Bluffing

Robineaux peered at the wall of fog and mist ahead. Out there in the fog twenty or more Japanese ships "'"' with at least two battleships "'"' were heading south at twenty"'five knots.

In two days of offensive the Japanese had pulled the American carriers, battlewagons and cruisers of the Third and Fifth Fleets in several directions. A chance US submarine patrol spotted Japanese ships coming down the straights towards the beaches just after midnight, five hours before...

The trouble with such reports was that to be accurate you had to throw out half and double the remainder. The trick was knowing which half.

The nearest American fleet big enough to counter them was seven hours away, the nearest supporting fleet carrier five.

"Radar, this is the bridge," Robineaux called into one of the voice tubes that lined the bridge railing.

"Radar, aye."

"Range to target?"

"One two oh double"'oh."

"Very well. Give me marks at five double ohs."

"Aye, aye, sir."

"Captain Mirren," Robineaux called behind him to captain of his destroyer/flagship, the Hopper, "How wide's the straight?"

Mirren consulted a chart. "At estimated intercept point, ten thousand yards."

"The bottom?"

"At least a hundred fathoms."

Robineaux raised his binoculars. The mist got closer, but no clearer. I know how narrow the waters are when I meet him, Robineaux thought, and the Jap doesn't even know I'm here. About the only advantage I have. "Time to intercept?"

"Twenty minutes, thereabouts."

"Very well." Twenty minutes. It took about that long to change the whole course of the war at Midway.

Robineaux had been there, commanding a cruiser in the Hornet's escort group. Finally, he'd thought then, maybe we can win this.

Six months later his cruiser was on the bottom off Guadalcanal.

Then he got command of a destroyer division on the way to the Marshall Islands, and then he got promoted to Rear Admiral just before he got command one of several amphibious groups and their escorts in the Philippines.

And now, twelve thousand yards north in a dense fog and closing fast was the biggest Japanese fleet he'd ever seen, and only the second he'd ever seen in his career.

If I had the sense God gave geese I wouldn't be here, either, he thought wistfully.

Five hours before Admiral Kinkaid had given Robineaux "freedom of action," which meant he was to save his command and as much of his mission as he could. Robineaux could have told the transports, jeep carriers and inshore support ships to turn tail and run, leaving the Army alone on the beach.

Robineaux glanced aft. Five more destroyers steamed in line at five hundred yard intervals behind his flagship. Benson, Tuller, Griffith, Paige, MacDonald. Newer ships, untested in surface combat, named for important captains, admirals, and sailor heroes...

Behind his column and a thousand yards to the west was six destroyer escorts under the tactical command of Captain Gravelic, an Annapolis classmate. He'd raised his flag on a ship called the George Lee, named for a Yangtze gunboat skipper from the 19th century. Robineaux knew none of the other names.

And bringing up the rear was a rocket"'throwing LST named for a county in Michigan, pressed into service to provide some more show of force.

I wonder, Robineaux thought, if they'll ever run out of names for destroyers and DEs. Or if, today, they may get a few more...

We either get a ship named after us or we get forgotten.

Robineaux's "fleet," was all there was between the pride of the Imperial Japanese Navy and fifty thousand GIs on the beach some five hours south, and the transports and small escort carriers that supported the landings.

And Robineaux's nerves...

0555 Hours

"Dennis," Robineaux called behind him. Mirren came closer to the bridge rail where the Admiral stood. "Did I call it right? Am I asking too much?"

The Navy had pulled the carriers and fast escorts away from Guadalcanal back in '42 when they had no choice. They left the southern Solomons to the protection of a handful of destroyers and cruisers, to fight the "Tokyo Express" and the superb Japanese torpedoes.

At first Robineaux was ordered out with the carriers, but after two months of desperate fighting in those restricted waters he and his ship were sent in.

And there he lost his ship and nearly his life to the cold sea in his first and (until now) only surface action. He tried not to feel too bad about it; four other skippers lost their ships that night, too, to the Japanese torpedoes.

The Japanese shelled the beaches that night he lost his tub, and the night after.

