The Commodore by P. T. Deutermann Read Free Book Online Page A

helpless by gunfire from a dozen American ships and then wrecked the next day by vengeful aviators launching from the dirt field at Guadalcanal. The Japs had brought two of their battleships, Hiei and Kirishima, to bombard Henderson Field and then cover the landing of a fresh infantry division on the island. Dan Callaghan had stopped that effort, at the cost of his life, but tonight Pearl was warning him that the Nips were coming back to finish the job. Pulverize the airfield, then land an entire convoy’s worth of replacements. Then crush the Marines.
    They couldn’t know that they’d face two American battleships tonight. They’d never expect Halsey to leave his carrier force, or what was left of it, unescorted like that.
    No one else would expect that, either, especially his distant masters back at Pearl and Washington, DC. Ernie Jesus King would be suitably aghast—unless, of course, it worked. It had better work.
    â€œMiles, I need a drink,” he announced to his empty cabin.

 
    FIVE
    Ironbottom Sound, Guadalcanal
    â€œBridge, Combat.”
    â€œWhat’ve we got?”
    â€œThey’re here. Multiple radar contacts, northeast of Savo, coming south. One big, four smaller. Maybe more. Twenty-four thousand yards, closing at twenty-seven knots.”
    â€œOkay,” Sluff said. “Send a flashing-light report to the boss.”
    â€œOn the way,” Bob said.
    â€œOfficer of the deck,” Sluff called. “Pass the word throughout the ship: Enemy ships approaching. All stations: Button up tight and stand by.”
    Sluff checked the gyrocompass. They had just turned west, having circled Savo Island. The formation hadn’t changed: destroyers J. B. King, Walke, Calhoun, Morgan, followed by battleships South Dakota and Washington. They were passing through the waters between Guadalcanal and Savo Island, the site of too many defeats for the American forces. They were running downwind now, so there was no longer any cooling relief from the relative wind. The tropical night was so hot and humid that the sea haze was almost a fog. After Sluff’s announcement, the men on the bridge stood a little straighter, and the idle chitchat of a moment ago subsided into frightened silence.
    â€œBridge, Sigs. From the boss: We see them. Open fire when we do.”
    â€œBridge, aye,” Sluff said. He relayed the message to the gunnery officer, Billy Chandler, up in the main battery director, one deck above.
    â€œWe have a solution on the lead ship, Cap’n,” Billy said. “They’re not quite in range.”
    â€œThey should be in the battleships’ range,” Sluff said. Hardly had he said that than a mile behind them the night erupted in red and orange balls of fire as the battleships let go. The thumping roar of their sixteen-inch guns followed a few seconds later, punishing the hot night air. Right behind them, Walke began firing.
    â€œWhat’s the range?” Sluff asked Billy.
    â€œNineteen-five,” he said. The effective range of J. B. King ’s five-inch guns was eighteen thousand yards. “Effective” meant that the chances of hitting the target at nine miles were really good. The guns, however, could shoot out to almost ten miles, or twenty thousand yards.
    â€œCommence firing,” Sluff ordered. “Tell your topside AA gunners to look out for torpedo wakes.”
    â€œControl, aye,” Billy shouted. Two seconds later, all five of J. B. King ’s five-inch mounts began blasting away, their barrels trained out to starboard and pointing high, at maximum elevation. The noise was terrific, with clouds of gunsmoke and wadding particles blowing back into the bridge because of that following wind.
    Sluff tried to think about what would happen next. Once the heavies started shooting, the Japs would know they’d been ambushed by something a whole lot bigger than cruisers.
    What would they do?
    Launch a swarm of