Maelstrom (40 page)

Matt shook his head. “She’s too vulnerable. It’d be suicide.
Amagi
has to
see Walker
, which means she’s going to get to shoot at her. With one good boiler and only one screw,
Mahan
’d be a sitting duck.”

“
Walker
’s not much better off than
Mahan
,” Jim insisted stubbornly.

“But she
is
faster,” Matt stressed. “And as soon as
Amagi
gets a good look, we’re going to make smoke and run like hell. After she sees
Walker
run away, she won’t worry about her anymore. That’s when
Mahan
does her job. It’s an important job, Jim. Besides”—he grinned wryly—“you already changed your number back.”

Jim snorted. “All right, Skipper, but next time
Mahan
gets to play target while
Walker
puts the sneak on ’em. Fair’s fair. The boys are starting to feel left out—and sort of coddled.” Jim chuckled softly, but Matt knew his old exec was more serious than he seemed. The
Mahans
didn’t want to die any more than anyone else, but they did want to do their part. Many still felt tainted by the Kaufman incident, despite their recent success.

“You bet, Jim. Next time.”

“I guess it’s really come down to this, hasn’t it?” Sandra asked bitterly. Everyone looked at her questioningly, surprised by her tone. “You know, ‘win or lose, live or die’—probably die even if you win?”

“It’s been that way from the start,” Matt said gently. “Ever since the Squall. In our old world, maybe it wasn’t so black-and-white. I guess you could always surrender—even to the Japs—but that won’t work here.” He took a breath. “So, yeah, it’s down to that, and it’s just that simple.”

Sandra shivered in the warm hall. She knelt and gathered Rebecca in her arms. “Maybe, but it seems even worse when you joke about it.”

Nakja-Mur cleared his throat, and everyone looked at him. “Well,” he said, “that’s decided, and well-done. I do have a request, if you will permit me, Cap-i-taan Reddy.”

“Of course.”

“Before you depart, would you share with us again your
not
‘backup’ plan?”

CHAPTER 10

Tsalka glared across the water as Kurokawa’s launch returned to his ship. “You know, General, I still detest that creature.”

General Esshk hissed agreement. “But he is useful. His iron ship is still slowed by damage, he says, but at least it floats evenly now.” He hissed amusement, remembering Kurokawa’s stormy indignation and fury toward their enemies after they blew another hole in his mighty ship almost four moons ago. “He is also highly motivated,” he added cryptically.

“Their iron ship is wondrously powerful,” Tsalka agreed. “I will never forget the concussion of its great guns, and the damage it inflicted on the huge ship of the prey. Magnificent!”

“Most impressive,” Esshk hedged. He gazed at the lumbering iron monstrosity. Black smoke belched from its middle as it burned the coal that somehow pushed it along. Despite its amazing power, he must not forget that the Tree Prey had friends who could damage it. It was ensconced deep within the protective embrace of the main body of the “Invincible Swarm” (as opposed to the previous, ill-fated Grand Swarm) to protect it from another surprise enemy attack. Nothing could get through the impenetrable cordon of almost four hundred ships.

“He still entertains somewhat grandiose illusions of his own importance,” Tsalka declared. “He is impertinent and grasping.”

“True,” Esshk agreed, “but he is also too often right, concerning the methods of the prey. He was right about the importance they placed on retrieving their castaways from Madura, and I confess I did not see it until too late. An opportunity was lost there, I fear.” He hissed a self-deprecating sigh. “He also seems right about sparing some Uul, particularly those with valuable experience, when a ship—or even an army—is beaten. Not all fall prey, after all, and it does seem to harden them somehow. Besides, their valuable experience is not then lost. It is difficult starting over with mindless Uul every time we suffer a reverse.”

“A most dangerous precedent, I will say it again,” Tsalka objected. “Our Way has worked well for millennia. It is not for us to make changes on a whim.” He sniffed. “Your ‘philosophical hobbies’ will place you in grave danger one day, General; mark my words. You will strain your familial relations with the Celestial Mother too far, and even she will not indulge you.”

“Perhaps,” Esshk agreed, “but our Way has struck a snag this time, it seems. Improvisation is often dangerous, but I do command here, Excellency. I will take Kurokawa’s advice, follow his ‘tactics,’ give him his head, to a degree. For now. I can always cut it off at my leisure. Consider it an experiment. If I am wrong”—he hissed the equivalent of a shrug—“I will destroy myself.”

“If you are wrong, dear General,” Tsalka replied, “I doubt you will be allowed that honor, and neither will I.”

Walker
steamed away from the pier shortly before dark to join the frigates in the Makassar Strait. The next morning, as soon as the sun was up, the Catalina clattered its way into the sky on what, it was hoped, might be its final flight. At the old fitting-out pier, two huge barges had been brought alongside. One was equipped with a respectable pile driver—even by Navy standards—for driving pier pilings into the bottom of Baalkpan Bay. Both it and the other barge were crowded with empty casks and great long posts, like telephone poles. Yard workers and a large force of unskilled laborers scurried about on each, making final preparations and casting off lines.

