Larry Bond - Vortex

The Americans! So the rumors had been true. Skuller smiled. This would be different. A moving ship would be a real challenge, although Table

Mountain’s guns had never had problems engaging trucks or other moving targets.

C Gun whined forward and tripped a release built into the rail. Smoothly, the inches-thick blast door swung up, letting in sunlight. Skuller filled his lungs with the cool morning air. Once the gun started firing, the ventilators wouldn’t keep the stink of the gun’s propellant from filling the tunnel.

The 155mm gun’s muzzle and then the front two-thirds of its tube emerged into the sunlight. His brief dose of sunlight ended as the shield skid into place, and he heard latches on the rail lock the gun carriage into firing position.

-C gun is in battery,” Skull eT reported over the intercom.

“Ready to fire.”

USS VOSCONSIN

Capt. Thomas Malloy, USN, wished he’d been able to persuade Craig to leave the ship with the South Africans. Most of his staff had gone back to the

Mount Whitney, but the general had insisted, as only generals can, that he needed to observe the bombardment firsthand. In fact, only a tour of the Mk40 gun director had convinced him that there wasn’t room inside for him to watch from there.

Of course, Craig might just have wanted to see the director, but Malloy didn’t think the general was pulling his leg.

“Twenty-seven miles to Green Point, Captain,” reported the phone talker.

“Very well, sound general quarters. ” The Klaxon’s echoes throughout the ship were almost an anticlimax. Having been warned earlier about the upcoming bombardment, most of the crew were already at their stations.

Gunner’s mates had been sweating over their machinery half the night, making sure that every piece of equipment functioned perfectly, and practicing the countless actions necessary to send a one-ton shell twenty miles with pinpoint accuracy.

A boatswain’s mate handed Malloy his helmet, mask, and gloves. Every crewman was required to wear protective equipment at battle stations, and

Malloy believed in setting a good example. The cloth hood and gloves were good protection against flash burns, and even in the summer heat, nobody with any sense complained about wearing them.

The face mask covered the wearer’s features, but Malloy knew the officers and enlisted men on the general quarters bill well by voice alone. If he did forget, the helmets were labeled with the wearer’s position, HELMSMAN

Or NAVIGATOR, for example. Malloy’s helmet read SKIPPER.

Craig accepted a spare set, and with the boatswain’s help, donned the gear. Someone had turned a spare helmet over to the Wisconsin’s Marine detachment, and the steel pot had been painted in camouflage colors to match his fatigues, then adorned with three black plastic stars and the

Marine Corps insignia. As Malloy watched, the short, stocky Marine general donned the helmet with a smile and a shake of his head.

The phone talker turned his phone set over to the man who held the position at general quarters, and the new talker reported the Wisconsin’s progress toward battle-ready status.

“Damage control is on the line.

Engineering reports all boilers lit off, ready to respond to all bells.

Gunnery reports all

turrets manned, all mounts manned, all guns in automatic.” His tone was calm, cold, clear, and completely factual. A good talker never let emotion cloud his repeated messages.

A final report was more immediate.

“Electronic Warfare module reports a

J-band radar bearing zero nine five.”

Probably a gunfire control radar, Malloy thought. The bearing was consistent with the mountain. Well, he hadn’t really expected to catch them napping.

Malloy watched the clock. Three and a half minutes after he’d ordered general quarters, the talker reported, “All stations manned and ready.

Damage control reports condition zebra set throughout the ship. ” They were ready, all right. Clearing for action usually took five minutes or more. Still, his crew was helping him look good in front of the general.

Malloy needed to take control of the ship’s movements.

“This is the captain. I have the deck and the conn. Navigator, what’s the range to

Green Point?”

“Twentyfive point four miles to Green Point, sir, twenty eight point two to Table Mountain. Recommend we come right three degrees to zero nine seven true.”

“Very.well. Helm, come right to zero nine seven.” Malloy turned to the 21MC intercom and pressed the button that allowed him to talk to the combat information center.

“Harry, tell our screen to split off as planned. “

The radio speaker came to life as his coded signal was transmitted. The

Wisconsin’s screen of three frigates and two destroyers normally surrounded her, protecting the battleship from air and submarine attack.

They wouldn’t be able to help with this job, though, and some of them couldn’t even keep up with the battleship at top speed.

As his escorts turned away, Malloy ordered, “All engines ahead flank.”

The four ships of the Iowa class were rated at thirty-three knots, but his engineers had promised him thirty-five, and the captain believed them. He planned to close on Table Mountain at high speed, firing as soon as his ship came within maximum range. There wasn’t any point in messing about. Malloy wanted to go in fast, hit the Boers hard, and get it over with.

Even the weather was helping. The sea was relatively smooth, with waves no more than four feet high and the wind at less than fifteen knots-conditions the Navy labeled Sea State Three. They wouldn’t interfere with the big ship’s progress or rock the vessel beyond the capabilities of its gun stabilizers.

Malloy stepped out on the bridge wing and looked aft. Four sleek warships, tiny when compared to his battlewagon, were falling away behind. One ship remained. USS Scott, a Kiddclass guided-missile destroyer, would fall in astern and to seaward of the Wisconsin-to protect her from air attack while she worked. Picked for her high speed,

Scott had five inch guns that couldn’t possibly reach Table Mountain, so she’d just have to wait and watch.

The navigator reported, “Range to Green Point is twenty one point two miles. On course.”

Table Mountain was a little under three miles from Green Point, which showed up clearly on radar and thus made a better place from which to mark the ship’s position. Table Mountain’s guns, if intelligence reports could be believed, had a range of twenty-one and a half miles.

The Wisconsin’s current course took her straight toward the mountain. On this heading, her rear turret, one-third of her firepower, could not be brought to bear. When she was in range, Malloy planned to turn his ship’s bow thirty degrees to one side. That would bring the aft turret into play, while still letting the Wisconsin continue to close with her target. Anytime enemy fire got too hot, he would put the ship’s rudder over-” tacking” to the other side of her base course, continuing to close.

A fountain of white and gray water erupted to port, almost drowning out the navigator’s latest report.

“Range twenty one point five miles. ” The shell burst was close, no more than a hundred yards away.

Right on the money, Malloy thought. He was in the maddening position of being outranged by a six-inch-gun shore battery. It was time to give them a harder target.

“Left standard rudder. Steady on course zero eight eight.”

At thirty-plus knots, the eight-hundred-and-ninety-foot

ship responded quickly to its helm. She would never be as nimble as a destroyer or a frigate, but Malloy loved his ship’s feel as she lumed.

The rules were simple. Head toward the last shell splash so that the enemy’s corrections would move his next shot off target Occasionally make small turns, since they might not be noticed and the enemy might assume you were still on your old course. Finally, stay off the cardinal points of the compass, since that might let an enemy guess your course.