Firestorm

CHAPTER 21

Off “Monterey” Bay

USS Walker and her “squadron” of three paddle frigates and a sloop exchanged signals and rendezvoused with Mertz, Tindal, Simms, Achilles, and the two practically “clipper” rigged oilers sixty miles offshore beneath a warm, benevolent sky, upon a placid sea. Commander Grimsley of Achilles had been acclaimed commodore of the “detached” Second Fleet squadron by the ’Cat captains on the other ships due to his knowledge of the waters. Besides, Jenks’s former exec was well liked and respected-and he’d definitely seen more action. He was also smart enough to grasp the qualitative differences between his ship and those of the “Amer-i-caan” ’Cats, and they’d discussed tactics based on those strengths and weaknesses many times during the long voyage.

Walker made a beeline for the oilers like a hungry wolf pup to a teat, and hoses were rigged across and pumps engaged to fill her grumbling bunkers. At Matt’s orders, the frigates took their turns at the other oiler. They probably had sufficient fuel, having topped off a few days earlier, but like any destroyer skipper, Matt remained obsessive about fuel-particularly when they were this far from home. Achilles could replenish her coal bunkers locally, and the oilers retained a sufficient reserve to see the rest of them all back to the Isles, but what if something happened to the oilers?

While fueling was underway, the air between the gathered ships virtually sizzled with messages, plans, and reports. Matt and Walker learned of the opening stages of the campaigns for Ceylon and New Ireland, at least to the extent they’d progressed before distance interfered with communications. They also received the love and best wishes of certain persons attached to TF Maaka-Kakja, via Respite to Scapa Flow.

Matt sat in his chair in Walker ’s pilothouse, gazing sightlessly out the windows at the fo’c’sle. Sandra never strayed far from his mind, and he yearned to speak to her, see her, hold her in his arms. Absence doesn’t always really make the heart grow fonder, but in his case, it certainly did… But at the same time, he knew a crossroads had been reached. The “Dame Famine” was slowly fading, and the primary obstacle to their “relationship” had finally, essentially passed. But that very relationship had left a kind of scar, a fundamental wound that was difficult to understand or explain. They’d suppressed their love, hidden it, then downplayed it so long, it had become a damaged, inconvenient thing, and as much as it had been a source of strength to them both, it had also harmed them in subtle ways. It had been so long, and so much had happened to them both since they’d seen each other, he knew they’d both changed.

A heat flashed across his shoulders and up and down his back. He’d made a fateful decision regarding that relationship; one he might regret for any number of reasons, maybe for the rest of his life. But things simply couldn’t go on as they had-for both their sakes. Sandra might not agree, and she’d undoubtedly suffer either way, maybe even more than he would, but he’d made up his mind. Ultimately, the choice would be hers as well, of course. She’d already suffered, and she’d invested so much of herself into what they had, he would not force his decision on her, but for himself, he knew it had to be. He sighed.

“Signal the fleet,” he said quietly. “All ships will advance at ten knots in line abreast on a course of one, two, five degrees. Ten-thousand-yard intervals. Tindal will screen to landward, Mertz to sealy. “All Double all lookouts, report any and all sightings. When Tindal opens Monterey Bay, she’ll enter in company with Achilles and destroy all enemy shipping. No boarding, just stand off and sink ’em unless they strike their colors. Direct those that choose to surrender to drive their ships hard aground; we don’t have time to fool with them. Tindal and Achilles will then rejoin the fleet, and if contact hasn’t already been made with the enemy, we’ll resume our advance to meet him.” He rubbed the young stubble on his chin, suddenly missing Juan. “Tabasco” was a fine steward, but it had taken Matt a long time to let Juan shave him. Tabasco wasn’t ready yet, and he was back to performing the chore himself. Despite his terrible coffee, Juan had spoiled him badly.

“Make sure all ships confirm receipt.” He looked around at the faces on the bridge, saw their surprised blinking or arched eyebrows, and wondered if his voice had sounded as normal as he’d thought. “All ahead one-third, if you please.”

“Sea’s getting up a little, Skipper,” Spanky observed unnecessarily, coming on the bridge at 0400 with the morning watch. “Even ’Cat’s’ll have a hell of a time seeing anything out there with this overcast.”

“They know what to look for. There are-were-steamers with the Dom fleet. They’ll be throwing sparks.”

