Authors: TAYLOR ANDERSON

Crusade (23 page)

BOOK: Crusade

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Sato glanced at the captain and noticed with a rush of alarm that he was moving in his direction. He braced himself for the onslaught. To his surprise, the captain’s voice was quiet, even mild when he spoke.

“I hope you are feeling better, Commander Okada.”

Sato gulped and bowed his head slightly. “Yes, Captain. Much better, thank you. It must have been something I ate.”

“Of course. I know you are not timid.” The captain’s face clouded slightly. “Either in the face of the enemy, or my own.”

“It is my duty to advise you, sir.”

“It is your duty to obey me!” Kurokawa snapped.

“I have always obeyed.”

The captain’s face clouded still more but, forcibly, he pushed back the threatening storm. When he spoke again, his voice was controlled once more. “Very well. Since you see it as your duty to advise me, how„ would you do so now?”

Sato looked at the captain, appalled. It was the first time since Kurokawa assumed command that he’d ever asked anyone what they thought. That might be entirely appropriate under most circumstances, but since the Strange Storm, things had been anything but normal. Still, for Kurokawa to actually ask, let alone care, what Sato thought about their situation was most uncharacteristic. It was probably a trap. Something to get him to commit to a course of insubordination.

“On what subject would you seek my advice?” he asked carefully.

“Ah. Of course. I assumed you would have a differing opinion than I on everything we have done. I was correct. Your reports seethe with discontent! Let us limit our discussion to strategy so I might get some sleep tonight!” His face became grim. “I am frustrated with these barbaric ‘allies’ of ours, as you know. Dreadful creatures, but useful.”

Sato had to suppress a shudder at the thought of the Grik. They’d encountered them first at Singapore when they went there for repairs after their battle with the retreating American force. It was then that they discovered something extraordinary had happened to them. Singapore wasn’t there! In its place was only a strange village of some sort with a harbor filled with sailing ships—which had attacked them immediately and as apparently automatically as a disturbed hive of bees. Throughout the day and night they fought, killing thousands of the hideous creatures, which continued the assault even as
Amagi
tried to steam away. But the ship had been too badly damaged by the American destroyers and it couldn’t outrun the red-hulled ships.

Finally, after they repelled what seemed like countless assaults, a single ship approached but did not attack. Negotiations were established and a bizarre alliance was struck.
Amagi
would join the creatures that attacked her so fanatically suly a stran furry folk that resided at sea on large ships, and in the Dutch East Indies. To make matters even more bizarre, the “tree folk”—he believed that was the best translation—seemed to have allied themselves with one of the American destroyers they’d been fighting when they were swallowed by the Strange Storm. It was that discovery, Sato thought, that finally drove Captain Kurokawa mad. If he’d ever had the intention of slipping away from the Grik, it had now certainly passed.

The captain blamed everything that had happened to them on the two destroyers that so arrogantly charged them right before the Strange Storm brought them here. Sato had been secretly stirred by the courage of their crews, but Kurokawa took their escape and the damage to his mighty ship quite personally. Each wound to the ship was matched by one to the captain’s pride. That two such outdated and dilapidated vessels could wreak such destruction on
Amagi
was as if house cats had savaged a tiger. And then, as if in punishment,
Amagi
was taken from the world she knew. That was the Americans’ fault too. The fact that one of the badly damaged destroyers still existed in this twisted world struck Kurokawa as a personal insult. He was now obsessed with its destruction in an almost Grik-like way, and if it took alliance with such unpleasant creatures to accomplish that goal, so be it.

“What can we do to increase our prestige among those monsters?” Kurokawa asked, waving toward the endless fleet beyond the glass windows of the bridge and returning Okada’s thoughts to the unusual conversation.

“Show ourselves to be even more vicious and contemptible than they are, I suspect,” Sato said bitterly. The captain considered his words.

“You may not be mistaken. We must put ourselves forward in battle, Commander Okada. Their commander must see our power for himself !” He clenched his fists at his side in frustration. “Which we cannot do if we are so slow!”

