«These ten-inch guns are very bad?»
Pete nodded. «They’re more than twice as big as Walker’s.»
«But the guns you helped build for my people are as well.»
«True,» Alden agreed, «but as we’ve discussed many times, those guns, as powerful as they are, are still no match for Walker’s in range, power, or accuracy. I wish they were, but we just don’t have the facilities to make anything like that yet. As for Amagi, her guns are bigger still than the best we’ve been able to make and they can shoot ten times as far.»
Nakja-Mur nodded solemnly. «You’re saying we have no real defense against this Amagi? Not even now that there are two of your fast iron ships?»
«No. As you can surely see for yourself, Mahan’s in no shape for a fight. Jim’s killing himself trying to get her ready and hopefully he’ll have time. But even if Walker and Mahan were brand spanking new, they’d be no match for that damn thing. We’ll think of something. We have to. But right now I sure don’t know what it’ll be. Pray, I guess.»
Nakja-Mur nodded. «I will certainly do that,» he said. «I will pray that it never comes. It may not, you know,» he added hopefully.
Just then, Ed Palmer was escorted onto the balcony by a pair of Nakja-Mur’s guardsmen, who paused and waited to be summoned close. Ed accompanied them and Pete’s heart sank when he saw the signalman’s ashen face.
«My guess is,» Pete said before Ed spoke a word, «we should have been praying already.»
A skept Matt didn’t think the Grik could catch them. On the other hand, Amagi would soon be in range of her big guns. With darkness falling, she wouldn’t have a target, though, would she? Once she got behind them, she’d never catch up either. Not if eight knots was all she had.
A couple of Grik ships, either because of better seamanship or cleaner hulls, were drawing ahead of the pack. Matt had a good eye for geometry and there was no way Walker would drag Nerracca past those two, at least.
«Sound general quarters,» he ordered at last. The raucous «gong, gong, gong» reverberated throughout the ship and hats were exchanged for helmets. Matt knew the consensus was that no one wanted to go in the water with a life jacket on, but he ordered them worn regardless. Sandra suggested that the possibility a crewman might be eaten was more than offset by the protection against crossbow bolts and flying debris that the jackets afforded them. The Lemurian destroyermen hated the jackets even more than the humans did. In their case it was because, for the most part, they were way too big. They wore them nonetheless.
Bernard Sandison was the last to report, as usual. He had the farthest to go from where he was supervising the preparation of the torpedoes. He plugged in his headset, turned to the talker, and gave a thumbs-up sign.
«All stations manned and ready, Captain,» Reynolds said aloud.
«Very well. Who’s in the crow’s nest?»
«Bosun’s Mate Chack, sir.»
Matt nodded. Early on, Lieutenant Garrett had worked very closely with the burly young Lemurian. He’d picked up ranges well. Matt didn’t have the perspective of the lookout, but those two lead ships were obviously in range. He wanted to knock them out before they got dead ahead, when only the number one gun would bear. «Inform Mr. Garrett he may commence firing when ready,» he said.
On the fire-control platform, Garrett listened to Chack’s report as it came through his earpiece. He echoed it to Sandy Newman, who was operating the mechanical fire-control computer. «Load one, two, and four. Range to target four O double O. Angle is zero six zero, speed seven knots.»
«On target!» chorused the director and the pointer.
Garrett knew they didn’t have the ammunition to waste on an «up ladder.» Since there was still some visibility, he would fire a single salvo and hope they could correct from there. Chack had good eyes; he should spot the fall of shot.
«One round each, salvo fire. Commence firing!»
The salvo buzzer alerted the bridge crew and a moment later the ship shook perceptibly with the booming roar of three four-inch guns. In the deepening twilight the tracers quickly converged on the target. A bright, rippling flash erupted amidships of the first enemy ship and a chorus of exultant shouts rose up. Matt was excited as well. Chack was right on the money.
«Silence!» bellowed Chief Gray on the fo’c’sle, right behind number one. «Grab that damn shell, Davis, before it goes over the side!» His yell was loud enough that half the ship must have heard.
Still grinning, Matt turned to the talker. «By all means let’s have some quiet so the men can do it again.»
The next ship in line was destroyed almost as quickly, but it took two salvos instead of one. It must have maneuvered to avoid the sinking, burning hulk in front of it. More ships were cracking on, though. It was as though the destruction of the first two only sp D tons of seawater poured inside her through gaping holes and opened seams. As tough as the Homes of the People were, they were never designed to absorb the type of punishment Amagi was inflicting.
For a long, torturous moment, Matt said nothing. He just continued to stare at Gray with a look of inexorable determination. The salvo buzzer rang again and the number one gun fired into the night. Then. he blinked. It was as though the nightmare that had surged from his subconscious mind was suddenly subverted by the one he was living now.
«Secure from flank,» he said in a subdued voice.
«Captain!» shouted Sandison from the starboard bridgewing, «Small craft are coming alongside!» Matt raced to join him and peered over the rail. A shoal of small double-ended sailing craft, about thirty feet long, were struggling to catch up with the destroyer. Matt immediately recognized them as boats the People used to hunt the gri-kakka. Much like human whaleboats of the past, they carried the hunters close enough to strike their prey with a lance. Most Homes carried dozens of the extremely fast things and launched them from the large internal bays Matt had first seen on Big Sal. The gri-kakka boats were packed to overflowing.
«Get boarding nets over the side!» Matt shouted. «Slow to two-thirds!»
Immediately, as soon as the nets were rigged, boat after boat thumped alongside and terrified Lemurians swarmed up to the deck. Most were younglings.
«What the hell are they doing?» Gray demanded.
«They’re trying to get as many off as they can!» Matt shouted. «Get down there and start packing them in!»
Gray was stunned. «But how many can we hold?»
«As many as they send us! Now get your ass down there and get them below! We have to keep the ship trimmed and you’re the only one that can do it. Use all the help you need!» The Bosun dashed toward the ladder. Matt realized Queen Maraan had joined him. With her black fur and clothing she was almost invisible in the dark. Only her silver eyes and the tears matting the fur around them were visible, reflecting the light of the fire that raged aboard Nerracca. More shells shrieked down and churned the sea.
«You risk much,» she said in a soft, sad voice.
«I’m risking everything,» he told her truthfully. Even he realized it now. One lucky hit and Walker and everyone aboard her would be blown into quickly sinking fragments. A few would survive in the water long enough to know they were being eaten. And then Amagi and the Grik armada would continue remorselessly toward Baalkpan with little more than poor, crippled Mahan to stand in the way. Nerracca was doomed no matter what. Probably the only reason Amagi was still shooting at her was that her fires gave the Japanese gunners a target in the distant dark. There was always the chance they would hit the American destroyer. «Sometimes you just don’t have any choice.»