Lion Resurgent

by Stuart Slade

  “Range?”

  “Very close. I’d say if it wasn’t for the clag, we could see her.”

  Blaise banged his first. “Too late for hide-and-seek. Sparks, main search radar on. We need to know exactly where she is. Helm, bring our bows around, back to oh-nine-oh. We’ll give her a tail chase.”

  “Radar contact, Sir, range approximately eleven nautical miles out. Bearing two-seven-zero. Battle stations. Close up all gun crews. If we can’t get away, our only chance will be to get the first shots in and hit hard.”

  “Sir, radar contact, now designated Bandit-Charlie, has turned to follow us. Speed estimated at 24 knots. Sir, Bandit-Baker up north has turned to close on us as well. Range thirty nautical miles, speed, 25 knots, bearing three-five-five.”

  “Charlie has reported finding us. That rules out us heading north again. Hold on oh-nine-oh. Engines, we need everything, absolutely everything you’ve got down there.” Blaise felt the rumble of the diesels under his feet but he knew it wasn’t anywhere near enough.

  “Visibility range is about three miles, maximum, Sir.”

  “Bandit-Charlie will have a visual sighting in less than two hours. When the range is down to five miles, we’ll turn and engage.”

  “The rules of engagement are that we can’t fire the first shot, Sir.” Number One was doing his job, reminding his Captain of the details where, notoriously, the devil hid out.

  “I know. We’ll just have to hope that the shot in question misses.”

  NSC Building, Washington D. C.

  The two men were in civilian clothes but it was obvious that they were accustomed to being in uniform. They crossed the reception area, nodding briefly to the statue that dominated the area and strode up to the reception desk. It could be said that they ignored everybody else in the area, but that would have been untrue. They showed no sign of even being aware that other people existed.

  “I wonder if they are even aware that we have an appointment with the National Security Advisor.” The older man snapped the words out to the younger man with him.

  “That would require a level of administrative efficiency on their part.” The younger man sounded reluctant, as if he couldn’t quite conceive of anybody meeting his standards of competence.

  The receptionist bit back her irritation and looked down the printed list of authorized visitors. She had met some very strange people since starting this job, but these two were weird even by the standards of the NSC Building. To make matters even more interesting, these two appeared to be Chipanese. “Mister Takeda? We have your appointment listed. Miss Bonney will take you up to the Advisor’s offices.

  “Gentlemen? If you would come with me please?” Anne Bonney had made a private bet with herself that the two guests in the building would turn up on time to the fraction of a second. She had won and promised herself some chocolate ice cream in payment. “Please display these visitor security badges prominently.”

  “I wonder what would happen if we refused?” The younger man spoke to the elder, ignoring Anne completely.

  “The last people to walk about this building without authorization never got out alive.” Anne spoke equally idly. As it happened the comment was true, but the circumstances had been very unusual. She moved her body so the control panel on the lift was masked, then pressed a combination of buttons before selecting the 14th floor. Although there would be no indication of the fact inside the lift, it would now stop at the 13th floor. One that did not, officially, exist. When it did open, Nefertiti Adams was waiting outside the doors.

  “Shingen-Sama, Katsuyori-San, welcome to the NSC Building. The Seer is waiting for you in our conference room.”

  The two Japanese men showed no sign of having heard the comment. Nefertiti glanced at Anne Bonney and raised one eyebrow. Dealing with representatives from the Kempetai could be wearing and the fastidious Nefertiti always felt an urgent need to wash her hands afterwards. Nevertheless, she took her guests into one of the conference rooms where the Seer was reading through a file full of papers.

  “Ah, they’ve turned up at last, have they?” The Seer’s expression didn’t change. “Sit them down please. I suppose they’d like some tea. Could you organize that, honey?”

  Nefertiti left the room, allowing herself to smile as soon as she closed the door behind her. The two Japanese Kempetai officers weren’t the only ones who could play games.

