Maelstrom (51 page)

“My course zero eight zero,” announced the ’Cat after a few moments’ pause.

“God be with us,” whispered Jim, and then he spoke aloud: “You may fire your torpedo, Mr. Sandison.”

With a shudder they felt through the ship itself, and a muffled
whumpchuff!
, the MK-10 torpedo leaped into the air, surrounded by a shroud of smoke and steam. The fires of the city cast an angry red glare on the burnished metal body, and an instant later the weapon was swallowed by the choppy sea flowing beside the ship. A gush of bubbles rose to the surface, barely visible in the gloom, as the torpedo accelerated toward its target. Just like that, they’d cast the final die. Now all they could do was wait until they rolled to a stop to see what the numbers were.

“Ahead full. Left full rudder! We’ll wiggle around a little until we know whether they noticed the impulse charge.” As the ship came about, Jim moved to the port wing and raised his glasses. First he looked aft, making sure the sharp turn wasn’t too much for the launch to follow; then he looked to
Amagi
as she appeared aft, beyond the funnels.

“Rudder amidships!” he called.
Amagi
was still clearly outlined, still busy with her terrible work. She’d taken no notice of what transpired to port. Jim focused the glasses more carefully, then clenched them in his hands.

“No!” he moaned. A Grik ship was slowly creeping up alongside
Amagi
, the black outline of its masts and sails beginning to obscure the stern of the Japanese ship. “How deep is that fish?” he shouted across the pilothouse. Sandison looked up in alarm and raced to his side.

“Ten feet, more or less.”

“Shit!”
Everyone on the bridge was startled by Ellis’s uncharacteristic profanity.

“What?” Bernie asked, then he saw it too. The Grik ship was almost directly abeam of
Amagi
now. “Maybe it’ll pass under?” he said anxiously.

“Not a chance!
Revenge
drew thirteen feet, and they’re all about the same!” Jim didn’t stop to consider that, without her guns, the captured ship had drawn only slightly less than nine feet of water. The ship between
Amagi
and the torpedo was packed with hundreds of warriors, however. In the end, it didn’t make any difference. A brightly luminescent column of water snapped the Grik vessel in half, lifting the stern high in the air. The bow section was already half-submerged when the shattered stern crashed down upon it. A loud, muffled
boom
reached them across the distance, almost drowned by
Amagi
’s next salvo. Jim turned to the helmsman and snarled: “Come about!”

Salissa
was dying. All her tripod masts were down, and the pagodalike dwellings within them were a shambles. Fires raged unchecked in several portions of the ship, and only a few guns continued to belch defiance at the enemy. She’d been flooded heavily down so she might avoid major damage below the waterline, but she’d sunk much lower than intended now. Occasionally Keje felt her hull grinding against the bottom as the outgoing tide slowly dragged her across it. Before long she would truly rest on the bottom, one way or another, and the way things were going, there’d be no one left to pump her out.

Keje was sitting on his beloved wooden stool, which someone had brought to him when an enormous splinter of wood slashed his leg. He was still on the rampart—what was left of it—and expected that he had only minutes to live. The Grik had made no real attempt to board
Big Sal
as yet; they were too preoccupied trying to break through the wall, and it even looked like they’d succeeded at a couple of points.
Amagi
had made that possible by knocking the wall flat. Somehow the Jaaps must have known they’d been successful and the ensuing salvos were only slaughtering their allies. That was when the mighty guns became devoted to demolishing Keje’s Home.

Keje had never seen
Amagi
before this night, and he’d been simply incapable of imagining her power. He knew the Amer-i-caans were afraid of her, and that had given him pause. Because of that he’d known, intellectually, that the Japanese ship was a threat. But deep down, he realized now, he’d really had no idea. They’d been fools to stay and try to resist it! Fools. Cap-i-taan Reddy tried to warn them—to explain what they faced. But he’d been willing to stay and fight, and that had given them heart. Surely it couldn’t be that bad? Keje now knew it was. He’d stayed out of pride and disbelieving ignorance. Friendship too, and a sense of duty to his people, but mostly because he hadn’t truly known.

