Firestorm
( Destroyermen - 6 )
Taylor Anderson
Firestorm
Taylor Anderson
PROLOGUE
ALLIED SITREP, DEC 19 1943
FROM: CMDR S RIGGS (ACTING CHIEF OF STAFF) LOCATION: BAALKPAN X FOR COTGA (CHAIRMAN OF THE GRAND ALLIANCE) ADAR
TO: ALL STATIONS SPC X CAPTAIN M P REDDY CINCAAF (COMMANDER IN CHIEF ALL ALLIED FORCES) CINCEAST COMM FLEET 2 LOCATION: EMPIRE OF NEW BRITAIN ISLES X HER EXCELLENCY SAAN-KAKJA HIGH CHIEF FIL-PIN LANDS X COLONEL T SHINYA LOCATION: MAA-NI-LA X HIS EXCELLENCY ADMIRAL KEJE-FRIS-AR CINCWEST COMM FLEET 1 X GENERAL P ALDEN X LOCATION: ANDAMAN ISLAND X HIS EXCELLENCY ADMIRAL SOR-LOMAAK COMM TF “OILCAN,” X LOCATION: EASTERN SEA X EYES ONLY DISTRIBUTE AT DISCRETION X BAALKPAN: SALVAGED STEAMER SANTA CATALINA ARRIVED SAFELY UNDER POWER X MAJORITY CARGO OFF-LOADED X WILL ENTER DRY DOCK FOR REMAINDER CARGO REMOVAL X SEAPLANE CARRIER ARRACCA (CV-3) WILL DEPART IN COMPANY NEW BATTLE GROUP AND TROOPSHIPS X AIR WING WORKING-UP EN ROUTE ANDAMAN X ALLIED COUNCIL CONDITIONALLY ACCEPTS MEMBERSHIP RESPITE ISLAND AND EMPIRE NEW BRITAIN ISLES INTO GRAND ALLIANCE X AWAIT REPRESENTATIVES XXX MAA-NI-LA: CAPITAL FIL-PIN LANDS ESCAPED SERIOUS DAMAGE FROM TIDAL WAVE CAUSED BY ERUPTION TALAUD ISLAND X OTHER FIL-PIN LANDS HOMES SUFFERED GRAVELY X PAGA-DAAN ALMOST WIPED OUT X RESCUE EFFORT INVOLVING LAND AND NAVAL FORCES CONTINUES X WILL DELAY DEPLOYMENT SOME ELEMENTS X TF (TASK FORCE) MAKAA-KAKJA (CV-4) AND BATTLE GROUP READY TO DEPLOY X RELUCTANTLY CONCUR NECESSITY TO SEND IT EAST TO AID CAPTAIN REDDY AND IMPERIALS X COLONEL SHINYA CAN DEPLOY DIVISION IN LESS THAN TWO WEEKS X WHERE SEND? X SUBMARINE S-19 PASSENGERS AND CREW-INCLUDING SEVENTY-ONE (71) EX-TAGRANESI (LAWRENCE PEOPLE) SAFE IN MAA-NI-LA X WHERE SEND? X NAVY OILER RETURNED FROM RESPITE ISLAND WITH FIRST LOAD HUMAN FEMALES X WHERE SEND? XXX EMPIRE OF NEW BRITAIN ISLES: COMPANY COLLABORATION WITH FORCES “HOLY DOMINION” QUASHED ON ALL ISLANDS EXCEPT NEW IRELAND X DOMINION/REBEL FORCES STRONGLY POSITIONED THERE X NOT KNOWN IF WORD OF HOSTILITIES HAS REACHED DOMINION PROPER BUT PRISONERS SAY HOSTILITIES LONG EXPECTED X FOUNDERS’ DAY CELEBRATION JAN 5 1944 IS DATE AFTER WHICH THINGS WILL “AUTOMATICALLY HAPPEN” X GOVERNOR-EMPEROR AND COMMODORE JENKS SUSPECT MOVE AGAINST CONTINENTAL IMPERIAL HOLDINGS AT LEAST X REPAIRS USS WALKER ALMOST COMPLETE X WALKER AND SIMMS REMAIN ONLY US NAVY ELEMENTS IN THEATER X ANTICIPATE ARRIVAL TF “OILCAN” SO CAN COMMENCE OFFENSIVE OPERATIONS X HOPE ECONOMIC ADVICE HELPFUL X NEED MORE MARINES XXX ANDAMAN: PORT FACILITIES INCLUDING FLOATING DRY DOCK AND AIRSTRIP NEAR COMPLETE X TF GARRETT REMAINS ON BLOCKADE DUTY X ALL OTHER ALLIED FORCES INCLUDING I AND III AND IV CORPS-FIRST FLEET COMPOSED OF SALISSA (CV-1) AND HUMFRA-DAR (CV-2) BATTLE GROUPS AND TRANSPORTS READY TO COMMENCE OFFENSIVE OPS CEYLON IN MOST RESPECTS X THANKS FOR SENDING CMDR LETTS TO SORT OUT MESS! X HIS PLANE ARRIVED SAFELY YESTERDAY
XXX MESSAGE ENDS XXX
CHAPTER 1
“Western” (Indian) Ocean
Commander Greg Garrett, former gunnery officer of the old Asiatic Fleet “four-stacker” destroyer USS Walker (DD-163), now captain of the sailing frigate USS Donaghey, leaned on the starboard quarterdeck rail, staring through his binoculars. The colors of the sea and sky had proclaimed their independence from each other and a yellow-red smear splashed the eastern horizon. The boisterous sea was becoming a tumultuous, toothy, pink-tinged purple. The Lemurian lookout, high in the maintop, had sighted dawn-spangled sails to the northeast with her keen eyes, but Garrett still saw nothing. As he searched, the sun darted tentative beams over the distant, hazy line of the continent.
