“Okay, we’ll oppose them alone then. If you listen in, we’ll keep you updated on what we’re doing. Maybe you can offer us advice, sir.”
“Yes! Very good! Tell us your actions. We are most fraught with worry here.”
“I understand. Have you told your commanders about us?”
“God’s boots! No. I’ve only said, ‘our prayers have been answered’. They imagine the Dutch are allying with us or some other nonsense. They’d not believe a God ship lest they see it themselves, no mistake.”
“You know best, admiral. Wish us luck.”
“Good luck, commander.”
Castillo hung up the receiver and realized there were many expectant eyes on him. He sighed and said, “Okay, pilot, take us to 100 feet. Maneuvering, make turns for 35 knots.”
“Aye, sir. 100 feet.”
“Aye, sir. 35 knots.”
Castillo switched the big screen to the navigation display. He watched the green land masses on the navigation screen. He knew where they had to go. He had to race ahead of these ships and put Kansas squarely between the Spanish invasion fleet and the mouth of the Thames. Kansas was the only thing opposing the Spanish now. It was all down to them.
When Kansas finally surfaced. it was 20 miles ahead of the Armada and about 30 miles from the mouth of the Thames. The Spanish fleet was too far away from the Armada to see them visually, but the ship’s BPS 16 radar gave them a picture of where the fleet was.
“How’s that radar image quality, Wally?” asked Castillo, inspecting the screen. There was a screen full of faint white dots on a field of black with land masses outlined in lime green. “Are those returns good enough for a Harpoon to lock onto?”
“Not sure, sir. Some returns are stronger than others, but we should be able to find a target out of that bunch.”
“The problem with this weapon system,” said Castillo to Lambert, who was sitting six feet away, “is it was designed to strike heavy surface ships. It depends on a strong radar return and hauls a high explosive 488 pound warhead. I think when it hits, it’s going to reduce one of these ships to kindling and kill most of the crew.”
Lambert said nothing. She only looked at him dolefully.
“But…it’s all we’ve got. Secure the radar, Mr. Unger. Pilot, let’s go down to 100 feet. Mr. Anderson, missile launch stations!”
“Aye, sir. Securing BPS 16.”
“Aye, sir. Going to 100 feet.”
“Aye, sir. missile launch stations.” Anderson began giving orders to the two watchstanders next to him at weapon stations and to unseen crewmen.
Castillo switched the big screen back to the photonics mast and they watched as the restless waves engulfed the cameras and the scene became an aquamarine underwater one. The boat submerged.
Anderson was statusing launch systems when he stopped, turned to Castillo and said, “Sir! Smitty says they have door control on tube one now. They were able to cycle the door open and closed.”
“Great!” said Castillo. “They’re getting there.”
After a time Anderson announced, “Systems are green, sir. Tubes 3 and 4 are ready for Harpoon launch.”
“Very well. Begin launch count on tube 3.”
“Aye, sir. Beginning count on tube 3 and…mark!” A countdown clock began running in the corner of Anderson’s tactical weapon screen.
Castillo watched it tick down past 20 seconds. He looked at Lambert and held up his right hand with crossed fingers. She returned the gesture with her lips set tightly.
Anderson intoned, “5…4…3…2…1…launch.”
A tornado of bubbles engulfed the photonics mast cameras, as the missile left its tube and surged upward.
A weapons watchstander responded, “Missile away!”
“Alright!” shouted Anderson, studying his screen. “The missile is flying normally and is getting some radar returns, sir.” He could see what the missile was seeing. A smattering of faint white blips ahead of it. “I’m going to try and get a lock on that target in the second row giving us the strongest return.”
“Good, Wally. Do it!”
“And…uh…we have a lock!” Anderson pumped his fist.
Castillo suddenly had a remorseful feeling for the unsuspecting men aboard that Spanish ship. They had no idea the hell that was about to come down on them.
Chapter 15
Aboard the Florencia
English Channel
20 miles off the Flemish coast
“God smiles on us, Francisco!” exclaimed Gaspar De Sosa. “He gives us a beautiful morning for victory and a good wind.”
