Iron Gray Sea

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 well: 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.

“Six, fi, double oh,” came the tinny reply.

Dowden may be older, but like her consorts, and most of the warships in First Fleet, she’d recently been fitted with some relatively simple but fundamental improvements. She had a crude VHF radio telephone, a “TBS” (Talk Between Ships) that, though limited to line of sight, allowed her comm officer to speak directly to his counterparts on other ships. It would come in really handy when they had transmitters small enough for aircraft. More important at the moment, Des-Div 4 also had rudimentary fire control. The guns had to be shifted manually from side to side for windage adjustments, but they could be elevated to fire broadsides-true salvos-at relatively precise ranges determined by the gunnery officer. This was accomplished with new electric primers and a gimbaled switch that would complete the firing circuit when the ship was on an even keel. The new rig wasn’t as good as a gyro, of course, but it was better than nothing. In practice, they could now put nearly every round in a ship-size target at fifteen hundred yards-even with smoothbores.

None of these improvements had made it to Second Fleet yet, due to the distances involved. There are probably some politics involved as well, Jim thought grimly. On one level, he understood. The Grik were still perceived as the immediate threat by most, including Adar, and though he supported the Imperial Alliance, he, like most Lemurians, considered the Doms as primarily an Imperial problem. What made that attitude gall Jim was the fact that there were Lemurian-American-ships, crews, and troops in the east, and they shouldn’t be deprived of better equipment simply because some thought their fight was less important. Or maybe in this instance, politics had a place. The Empire was still racked by security issues, and it had been drummed into everyone that, crude as it was, the new fire-control apparatus must never fall into enemy hands. The Japanese would probably come up with something similar for the Grik, if they hadn’t already. (We’re about to find out, Jim thought.) But it should remain a major advantage over the Doms for a long time to come-if nobody squealed. Jim shook his head and concentrated on the business at hand.

“Forty-five hundreds,” Niaal repeated the latest estimate.

“Very well. Sound general quarters.”

“Generaal quarters! Generaal quarters!” Niaal shouted at the ’Cat standing beside the alarm bell. “Clear for action!” The heavy bell began to ring and drums thundered in the waist. Jim clasped his hands behind his back and fixed a calm expression on his face. This would be his first real surface action since the Battle of Baalkpan. He hoped it wouldn’t be his last. More important, though, he hoped he wouldn’t screw it up.

The Grik dreadnaughts churned inexorably closer, their massive, sloping sides rearing high out of the sea. Des-Div 4 had the advantage of the wind, speed, and position, angling to cross the enemy’s projected course. Its first salvos should take the lead Grik ship dead on the bow in succession, and Jim wondered why Kurokawa- It has to be Kurokawa over there, he thought-would so obligingly let him “cross his T.” Was the maniacal Jap really so supremely confident? Jim felt a chill.

“Three thousands!” Niaal reported. Three huge clouds of smoke blossomed at the forward casemate of the oncoming ship.

“Kind of ambitious,” Jim muttered. A few hundred yards short, widely spaced geysers erupted into the sky. They looked like the splashes of the eight-inch cruiser guns that had dogged Walker so long ago.

“Jeez!” Niaal whispered. “Kind of daamn big! Those must be hundred-pounders, maybe bigger!”

“They’ll never hit us from this range. Grik gunnery has always been crap,” Jim reassured him. Reassured himself. “Keep track of the time between shots.”

“Maybe they don’t hit us from here, but we gotta get closer,” Niaal reminded. “Quartermaster! You timing the shots?”

“Ay, sir.”

“All ships will concentrate fire on that devil up front,” Jim ordered, even as the enemy line began to assume an echelon formation, the dreadnaughts behind starting to ease to the side and increase speed. Soon all the enemy ships would be approaching parallel to one another. Jim suspected they would make a coordinated turn to starboard, exposing their port broadsides when Des-Div 4 entered what the enemy considered his own best range. Niaal saw it too.

“You sure you want to concentrate on just that one?”

“Yeah. If we can’t hurt one of them with everything we’ve got, there’s no hope against them all, and we might as well break off. Send it.”

“Ay, sur.”

Time passed as the fleets drew nearer one another, and the tension rose proportionately.

“Two t’ousands!” came the shout through the voice tube.

“Stand by! We’ll commence firing at fifteen hundred. The gunnery officer will give the command.”

Three more massive puffs of smoke obscured the target before the wind swept them away.

“Eight minutes, twenty seconds!” cried the quartermaster.

“Very well.”

Two great splashes erupted fairly close astern, and one mighty shot moaned by overhead, snapping a single backstay before it plunged into the sea a hundred yards to port.

“Starboard baat-tery, match elevations for fifteen hundreds!” the gunnery officer commanded.

“Elevations matched!” came the replies of the midshipmen, each in charge of a pair of guns.

“Stand clear!”

“All clear!”