Spanky grunted. “Like ‘our’ Imperials? Hell. It looks like the Fourth o’ July out there. Wish they’d go to oil.”

“I’m sure they will over time,” Matt replied absently.

Spanky looked at him with concern. “Did you get any sleep?

Matt grinned. “No, and neither did Tabasco, I’m afraid. He makes better coffee than Juan, at least.”

“Poor devil,” Spanky clucked. “He needs to learn to stand up to that grubby bastard Lanier. Juan knew how to do that! I saw Tabasco down in the galley, building sandwiches for the bridge watch, and Earl was giving him fits. One of these days, one of his ‘little monkey’ mess attendants is gonna beat the hell out of him-and he’ll probably wonder why! If I see it, I won’t say a word unless they’re killing him. Earl’s a turd, but he can cook. I can’t choke down ’Cat food. Too spicy.”

Matt chuckled. “You’d better encourage some of those mess attendants to learn to cook something you can eat, besides sandwiches. One of these days, Earl’s liable to catch something over the side that’ll pull him over and eat him! Did you see what he caught just while we were tied up at Saint Francis?”

Earl Lanier was a fiend for fishing-and fish-and he’d sampled the denizens of nearly every port they’d touched. Just about anyone would’ve eaten many of the things he caught, but sometimes he brought things aboard that nobody even wanted to know were in the water. A couple of times, he had nearly been snatched into the sea.

“Yeah… he’s not going to eat that, is he?”

Matt shrugged.

“Aggh! Damn thing looked like an inside-out squid stickin’ out of a boot… with pinchers!” He yawned. “What’s the dope on Achilles and Tindal?”

“They’re coming back out. They got eleven transports. Eight chose to beach. Not as many as Reynolds reported seeing before… we lost contact. A good haul, but I wonder where the others went?”

“Home? Maybe to get more troops?”

“Maybe.”

“Lookout reports ‘spaarks’ off staar-board bow, Cap-i-taan!” Minnie suddenly cried. “Bearing two four seero, relaative, may-be five t’ousand yaards!”

Matt glanced at his watch. He’d been allowing Walker ’s crew just a few more minutes of precious sleep before what promised to be a busy day. “Very well. Sound general quarters. Signal to all ships, ‘enemy in sight,’ and give the position.”

All the Imperial ships had closed Walker before the sun went down since, except for Achilles, they had to rely on visual signals. Those were flashed now, by lights to port, and ’Cat liaison signalmen would interpret the Morse. Walker ’s unnerving general alarm gurgle-screeched into the night, and Spanky stepped to the shipwide comm.

“All hands, draw small arms and man your battle stations! Man your battle stations!” he said with infinite calm. “I repeat, draw small arms and man your battle stations. This is no drill.”

“ Mertz has ‘enemy in sight’ now,” Minnie reported. Mertz still screened to seaward. “Her cap-i-taan says enemy fleet, many ships, on course, seero, one, seero! Range to him, two t’ousand yaards. He asks turn about and open range until ‘daylight make gunnery… praac-tic-aable’!”

Matt chuckled again. “I’ll bet he does! Vey well. Tell Mertz to beat feet, but maintain contact. Remind her of the dragons! Be prepared to clear the deck if necessary. Have our lookouts skin their eyes for anything moving toward us, and tell Achilles and Tindal to hurry!”

“Ay, ay, Cap-i-taan!”

Matt looked at Spanky. “We’re liable to have company too. My guess is, they expect some of the transports to join them, so they won’t think much of sighting us if they do, but if any sniff too close, the jig’ll be up. You’d better run along to the auxiliary conn. Stop by engineering and tell them to expect some frisky maneuvering today. I do not want my ship shot to pieces halfway around the planet from a dry dock!”

“Aye, aye, Skipper!” Spanky said, grateful he’d been ordered to see Tabby before the fight. “I’ll… see you later, sir.”

“Spanky!” Tabby said, surprised to see the diminutive officer enter the forward engine room under the circumstances. “I mean, Commaander McFaarlane! How… good of you to drop by. Good mornin’, sur!”

“Tabby,” he said, and nodded at the others in the compartment. “Fellas,” he added. He looked back at Tabby. “Everything okay in your division, Chief?”

“Condensers are staartin’ to choke up again. We’ll be sayin’ so long to freshwater showers.” Spanky cringed. It would be fire hoses and naked bodies on deck, then. That had never been a problem in the “old” Navy, but with nearly half the ’Cats aboard being female, and very “human” in the pertinent parts… He cleared his throat. “Listen, this might be another ‘Scapa Flow’ today, so keep your eyes on the ball.”