  HMS Mermaid, North of South Georgia

  “Bring her around to two-seven-zero. Weaps, prepare for surface action; guns ready to fire on command. Sparks, prepare to get the following message out: Am under attack by Argentine warships. Enemy ships have fired upon us. Am returning fire. Issue is in doubt.’ Once you start, keep transmitting until we get acknowledgement or the ship sinks under us. Or both. Engines, if we weren’t at full power before, get the diesels running red-zoned. Burning them out isn’t going to matter too much anyway.”

  Keighley looked grim. “No chance of us getting away?” As if to answer him, there was an express-train roar overhead and two shells splashed into the water ahead of them. “Sorry I spoke.”

  “Sparks get that message out and keep transmitting. Weaps, you have radar fire control solution. Return fire.” The Gunnery Officer’s finger must have been poised over the switch because Mermaid’s two four inch guns cracked out their shots almost instantly. “Helm, bring her around to two-two-five.”

  Mermaid’s hull lurched as she turned abruptly to chase the shells that had missed her. Keighley grabbed a bridge rail as she rolled. “Think those were warnings or intended to hit us?”

  “Hard to tell in this.” Blaise was interrupted by another express-train roar. This time three shells that fell in a straight line, two short, one over. They were well aft though, thrown by Mermaid’s change in course. “Right, well that answers the question doesn’t it. First pair were warnings; that one was a ranging ladder, meant for business.”

  “Starboard lookout here Sir. Enemy ship, bearing two-seven-zero. Range eight thousand yards. She’s firing.”

  “She’s a Cordoba all right. Look at her digging her bows in.” The dark gray destroyer had white water piled up around her foremost turret and the mount was obviously incapable of firing. “Weaps, hit her with something please.”

  Mermaid’s four inch twin mount cracked again. The shots were good for line but both fell well short. Up forward, under the shield of the Mark XIX mounting, the gun crews were reloading as fast as the aged design of their guns and the atrocious weather allowed. Across the sea, Blaise saw the three turrets on the destroyer that weren’t flooded out suddenly masked by the orange flare of muzzle-flash. First the port gun in each turret, then the starboard gun. “Helm, three-three-five.”

  Mermaid swerved again. The two three-round ladders scythed into the water beside her. First ladder was two short and one over; the second two over and one short. Both were perfect for line. The Argentine destroyer had her range and Blaise guessed that her Captain would be ordering a ‘fire-for-effect’ with all six guns he had operational. “You know, Number One, I wish I was commanding an Indian destroyer right now.”

  Keighley laughed at the thought. If Mermaid had been an Indian destroyer with her eight rapid-fire 4.5s, there would be a solid line of shells joining her to her target and the Argentine destroyer would be well on the way to being reduced to a heap of scrap metal. Then, reality was restored. The Argentine destroyer’s turrets flashed again, this time a six-gun salvo. “For what we are about to receive, may we be truly thankful.” The old prayer was lost in the crash as the salvo crashed home.

  The dispersion on the salvo was much larger than it should have been, the dreadful weather saw to that. Three of the shots landed in the water too far out to do any harm. Two more landed close alongside. One raked the hull over the screws with splinters, the other repeated the process the other side, further forward. One of the 5.3 inch shells scored a direct hit on the ship’s cutter, blowing the wooden small craft to fragments.

 
“Damage?”

  “Coming in, Sir. Minor flooding aft, crew spaces by splinters. Helicopter support area badly damaged. Nothing important.” Keighley was interrupted by a cheer on the bridge. There had been a brilliant flash amidships on the enemy destroyer. One of the four-inch shells had struck home. The belch of black smoke from the hit was clearly visible. “That’s got to hurt.”

  “Back to two-two-five.” Blaise knew the hit had probably done next to no damage but at least Mermaid had drawn some blood. He was barely able to see the flash as the next Argentine salvo was fired before everything dissolved into chaos.

  “What happened?” He was barely able to think. The first thing that struck him was the bitter cold. One of the seamen on the bridge was wrapping a greatcoat around him.

  “Mister Keighley’s bought it, Sir. Argie shell hit deck down from us.”

  Blaise looked around, his eyes focussing again. The bridge was torn open. The windows were smashed and the sides riddled with fragments. Most of them had come through from the deck below. He didn’t want to look at the red stains and debris that marked his bridge crew. “Damage?”

