Maelstrom (49 page)

“Commander Okada does not approve the destruction of His Majesty’s enemies?” he mocked. Sato turned to him, expression hooded. But before he spoke, something deep inside him snapped and he stiffened to attention.

“On the contrary, Captain. But I remain unconvinced the American destroyer represents His Majesty’s chief enemy in this world.” He looked pointedly at Kurokawa. “We are about to waste ammunition, lives, and possibly an opportunity as well.” Sato knew he’d said too much, and was fully aware of the consequences, but he couldn’t stop himself. He no longer would, even if he could. Following his revenge-maddened captain’s orders was one thing, but by doing so he was aiding the loathsome Grik. That made him feel loathsome too, and his honor was stained beyond any effort to cleanse it. “Sir, the emperor’s greatest enemy in this world can only be the Grik, and you are their tool.”

“You are relieved!” screeched Captain Kurokawa. “Place yourself under arrest and await punishment!” Sato only nodded. Suddenly the deck shuddered under his feet and there was a loud explosion from below, in the flag bridge. A sheet of fire enveloped the windows for an instant, and then it was gone.

“Commence firing!” the captain shrieked, then turned back to look at Sato. “Another blow to avenge, and all because of you! Your American friends are not restrained by
your
doubts, I see.” Sato did not even challenge the ridiculous statement. He turned to leave the bridge.

“Wait! Fetch your American pet and bring him here! It might amuse him to watch the destruction of the last of his people on this world, and it’s only fitting you should see it together—since you will share his fate!”

Kurokawa’s sweaty, feverish face was illuminated by the flash from
Amagi
’s first salvo in response to the American fire.

“Looks like
Walker
’s starting her show,” Alden gasped. Then he coughed and hacked for a moment before spitting. Bright flashes of fire and crisscrossing tracers seared the darkness of the bay. Based on positions, and the relative weight of fire, there was no question who was shooting at whom.
Amagi
’s forward searchlight winked on and, a mere instant later, died in a spray of sparks and a brief snap of yellow light. Other sharp flashes quickly followed in the same vicinity.
Walker
must be shooting for
Amagi
’s bridge, Pete guessed.

“I think the Grik are almost ready too,” Chack warned. He pointed across the battlefield to the south. The ground in front of them was covered with dead Grik, and the moat before the wall was so packed with their bodies, the attackers could run straight across without even touching water. The sharpened stakes and other obstacles were so choked with corpses they’d lost most of their effectiveness. Small fires from burning brush and garments cast an eerie red glow upon the scene. A larger fire near the trees, where one of the big Grik bomb throwers was destroyed by a mortar, illuminated the seething mass of enemies beyond. It was impossible to guess how many there were, but it was apparent they’d been heavily reinforced.

“They’ve called up the last of their reserves,” Chack speculated. His usually good English was difficult to understand because his lips were swollen and bloody. His fur was dark with sticky, half-dried blood, and he was limping from a slash on his leg. “After that last attack, they must believe one more heavy thrust must break our line.”

“They’ve pulled out all the stops,” Alden agreed. “And it might just work, because we have too. There’s nothing left on the north and east walls. Everything’s either here or down at the waterfront. The waterfront has bigger guns and more troops, but they’re too spread out. It’s tough going down there.”

“Here as well.”

Alden looked at him. “Listen. I don’t know what those lizards use for brains, but if it were me, I’d pile as much as I could against a short section of wall, with just enough everywhere else to hold the defenders in place. If they do that, my guess is we’ll crack wide-open. I want you to take personal command of the rifle company, and stand ready to hammer them back if they force a breach. Use the B’mbaadans too. Rifles are great for distance work, but up close you’re going to need swords to back you up.”

“My place is in the line with my Marines,” Chack protested.

Alden suppressed a sad smile. “The rifles are your Marines too. I need someone I trust, who’ll wait till they’re needed, but won’t wait too long.” He paused. “I also need someone who’ll keep his head, and knows when it
is
too late. If that occurs, pull back immediately. If they knock down the whole line, save what you can and fall back on the hospital. You’ll be in command of the rear guard, as well as the effort to evacuate into the jungle. Is that understood?”

