Devil's Due (Destroyermen #12)(135)

I’m responsible for ten people on my boat, Nat thought. Eighty-seven in the squadron. He didn’t count himself. Lord, don’t let me make a hash of it! Without realizing it, he bared his teeth as the squadron passed through the narrowest part of the channel, where they were most likely to be noticed. The minutes ticked by and his white-knuckle grip on the coaming began to loosen. Before them lay the fire-lit upper end of Lizard Ass Bay, cluttered with a flock of moored Grik cruisers. They’re lethal-looking things, Nat conceded, even somewhat elegant; their bows sweeping up and aft, away from underwater rams. Silva was right about the top hamper and bulwarks as well. Those gave better protection for more guns amidships and sleeker, flusher lines. Anchored as they were, practically served up for him, it was tempting to have at them, despite his orders. But he had bigger frogs to gig. Beyond them, in the distance, a bright white spotlight flared to life and stabbed first at the shore battery on the peninsula, then swept outward, where the boats had been. It was Savoie, but even if she saw them now, she had no shot with the cruisers stacked between them.

“Lucky Handy!” Nat shouted at Rini, referring to Lieutenant (jg) Haan-Dar, commanding the Four boat, leading 16, 20, and 21. Only they would attack the cruisers. His Seven boat, leading 13, 15, and 23, would soon veer off.

Something else flashed, reflecting off the spray sluicing back from the bow. Then, when a great, bright column of water erupted behind his boat and a huge roundshot bounded up over him, splashing again in the sea ahead, he realized they hadn’t completely fooled the shore batteries after all. They could’ve already fired several times, for all he knew, their reports drowned by the roar of engines. It was probably their shooting, in fact, that alerted a lookout on Savoie. “You’re too late!” he shouted backward. “Your nap lasted just a bit too long!” Several more waterspouts stitched their wakes, well back now. “Signal Handy to have his fun!” Nat told one of the ’Cats in the cockpit. A Morse lamp flashed and Haan-Dar’s section peeled off to the left and surged ahead, toward the brooding cruisers. “Come right to one two zero,” he told Rini.

“One two seero, aye!” Rini spun the wheel, staring at the small, lamp-lit compass binnacle below the coaming in front of her. “My course’s one two seero,” she proclaimed. Nat glanced behind again to watch his consorts follow his turn. As planned, they were fanning out in line abreast on his port beam. Two miles ahead lay a pair of the huge, four-stack, ironclad battleships, secured to a pier, one in front of the other. Nobody knew if they were operational or Kurokawa was preparing them for conversion to something else, more carriers perhaps, but either way, they had to go. From Silva’s reports, there were two more in the harbor, and another converted to an oiler, recently shifted near Savoie, but they were a job for the Naval Air Corps. These two were in a unique position to prevent the final detail in Captain Reddy’s plan.

At about 2,800 yards, Nat crouched slightly and glanced through the crude sights on the coaming. They aimed their torpedoes by aiming the boat—which could be difficult when the sights kept jumping around and the target was underway—but the Grik BBs were just sitting there, presenting an easy shot. In theory. Nat hadn’t used the new Mk-6 torpedoes yet. They were supposed to be good to 10,000 yards, but Bernie Sandison, burned so often by what torpedoes were supposed to do, told them to count on half that distance. Nat’s boats had only two tubes and no reloads. As long as they weren’t taking fire, he wanted to get close enough to stab the enemy in the gut. He’d use one fish on the BB to the right, as would the Twenty-three boat. The other two boats would launch at the one on the left. All were supposed to save their last fish for something else. “A point to the right!” he cried to Rini. “Steady! Ready number one!” he added louder to the torpedo crew to starboard.

“Number one’s ready in aall respects!” came the response.

A blossom of orange flame lashed out from the side of the behemoth ahead, removing any doubt about its operational status. Several more followed sporadically; then the whole side of the ship’s armored casemate erupted at once. Iron shrieked overhead, splashing far astern, and Nat was mightily tempted to shoot back at once, but wanted a few seconds more. Thirteen and Fifteen didn’t wait, and flashes lit their starboard sides as impulse charges hurled their brass-bodied fish into the sea and they creamed away, little faster than the boats that launched them. “Just a little closer,” Nat crooned. The other BB fired a full broadside of hundred-pound shot that churned the sea in front of the Thirteen and Fifteen boats before they could turn. All the massive iron balls may have skated, but one did for sure, opening the bow of the Thirteen boat like a banana. The boat bounced up, standing on its tail, pointing straight at the sky. It actually left the water and briefly flew through the air before slamming down on its side and cartwheeling across the waves in a shattering welter of ragged fragments and phosphorescent spray. It came to rest in seconds, upside down, torn apart, swiftly sinking. The Fifteen boat was turning frantically now, and Nat shouted at his torpedo crew. “Fire one!” He closed his eyes to the flash and with a loud thwump! the deck jolted beneath his feet. “Come right, thirty degrees! Make your course two one zero, and let’s shake our tails!”

“Makin’ my course two one seero—an’ wavin’ so long!” Rini’s tail swished rapidly behind her. The Twenty-three boat matched their course, its fish on the way as well. Nat wondered if the torpedoes would hit before the Grik could reload their monstrous guns. “Look, Skipper!” one of the ’Cats on the foredeck shouted, pointing right. A heavy explosion rocked the bay as one of the cruisers arched its back amid a tall spear of foam, then settled, its bow and stern already rising independently. “Broke her baack!” Rini cried, satisfaction in her voice. Another cruiser was already burning, but several were firing now, stabbing the darkness with tongues of flame. Nat watched bitterly as a ball of fire rolled away from a low, swift shape, and it quickly wallowed to a stop, burning gasoline spreading fore and aft, lighting the sea around it. Another cruiser heeled hard over, pushed by a tall column of green-glowing water, but several were underway now, probably cutting their anchor cables. One smashed into the burning wreck with its underwater ram, lifting it until it came apart, its flickering wreckage swept aside by the bow wave, tossing and smoldering in the churning wake. Then they heard heavy detonations aft. Everyone but Rini turned to watch as two hundred-foot feathers of spume rose alongside the target that killed the Thirteen boat. Seconds later, one, then another, geysered up beside Nat’s target as well. “Four for four!” one of the machine gunners cried happily, almost hopping with glee. Fire broke out aboard Nat’s BB, glowing hungrily behind the open gunports. It might’ve been Nat’s imagination, but both ships already seemed to be listing toward them.