Devil's Due (Destroyermen #12)(147)
“So dramatic,” Rizzo objected. “As I said, I’m neutral here. You have nothing to fear from me.”
“Sure. And those modern planes we saw were neutral too. Somebody shut him up.” Ruffy quickly made a gag and thrust it in Rizzo’s mouth, tying it around his head with a bandanna.
Lawrence suddenly appeared, followed by two Khonashi, who tried to herd them into a tighter circle behind the boiler. “Us seen you!” Lawrence snapped at Sandra, the first time he’d ever spoken harshly to her. “Others could. You su’osed to stay hidden!”
“We can’t,” Sandra retorted, waving at the ruins. They’d caught fire again. “Besides”—she glanced at Rizzo—“we have information Chief Silva needs.”
“Okay,” Lawrence agreed doubtfully. “Let’s go, try to locate he. I don’t know at, though.” He shook his head disapprovingly. “He’s al’ays running around on his own. Rags La’rence, I do it! Asshole!”
“Take us to Kurokawa’s compound,” Sandra ordered. “That’s probably where Silva and the others are, anyway. You’ll pretend to be our guards.”
“Are your guards,” Lawrence reminded forcefully. “I ask you hard to do as I say!” Sandra was amazed that someone as fearsome-looking as Lawrence, with all his razor-sharp teeth, could look so vulnerable.
“We will,” she assured, then looked at Rizzo. “And if he causes any trouble, feel free to tear his throat out.”
CHAPTER 24
////// USS Walker
“They goin’ out!” Minnie cried, holding her earphones so they wouldn’t fall down. Her helmet made it hard to keep them in place. Matt looked at her. “Lookout in the crow’s nest says the Grik cruisers are paassin’ the point, headin’ troo the channel. Grik BBs are followin’ ’em out, with Saavoie bringin’ up the rear. Mr. Paal-mer says the Naancys’ve dropped all their bombs an’ Keje’s recalled ’em to Big Sal. They’ll rearm for strikes against the Grik fleet or to support Chack’s Brigade, as directed.”
“Very well,” Matt said. “If the fighters have the fuel, ask them to do a sweep around Ellie and the DDs to the west, for enemy torpedo bombers. But I think Big Sal and Tara need their protection more. I want rearmed Nancys at Chack’s disposal for close air support.” Matt almost wished he had some of the big Clippers, armed with torpedoes, but to use them against Savoie in daylight would be suicide. They’d all gone back to Mahe after the night raid, to linger until they knew whether they’d be needed again tonight. If they were, it would probably mean the plan had failed and saving Chack’s Brigade was all that remained. “Tell Ed to send ‘well done,’” he added, hoping it had been. They’d lost an awful lot of planes and the 3rd Pursuit, and their precious P-40s were used up. Ben and Shirley had survived their landing on the Grik airstrip, but there was no word about their planes. At least Kurokawa’s air force seems out of the fight, he thought. But was the Nancy attack worth the price? He straightened his shoulders. It kept the enemy occupied and their attention away from us. Now it’s up to Walker—and me—to make sure it was worth it, he realized.
He looked at Chief Quartermaster Patrick “Paddy” Rosen, who, as usual before a fight, had taken his place at the big brass wheel. His helmet was tilted back and sweaty red hair poked over his freckled forehead. Ensign Laar-Baa-Ra, a gray-and-brown-striped Lemurian, stood behind the lee helm, ready to transmit engine orders below. He was still training to become a bridge officer in addition to being a pilot for the ship’s Nancy. With the plane gone, he had nothing else to do. The pilothouse was fairly crowded, mostly by Lemurians, of course, but Commander Bernard Sandison was working on the port bridgewing, checking the torpedo director with his assistants.
’Catfish, Matt suddenly thought, amused. Bernie’s torpedomen are mostly ’Cats now. Torpedo-’Cats, fish-’Cats: ’Catfish. Like Silva, he often came up with nicknames in his mind but rarely voiced them, letting such things originate elsewhere. He might have to mention that one, though. He raised his binoculars again. Through patches of lighter smoke, he saw the Grik column steaming through the channel. Perry Brister was out there in USS James Ellis, with Walker’s number painted on her bow. He’d support the sail-steam DDs they’d raked up, then stand away, inviting the heavies to go for him. And Matt expected Perry had hoisted Ellie’s big Stars and Stripes battle flag on the foremast. Just another little barb to goad the enemy on. “Stand by,” Matt said, glancing at Ensign Laan and Paddy Rosen. “Try to keep us in the smoke of the burning carrier as long as you can, but don’t take us close enough to blister the paint. Besides, the damn thing’s liable to blow up.” He glanced at the sky, the leaning columns of smoke, the bandannas around the faces of the number-one gun crew. “The wind’s come around out of the west, northwest. The smoke should hide us long enough. Bernie?” he asked, looking at Sandison.
“The Seven boat’s torpedo reloads are complete. We tossed the other six fish over the side.” They’d hoped to reload three more boats, but as far as they could tell, only Nat’s Seven boat survived the PT attack. “Our fish are primed and ready in all respects, Skipper.”
“Good. Train the tubes out thirty degrees. I’ll give you straight shots if I can, but we might have to rely on internal guidance and shoot from the hip.”