Sato tried to avert his captain’s mounting rage by changing the subject. “At least now we know the source of the radio transmissions we detected. Not two ships, but a single ship and a plane. The American flying-boat was unexpected.”

“Yes. It did a great deal of damage before it flew away.” Kurokawa’s features reddened. “If our antiaircraft defenses had been better prepared, we could have shot it down and we would not be having this conversation! The Grik would have certainly seen our worth!”

Sato quickly diverted the captain from attacking another part of the crew. “But the enemy ship did much more damage. I understand one of the Grik commanders was killed and his ship destroyed. The survivors of the raid on Surabaya were right about the cannons.”

“So it would seem.” Kurokawa hesitated. “The Grik will see
Amagi
’s worth if they face many more of those.” He glanced at the clock on the bulkhead. For the first time, Sato thought he saw nervousness behind the captain’s eyes. “Soon I must cross to the ‘flagship.’ ”

Sato waited a moment before he spoke. “Must you take Captain Kaufman with you this time? He might be even more valuable to us now, and each time he is in the presence of those creatures, he . . . slips . . . a little more.”„

Kurokawa regarded him with a hard gaze. “Pity for the enemy, Commander Okada?”

Sato’s expression hardened as well. “Empathy for an officer who saw his crew
eaten
by our ‘allies,’ Captain Kurokawa. Even the Grik spoke highly of his bravery, after a fashion. He did not surrender; he was overwhelmed.”

Sato shuddered, and once more changed the subject. He was getting good at maneuvering the conversation to keep his commander’s temper in check. “Will you tell the Grik your assumptions based on
all
the radio traffic we intercepted? Before the enemy resumed transmitting in code?”

Kurokawa looked at him. “Of course. It is valuable information and they will see it as such.” He smiled. “That we’ve somehow divined it will surely raise us in their estimation.”

Sato took a deep breath and glanced around at the other men on the bridge. He knew they were straining to hear, but doubted they could understand much. In spite of that, he spoke barely above a whisper. “Before we reveal that we can send and receive messages over long distances, let alone where we think the American base might be, would it not be best to speak to the Americans first?”

Kurokawa’s eyes bulged and he screamed, “You would
speak
to the
enemy
?!”

Sato forced his voice to remain calm and low. “Captain, please! Let me speak!” he said. “First, would it not be best to conceal the technology of radio from . . . our ‘allies’ as long as we can? Once they know of its existence, we will have irretrievably lost an advantage. They will want its secrets and we will have difficulty withholding them.”

Taken aback, Kurokawa lowered his voice. “But what good is it to keep the secret?
We
have no one to talk to!”

“That may not always be the case! Besides, we have two aircraft of our own. The spotting planes! They have radios!”

Amagi
had lost one of her spotting planes in the battle that brought her here—ironically when a Japanese dive bomber went out of control and crashed directly atop her amidships ten-inch turret, destroying it as well as the plane and catapult on top of it. But she still had two planes left. Both were obsolete, short-range biplanes. Nakajima Type 95 E8Ns, to be precise. They were single-engine affairs and carried one huge float under the fuselage and a couple of smaller ones under the wings. They were good, reliable, low-maintenance airplanes with all-metal structures covered by fabric. The two-man crew sat in individual open cockpits where they would never have to worry about being too comfortable to keep their eyes open. Perfect for observation planes. Probably the best kind of planes they could have right now, since they were so simple. But they were certainly not fighters.

Kurokawa still seethed constantly over the loss of their much more capable plane, the Aichi Type Zero E13A1 that had been turned into flaming confetti along with quite a lot of other very useful equipment, weapons, ammunition, and fuel—Kurokawa didn’t consider the men—when the crippled plane smashed into his ship. Okada mourned every scratch
Amagi
suffered and every life she lost, but practically speaking, under the circumstances, he’d trade the Type Zero for the Type 95s any day.