  The voice came up from below. “Three direct hits, Sir. Bridge you know about. Engine room is hit. One of the diesels is gone, the other is hurt. We’re down to ten knots maximum. Aft mast is hit and the shell took the two aft Bofors guns with them. We’re taking in water amidships and aft.”

  Across the sea, the Argentine destroyer fired again. Grimly Blaise noted she wasn’t even trying to fire at her maximum rate. She was pacing herself, firing shots as her guns came to bear. The crack of Mermaid’s four inch guns was lost in the explosions as more Argentine shells struck the crippled sloop. Blaise waited for the smoke to clear. It didn’t. Instead, the thick oily cloud that enveloped the bridge told him his ship was burning. In a moment of detachment, he was quite surprised the fires hadn’t started sooner. “What’s happening?”

  “Machinery has gone, Sir. We’re dead in the water and we have oil-fed fires where the engine rooms used to be. Four inch mount is gone, direct hit. We’ve just got the forward Bofors working. The crew tried a few shots but the Argie is out of effective range. We’re flooding and listing. Pumps are out, we’re trying to rig emergency power now. No perimeter, we’ve got fragment holes all over the ship.”

  Blaise looked forward, seeing the cratered ruin of his forecastle where the four inch twin mount had been. The deck was torn up; the bodies of the gun crew scattered all over the area. As he watched, green water washed over the bows, sweeping the human wreckage away. Blaise knew that water had to be surging below, weighing down the bows. Then the ship shook again as a single 5.3-inch shell slammed into the waterline forward. Mermaid rolled and her bows started to dip deeper.

  “Damage here, Sir. We’re done. That last hit’s opened up our bows. We can’t get pumps working. The fire amidships is out of control.”

  “Understood Ronnie.” Blaise sighed and looked over at the destroyer. She hadn’t fired again. He guessed her Captain realized Mermaid was finished and was holding fire to allow her crew to escape. A man of honor. “All hands, abandon ship. Repeat, all hands, abandon ship.”

  ARA Catamarca, North of South Georgia

  “Why have you ceased fire?” Astrid almost bellowed the question.

  Leonardi didn’t even bother to look at him or answer the question. “Lieutenant, bring us in close to Mermaid. Prepare to pick up the survivors. Pass word around for volunteers to man the seaboats to help the rescue. We can’t order men to take the boats out in this storm.”

  “Yes, Sir.”

  “Rescue survivors? What nonsense is this? This ship is needed at South Georgia. I order you to leave them and make maximum speed for Grytviken.”

  Remember you are a seaman. The last words of Commandante Romero echoed in Leonardi’s mind. He hadn’t needed the reminder, but it gave him the official cover for what he was about to do. “Astrid, shut up. If you had any right to wear that uniform or respect for it stands for, you would know why we must do what we must do. Now, be silent and leave my bridge or I will have you confined in the ship’s brig.”

  “You will…” Astrid lunged forward. His movement was assisted by a sudden lurch as Catamarca rolled with the seas. There was a dull thud and he measured his length on the deck. Behind him, the Master at Arms patted the heavy flashlight he carried fondly.

  “Sorry, Sir. Our guest appears to have hit his head on the ducting.”

  “Very well Master at Arms. Take him to his cabin. And lock the door, he might have a concussion and wander around.

  Ahead of Catamarca, the British sloop was already in her death-throes. She had rolled over to where her decks were almost perpendicular to the seas. Her bows had already vanished into the waves. Leonardi could see the crew scrambling off the ship, into the icy waters that were swallowing her. She hadn’t taken much to sink, Leonardi thought, but then she had never been designed to fight a proper warship. She’d done enough to save her honor though. Her four inch guns had hit Catamarca twice. One shell had blown up the potato locker, the other knocked out the aft search radar. “Bring us right alongside, get nets over the ship’s side.”

  Leonardi looked aft and saw that his orders had been obeyed before he had even given them. There were scrambling nets being laid and the amidships area of the destroyer was already crowded with men. Some were throwing lifebelts with ropes attached to the sailors struggling in the water; others were climbing down the nets themselves to help the survivors climb to safety. Both his whalers were in the water, moving out to groups of men who were separated from the rest. The crews were in grave difficulties. The swell caused the small craft to ship water and roll, but they still managed to start pulling the men they were hunting out of the water.

