Devil's Due (Destroyermen #12)(129)
“Well? What did it say? Did they see a plane go down?” he asked hopefully.
“No, Lord,” Fukui said impatiently. “Lord, may I come in?”
Kurokawa sighed loudly, hoping it sounded exasperated and not afraid.
“Very well. Bring a lamp. I will dress.”
Fukui thrust the door aside and entered, already holding a lamp, while Kurokawa pushed the mosquito netting aside and shifted to the edge of his leaf-stuffed mattress. “Hand me my shoes,” Kurokawa ordered imperiously.
“Lord!” Fukui insisted. “The enemy has landed in force and swept away the garrison. It can only be assumed they are coming here.”
Kurokawa goggled at him. As fearful as he’d become, he’d also grown complacent, actually believing Sandra Reddy’s hints that they had more precious time. He shook himself and quickly dressed, pacing into his office where Muriname, Iguri, Riku, Hara Mikawa, Maggiore Rizzo, Contre-Amiral Laborde, and Capitaine Dupont already waited. “They are coming,” he said simply.
“No, Lord,” Muriname corrected, “they’re here. The final confrontation you’ve craved so long is upon us,” he added somewhat dryly.
Kurokawa jerked a nod. “So be it,” he said, gazing at the map on his desk. “Their objective is plain. They’ll attempt to reach the harbor by land, but those troops did not swim here. We can expect a concerted attack by sea and air at dawn.” He looked at Laborde. “Prepare Savoie to get underway.” He glanced at Mikawa. “The rest of the fleet as well. I will likely go aboard Savoie myself, but have Nachi stand by in case I change my mind.”
“Of course, General of the Sea,” Mikawa said.
“You mean to meet them at sea?” Laborde asked, surprised. “Surely it would be better to wait for them in the harbor. They can’t attack through their own minefield, so that leaves only the North Channel. We can concentrate all our firepower there.”
Kurokawa regarded him with contempt. “You clearly do not understand. If they’re coming, they’ll do so with what they consider sufficient force to succeed. That means they’ve brought one carrier, at least. Would you rather sit immobile while agile aircraft bomb and possibly torpedo Savoie, or do you prefer room to maneuver?”
“How dangerous can their little planes be?” Dupont asked derisively. “Our antiaircraft weapons will swat them from the sky.”
“I hope you’re right,” Kurokawa said, “but you haven’t faced their little planes before. I have. Do not underestimate them.” He looked around. “Our fleet will sortie at dawn and seek theirs.” He looked at Muriname. “I want scouts—torpedo planes with radios—in the air at once.”
“And my planes?” Maggiore Rizzo asked, his voice laced with irony.
“With the dawn, with the rest of the fighters, prepare to pounce on the enemy air attack.” He regarded Fukui. “It may take too long for them to arrive, but send an urgent message to all ground forces on the island to converge here, prepared to fight. We must stop the enemy before they reach the harbor.” He waited expectantly. “You have your orders,” he shouted, and the room quickly emptied. Rizzo stopped to stare at him a moment, blocking Fukui, with an unreadable expression on his face. Finally, he turned and left. “One more thing, Fukui,” Kurokawa said as the communications officer tried to follow. “Send a message to the airfield near the prison compound.” It was the last intact airfield they had. “In addition to preparing for operations against the enemy, the commander will send a detachment to bring Sandra Reddy to me.” He hesitated, then took a deep breath. “The rest of the prisoners have no value now. They will be executed at once.”
Fukui gulped. “Lord . . .”
“At once!” Kurokawa roared.
The Prison Compound
It had been another lovely bombing raid, coming much later (or earlier, depending or your perspective) than usual, and Sandra, Adar, Diania, Horn, Lange, Eddy, and Ruffy all came out to watch. Fires spread in the dockyards and at least one fuel-oil storage area was engulfed, pushing a gratifying toadstool of orange-red flame into the sky. No more surface-based machine-gun fire was wasted on the high-flying bombers, but a few tracers speared the cloudy darkness above as enemy planes went after them. Exploding shells burst overhead with impressive regularity. The Grik triple-A crews had continued to improve and twinges of apprehension accompanied each detonation, but there’d been no resultant smear of falling fire. They couldn’t tell if the raid hit much that previous ones missed, other than the tank battery, but no doubt it infuriated and inconvenienced Kurokawa, Laborde, and all their enemies here. Anything that accomplished that was a source of satisfaction. Their only satisfaction lately, other than Adar’s slow recovery.
He spent more time moving around, goading Lange into doing the same, but remained very weak. They were all weak, for that matter, and the exercises most performed were necessarily less strenuous. There’d been no more abuse or even visits from jeering Japanese sailors, but their already meager rations had been cut. Sandra suspected everyone on the island was doing with less, judging by the gauntness of their guards—which occasionally, unnervingly, eyed them with a different hunger than the Japanese—and she wondered if Matt’s ships or planes from his AVDs were interdicting shipments from the mainland. It made sense.