"Not my play to call, Vince." Mirren had been the second-string quarterback in the class of '22, when Robineaux was the lead signal-caller in his class of '20.

"I'm asking you to call it." Robineaux turned slightly to the captain.

Mirren scanned the admiral's face briefly, then shrugged and looked away. "They could have a counterinvasion force, " he answered at length. "Land troops behind the Army... expecting us to run... No. I'd have done the same thing."

"Thank you," Robineaux said, comforted but not relieved. "I'll be asking a lot of you and your ships this morning." Mirren was also the destroyer division commander. "Do the best you can."

"Always will, sir."

0600 Hours

"Bridge, this is radar: one one five double oh and closing fast."

"Yeoman," Robineaux called, and a signal rating stepped forward.

"Yessir."

"Signal to task force: Command by TBS, otherwise follow the flagship."

"Yessir: TBS or follow the flag." The rating left the bridge.

Robineaux watched over the open bridge combing as the forward gun crews readied their guns, removing rags, grease cans, tools and paint from the turrets. Around him antiaircraft crews greased pivots and tracks. Gunners pulled tampions from barrels. A detail nailed the anchor chain to the deck and covered it with canvas. A glancing hit could turn the chain into a whip, slicing huge chunks off the deck.

"CIC, this is the bridge."

"CIC, aye." "Take your plots from the radar repeater. Won't have time for visual confirmations when they break through the fog."

"Aye, sir."

Behind the bridge he watched a torpedo crew pivot and test their tubes, watched the mess crew throw garbage over the side. Lifelines were being strung on the deck.

I should be down there, Robineaux thought. Down in the Combat Information Center, where I can see the whole situation.

But then the men wouldn't see me, might wonder what that SOB"'admiral was doing while they were getting shot up. No. The bridge is the commander's place. Especially when he doesn't want to be there.

He heard the voices on the tubes and intercoms, the TBS annunciator and the radio repeaters. Disembodied, metallic voices telling the world what they were doing, what they saw, what they wanted, what they had. They were faceless men in a faceless void, embodied by speakers, receivers and funnels.

0610 Hours

"Bridge: radar: one one five double oh."

"All hands, this is the captain:" Mirren said into the intercom: "Set battle stations surface condition one. Close all watertight doors; close all vents and stacks, main funnel on full draft. Main battery set armor piercing. Torpedoes set pneumatic launch and contact detonation. All hands, man your battle stations." The klaxon whoop"'whooped throughout the ship as men dashed to their stations. Helmets were strapped down, life jackets cinched in.

"Sky one mount ready," a voice intoned.

"Condition one set in forward power room, five zero kilowatts on stream from forward..."

"CIC condition one set. Targets at one one five oh oh, two columns..."

"Quartermaster McVey on helm..."

"Forward engine room set to condition one, full power available at one eight zero revolutions..."

"Galley fires extinguished, fuel lines shut and drained..."

Robineaux could vaguely hear "'"' or he thought he heard "'"' other ships as they prepared to meet the enemy. He cinched down his helmet with the two stars emblazoned on the front, and took a dab of the white flash"'burn cream from a can passed around. Few of the sailors in his little fleet had been in a surface action, he thought as he spread the paste on his face, and even fewer had seen daylight surface combat.

But all that would change very soon.

0619 Hours

"Range one one oh double oh." Through the mist Robineaux could see the dim outline of ships, dark gray shapes against the light gray fog, off to the right side of his battle line. We have been in their torpedo range since before we got them on radar, he thought, and they won't be in ours for another two thousand yards. Something about that rankles...

"Yeoman!" Robineaux called.

"Sir!"

"Signal to CinC Fifth Fleet from Task Force five point one one point four: Enemy in sight at." he glanced at his watch "oh six one niner hours, and give our position."

Robineaux thought about the next phrase carefully. Might be important at my court-marital... "Need help God's sake come quick. Sign it Robineaux. That's all."

"Yessir." The rating left.

Time for phase one, Robineaux thought grimly as he picked up the TBS receiver. "Flag to Gravelic: Execute phase one. Good luck, Gravel." Robineaux thought briefly of the taciturn Gravelic, his Academy classmate, and they had been ensigns together on the old Pennsylvania. Gravelic's wife, Louise, was Robineaux's daughter's godmother.

