pronounced starboard list. A heavy secondary explosion sent debris and smoke high in the air.
The salvo buzzer rang. Wham!
They couldn’t worry about Exeter now. Waterspouts were rising around Walker again, and there was another loud noise somewhere aft.
“Damage report!”
Ellis’s voice came over the intercom. “Nothing serious, Skipper. A new hole in the aft funnel. The shell didn’t explode. It must’ve been armor-piercing-and it’s not as if we have any armor.”
Raaaaa! Wham! Cheers erupted from fire control when a big explosion rocked a Japanese destroyer. It veered hard out of formation, smoke obscuring the bridge. The other two enemy destroyers finally broke off their attack and retreated behind a smoke screen of their own, toward the protection of the remorselessly approaching cruisers.
“Skipper.” The grim voice was Riggs. “Signal from Exeter to all ships. Captain Gordon says thanks for the help, but he’ll take it from here.” Matt strode to the port bridgewing and stared at the once-handsome ship that had seen so much action in this war before the United States was even involved. She’d hounded the Graf Spee to her doom, but past glory meant nothing now. Lifeboats were in the water and men were going over the side. He took a deep breath.
“Acknowledge. And send, ‘Good luck, Exeter. God bless.’”
Shells still pummeled the helpless cruiser as Walker, last in line, sped impotently by. Matt slapped the rail in frustration. “God help them,” he muttered. God help us, he added to himself. Another huge explosion convulsed Exeter, and she rapidly rolled over onto the boats and men in the water. He could see the red paint of her bottom come up on the far side as her superstructure disappeared into the sea. And still the shells fell. The number one gun was silent now, no longer able to bear on their pursuers, and he saw the grim expressions of its crew as they watched Exeter go down.
“Skipper…” It was Riggs. “Signal from Pope. She says to resume line abreast and continue making smoke. She also wants to know if we can increase speed.”
“Acknowledge, and tell her we’ll try.”
The next hours were like a feverish nightmare. They gained some distance on the cruisers, but they never moved completely out of range. Periodic savage salvos churned the sea around them, and all the destroyers were damaged, mostly by near misses. An eight-inch shell detonating close aboard made a hell of a concussion and Walker’s riveted seams leaked in a dozen places. More enemy aircraft arrived, and they finally cut the smoke, figuring it just made them easier to spot from the air. Only fighters had appeared so far, but they were carrier planes and they strafed the lonely ships repeatedly. They soon decided to wait for the bombers and cruisers to finish the job after one of their number fell to the destroyers’ machine guns. It narrowly missed Mahan as it plunged into the sea.
A few tantalizing squalls marched across the horizon, but it seemed they could never reach them. Matt vigorously rubbed his eyes and looked at his exhausted bridge crew and their haunted expressions. The trauma of watching Exeter’s destruction-the most powerful member of their group-had etched itself on their faces, and he knew they believed it was only a matter of time before they all met a similar fate. One by one.
Encounter’s turn came next, and with appalling suddenness. Another ranging salvo of eight-inch shells screeched in, the sun glinting off the projectiles in flight. Geysers of spume marched across the sea-and across the British destroyer. In the blink of an eye, for all intents and purposes, she was gone. When the spray cleared, all that remained was twisted wreckage, already awash, and a few men scurrying about on the buckled deck, throwing anything that would float into the sea. The three tired grey-hounds raced on. There was nothing they could do. Matt knew it on a rational level, but deep down he felt an overwhelming sense of shame. His jaw muscles tensed, and he ground his teeth as he forced himself to watch what was left of Encounter slip farther and farther astern. Chief Gray stood beside him, watching too.
“I’m getting sick of leaving people behind,” he growled.
Matt nodded. “It could just as easily have been us. And we wouldn’t want them hanging around to get slaughtered picking us up.” The Bosun shook his head, but Matt would have sworn there was a damp sheen in his eyes.
“With your permission, sir, I’ll see if Spanky and his snipes need a hand with anything, like patching holes, or keeping the screws from falling off.” Matt felt the corners of his mouth twitch upward by themselves. Gray must really be frustrated if he was willing to descend below his holy deck and help engineering do anything. He shrugged at his captain’s look. “Hell, Skipper, if they sink the bottom half of the old girl, the top half goes too.”
“That’s true, Boats, but Spanky’s keeping up with the problems below for now, and I’d rather have you up here to direct damage control for the deck divisions if need be.”
“Yes, sir.”
Rogers’s voice piped down from above. He was still in the crow’s nest, where he’d been almost all day. “Skipper, there’s a promising cloud off the starboard bow. Looks like it’s working up to rain pretty good.” Matt raised his binoculars.
“Sir, signal from Pope,” supplied Riggs. “Make for the squall.”
“Acknowledge. Helm, right ten.”
The cloud hung before them, growing darker by the moment. A new flurry of enemy shells kicked up spray as their pursuers noticed their course change.
“Jap planes! Bombers! Six o’clock high!” came the shout from the crow’s nest. “Three pairs of ’em! I thought they were those observation planes, but they’re comin’ right in!”
Almost immediately, there came the thump thump thump of the little three-inch gun on the stern, throwing up shells in the path of the oncoming planes. Matt craned his neck upward and saw them, dark specks growing larger fast. Two angled for Walker through the small black puffs of smoke. He looked toward the cloud and saw it had started to rain. Harder and harder it fell, only a couple of miles away. They’d never make it. He looked at the planes, trying to judge their angle of attack and praying he could predict their release point. “Steady as you go, helm!” he ordered tersely. “Make them think we’re easy.” He waited. He couldn’t see the furtive glances exchanged around him. Wait. Wait! NOW!
“Left full rudder! All ahead flank!”
Walker heeled so sharply it was difficult to stand, and she surged forward with an audible groan. Two small objects detached themselves from the pair of descending planes. They grew rapidly larger until it seemed they’d fall right on the ship. Two thunderous explosions ripped the sea less than a hundred yards off the starboard beam and fragments spanged against Walker’s side. The heavy bellow of the. 50-cals and the lighter clatter of the. 30s sent tracers chasing the fat-bodied dive bombers as they pulled out and thundered away. Their ungainly fixed landing gear seemed only inches above the water. Glaring red circles clearly contrasted with the white-painted wings.
“Damage report!”
The machine guns stuttered to a stop as the planes flew out of range.
“Just some scratches in the boot topping.”
“How about the other ships?” Matt asked, looking for himself. They seemed okay as each emerged from the spray of bomb splashes.
The squall was closer. Still at flank speed, Walker strained with every aged fiber to reach the camouflaging shroud of the torrent ahead. To starboard, Mahan labored to keep up. Farther away, her interval doubled since the loss of Encounter, Pope blurred as she dove into the opaque wall of rain.
The bombers were re-forming and Matt urged his ship forward as she stretched her tired legs. Suddenly the bow disappeared as it parted the edge of the storm, and within seconds the windows were blanked out and a heavy drumming sound came from the deck above. Water coursed onto the open quarterdeck behind them, and small smiles of relief formed on several faces.
“Secure from flank, all ahead two-thirds. Come left ten degrees. The Japs can’t see us, but neither can our sisters. Let’s put some space between us.”
“Jesus,” muttered Sandison, and dabbed sweat from his face with his sleeve.
Lieutenant Garrett, along with the rest of the fire-control team, was soaked to the bone and water poured off his helmet, obscuring his view. No one had any idea where their consorts were. They’d altered course several times to accomplish the dual necessity of staying within the squall and continuing in a general direction away from the enemy. Garrett and his division did their best, straining their eyes to spot another ship or warn about upcoming