“What have we, sur?” asked Lieutenant Saaran-Gaani, joining Greg beside the rail. Saaran was Donaghey’ s exec, her “salig maa-stir,” in the Lemurian vernacular. He’d replaced Muraak-Saanga, who’d been recently appointed to cothe new USS Tassat when Garrett declined the honor in favor of remaining with Donaghey. Saaran was a bona fide “Sky Priest,” of a southern denomination, so he filled the “sailing master” role without suffering any of the religious resentment that sometimes plagued laymen in his post. More and more Sky Priests joined the Navy these days, surely out of patriotism, but also possibly to help secure their relevance in these strange, transitional times.
Garrett didn’t care about that. Saaran was a fantastic navigator, as were most of his order, but like Adar-the “highest-ranking” Sky Priest Greg knew-Saaran was a fanatic for “the cause.” Greg lowered his binoculars and looked at him. The oversize, dark amber eyes gazing back were common among Lemurians, but the fine, almost perfectly symmetrical coat of brown and white fur was unusual. Lemurians could be almost any color and were often striped, blotched, or even brindled, but not many had so much white. Greg shrugged mentally. Sky Priests were often odd in a number of ways. In Saaran’s case, it might even be his “southern” lineage. He was one of the few ’Cats from the Great South Island, the land humans remembered as Australia, who’d joined “the Grand Alliance” so far. He even talked funny. Word was, some “land Homes” of north and west “Australia,” culturally similar to Baalkpan and Maa-ni-la, were forming regiments and might apply for full membership in the Alliance. Garrett hoped they would. This war was a fight for all Lemurians to make-all people of whatever race or species.
Regardless of where he was from, Saaran was an aggressive, eager student of naval warfare, and Garrett felt lucky to have him. He scratched the dark hair poking from under his hat with his left hand, while still holding the binoculars with his right.
“Sails,” Garrett replied. “Plural. No count yet. Lookout caught ’em in the northeast, probably sailing in column. I can’t see squat from here.”
“Ah,” Saaran said, smiling. “The predawn ‘GQ’ strikes again!”
Garrett smiled too. It wouldn’t be the first time they’d snapped up a Grik ship simply by being on their toes at that critical time of day.
“Maybe. I hope so. It’s been a little boring out here lately.”
“Boring!” Saaran huffed. Donaghey and her sister, Tolson, under the command of Russ Chapelle, as well as the newly arrived Revenge, were blockading the western approaches to Ceylon and India. Besides the occasional enemy ship, these waters teemed with some of the most dangerous creatures in the known world. They were packed with an unprecedented (in their experience) density of ridiculously large and scary predators-some more than capable of destroying ships twice as large as theirs. The Navy had developed countermeasures that worked-when there was time to deploy them-but discovering the threat in the first place was the tricky part. Dangerous submarine creatures, like submarine boats, were difficult to detect and the “blockading squadron” was operating on one of the most nerve-racking stations imaginable.
“Well, maybe not bored,” Greg allowed, “but there hasn’t been much ‘business’ since we clobbered that east-bound convoy a couple of weeks ago.” He shook his head. “As I said before, I think they’ve figured out that somebody out here is beating up the mailman!”
Donaghey and Tolson had been making things rough on the Grik “mailman” for a while now, paired continuously since Tolson’ s return from a special mission to Tjilatjap (Chill-Chaap) where Russ helped salvagean old freighter-and her impossibly valuable cargo. The two “first new construction” frigates were the last dedicated “sailors” in the Navy besides the dozens of prize “Indiamen” that had been “razeed” into swift, lightly armed corvettes, and they were commanded by the most experienced skippers. Not only were they independent of fuel requirements and able to remain on station longer, they were the fastest ships in the Navy-with the exception of the ship that brought the destroyermen to this “other” earth in the first place: USS Walker herself.
