Jim gazed back down the enemy line. All the Grik dreadnaughts had been hit, and the sunlight revealed suddenly mottled, dented armor that had shone smooth just moments before. Dented, but apparently not broken. He frowned. There’d been a few return shots, but none of his ships had reported any damage. How long can that last? he asked himself anxiously. He heard the gunnery officer shout, “No change, no change! Same elevation!” Cries of “Ready!” reached his ears. “All guns report ready,” Niaal yelled in the tube.
“Stand clear!”
“All clear!”
Jim looked back at the target. A mere instant before Dowden ’s salvo bell began to ring, he saw the side of the dreadnaught vanish behind its own massive, stuttering pall of smoke. The entire Grik battle line and the ships of Des-Div 4 fired almost simultaneously, but the projectiles that passed one another on opposite trajectories didn’t care. The Allied shot flew faster, but the Grik shot was heavier and retained its lower velocity better-and still had more than twice the energy when it hit naked wood.
It was Jim’s turn to tumble to the quarterdeck when two one-hundred-pound balls crashed through his beloved Dowden amid massive near-miss plumes of white seawater that stood high in giant columns around her. The splashes rocked the ship and left her deluged when they collapsed.
“Damage report!” Niaal bellowed, even as Jim quickly jumped to his feet and studied the results of their own fire. The spray around the target was clearing, revealing a sloping iron side that had begun to resemble the surface of the moon.
“She still looks as invincible as ever!” commented Niaal’s lieutenant.
“Maybe,” Jim replied. “But all those dents are going to start raising hell inside her.”
“Commodore!” Niaal cried. “We’re taking water forward. The balls punched straight through both sides of the ship, and one came out at the port waterline! Damage control is trying to plug the hole, but it is very large.”
“Worst case?”
“It won’t sink us. If it comes to that, we can seal the compartment and the pumps will handle the seepage. But it will slow us down.”
“What of the other ships?”
“ Naga and Bowles report damage. Naga ’s is much like ours, but Bowles lost her mizzenmast and her engine. I recommend you order her to retire under sail.”
“No,” Jim said firmly. “She stays in the fight until she falls too far behind. Then she can retire!”
“Stand clear!”
“All clear!”
Dowden spat iron once more, and Jim followed the shoosh! of the shot. Haakar-Faask fired, and her smoke passed in front of him, so he couldn’t see their own broadside strike, but did see Haakar-Faask ’s hit. Was it his imagination, or did he see plates spin away from the enemy and fall into the sea? Something flashed bright at the periphery of his view, and he redirected his glasses toward the rear of the enemy line. The rearmost Grik dreadnaught had just… blown up! There was no way to know what caused it; only Clark had been targeting it. Maybe it was a super lucky shot-or even an accident on the Grik’s gun deck? Whatever the cause, he would take it, and the crew of Dowden cheered and pranced exuberantly as tons of debris splashed into the sea.
“Commodore!” Niaal pointed aft. Haakar-Faask was heeling hard over on her port beam, making a radical starboard turn. Debris was still flying from a massive wound at her stern. Perhaps worse, USS Davis, just aft of Haakar-Faask, looked like she’d just been the target of a gigantic shotgun blast. Her masts and cordage practically sprayed away from her amid a cloud of bright splinters, and steam gushed from her innards. By the extent of the damage and volume of splashes, two Grik dreadnaughts must have targeted her at once, some of the shot pattern catching Haakar-Faask too.
“Jesus!” Jim muttered. “She’s done for! What’s Haakar-Faask ’s status?”
“She just report!” Niaal said. Like many ’Cats, his normally good English slipped under stress. “She lose helm control, but still have auxiliary conn. She back in line soon!”
“Stand clear!”
“All clear!”
BaBOOM! SHHHHHH!
Dowden heaved, and Jim felt like somebody hit him in the face with a baseball bat. It didn’t hurt, not really, but his thoughts were scattered. They always say you see stars, he thought, but purple stars? ’Cats scurried around him and he heard shouts and screams, but for a while-maybe a long while-he didn’t feel like he was really there. “Hey!” he finally said, realizing Niaal was holding him up- For how long? The deck around was scattered with shredded corpses and great, jagged splinters. Jim looked down to see a huge gap that had opened not far away, as if an enemy shot had torn his ship from beam to beam. “What the hell?” he murmured, noticing his mouth wasn’t moving exactly right. Hot blood started getting in his suddenly watery eyes.
“We hit bad,” Niaal said, blinking concern.
“How bad?”
“I still waiting on report from the carpenter, but we take maybe six hits that time. Prob’ly bad enough!”
Wet, grimy, coughing ’Cats scampered up on deck from below, followed by a gush of gray-black smoke and the first tongues of flame. Jim Ellis quickly came to his senses and realized Niaal might not have all of his. He grabbed the ’Cat and shook him.
“Get all the ready charges over the side right damn now!” he said. He felt like he was mumbling, and his words sounded weird. “Flood the magazine!”
“Maag-a-zine already flood!” shouted the blood-streaked gunnery officer. “Shot punch right through. Another knock hole in fuel bunker. We sink or burn, but not blow up!”
“I already order ready charges over,” Niaal assured him. “Boilers are secure, an’ we venting steam.”
“But… if we can’t move, we’ll be sitting ducks!” Jim managed. He looked at the gunnery officer. “And why aren’t you at your post?”
The ’Cat shrugged and pointed up and forward. The mainmast was gone. All that stood amidships was the shot-perforated, steam-gushing stack.
“My post gone, Commodore. I fall out, land on longboat cover in the waist! Lucky!”
“But… well, we are sittin’ ducks,” Jim said. Longer tongues of flame flailed from below, while ’Cats shoveled sand down the companionway from barrels that stood nearby. The ship was nearly dead in the water, her flooding carcass moving only slightly under the foremast sails.
“You gotta sit, Commodore,” Niaal said. “You bleeding-an’ I think you jaw is broke.” The Lemurian was easing Jim aft, toward the skylight above the great cabin/wardroom. He cried for the surgeon- Again, Jim thought. The carpenter appeared, also soaked and grimy. Jim saw him, but darkness was creeping in around his field of view. He felt the hard, raised sill around the skylight under his butt and heard an excited, grim exchange, but the words didn’t make any sense.
“ Haakar-Faask is coming alongside to take us off, Commodore,” Niaal said, breaking through the gathering haze with a gentle shake. “We’re going to lose the ship, sir. Nothing we can do. Clark and Felts are taking the survivors off Davis now. She’s goin’ down fast.”
“Dammit!” Jim managed to shout. “Then they’ll be sitting ducks too!”
The gunnery officer looked at Niaal. The commodore had missed a lot.
“Sure, but…” Niaal nodded northwest. Jim slowly followed his gaze. The Grik line, the five dreadnaughts and two armored frigates that remained, were already past Jim’s shattered, almost-stationary division, steaming west-northwest. “Ahd-mi-raal Keje’s bringin’ up Big Sal, Commodore, an’ them Griks think they got a bigger duck just sittin’. She gonna sit on their damn heads, I figger.” He looked at Jim with a new flurry of concerned blinks. “Sur, we got the fire under control-most of the bunkers underwater now-but Dowden ’s gonna sink. Surgeon’s dead, an’ we gotta get you over to Haakar-Faask! Sur? Commodore!”