Moments later, with only the brief clanging of a bell in the maintop as warning, all twelve of Dowden ’s twenty-four-pounders in the starboard broadside vomited smoke and fire with a precision only Walker ’s guns had ever shown in combat. The smoke drifted downrange, toward the target, but quickly dissipated as Jim watched the impressively tight cluster of roundshot rise and rise, then plummet toward the target.

ArataAmagi

ArataAmagi rattled and shuddered like a tin roof under an impossibly dense onslaught of giant hailstones. Her forward armor was not as sloped as elsewhere on the ship and was therefore the thickest, but shards of shattered iron, from armor and shot, sleeted in through the viewports, killing the helmsman and two others in the pilothouse. Even Kurokawa felt a sting as a sliver of iron clipped his ear.

“Take the helm, fool!” he screamed at Captain Akera, who seemed stunned by the sound and density of the pummeling ArataAmagi just received. Jerking his head as if clearing his senses, he lunged for the spoked, wooden wheel. “Secure all battle shutters but the three directly in front of the helm!” Akera shouted. “Report all damage!” he added into the ship-wide speaking tube.

“One of the forward guns has shattered,” came an immediate, coughing reply. They already knew that the gun deck filled with smoke whenever they fired any of the main battery, and the ventilation was poor. “Its crew is dead. Other gun’s crews were wounded by fragments that ranged the length of the gun deck!”

“Any other damage?” Akera asked.

“None I can see, Captain,” came the voice. “Perhaps a little buckling in the timbers backing the armor.”

“Very well,” Akera said. “Pull in the guns and secure the gunport shutters!”

“Belay that!” Kurokawa screamed. “We must continue firing!”

“General of the Sea,” Akera pleaded. “We must wait until the enemy is closer and we can unmask our entire broadside! Clearly they have devised a fire-control system of some sort. I doubt a quarter of their shots could have missed us. Leaving the forward ports open only invites more damage we have little hope of answering!”

Kurokawa opened his mouth, but before he could speak, ArataAmagi shuddered again under another cacophonous hammering that seemed even heavier than the first. Even through the thick deck beneath their feet they heard the bloodcurdling shrieks of Grik that time.

“A shot came through the starboard bow port that time!” came the excited, coughing cry of the Japanese gunnery officer. “It killed several, and pierced the forward smoke-box uptake! We have exhaust gas on the gun deck!”

Akera looked at Kurokawa.

“Very well!” Kurokawa seethed. “We will close the shutters and endure this insulting barrage as long as we must to come to grips with the enemy!”

Akera repeated his earlier order, then looked through the slits just in time to see the third ship in the distant line stream white smoke. He ducked down as more hammer blows pounded his ship and more shattered iron sprayed into the pilothouse, tearing jagged holes in the bulkhead aft. Kurokawa was the only one who hadn’t ducked, and he was miraculously spared. The first ship fired again, and after that, the beating became continuous.

USS Dowden

“She’s taking a beating, all right,” Niaal said, staring through his telescope. “Her frontal armor looks all dented up-and I think it’s bolted on in layers. We may have knocked a few plates loose, or maybe shattered them!”

“Hmm,” was all Jim said. He was pleased with his division’s gunnery; fewer than half the shots fired had missed their mark and they still only had smoothbores, but it wasn’t good enough. At this rate, they’d eventually batter in the forward casemate of that one ship. They might even destroy her. But she no longer led her sisters; the other five had joined her in a parallel advance. When they turned-soon, most likely-they’d present their undamaged sides and all the guns behind them.

“Get on the TBS to Admiral Keje,” he ordered, the thunder of Haakar-Faask ’s guns just astern nearly drowning his words. “Tell him we’re doing damage, but the enemy is about to turn on us and it won’t be one-sided anymore. We could get smeared pretty fast. We have to decide right now whether to break off or go all in. Either way, we’re gonna get hurt. If we break off, we lose Madras. All in, we could lose the fleet and Madras.” He shook his head. “Keje has to call this one.”

USNRS Salissa (CV-1)

Keje nodded, blinking, when he heard Jim’s message. From his elevated post high on Salissa ’s bridge, he could see it all. The first Grik dreadnaught was taking a beating, but none of the enemy had been firing back for a while. The deadly accurate fire of Des-Div 4 must have gotten through forward and spooked them. They were still coming, though, and must think they had the advantage. They probably did-against Des-Div 4. Keje felt sure he could overwhelm the enemy with all his ships. His had the advantage of speed and maneuverability. But once they got in close, the fire control that had been working so well would be of little use-or would it? If his ships could coordinate their windage adjustments as well as their elevation, concentrate on small areas of the enemy armor, much like they’d been doing, they might punch through… Salissa had 50 thirty-two-pounder smoothbores, and Arracca carried an equal number of fifty-pounders; probably more guns each than the enemy, but their likely hundred-pounders would outrange them and pack a heavier punch. Of course, Salissa, at least, wasn’t constrained to going toe to toe. She had some modern weapons as well…

On a pivot mount forward, under the leading edge of the flight deck, she had a breeched section of one of Amagi ’s ten-inch guns that could fire Amagi ’s own shells. The two hundred-pound projectiles had been modified for muzzle-loading use, with a reduced-diameter bearing band and a heavy copper skirt to expand into the rifling. But even at the lower velocity the new gun could achieve, he knew the heavy shells would be devastating, and the gun’s crew could put the big bullets on a target the size of a felucca at fifteen hundred tails. Salissa also carried two of Amagi ’s 5.5-inch guns, with Japanese ammunition, on her superstructure. These were long-range weapons, more powerful than Walker ’s four-inch-fifties, with high-explosive, armor-piercing shells. He knew something about steel now, and there was no way those Grik monstrosities could match Amagi ’s armor, no matter how thick their plates were laid on. He made his decision.

