Into the Storm Read Free Page B

be a while before they were in range of the Japanese cruiser’s eight-inch guns. Longer still before they could hope to reply. Even so, when it was Garrett’s turn to take a break, he merely descended to the pilothouse and kept doing what he’d done above—watching and waiting. Matt understood how the younger man felt. The atmosphere of anxiety and tension was thick. Everyone anticipated the cry warning of enemy ships or planes.
    The stocky, broad-shouldered form of Lieutenant James Ellis clomped metallically up the ladder from the main deck below, and Matt arched an eyebrow at him. He liked Jim Ellis, and they were as close to being friends as their rank difference allowed, but Jim was much farther from his battle station at the auxiliary conn on the aft deckhouse than Garrett was from his.
    “Yes, sir, I know,” Ellis said, anticipating the reprimand as he maneuvered Matt out of hearing of the others in the pilothouse. “But those nurses and their flyboy chauffeurs want to know if there’s anything they can do. That Army captain”—he tilted his nose up with unconscious disdain—“actually tried to come up here and bug you. Chief Gray said he’d have to wait your convenience.” Ellis grinned. “That wasn’t good enough and Gray offered to sit on him—physically. Then he sent for me.” Matt smiled in spite of his jitters.
    Before they cleared Surabaya, they’d taken aboard a rather motley assortment of passengers. First to arrive was an unkempt and harriedlooking Australian, a Mr. Bradford, a construction engineer for Royal Dutch Shell. He introduced himself as a “naturalist,” but paid his passage by intervening on their behalf with the harbor officials, who didn’t want to fill their bunkers. They’d argued that the fuel would be better used by Dutch ships, staying to defend Java. Courtney Bradford countered with the fact that there was only one Dutch ship left, a destroyer, and she was getting the hell out just as fast as she could. Perhaps it was their lingering respect for a corporate superior, or maybe just the final realization that everything really was falling apart. Whatever the motivation, Walker left Surabaya with her bunkers overflowing.
    Next to come limping aboard was a sergeant from Houston ’s Marine contingent. He’d been wounded by a bomb that had killed dozens and wrecked the old cruiser’s aft turret. Left ashore in a hospital with a lacerated leg, he missed her final sortie. He didn’t intend to become a guest of the Japanese. Upon his arrival, he was roundly scolded for bleeding on the deck and sent below to the surgeon.
    Finally, motoring out to catch them in a “borrowed” boat just as they were preparing to get under way were six Navy nurses and two P-40 pilots who’d escaped the sinking of the old Langley the day before. Langley had been ferrying P-40 fighters in for the defense of Java, but she was caught fifty miles short. Bombed into a smoldering wreck, she was abandoned, and one of Walker ’s sisters, Edsall , was forced to finish her with two precious torpedoes. The majority of Langley ’s personnel shipped south on the oiler Pecos , but in the confusion, the nurses and airmen were left behind. They persuaded the driver of a Dutch army truck to take them to Surabaya, and they arrived just in time to come aboard Walker .
    Matt hadn’t seen them. He’d been aboard Exeter conferring with Captain Gordon’s executive officer. When he returned, he was informed of the ship’s newest passengers by a leering Jim Ellis and a scandalized Lieutenant Brad “Spanky” McFarlane, the engineering officer, whose strict observance of Navy custom—if not always regulations—filled him with a terrible conviction that women on board would certainly doom the ship. That Army aviators accompanied them would probably send them to hell as well. Matt was inwardly amused by the diverse reactions, and it never occurred to him to set them ashore under the circumstances. He only