Oto Melara rounds rained down on the other battery sites. The autocannon shells were too light to damage the massive concrete fortifications themselves, but proximity-fused, they exploded overhead, raking the open mounts with hypervelocity shrapnel.
Steel found flesh, and gunners died. Their comrades maintained the loading cadence, however, hunkering down against the storm and continuing the rituals. Round in the breech!
Breechblock closed! Lanyard pulled! Round on the way!
“Captain, we have reversed three five zero yards by GPU … ” The helmsman was by the shell howl and rippling roar of the salvo detonation. The plumes were closer now. The rounds were walking in to mate lethally with the Cunningham.
“… awaiting orders, ma’am.”
“Stop all engines. Hold position. Resume station keeping.”
“Engines answering all stop, Captain. Station keeping on hydrojets.”
Amanda slid one hand under her helmet and held the command-set earphone more tightly against her head.
“Dix, status on the torpedo?”
“System’s hot and the fish is spinning up now. Targeting datum point and range safeties set. Ready to shoot. But no promises, ma’am.”
“None asked. Shoot!”
“Fire one!”
From near the Duke’s waterline amidships, a Barracuda torpedo sliced out of its fixed launching tube. Trailing the hair-fine filament of its guidance wire behind it, it curved away from the ship’s hull.
Abruptly, the sea domed up off the Cunningham’s starboard bow, an upheaval of shattered water far greater than any shell hit. The destroyer leaped in the water like a startled horse, the shock coming as a blow through the soles of the feet.
“Dix, what happened?”
“We lost the torpedo, Captain. It swung wide in the channel and clipped one of the contact mines.”
“Reset systems and try it again! Expedite!”
“Acknowledged. Fire two!”
This time there was only the briefest of howls. Three jets of spray lifted out of the river to port. And one to starboard.
“Captain!” one of the lookouts cried. “They’ve got us straddled!”
“I’m aware of that, mister. Stand easy.” Amanda silently counted out seconds of running time, willing the torpedo to make the turn, willing it down into murky depths of the river.
Backlit by the starshell glow, a massive, muddy column of water lifted out of the center of the channel, straight on beyond the Cunningham’s bow.
“Yes!” Amanda leaned forward in the captain’s chair.
“Dix, did we get the watchdog?”
“Torpedo detonation is on target, Captain.”
“Dix, did we get the mine? Do we have a clear channel?”
“Can’t tell, Captain. Not yet. Bottom conditions are disturbed. We do not have clear imaging.”
“Dix, we have got to get the ship out of here … “
Amanda Garrett would never be able to explain just what made her do what she did at that instant. Possibly, she felt the brush of the incoming shell’s shock wave. Whatever the reason, she threw her arms up in front of her face and curled forward in the captain’s chair. A fragment of a second later, a wall of orange flame caved in the thermoplastic of the windscreen.
“They aren’t buying it anymore, Lieutenant,” Gus Grestov itch reported from the rear cockpit. “They’re just shooting at us now too.”
“I know.” Arkady had felt two small-arms strikes on that last pass. They had been making dummy firing runs on the beach to try to keep the Chinese troops at bay. Unfortunately, the bluff was wearing thin. As he swung back over the estuary, Arkady keyed the CSAR again.
“Moondog, how you doing down there?”
“Not so good, Retainer. We’re getting fired on again. That damn gunboat is drifting down on us, and I think they can see us from the beach.”
Arkady glanced upstream at the flaming hulk. “Sorry about that, Moondog. It seemed like a good idea at the time.”
“Yeah, well, I think we could use another one, guys.”
“Coming up, Moondog.”
Arkady lifted his thumb off the transmitter key. “Any brilliant notions?”
“Just one, sir.”
“What is it?”
“Call the fucking ship.”
“I think you’re right.”
As he toggled across frequencies to the command channel, Arkady looked downstream to where the starshells still rained down.” As he did so, however, he saw an atypical flash of light play across the mouth of the estuary like heat lightning. That had to have been an explosion.
“Gray Lady, this is Retainer Zero One. Do you copy?”
He was answered with dead air.
“Gray Lady, this is Zero One. Do you copy?”
Arkady tasted sudden copper fear.
“Gray Lady, this is Zero One. Do you copy? … Amanda, Goddamn it, you answer me!”
She didn’t.
Amanda straightened slowly. The burning stench of cordite hung thick in the air and soured her throat. Behind her, over the ringing in her ears, she could hear the soft, mindless wail of a human reduced to the level of a wounded animal.
She could also hear a quiet, cool voice speaking from deep in the center of her being: You aren’t hurt that badly. The ship is in trouble. Get moving! Do something!
She found that she was on the deck beside the captain’s chair, and she used it to pull herself to her feet. The bridge structure was essentially intact, but the windscreen was gone and there was systems damage: telepanels broken and electronics chassis lifted out of their bulkhead mounts.
She staggered over to the grab rail and peered out and down onto the foredeck. They had been lucky, extremely lucky. A few feet farther forward and the Chinese 152mm round would have struck the number-three Vertical Launch System with its scores of closely ranked guided missiles. A few feet farther aft and the bridge would have been gone. A few feet to either side and it might have pierced through to the forward Oto Melara magazine.
As it was, however, it had struck the gun mount itself. The turret shell had been blown away completely, and the distorted wreck of the autocannon stood centered in the deck like some scrap-yard sculpture. The plating was torn around it, and Amanda could see a flicker of flame down between the framing.
“Damage control, this is the bridge … Damage control!”
The command headset links were down. Amanda tore off her helmet and headset both and snatched one of the emergency sound-powered phones from out of its clips.
“CIC, this is the bridge!”
“Bridge, what is your status?”
“We have wounded. We need first-aid parties. The forward gun mount has been hit. Get damage control up there. Flood forward Oto Melara magazine. I say again, flood forward Oto Melara magazine.”
“Acknowledged. Do you wish to shift the con to the CIC?”
“Negative. Not at this time. Have Mr. Beltrain standing by.”
Amanda stumbled across to the helm console. The lee helm operator was the one producing the agonized keening as he sprawled on the deck. The helmsman was still slumped, bloody-faced, at his station. Gripping the collar of his life jacket, Amanda pulled him out of the chair, not allowing herself to care too much as she lowered him to the deck as well.
There was blood on her hands as she dropped into the helmsman’s seat. She didn’t know if it was hers or his. The console screens were dark, but Amanda hit the systems reset and they lit off again. Most important, the Navicom came on line, showing the path the Duke must follow to get out.
Amanda verified that the ship was still aligned with the passage, then she spoke deliberately into the phone again.
“Tactical Officer. Do we have a clear channel?”
“Captain, the mine-hunter sonar is still not imaging clearly. There is no way to tell!”