Weyler drew himself up to full attention. “We will attack in two days.”
* * *
Janson and Prentice decided that the time was right. It was well after midnight, but a three-quarters moon and a cloudless sky gave them all the light they would need. The festivities on the Vitoria had ended and any civilians were now safely on land. This was a comfort to the two men as the idea of needlessly inflicting civilian casualties was repugnant. If necessary they would do it, but avoiding them was a fervent wish.
Better, the two small Spanish cruisers had shifted their anchorage so that getting a clear shot at the battleship was a good possibility. The Aurora’s anchor chains and her engine had been oiled and finely tuned so they made very little noise.
Janson signaled for all ahead slow and the Oslo, once again the Aurora, began to slowly move away from her anchorage. If anyone on shore or on the Spanish ships noticed, they didn’t care. An American flag was ready to be flown as soon as Janson or Prentice gave the order. The American crewmen, most of them now grinning hugely, were dressed as American sailors and not as Norwegian merchant crewmen.
At a point they turned to starboard and began to head towards the Vitoria. They had informed the Spanish that they would turn towards the channel and steam through it to the ocean. At only a couple of hundred yards from the Spanish ship, Janson ordered her engines stopped. He also ordered the torpedo tubes on the hull of the ship opened. This caused the Aurora to wallow for a moment. The brand new Whitehead torpedoes were propelled by compressed air and had a range of three hundred yards maximum and weren’t all that accurate; thus, the Americans had to be as close as possible in order to hit their target and for the Aurora to stand any chance of getting away safely.
Janson nodded towards Prentice. “The honor is yours, I believe.”
Prentice swallowed nervously. “Fire one,” he ordered through a speaking tube. The Aurora shuddered as the torpedo broke free. “Fire two,” he yelled, this time exultantly. The first torpedo was headed straight towards the Vitoria and the second quickly followed in her path.
Janson ordered the Aurora’s engines up to full speed and began to maneuver the ship towards and down the channel. Prentice kept an eye on the Vitoria as the torpedo wakes closed. He heard excited and confused yells from the enemy warship as someone spotted them. It was too late. First one and then the other struck the Vitoria, sending up mountains of water. The Spanish battleship shuddered and heeled over before recovering. Alarms and screams sounded.
As they headed down the channel, trumpets blared and alarm bells rang. “Fly our flag,” Janson ordered and the Stars and Stripes went up at her stern.
“The Vitoria’s sinking,” exulted Prentice. “She’s actually sinking. We’ve done it.”
Janson stole a glance. The Vitoria was listing heavily to port and he could see men jumping off her and into the calm warm water. Smoke was pouring out of her from down below. To his experienced eye, she was mortally wounded. The Spanish might actually salvage her someday, but it would be many months before the Vitoria returned to combat. “Now all we have to do is get out of here,” he said grimly.
Now alert but confused, the Spanish shore batteries opened up on anything that looked like a target and that included the Aurora. Someone with a brain clearly realized that a ship fleeing from such a catastrophe might have had something to do with it.
Shells splashed into the water around them. Shortly, the Spanish guns got the range and cannonballs began to strike the Aurora, hulling her and smashing her. Prentice was thrown the deck where he lay unconscious and bleeding. A large wooden splinter had pierced Janson’s shoulder and he could barely stand the pain.
“Stop engines and strike the flag,” he ordered before the darkness overwhelmed him.
* * *
Lieutenant Hugo Torres of the Spanish Navy was bored and lonely. He also felt that the Spanish Navy was in such bad shape that it might not even exist in a few days. The escape of the battleship Vitoria from the guns of the Americans was being told as if it was a great victory when nothing could be farther from the truth. Her batteries of 6.3 inch and 5.5 inch guns were popguns when compared with the guns mounted by the ships of other modern navies. Even the few large ships possessed by the U.S. Navy outgunned the Vitoria. Thus, the Vitoria had run from the battle to the safety of Havana’s harbor.
The battleship was safe but she was also locked in. As one sailor put it, she was as safe as a nun in a convent. The harbor was now her prison. Numerous American warships patrolled the entrance to the harbor. Any attempt to leave would bring them swarming. Even though all of the enemy ships outside the harbor were smaller than the Vitoria, there were so many of them that they would prevail against the Vitoria. They would be like a pack of wolves tearing at a horse or a cow. At least that was what the ship’s captain had declared. Torres was of the opinion that they should try to blast their way out, and that their bigger guns would prevail. However, the captain had also added that the Vitoria had no place to go even if she were to win free. The only safe place for her would be Spain and that was out of the question. It was too far and they would never make it. With that, Torres had to agree.
The people of Havana knew nothing of this. They were just delighted that the mighty looking ship was there to protect their city.
And that was another thing that annoyed Torres. Havana was nowhere near the cosmopolitan city he thought it would be. It was small, cramped, and dirty. Granted Madrid had her poor neighborhoods, but Havana had so many of them. Worse, there were so many blacks and Indians and so few true Spaniards. Many of those who considered themselves noble were clearly of mixed racial backgrounds. Madrid society would have laughed at them.
Nor had he managed to make any headway with the women of the town. The few really lovely ones had already been gobbled up by the more senior and wealthier officers. Torres family had some money but not enough to provide him with a lifestyle that would impress the senoritas. There was never enough, which was why he’d joined the navy in the first place. He had wanted to remove himself as a burden to his family. Well, he thought bitterly, he had indeed removed himself. Now he might remove himself out of this life if the Vitoria went to sea.
“Lieutenant, the foreign ship is moving.”
Torres was about to forcefully remind the sailor that he didn’t have the watch and had only come on deck to get out of the stifling heat below decks when he realized that the foreign ship’s behavior was indeed strange. Was she leaving port? All the Vitoria’s officers had been told that she might depart at any time. Well, he thought, this must be the time.
“Don’t worry about it, sailor,” he snapped.
But wait. The foreign ship was lined up as if she was planning to ram the Spaniard. There was commotion in the water on each side of the foreigner’s hull.
He saw things in the water headed towards him and realized with horror that they were torpedoes.
“Alarm!” Torres screamed. “Sound the alarm.”
It was too late. The torpedoes slammed into the Vitoria’s hull and exploded with incredible violence, actually lifting the ship out of the water for an instant. Torres felt himself being lifted into the air and thrown overboard. He landed in the water and began to thrash. Something floated by and he grabbed at it. He shrieked when he realized it was a human leg, complete with a shoe on its foot.