“Yes, and he keeps Drake and his English dogs locked up in their pen. There is nothing to stop us now, sir.”
“It is a magnificent sight, is it not?” De Sosa swept his arm at the view. Ships as far as the eye could see with taut sunlit sails pitching up and down as they plowed through sequined green waves. He breathed in the cool salt air. “We are God’s fleet carrying on God’s mission, Francisco.” He pointed at the great galleon 200 yards to the north. It rolled more slowly because of its great size. “Look at the San Leandro, Francisco. Look at the size of it. The power! How could one doubt it came from God? It must have dropped directly from heaven, for how else could you explain its perfect lines. The perfect way the deck sweeps in such a pure artful manner. It’s a force of nature, is it not?” De Sosa laughed a hearty laugh that made his great belly tremble and his black beard quiver.
Francisco laughed too. His thin shoulders shook, and he showed his gap toothed smile, and nervously pulled at his shirt. “I think after we make our landing, we should make every Englishman line up and kiss his Holiness’s ring. What say you, De Sosa?”
“A good idea, Francisco, but the Pope is a busy man. He doesn’t have time for English scum.”
“Maybe they could kiss Admiral Sidonia’s ass then. Same thing!”
Both men roared with laughter. De Sosa scanned the horizon ahead and saw nothing but the empty sea and cottony white clouds. There was no sound except the snap of banners in the wind, the rattle of block and tackle and the creak of hull planking as the ship plunged through the waves. Both men gripped the rail tightly to keep their feet as the deck heaved under them.
“Sail!” called the lookout from above. “One point on the bow.” He pointed.
Every deck hand turned to where the lookout was pointing.
“That’s not a sail,” said Francisco.
“What is it?” asked De Sosa.
It was like a tentacle from a Portuguese man of war. One fibrous tentacle extending upward from the sea. It pointed to the sky…up and up. Then it curved down.
“It looks like it’s coming toward us,” said De Sosa with concern. He extended his spy glass and looked at it.
“I know what it is!” cried Francisco, his brown eyes alive with excitement. “It is a message from God. I have read it many times in the Bible. Heavenly messengers always come from the sky or the sea. It is an angel come to give us a joyful message. God is pleased with us, De Sosa!”
De Sosa’s eyes were troubled. He wasn’t so sure this was a good thing. It was streaking across the water toward them very fast now. Faster than a racing falcon. He had never seen anything so fast! It was coming straight at them…no…it was coming toward the San Leandro. The men on the San Leandro saw it too. They were at the rails, pointing. There was a sound building like the roar of a lion. It was almost on them. It was…
BOOM!
There was a bright flash and the gunnel beneath De Sosa’s arm exploded into fragments and a great invisible hand slapped at him, knocking him end over end. He tumbled from one side of the deck to the other. He grabbed at Francisco and tried to stop him from going over the rail but he failed. He saw the frozen open-mouthed look of horror on Francisco’s face as he went over. The Florencia rolled hard over away from the blast. He waited long seconds for the ship to right itself, and when it finally did, he staggered to his feet. There was a sharp pain in his side and when he l
ooked there, he saw a large shard of wood sticking out from between his ribs. Fighting against the pain, he struggled to the rail. The San Leandro was gone! There was nothing but jagged smoking pieces of wood and broken charred planks floating in the water. He also saw bodies floating in the wreckage and heard the cries and entreaties to God of dying men. What could have done such a thing?
De Sosa looked up and saw most of Florencia’s sails had been shredded and the mizzen mast had been snapped like a twig. There were only two top gallants still intact. He quickly looked around at the surrounding ships. The Antonio De Palma’s sails were fluttering free, having been ripped free of their moorings. Most of the sails of the San Juan De Portugal were shredded like Florencia’s. La Trinidad also had shredded sails.
“Capitan!” shouted a crewman. “The larboard hull planking has collapsed, sir! Water is rushing in! We can’t stop it!”
“Get boats in the water!” ordered De Sosa. Then he noticed all the nearby ships were listing and putting boats in the water. Others had put up distress flags and were turning around. A distress flag meant the ship had suffered heavy damage and was out of the action.