"Gravelic to flag:" came the reply. "Executing phase one. Good luck, Frenchy." Robineaux barely passed plebe"'year French, despite his name. "Frenchy" became his Academy nickname that stayed with him. The plan was simple: Robineaux and the destroyers would make a box pattern ahead of the Japanese columns, hopefully slowing them down and causing confusion. They would barrage the leading Japanese ships with torpedoes and a flurry of five"'inch gunfire at a higher rate than the Japanese could reply.

Gravelic and the smaller, more lightly"'armed destroyer escorts would run parallel with the Japanese column, hug the coast, hope to stay out of gun range, harass with torpedoes, maybe pick off the odd cripple.

Meantime, the escort carriers would launch their Avengers as soon as the fog lifted.

Might work, Robineaux thought.

But enough bluff to save the beaches?

"Set course zero niner five, Captain Mirren" Robineaux called. "Flag to task force: follow the flag." The destroyer turned ponderously to the right. The gray targets shifted from the Hopper's starboard side to port. Crossing the T, Robineaux thought, if we were in school.

Mission or men...freedom of action...mission or men...which to save...which to sacrifice...

He looked aft to Gravelic's column of destroyer escorts as they executed a classic "Scheer," or turnabout in line, where the aftermost ship becomes the leader. If only this were school.

"Wayne County to Flag:" the TBS announced, "Targets in range." Robineaux started. Huh? They're still...no, wait. The LST's hundred plus barrage rockets outranged everything else in Robineaux's fleet, even from the back of the battle line. They may not have been able to do a damn thing and may be very inaccurate, but their spread could cover three football fields, and they did have new ground"'penetrating rockets...

Lieutenant Boyd, the young Reservist commanding the little converted landing craft, had been excited at the idea of participating in a fleet action. His uncle had fought at Santiago, and his father had been in WWI. He near burst his buttons when I told him at the briefing a few hours ago. He'd nearly given up hope to see "real" action in this war.

"Wayne County to Flag: Request permission to open fire."

Well, son, here's your chance.

"Fire at will." Robineaux turned and raised his binoculars to look. A small gray line on the water seemed to erupt in flame. "Have a look, gentlemen," Robineaux said. "A sight you'll never see again. An LST in the battle line." Streaks of red and yellow shot through the gloom as rack after rack of rockets burst across the gray sea. Dull BOOM!s followed by flat ripping rolled across the sea.

Robineaux turned around to look at the dim gray of the enemy ships, just to see what would happen when the rockets struck home. Small fountains were barely visible through the fog near the second in line. Then there were two, four small explosions on a gray shape.

Hits!

"Flag to Wayne County: Four hits on target two. Now clear away." Get a good spot to hide in, he thought. You can't keep up with us; you have to turn your whole ship to aim. You have no armor, and not a chance of surviving more than one or two small"'caliber hits. Now run away and hide, son, like I want to...

Another shape appeared in the gloom. It was bigger, much bigger.

"Range niner five double oh."

"Looks like a cruiser..." someone said.

Two red dots appeared on the gray shape. "Target three firing," a voice tube from the main gun director called out. "Range niner five double oh."

"Torpedoes off port bow!" an anonymous lookout shouted.

"Hard left rudder," Mirren ordered the voice tube. The bridge crew held railings and furniture as the deck pitched to the right and the bow started left.

"Flag to task force:" Robineaux called on the TBS, "torpedoes to port "'"' evade to port." Closing the range would throw off their aim faster.

The sighing of shells rent the air. Two splashes rose from the leaden sea on the far side of the turning battle line. Two torpedoes, then two more bore in towards the line. "Torpedoes dead ahead." The deadly missiles swept towards the flagship, passed the bow and the stern almost at the same time. The closest was ten yards off. Combing, if this were school.

"Resume course zero niner five, Captain Mirren" Robineaux called. "Flag to task force: follow the flag." The destroyer heeled over again, the spray splashing the bridge. "Damage Control to bridge: Taking water at frames six and seven...."

