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 woug 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.
“Down!” Letts screamed, and for the next several moments there was nothing but the overwhelming sound and pressure of titanic detonations. The entire massive structure of the Great Hall sagged beneath them, and there was a terrific crash from above. Oil lamps fell from the walls and rolled away down the sloping floor. One came to rest beside a crumpled tapestry that once adorned the wall of the entrance chamber, and the beautifully woven fabric began to burn. In the eerie silence immediately following the salvo, a deep, rumbling groan could be heard.
Letts scrambled to his feet and looked quickly around. One of the runners had been crushed by a massive limb. It had fallen from the tree far above and crashed down through all three levels of the hall, driving him through the deck on which Alan stood with its jagged stump. The others rose shakily, but Nakja-Mur still lay sprawled. “Quickly!” he shouted at O’Casey. “We’ve got to get him out now! There may be only seconds before the next salvo!”
Between them and the staff members who’d gathered their wits, they managed to heave the High Chief through the opening and lower him quickly to the ground. By then Nakja-Mur was recovering his senses, and he looked around, blinking surprise. People were running in all directions, and the Great Hall no longer looked quite right. Flames leaped up from nearby structures, and over all there was a wailing, keening sound.
“Take his legs!” Alan yelled. O’Casey could only grab one, but there was plenty of help now. They ran as fast as they could toward the edge of the parade ground, while a sound like a roaring gale and tearing canvas descended upon them.
“Down!”
Even as they dropped, there came again the avalanche of deafening sound and mighty flashes of searing fire as the earth heaved into the sky.
Letts tried to stand, but fell to his knees, stunned by the proximity of the blast. He looked back. Somehow the Great Hall and Sacred Tree still stood, but the building was engulfed in flames. Any shells that actually struck it must have passed right through and detonated on the ground or against the tree itself. Flames licked up and across the huge sloping roof, clawing greedily at the branches above. Smoldering leaves and drifting ash descended all around. Up beyond the light of the fire where the tree disappeared into darkness, they could only just hear Naga’s plaintive, wailing chant.
“So now I see war as you are accustomed to it,” Nakja-Mur rasped beside him.
Letts glanced down and saw that the High Chief had risen to a sitting position. O’Casey just looked stunned. At least he’d acted, though.
“Nobody ever gets accustomedo it, div height='1em' width='1em'›“You all tried to tell me, but I never…” Nakja-Mur’s eyes reflected an expression almost of wonder. He looked back in the direction they’d come. “The Tree…!”
Letts motioned the others to grab him. “Never mind the tree! We have to keep moving away from it, in case they aren’t satisfied with their handiwork yet.”
“The Tree…”
The arrival of the wounded at the central hospital had slowed to a trickle. Not that there was any shortage of them, but with the sound of battle coming from everywhere now, Sandra knew more should be arriving, not less. She saw Courtney Bradford talking with one of the young runners, and she quickly finished bandaging an Aryaalan’s wounded shoulder and jogged over to where he stood.
“What is it? What’s happening?” she demanded. Bradford turned to her, and his face seemed pasty in the torchlight.
“It’s… it’s all going according to plan,” he repeated once more.
She glared at him. “It’s not!” she snarled. “It can’t possibly be! There are no more wounded coming in. Have the field hospitals been overrun?”
“No-no, that’s not it at all. Most of the wounded are returning to the fight, and those who cannot must remain where they are for now. The ambulance corps have gone to strengthen the walls.”
“But… how…” She stopped. “We’re losing then?”
“Not as you would say losing, precisely,” Bradford hedged.
“What were you and that messenger just talking about?”
“Um. Well, you see, I’ve been asked to send whoever can still wield a weapon up to the east wall. It’s not engaged-and probably won’t be,” he quickly added, “but they’ve taken everyone off it to reinforce those areas that are.” He stopped. “We’ve also been told to prepare to evacuate into the jungle if the word should come. If it does, we must move quickly.”
Sandra felt numb. “Is there any word of Walker, or… or Captain Reddy?” she asked quietly.
Bradford’s expression became even more strained, and he placed a hand on her shoulder. “ Walker is afire, my dear,” he said gently, “and dead in the water.” He gestured vaguely. “She gave a lovely account of herself but…” He shook his head. “The Japs aren’t even shooting at her anymore.”
Sandra could only stand and stare at him as hot tears came to her eyes. “Mr. Bradford,” she said very formally, voice brittle as glass, “would you be so kind as to cover for me here awhile?”
He gawked at her and then looked helplessly around. “Don’t be ridiculous! I don’t have the faintest idea-”
“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