“Won’t be no ‘Scaapa Flow’ with you an’ the Skipper in charge,” Tabby said confidently.

“Hey now, that wasn’t Frankie’s fault… and don’t speak ill of the dead.”

“Ain’t speakin’ ill. He was a swell guy, just not good Skipper.”

“Well… anyway, the Skipper says to be ready for some fancy moves… and be careful down here! Seems like every time there’s a fight, my poor boilers and engines get the worst of it. Not to mention my snipes.” He looked at Tabby. Her burn scars remained but were fading well, and her fur-though short and thin like all Lemurian snipes-was filling out. He did love her, in his way. He smiled and gently squeezed her arm, watching her eyes begin to glisten. “I’d better scram,” he said brusquely, taking his pouch from his pocket and stuffing a chew in his mouth. He offered it around and was surprised when a ’Cat water tender tentatively took a few leaves. “Well… fine. Just don’t be spittin’ on the deck plates!” he warned. Every snipe in the space had seen him do it a hundred times.

The day dawned gray and cloudy, and brisk enough that deck apes-’Cat and human-gladly wore shirts for a change. A few lookouts and fire controlmen even donned peacoats. The whole Dom fleet loomed to seaward, their numbers impossible to gauge due to their relative congestion, sailing in multiple columns. The Allied force, minus Mertz , was shadowing them inshore, and apparently hadn’t raised any alarm so far. Walker ’s profile was shielded from view by Tindal and Achilles as soon as they rejoined, and the sky began to lighten. Now, Captain Reddy stood beside his chair, staring out at the Doms through his binoculars and trying to determine the number of warships. He was almost sure there were twenty or more, ranging in size from ships of the line, or “battleships” as his crew increasingly called them, to the heavy frigates or “cruisers” Doms preferred. There were at least that many transports, maybe more. Few of those were steamers this time, and that made it hard to tell.

On its face, the impending battle seemed a terribly lopsided affair, as bad as when the old Asiatic Fleet faced the Japanese. Essentially, each enemy warship mounted forty to eighty guns, and each “class” was larger than its Imperial counterparts, but Matt’s little fleet had some advantages. His “American” frigates, or “DDs,” were screw steamers and much faster than the enemy, particularly with the Doms beating to windward. They mounted fewer guns, but they were larger, with a significant range advantage. If they could avoid crippling damage, they could stand off and pound the Doms largely at will. Achilles didn’t have much range on the enemy; neither did her Imperial sisters. Matt planned to use them as a rear guard, to snap at the enemy’s heels and destroy any transports that broke from the line and tried to run south with the wind. The allies also retained the element of surprise, since none of the enemy had come snooping after all, obviously thinking them to be the transports they expected.

Even as Matt watched, however, flocks of dragons lifted from some of the transports within the Dom formation, headed for Mertz- still all alone up ahead. So they do let the damn things aboard their ships, Matt realized with surprise. Well, at least we know where they come from-and where they are. That would help. Soon, he’d release Tindal and Simms to charge up the enemy flank, and Achilles and the other Imperials to steam for its rear. The Dom warships couldn’t turn toward Tindal and Simms without charging straight for shore; a very bad move for dedicated sailors. He kind of hoped they’d turn away, though he didn’t expect them to. A lot could be gained in the confusion following such a maneuver. As currently disposed, all they could really do was maintain their course and slug it out, and lonely Tindal and Simms would actually control the terms of the engagement. Given enough time, ammunirtz and luck, there wasn’t a hell of a lot the Doms could do about it-without their damn dragons. That left the final Allied advantage: USS Walker. She’d be in the fight from the start, and exposed to considerable risk, but the dragons were her priority opponent.

“Warn Mertz to prepare for air attack,” Matt instructed. “Looks like fifty or sixty of the devils are inbound for her position, if she hasn’t seen them yet. We’ll need to let them get right on her before we make our move, but holler if they manage to do worse than chew ropes or dent the deck!” For this part of the action, Mertz ’s crew would have to abandon their exposed guns and take what the dragons dished out for a while.

“Ay, ay!”

For some time, nothing changed except the weather, which continued to worsen. The sea developed a genuine chop, and the wind rose, shifting several degrees back and forth. Matt was afraid the enemy would be forced to tack and that would change his initial deployment plan, but it shouldn’t make that much difference.

