Devil's Due (Destroyermen #12)(158)
Matt, his Academy sword in one hand, 1911 Colt in the other, led almost seventy sailors and Marines. They’d been quickly organized into six squads of ten, with Matt, Campeti, and Jeek commanding two squads each. Even-numbered squads were Marines, mostly armed with Walker’s ’03 Springfields; odd-numbered were sailors, with Blitzers, Thompsons, and two precious BARs. Walker had stopped shooting and it was eerily quiet as the boarders quickly fanned out around the aft gunhouses. The four huge rifles protruding from them still seemed menacing, even in their immobile silence. With Spanky in command, Walker stood away, but her guns remained ready to protect her people as they moved forward. Matt looked at her for a moment, at all her new damage, and felt sick at heart.
“Can’t keep anything looking nice around here,” Campeti said, guessing his captain’s thoughts.
Matt forced a smile. “No, and we just got her out of the shop, too.” He pointed to starboard. “You take Third and Fourth squads . . .” He stopped. “What the hell are you two doing here?” he demanded when he saw Earl Lanier and Isak Reuben. He’d seen Pam Cross as well, but it was pointless to argue with her—and she had a reason to be there. Isak and Lanier were a different story. So was Petey, coiled around Isak’s skinny neck, looking around like he really didn’t want to be there.
Isak shrugged, and Petey chirped irritably. “You need a snipe who’s been in a big wagon like this to lead a party below,” Isak stated reasonably in his reedy voice. “Hell, somebody might be puffin’ a pipe in a magazine right now, fixin’ to light a fuse. An’ I fought Grik in tight places before,” he reminded.
“An’ I ain’t just a cook!” Earl snapped. “I’m a by-God destroyerman, same as anybody!”
“Cook!” Petey countered emphatically. “Eat!” he added with unusual solemnity.
“Shut up, you! I ain’t just a damn cook!”
Matt shook his head. If Lanier was arguing with Petey, something had him extra touchy. “Fine,” Matt told Isak. “You’re right. You take Fifth and Sixth squads, and clear her out belowdecks. Chief Jeek, go with Mr. Campeti instead.” He looked at Lanier. “You go with Isak—if you can keep from killing each other.”
Isak glared at Earl, still mad about a certain episode with another pet . . . “I won’t kill ’em,” he mumbled, “but he’s bringin’ up the rear. Ship keeps floodin’, we’ll all drown, he gets his fat ass stuck in a hatch.”
“Third and Fourth squads will sweep up the starboard side with Mr. Campeti and Chief Jeek,” Matt repeated. “First and Second’ll go with me to port. We’ll meet on the bridge, clear? Nurse Lieutenant Cross, you’re with me as well. Let’s move.”
“Ay, ay, Skipper.” Campeti led his squads to starboard, between the gunhouses.
“Pack Rat?” Matt gestured the Lemurian gunner’s mate Pak-Ras-Ar and his BAR forward. “First squad, take point.”
Not all of Savoie’s crew had abandoned her, and some, Japanese and Grik, retained very old-fashioned views about fighting to the bitter end. As soon as they mounted the companionway alongside the number three turret, they came under fire from forward, among the remains of shattered boats, launches, and the toppled funnel. Musket balls blew splinters from the deck and 6.5 mm Arisaka rounds cracked past. Pack Rat hosed the boats with his BAR and they charged forward, shooting as they went. Two ’Cats spun and fell, helmets clattering and rolling away. Pam grabbed a sailor to help her drag the wounded under cover. “Go!” she shouted. Matt, Pack Rat, and seventeen ’Cats went. A man and two Grik lunged from behind a large locker, bayonets leveled. Matt shot the man with his .45, but both Grik pinned a screaming ’Cat against a bulkhead before they were shot and bayonetted down in turn. More fire came from around the funnel and a fierce fight erupted to starboard when Campeti’s sailors opened up with Blitzers. Another ’Cat fell to a shot from the superstructure.
“Half the Marines take cover and stay here,” Matt shouted. “Watch for snipers up high and keep us covered.” They pushed on under a withering exchange of shots. The forward funnel loomed, and they clattered up the closest companionway. Six ’Cats followed Pack Rat to the next level while Matt and the rest covered Campeti and Jeek, who’d been slowed by a mad rush of two dozen Grik and Japanese.
“Did you see Pam?” Matt yelled at Campeti as the gunnery officer charged up the matching starboard companionway.
“Aye, sir. I left two more riflemen with her. We had some wounded too. These Jap-Grik bastards’re fighting nuts.”
Pack Rat’s BAR hammered above, spilling Grik from the upper levels. Hot brass showered down. “Let’s go!” Matt urged.
The battle for the forward superstructure turned into a chaotic nightmare, like fighting through a mazelike jungle gym with enemies around every turn. To the Marine marksman, the analogy was probably even more apt, Matt thought, as bullets whaanged off the rails from above and below. We must look like a bunch of monkeys fighting through a huge steel tree. One thing quickly became clear: for whatever reason, whether to compel any remaining League officers or defend against Grik insurrection, here was the core of Kurokawa’s last-ditch support on the ship, and their opponents were increasingly Japanese. Fortunately, though surprisingly well armed, they didn’t seem to have any automatic weapons or grenades. The BAR, Thompsons, Blitzerbugs, and ’03 Springfields that picked off those who exposed themselves to fire down on the assaulting squads finally crushed the defense.