BdL Dos Lindas
"Dos Lindas, this is Trinidad. I've got a ship, a smallish freighter, maybe five thousand tons, maybe six, heading towards you. Considering what we've just been through . . . "
Fosa picked up the microphone and asked, "Can you see the name?"
The speaker crackled back, "Hoogaboom, it says."
"Didn't we warn her off?" Fosa asked aloud.
"We did, Skipper," answered a radio man. "About thirty seconds after the attack started."
Radar spoke up. "Captain, I wasn't paying close attention, but I don't recall them coming to a stop before we lost radar. I mean . . . "
"It would have taken a while for them to have come to a stop," Fosa finished. "I understand. But it wouldn't have taken this long."
It could just be a mistake . . . but what are the odds? What are the odds when you factor in the very complex ambush they set for us here? And then . . . oh shit, they never touched the pork.
Fosa's voice was just short of panic. "Trinidad, Agustin, STOP THAT SHIP!"
* * *
So far, so good, thought Kurita. Though the smoke was still atrocious and the heat almost unbearable, the fires were under control and there had been no more secondary explosions. He knew, from long years at sea, that the ship was drifting without power. That could be fixed and, so long as the carrier didn't sink, would be, he was sure.
The damage control and firefighting efforts had reach past the twenty foot gaping hole in the hull blasted by the cruise missile. Resting against this while waiting for another bout of vomiting to claim him, Kurita saw the outline of a freighter, bearing down on the immobile Dos Lindas.
He heard the loudspeakers proclaim, in Fosa's voice, "Surface action, Port. Surface action, Port. We're not out of this yet, boys. On the port side is a ship . . . I think it intends to ram us. Surface action, Port. All guns: engage."
Kurita looked around, thinking, Things are under control here; nothing the centurions can't handle, surely. Let's go see to the guns. They lost some crew to the missile attack, I'm sure.