Iron Gray Sea: Destroyermen (3 page)

Lord High Admiral James Silas McLain the Third
—Relieved.

HIMS
Ulysses, Euripides, Tacitus
—
completing repairs.

Allied assets in New Britain Isles

Courtney Bradford
—Australian naturalist and engineer; Minister of Science for the Grand Alliance and Plenipotentiary at Large.

“Lord” Sgt. Koratin
(L)—Marine assistant to Bradford. Recuperating from wounds.

USS
Simms
***
—Fil-pin-built; under repair.

Lt. Ruik-Sor-Raa
(L)—Commanding.

USNR—
Salaama-Na
Home
(unaltered, other than batteries of 50 pdrs; sailing Home.)—formerly TF “Oil Can.”

Commodore (High Chief) Sor-Lomaak
(L)—Commanding.

Enemies

General of the Sea Hisashi Kurokawa
—Formerly of Japanese Imperial Navy battle cruiser
Amagi
.

General Orochi Niwa
—advising
Grik General Halik.

General of the Sky Hideki Muriname.

Signal Lt. Fukui.

Cmdr. Riku
—Ordnance.

Hidoiame
(Kagero Class).
Japanese Imperial Navy Destroyer
,
2,500 tons, 388’ L—35’ W, 35 knots, 240 officers and men. 6 x Type-3, 127 mm guns. 28 x Type-96 25 mm AA guns, 4 x 24” torpedo tubes.

Captain Kurita
—commanding.

Tatsuta
—Kurokawa’s double-ended paddle/steam yacht.

Grik (Ghaarrichk’k)

Celestial Mother—
Absolute, godlike ruler of all the Grik, regardless of the relationships between the various Regencies.

Tsalka
—Imperial Regent-Consort and Sire of all India.

N’galsh
—Vice Regent of India and Ceylon.

The Chooser
—Highest member of his order at the Court of the Celestial Mother. Prior to current policy, “choosers” selected those destined for life or the cook pots, as well as those eligible for “elevation” to Hij status.

General Esshk
—First General of all the Grik.

General Halik
—“Elevated” Uul sport fighter.

General Ugla, General Shlook
—Promising Grik leaders under Halik’s command.

Giorsh
—
Flagship of the Celestial Realm.

Holy Dominion

His Supreme Holiness, Messiah of Mexico, and, by the Grace of God, Emperor of the World
—Dom Pope and absolute ruler.

Don Hernan DeDivino Dicha
—Blood Cardinal and former Dominion Ambassador to the Empire of the New Britain Isles.

“I must note how odd it strikes me that a region of strife should be referred to as a ‘theater.’ Perhaps that peculiar little Machiavellian Prussian Clausewitz (what a bizarre combination!) is to blame for the militant association. I always related the term with entertainment—before it began to haunt me with its even broader implications concerning our overall situation. Of course, were not ‘theaters,’ as we know them, originally created to showcase tragedy?”

—Courtney Bradford,
The Worlds I’ve Wondered

University of New Glasgow Press, 1956

PROLOGUE

////// The Sea of Jaapan

February 2, 1944

T
he sky was corroded lead, cold and gray with splotches of white. It was lighter in the east, where the sun lingered behind the heavy blanket of cloud, but there was no chance it would make an appearance that day. Beneath the sky the sea roiled, a darker, more tempestuous reflection, and alone upon it—in all the world, it seemed—
Mizuki Maru
shouldered her way through the unkind swells. She was an old ship, smallish, and battered by a lifetime of toil. She’d done honorable service and carried honest freight for most of her many years, but her past few voyages had been of a different sort. She’d been engaged in carrying men—worn, beaten, wretched men—to the last place on earth they could possibly want to go.

If she’d had a soul, it would have broken and fled her to escape the suffering and misery confined within her sad, rusty hull. Particularly after the last voyage. It had been the worst of all. Only a few dozen of the more than five hundred prisoners of war she’d carried—Malays, Aussies, Dutch, Brits, and Americans—had ultimately survived, and it wasn’t because they were supposed to. At some point she’d vanished from the world where her Japanese masters made her carry such dreadful cargo and arrived on a world very much the same but entirely, fundamentally different. It was no less savage, however, and her crew—and the crew of the destroyer
Hidoiame
, which escorted her and a war-weary oiler—had murdered as many of her “cargo” as they possibly could. They’d then abandoned
Mizuki Maru
, damaged and sinking. Or so they thought.

That might’ve been the end of
Mizuki Maru
if that was all they’d done, but during the bloodthirsty massacre of her prisoners they’d taken ashore, the confused, possibly even frightened Japanese sailors also slaughtered the . . . people . . . of a small nearby village. They hadn’t been human, but they
had
been people, and, more important for
Mizuki Maru
, they’d been under the protection of a human Japanese man who’d finally realized that regardless of flags and emperors, his honor would no longer allow him to sit idly by.