“ Mertz says draa-gons are attacking now, much as before with round- shot, but the wind makes them drop too low to do bad damage,” Minnie reported.

“Very well,” Matt replied, almost distractedly. “All units will increase speed, Mertz too. Make the damn things work to keep up with her!” Mertz ’s top speed under steam in seas like this was probably only ten knots, but every little bit helped, and the dragons were flying into a twenty-knot headwind. That ought to wear them out. “Achilles will join the Imperial squadron and lead it up on the enemy rear. Simms will take her place as our screen. As soon as the Doms get wise, Simms and Tindal are on the loose-weapons free-and we’ll pull our little stunt!”

Someone in the Dominion fleet apparently caught on fairly quickly, most likely when they saw what appeared to be two steamers overhauling their starboard flank considerably faster than any transport should be able. Signal flags raced up halyards on several of the closest ships, and when there was no response, they fired a few guns for emphasis. Matt didn’t see the flags or hear the shots. The screening ships blocked his view and Walker ’s blower, pounding hull and rumbling machinery more than absorbed the distant reports, but a signal from Simms ’s Morse lamp was sufficient.

“Execute,” he said simply, and the word was passed to every Allied ship by wireless or signal flag. “All ahead full,” he added a few moments later. “Main battery will stand by for surface action port, explosive shells. Inform Mr. Campeti he may fire when ready. Somebody hoist the battle flag, if you please.”

The vibration in the deck strakes beneath their feet intensified, and the blower roared. Walker went from plodding through the swells, to a virtual leap forward, and the sea boomed across her fo’c’sle. ’Cats on Simms and Tindal cheered lustily as she left them behind, her twin screws churning the sea behind her fantail. Their cheers redoubled when they saw the oversize ensign rise to the top of the old destroyer’s foremast, standing out straight and taught in the stiff wind, her many battles embroidered on the red and white stripes. Those on Walker cheered their consorts in return when other large flags broke and streamed above them, and Simms and Tindal altered course to close the range to the enemy. The old Japanese alarm bell, turned salvo buzzer, jarred loudly against the bulkhead, and three bright flashes lit the drab day, illuminating the expectant faces of the gun’s crews stationed around a 4-inch-50and fo’c’sle, another on the amidships gun platform, and a 4.7-inch dual purpose on the aft deckhouse. Their line of sight was clear now, and Matt moved to port and stared through his binoculars at the enemy still more than two miles away. Campeti had been drilling his crews remorselessly and now that they had the tables of fire adjusted for black powder, the guns were actually more accurate, if shorter-legged, since velocity variations were less extreme. Of course, regardless of the ammunition, Walker still had her single, greatest combat advantage: gyro-stabilized fire control that allowed a pitching, rolling, racing ship to hit an equally lively target.

Matt grunted in satisfaction when two of the three shells struck a battleship on their first salvo. The explosions of the bursting charges weren’t very big and wouldn’t have caused much damage against a modern warship, but they blew quite satisfactory holes in wooden ships, little matter how stout and thick, because they naturally penetrated while exploding. Of course, the enemy also relied on bringing large quantities of bagged powder from their magazines to the guns. Powder that was immune to the passage of solid shot, splinters, or virtually any hazard they might face in battle-except random and energetic flashes of fire. What began as something resembling fireworks going off within the distant ship, even as her gunports began to rise, rapidly accelerated into a catastrophic detonation that everyone heard over the wind, distance, and sounds of their ship. In an instant, all that remained of a once-mighty vessel-and possibly five or six hundred human beings-was an expanding cloud of smoke and falling debris.

Those on the bridge stood almost stunned for a moment, but Campeti’s roar of “Next target, next target! Match pointers, goddamn it!” on the fire control platform above snapped them out of it. They’d blown up enemy ships before, but rarely before they were fully immersed in the fight-and never with so many humans aboard.

Matt turned to the bridge watch, his face hard. “They started this, so they asked for it,” he grated. “I’m not happy about it either, but I’m satisfied, and I’ll stay that way if we blow every one of ’em out of the water!”

The salvo buzzer rang again, and three more tongues of fire snarled at the enemy and jolted the ship as Walker continued her dash to get around in front of the Dom fleet.

“Hello the bridge!” came a cry from aft. “May I come up there, please?”