What could have done this? Is this the hand of God?
“Sir,” said a crewman. “You’ve been injured!”
He looked down at the piece of wood sticking out of his side. “I know.” He looked to where the flying demon had come. That’s when he saw another one. Another long tentacle reaching toward the sky. It arched, then plunged down and built speed as it came directly at them…no…this time it was going to pass on the other side about 100 yards away. As it roared by, he was able to see it for a split second. It was like a white stove pipe spewing white smoke with triangular attachments on it.
BOOM!
This time the flash was farther away, but it still knocked De Sosa and the crewman next to him off his feet and rolled the Florencia. De Sosa pulled himself up on a rail, crossed himself and said, “We’ve angered God in some way! He has sent a great demon to smite us!”
• • •
Castillo was talking to Drake by remote communicator. “We’ve launched two powerful devices, admiral. I’m not sure how much damage we’ve done. I’m taking the ship closer so we can get a visual assessment.”
“Splendid! How goes your attempt to right your weapons?” Asked Drake hopefully.
“We’re making progress, but not operational yet.”
“Very well, commander. God be with you.”
“Thanks, admiral.”
Anderson turned to Castillo and said, “Smitty just reported in. They have ATP control on tube one and they were able to cycle the dump valve. They’re almost there, sir!”
“Alright!” exclaimed Castillo. “Go Safir and Smitty! Good men!”
When Kansas got to within 3 miles, Castillo brought them up to periscope depth and they took a look.
On the big screen they could see the center of the first crescent formation was in disarray. Some ships were listing heavily and crews were obviously abandoning them in small boats, while others had men aloft cutting away damaged sails and running up new rigging. Two ships were smoking and appeared to be on fire. There was debris in the water that looked like chunks of ship decking, and one large ship was going down by the stern, the bow sticking up high out of the water.
“I’d say they’ve lost maybe 15 to 20 ships,” said Castillo.
“Not enough,” remarked Tanaka.
“True. They’re probably just going to reform, fill in the hole in their formation and continue.” Castillo was frustrated.
“I’m not sure how well a Mark 48 is going to do, sir,” said Anderson. “They have active homing heads on them, and I just don’t think they’re going to get a strong enough sonar return to get a lock on one of those ships.”
“I know,” replied Castillo. “You’re going to have to guide each one in all the way to target from the tactical screen.”
“Okay, but it’s going to be a lot of guesswork without sonar targets.”
“I know,” replied Castillo, then thinking aloud. “Any torpedo shot would do more damage, however, if they were closer together.”
“But Admiral Drake said they don’t tighten their formation unless they’re threatened.”
Castillo suddenly got an idea. “Maybe we can threaten them.” He tugged at his chin, then said, “Pilot, take us up.”
“Aye, sir. Surfacing.”
• • •
Admiral Medina Sidonia was still puzzling over the wreckage. Something had totally destroyed two of his largest galleons. Nothing left but smoking wreckage! And six others are crippled so badly the crews are abandoning them. They’re headed for the bottom! And another six so badly damaged, they’ll not be afloat much longer. They’re running for the French coast!
One of his commanders, Capitan Gaspar De Sosa, was standing before him now. He was wearing a white cotton shirt and leggings, but Sidonia could see under the open shirt a bandage covering his side. It was soaked with blood.
“You got a good look at this flying demon, De Sosa?”
“Not a good look, admiral. Only a fleeting look, sir.”
“And what did it look like to you?”
“It looked like a flying smokestack, sir. And it issued white smoke as it passed and made a sound like rolling thunder, sir.”
He would normally think a man to be quite mad who told such a story. But something horrible had happened, and he was at a loss to explain it. God? This was not the hand of God! God did not do such things. This was something else. Something English!
“What, Ho!” alerted a lookout, pointing.
Sidonia turned to face that direction and saw nothing but empty sea. Then he did see something. There was something low in the water about a mile away. He put his spy glass to his eye. It looked like a great black leviathan with something on its back. A cold trickle of dread ran down his spine. He remembered one of his capitans, Cordova, reporting an encounter with a giant evil leviathan in the Irish Sea a few weeks ago. It sent black clad demon warriors aboard his ship, killed ten of his crew and crippled his ship. He had dismissed it at the time. Cordova was a superstitious fool who made up wild stories to explain his own inadequacies.