Prodded by this atrocity against people who’d become his own, “Lord” Commander Sato Okada, formerly of the Japanese Imperial Navy and the mighty battle cruiser
Amagi
, and now Seii Taishogun of the newly established Shogunate of Yokohama, Jaapan, finally joined the human/Lemurian alliance that had destroyed his old ship. Now he lived for little more than revenge against those who’d murdered his “new” people, and to achieve it, he had to destroy others of his own race, his nation—but not his people anymore. For this, finally, he was prepared. At long last, there was no conflict, no sense of frustrated loyalty. His purpose was clear once more, as simple and pure as the cherry blossoms he would never see again. He and his mixed crew, Japanese and Lemurian “samurai” and the scattering of “American” Navy Lemurians, were dedicated to the common purpose of destroying
Hidoiame
and her oiler, and killing or bringing justice to everyone aboard them.

If
Mizuki Maru
had a soul, and it could find her where she’d gone across whatever gulf separated her from the world she knew, it would be at peace.

“Con-taact!” shouted the Lemurian bridge talker standing behind Okada, near the aft bulkhead. The striped, furry ’Cat wore headphones fitted awkwardly to his head, and a wiring harness trailed behind him. “Range, one fi’ seero seero!”

A chill swept down Sato Okada’s spine.
That close? It can’t be the enemy! “
Bearing!” he snapped.

“Two two seero!”

Okada took a calming breath. There was no way his keen-eyed Lemurian lookouts would let them pass
Hidoiame
that close aboard. He strode to the port bridgewing and raised his binoculars, facing aft.
Fish!
he concluded at last as a long, dark object rose into view, then vanished behind a swell.
Another of the giant . . .
wrongful fish of this world,
he thought. A spume of atomized spray burst skyward, joined by others, and he focused more carefully. A pack—pod?—of monstrous, air-breathing fish like none he’d seen before moved through the sea just like whales would have done—if there
were
whales. These had some kind of bony-finned, translucent sail protruding from their backs like epic swordfish, and he wondered briefly what it was for. He grunted. So many wonders he would love to explore someday, but they couldn’t distract him now. First, he had to attend to the far bigger business of revenge.

“We will reduce speed in case there are more of those creatures about,” he said brusquely. “We are already ahead of schedule. We will not be late for our ‘reunion,’” he added grimly.

“Ay, Lord,” cried the Lemurian helmsman. He was a “Jap ’Cat” to the “Amer-i-caan,” or “proper” Navy ’Cats aboard, who were happy to address Okada as Cap-i-taan, but the Japanese humans and Lemurians called him Lord. The engine room telegraph rang up two-thirds, and more bells rang as the dial swung in reply to the handle, while Okada slowly paced the bridge.

He’d arranged a meeting with the enemy destroyer, and, more specifically, her murderous Captain Kurita. Okada’s radio operator had been broadcasting in panicky distress ever since they entered these seas, claiming his ship was
Junyo Maru
—yet another vessel transported to this place. Kurita had finally risen to the bait and ordered them to cease their bleating. Once communications were established, they’d lured Kurita to a rendezvous with promises of food, supplies, parts, and ammunition.
Mizuki Maru
already resembled
Junyo Maru
in most respects, but her “mad cook,” who alone had defected with his ship, had recently seen
Junyo Maru
. His suggestions regarding color and the like were employed during
Mizuki Maru
’s refit in the Maa-ni-la shipyards.

In addition to altering her appearance, she’d been armed with some of
Amagi
’s salvaged secondary armaments that had been quickly shipped in from Baalkpan. A few of the guns showed, which was not unusual and should further allay any suspicions about her identity. But other weapons were hidden, and Okada hoped they’d come as a
very
unexpected surprise to the far more capable ship he considered his prey.

He contemplated
Hidoiame
for a moment. She was the twentieth—and last—of the Kagero class, commissioned in early 1941 as a Type A “Fleet” destroyer. He was familiar with her original specifications and had seen the ship herself before the Old War began. She was about 390 feet long, 35 feet wide, and displaced almost exactly twice as much as the overage USS
Walker
, the flagship of the “American” fleet on this world. She also carried twice the crew, and could probably make thirty-five knots. Again according to the almost pathetically reticent cook, however,
Hidoiame
had undergone alterations as the nature of the Old War evolved. She still carried twin-mounted 127 mm dual-purpose guns in turrets fore and aft, but he insisted that one aft-mounted turret had been replaced by another twin, 25 mm mount to augment her antiaircraft batteries, which brought the total number of twenty-fives to twenty-eight. As far as he knew, she didn’t have radar, but also admitted he didn’t really know what radar was. He was a cook.