“Courtney! I thought you stayed in Saint Francis!” Matt said, surprised.

“Well, I didn’t. I may have made an extra effort to stay out of sight, so you wouldn’t force me to, but I am, indeed, here! I’m the acting surgeon after all, and I have my duty,” he reminded him piously. “May I join you?”

“Yeah, I suppose. But since you’re here, I expect you to do your duty without whining. If we take a hit, you’re off to the wardroom!”

“I shall vanish instantly, sir! Vanish!” He peered out at the Doms. Another salvo boomed, and he worked his jaw to pop his ears. “So we’re engaged in yet another unequal fight,” he observed cheerfully. “How exciting! Shall we see more of those dreadful but fascinating flying creatures?”

“I think you can count on it,” Matt said, watching another salvo launch water spouts around one of the lead “cruisers.” Only one shell hit the ship and it didn’t explode, but it must have struck somewhere near the wheel, because the ship suddenly fell off, beam on to the wind. It did manage a stuttering broadside in Walker ’s direction, but every shot fell randomly short.

The whole right side of the enemy formation suddenly erupted fire and smoke at Simms and Tindal as they eased ever closer, but that fire had no greater effect. The two Allied DDs held their fire.

“It must be terribly frustrating for them,” Bradford commiserated. “I mean, I doubt any of those men over there had ever heard of Walker before we waylaid them at Guadalupe, and there they stand, directly into her fire with no hope of a meaningful reply. You can despise what they represent, but you must honor their courage.”

“Theirs is the courage of the Grik, Courtney,” Matt snapped.

“It’s not! They’re… misguided. Criminally so. They’re doubtless coerced by their faith, and by our standards, even evil. But they must sense fear and understand their danger.” He shook his head. “Their courage is real.”

“I don’t know. After meeting that weird ‘Blood Cardinal’ bastard, Don Hernan, I wonder if it’s only that they’re less afraid of us than they are of him and his kind.”

“Perhaps. Pity we never caught him. I suspect he now sits happily at the feet of his ‘pope’… perhaps as a footrest?”

Matt barked a laugh. “That would be a sight, with all his puffed-up dignity!” He shook his head. “I doubt it, though. He’s probably on New Ireland. Maybe Chack’s already killed him!”

“A happy thought!”

The salvo buzzer rang.

Walker finally passed around in front of the Dom fleet, still keeping her distance on a course of two, eight, zero, mauling its ships practically at will. Roundshot, probably fired by heavy bow chasers, moaned by or plunked into the sea close aboard, shrouded in massive splashes. Courtney was as good as his word and promptly left the bridge when a pair of lucky shots staggered the ship. At this range they didn’t penetrate, but they did open seams and cause leaks. Mertz reported that the dragons had all dropped their loads, causing some damage to her decking and a few gun carriages, but little more. As Matt had predicted, they’d started shredding her rigging. The ship and her swarm of attackers were visible from the crow’s nest now, and the report said the distant struggle looked like a flock of “regular” lizard birds picking at a floating fish.

“Make your course three, three, zero, Mr. Kutas,” Matt said. “I hope those flying Grik remember what we did to them the other day and still hold a grudge. Let’s see if we can get their attention.” The salvos still flew hot and heavy to port, and the enemy van was losing its cohesion. Two more ships had been utterly destroyed by Walker ’s fire, and gouts of smoke billowed southward on the landward side of the fleet as the firing between it and the two Allied DDs grew more furious. Achilles signaled that she and her consorts were finally bringing the Dom rear under fire. Matt began to grow concerned that the enemy might wear and turn on the Imperial squadron. He didn’t think they would, not yet anyway, but if they did, Achilles and the other Imperial frigates wouldn’t last long. He had to be ready to respond quickly if that occurred.

“Cap-i-taan!” Minnie cried. “Commodore Jenks signals on small wireless we left him that the Dom Army is attacking in force! They is a lot of them, maybe five thousands. They not have much artillery, though, and Jenks does. Artillery has kept them at arm’s reach for now, so Bosun an’ his rifle militia can kill them well! He holding. He ask how we do?”

“Tell him we’re holding too.”

“That all?”

“That’s all. For now.”

More splashes rose around Walker, falling ever shorter as she steamed farther from the Dominion fleet-toward Mertz.