Revenge had just arrived in theater. She was a new construction steam frigate of an entirely new-hopefully improved-design called the “Scott” Class. Named for the first Revenge, a ca
ptured Grik ship whose human-Lemurian crew fought to the last against staggering odds, she was bigger, faster, and more powerful than the first allied steamers. Her auxiliary sailing rig remained, but she was supposed to be almost as fast as Donaghey under steam alone. She had a good skipper too. Pruit Barry had been Walker’ s assistant gunnery officer, and he’d commanded Tolson during the Battle of Baalkpan. Although he’d saved his ship, he’d been so sorely wounded that he was just now returning to action. Garrett was glad to have him back.
“Deck there!” came the cry from the lookout above. ’Cats-Lemurians-had strange voices, Garrett reflected again, to carry so well even over such a brisk wind. “Sur-fass Taa-git now eight sails! Eight! Taa-git bearing seero fo fi, rel-aa-tive!”
“Course?” Saaran bellowed in reply.
“West-sou-west!”
Saaran looked at Greg. “Perhaps business will pick up today!”
“Yeah. Tell Clancy to get Tolson and Revenge on the horn. Maybe we can work it so we can snatch the whole bunch! We’ll keep our distance here to windward until we sort something out.”
Over the next hour and a half, coded wireless messages clattered back and forth between Donaghey, Tolson, Revenge, and the distant Allied headquarters on Andaman Island. They had no proof the enemy even had receivers, but crystal sets were simple to make, and they had to assume they did. Therefore, all Allied transmissions were sent in five-letter code groups. The Japanese from the destroyed battle cruiser Amagi, which came through the same “Squall” as Walker and allied with the Grik, had been “reading their mail” from the start, and that memory still stung. Now, even before the plan of attack was finalized, Greg ordered Chapelle to bring Tolson north from the southernmost station, and she’d have to move quickly to reach position if they were to intercept the enemy short of the islands to the west. Not only was there a chance the Grik might scatter among the islands, allowing some to escape, but ocean denizens tended to congregate near the rich feeding grounds the islands provided. Revenge, with her steam power, cruised closest to shore, and Barry was told to bring her south. Before long, Tolson was seen flying north with a quartering wind, shouldering the sea aside. With the plan of attack taking shape as Garrett’s squadron assembled, Donaghey prepared to turn north herself. If everything went as Garrett hoped, it would be an exciting afternoon. Of course, Greg knew all about how fickle plans and hopes could be.
“Sur-fass Taa-git, port bow, tree hunn-red yards!” warned the lookout. Garrett and Saaran crossed the deck. “Shaark!” came several cries.
Garrett raised his glasses and stared at the fin cutting through the swells. “Jeez,” he said, “that’s not a shark! It’s a B-17 tail sticking out of the water!”
“What’s a ‘bee-seven-teen’?” Saaran asked.
“Never mind,” Greg replied flatly. He raised his voice. “Helm, make your course three, zero, zero. Mr. Saaran, please adjust the sails for speed as you see fit.” He turned and looked northeast. The Grik ships were in view now, their column in disarray. He knew they could see Donaghey, and probably Tolson, but wasn’t sure about Revenge. He wondered how they’d react. He wondered if they knew how to react. Returning to port had never seemed an option for them in the past. Just the same, he’d always tried to bushwhack them far enough out that the Allied ships could chase them down.
“Making my course tree, seero, seero,” the helmsman replied.
“Very well,” said Greg, looking back at the “shark.” It wasn’t following them. “Wow,” he murmured. There were some absolutely humongous sharks around here. According to reports, there were big ones around the New Britain Isles too, where Captain Reddy and Walker were. Greg honestly didn’t know whether they were a genuine danger to a ship like Donaghey or not. They didn’t ram-at least they never had-and the few times they’d “tasted” his ship, they’d left teeth the size of hubcaps stuck in her copper-clad wooden hull. He doubted one of the damn things could sink Donaghey, unless it did ram, but he always worried about the ship’s rudder. A shark like the one he’d just seen could bite it clean off. He shook his head and returned his attention to the Grik.
“They look like a gaggle of geese on a pond,” he said. The column was falling completely apart, beginning to bunch together as if for mutual support. The Grik ships were actually acting less like geese and more like a herd of goats that just saw a bear. Greg grinned at the analogy. He’d seen that once, back home in Tennessee, and it was a funny memory. He hated goats.
“Revenge is coming up,” cried the lookout. “There blue smoke beyond the enemy.”