“What is it?” gasped De Sosa.
Sidonia said nothing. The unease obvious in his dark eyes. They watched silently as the leviathan swiftly swam to one end of their formation, turned and swam back the other way. It was crossing their path, menacing them, like a great evil shark…waiting for them to come.
“Filipe!” called Sidonia.
“Yes, admiral,” answered a small man running down the deck.
“Send a message to Capitan De Recalde and Capitan De Valdez.”
The small man pulled out a piece of sharpened lead and a flat board and poised to write.
“Tell them there is a leviathan in our path. It intends to stop us, but we will not be stopped. Use close formation and give Parma and his army maximum protection. That’s all.”
“Yes, admiral.” The little man scurried away.
“This is the greatest and most powerful fleet to ever sail the sea!” exclaimed Sidonia. “The English can not oppose us, so they send a black beast. Well, a beast can not stop us either.”
He looked at the beast swimming before them, then at De Sosa’s bleeding side wound. This was an English trick of some kind he was sure of it.
• • •
Castillo had been playing his psychological mind game with the Spanish fleet for about a half hour.
“It’s working, sir. They’re tightening their formation,” said Tanaka.
Anderson turned and said, “Smitty and Safir just fired a water slug from tube one, sir.”
There was whooping and high fives all over the control room.
“A water slug?” asked Lambert.
“It’s the final operational check,” said Castillo. “If they can fire a water slug, they can fire a torpedo.”
“Ah ha!”
“Okay, Mr. An
derson. Load tube one. I want a warload!”
“Aye, sir. Loading tube one!”
Castillo passed on the good news to Admiral Drake, then began to look at all the available targets in front of them. “I think we should try for the large one in the second row with the red cross on the mainsail.”
“How about the one to the left of it?” said Tanaka. “I think that one’s a flagship. Look at the banners. And look at the coat of arms on the side of the sterncastle. I think it carries someone important.”
“Okay, designate that Sierra 1. Bud, can you get a distance and bearing on him with radar?”
“I think so, sir,” said Bud Unger. He looked at his radar display, then at the view screen then at his display again. After several back and forths between the two he finally announced, “Distance to Sierra 1 is 1.42 miles and bearing is 192 relative.”
“Good enough,” replied Anderson. “It’s going to need wire guidance the whole way in. I’ll program a course into it and program it to detonate after it runs the distance. We should get pretty close.”
“Sounds good.”
“Tube one loaded, sir,” said Anderson. “And…” He clicked several computer keys. “…uh…programmed!”
“Very good!” Castillo cast a glance at Lambert. “Fire one!”
“Firing one,” intoned Anderson.
There was a slight thump. “One away!” said a weapons watchstander.
On the view screen they saw the faint white wake of a Mark 48 torpedo beneath the water’s surface as it streaked away from the ship.
• • •
Sidonia kept watching the black beast swimming before them. He was hoping to get close enough to bring his bow guns to bear. They were small rail mounted guns but they could deliver a sting. But the creature seemed to be keeping a steady distance between it and the fleet, just out of gun range. As long as it keeps moving away from us, it won’t be a problem, thought Sidonia. If it so much as shows…
WHOOMP!
A monstrous dome of angry white water rose next to his ship. It grew larger and larger until it touched five ships. Sidonia’s ship rolled onto its side as if some enormous wind gust had pushed it over. Sidonia reached out and gripped a halyard tightly so as not to be thrown into the water. Several crewmen fell past him and smacked the surface of the water. There was a booming crack, then a series of popings and ripping noises. Sidonia kept waiting for the ship to right itself, but when he looked across the water, he knew it would never happen. He was looking at the stern of his magnificent ship, San Martin. It had no bow attached to it. It righted itself and floated upright with soaked men still hanging to the lines off the sides of it. Where the bow should be was jagged deck boards and bizarre broken hull planks. Some invisible giant had broken San Martin’s back and then rent it in two!
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