"Cussler, Clive - NUMA Files 04 - White Death - with Paul Kemprecos" - читать интересную книгу автора (Cussler Clive)

As the caravel picked up speed, leaving a growing wake, the captain
steered the ship toward the galley that had been raked by fire from his
gunners. The galley tried to elude him, but it had lost rowers and was
moving erratically. Aguirrez waited until he was within fifty yards.
The galley's gunners fired at their pursuer, but the shots had little
effect.

The cannon boomed and the balls scored a direct hit on the roofed
captain's house on the stern, blasting it to toothpicks. The cannon
were speedily reloaded and aimed at the galley's waterline, where they
punched massive holes in the hull. Heavy with men and equipment, the
galley quickly slipped under the surface, leaving bubbles, shards of
wood and a few hapless swimmers to mark its passing.

The captain turned his attention to the third galley.

Seeing the odds change, Martinez was on the run. His galley sped off
to the south like a startled hare. The agile caravel turned from its
kill and tried to follow. Aguirrez had blood in his eyes as he savored
the prospect of dousing El Brasero's fire.

It was not to be. The freshening breeze was still gentle, and the
caravel could not match the speed of the fleeing galley, whose rowers
were pulling for their lives. Before long, the galley was a dark spot
on the ocean.

Aguirrez would have chased Martinez to the ends of the earth, but he
saw sails on the horizon and guessed that they might be enemy
reinforcements The Inquisition had a long reach. He remembered his
promise to his wife and children and his responsibility to the Basque
people. Reluctantly, he swung the ship around and set a course north
toward Denmark. Aguirrez had no illusions about his enemy. Martinez
might be a coward, but he was patient and persistent. It would be only
a matter of time before they met again.

Prologue II

Germany, 1935

SHORTLY AFTER MIDNIGHT, the dogs began to howl along a swath of
countryside between the city of Hamburg and the North Sea. Terrified
canines stared at the black, moonless sky with lolling tongues and
shivering haunches. Their keen hearing had picked up what human ears
could not: the faint whir of engines from the giant silver-skinned
torpedo that slithered through the thick layer of clouds high above.

Four Maybach 12-cylinder engines, a pair on each side, hung in
streamlined housings from the bottom of the 800-foot-long airship.
Lights glowed in the oversized windows of the control car near the