“All ahead flank!” Matt shouted remorselessly. Realistically, most of the dragons were probably already doomed. They’d never make it back to their ships, and their only hope was to land on Walker -but Walker was even faster now, making almost thirty knots on three boilers for the first time in… Matt couldn’t remember how long. She was just a little faster than the wind now, perfect for his purposes. It was time. Kari Faask and Fred Reynolds were on his mind when he gave his next order:
“Make smoke!”
Tabby had been waiting. Raw fuel gushed into the boilers at a far more prodigious rate than they could ever burn it all, and Jeek and the rest of his flight crew activated the on-deck smoke generators with grim satisfaction. In moments, impenetrable black columns of thick, sooty smoke piled into the sky and streamed aft, slowly spreading into the wind. In many places, it swirled on the ship itself, under the bridge and through the galley space beneath the amidships deckhouse. Men and’Cats choked and coughed, holding T-shirts over their faces. The giant lizard birds chasing the ship with their final breaths fell into the sea as if they’d been switched off, and in less than three or four minutes, a gasping Spanky called the bridge and reported that all the “air-lizards” had “splashed.”
“Very well,” Matt said with vengeful satisfaction. “Secure from flank. Secure from making smoke. All ahead full.”
“Cap-i-taan Reddy!” Minnie squeaked. “ Tindal has lost her rudder and got tangled with a Dom baattle-waagon! They try to board! Mertz steams to her aid, an’ so do Achilles an’ another Imp-ee ship!”
“I told them to keep their distance!”
“They try-but lose rudder!”
“Okay. Send to Simms to stay the hell out of there, whatever she does. Try to get Achilles to break off. We’re coming as fast as we can!” He scanned the now-distant battle with his binoculars. “Still too many!” he murmured, then lowered the glasses and stepped to the bulkhead where the shipwide comm microphone was mounted. He twisted the switch. “Well done, Walkers!” he said, and waited for the relieved, triumphant cheers to dwindle. “Now, all hands resume ‘surface action stations’! We still have a battle to finish!”
Walker dashed back toward what had become a chaotic, sprawling brawl with a bone in her teeth, shouldering aside a mounting swell. The transports had turned, possibly making for Monterey, but Port Admiral Rempel aboard Perseus was leading two more of the Imperial Frigates in a determined attack against them. Matt was frankly surprised by that. Rempel hadn’t struck him as a particularly bold fighter-and maybe he wasn’t, since the transports were only lightly armed-but he was pressing his attack with sufficient gusto to prove he had no sympathy for the enemy. Tindal was in a bad way, almost dismasted, her bowsprit snared in a Dom cruiser’s foremast shrouds. Despite her loss of control, she was still driving forward, keeping the link as rough as possible to prevent boarders from swarming across. Her guns still vigorously pounded other Dom ships that ventured too close.
Mertz had almost joined her, orange flashes stabbing out either side, smashing mighty hulls, and utterly disrupting enemy attempts to close or even maintain formation. She’d become the focus of the Dom’s attention, however, and even as she plowed forward, she was being viciously mauled. To the south, Achilles and the rig-damaged frigate Hector slashed their way through damaged and undamaged Doms alike, guns thundering and paddles churning. It was a terrible, inspiring sight. If the Doms hadn’t been thrown into such disarray, largely due to their initial formation and inability to alter it with any precision, the four allied ships in their midst would already be floating debris. Matt reflected yet again how lucky they were that the Dominion had elected to start this war before fully “modernizing” its warships.
“Pass the word to Campeti,” Matt shouted as Walker drew to within a mile of the fight. “Concentrate fire on those battleships working over Tindal and Mertz. It looks as if the remaining cruisers are peeling off to protect the transports. Get that big devil twenty-five degrees off the starboard bow! She’s stern on to us, but she’s giving Mertz hell!”
“He acknowledge!” Minnie cried, and moments later they all heard Campeti’s bellow above. “Surface target, bearing one four zero; course zero, zero, five; speed six knots! Range… three nine five zerouns one, three, and four, match pointers!”
“On target!”
“In salvo, commence firing!” The salvo buzzer rang and a mere instant later, all three guns boomed, and the smoke quickly vanished to leeward. Even over the ship noises, the “Shhhhhh!” of the shells was audible. Three splashes erupted just aft and short of the big enemy ship. “Up fifty!” came the cry. “Adjust left zero zero five degrees!”
“On target!”
“Fire!”
Three more shells screeched away, and all must have crashed through the vulnerable stern of the Dom ship before detonating against something substantial. There was a series of flashes, and, once again, another huge Dom ship of the line vanished amid an expanding cloud of smoke and a blizzard of splinters and larger fragments.
“New target! Range…”
Matt quit listening. Campeti was good-maybe as good as Greg Garrett. He concentrated on conning his ship through the tumult ahead. Mertz was closing on Tindal now, starboard guns flailing the port bow of the liner Tindal embraced, smoke streaming from her perforated stack in half a dozen places. The liner spat back, chopping further at Mertz ’s mangled rigging, but most of the shot flew aft of the target and battered a wallowing, dismasted hulk beyond her. Soon, Mertz would add her boarders to Tindal ’s and they’d have a chance to turn the tables on the Doms. For just a moment, Matt glanced at Tabasco, standing out of the way beside the chart table. The ’Cat steward had brought his pistol belt to the bridge, with his Academy sword hanging from it. No, he decided. Much as he’d have liked to, joining a boarding action wasn’t Walker ’s job. Not his job. Not this time. For now, he had to be content with destroying as many Dom ships as he could, and a stationary Walker was bound to attract too much fire-and far too many holes. No one aboard his ship had anything to prove, and Walker was much safer and far more effective underway. His decision was punctuated by a series of hammer blows pounding the port flank of his ship, and he rushed to the bridgewing, followed by Bradford. A ship of the line had suddenly turned and presented them with a full broadside.
“Get that son of a bitch!” he roared up at Campeti.
“Surface action port!” Campeti bellowed in reply. “Guns two and four engage that battlewagon at zero three five in local control! Range, uh… eight hundred! Commence firing! Portside twenty-fives assist!” He paused for only an instant. “Guns one and three maintain fire control connection! Target bearing one eight five! Range two thousand! Match pointers!”
“Make your course zero, four, zero!” Matt shouted as soon as the salvo buzzer rang and the gun on the fo’c’sle boomed and bucked.
“Sero, four, sero, ay!”
“Damage control reports one shot penetrated aa-midships deckhouse, an’ one punch through guinea pullman,” Minnie shouted in her high-pitched voice. “Two spring plates in aft engine room! They prob’ly skate in. Casualties to waard-room!”
Matt looked at Bradford, who’d been uncharacteristically quiet since they “bug-sprayed” the Grik birds, and sighed. “You have work, Courtney.”
Bradford nodded. “Indeed. As do you.” He waved about. The numbers two and four guns opened fire, as did the port twenty-fives.
“Yeah. We won’t board anbody, but it looks like we’re back in the pool with the flashies again, fighting both sides. No choice. I’ll do my best to spoil their aim.”
“God bless you for that, Captain Reddy,” Courtney murmured, and vanished down the ladder aft.