The Sadarso
The captain of the Sadarso thought he had won when his cruiser disabled the Nathan James. But he didn't count on the fighting spirit of its crew.
[Author's note: After the story To Render Aid and Assistancewas posted, a number of readers said they wanted to know more about the battle. This is the story from the side of the Sadarso.]
Commodore Salvador Arias sighed as he looked at the Nathan James, damaged now, its main turret out of action and smoke drifting from the holes in its superstructure. He would have preferred to have won the fight fairly, not through trickery. But the deal he had made with the people in St Louis – he did not know if they were the legitimate leaders, and did not care – was that he would seek to capture the ship and arrest Commander Chandler. He had studied Chandler's record, and he knew that this man would fight if he had any chance. So he had addressed him with respect when speaking to him on the radio, emphasising that the Nathan James did, in fact, have no chance.
"They must surrender now," said Lieutenant Commander Romolini, XO of the Sadarso. "And the rest of our fleet is coming from the south. They will be in missile range of the American ship within five minutes."
Arias nodded. Support from the frigates was useful, although he believed that the Nathan James would not really be a match for the Sadarso. A destroyer against a cruiser. A terrier against a tiger.
"Yes," he said to Romolini. "No choice but to surrender. A pity, really."
He and Romolini were standing on the open foredeck of the Sadarso bridge, watching the Nathan James.
From somewhere there was a sound – a whistling whoosh. And then the Sadarso was rocked by an explosion.
"What ... what was that?" said Romolini. "Did they fire?"
"No, it was on our port side," said Arias. "A missile."
A moment later, there was another explosion, in a similar place.
"Sir, there is another ship!" shouted Lieutenant Malvia, at the helm. He pointed: there was a second destroyer steaming towards them, its main gun firing. The Sadarso was taking hits.
The ship was flying a US Navy flag. The name of the ship was written in what appeared to be Chinese, but there was also another name, in English. Henan.
Arias cursed: cursed the information he had received that the Nathan James would be alone, cursed the inexperience of his patched-together crew, cursed the capricious gods of naval warfare.
But a part of him was pleased. A fight. Good.
He and Romolini went into the bridge, where officers were running this way and that in near-panic. "Man your stations!" he shouted. "We will take this new little ship as easily as we took the other one!"
The bridge team steadied, returning to their positions. Arias took the command chair and began to issue orders: to Fire Control and the gun teams to return fire, to the engine room to get the ship moving, to the damage crews to get themselves to where they needed to be.
Then Romolini started. "That ship," he said. "It ... it is going to ram us!"
Indeed, the Henan was heading straight for them, at full speed. Arias shouted for Malvia to put the Sadarso into a turn.
The Sadarso's forward turret was firing, and Arias noted with satisfaction that it, and the cruiser's other guns, were hitting the attacker. There was a hit on the bridge foredeck, and, a few seconds later, an explosion amidships. The destroyer's turret ceased to turn and fell silent.
The Sadarso was moving now. The two ships were going to pass – not by much, true, but by a safe distance. And without their main gun, the destroyer was much less dangerous.
He looked at the oncoming ship – and stifled a gasp. The ship had every secondary gun on its starboard side ready to fire, and there were even men – and some women – with RPGs on their shoulders. The Henan slowed radically, and then every weapon it could bring to bear fired as the two ships passed, targeting the cruiser's secondary armaments. Suddenly, Arias realised that the ship had never intended to ram them, but only to manoeuvre into a position where it could hit them from close quarters.
And he saw another gun too: a heavy machine gun. It was pointed at the Sadarso's bridge. It fired.
"Down!" shouted Arias.
The windows shattered, and bullets – they must have been armour-piercing – began to tear through the walls. Suddenly, the bridge was fall of shrapnel. Arias heard several of the bridge crew cry out and go down. He felt a piece of hot metal cut into his arm.
Then the two ships were past, and the cascade of bullets stopped.
He struggled to his feet and looked back for the destroyer. It was turning, swinging back behind them, its secondary armament still firing.
"Commodore!" shouted Romolini. "These people are crazy! First they try to ram us, now they chase us! We must break off!"
Arias saw that Malvia was dead. He took the helm and, with his good arm, turned the ship, and increased the speed.
"No, they are not crazy," he said. "But they are smart. They know they have to stay close to have a chance. But they have no main gun and no missiles. We have our two main guns. All we have to do is get to a distance where we can use them, and we will blow them out of the water." He could not help but smile. Whoever was in command of the Henan was a worthy opponent. He would enjoy defeating them.
The surviving bridge crew were returning to their stations. Arias issued more orders, deliberately calm and clear. He told the aft turret to prepare to fire.
He saw that the destroyer was turning at a strange angle. Odd, he thought.
And then the Henan's main turret fired. The shell hit the Sadarso's aft turret. Arias gasped in surprise.
"Commodore," said Romolini. "Aft turret destroyed. By the gun they do not have."
Arias cursed again. Somehow, the Americans had contrived a miracle. Did they not know that a destroyer had no chance against a cruiser?
He swung the wheel again, so the forward turret could come to bear. "We still have the advantage," he said through gritted teeth.
"Commodore," said Romolini. "Look." He pointed.
A missile had left the Henan. It was heading for the Sadarso's bridge.
Impossible, thought Arias.
Romolini turned to him. "You have killed us," he said.
And then the missile hit.
Granderson, on the Henan, saw Miller's missile explode on the Sadarso's superstructure. In a few moments, the cruiser began to slow. There was no longer anyone in control of the ship. She slumped back in the command chair, and sighed in relief.
She looked around at the bridge team. They, like the ship, were bleeding and battered. But they had won.
"It was an honor to fight with you," she said to them.
"The honor," said Gator, "was ours."
END