The gri-kakka boats scurried back and forth, ferrying people as fast as they could while Walker still heaved on the cable. It made the transfer more difficult, but they had to remain under way to keep as much distance as possible between themselves and Amagi, as well as the approaching Grik. Also, if Nerracca went dead in the water, she would be a sitting duck and the Japanese gunners would finish her in a matter of much, but the number of hits Amagi scored began to decline. Still, the shells continued to rain down and Matt had to wonder why the enemy was expending so much of their limited ordnance. Evidently, whoever was in command over there wasn’t willing to risk any possibility that his prey would escape. Even temporarily.
Another nearby salvo tossed Walker like a cork. So far, she’d taken no direct hits, but the damage from near misses and shell fragments was becoming critical. The wardroom was filling with wounded but, miraculously, no more of her crew had been killed. That luck didn’t extend to the refugees. Almost a dozen had been scythed down on Walker ’s deck, and many more died when two of the gri-kakka boats were pulverized by a direct hit alongside. Refugees filled Walker’s lower decks and every crevice and compartment was packed to overflowing. Even the sweltering engineering spaces were full of panting Lemurians and the air was filled with a desolate, terrified keening sound and the smell of soggy fur and voided bowels.
«Keep packing them in,» Matt ordered the Bosun when he came to report.
«It’s turning into hell down there, Captain,» Gray replied.
Matt nodded grimly. «Just put them wherever you can. It sure beats the alternative.»
Gray nodded. «If they fill up the main deck, she’ll capsize,» he warned. «We’re already so low in the water with all the extra weight that we’re taking water through holes above the waterline. Damage control can’t even get to them with all the bodies down there.»
«I know. Are the pumps keeping up?»
«So far» Gray was interrupted by the bark of the number three gun. The Grik were closing on them now and all guns were in local control, firing at nearby targets of opportunity. The sea to port was scattered with burning hulks. Amagi had slipped aft somewhat, until now she was off Nerracca’s port quarter. She was closing, though, since their own speed had diminished so much. She had advanced through most of the Grik that accompanied her until, by the flashes of her guns, they saw few lizard ships remaining between them. Most of the main Grik force had caught the favorable wind and were closing on the port bow. Matt realized bitterly that if it hadn’t been for those early hits, their scheme to pull the Home clear of danger would probably have worked.
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.»