Chack blinked furiously. “You ask too much! To leave my Homes, my people . . .”

“I’m not asking shit!” Alden snarled. “I’m
telling
you what you
will
do! The only thing I’m
asking
is if you understand your duty.”

Chack slowly nodded. In the distance the raucous horns began to blare. The terrible thrumming sound continued to build until it seemed like thousands of them this time. The thunderous rumble of the shields rivaled even the nearby guns. Across the field in the flickering light, the Grik began to move.

Then, from nearby, a low moan was heard that seemed to have nothing to do with the approaching horde. Pete quickly looked in the direction many heads had turned. On the bay, considerably farther to the north now, a rising ball of fiery black smoke roiled into the air, briefly illuminating the stricken destroyer beneath it.

“Oh, my God,” Alden breathed. “
Walker
. . .”

“Damage report!” Matt bellowed, picking himself up off the deck. He already knew it was bad. He’d felt the heat of the blast, the ship physically yanked from under his feet. Already her speed was bleeding away. Throughout her sortie against the mammoth battle cruiser,
Walker
had seemed charmed. Salvo after salvo of her armor-piercing four-inch-fifties slammed home with telling effect, each shell blessed, kissed, or sent with a hateful curse.
Amagi
’s gunnery went wild, and Matt guessed they must’ve taken out her forward fire control. A few shell fragments from near misses, and some light antiaircraft fire was all the damage the destroyer received in return, in spite of the blizzard of five-and-a-half-inch shells thrashing the water all around her. Taking advantage of this,
Walker
continued to punish her adversary for several minutes longer than Matt originally intended; he just couldn’t help himself. Reason finally clawed its way back into his consciousness, however, and finally, reluctantly, he gave the order to turn away.
Walker
raced up the bay toward the north inlet, making smoke.

By then, hidden in the darkness and her dense curtain of smoke,
Walker
had to have been invisible. The wind was still out of the south, and the man-made cloud spread, wafting around her. She’d ceased firing as soon as she turned, and all lights were out. Where she headed, there were no fires or lights to silhouette her, and overhead no moon betrayed her. It must have been just a lucky shot.

“All ahead flank!” Matt shouted as his ship slowed even further. A few shells continued falling, but the fire was desultory now.
They must think they got us
, he realized. Stepping around the chart house and looking aft, he could see why.
Walker
was afire from just behind the bridge to somewhere aft of the amidships deckhouse. The Japanese shell must have penetrated the fuel bunker they’d installed in place of the number one boiler, and blown burning oil all over the ship. Steam gushed from somewhere to rise and mix with the black, greasy smoke. Even as he watched, hoses began to play on the fires.

“Captain!” Reynolds called behind him. “Mr. McFarlane says the number two boiler took a direct hit, and the fuel bunker’s been punctured! There’s major flooding in the forward fireroom—he says it’s gone, Skipper—there’s nothing he can do. There’s also minor flooding in the aft fireroom he thinks he can keep under control.”

“We’re losing steam!”

“Yes, sir. The valve’s sprung. He can’t cut number two out of the main line from below. He’s going to have to do it topside, but the fire . . .”

“Right. Have the hoses concentrate on that area. We’ve got to have steam!”

Walker
slowly drifted to a stop while her crew battled the inferno amidships, and Matt kept expecting another flurry of shells to finish them. For some reason the final salvo never came, even though his ship was an easy target now, burning like a beacon in the night. “Don’t want to waste the shells,” he mused aloud, watching the Japanese ship once more. “That, or they hope we can keep her afloat and they’ll take her later at their leisure.”

Chief Gray clambered up the ladder onto the bridge. He was covered with soot, his thinning hair and beard curled by the heat of the fire. “We got problems, Skipper,” he said. Matt arched his eyebrows at the ridiculous statement. Gray realized what he’d said, and shrugged. “More problems. The fire main’s losing pressure, because we gotta have steam to run the pumps—which Spanky says we ain’t gonna get no steam till we can move the fire away from the topside cutoff—”

“Which we can’t do without steam for the pumps. I know. Do the best you can. If you can’t get to that valve, we can’t move.”

