Carnifex

Bridge, Dos Lindas

The ship lurched, tossing to the deck everyone on the bridge not already seated and strapped in. None of the thick windows quite shattered, but every portside window there was cracked, along with most of those a-starboard. Even through the blurring of the cracks, even from flat on his ass, Fosa saw the abruptly launched Yakamov, streaking upward like a comet.

"Near miss . . . ah, Hell, call it a hit. Hit Alpha, island structure, zero-four level. Hit Bravo, hangar deck, starboard side aft. Fire on the hangar deck! Damage control parties away."

A smoke-choked and shock-strained voice from somewhere below came over the speaker. "There are no . . . damage control . . . parties near the . . . hit."

"My Shshshiiippp!"

"Captain-san," Kurita said, groggily, "stay here and fight your ship. I will see to damage control." With that, the nonagenarian struggled to his feet and left, seeking the epicenter of the damage.

"Fight my ship . . . fight my ship . . . FIGHT MY FUCKING SHIP!"

In those few seconds, Fosa understood a part of what Kurita had been trying to tell him before, about ships having spirits and souls, about them being alive. At least he understood this much, that his ship was more valuable to him than his own life and must be preserved, at all costs consistent with its own honor.

Can something with honor be without a soul?

Hands gripping a plotting table, Fosa pulled himself to his feet. He heard machine gun and light cannon fire from all around as the gun crews finally got to their battle stations and began engaging the speedboats. Range was long but it couldn't hurt to try. He'd expended something over a million rounds of ammunition in training. If they couldn't get some stinking jury-rigged speedboats, no one could. He'd counted the number of explosions from cruise missiles. There had been six launches and six explosions. If the enemy had had more missiles, they'd have launched more, he thought. What else threatens my ship?

"Report!"

"That one above us took out the radar, Captain. Before that I had no hostile aircraft, captain," Radar said.

"Ours are still trying to organize out of cluster fuck mode, sir," said the air boss.

Sonar announced, "Skipper, I've still got two fish in the water, one each, port and starboard. Countermeasures are not, I repeat not, effective. First impact expected in seven minutes."

Seven minutes . . . seven minutes . . . a whole lifetime can pass in seven minutes.

Fosa reached for the microphone. "Escorts, this is Fosa."

"Trinidad, here, sir . . . Agustin, sir."

"The flagship's been hit but I think we can save her," Fosa said. "What we can't do anything about from here are the torpedoes—you see them on sonar?"

"Aye" . . . "Aye."

Fosa gulped; this was a hard order to give. "I need you to try to bait the torpedoes away . . . and if that doesn't work . . . "

No arguments, no questions. "It's better they hit us than hit the Dos Lindas. Understood. This is Agustin, we'll try" . . . "Trinidad, Pedraz speaking. I'll give it a shot."

Unseen, Fosa nodded. "Good lads," he said into the microphone. Looking up at the operations board he ordered, "Warn the Hoogaboom off. Tell them we're under attack. And, air boss, get the planes onto those goddamned speedboats."

"Hoogaboom acknowledges, sir."