Carnifex

BdL Dos Lindas

Kurita bent to one side and pulled his mask away to vomit. The blow to his head had given him a mild concussion and nausea had swiftly followed. He replaced the mask in time to see another group of damage control people, about a dozen of them, materialize on the hangar deck. Reseating the mask to get a breath of non-fatal air, he again pulled it away to shout down below, "Get the foam system into operation!"

The chief of that damage control party looked up at Kurita, recognizing him both by his short stature and his sword, and waved acknowledgment. He and his men split into two groups and immediately ran for the wound hoses at the forward corners of the hangar deck. These they took and began to drag to the stern. As they did so, men, individually and in small groups passed them by, carrying or dragging machine gun ammunition, rockets and bombs away from the fire.

Ideally, they'd simply have dumped the stuff over the side. Unfortunately, the hangar deck didn't really have a portal for that, a clear design flaw. Rather, it did have one, but that was very new and rather on fire at the moment.

"Drop it here. Drop. It. Here." The chief of the damage control party shouted to the ordnance carriers. They looked at him, not quite understanding, until he pointed at the nozzle of the foam hose he carried. Mental lights came on. They began making a pile, more or less carefully, of the ordnance they carried. As soon as there was enough of a pile the chief turned the hose on it and began to cover it with a thick layer of fireproof, and cooling, foam. More ordnance, and more foam, added to the pile.

Above, Kurita saw the foamed pile grow and began to breathe a sigh of relief. He never quite got the sigh out, however, as another wave of nausea overtook him, causing him, once again, to doff the mask, bend over, and hurl.

* * *

Sick at heart over the harm done to his ship and crew, Fosa peered desperately through the thick smoke of ship's fire, jungle fire, and explosion. Tracer still lanced out in mass, all around the boundaries of the ship, before they disappeared into the smoke.

Fosa heard the radio loudspeaker ask, "Have we offended you in some way?" He picked up the microphone and asked, 'What the fuck are you talking about, Trinidad?

"Your gunners are shooting at anything they spy," came the answer. "They engaged us . . . tried to anyway."

"Roger," Fosa answered. "I'll see to it." Before he could give an order he heard one of the bridge crew screaming into another microphone, one that serviced the ship's intercom, "You assholes nearly sunk one of ours. Identify your targets carefully. Dumb-asses."

Once again, smoke swirled around the tower, blocking Fosa's view. He said, "Order Agustin and Trinidad out past our cannon and machine gun range."