Against the Tide Imperial: The Struggle for Ceylon (The Usurper's War: An Alternative World War II B, James Young [best management books of all time TXT] 📗

command was getting thoroughly riddled by faster gun crews, he could appreciate the former argument. Then the German salvo arrived, every one of the shells splashing short.

Opening the range is working!

Jacob saw Houston's No. 2 turret correct slightly, then Willoughby's response roared back at the raider. Jacob mentally started counting down the time of flight…only to be utterly shocked as their target disintegrated in a ball of flame, smoke, and expanding debris in the twilight gloom.

"Holy shit! Holy fucking shit!" one of the lookouts screamed, his cries echoed by other cheers across the Houston's crew.

Maybe the heavier broadside folks have a point after all.

Shaking himself out of his brief stupor from having likely watched a hundred lives snuffed out in an instant, Jacob turned to look towards the sole remaining German vessel. The raider was listing and smoking, but her fires seemed to be dying down.

"Port eighty degrees rudder," he ordered. "Tell guns to cease fire."

As he heard the order relayed, Jacob continued to study the area around the German raider. The crew was busy abandoning ship, and he could see them attempting to launch boats into the water.

"Sir, we should stop them from abandoning ship," Farmer said urgently.

"What?" Jacob asked, turning to look at the British officer in horror. "They're not pirates, Commander."

Farmer started to open his mouth, then stopped.

"Sir, you misunderstand me," he replied. "I am not saying we give no quarter. I am saying that if we board that vessel, we will likely find intelligence of great import. It will all be lost if we allow them to scuttle."

Ruthless man, but he's right.

"Order the XO to form a boarding party," Jacob ordered rapidly. "Tell guns to have the machine gun crews to stand by, bring us about and close with that vessel."

Two hours later, the Houston began to turn her bow back towards American Samoa as the Pinguin exploded three thousand yards behind her. The blast caused the raider's leaking bunkerage to ignite as well, creating a hellish pool of flame around the hull.

That would be her magazines. Farmer was right, keeping the Krauts from reboarding her was critical.

"Commander Sloan, you have the con," Jacob said, turning to his XO. "Set course for Samoa, wait an hour to send the report if I'm not back on the bridge."

"Aye aye, sir," Sloan replied, his jaw set.

“I don’t think the captain’s mast will take that long,” Jacob said. “I might drag it out a bit so O’Rourke doesn’t kill himself trying to be everywhere on damage control.”

Sloan shook his head at that.

“Or alternatively, so you’re stuck here rather than climbing all over the ship either.”

“I may have learned that from my predecessor, sir,” Sloan replied with a slight smirk.

“Yes, well, I have it on good authority that man is a heartless bastards,” Jacob thought, glancing back towards the flaming oil.

I hate not staying longer to search the ocean near where that other Kraut bastard went down either. But we now have no escort, the ship is shot to shit, and I don't feel like finding out if there really is a third raider within seaplane range.

The mystery aircraft that his lookouts had sighted was allegedly a seaplane off the Kormoran. It had allegedly been sent north to try and rendezvous with another German supply vessel. At least, that was the scuttlebutt several Trenton survivors had immediately told him when they'd gotten hauled from the Pinguin's boats.

Guess we solved that mystery of what happened to Trenton.

Jacob tried to cool his anger he headed across the Houston's darkened bridge towards his day cabin. The smell of smoke, burnt debris, and blood once again permeated the Houston's superstructure.

I'm never getting to Pearl Harbor. Couldn't make it if we wanted to right now, not with three hundred extra mouths to feed.

The Pinguin's cruise had been lucrative according to the material Farmer and the Houston's boarding party had recovered. The Houston's shells had killed most of the senior officers, so there wasn't really anyone to ask for particulars. Jacob would leave it up to the interrogators in Samoa to figure out details. All he knew was that he had roughly one hundred and fifty Germans, over a hundred former merchant sailors and, last but not least, ten Trenton survivors aboard his vessel.

Terrible tragedy that the Kormoran apparently took aboard a hundred or so other men off the Trenton. Add in the merchant sailors aboard her and we killed almost as many Allied sailors as German.

Nausea at that realization rose and he had to swallow hard.

Nothing to be done for it. Even if I'll go to my grave thinking maybe I should have just spent a few more minutes looking.

It was grim consolation that Catalina flying boats would likely depart before dawn from Samoa after his report. Technically the waters were warm enough for anyone who had survived the blast to potentially live until the next day. Unfortunately, that very same warmth meant a plethora of predators and the specter of dehydration were almost equally likely to kill any survivors.

Lucky enough to survive getting sunk by a raider and a magazine explosion only to end up in a shark's belly. I'm sure someone would have words with ol' St. Pete when they got to the Pearly Gates. Do you go to Hell for telling an eternal gate guard to go fuck himself?

The two armed Marines outside his day cabin's hatch came to attention. Jacob nodded at both of them.

"Carry on, gentlemen," Jacob stated. Both Marines returned to parade rest as he opened the hatch.

"Carry on," Jacob repeated, waving the gathered officers back to their positions of parade rest. Two men stood in the center of the gathered group. One wore a set of ill-fitting USN khakis, clearly borrowed from someone aboard the Houston. The other was in manacles and wore a still wet Kriegsmarine uniform.

Plenty of witnesses here for what's about to be said.

He noted that at least two officers had notebooks and pens in hand. Moving behind his steel desk, Jacob took a