0650 Hours

"Range eight five double oh."

"Target one firing. Range eight five oh oh." Another gray shape emerged from the gloomy fog. Five now...

"Fog is lifting." Robineaux swept his binoculars from side to side. So it was. At this rate...

"Yeoman!"

"Aye, sir!"

"Signal to Carnival Four: If you're coming make it now or not at all. Sign Robineaux and give our position."

"Aye aye, sir!"

Carnival Four was the call sign for the Gettysburg, the nearest escort carrier. They were tasked for ground support, not ship engagement. They had no torpedoes, just HE bombs and canisters of Napalm.

Shells sighed overhead, much closer and larger. Shell splashes on both sides of the battle line.

They have our range...

"Flag to task force: make smoke and follow to course zero four five. Make all speed." Have to throw them off. Smoke may hide the straddling splashes.

"Fight your ship, Captain Mirren," Robineaux said, watching the enemy. "Main Director," Mirren called into a tube. "Are you in range?"

"Range closing," a voice responded. "Two targets."

"Fire as you bear. All main battery on same target."

"Standby to fire," the director's voice was tinny on the ship-wide intercom.

"Stand clear." The boxlike five-inch gun turrets slewed in synchronization with the director high above the deck.

"AWOOGA" a horn sounded; BLAM the guns roared. Concussion pressed temples and lungs, socked eyes. The ship vibrated slightly with the recoil. The other destroyers in the line joined in.

"Port torpedoes: do you have a target?"

"Range extreme, but I have a target."

"Fire as you bear."

"Whoop," went the klaxon, and one at a time four torpedoes shot out and splashed into the gray water. "Torpedoes away, straight and normal. Run time six five seconds."

"Carnival Four to Robineaux: Launching now."

"Very well." They would be twenty minutes at least.

Sighing shells passed overhead. FOOM! FOOM! They splashed the line with splinters, water and concussion.

"Target one firing. Range eight five double oh."

"Splash on target one. Add five oh, left five oh. Fire for effect." AWOOGABLAM!

WOOM a shell landed just off the bows, showering the bridge.

"Torpedoes port abaft!"

"Hard left rudder!"

"Flag to group: evade torpedoes to port."

"Target hit forward."

AWOOGABLAM!

WOOM a shell landed off the port side. Robineaux looked to the enemy, then behind him. The Tuller had been hit but was keeping station. The leading enemy destroyer had taken several hits, but was maintaining course and speed, driving ever south.

"Damage control to bridge: Water coming in to forward fire room. Flooding controllable..."

Machine shop number one to damage control: get your asses in here if you think it's controllable. I've got friggin' Niagara Falls in here..."

0701 Hours

A tall tower-like structure loomed out of the gray fog. Pagoda mast. Battleship or battlecruiser... Christ, what have I done..

"Six five seconds..."

"Target two exploding!"

The second ship in the Japanese line seemed to erupt in a ball of flame and spray, once, then again, and a third time. Dull explosions flattened the sea around her. "Bring course to one eight five," Robineaux ordered. Got to stay ahead of them. They're turning off our stern...calling my bluff...still headed south... avoiding me.

Fight or flee...decide now...get word to the transports and the inshore ships to get the hell out... decide now...we can outrun 'em...we don't have to stay and fight at these odds...no one would blame me....

"Course one eight five, sir."

"Very well. Flag to task force: follow the flag."

Stay ahead...keep moving...freedom of action... don't let' em down this time...

Off the western shore of the straights, enshrouded in fog, plumes of flame arched across the sea. Wayne County, Robineaux thought. Don't you know when to hide?

0720 Hours

"Carnival Four Air to Robineaux: Tally ho!" Six pairs of Avengers streamed over Robineaux's battle line, descending to just above the waves. Torpedo run, Robineaux wondered. What in hell...?

"Going in below the flack," Mirren observed, "and our gunfire."

"Check fire; check fire; check; check; check," the gun director called. Wouldn't want to hit one of them ourselves... The planes seemed to pair off as they approached the Japanese ships. Puffs of antiaircraft gunfire appeared, the expended shells churning the sea below.

