Both the ships were heavier now. Behind them Matt saw that Nerracca was horrifyingly low in the water. All of her masts and sails were aflame, as was virtually everything on or above her main deck from stem to stern. The only people escaping now came from the bays low on her hull. Even that couldn’t last much longer. Soon they would be underwater.
«Four knots!» Kutas yelled shrilly over the roar of the tortured blower and the rattling cacophony of the exhausted ship. Several falling shells struck Nerracca simultaneously and rocked the hulk with what seemed like a single massive detonation. One shell went long and exploded just off Walker’s starboard bow. Matt, Safir, and Bernie Sandison were all knocked off their feet by the concussion, and fragments sleeted into the side of the bridge and the splinter shield on the number one gun. Leo Davis went sprawling and two of the Lemurian loaders were swept away.
Then, as those on the bridge gained their feet, they were hurled backward against the chart house and Walker erupted forward like a racehorse from the gate. Matt staggered up, climbing the conduits on the bulkhead. Reynolds was dously ctly 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 impedo 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 somet. 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!» Gnd 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, however, 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
