Rage of Battle

Начало книги

From the redded-out control room beneath the USS Roosevelt’s sail, Capt. Robert Brentwood reached the forward torpedo room in under ten seconds. Stepping into the compartment, he saw Evans, previously one of the quietest and best-behaved seamen aboard the sub, backed into a corner near the number one torpedo tube, slashing the air with a long, thin screwdriver, screaming, “Fucking snakes! Get ‘em away — get ‘em away!”

The bosun and another crewman, an electrician first-class, were moving in on Evans, the bosun trying to shush him. “For Christ’s sake! They’ll hear you in Moscow!”

“Where’s the hospital corpsman?” Robert Brentwood asked quietly.

“In sick bay,” the bosun told him. “Down with the flu. What I reckon, Evans has probably—”

Brentwood knew there was only one thing to do but felt queasy even as he gave the order. “Get a syringe here fast. Valium — twenty milligrams.”

“Yes, sir,” the bosun answered, and was gone.

Читать дальше →