“Send to my dear Cap-i-taan Tassana-Ay-Arracca that she and Arracca must remain with the transports and oilers. I will yield to no arguments.” He paused. “Do ask her to keep a pursuit CAP above us all to guard against Grik zeppelins, though. Salissa and the remainder of Des-Div 4 will join the action against the enemy! The ship will be cleared for surface action, and all planes of the First Air Wing but that of COFO Cap-i-taan Jis-Tikkar will proceed to Maa-draas!”

USS Dowden

“They’re turning!” Niaal excitedly echoed the cry from the lookout. The gunnery officer in the maintop was continuously updating range, course, and speed estimates. Jim could already see the aspect change of the enemy battle line through his binoculars. He had no idea how accurate the enemy fire would be at nine hundred yards, but he suspected his division would take some hits-and they’d be bad. The question became, Should he have his ships continue to concentrate on a single enemy, and maybe punch through somewhere? Their own fire would be accurate enough at this range that it would be hard to miss. On the other hand, if they spread their fire among all the ships, they were less likely to do serious damage to any-but they might disrupt the enemy’s gunnery and cause them to rush their imperfect aim. The second alternative might be safer, but the first was more likely to achieve something. He sighed. This one was his call. He decided on a compromise.

“ Dowden, Haakar-Faask, Naga, Bowles, and Felts will continue firing on the first target-the Grik flagship, most likely,” Jim ordered. “All others will target their opposite numbers in the line of battle. Maybe we can wreck the one while keeping the others shook up.” Niaal repeated the order to fire control and the comm shack.

“Range eight, fi’, oh! Bearing, tree tree seero! Speed… they still turning, but I make it eight knots!” came the report from aloft.

“Match elevations at eight hundred, and fire when ready!” Jim replied.

“Stand by… Stand clear!”

“Clear!” chorused the midshipmen, and the salvo bell rattled for a long moment as the ship steadied. Then, with a thunderous jarring that shook the ship, all twelve starboard guns spat fire and heavy shot. An instant later, Haakar-Faask was enveloped in smoke as her guns thundered. Then Bowles, Naga, and Felts all seemed to fire at once. Even while the mighty spheres were still in flight, the rest of the division opened up on their respective targets.

ArataAmagi

Kurokawa was thrown to the deck of his pilothouse when perhaps fifty heavy shot struck his massive ship with an unprecedented, ear-splitting fury. Somewhere aft, deep, it seemed, he heard a terrible crashing and a chorus of shrieks.

“Fire back, you fools!” he roared. “Destroy those ships at once!”

Akera staggered back to the wheel, catching it as it spun, and leaned over the ship-wide tube. “Commence firing!” he cried. “Commence firing!”

“Not all the guns yet bear!” came the tinny reply, “and we took two roundshot through the open shutters-not to mention some serious dents that time! The timber backing has splintered in many places I can see from here!”

“All the more reason to return fire at once!” Akera almost screamed, glancing quickly at the compass binnacle in front of the wheel. He spun the wheel again. “Fire as they bear!”

Kurokawa had regained his feet, and his eyes smoldered. “Have the special comm division contact General Muriname at his aerodrome! I had hoped we wouldn’t have to use him-it will be costly-but we are taking damage, and the enemy capital ships do not seem inclined to engage. Tell Muriname it is time for his ships to come up! He knows what to do.”

USS Dowden

“That had to leave some bumps,” Ellis muttered, staring through his glasses. The target had almost disappeared behind the blizzard of battering, shattering shot that churned the sea around it with splinters of iron. All his division used iron shot now that enough sources had been found to provide it. With so much copper needed for mixing the bronzelike metal for the big guns, and alloying brass cartridges for the new breechloaders and the “old” modern weapons they had, iron had actually become more disposable. Shot-grade iron was crude, high-phosphor, brittle stuff that could be cast quickly-but the process also made nearly perfect spheres that could be pushed at high relative velocities. Velocity was key to smoothbore accuracy. Without the spin provided by rifling, the shot would eventually hook, but the faster it was going, the farther it went before the hook became apparent. Shot-grade iron also hit nearly as hard as copper, but instead of deforming, it sometimes exploded like a ball of glass. That could be handy against wooden ships and enemy flesh. Maybe it wasn’t so good against armored targets, though…

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!”

Taylor Anderson

Iron Gray Sea — 07