Bradford clomped back up the stairs aft, waving away questioning faces. “No injuries. Nothing serious, anyway. Just the usual cuts and scrapes, bumps and bruises you always see whenever large numbers of people scamper about on a vessel this small, handling heavy shells and manipulating large objects designed to pinch hell out of anyone coming near.” His bushy eyebrows rose as he stared off the port quarter. Several ships had begun to burn, and a number of warships had turned toward Simms and Tindal, regardless of the risk. The pounding they’d been taking simply couldn’t be borne any longer. “Can’t say the same for those poor buggers, I’m sad to say.”

“No,” Matt said, “but our guys are about to get it if they don’t pull ahead. Signal Simms and Tindal, ‘Full ahead, remain to windward of the enemy.’ ”

“Ay, ay… Cap-i-taan!” Minnie passed the word, then paused, listening to her earpiece. “Lookout says, ‘Draagons come!’ Signal from Mertz says they leave her be now.” Minnie cocked her head. “Says some real tired draagons roost on ship! They shooting them!”

“Swell,” Matt replied. “Have Mertz rejoin Tindal and Simms at her best possible speed! She’s finished playing bait, and I think her sisters are going to need her!”

“Here they come!” Kutas said, peering up through the windows.

“Secure from ‘surface action port’!” Matt cried. “Stand by for air action, aft! Helm, give us a gradual turn to course two, four, zero! Reduce speed to two-thirds.”

“What exactly are you planning?” Bradford asked.

“I’m playing a hunch you gave me. Those devils have got to be getting tired, all of them. At the same time, they’re going to hate giving up chasing something. If they really are like Grik, they can’t help it! So… we let ’em chase us, farther and farther away from their ‘base’ ships, hopefully staying just out of reach as long as we can. Shooting at ’em the whole time ought to keep them stirred up… .”

“But what happens when they catch us? They might, you know. Then we’ll have half a hundred of those vicious things romping all over the ship! We won’t be able to man the guns, and go back and assist our friends!”

“You let me worry about that. I have a surprise for them based on something else you said.”

“Oh dear,” Courtney mumbled. “I certainly hope, whatever it was, I was right!”

Staring astern, Spanky stood on the aft deckhouse, striking his signature pose, hands on his skinny hips.

“Bunch of ’em,” Carl Bashear said, taking a chew from Spanky’s tobacco pouch. A virtual cloud of “dragons” had gathered in their wake, beating their wings and gaining quickly. “Look kinda aggravated,” he mumbled around the mouthful of leaves.

“Yeah. A Grik charge in midair,” Spanky agreed. “What a hoot.” He looked at Finny, serving as his talker. “Marksmen t Redu stern. Inform the captain we’re about to engage… aerial targets.” Chief Gunner’s Mate Paul Stites had the “number four” 4.7-inch gun. Spanky scowled at him. “Don’t miss. We’re running low on those Jap time-fuse shells.” He raised his voice so he could be heard by the crews of the 25 mm’s in the tubs just forward. “Antiair… lizard batteries, in local control, commence firing!”

Matt was looking aft around the chart house, trying to see the effect of the fire. Tabby was on the ball; only the faintest wisps of smoke smeared the tops of the funnels, and the 4.7-inch and 25-mm guns still ate “smokeless” Japanese shells they’d salvaged from Amagi. Even many of the marksmen still had ’03s. That left a better-than-average view of the terrifying creatures flying up Walker ’s skirt. Matt still had trouble seeing them clearly through his binoculars, as the creatures tended to group together, and the flying mass became a wild flurry of motion in his Bausch amp; Lombs. He got indistinct impressions: furry, bright-colored bodies like the ones before, grasping talons and ferocious, golden, reptilian eyes. Every mouth was open, revealing rows of teeth unlike the Grik-thinner, longer, more curved-the better to snatch prey from the sea or sky. They were not shrieking, however. Over the sound of the guns and rifles, he couldn’t tell if they made any sounds at all. His brief glimpses at their faces left him with a growing conviction they were gasping for air.

“All ahead full!” he ordered.

