Read Online The Commodore by P. T. Deutermann - Free Book Online

now.”
    â€œBridge, Combat, come to course zero eight five to regain track.”
    Sluff snapped the talk switch twice to acknowledge and then gave the orders, slowing the ship down to twenty knots to give the navigators time to catch up with the plot. He also didn’t want to come thundering through the oil-covered clumps of sailors that should be out there, some four miles ahead.
    At a thousand yards short of the projected datum he slowed down to bare steerageway and set the rescue detail. He kept the guns manned in case the Japs recovered from their surprise and came looking for them. There were no more fireworks up by Savo Island and the night remained black as ever. The radar wasn’t much help because of all the rainsqualls near the island. Up on the bow the rescue crew was setting up lookouts and rope netting. Sluff ordered the signal bridge to put red filters on the signal searchlights and then to train them out to beacon any survivors.
    They found and heard nothing for the first twenty minutes of creeping along in the darkness. Then came the sudden acrid stink of fuel oil, followed by some faint cries out in the water. He stopped the ship and let her drift into the oil slick, which soon produced calls from the signal bridge that they could see men in the water.
    â€œWhere are we?” Sluff asked.
    â€œWe’re ten miles northeast of Cape Esperance,” the officer of the deck replied. “Good water, no contacts on the radar.”
    â€œHow far from Lunga Point?”
    â€œEighteen miles, sir.”
    â€œOkay.” He reached for the bitch-box switch. “Combat, Captain, contact Henderson Field on one of those Marine field radios they gave us. Let ’em know we’re out here and ask them to get some Mike boats ready to take off survivors.”
    â€œCombat, aye,” the exec replied. “We’ve lost radar contact with Washington. Believe she and South Dakota have gone south.”
    â€œOkay. Could you see what the Japs were doing when our fish got in on them?”
    â€œTheir formation broke up, but then a bunch of rain clobbered the screen. We can’t see much of anything to the north except Savo itself.”
    â€œKeep an eye on that area, XO,” Sluff said. “Don’t want whoever’s left up there to come south looking for a little revenge.”
    â€œThey’re not going to linger, Cap’n,” Bob said. “They have to get out of there before first light or the Marine dive-bombers will be on them like stink on shit. I think we’re safe right now, unless they have a sub out here.”
    One of the bridge phone-talkers reported that the deck apes had several survivors alongside but that they needed more people on deck to help them out of the water because of all the fuel oil. Sluff ordered the ship to secure from general quarters except for two gun mounts and their magazine crews. Everyone else was to get topside to assist getting people out of the water.
    By dawn J. B. King ’s decks were literally covered in oil-soaked survivors from the three lost destroyers. The little battery-operated field radio had worked and the Marines at Henderson Field had sent out five landing craft to begin transferring the badly wounded to the field hospital at the airfield. Sluff realized that King would have to get closer to Lunga Point if they were going to get this many people off by the end of the day. The sad pile of body bags on the stern grew steadily. A stream of fighters and bombers flew overhead all morning, headed out into the area of last night’s battle, looking for Japs. At ten thirty the daily Jap air raid appeared, but the Marine fighters were ready and none of the bogeys even got close to J. B. King, which was fortunate, because she was in no position to defend herself. Sluff remained on the bridge all morning, directing the ship’s movements as more and more survivors were sighted.
    At noon, the exec came topside and