"They haven't got torpedoes," someone on the bridge said uncertainly, "do they?"

A thousand yards away from the Japanese line the pairs were still boring in, each pair on a different ship. Flak burst above and behind.

"Maybe not. But the Japs don't know that."

Eight hundred yards away they should have dropped their "fish" and be pulling away.

But in they came, prop wash raising white geysers of foam on the gray sea...

Five hundred yards and they were skimming the wave tops. Angry red tracers searched the sky.

"What in the hell are they doing...?"

Three hundred.

"Good jumpin' Jesus. Them flyboys are gonna ram!"

One hundred.

Skip bombing, Robineaux wondered. Do they have the training, the fusing?

Fifty.

Dark shapes fell out of the bomb bays and the Avengers pulled hard up and over their targets. Heavy splashes in the water, an explosion of foam, then....

"One! Two hits!" the director exulted. "Three... four, five...Christ, look at that!" Two enemy ships slowed, then a third. One staggered and was visibly in trouble, going down by the bows. Another listed heavily. The third was aflame amidships.

But the Japanese battle line continued south, driving past.

"Carnival Four Air to Robineaux: here's the ghost of Torpedo Eight."

Torpedo Squadron Eight, wiped out at Midway without launching a single torpedo.

"Robineaux to Carnival Four Air: bring it back again." Their Air Group commander had been a midshipman under Robineaux's tutelage while he taught at the Academy in '35. The flyer had a broken foot and was left on the beach when Torpedo Eight went to Midway.

Eighteen...nineteen, Robineaux counted... twenty... twenty-one Jap ships still afloat and headed south.

Robineaux trained his binoculars to where Gravelic and the DEs should have been. Traces of smoke, lingering mist, a flashing glimpse of a gray shape against the lingering coastal fog.

Call Gravel...find out how he's doing...as if that would serve any purpose but mine...he's at least as busy as I am...he knows what to do...

"Course two six five, Captain Mirren."

AWOOGABLAM!

"Rockets landing. Hits on targets two and six..."

AWOOGABLAM!

0820 Hours

WOOM! An explosion shook the Hopper. Robineaux turned to look behind. The Tuller was pulling out to the left, listing badly to port, her side ripped open from main deck to waterline.

"Damage control, this is after engine room: your patch just busted and we got water again. Christ hurry up..."

The Benson, just ahead of the Tuller and behind the Hopper, was fighting fires on her deck and still working the main batteries. Her torpedo tubes were engulfed in flames.

"Engineering, this is the forward power room: I've got a fire in here, we're gonna have to shut down for a while...Hurry up guys...I ain't got enough extinguishers...."
The Griffith, just behind the Tuller, steered clear of the sinking Tuller. Two heavy shell hits had destroyed Griffith's main director, and water pressure to fight fires was decreased by the loss of the main pump. Her rudder was jammed and was steering with engines.

"Engine room this is the forward pump room: I can't get more than a few inches of suction and I've got a whole lot of demand from aft...come on, fellas, get that line fixed...."

The Hopper had been hit amidships and aft by small guns, and suffered several plate"'popping near"'misses from heavy shells. Fire near the after powder room had silenced half her main battery for crucial minutes.

"Bridge, this is sickbay: we're full to capacity and the mess deck is filling fast. Start sending 'em to the wardroom..."

AWOOGABLAM!

"Target five firing. Range six five double oh..."

"Rockets inbound..."

"Torpedoes on the port beam!"

"Hard right rudder!"

0920 Hours

"Come to oh niner five," Robineaux called to Mirren. In two hours they had cut across the front of the Japanese line twice and were cutting across again.

"Carnival Five to Robineaux: launching now." Carnival Five, the air group from the Appomattox, another escort carrier that had moved to a launching position.

The Tuller had sunk. Benson and Griffith had pulled out of the line and were trying to save themselves, unable to keep up. Paige and MacDonald had drawn up, but Paige was badly hit, had lost central gun direction and her torpedo tubes.

"Bridge, this is damage control five: I've got three guys trapped in the number five powder room and oil coming in. The hoist is stuck between decks. Get those extra torches down here or we'll lose 'em sure..."

