if an enemy shot had torn his ship from beam to beam. “What the hell?” he murmured, noticing his mouth wasn’t moving exactly right. Hot blood started getting in his suddenly watery eyes.
“We hit bad,” Niaal said, blinking concern.
“How bad?”
“I still waiting on report from the carpenter, but we take maybe six hits that time. Prob’ly bad enough!”
Wet, grimy, coughing ’Cats scampered up on deck from below, followed by a gush of gray-black smoke and the first tongues of flame. Jim Ellis quickly came to his senses and realized Niaal might not have all of his. He grabbed the ’Cat and shook him.
“Get all the ready charges over the side right damn now!” he said. He felt like he was mumbling, and his words sounded weird. “Flood the magazine!”
“Maag-a-zine already flood!” shouted the blood-streaked gunnery officer. “Shot punch right through. Another knock hole in fuel bunker. We sink or burn, but not blow up!”
“I already order ready charges over,” Niaal assured him. “Boilers are secure, an’ we venting steam.”
“But… if we can’t move, we’ll be sitting ducks!” Jim managed. He looked at the gunnery officer. “And why aren’t you at your post?”
The ’Cat shrugged and pointed up and forward. The mainmast was gone. All that stood amidships was the shot-perforated, steam-gushing stack.
“My post gone, Commodore. I fall out, land on longboat cover in the waist! Lucky!”
“But… well, we are sittin’ ducks,” Jim said. Longer tongues of flame flailed from below, while ’Cats shoveled sand down the companionway from barrels that stood nearby. The ship was nearly dead in the water, her flooding carcass moving only slightly under the foremast sails.
“You gotta sit, Commodore,” Niaal said. “You bleeding-an’ I think you jaw is broke.” The Lemurian was easing Jim aft, toward the skylight above the great cabin/wardroom. He cried for the surgeon- Again, Jim thought. The carpenter appeared, also soaked and grimy. Jim saw him, but darkness was creeping in around his field of view. He felt the hard, raised sill around the skylight under his butt and heard an excited, grim exchange, but the words didn’t make any sense.
“ Haakar-Faask is coming alongside to take us off, Commodore,” Niaal said, breaking through the gathering haze with a gentle shake. “We’re going to lose the ship, sir. Nothing we can do. Clark and Felts are taking the survivors off Davis now. She’s goin’ down fast.”
“Dammit!” Jim managed to shout. “Then they’ll be sitting ducks too!”
The gunnery officer looked at Niaal. The commodore had missed a lot.
“Sure, but…” Niaal nodded northwest. Jim slowly followed his gaze. The Grik line, the five dreadnaughts and two armored frigates that remained, were already past Jim’s shattered, almost-stationary division, steaming west- northwest. “Ahd-mi-raal Keje’s bringin’ up Big Sal, Commodore, an’ them Griks think they got a bigger duck just sittin’. She gonna sit on their damn heads, I figger.” He looked at Jim with a new flurry of concerned blinks. “Sur, we got the fire under control-most of the bunkers underwater now-but Dowden ’s gonna sink. Surgeon’s dead, an’ we gotta get you over to Haakar-Faask! Sur? Commodore!”
Taylor Anderson
Iron Gray Sea — 07
CHAPTER 27
USS Walker
South China Sea
1240
There was no question about it; that was Hidoiame and her tanker up ahead-unless there was more than one Kagero-class destroyer and accompanying oiler loose in these seas. I don’t even want to think about that, Matt told himself. Both ships were clearly visible to the crow’s-nest lookout when Walker climbed atop the taller swells. All the lookouts had been studying the silhouette drawings they’d been given, and the keen-eyed watcher in the uncomfortable steel bucket high on the foremast was positive.
“I guess she hasn’t got radar after all,” Matt mumbled. “That, or maybe Okada knocked it out.” He’d been worried about radar. No Japanese ships had it when they’d met before, but it existed. The cruiser USS Boise had it-and took it with her when she was damaged and ordered out of the area, leaving no other radar in the entire Asiatic Fleet either. Aircraft had been the only way to spot distant targets-and only the Japanese had aircraft by then. Here, these Japanese had no aircraft, but those at Matt’s disposal couldn’t fly in this weather. Time had passed “back home,” however, and who knew what kind of ugly surprises Hidoiame concealed?
“What makes you so sure, Skipper?”
“No reaction yet. With radar, they might’ve just avoided us.”
“I don’t think so, Skipper,” Gray said. “Radar can’t be much good in this sea, and now we’ve spotted ’em, that tanker damn sure can’t avoid us.”
Matt nodded. “I guess you’re right. Then the question now is, Do they see us yet, radar or not, and if they do, are they just trying to sucker us in?”
It was raining again, and the pilothouse windows were practically opaque. Matt walked out on the bridgewing and looked through his binoculars until the spray clouded them as well. He caught only glimpses of the enemy and quickly stepped back under cover. A damp towel was draped over the back of his chair, and he used it again to wipe the binoculars and dry his face. His hat and clothes were soaked. At least I can get out of it, he thought. The guys on deck at their battle stations or on the fire-control platform are probably miserable.
“Their lookouts’ll have to see us soon.”
“Range, fifteen-t’ousands!” Minnie cried. “They do see us! Lookout says the Jaap tin caan is turning this way!”
Matt gestured for her to hand him the microphone headset. “Mr. Campeti, this is the captain speaking.”
“This is Campeti.”
Normally, Matt might have just stood on the bridgewing and shouted his question up at the man, but with the rain and wind…
“Those Jap five-incher’s have about the same range our new ammo’s supposed to have, right?”
“Yes, sir, but they got advantages and disadvantages.”
“Advantages?”
“They throw a heavier shell, high explosive-and their gun’s crews’ll stay dry in those enclosed mounts.”
“That’s it?”
“Well, chances are, they’ve got better fire control. Otherwise, we’ve got the edge in rate of fire and maybe fire correction.”
“Why?”
“Those five-incher’s are bag guns. They gotta ram the projectile, then the powder bag, and they have to change elevation to do it. They’re fast, don’t get me wrong-we’ve seen ’em-but we should get off four or five more rounds per minute than they can-until the ready lockers run dry. It’ll even up when we have to start passing ammo from below by hand.”
Matt considered. “Okay, Sonny. How close do you want ’em?”
“We should be in range now, but with this sea… I’d feel more confident at ten thousand, and that would still keep us out of range of their twenty-fives. Course, we’re already technically in range of their five-inchers.”
Matt nodded, though Campeti couldn’t see it. He had a hunch that the Japanese captain would be frugal with his ammunition. According to Okada’s cook, Hidoiame had seen action before she crossed over, and then she’d used ammunition on Mizuki Maru and the other ships she’d murdered. Her bunkers might be full for now, with that tanker she had along, but her magazines could be seriously depleted. Walker could always get more ammunition.
“Range is fourteen thousand and closing, Skipper. Target has increased speed.” Campeti shouted.
“What’s the range to the tanker?” Matt asked.
“Ah, about fourteen. I think she’s turning away.”
“Can you hit her?”
