"Harry Harrison - A Transatlantic Tunnel Hurrah" - читать интересную книгу автора (Harrison Harry)

follow Fighting Jack who was talk-ing to a tall man in khaki wearing
high-laced engineer’s boots. Only when he turned and Drigg saw that
classical nose in profile did he recog-nize Captain Augustine Washington.
He had seen him before only in the offices and at Board meetings and had
not associated that well-dressed gentleman with this burly engineer. But
of course, no toppers here…

It was something between a shout and a scream and everyone looked in
the same direction at the same in-stant. One of the navvies was pointing
at the face of dark sand before him that was puckering away from the
shield.

“Blowout!” someone shouted and Drigg had no idea what it meant
ex-cept he knew something terrible was happening. The scene was rapid,
confused, with men doing things and all the time the sand was moving
away until suddenly a hole a good two feet wide appeared with a great
sound like an immense whistle. A wind pulled at Drigg and his ears hurt
and to his horror he felt himself being drawn towards that gaping mouth.
He clung to the metal in pet-rified terror as he watched strong boards
being lifted from the shield by that wind and being sucked for-ward, to
splinter and break and van-ish into oblivion.

A navvy stumbled forward, lean-ing back against the suction, holding a
bale of straw up high in his strong arms. It was Fighting Jack, strug-gling
against the thing that had sud-denly appeared to destroy them all, and he
raised the bale which was sucked from his grasp even as he lifted it. It hit
the opening, was pressed flat, and hung there for an instant—then
disappeared.

Fighting Jack was staggering, reaching for support to pull himself back
to safety, his hand out to a steel bulkhead. His fingers were almost
touching it, tantalizingly close, but he could not reach it. With a bellow,
more of annoyance than fear, he rocked backwards, was lifted to his feet
and dragged headfirst into the opening.

For one, long, terrifying moment he stuck there, like a cork in a bottle,
just his kicking legs projecting into the tunnel.

Then he was gone and the air whistled and howled freely again.

II. A MOMENTOUS DECISION

All of the navvies, not to mention Albert Drigg, stood paralyzed by
horror at the swiftness of the tragedy. Even these strong men, used as they
were to a life of physical ef-fort and hardship, accidents and sudden
maiming, were appalled by the swiftness of the event. Only one man there
had the presence of mind to move, to act, to break the spell that bound all
of the others.

“To me,” Captain Washington shouted, jumping to a bulwark of