Free Into the Storm by Taylor Anderson Page A

I’ll . . .”
    He was interrupted by Quartermaster’s Mate 2nd Class Norman Kutas, who’d replaced Sandison as the talker. “Mr. Garrett reports surface target, bearing one seven zero! Range five five double oh!”
    They rushed to the starboard bridgewing and brought up their binoculars. A dark form was taking shape behind them as the squall dispersed. It was bows-on and listing to port. Smoke poured from amidships and slanted downwind. Even at this range, tiny figures were visible on the foredeck, wrestling with a fire hose.
    “Oh, my God, Skipper,” breathed Jim. “It’s Mahan!”
     
    Walker made a wide, slow turn to avoid having more water pour through her perforated sides. Once pointed at her sister, she sprinted to her. Everyone was at least secretly terrified by the prospect of turning back. But one man dressed in dark khaki, standing on the foredeck, silently cursed the ill luck that showed them Mahan. If they hadn’t seen her, hadn’t known she was there, they could have continued on. That would have salved his conscience—not seeing her—even if he knew she was there. But there she was, in obvious distress and at the moment with no enemy in sight. He fumed. Of course that upstart on the bridge would risk all their lives. He’d been safer in Surabaya! And the way he’d been treated was an outrage! He was an officer, by God, a fighter pilot! And to be forced to perform manual labor—and be physically threatened to do so—alongside common sailors was beyond the pale. Heads would roll for this, he decided. He had friends and he’d remember. Now if they could just go ! But there was Mahan , damn it. They were all going to die for the sake of a ship that was already doomed. He shoved an empty shell casing savagely over the side with his shoe.
    What Captain Kaufman didn’t realize was that most of the destroyermen on DD-163 wouldn’t have cared if Amagi still stood between them and their sister. They hadn’t expected to last this long, and the deck was stacked against them whether they went back or ran away. They might as well die doing the right thing.
    They ran down on Mahan and hove to upwind. Jim Ellis took the conn and kept Walker poised forty yards off the other destroyer’s beam. Matt went on the bridgewing with a speaking trumpet and stared at the other ship. She looked doomed. She was low by the bow and her forward superstructure was a shattered wreck. Smoke gushed from the ventilation hatches above the aft fireroom and men directed hoses into them. More smoke still wisped from the first two funnels, so the forward fireroom must be okay, but her aft deckhouse and auxiliary conn were wrecked, so her only means of maneuvering was still the exposed steering cables. The number four funnel was gone, probably rolled over the side to clear the deck, and the searchlight tower had fallen across the number one torpedo mount, crumpling the tubes. Men on the amidships deckhouse manned the guns, but everyone else seemed too busy trying to save their ship to even talk to Matt.
    He glanced at the sun, nearing the horizon, and he willed it to move faster. He looked up at Lieutenant Garrett’s disheveled, blackened form on the platform above, and the younger man returned his glance with one of confusion. The squall had finally spent itself and all the lookouts were tense and alert, but so far there was nothing. Matt wasn’t about to complain, but he couldn’t believe the Japanese had simply given up. Even if the cruisers had turned away, the aircraft would have continued to search. Of course, some were carrier planes. Maybe they were low on fuel, or didn’t want to land at night. The spotting planes might have returned to their ships as well. He frowned. Even so, they’d mauled Amagi badly—at least he hoped they had. He thought two of Mahan ’s torpedoes had struck her at the end. She at least should still be near, unless she’d continued on at full speed, and he didn’t know how she could have