For another half hour they approached the Grik convoy, and soon the three Allied frigates had closed every route but the one back to port. It struck Garrett that if the Grik had just maintained a cohesive column and continued determinedly on, some might have broken past at least one blocking ship, but these weren’t Grik warships, filled to the gunwales with fierce warriors, and evidently that made a difference. The convoy commander was probably some bright, civilian Hij-they knew such things existed now-who thought he could think his way out of this mess. His hesitation and indecision were making it worse-for him.
“Sound general quarters,” Garrett said, then in the tradition of the sailing Navy added, “Clear for action.” A quartet of Lemurian younglings, wearing the blue kilts and white leather armor of Marines, scampered to the waist, and their drums thundered in unison while a bosun’s mate rapidly struck the hollow bronze gong mounted near the ship’s wheel. The resulting cacophonous combination couldn’t be mistaken for anything other than the GQ alarm. Gun’s crews ran to their massive weapons, tails high in excitement, and twenty-four eighteen-pounders were run out. ’Cats rigged netting overhead to protect against falling debris, and gunners threaded lengths of slow-match through holes in their linstocks and waited for one of the midshipmen trotting the length of the gun deck to arrive and light the slow-burning match. Marines scaled the ratlines to the tops with muskets slung diagonally across their backs, and others stood near the center of the ship, prepared to move to whichever side they were directed.
The exercise of preparing the ship for battle went off without a hitch, just as it did in the daily drills. Greg was pleased with the professionalism of his almost entirely Lemurian crew, and he knew they were proud of it too. Donaghey had a gallant name and history, and she’d already racked up more than her share of battle honors in this war. She prepared each time as if she’d face an enemy at least as powerful as she was-she’d been the first ship surprised by Grik cannons, after all-and the extra attention to detail had served her well many times. Garrett didn’t know if any of the ships Donaghey approached was armed; in fact, he rather doubted it. They weren’t acting as if there were warriors aboard, but he’d never let appearances lull him again. He raised his binoculars.
Weird. The eight Grik ships, so similar in appearance to the ancient British East Indiamen their lines were stolen from centuries before, appeared to have heaved to, almost as if they were surrendering and waiting to be taken! “Get a load of this,” he said, handing his glasses to Saraan.
“I don’t understand,” said the ’Cat, blinking confusion. “Most un-Grik-like. They’ve never behaved like this before.”
Chief Gunner’s Mate Wendel “Smitty” Smith joined them. “The main battery’s manned and ready for action in all respects,” he declared.
Garrett looked at the short, prematurely balding man, once just a green ordnance striker on Walker. “Very well, Smitty. We’ll probably make a turn to port as we get close, so prepare for ‘surface action, starboard.’ ” He paused. “Why don’t you take a look and tell me what you think?”
Smitty nodded and raised his own precious binoculars. There were only two pairs on the entire ship, and the ‘Cat lookouts didn’t really need them. Russ had brought a crate of the things from his salvage mission to Tjilatjap, but most were scarfed up by HQ. “Looks weird,” Smitty confirmed. Donaghey was within six thousand yards of the enemy now, closing fast. “Can’t tell if th
ey’re armed yet, but they’re just sittin’ there. Say, there’s Revenge, steamin’ up on ’em from the north. She’s a pretty thing!”
The distance to the targets continued to dwindle as the morning wore on and evolved into a clear, beautiful day. The heat wasn’t as oppressive as it was within the Malay Barrier, and the steady wind kept the humidity at bay. At Smitty’s estimate of fifteen hundred yards, something caught Greg’s eye. “What the hell? Hey, look at that. There’s lizard birds swooping all over those ships, like you see around a fishing fleet-or a big school of fish. They’re swarming like flies!”
“You’re right,” Saaran agreed. “What could be the cause? Perhaps they carry a cargo that attracts the fliers-or fearing capture, they throw it over the side.”
“Fearing capture…” Greg murmured. “This whole setup makes less sense all the time. Of course, who knows how ‘civilian’ Grik sea captains act. I guess we’ve probably run across a few before… but they never acted this weird. Hmm.” He motioned a ’Cat midshipman near. “Tell Clancy to send this to Revenge and Tolson: ‘Watch out for something screwy.‘”
“Ay, ay, sur! Anything else?”
Garrett shook his head. “No… just… something screwy-and be sure they know to report it if they see anything that fits that description!”
“What do we do?” Smitty asked. The range was down to nine hundred yards.
Tolson was closing from the west and Revenge was about the same distance to the north of the enemy, steaming into a steady wind on her starboard bow. Greg smiled with appreciation. The new Revenge was fast, and only one of the fore and aft rigged feluccas could have matched her course. It was a near-textbook interception, but the Grik weren’t acting “textbook” at all.
“Do we sink ’em or what?” Smitty persisted.
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