Alone, perhaps, among all the People now engaged in this apparently losing fight, Cap-i-taan Reddy and his Amer-i-caans had truly
known
what they faced. But instead of running, they’d elected to stay and defend their ignorant friends. Now, just as
Salissa
Home lay helpless under
Amagi
’s onslaught,
Walker
lay helpless and burning out in the bay. Keje had no idea what had happened to
Mahan
, but he suspected the explosion beyond
Amagi
was probably the result of the weapon she’d been sent to deploy. If that was the case, all was truly lost, and he felt a terrible grief for his friends and his people. Some might get away through the jungle to the east, and perhaps
Mahan
might yet escape. But for
Salissa
and her little sister
Walker
, who’d come to her aid so long ago, Keje was convinced this would be their final fight. Fire blossomed once more from end to end of the massive enemy ship, and he listened to the shells approach. A sudden calm overcame him. At least he’d die with his ship. He hoped the souls of the destroyermen would find their way to wherever it was they belonged, but he also hoped he’d be able to thank them first—and tell them farewell.

“Lookout reports . . . some kind of explosion west of
Amagi
!” Reynolds cried. “He said something took out one of the Grik ships on that side. Maybe a loose mine,” he speculated hopefully.

Matt closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He knew instinctively that the explosion had been no mine. It was too coincidental and the setup too perfect. He was convinced
Mahan
had made her attack and the Grik ship blundered into the torpedo’s path.

“Any reaction from the Japs?”

“No, sir. A searchlight came on for a few seconds and scanned the water close aboard; then it went out.
They
must think it was a mine.” Like all of them, Reynolds didn’t want to admit their last chance was gone. Then he stiffened, listening to his headset. “We got steam!” he suddenly shouted excitedly. “Spanky—I mean Mr. McFarlane—just reported that they finally managed to make their way to the valve and shut it off! Steam pressure’s coming up, and so’s the water pressure in the mains!”

“What’s the steam pressure?”

“Eighty-five, sir, but coming up fast.”

“Very well. What’s the status on the amidships guns?”

“Unknown, Skipper. It’s still too hot to get up there. None of the ammunition’s cooked off, though, so the damage may not be too bad.”

“Very well. Ask Spanky to report when he’s ready to move.”

Thirty minutes later Reynolds announced: “Pressure’s up to a hundred and ten. We can move, but just don’t goose her . . . Lieutenant McFarlane says.”

“Right full rudder, starboard engine ahead slow, port, slow astern,” Matt commanded by way of response. “If the Japs are still looking at us, let’s make ’em think we’re just floating in circles,” he explained.

Chief Gray reappeared on the bridge, looking even worse than before. This time his hands were bundled in rags, and he raised them up and shrugged when he caught the captain’s glance. “Damn valve wheel was hot.”
Walker
groaned beneath their feet as she began her turn. “You asked for a casualty report,” he said, and Matt nodded. “Four men and nine ’Cats dead. Most of the ’Cats were in the forward fireroom. There’re also eleven more with major and minor burns. Some real minor, countin’ me.”

“The men?”

Gray let out a breath. “Mertz, Elden, Hobbs, and Yarbrough. Mertz was tryin’ to make sandwiches for us.” He snorted. “The galley’s wrecked again and the refrigerator too, this time.”

“Where was Lanier?”

“In the head. That must be his battle station.”

Matt nodded sadly. The list was likely to get longer soon. He watched as the bow slowly came around. He could see
Amagi
now, dark and malignant. The flashes of her guns left bright red blobs across his vision. A new fire burned fiercely near the dock, and he could see the battle cruiser had turned her wrath on
Big Sal
. He felt a white-hot fist clutch his chest. “Left standard rudder. All ahead full! Gunners to the amidships platform, if they’re able. Torpedo mount number one, prepare to fire impulse charges! Maybe that’ll shake them up!”

Walker
heaved against the unaccustomed weight of the flooded fireroom, but sluggishly she gathered speed. The heat from aft began to ease, now that they were steering into the wind, and a refreshing breeze circulated inside the pilothouse, scouring away the acrid smoke. Matt looked at Chief Gray, standing beside him. Both knew this was the end, but there was nothing left for them.

Gray grinned. “It’s been an honor, Skipper. A
strange
honor, but . . .” He shrugged. “I always knew we’d make an Asiatic Fleet destroyerman out of you, and we damn sure did.”