The deck trembled, the blower roared, and the bow lurched out of the sea between the streaming troughs. The pitching eased a bit as the ship practically leaped from swell to swell. Still the monsters gained. If anything, they seemed to be gaining more rapidly. Maybe they knew they had to board Walker or die, at this stage, and they were giving it their all. Its fuses set shorter and shorter, the number four gun fired rapidly, the dark explosions erupting closer and closer to the ship. Shattered dragons staggered in the air or plummeted lifelessly into the sea. Pom-poms blatted at the creatures that lunged ahead and tried to board on the flanks, perforating wings and shredding bodies. Muskets started firing, joined by a Thompson and a BAR. Even more monsters fell, still reaching desperately for the ship. Spanky fired at a dragon swooping over the aft deckhouse with his pistol, and a couple actually lit on the platform, causing a wild melee of shots, slashing teeth, and a fusillade of flung shell casings. More clawed their way onto the fantail, their tongues literally lolling with exhaustion. They were easily shot-with extreme care, considering their proximity to the depth charge racks.

“All ahead flank!” Matt shouted remorselessly. Realistically, most of the dragons were probably already doomed. They’d never make it back to their ships, and their only hope was to land on Walker -but Walker was even faster now, making almost thirty knots on three boilers for the first time in… Matt couldn’t remember how long. She was just a little faster than the wind now, perfect for his purposes. It was time. Kari Faask and Fred Reynolds were on his mind when he gave his next order:

“Make smoke!”

Tabby had been waiting. Raw fuel gushed into the boilers at a far more prodigious rate than they could ever burn it all, and Jeek and the rest of his flight crew activated the on-deck smoke generators with grim satisfaction. In moments, impenetrable black columns of thick, sooty smoke piled into the sky and streamed aft, slowly spreading into the wind. In many places, it swirled on the ship itself, under the bridge and through the galley space beneath the amidships deckhouse. Men and’Cats choked and coughed, holding T-shirts over their faces. The giant lizard birds chasing the ship with their final breaths fell into the sea as if they’d been switched off, and in less than three or four minutes, a gasping Spanky called the bridge and reported that all the “air-lizards” had “splashed.”

“Very well,” Matt said with vengeful satisfaction. “Secure from flank. Secure from making smoke. All ahead full.”

“Cap-i-taan Reddy!” Minnie squeaked. “ Tindal has lost her rudder and got tangled with a Dom baattle-waagon! They try to board! Mertz steams to her aid, an’ so do Achilles an’ another Imp-ee ship!”

“I told them to keep their distance!”

“They try-but lose rudder!”

“Okay. Send to Simms to stay the hell out of there, whatever she does. Try to get Achilles to break off. We’re coming as fast as we can!” He scanned the now-distant battle with his binoculars. “Still too many!” he murmured, then lowered the glasses and stepped to the bulkhead where the shipwide comm microphone was mounted. He twisted the switch. “Well done, Walkers!” he said, and waited for the relieved, triumphant cheers to dwindle. “Now, all hands resume ‘surface action stations’! We still have a battle to finish!”

Walker dashed back toward what had become a chaotic, sprawling brawl with a bone in her teeth, shouldering aside a mounting swell. The transports had turned, possibly making for Monterey, but Port Admiral Rempel aboard Perseus was leading two more of the Imperial Frigates in a determined attack against them. Matt was frankly surprised by that. Rempel hadn’t struck him as a particularly bold fighter-and maybe he wasn’t, since the transports were only lightly armed-but he was pressing his attack with sufficient gusto to prove he had no sympathy for the enemy. Tindal was in a bad way, almost dismasted, her bowsprit snared in a Dom cruiser’s foremast shrouds. Despite her loss of control, she was still driving forward, keeping the link as rough as possible to prevent boarders from swarming across. Her guns still vigorously pounded other Dom ships that ventured too close.

Mertz had almost joined her, orange flashes stabbing out either side, smashing mighty hulls, and utterly disrupting enemy attempts to close or even maintain formation. She’d become the focus of the Dom’s attention, however, and even as she plowed forward, she was being viciously mauled. To the south, Achilles and the rig-damaged frigate Hector slashed their way through damaged and undamaged Doms alike, guns thundering and paddles churning. It was a terrible, inspiring sight. If the Doms hadn’t been thrown into such disarray, largely due to their initial formation and inability to alter it with any precision, the four allied ships in their midst would already be floating debris. Matt reflected yet again how lucky they were that the Dominion had elected to start this war before fully “modernizing” its warships.

“Pass the word to Campeti,” Matt shouted as Walker drew to within a mile of the fight. “Concentrate fire on those battleships working over Tindal and Mertz. It looks as if the remaining cruisers are peeling off to protect the transports. Get that big devil twenty-five degrees off the starboard bow! She’s stern on to us, but she’s giving Mertz hell!”

