“Is this true, Lanier?” he shouted over the sea and the roaring galley furnace inside. Lanier appeared.
“Not completely, sir, though some folks might’a seen it that way.”
“Very well. I’ll deal with you at mast. Consider yourself confined to your duty station-the galley-until further notice.”
“Aye, aye, sir.” Lanier sulked.
Matt looked back at Stites. “What else?”
“Sir?”
“You said there were two things?”
“Oh! Mr. Campeti asks if we want any of the black-powder shells in the ready lockers or the lineup, you know, in case the new ones give us fits.”
“Does he expect any fits?”
“No, sir, he hopes not.”
“Then no. The older shells’ll put us in range of those things.” Matt gestured back at the 25 mm guns. “That’s no good.”
“No, sir.”
“Anything else?”
“No, sir.”
Matt looked at his watch again. He’d been gone a little over twenty minutes. If Spanky had decided the target was an illusion, someone would have found him and told him. If it was doing anything threatening, he’d have been called back to the bridge. All the same, whatever it was, it ought to be in sight by now.
“Carry on, Stites, Jeek. I’ll be on the bridge if any more… domestic hostilities erupt. And since we’re liable to be in action before long, the punishment for such acts will increase exponentially. Is that clear?”
CHAPTER 26
March 25, 1944
Battle of Madras 1216
A dmiral Keje-Fris-Ar leaned against the bridgewing rail of his beloved Salissa, staring through his Imperial telescope. Commodore Jim Ellis was leading the battle line with his DDs, under full steam and with all sails set. The crisp morning breeze out of the northwest was giving the graceful frigates an extra two or three knots and they seemed to fly across the purple agate sea toward the looming, smoking behemoths on the horizon.
Keje wasn’t happy sending Ellis and his Des-Div 4 against the Grik battleships. He feared even its powerful guns might prove ineffective against the enemy’s sloping iron sides. He’d heard how Marines sometimes used angled shields to turn musket fire, and suspected the Jaap Grik had designed their mighty ships with similar principles in mind. Jim was right, however. They wouldn’t know until they tried. All the bombs they’d used had been mere incendiaries with little explosive force. The thirty-two-pounders mounted on most of Jim’s ships would give the enemy the first real battering they’d taken. Salissa and Arracca were more heavily armed- Salissa, in particular, with her captured Jaap guns-but much as he hated to admit it, Jim was right about something else as welclass="underline" Salissa and Arracca were more valuable than every other ship in First Fleet combined, and they shouldn’t be risked unless absolutely necessary, or there was some chance they might inflict more damage than they received. Besides, if Jim failed, only Salissa, Arracca, and the few DDs Jim had left to screen them would remain to defend all the helpless transports, oilers, tenders, and their priceless crews when they made their break. Reinforcements were on the way, but none could possibly arrive in time to make a difference. Ben Mallory’s P-40s were supposed to arrive at Andaman that day, but to be of any use here, they’d have to land and refuel on Saa-lon. Grass strips had been located and laid out, but there were no facilities, fuel, or ordnance in place yet. Keje sank lower against the railing. No, First Fleet would have to fight with what it had.
He glanced down at Salissa ’s flight deck as the last of her Nancys lofted into the sky. There would be one last airstrike before Ellis made his attack, and the pursuit squadrons still carried incendiaries. There was always the chance they could get them through the antiair cannon ports if the enemy opened them. All the planes still carried hand-dropped mortar bombs, but those relied on fierce but relatively light antipersonnel fragmentation and hadn’t been effective at all against the armored ships. Somebody had come up with the bright idea of having the bomb squadrons’ OCs light fuses on the much heavier naval exploding case shot before dropping it on the enemy. Keje shuddered. The fuses were like little signal rocket motors and would flare fiercely-and possibly disastrously. There was a chance someone might drop one of the improvised bombs down an enemy stack, or a near miss detonating alongside might open seams below the waterline. It wasn’t much to hope for. There were better bombs on the way, but for now, they had to make do.
Keje sighed and nodded at Captain Atlaan-Fas. “Get on the TBS yourself. Send to Commodore Ellis on Dowden: Attack the enemy at your discretion, and may the Maker above be with you all.”
USS Dowden
“What a sight!” cried Lieutenant Niaal-Ras-Kavaat, Jim’s exec, while the 1st and 5th Naval Air Wings swirled around the monstrous Grik battlewagons like a swarm of stingers above a herd of rhino pigs. Incendiary bombs spewed rivulets of flame across the ships and the sea, keeping the antiair cannons from firing, if nothing else, and white puffs, like big cotton balls, blossomed around the ships as case shot exploded. Heavy geysers erupted in the air when the bombs hit the water.
“What a sight,” Jim agreed, watching through his binoculars. A form of hell was being unleashed on the oncoming monsters, but as far as he could tell, the six dreadnaughts-suddenly, he had to call them dreadnaughts-just shouldered it all aside and kept on coming. One of the ironclad frigates that remained with the enemy fleet suddenly jetted fire from every port and silently disintegrated under a muddy gray pall. It was long moments before the dull crack of the detonation reached them, but it was drowned by cheering. Jim was tempted to silence the crew. The destruction of the smaller ship meant nothing. Instead, he let them enjoy the moment. He didn’t know what size guns those monsters carried, but they were probably bigger than his-and longer ranged. His crew would get a wake-up soon enough.
He looked aft. Trailing behind Dowden were USS Haakar-Faask, USS Naga, USS Bowles, USS Felts, USS Saak-Fas, USS Davis, USS Ramic-Sa-Ar, and USS Clark. All were newer than Dowden and carried thirty-two-pounders to her twenty-fours, but Dowden was his ship, and would fire the first shots. Suddenly, Jim chuckled.
“What?” Niaal asked, blinking.
“Oh, nothing,” Jim said, then shrugged. “There’s six of them-eight, counting those frigate things they have left-and nine of us. Hell, this is the first time we’ve ever had ’em outnumbered!”
Niaal chuckled uneasily. “Yeah… but maybe we should’ve brought the whole division. I’d feel better if we outnumbered them a little more.”
Jim shook his head, pointing to windward where three more “destroyers” paced them. “They can come up quick enough if it looks like we’re doing any good. No sense wasting good ships and crews if we can’t scratch the bastards!” Niaal nodded, but wasn’t sure he agreed. More ships would disperse the enemy fire between more targets… wouldn’t they?
“Besides,” Jim continued, “if they knock us out, I can’t leave Keje naked. Scott ’s the only new DD he’s got back there.” He forced a grin. “Hoist the battle flag, Mr. Niaal!”
Niaal repeated Jim’s command. Moments later, the oversize Stars and Stripes ran up the halyard and broke to leeward. As the man and ’Cat watched, every trailing ship hoisted its own big flag, and Jim felt a stirring in his chest.
Niaal strode to the cluster of speaking tubes by the helm. Rather ironically, and unlike the Imperials who’d adopted an elevated flying bridge amidships, “American” frigates still retained their primary conning station on the quarterdeck, aft. Maybe it wasn’t as practical, but it was more traditional and the helm was better protected behind the heavy bulwarks on either side. The auxiliary conn was aft as well, but belowdecks and tied into the same speaking tubes. “Range?” Niaal cried into the tube that ultimately snaked up the main mast to the fire-control platform in the maintop.