Carnifex

before seen such a frantic attempt to get as many aircraft into the air, as quickly, as he was witnessing now. As soon as a plane came up the elevator, a deck crew was manhandling it into position and sending it off. Pilots were lined up waiting for any bird to fly. Once, when an engine refused to start, the deck crew had unceremoniously dragged the protesting pilot out and pushed the thing over the side. Pilots, themselves, were boarding with small arms, an indicator that the planes were being thrown up either unarmed or so lightly armed that even a rifle could make a difference.

Robinson relaxed slightly when he saw the two trails of underwater torpedoes streaking from under the jungle layer which had hidden them. His spirits revived considerably with the appearance of a larger number of cruise missiles coming from the same jungle.

* * *

Abdul Aziz had, early on, thought that torpedoes and cruise missiles might be a useful adjunct to the Hoogaboom and its mission. Further reflection, however, had convinced him that the risk of detection, if placed aboard ship, was too great. This had not meant the idea was without merit, only that it needed further refinement.

Large torpedoes were out for a number of reasons, chief among these was that 'large' equaled both 'noticeable' and 'too heavy and bulky to transport and set up in the jungle along the straits.' There were, however, much smaller torpedoes available, from various Volgan crime syndicates, and for surprisingly little money. These torpedoes were not suitable for sinking a major warship, of course, but that wasn't their purpose. Rather, they were designed to home on engine noise to kill submarines. What would kill a submarine, Abdul thought, was likely to severely damage an AZIPOD.

This both torpedoes were trying to do, streaking under the water straight for the AZIPODs mounted at Dos Lindas' stern.

* * *

'Fish in the water! Fish in the water! Fuck! Fish in the water!'

Fosa heard the sonar man's announcement and dread filled his heart. Looking at the screen and seeing the torpedoes aligning themselves for a run at the propellers, he was about to give the command to kill power when radar screamed, 'Moonbats! Moonbats! Moonbats! Cruise missiles incoming . . . Raid count: three . . . no, four . . . ah, shit! Six! Skipper, Moonbats six, all quarters.'

'Surface Action, Port and Starboard,' Fosa ordered. 'Weapons free.'

There was a whining overhead and a sudden CRACK as the laser mounted above the tower engaged one of the cruise missiles. Two more, much more muted, CRACKs sounded as the fore and aft lasers likewise engaged. In the distance, and it was not nearly enough distance, two explosions that had to be in the half ton of TNT range, told that the lasers had scored, if imperfectly. There were still four cruise missiles incoming and the smoke, apparently, made engagement more than a little problematic.

Again, the defensive lasers fired. Again, only two hit, creating huge angry clouds of hot gas and flying metal. But there had been six missiles. There were still two . . . and there was no more time.

UEPF Spirit of Peace

'Fuck!' Robinson cursed as first two, then two more, of the Ikhwan's cruise missiles were destroyed. And then he saw a sight to gratify his heart as a massive explosion erupted on the ship's side, and another self detonated, so he thought, just above the tower atop the carrier. Within moments the ship's rear elevator, likewise, burst forth in smoke and fire. Atop the column of flame, Robinson thought he saw a helicopter being blasted upward.

'Take that, fuckers!'

Santisima Trinidad

The air was still heavily weighted with smoke from the shoreline fires. Pedraz scanned through it, as best he could, with the binoculars he carried as a matter of habit now. Sweeping his vision along the shoreline, Pedraz whispered, 'Nada. Just fucking nada.'

Even though the PTF was a few miles away from the Dos Lindas, the battle stations klaxon sounded clearly across the water. Then came the message from CIC to all escorts to expect attack by surface boats, probably suicide boats, and to close in on the flagship. Pedraz pulled on a set of headphones and then reached for the klaxon.

Before Pedraz could give the signal for battle stations a half dozen speedboats swarmed out from the banks of the strait. Clavell and Guptillo, manning the forward forty, engaged even without orders. Their first several shots missed, but then they were rewarded by a major blast as one of the speedboats simply disintegrated when a shell found what must have been a huge charge of explosive.

Cheering was cut short as, just off the port side, a flaming streak shot past, followed by another to starboard. The machine gunners, moving as quickly as their legs would carry them from wherever the call to battle stations had found them, were mostly too late to bring fire on the cruise missiles. Only one gun actually engaged, and it missed.

No time for orders, Pedraz took the con, himself, elbowing Frances out of the way. Pushing the throttle to maximum, he twisted the wheel to point the boat away from the shore and towards the threatened carrier. Clavell and Guptillo swung the forty around to engage another of the small boats but the Trinidad turned faster than they could traverse the gun.

No matter, by the time the Trinidad was headed toward the carrier, the rear machine gun crews were fighting desperately, causing the speedboats to have to maneuver to avoid being hit.

Pedraz thought, If nothing else, it buys time. Now if only  . . .

He saw a massive explosion between the Trinidad and the flagship. He was about to cheer when he saw another explosion, above the carrier, and then another near the stern. He wasn't sure it was the flagship being hit until he spotted the Yakamov helicopter being launched strait up, riding a column of fire and disintegrating as it flew.

'Oh, fuck.'

In his headphones, Pedraz heard, 'Skipper? Dorado. Sonar's got two fish in the water, running shallow.'

Bridge, Dos Lindas

The ship lurched, tossing to the deck everyone on the bridge not already seated and strapped in. None of the thick windows quite shattered, but every portside window there was cracked, along with most of those a-starboard. Even through the blurring of the cracks, even from flat on his ass, Fosa saw the abruptly launched Yakamov, streaking upward like a comet.

'Near miss . . . ah, Hell, call it a hit. Hit Alpha, island structure, zero-four level. Hit Bravo, hangar deck, starboard side aft. Fire on the hangar deck! Damage control parties away.'

A smoke- choked and shock-strained voice from somewhere below came over the speaker. 'There are no . . . damage control . . . parties near the . . . hit.'

'My Shshshiiippp!'

'Captain-san,' Kurita said, groggily, 'stay here and fight your ship. I will see to damage control.' With that, the nonagenarian struggled to his feet and left, seeking the epicenter of the damage.

'Fight my ship . . . fight my ship . . . FIGHT MY FUCKING SHIP!'

In those few seconds, Fosa understood a part of what Kurita had been trying to tell him before, about ships having spirits and souls, about them being alive. At least he understood this much, that his ship was more valuable to him than his own life and must be preserved, at all costs consistent with its own honor.

Can something with honor be without a soul?

Hands gripping a plotting table, Fosa pulled himself to his feet. He heard machine gun and light cannon fire from all around as the gun crews finally got to their battle stations and began engaging the speedboats. Range was long but it couldn't hurt to try. He'd expended something over a million rounds of ammunition in training. If they couldn't get some stinking jury-rigged speedboats, no one could. He'd counted the number of explosions from cruise missiles. There had been six launches and six explosions. If the enemy had had more missiles, they'd have launched more, he thought. What else threatens my ship?

'Report!'

'That one above us took out the radar, Captain. Before that I had no hostile aircraft, captain,' Radar said.

'Ours are still trying to organize out of cluster fuck mode, sir,' said the air boss.

Sonar announced, 'Skipper, I've still got two fish in the water, one each, port and starboard. Countermeasures are not, I repeat not, effective. First impact expected in seven minutes.'

Seven minutes . . . seven minutes . . . a whole lifetime can pass in seven minutes.

Fosa reached for the microphone. 'Escorts, this is