Pete gazed out across the city below and wondered yet again at the ingenuity of the people here. Insteadlike those that proved so effective in the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries. Like its predecessors, this one was festooned with heavy guns that covered the harbor entrance and there were defenses around it similar to those that encircled the city. There were also sufficient provisions within that it could hold for quite a while if it was ever cut off from Baalkpan. Brister had named it Fort Atkinson, after Mahan’s captain who’d been killed in the battle with Amagi. Brister had admired Captain Atkinson very much. He was proud of the fort and Pete was too. He was proud of everything they’d done to prepare for a possible attack. Now, as he stood waiting for Nakja-Mur to join him for their afternoon bull session, he fervently prayed that all the defenses he’d helped design and build and all the citizen-soldiers he’d trained would never face the test they’d been preparing for.
A tapestry separating the balcony from the Great Hall parted, and Nakja-Mur strode through to join Sergeant Alden with his own goblet of nectar in his hand. His face was expressionless, as usual, beyond a small, clipped frown that didn’t reveal his teeth. His shoulders sagged and his tail drooped and it was clear he was exhausted.
«Good afternoon, Gener-aal Aalden,» he said by way of greeting.
Pete grimaced. He hated it when Nakja-Mur called him that, especially in front of others. «Good afternoon, Nakja-Mur, U-Amaki Ay Baalkpan.»
«Preparations continue to proceed well?» Nakja-Mur asked.
Pete shrugged. «Well enough. We started building up the overhead protection for the batteries today, now that we know about Amagi.» He shook his head. «Not that it’ll do much good against ten-inch guns. That’s one thing we never planned for. I’ve also started working on more shelters for troops and medical facilities. It’s mostly revetments to protect from fragments, but it’s better than nothing.»
«These ten-inch guns are very bad?»
Pete nodded. «They’re more than twice as big as Walker’s.»
«But the guns you helped build for my people are as well.»
«True,» Alden agreed, «but as we’ve discussed many times, those guns, as powerful as they are, are still no match for Walker’s in range, power, or accuracy. I wish they were, but we just don’t have the facilities to make anything like that yet. As for Amagi, her guns are bigger still than the best we’ve been able to make and they can shoot ten times as far.»
Nakja-Mur nodded solemnly. «You’re saying we have no real defense against this Amagi? Not even now that there are two of your fast iron ships?»
«No. As you can surely see for yourself, Mahan’s in no shape for a fight. Jim’s killing himself trying to get her ready and hopefully he’ll have time. But even if Walker and Mahan were brand spanking new, they’d be no match for that damn thing. We’ll think of something. We have to. But right now I sure don’t know what it’ll be. Pray, I guess.»
Nakja-Mur nodded. «I will certainly do that,» he said. «I will pray that it never comes. It may not, you know,» he added hopefully.
Just then, Ed Palmer was escorted onto the balcony by a pair of Nakja-Mur’s guardsmen, who paused and waited to be summoned close. Ed accompanied them and Pete’s heart sank when he saw the signalman’s ashen face.
«My guess is,» Pete said before Ed spoke a word, «we should have been praying already.»
A skept Matt didn’t think the Grik could catch them. On the other hand, Amagi would soon be in range of her big guns. With darkness falling, she wouldn’t have a target, though, would she? Once she got behind them, she’d never catch up either. Not if eight knots was all she had.
A couple of Grik ships, either because of better seamanship or cleaner hulls, were drawing ahead of the pack. Matt had a good eye for geometry and there was no way Walker would drag Nerracca past those two, at least.
«Sound general quarters,» he ordered at last. The raucous «gong, gong, gong» reverberated throughout the ship and hats were exchanged for helmets. Matt knew the consensus was that no one wanted to go in the water with a life jacket on, but he ordered them worn regardless. Sandra suggested that the possibility a crewman might be eaten was more than offset by the protection against crossbow bolts and flying debris that the jackets afforded them. The Lemurian destroyermen hated the jackets even more than the humans did. In their case it was because, for the most part, they were way too big. They wore them nonetheless.
Bernard Sandison was the last to report, as usual. He had the farthest to go from where he was supervising the preparation of the torpedoes. He plugged in his headset, turned to the talker, and gave a thumbs-up sign.
«All stations manned and ready, Captain,» Reynolds said aloud.
«Very well. Who’s in the crow’s nest?»
«Bosun’s Mate Chack, sir.»
Matt nodded. Early on, Lieutenant Garrett had worked very closely with the burly young Lemurian. He’d picked up ranges well. Matt didn’t have the perspective of the lookout, but those two lead ships were obviously in range. He wanted to knock them out before they got dead ahead, when only the number one gun would bear. «Inform Mr. Garrett he may commence firing when ready,» he said.
On the fire-control platform, Garrett listened to Chack’s report as it came through his earpiece. He echoed it to Sandy Newman, who was operating the mechanical fire-control computer. «Load one, two, and four. Range to target four O double O. Angle is zero six zero, speed seven knots.»
«On target!» chorused the director and the pointer.
Garrett knew they didn’t have the ammunition to waste on an «up ladder.» Since there was still some visibility, he would fire a single salvo and hope they could correct from there. Chack had good eyes; he should spot the fall of shot.
«One round each, salvo fire. Commence firing!»
The salvo buzzer alerted the bridge crew and a moment later the ship shook perceptibly with the booming roar of three four-inch guns. In the deepening twilight the tracers quickly converged on the target. A bright, rippling flash erupted amidships of the first enemy ship and a chorus of exultant shouts rose up. Matt was excited as well. Chack was right on the money.
«Silence!» bellowed Chief Gray on the fo’c’sle, right behind number one. «Grab that damn shell, Davis, before it goes over the side!» His yell was loud enough that half the ship must have heard.
Still grinning, Matt turned to the talker. «By all means let’s have some quiet so the men can do it again.»
The next ship in line was destroyed almost as quickly, but it took two salvos instead of one. It must have maneuvered to avoid the sinking, burning hulk in front of it. More ships were cracking on, though. It was as though the destruction of the first two only sp D tons of seawater poured inside her through gaping holes and opened seams. As tough as the Homes of the People were, they were never designed to absorb the type of punishment Amagi was inflicting.
For a long, torturous moment, Matt said nothing. He just continued to stare at Gray with a look of inexorable determination. The salvo buzzer rang again and the number one gun fired into the night. Then. he blinked. It was as though the nightmare that had surged from his subconscious mind was suddenly subverted by the one he was living now.
«Secure from flank,» he said in a subdued voice.
«Captain!» shouted Sandison from the starboard bridgewing, «Small craft are coming alongside!» Matt raced to join him and peered over the rail. A shoal of small double-ended sailing craft, about thirty feet long, were struggling to catch up with the destroyer. Matt immediately recognized them as boats the People used to hunt the gri-kakka. Much like human whaleboats of the past, they carried the hunters close enough to strike their prey with a lance. Most Homes carried dozens of the extremely fast things and launched them from the large internal bays Matt had first seen on Big Sal. The gri-kakka boats were packed to overflowing.