“True, but we have hardly any fuel for them,” the captain snapped bitterly. He waved his hand. “Enough for a few short flights. Most of our reserve was destroyed by the Americans’ cowardly torpedo attack . . . And That Imbecile Who Crashed IThe officer said something in Japanese and the hatch was closed and secured. As always, now that they were alone, the officer wrinkled his nose at the stench from the other bucket, in the corner. Kaufman didn’t even notice the smell anymore. Still squinting, he hastily stood.

“Good morning, Captain Kaufman,” said the man in pleasant, if badly accented, English.

“Is it morning?” Kaufman asked eagerly.

“Yes. Just dawn.” Sato paused, watching the nervous twitch that had taken control of the prisoner’s pale, waxy face. That was new. “I have not come to take you to the Grik,” he hastily assured him. “You are well?”

Much of Kaufman’s tension ebbed, but the twitch remained. “I am, thank God. I mean, thank God . . .” He shuddered, and Sato nodded understanding.

“I too am glad,” he muttered. “But I have to ask you a question.”

Kaufman nodded and straightened his shoulders. “Of course.”

“Yesterday, our . . . the fleet we are a part of was involved in action with an enemy ship . . .” Kaufman tensed again and his expression was one of anguish. “It wasn’t the American destroyer,” Sato mercifully assured him. “It was a captured Grik vessel that the enemy had supplied with cannons. They were most effective. Many Grik ships were destroyed.” He paused and watched to see how Kaufman reacted to that. He wasn’t surprised to see a fragile smile and he had to struggle not to match it. “Regrettably, from an intelligence standpoint, the ship was destroyed. Nothing was recovered, but there is testimony from the survivors on nearby ships that there was one human, perhaps two, on board the enemy ship. We can only conclude they were countrymen of yours.” Sato hesitated when he saw the prisoner’s stricken look. “For that, you have my condolences. What I must ask you, however, is whether or not you were aware of the existence of an American flying-boat?”

Kaufman’s eyes went wide and, if anything, his twitch became more violent. He began scratching the left side of his face unconsciously. “Well, yes, I am . . . I mean, I was. You mean you’ve seen it?” Sato nodded and Captain Kaufman closed his eyes and smiled with genuine relief. “My God. So Mallory made it after all!” He stopped and looked at Commander Okada. “We found it on the beach. The plane, that is. It was shot up and half sunk, but Mallory and a couple other fellas got it flying. The Grik nearly got them! Anyway, I sent it on to Ceylon to bring out an escort for
Mahan
.” He stopped and his face was stricken. “But he couldn’t have gone to Ceylon . . . could he?”

“Why did you never mention the plane before?”

Kaufman glanced vacantly around. “Nobody asked. I just figured it was lost. The Griks that got after it saw it that day.” He looked imploringly at Sato. “I’m sorry. I would have told you, I swear! I just never thought it was still around!” He sat back down on his bucket and rubbed his twitching face, staring at Sato through his fingers with red-rimmed eyes. “Please,” he whispered. “Don’t beat me anymore.”

Sato stared down at the prisoner, sickened. As much with Kaufman as with himself. “You won’t be beaten,” he said. He glanced back at the hatch to make sure it was still dogged. “This plane,” he said, “has a radio.” It wasn’t a question, but a statement of fact. “So too does the American destroyer. If I could arrange it so you had access to a radio yourself, could you contact either of them?”

Kaufman looked down at the floor. “I don’t have a codebook,” he saidon, but ge a radio, you would be able to speak in the clear.”

“What would you want me to say?”

Sato shook his head. “I do not know yet. That would depend on a number of things . . . What I want to know now is can you do it? Do you think they would listen to you?”

“I doubt Reddy would,” he said grimly, and Okada recognized the name of the destroyer’s commander. “I doubt he trusts me. I know he doesn’t like me. Mallory, though . . .”

“Mallory is the pilot of the flying-boat?”

“Yes. At least he was. I think I could talk to him. Maybe he’d talk to Reddy . . .” Kaufman looked up at Sato. “Why?”

BOOK: Crusade

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