"MCNAB, ANDY - LIBERATION DAY" - читать интересную книгу автора (McNab Andy)were ashore. No way did he want the Algerians capturing his boat and
crew. The Egyptian navy couldn't afford to lose so much as a rowing-boat from their desperately dilapidated fleet, and he didn't want his crew to lose their eyes or bollocks, or any of the other bits the Algerians liked to remove from people who had pissed them off. "Brace for float-off." Lotfi had done this before. I could already feel the submarine moving beneath us. We were soon surrounded by bubbles as it blew its tanks. Lotfi slotted the Yamaha into place and fired it up to get us under way. But the sea was heaving tonight with a big swell, and no sooner had our hull made contact with the water than a wave lifted the bow and exposed it to the wind. The Zodiac started to rear up. The two of us threw our weight forward and the bow slapped down again, but with such momentum that I lost my balance and fell on to my arse on the side of the boat, which bounced me backwards. Before I knew what was happening, I'd been thrown over the side. The only part of me uncovered was my face, but the cold took my breath away as I downed a good throatful of salt water. This might be the Mediterranean, but it felt like the North Atlantic. As I came to the surface and bobbed in the swell, I discovered that my dry bag had a leak in the neck seal. Sea-water seeped into my cheap "You OK, Nick?" The shout came from Lotfi. "Couldn't be better," I grunted, breathing hard as the other two hauled me back aboard. "Got a leak in the bag." There was a mumble of Arabic between the two of them, and a schoolboy snigger or two. Fair one: I would have found it funny too. I shivered as I wrung out my bobble hat and gloves, but even wet wool keeps its heat-retaining qualities and I knew I was going to need all the help I could get on this part of the trip. Lotfi fought to keep the boat upright as his mate and I leant on the front or bow, as Lotfi was constantly reminding me -to keep it down. He finally got the craft under control and we were soon ploughing through the crests, my eyes stinging as the salt spray hit my face with the force of pebble dash. As waves lifted us and the outboard screamed in protest as the propeller left the water, I could see lights on the coast and could just make out the glow of Oran, Algeria's second largest city. But we were steering clear of its busy port, where the Spanish ferries to'd and fro'd; we were heading about ten Ks east, to make landfall at a |
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