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.
“Take your place aft at the auxiliary conn, Lieutenant Hiro,” Okada said formally. “Only remember: whatever happens to me, the ship, to any of us- Hidoiame must not survive this day!”
“ Hai, my lord,” Hiro snapped, and jerked a respectful bow before racing aft.
“Two tow-saand!” the talker cried nervously.
“Very well,” Okada said, again staring at Hidoiame, his tone almost unnaturally calm. “Come to zero five zero.” He turned to the talker. “Inform Gunnery Officer Muraa-Laak that he may man his guns and commence firing as they bear.”
Mizuki Maru ’s first rippling salvo was wild and mostly short, but it took Hidoiame completely by surprise. Even before the destroyer managed to sound general quarters, a second, better-aimed quartet of shells were on their way, and 25 mm projectiles, chased by bright tracers, groped for her. Three shells landed close aboard but one exploded with a red flash beneath Hidoiame ’s port hawse and she veered quickly to starboard, throwing a sheet of water high in the air. For a few brief moments, she lay there, her screws slashing a trough, coiling for a sprint, her whole length exposed to Okada’s guns. His warriors-his samurai! — made the most of it.
The windows shook and the deck plates quivered as Mizuki Maru ’s fire grew more sporadic, but also more accurate. Okada watched the two gun’s crews forward. Those of the number one gun on the fo’c’sle were Navy professionals loaned by Saan-Kakja, and they performed their evolutions with a competent grace, even though the fur left exposed by their peacoats was white with ice. They sent a 5.5-inch shell arcing into Hidoiame right between her forward stack and superstructure. They were rewarded by a swirling black gout of smoke and a billow of yellow fire. The number two gun, exposed over the forward cargo hatch now that the sides of a crate had been taken down, was crewed by survivors of the village their enemies had razed. Their drill was not as crisp as the Amer-i-caan ’Cats, but they served their gun with a vengeful passion and also achieved a hit-this one on the enemy fo’c’sle, just beneath her forward turret.
Okada’s pulse thundered with exultation as he saw the rounds strike home, but his mind remained icy and analytical. So far, they’d had everything their way, but their target was beginning to accelerate rapidly now, and swarms of 25 mm tracers were starting to reach back for them. Mizuki Maru shuddered under their sudden, slamming blows. Smoke streamed away from Hidoiame ’s aft turret, and a cataract of foam rose alongside and drenched the crew of number two, even as Okada felt a mighty blow somewhere aft stagger his ship. The stutter of impacting twenty-fives became a storm, and glass shattered and flew as some found the bridge.
“Full ahead!” Okada commanded. “Left ten degrees rudder!” A ’Cat slammed the telegraph lever forward amid a clash of bells, and another spun the wheel.
“Full ahead, lef’ ten de-gees, ay!”
Another shell crashed into the ship, and Okada heard muted screams and felt the pressure of the blast and the convulsion of tortured steel. The rest of the bridge crew had something to hold on to, but Okada nearly fell. The talker held the headset against his furry ear and shouted over the tumult.