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

those terrible Long Lance torpedoes, that’s what. He stepped out onto the bridge wing, trying to ignore the ear-numbing blasts from the forward gun mounts. The three mounts back aft were going full tilt as well, and a thousand yards astern he could see Walke ’s five-inchers pumping yellow flames. The five-inch barrage seemed insignificant compared to the enormous pulses of red-white-orange muzzle blasts from the big guys a mile and a half back. He couldn’t imagine what it was like on the receiving end of all that.
    â€œBridge, Combat,” his talker shouted. “Enemy ships are turning around. Control reports we’re getting hits on the lead ship, but they’re definitely on the run!”
    On the run, maybe, Sluff thought. Or, they were turning to present their torpedo tubes, now that they could see the Americans. He just knew the torpedoes were coming. The Jap Long Lance was much bigger than J. B. King ’s torpedoes. Twenty-four inches in diameter instead of twenty-one. They ran at almost sixty miles an hour, with a half-ton warhead, and outranged the American torpedoes by miles. He walked quickly back into the pilothouse.
    â€œLeft standard rudder,” he called. “All ahead flank, turns for thirty-four knots!”
    â€œ Captain has the conn,” the OOD announced inside the pilothouse. He sounded scared. You ought to be, Sluff thought. He moved quickly over to his chair and punched down the button for the CIC. “Combat, Captain, I’m hauling out of formation to avoid torpedoes. Tell gun control to check fire until we’re clear of our own ships. I think there are torpedoes incoming.”
    â€œCombat, aye,” the exec responded. “Radar shows there are more Japs coming out from around the west side of Savo. These look bigger. Cruisers, maybe.”
    King ’s guns remained silent as she straightened up and began to run down the column of American ships in the opposite direction. As if to make the exec’s point, large waterspouts began to erupt around the destroyers who’d remained in the van. Then another series of shell splashes erupted all around the lead American battleship, South Dakota. Sluff could barely see them, but the force of their impact with the water meant that that had to be eight-inch fire from heavy cruisers coming in. He wanted to shout at the other destroyers: Maneuver, do something to avoid the incoming shells. Don’t just steam in lockstep in a straight line in front of the battleships, whose enormous gun flashes were clearly illuminating the destroyers.
    Another round of salvos came out of the night, landing this time on the other side of the column now drifting down their port quarter as King accelerated. South Dakota was just about abeam, perhaps a mile and half, thundering out nine-gun salvos with clockwork precision as King raced by, headed for the rear of the formation so that she could rejoin the shooting. Sluff knew that the Japs were refining their gunnery solution on the steady-as-you-go American formation. Salvos that landed short and then over meant that they just about had the range and the next salvo would be—
    There was a bright yellow flash, a massive bang of overpressure, and then the sound of shrapnel flailing King ’s mast and upper superstructure. A moment later, the bitch-box lit up as huge waterspouts stood up all around them, shaking the ship like a dog with a rag.
    â€œBridge, Combat, we’ve lost comms with the task force. Radio says the radio antennas are probably down.”
    â€œOkay,” Sluff said. “We’re coming abeam of Washington now, and I’ll resume firing when we’re clear of her. Looks like South Dakota has stopped shooting for some reason. Looks like they’re getting hammered by eight-inch.”
    â€œRadar shows something really big coming around Savo now.”
    â€œVery well,” Sluff said. “I’ll eyeball us back into formation