Hopper had been hit twice more. Her stern battery was silent, the aftermost turret and the after director lost. The ship was taking water in a half dozen places. Casualties had filled the wardroom and were now being laid out on deck.

WOOM!

A heavy shell struck the Hopper's stern. We're slowing, Robineaux thought.

"Damage control..."

A loud screech came from the after end of the ship. If that's what I think it is, Robineaux thought...

We're dead...

"Port prop shaft's snapped, sir," Mirren told him. "Starboard shaft's without lubrication. Rudder's jammed." He added under his breath. "I'll signal for MacDonald to come up and take you off, sir."

"No need for tha ..."

KAWOOM!

Another explosion amidships threw Robineaux and everyone on the bridge to the deck. As they got to their feet the sirens and alarms sounded. Hit again. Heavy shell...

"We'll have to get off, Admiral," Mirren said as he keyed the intercom. "All hands, this is the Captain. Abandon ship. I say again, abandon ship. Gunner's mates lay aft and get the depth charge primers overboard. Lower all boats and rafts. All hands topside. Bear a hand with the wounded. All hands abandon ship."

Robineaux descended to the main deck. He helped several men with life jackets, lowered rafts into the water, and did what every able"'bodied sailor was supposed to do "'"' help everyone else.

BLAM the guns of the other ships roared. Hopper's surviving main guns barked once again as dull rumbling shook through the ship. Internal explosion, engine breaking loose, a frame giving way; something big and fatal, anyway.

"Abandon ship" the loudspeaker intoned. "Abandon ship."

Robineaux went to the rail, unstrapped his helmet and threw it over the side.

He had sacrificed his command for no gain, he thought, seeing the Gettysburg in the distance, now open to surface attack. He knew of only two ships capable of action, and he could communicate with neither. And now he was leaving another sinking ship.

He thought about the oily water him with resignation, folded his arms over his face, and stepped off.

1011 Hours

"Admiral Robineaux!" a sooty and winded officer called out, walking around the masses of rescued sailors on the deck. "Has anyone seen the Admiral? Admiral Robineaux!"

"Over here," the corpsman shouted. "He's over here. Now, sir," he said to the wet, cold, bloodied, and exhausted admiral, stinking of oil and blood. "Be a good sport and let me get you below." The burly corpsman was trying to mix subservience with authority, solicitude with pleading. "They'll come to you now, sir. Now come on down below or the surgeon will have my hide...."

Sometime between going into the water and climbing aboard the Paige, Robineaux had done something painful and bloody to his mouth. He thought it was a broken tooth, but he wasn't sure.

"I'm all right, corpsman," Robineaux told him through clenched teeth "I'm all right enough to get through the day. Now let me get up to the bridge and see what I can salvage outta this mess. I gotta get..."

"Admiral," the sooty officer said, breathlessly rushing up to him. "Admiral Robineaux, sir, Lieutenant Jensen, sir, executive officer. Lieutenant Commander Perd invites you to the bridge. And may I, sir, be the first to congratulate you."

Congratulate me for what, Robineaux wondered bitterly, for losing not only my command but also my flagship...?

Wrapped in a blanket, Robineaux and the corpsman followed Jensen up the ladder ways, past blackened faces streaked with white anti-flash cream, dripping with water and oil with bloodshot eyes in hollow sockets, chests heaving for air, coughing up black phlegm and oil. The reek of seared flesh and burned hair mingled with smoke, cordite and vomit, lingering over huddled groups of exhausted sailors long past caring. At a stairwell landing a blind sailor held a wrench on a hose while an able-bodied shipmate tightened the coupling.

As he reached the bridge Robineaux thought there was something missing, but he wasn't sure what. Officers and men on the smoke"'begrimed bridge pointed off to starboard.

"Admiral on deck," a yeoman called.

"Admiral, sir," Perd said, rising from the bridge chair. "Lieutenant Commander Matthew Perd, sir. Your bridge..."

"Your bridge, captain," Robineaux replied painfully. "Just let me get word to the transports to pull the hook and..."

"But, there's no need, sir."

"What?"

Then it struck him. What had been missing...

