Free Doppelganger by John Schettler Page B

matter what happens, I’m coming at them straight as an arrow. When they do turn their silhouettes will present much bigger targets for Mister Connors.
    The ship’s second salvo fired, the noise even louder now as the three guns behind the conning tower boomed out their challenge. Listen to them now, Mister Baker, he thought with a smile. But dear god, give us the hits.
    The almighty, and perhaps even Captain Baker, were listening, and smiling back at him that day. The forward watch soon shouted out the news.
    “Straddle! Range is good.”
    “Black Five!” said Tovey firmly, ordering a flag sent up that was supposed to act as a signal to other ships in this squadron to fire for effect. The flagman looked at him, as there were no other ships in the squadron, and Captain Bennett gave the man a wink and waved him off, knowing his gunnery officer Connors would know what to do. Soon the ship had all nine guns ready, and Tovey knew what was coming, quietly raising two fingers to his ears. Even through that muffled silence imposed by his fingertips, the roar of nine 16-inch guns came thundering through.
     
    * * *
     
    So now the gloves are coming off at last, thought Lütjens, slowly lowering his field glasses. That was very close. His decks were still awash with sea spray from a row of heavy shells that had raked across his bow. Thankfully, none hit the ship directly, but the rattle of shrapnel clattered on the armor there, and he knew his enemy had found the range.
    “Ahead two thirds!” he shouted, and Captain Adler looked at him, hesitating briefly, but wise enough to first relay the order to the helmsman before he questioned it.
    “You’re slowing to 20 knots?”
    “You saw what just happened, Captain. They’ll be trimming a little range off their last sighting, and if we slow the ship down, and turn slightly, their next salvo should be well short. Use your head!”
    Adler took the sting, nodding grimly, and quickly ordering the ship to turn ten points. He finally had his battle, but he realized the Admiral had been correct. He had been so set on getting Axel Faust into action on the main gun turrets, that he was forgetting to maneuver the ship properly. He resolved not to disappoint the Admiral again.
    “Oberleutnant Eisenberg!” said Adler tersely. “I trust you have a firing solution. Answer that salvo!”
    “Aye sir.”
    It was Hindenburg ’s turn to get her main guns into action, and the insult of those small caliber rounds had finally abated. Now it would be steel on steel, the massive weight and shock of shells weighing over a thousand pounds each, flung into the sky by a massive, controlled explosion, and sent careening over the sea to find a target that was over fifteen miles away. As insane as that seemed, this carefully controlled chaos could be managed so well that the battle was almost certain to see hits obtained on either side. It was nowhere near the precision of the smaller rounds fired by Argos Fire , but any hit scored would be much more lethal.
    “We must close the range, Adler, and make the best use of our armor. The gunners will do their best work inside 20,000 meters.”
    The armor scheme on Hindenburg had been conceived by designers who assumed the ship would most often fight in the misty cold waters of the North Atlantic, where visibility was low and range for gunnery duels was often very short. As such, the layout and angle of the armor was designed to repel flat trajectory attacks, as opposed to plunging fire attacks that might be delivered from shells fired at a greater range.
    “Sir, I recommend that Bismarck move off our wake and run on a parallel course to our ship as we close. That way they can get a clear line of fire.”
    “Good, Adler. Now you are thinking like a fleet commander again. Yes, signal Bismarck to take station to port, and fire when clear. But mind your signals flags if we have to maneuver.”
    Down in Anton turret, Axel Faust was peering through his range