She still carried a four-tube torpedo mount amidships, with four reloads, but her antisubmarine warfare (ASW) suite had been updated with the addition of improved sonar and more depth charges. Apparently, she’d sacrificed a third of her main surface battery to become more formidable against air and undersea targets, but those same antiair weapons would be devastating at the range Okada needed to achieve. He considered his main battery
Hidoiame
’s equal, but radar or not, he had no integrated fire control of any sort, so he had to get close—and he had only four 25 mm mounts to a side. The way he saw it, he had to get his ship within knife-fighting range, and savage
Hidoiame
in the opening moments while he had the element of surprise. If at any time during his approach Kurita decided
Mizuki Maru
was anything other than what she claimed—or, worse, somehow recognized her—she and all aboard her were doomed.

Sato Okada was prepared for that possibility. He was approaching his rendezvous in radio silence—as ordered by
Hidoiame
—but he had a short list of letter codes that could be sent out immediately by his signalman, along with a constantly updated position. Back in Maa-ni-la, they would know what the various letter prefixes meant. A translated as “Action commenced.” B meant “Action commenced, surprise achieved.” Other letters represented various permutations, but the letter code had been devised primarily in case things went sour in a hurry—and he fervently hoped he wouldn’t have to send the letter G, which translated as, “We are destroyed by enemy action. Possibility of survivors is remote.” G also signified “Good-bye.”

“Con-taact!” cried the talker again. This time Okada barely tensed, assuming the lookout had spotted another . . . school? . . . of the strange fish/reptiles. The things rarely attacked anything larger than a small boat, but they were still a menace. He’d heard
Walker
once did minor damage to her bow when she’d struck one.

“Range and bearing,” Okada said patiently. His crew wasn’t very experienced, and the excitable ’Cats often forgot proper procedures.

“No range! Is on horizon. Gray on gray is hard to see, say lookout. Bearing tree fi’ seero! Tree seero degrees off lef—port bow!”

Okada grimaced. Unless the lookout had seen a mountain fish—unlikely in these waters—they had discovered
Hidoiame
at last. He raised his binoculars and stared through the slightly wavy glass of the bridge windows, but saw nothing but the heaving sea. It didn’t matter. The enemy would come to him.
Mizuki Maru
was making enough smoke that they would easily see her even without Lemurian lookouts.

“Should we go to general quarters?” his Japanese exec, Lieutenant Hiro, asked anxiously.

“No. Not yet. But please do ask that mad cook to make something—sandwiches, I suppose—for the crew.” He gestured at the cold sea and spray beyond the glass. Slick, black ice was forming on deck. “I wish we had time for him to feed them a hot meal, but unless he has something such ready now, sandwiches will have to do.”

“Of course, Lord.”

The distant contact slowly resolved itself into a sleek, low-slung shape visible even from the bridge, and familiar to Okada, at least. It
was
Hidoiame
. There was no mistaking the broad, overlarge-appearing gun turret on the foredeck, the high bridge, and two swept-back funnels. The ship was pitching fairly dramatically in the swells, and he caught occasional glimpses of the bottom paint at her sharply raked bow.

The wasp comes to the spider,
he thought with growing excitement. Theoretically, they’d been in range of
Hidoiame
’s guns as soon as they sighted her, but the destroyer was growing closer to what Okada considered his own maximum range in these seas.
Hidoiame
would always have the advantage in accuracy, with her sophisticated fire control, but his own well-drilled gun’s crews should manage a higher rate of fire in local control. Everything would depend on the quality of their individual marksmanship.

“Sound general quarters,” Okada said. “But ensure that our Lemurians move carefully to their posts, and that they try to stay out of sight,” he suddenly warned. He’d grown so used to his furry people that the notion had just occurred to him, and if he could almost make out the distant Japanese sailors through his binoculars . . . “Then go to the signal lamp yourself and ask if they are who we think they are.” He chuckled grimly. “Let us maintain the fiction that we are lost and afraid!”

“At once, Lord,” Hiro said, activating the long-anticipated alarm bell and passing the word for all the Lemurian crew of
Mizuki Maru
to stay down behind the bulwarks near their action stations. Only then did he step through the door into the freezing wind on the port bridgewing and began flashing a signal on the Morse lamp.

“Range?” Okada called.

“Tree fi’ seero seero,” came the talker’s reply.

“Very well.” He was worried about his enemy’s ability to mass so much 25 mm fire on his ship’s bridge or guns. It was bad enough what the “light” weapons could do to any other part of his ship. He wanted a range that would make him a difficult target for them, while still giving the crews of his own four 5.5-inchers the best opportunity. He watched while distant signal flashes responded to his own, and he studied the wind and sea. “When the range reaches two thousand, we will turn to zero five zero,” he told his helmsman. “That should give us a slightly gentler ride when we unmask our guns and commence firing!”

The gap between
Hidoiame
and
Mizuki Maru
continued to narrow, and after Kurita’s terse reply to Hiro’s signal, the lieutenant reentered the bridge, his thin mustache and chin whiskers crusted with ice. A ’Cat servant met him and helped him and Lord Commander Okada don their leather and copper battle armor, complete with the traditional weapons of the samurai.