“He acknowledge!” Minnie cried, and moments later they all heard Campeti’s bellow above. “Surface target, bearing one four zero; course zero, zero, five; speed six knots! Range… three nine five zerouns one, three, and four, match pointers!”

“On target!”

“In salvo, commence firing!” The salvo buzzer rang and a mere instant later, all three guns boomed, and the smoke quickly vanished to leeward. Even over the ship noises, the “Shhhhhh!” of the shells was audible. Three splashes erupted just aft and short of the big enemy ship. “Up fifty!” came the cry. “Adjust left zero zero five degrees!”

“On target!”

“Fire!”

Three more shells screeched away, and all must have crashed through the vulnerable stern of the Dom ship before detonating against something substantial. There was a series of flashes, and, once again, another huge Dom ship of the line vanished amid an expanding cloud of smoke and a blizzard of splinters and larger fragments.

“New target! Range…”

Matt quit listening. Campeti was good-maybe as good as Greg Garrett. He concentrated on conning his ship through the tumult ahead. Mertz was closing on Tindal now, starboard guns flailing the port bow of the liner Tindal embraced, smoke streaming from her perforated stack in half a dozen places. The liner spat back, chopping further at Mertz ’s mangled rigging, but most of the shot flew aft of the target and battered a wallowing, dismasted hulk beyond her. Soon, Mertz would add her boarders to Tindal ’s and they’d have a chance to turn the tables on the Doms. For just a moment, Matt glanced at Tabasco, standing out of the way beside the chart table. The ’Cat steward had brought his pistol belt to the bridge, with his Academy sword hanging from it. No, he decided. Much as he’d have liked to, joining a boarding action wasn’t Walker ’s job. Not his job. Not this time. For now, he had to be content with destroying as many Dom ships as he could, and a stationary Walker was bound to attract too much fire-and far too many holes. No one aboard his ship had anything to prove, and Walker was much safer and far more effective underway. His decision was punctuated by a series of hammer blows pounding the port flank of his ship, and he rushed to the bridgewing, followed by Bradford. A ship of the line had suddenly turned and presented them with a full broadside.

“Get that son of a bitch!” he roared up at Campeti.

“Surface action port!” Campeti bellowed in reply. “Guns two and four engage that battlewagon at zero three five in local control! Range, uh… eight hundred! Commence firing! Portside twenty-fives assist!” He paused for only an instant. “Guns one and three maintain fire control connection! Target bearing one eight five! Range two thousand! Match pointers!”

“Make your course zero, four, zero!” Matt shouted as soon as the salvo buzzer rang and the gun on the fo’c’sle boomed and bucked.

“Sero, four, sero, ay!”

“Damage control reports one shot penetrated aa-midships deckhouse, an’ one punch through guinea pullman,” Minnie shouted in her high-pitched voice. “Two spring plates in aft engine room! They prob’ly skate in. Casualties to waard-room!”

Matt looked at Bradford, who’d been uncharacteristically quiet since they “bug-sprayed” the Grik birds, and sighed. “You have work, Courtney.”

Bradford nodded. “Indeed. As do you.” He waved about. The numbers two and four guns opened fire, as did the port twenty-fives.

“Yeah. We won’t board anbody, but it looks like we’re back in the pool with the flashies again, fighting both sides. No choice. I’ll do my best to spoil their aim.”

“God bless you for that, Captain Reddy,” Courtney murmured, and vanished down the ladder aft.

“Lotta iron flyin’ around amongst all that, Skipper,” Norman Kutas said matter-of-factly, nodding ahead toward the densest concentration of enemy ships. Achilles and Hector were in it now, smoke gushing from their guns.

“Yeah, and we’re bound to catch some,” Matt agreed solemnly; then his lips quirked into a grin. “You’re not worried about something spoiling your boyish looks, are you, Norm?”

The badly-and often-scarred First Lieutenant chuckled. “No, sir. I’m way beyond that, but I feel everything that hits this old ship in my bones.”

“Me too, Norm,” Matt agreed. “So let’s do our best to avoid as many hits as possible.”

“Fancy footwork ain’t gonna save us from everything, Skipper.”

“No, but right now good people are dying, and the enemy’s in disarray. We’ll race through, shooting up whatever we can while avoiding as much return fire as we can manage.”

“Then what?”

Matt shrugged. “We turn around and do it again until our friends are safe and every Dom out there is on the bottom of the sea.”