  Back on his ship, the first of the British survivors were already on the main deck. Each man was being wrapped in blankets and given a steaming mug of hot cocoa before being rushed below decks. The whalers were already on their way back; getting them in was going to be a difficult job in this swell. Then, Leonardi saw the men on the nets looking around; some of the British survivors were obviously wounded and losing strength in the bitterly cold water. Some of the Argentine sailors jumped from the nets, swam over to them and started to pull them back to the waiting men hanging on the nets. They handed the rescued sailors up before catching a helping hand to safety themselves.

  Eventually, everybody who could be saved was on board. Mermaid’s wreck was slipping fast. She slid under the water at an increasing speed as the flooding dragged her down. Soon, just a small triangle of her stern was left. As it too vanished from sight, Catamarca’s siren blasted a long mournful note of farewell. Then, the sloop was gone.

  Several minutes later, Leonardi was writing up the action in his long when there was a tactful cough at the hatchway leading on to his bridge. “Sir, Captain Blaise wishes to speak with you.”

  “Captain Blaise?”

  “Sir, I wanted to think you for your rescue effort. Your men were very brave and my casualties would have been much higher had it not been for their chivalry. Could you tell me how many of my men were rescued?”

  Leonardi looked at the tally. “We have picked up seventy seven survivors. Of these ten are injured and two are not expected to survive their wounds.”

  “Thirty six men lost, including those two.” Blaise’s voice shook slightly but Leonardi pretended not to notice. “May I ask what your current plans for us are?”

  Leonardi thought carefully; the picture of the madness in Astrid’s eyes in his mind. “I propose to keep you and your crew on board until I can find a safe place to put you. Now is the time when I could really use a neutral merchant ship. Captain, there is madness loose in my country, I am responsible for you and your men and I will not place you in harm’s way by exposing you to it.”

  Conference Room, NSC Building, Washington D. C.

  “The Spirit Warriors are fools.” Takeda Shingen spoke the words with utter contempt. “They have
taken our warrior code and turned it into a suicide cult.”

  “Spirit Warriors?” The Seer hadn’t heard the phrase before.

  “Those who believe that Japan’s divine destiny is to rule over the whole world. They see Japan’s lack of resources and weak industry make challenging the world a losing proposition. So what do they do? They make themselves believe that there is a divine spirit in Japan that will triumph over all material considerations. They believe in war and death for its own sake, not as a means to an end. They demand absolute unqualified obedience from those they command, yet they throw their lives away as if they are of no account. They teach those who follow them that defeat and surrender are unthinkable, that it is better to be wiped out to the last man than to suffer the ignominy of defeat. You see where this insanity will lead?”

  “I do and so does the rest of the U.S. Government.”

  “Who do you speak for now, Seer? The United States Government?”

  “Of course. Shingen-sama, the Japanese empire is doomed. It will fall within ten years or twenty at the most. These men, the ones you call Spirit Warriors, when the ruin of their dreams of Empire stares them in the face, they will lash out at the rest of the world, in one last great surge of anger and spite. They will fire their nuclear weapons at everybody, bring the whole world down with them. Oh, we here will ride it out. We’ll lose the West Coast for a certainty but nothing much beyond that. But the disaster will be appalling. Somehow, we must aim for a soft landing.”

  Takeda drummed his fingers on the table. “I agree. Our primary aim is to make sure Japan survives the fall of the Spirit Warriors.”

  That may be your primary aim, it isn’t mine. My aim is to make sure the rest of the world survives the fall of your Spirit Warriors. If that means taking out Japan with a pre-emptive strike, so be it. Let’s just hope we don’t get to that point. “We have made a good first step in that direction, I believe. The naval demonstration in Chile wasn’t a complete success in its public purpose but it’s real role was achieved quite well. Some of your Navy people met some of ours and found that everybody could get along quite well. It isn’t much, but it’s a start. There’s a little bit of understanding now that wasn’t there before. It gives us a foundation to build on at least. We must hold more such unofficial meetings, help our people build confidence in each other.”