The guns had ceased firing.

"They've turned away, sir. Turned back north. Started about ten minutes ago."

Robineaux seized binoculars from Perd's hands and trained them north. The menacing shapes of the Japanese ships had turned around and were headed back north, up the straights, away from the beaches.

"It started when Carnival Five was leaving and Four was arriving again," Perd said. "Made it look like a real carrier air group had arrived, I guess..."

"You did it, sir," the corpsman said, holding Robineaux by the arm. "You turned them back. Now you just come with me like a good sport..."

Robineaux slowly lowered the binoculars, watching the oily waters that surrounded his ships. Junk and boats studded the straights. Rafts ardently paddled together to the ships. Lifeboats pulled with powered gigs. Oil and debris glimmered multihued on the water. "I wish it was me, son. But it was..." he was quiet again.

The Benson, close abeam the MacDonald, would be saved. The Griffith was too far-gone and would be torpedoed as soon as the last of her wounded got off. Two Japanese ships burned in the straights.

Of Hopper there was no trace.

It was them. Not me. Not just me, anyway. "Anything from Captain Gravelic," Robineaux winced at the little pickaxes digging at the side of his face.

"Over there, sir." Robineaux looked off to the northwest, where three DEs sailed in line on a bearing roughly towards the destroyers. One had damage to the bows; another was smoking from a hole in the stern.

"What ship leads?" Robineaux asked. A signal yeoman flashed the leading ship with his light.

"Stewart, sir."

"Captain Gravelic?" The whole right side of his head throbbed.

"Can't say, sir. Says Commander Mullen has taken command of the division."

"Mullen," Robineaux said quietly. "Mullen... Reservist, isn't he?"

"Coast Guard, sir," Perd offered.

"Yes, of course. Good man, as I recall." Gravel, Robineaux thought...ah, Gravel... what have I done to you? "Got a U"'boat in the North Atlantic in, um, '42..." "I believe so, yessir."

"Yeoman!" Robineaux called, using all the strength he had left.

"Yessir."

"Signal to CinC Fifth Fleet from Task Force five point one one point four: Enemy turning north at" he looked at his wrist. Dumbly, he realized his watch had been lost in the sea. "Well, get a time. Will remain on station "'"' get a position from the plot "'"' until relieved. Sign it Robineaux. That's all."

"Yessir."

"Well, look at that, will ya?" Robineaux turned to look at the western shore where the bridge lookout pointed. Streaks of red flashed as Wayne County fired once more at the retreating Japanese column.

"I'll be a monkey's uncle..." the crew were saying, "if that ain't one for the books...I'll never say another evil word about Long Slow Targets again... damn if she won't get a last hit in, too..."

Robineaux felt cold and very, very old. An LST in a fleet action, outnumbered two to one and toe to toe with battlewagons... you'll get a destroyer named after you, son, and. well, you got your battle.

And we saved the beaches. You and I did. We did. "Form a patrol line across the straights, Captain Perd." Robineaux said. "Have the DEs close up behind the destroyers." He looked out across the sea. "And have Wayne County fall in the patrol line."

"Yessir."

"When -- if -- Captain Mirren is found, he'll be in command..."

Robineaux felt faint. "And now, Captain, if I could please borrow your sea cabin..."

1950 Hours

"Signal from CinC Third Fleet, Admiral." Robineaux was lying down. The ship's doctor had given him morphine for the pain and packed the shattered teeth, but the fleet dentist would have to remove the broken roots.

"Read it."

"'Congratulations Frenchy and all hands in your task force. Will arrive personally tomorrow. Signed Halsey."

Robineaux listened with numb detachment. He felt better after resting and getting cleaned up. His skin crawled from a degreasing he'd got, the strong soap still wafting in his nose.

He'd have to write to Louise about Gravel...

He remembered a football game in 1925, when he and Gravelic had lead the Pennsylvania's Palookas to victory against the Arizona's Animals. Halsey had been there, too, as an umpire.

And there was the marathon poker game that followed, when Robineaux ended up with everyone's money.

Including...

"Flag signal, Robineaux to Halsey: How's your poker game?"