet in particular was extremely tight. Bernie Sandison, however, as well as his division, was convinced the problem was far more insidious. At Balikpapan, they’d seen the foaming wake of one of their torpedoes end directly amidships of a Japanese transport at the height of that confusing fight. To their amazement, it didn’t explode. On other occasions they’d been positive that the weapons ran true, but in spite of their certainty, their efforts and risks weren’t rewarded. Destroyermen on other ships, not to mention submariners, complained bitterly about similar experiences. It was obvious there was something fundamentally wrong with the MK-15 and -14 torpedoes. There were really only two possible mechanical explanations. Either the torpedoes were running too deep or something was wrong with their magnetic detonators. Maybe both.
With the captain’s permission, Bernie had set the last three fish to run about half as deep as the manual prescribed. The worst thing that could happen, theoretically, was that they’d explode against Amagi’s side instead of underneath her like they were designed to do. The damage wouldn’t be as great, but at least they should hit the target. That left only the problem of the MK-6 magnetic exploders. The MK-14 submarine torpedo they’d salvaged in Surabaya had actually struck a ship and failed to go off and Walker’s torpedomen were highly suspicious that it had to do with the MK-6. Bernie and his men, as well as Shinya, had been all over the damn things. The best they could figure was since the weapons were designed to explode magnetically, not enough thought had gone into what was essentially the backup contact detonator. Shinya was accustomed to the evidently far superior Japanese torpedoes and he’d seen it first. The contact detonators on the American torpedoes weren’t robust enough to operate properly when they struck the side of a ship at close to fifty knots.
If that was indeed the case, the torpedoes America had taken to war were hamstrung by a no-win situation. If they went too deep, which Bernie was positive they did, the magnetic exploder failed to operate. If they actually hit the target, they wouldn’t explode because the contact detonator often malfunctioned. That would explain a lot and, if true, it was a miracle that any U.S. torpedoes had gone off since the war began. Sandison had taken his case to the captain late the night before and he’d agreed to let them try to beef up the contact exploder on one of the fish. It was a risk, because they might only ensure it wouldn’t go off, but nobody wanted to fire the last fish they had and just trust to luck, as they had in the past. They had to try something.
Lieutenant Sandison continued to worry as he made his final preparations. Self-doubt constantly warred with his conviction that he’d been right to make the modifications. He knew his division had done everything humanly possible to ensure that the attack would succeed. But if he was wrong . . .
Chack finally reported that he was certain the target was Amagi and there were no Grik between them and the enemy. The range had dwindled to less than four miles—well within the range of the torpedoes—and so far there was no indication the Japanese even suspected they were there. A hush fell over the crew. Creeping up on a battle cruiser in the dark wasn’t a tactic they’d ever trained for or ever dreamed they’d use. The normal procedure was to race in at top speed and fire torpedoes from the maximum range of about eight miles. This method was . . . surreal.
Walker continued her leisurely approach, her bow-on aspect presenting the smallest possible target in the pitch-dark night. The tubes were rigged out at a thirty-degree angle and awaiting the command. Now that Chack was sure, he was calling constant corrections. Bernie didn’t need them now. Even he could see the massive ship looming ahead, a malignant black outline against a wash of stars beyond. He tracked the target with his torpedo director. Nine thousand, eight thousand, seven thousand yards, and still they narrowed the gap. Amagi was making barely eight knots and her course was constant. She was a sitting duck. The range was becoming almost ridiculously close when Captain Reddy finally spoke.
“Mr. Reynolds, remind Mr. Garrett not to open fire unless I give the command, but be ready if I do.” He looked at Bernie Sandison and, even in the darkness, Bernie thought he detected a ferocious, predatory gleam in the captain’s eye. “Fire your torpedoes, Mr. Sandison.”
“Aye, aye, Captain.” Bernie addressed Randal Hale in a brisk, nervous voice. “Mount one: Fire one! Fire three! Fire five!”
With each new command, there was a thump-chuff! and a sharp flash of yellow light aft as the small black-powder charge within each tube expelled the torpedo. The brightly polished weapons shone only as long dull shadows as they arced into the sea and entered the water amid a gray, concave splash.
“Helm, left full rudder. Come about to course one zero zero.”
“Aye, aye, sir. Left full rudder,” confirmed the helmsman. “Making my course one zero zero!”
As the destroyer heeled to starboard, Matt went out on the port bridgewing and waited for the stern to come around. This would be the most critical moment. If anyone on Amagi saw the impulse charges go off and looked hard in their direction, they’d probably see the ship as she turned broadside-on for a moment. Soon Walker steadied and Matt heard the helmsman announce he’d achieved his course. He raised his binoculars to watch the enemy ship. He couldn’t see the torpedoes and he felt strangely cheated, even though he knew it was for the best. If it was too dark for him to see the telltale trails of bubbles, then the Japs couldn’t see them either. Uh-oh, something was happening. Even as Matt stared at Amagi, a searchlight flared to life. Then another.
“All ahead flank!” Matt shouted into the pilothouse. The launch must have been seen after all. The searchlights stabbed at the darkness in their general direction, but for the moment they concentrated on an area to port. Then another light came on and almost instantly, Walker was seared by the harsh, bright glare.
“Commence firing!” Matt yelled. “Target their searchlights!” Garrett must have heard him because the salvo buzzer rang even before Reynolds relayed the order. Number two and number four fired together and the tracers lanced into the night. Another salvo left the guns before the first was halfway there.
“Come left ten degrees!” Matt said and raised his glasses again, trying to see through the blinding light. He knew the course change would make Walker a larger target, but he wanted the number one gun in the fight. When the next salvo fired, it joined the others. The other two lights had found them now, and then yet a fourth. One suddenly winked out, howev
er, and Matt supposed they must have gotten a hit. “How long on the torpedoes, Mr. Sandison?” he demanded.
“Another minute, Captain.” The torpedo officer had taken station on the port torpedo director—not that there was anything left to direct. He just had to see . . .
Other lights lit the battle cruiser, gun flashes from her secondary armament. The first splashes fell about two hundred yards to starboard and a little aft. The second group of enemy shells raised geysers just off the port beam and shell fragments peppered Walker. Amagi’s secondaries weren’t nearly as large as her main battery, but they were bigger than anything Walker had. The ship staggered under the force of a direct hit aft, and the sound of the explosion and the screams of refugees were deafening. The ship recovered herself, however, and continued her frantic sprint. Another blast, farther aft, and Walker shuddered in agony.
“Torpedoes?!”
Sandison’s eyes flicked to the stopwatch in his hand.
“Now!”
The lights went out.
Matt snapped the binoculars to his eyes in time to see a bright, slashing pulse of fire rising from Amagi’s waterline, just aft of amidships. A jet of sparks vomited from her stack and illuminated the rising cloud of smoke caused by the blast. The searchlights that just moments ago had been so remorselessly fixed on the destroyer were now askew, throwing eerie, smoke-dense beams in all directions.
“Yes!” shouted Bernie as his relief surged forth. Not what they’d hoped for, but one hit out of three was better than their average to date. He was pretty sure he knew which one it had been. Cheers erupted all over the ship. Cheers of relief and vindication.
“Secure from flank! Come right ten degrees. Let’s get some distance while she decides whether or not to sink. If she doesn’t, I’d just as soon we were out of range when they get their priorities straightened out. Cease firing main battery.”
A few more desultory shells landed in Walker’s wake, but without the searchlights to guide them the Japanese gunners fired blind. However much damage they’d caused, the torpedo attack had taken them completely by surprise. By the time the searchlights began scanning for Walker again, she had disappeared completely into the dark.
Crusade Page 40