Chief Gray and Dennis Silva were on yet a third barge, along with Dean Laney, Randal Hale, Sandy Newman, Pack Rat, and six other Lemurian helpers. This particular barge was attached in tandem to the others by a long, thick cable ultimately leading to
Mahan
’s fantail. When the final lines were taken in, Gray sent a signal to be relayed up the awkward train. Ever so slowly
Mahan
strained against the weight, and one by one the barges began to move. The third barge had to wait longer than the others, since its cable was twice as long. The reason was its cargo. Securely lashed to the broad, flat deck were all but twenty of
Walker
’s and half of
Mahan
’s MK-6 depth charges. Both ships had been blessed by a full allotment of the antisubmarine weapons when they fled Surabaya, and until now, except as “anti-mountain fish” weapons, no one had thought of a way to use them.

Unlike the MK-6 magnetic torpedo exploder they’d had so much trouble with, there was nothing at all wrong with the MK-6 depth charges. They were ridiculously unsophisticated weapons, and had remained virtually unchanged since the Great War. Each consisted of a can roughly the size of a forty-gallon drum, filled with six hundred pounds of TNT. Hydrostatic pressure detonators activated when they reached a preselected depth. Their very simplicity made them remarkably reliable weapons—at least as far as their designed function was concerned. The only problem was, when used against a submarine’s tough pressure hull, they had to sink to within twenty yards just to damage the target, ten yards or less to have a serious chance of destroying it. In practice, against a radically maneuvering submarine, they were extremely inefficient. Gray often compared their use to a blindfolded man shooting at bats with a pistol.

Theoretically, the detonation of six hundred pounds of high explosive underneath a
surface
target would have more gratifying results. That was, after all, the desired effect of the MK-6-equipped torpedoes. Therefore, Lieutenant Sandison had been charged with the task of inventing a way to make the depth charges do what the torpedoes wouldn’t.

“This’ll never work,” Silva proclaimed grandly as the line of barges eased into the bay. He was sitting atop one of the sixty cylinders clustered together on the barge. “ ‘Ash cans’ are supposed to
blow up
when they go in the water.” He arched an eyebrow and looked at those around him. “We’re all gonna die.”

“Shut up, you maniac,” Gray growled. “Besides, what does it matter to you? At least you’ll die happy.” Silva hadn’t returned until morning after he disappeared with Pam and Risa the previous afternoon.

“Yeah,” grumped Hale. “The dame famine’s bad enough without you making it worse. Two of ’em’s already taken. That leaves only two left, well, ’sides the new ones. But they left last night on
Humfra
-
Dar
.”

Silva regarded him with feigned astonishment. “Why, whatever do you mean?”

Laney stepped in front of him, fists at his side. “Silva, if you don’t shut the hell up, I’m gonna stuff your hatrack.”

“Lighten up, Laney,” Silva said. “If you’re that hard up, get yourself a ’Cat gal. You’d be surprised how adventurous they are!”

Laney blinked at him. “You just never quit!”

Silva arched his eyebrows again.

“You’re one sick bastard, Silva,” Randal Hale said, shaking his head, but there was speculation in his voice.

“That’s enough!” Gray commanded. “We got enough unnatural things to worry about today—like turnin’ depth charges into mines!”

“How are we gonna do that, anyway?” Newman asked.

“See those big posts on the first barge?” They nodded. “We’ll drive ’em into the bottom with that pile driver, and tie a depth charge to it a few feet underwater. If any of the post is still sticking up, we’ll cut it off. Then, if a ship runs into it, hopefully it’ll snap off and the charge’ll sink. When it gets to twenty feet,
boom
! Got it?”

Silva cocked his head. “What are we gonna do in the main channel? Too deep to sink poles.”

“We’ll hang a charge underneath however many of those barrels it takes to keep one up, and anchor the whole thing to the bottom.”

“They’ll see them, won’t they?” questioned Hale.

“Maybe,” Gray agreed. “But what are they gonna do about it? We’ll rig it so’s they can’t squeeze between ’em without hitting another. Top it off by putting out way more barrels than we have depth charges too. It’ll be just a matter of tying an anchor to ’em and heavin’ ’em over the side. That’s how we’ll leave a clear channel for
Walker
to come back through, without it lookin’ like there is one.”

Newman looked thoughtful. “Might work,” he said. “Now I know why we’re on such a long cable, though. I guess we’re the ones setting the charges?”

Gray nodded. “With this box of bombs, if one of ’em slips after we set it, the flashies won’t even find enough to make it worth their while.”