“Beggin’ your pardon, Skipper, but I bet if we even twitch, the Japs’ll pound hell out of us.”

“That may be, but we can’t just sit here like this.” He clenched his fists in frustration and paced. “How many did we lose?” he asked at last.

Gray shook his head. “I don’t know yet, Skipper. Most of the guys got off the amidships gun platform. That damn Silva deserves a medal. He even saved the machine guns. Got burned some, too. Wasn’t for him, a lot more woulda died. Other than that . . . we still have the comm, so we can talk, but the front of the ship’s completely cut off from the back as long as that fire’s burning. I just don’t know.”

“Captain . . . Mr. Garrett asks if he should resume firing. There are still a few AP shells left,” Reynolds said.

Matt shook his head, looking at the distant enemy ship. “Not just yet.” He cleared his throat. “Send a message to HQ. Tell them they’d better already be out of the Great Hall, because it’s about to be remodeled.”

Amagi
had stopped her advance, and now lay reflecting the fires and the glow of battle right in the middle of the bay. Several Grik ships were still nearby. One looked a little larger than the others. Maybe it was one of the white ones like Mallory had seen, Matt thought, as he watched
Amagi
’s main gun turrets train out to starboard. They fired.

Amagi
’s bridge was a shambles. The American gunnery had been remarkably accurate, and several shells impacted uncomfortably close. Two of the bridge officers were dead, and even Kurokawa was lightly wounded when a shell fragment slashed his scalp and severed the brim of his hat. Even so, for the first time since the Strange Storm that brought them here, Captain Kurokawa felt an immense sense of satisfaction course through him. The puny American destroyer responsible for all his aggravation was afire and dead in the water. He’d contemplated finishing her, but she was clearly doomed. He’d let them see the destruction he wrought on the folk they’d tried to protect. That traitor Sato was right about one thing:
Amagi
’s ammunition was limited. Better to use it on the city. He was aware the “flagship” had followed them in, and he had an important audience to please.

Without a word, Sato Okada returned to the bridge, escorting the bedraggled, bearded American officer. Kurokawa regarded them both in silent triumph as Kaufman crept unsteadily to the windows and gazed into the darkness at the fiercely burning destroyer. His frail frame convulsed suddenly, as a most unmanly sob escaped him.

“You may use the radio now, Commander Okada,” Kurokawa said in English. “Your American friends might appreciate an offer of unconditional surrender. The water will soon be rising, and without any boats . . .” He smiled, “A most unpleasant death, I should think.”

“Go to
hell
!” Kaufman snarled.

Kurokawa paused, as if a thought just came to him. “Of course, you deserve my thanks, Captain Kaufman. If not for your capture, and all the important things you’ve told us, I would never have even known about that destroyer. At least, not before this campaign began. That knowledge was what ultimately made me decide to help the Grik.” He looked keenly at the aviator. “Thank you.”

Kaufman would have gone for him then. It was as though, for the first time since he’d stepped aboard
Walker
in Surabaya, his wits had finally completely returned. Only a battered, empty shell of the man he’d been remained, but regardless of what the Grik and the Japanese had done to him, he knew Kurokawa was right. They’d broken him, and it hadn’t even been that hard. He was already broken when they got him. He
was
responsible. It
was
his fault. For an instant he stared at the Japanese captain, saw the mocking smile.

A hand like iron clasped his withered arm, restraining him before he could strike. It was Sato. Kaufman didn’t know what he’d have done: torn out Kurokawa’s throat with his teeth, he supposed. It didn’t really matter.

“No,” came a whispered voice in his ear. It was a voice of resignation, but it came from the only person who’d shown him any compassion at all. He stopped; then, realizing how easily he’d been restrained, he knew it was no use. He lowered his eyes in abject misery, and even above the sound of the crashing guns he heard Kurokawa’s thin laugh rise within the confines of the bridge.

Alan Letts heard the incoming rounds. He, O’Casey, and Nakja-Mur, as well as members of the command staff who hadn’t yet transferred to the secondary HQ, were preparing to descend the ladder from the lowest level of the Great Hall.