"David Brin - Thor Meets Captain America" - читать интересную книгу автора (Brin David)

Wherever they're from, they aren't used to water. And these so-called dwarfs don't like
submarines.
Chris wasn't exactly partial to this one, either. But nowhere else in the world was much
safer. In late 1962, very little time remained for the Alliance Against Nazism. If anything could
be done this autumn, to stave off the inevitable, it was worth the gamble.
Even Loki -- bearlike, nearly invulnerable, and always booming forth laughter that sent
chills down human spines -- had betrayed nerves earlier, as the Razorfin dropped from the
belly of a screaming bomber, sending their stomachs whirling as the arrow-sub plummeted like
a great stone into Neptune's icy embrace. The fall seemed endless. The crash and shriek of
tortured metal, when they hit the sea, was even worse.
And yet, almost anything seemed an improvement over the long, screeching trip over the
Pole, skirting Nazi missiles, skimming mountains and gray waters in lurching zigs and zags,
helplessly listening, strapped into place, as the airmen swooped their flying coffins hither and
yon... praying the enemy's Aesir masters weren't patrolling that section of the north
tonight...
Of twenty sub carriers sent out together from Baffin Island, only six made it all the way to
the waters between Sweden and Finland. And both Cetus and Tigerfish broke up on impact,
tearing like ripped sardine cans, spilling their hapless crews into freezing death.
Just four subs left, Chris thought. Still, our chances may be slim, but those poor pilots
are the real heroes.
He doubted any of the crews would make it across dark, deadly Europe to Tehran and
safety.
"Captain Turing!"
Chris looked up as the Skipper called his name. Commander Lewis had lowered the
periscope and moved over to the chart table, making a beckoning motion. Chris unstrapped
and jumped into the brine.
"Tell the swabbies we're savin our hooch for ourselves," O'Leary advised him, sotto voce.
"Good pot's too rare to share."
"Shut up, fool." Marlowe growled. Chris ignored them both as he sloshed forward. The
Skipper awaited him, standing beside their "advisor," the alien creature calling himself Loki.
I've known Loki for years, Chris thought. I've fought alongside him against his Aesir
brothers... and still he scares the living hell out of me each time I look at him.
Towering over everyone, Loki regarded Chris with fierce,enigmatic eyes. The "god of
tricks" looked much like a man, albeit an unnaturally large and powerful one. But those black
eyes belied every impression of humanity. Chris had spent enough time with Loki, since the
renegade Aesir defected to the Allied side, to know he should avoid looking into them
whenever possible.
"Sir," he said, nodding to Commander Lewis and the bearded Aesir. "I take it we're
approaching point Y?"
"Correct. We'll be there in ten minutes, barring anything unforeseen."
Lewis seemed to have aged over the last twenty hours. The young sub commander knew
his squadron wasn't the only thing considered expendable in this operation. Several thousand
miles to the west, the better part of what remained of the United States Surface Navy was
engaged hopelessly for one reason only. To distract the Kriegsmarine -- and especially a
certain "god of the sea" -- away from the Baltic and Operation Ragnarok. Loki's cousin Tyr
wasn't very potent against submarines, but unless his attention was drawn elsewhere, he
could make life unbearable when their tiny force tried to land.
So tonight, instead, he would be far away making hell for American and Canadian and
Mexican sailors.
Chris shied away from thinking about it. Too many boys were going to their deaths off