“Thanks, Chief.” Matt smiled. Then he raised his voice so the rest could hear. “Thank you all.” He turned. “Reynolds, inform Mr. Garrett he may comm . . .” He stopped, looking out across the fo’c’sle. A blizzard of fire and tracers suddenly arced out into the night from
Amagi
’s port-side secondary armament. The Japanese must have spotted
Mahan
. Maybe Jim had made the same decision he had. “Commence firing!”

The salvo buzzer rang, but there was only a single report, and a lone tracer arced toward the enemy from the number one gun. They were almost bow-on to
Amagi
, and just like during their first meeting, if
Walker
could get close enough, there was little the Japanese could engage her with from that angle. Some of the heavy antiaircraft emplacements situated high on the superstructure could tear them apart, but so far they were silent. Perhaps they’d been hit during the earlier fight? The ten-inch guns were still trained to starboard, but for the moment they weren’t firing. Just about everything on the port side was, however, and there were a series of explosions in the sea much closer to
Amagi
than they’d expected.

“Send a final signal to HQ. Tell them . . .” In his mind Matt saw an image of Sandra Tucker: her sad, pretty face looking up into his as he held her in his arms, tears reflecting the lights of the city that now lay in flaming ruin off the port bow. He shuddered at the thought of all the promise that was lost. He hoped Alan and Karen would survive, and somehow find happiness. “Tell our friends we love them all. God bless.”

Walker
’s deck rumbled as she increased speed, and the buzzer rang again.
Amagi
’s foremost turret had begun to traverse in their direction.
Wham!
The number one gun was rewarded with an impact near the enemy’s bridge. One of
Amagi
’s port-side searchlights flickered on again, and the beam stabbed down at the water. Matt was amazed to see
Mahan
’s riddled, smoking form illuminated less than four hundred yards from the Japanese ship. Incredibly, a tongue of fire spat from the gun on her exposed foredeck. An almost panicky fusillade churned the sea around the old four-stacker, but few shells were hitting her now. The unsuspected second destroyer had appeared so shockingly close, the gunners were taken completely by surprise. If she could make it just a little farther, she’d be beneath all but
Amagi
’s highest guns. If there was a single blessing in all this, powerful as she was,
Amagi
hadn’t been designed for a knife fight.

Mahan
was low by the bow, and smoke gushed from a hundred wounds. Her bridge was a gutted wreck, and yet some hand must still be guiding her, because she forged relentlessly ahead, unerringly aimed at
Amagi
’s side. Matt turned his attention back to the battle cruiser. In that instant the sky lit up in front of him, and
Walker
was tossed into the air like a dog would toss a stick. She came back down with a sickening lurch, and a towering column of water cascaded down upon the foredeck. There was another brilliant flash, and the next thing Matt knew he was facedown on the wooden strakes of the pilothouse, covered with broken glass.

His nose felt as if it had been pushed inside his face, and his lips were hot with the taste of blood. He struggled to his feet and shook his head. His hearing was totally gone except for a high-pitched, ringing buzz that sounded just like the salvo alarm. He couldn’t focus his vision through the smoke filling the pilothouse and the tears in his eyes. For a moment he thought he was alone, because there was no movement whatsoever around him. Wiping desperately at his face with a suddenly dark and tattered sleeve, he finally saw Norman Kutas trying to rise and resume his post at the wheel. Kutas had blood running from his ears. Matt helped him up, and saw his mouth moving in the flickering light, but couldn’t hear what he said. He glanced behind him and saw Reynolds was up, but dazed. Gray was sitting on the deck beside the unmoving form of a ’Cat. Two other men were still down as well. Matt looked through the window.

They were much closer to
Amagi
now. They’d made it under her main battery—which simply couldn’t depress enough to fire at
Walker
anymore. They were still racing through a forest of smaller splashes from
Amagi
’s secondaries, however. Matt felt the staccato drumming as tracers probed for
Walker
’s bridge. He wondered why the number one gun was no longer firing and looked down at the fo’c’sle. A long, deep gouge began near the small anchor crane forward, and sprouted into a gaping, jagged hole just in front of the gun. One ’Cat was crawling around on her hands and knees, but the rest of the crew was just . . . gone. Then he saw Dennis Silva’s unmistakable form, closely followed by another man and two ’Cats, dash through the sleeting tracers and duck behind the dubious protection of the gun’s splinter shield. Each had a pair of shells under their arms.