Pete Alden stood on Nakja-Mur’s balcony with the High Chief of Baalkpan, Letts, Shinya, Bradford, and Sandra Tucker. The kid was off with O’Casey. The balcony made an ideal observation post from which they could see the vast panorama of the city’s bristling defenses in the late-afternoon sun. The regiments had been moved into their positions, and
Big Sal
was now moored by the shipyard dock. She had a spring in her cable so she could fire her augmented battery into the flank of any force trying to land there, or anywhere along the waterfront. Her sails were stowed, and like all the defenses, she held plenty of water barrels ready to defend against firebombs. Because it was such an obvious place for them to direct the battle, they’d already made plans to abandon the Great Hall if
Amagi
came into the bay. Even with high-rise dwellings all around, the Great Hall and its Sacred Tree stood out quite prominently. It would be a prime target for the battle cruiser’s initial salvos. Nakja-Mur was horrified that the Sacred Tree might be damaged, but there was nothing they could do to prevent it. Secondary command posts had been established in strategic locations.

Karen Theimer had worked wonders setting up a central hospital and ambulance corps, and the surgeons and nurses who’d learned their trade with the Allied Expeditionary Force were now fully integrated into the system. Sandra was in overall command of the medical effort, from the central hospital. Karen was her exec, and the other nurses would supervise the two main field hospitals in north and south Baalkpan. Smaller aid stations were established near every defensive position, supervised by talented veterans such as Selass. Sandra hated that she wouldn’t be with
Walker
during the coming fight, but there was no question where she’d be most needed. Jamie Miller could care for any casualties the ship might have. Other than her personal feelings, she had no excuse to be aboard.

Without
Mahan
’s generators to run the new transmitter, it had been stowed in a deep, safe bunker.
Walker
would remain in constant contact through light and flag signals, as well as the crystal receivers Riggs had constructed, which required almost no electricity. The experimental batteries they’d built had plenty of juice for them, so Matt could keep overall strategic command even while fighting his ship. Hopefully. Even if everything went exactly according to plan, however,
Walker
would be fighting for her life. Her exposure to the enemy was
the
part of the plan everything else depended on, so that was where he had to be. Sandra still wished she could be with him. The frustration of the evening before had only heightened her longing, as well as her conviction that they
had
been a “couple of dopes” all along. She envied Karen her happiness and her ability to show open, natural affection for the one she loved.

She suddenly realized someone had spoken to her. “What was that?” she asked, shaking her head.

“Do you have any questions or requirements, Lieutenant Tucker?” Letts asked. Gone was the tongue-tied suitor of short months before. Alden would have command of the “land battle” they expected, but Letts was still acting as Captain Reddy’s chief of staff.

“Uh, just the disposition of the child, Becky, and Mr. O’Casey.”

“I thought you might keep the girl at the central hospital—what’s the dope on her, anyway?” Only Bradford and Nakja-Mur knew, and they didn’t answer. “Well, if you’ll do that, I’ll keep O’Casey with me. I’d like to see what he’s made of.”

Sandra nodded. “Other than that, then, everything’s under control,” she said.

“Good. Mr. Alden?”

Pete shrugged. “We’re about as ready as we can be without reinforcements.
Mahan
signaled a few minutes ago that they’re nearly finished laying the mines.” He shook his head. “It’s a miracle nobody got blown up doing that. Otherwise, the only thing I have to add is that Lieutenant Riggs is finally satisfied with the visibility of the semaphore tower in Fort Atkinson. His guys on the southwest wall couldn’t see it through those last few trees and they cut them down. Oh, yeah, I sent Lord Rolak and the First Aryaal to reinforce the two hundred Sularans, and Mr. Brister’s artillery-men in the fort. I also think Shinya should command the independent force we talked about.”

Letts nodded agreement. “That’s what the captain said too.”

Pete looked at Shinya. Ever since he returned, not only from the trip to Manila, but from Aryaal with the AEF, Pete’s friend had been very quiet. “I want to deploy the First Marines, the Tenth Baalkpan, and the warriors from
Aracca
to a forward position defending the south and west approaches against any enemy landing.” He held up his hand. “You’re
not
to pull a Custer’s Last Stand, or some Jap equivalent! I don’t want you getting tangled up in anything you can’t handle. I mainly want you out there to keep some small force from coming ashore and cutting us off from the fort.”

“The First Marines is under strength,” Shinya said absently. “They had losses at Tarakan and B’mbaado.”

“Yeah, well, maybe we can fill ’em out with rifle-trained guys from the Second. Will you do it?”

Very seriously, Shinya nodded, and Pete peered intently at him. “Say, you aren’t going to cut your guts out or anything if you have to pull back, are you?”

Tamatsu chuckled. In spite of his mood, he was surprised by the question. “Not unless you tell me to. We don’t have the luxury of engaging in such selfish gestures. Besides, that would only increase whatever dishonor I might earn by retreating. It would give aid and comfort to the enemy by contributing to their commissary.” Everyone laughed at that, including Shinya. But then a strange expression crossed his face and he grew silent again.