Pacific Vortex (1983) by Cussler Clive - Dirk Pitt 01

Author:Cussler, Clive - Dirk Pitt 01 [01, Cussler, Clive - Dirk Pitt]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2010-12-20T02:01:36.968000+00:00

"How many more behind you?"

"We're the last."

"Commander Boland?"

"A whole gang of those naked bastards jumped him and Lieutenant Stanley just aft of the bridge." Harper's voice was apologetic. "I'm afraid they got 'em both."

"Get the kid into the copter and see what can be done to stop the bleeding," Pitt ordered. "And have the men form a firing line with what weapons you have left. I'm going to make one last check for wounded."

"Watch your step, sir. You're the only pilot we got."

Pitt didn't wait to answer. He jumped off the pad and lunged blindly across the deck, his feet slipping on the wet plates, his breath coming in short deep pants. Shapes loomed up in the mist and Pitt opened up with the Mauser and cut them apart Three men from the sea went down like wheat beneath a scythe. Pitt kept his finger on the trigger, spraying a path in front of him. His foot caught on a rope and he fell sprawling on the deck, the raised rivets marking a neat pattern of bruises in his chest. He lay there a moment, his injured leg throbbing in sledgehammer blows of pain. It was quiet, far too quiet; no shouting voices or gun flashes arose from the fog.

He crept along the deck, keeping to the gunwales, using the lifeboats for cover. The Mauser, he was certain, was down to its last few shells. He stuck his hand in something slimy wet. Without looking, he knew what it was. It trailed off into the gloomy void so he followed it. The stain became a trickle in some places and enlarged to a pool in others. It ended at the still, dead form of Lieutenant Stanley, the detection room officer.

Pitt felt nothing but pure anger, yet his mind was sharp and decisive. His face tightened in a mask of frustration at his impotency to do anything for Stanley. He forced himself to push on, driven by some subconscious urge that told him Boland wasn't dead yet. And then he stopped, listening. A muffled moan came from somewhere directly in front of him.

Pitt almost came upon him before his vision did. Boland was crawling on his stomach, pulling his body across the deck, while a four-foot shaft from a fish spear protruded from his shoulder. His head was bowed and his fists were clenched; the T-shirt that covered his chest and shoulders was drenched in red.

He looked up at Pitt dazedly, his face distorted with pain. "You came back?"

"I lost my head," Pitt said with a tight grin. "Brace yourself; that spear has to come out." He shoved the 'Mauser into his belt and then gently dragged Boland to a more comfortable position against a bulkhead, keeping his eyes peeled for any more killers. He grasped the spear shaft in both hands. "Ready on the count of three."

"Make it quick, you sadist," Boland said, his eyes filled with pain.

Pitt increased his grip and said: "One." He placed Ms foot on Boland's chest.

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