A Company of Heroes Book Three: The Princess by Ron Miller Read Free Book Online Page B

Violence incarnate, if incarnate is a word that can properly be used in describing water, looking like nothing else so much as some sort of vast, albino snake, a bleached anaconda, writhing and twisting in unpredictable and tortuous knots and coils, as though it are not just angry or anxious to escape the confines of the rocky walls, but twisting with disturbing, sudden spasms that made it seem as though it are afflicted with some kind of terrible neurological disease. As its endless lengths unfurl between the granite walls, it shatters the grey stone and slabs the size of apartment buildings crash into its liquid spine.
    The Strait of Guesclin during full spring flood is rightly considered not only one of the seven wonders of the world, but at the very least among the top three, or so the visitor and his friends would agree as they share lukewarm drinks in the shabby little concessionaire’s stand that vibrates like a trackside tenement not far from the Brink of Hell.
    Such are Bronwyn’s recollections when she sees, at dawn the following morning, grey ramparts approaching altogether too rapidly. The gaping entrance to the Strait is marked by a rising banner of mist that bisects the ragged-cliffed shoreline. The enormous pinnacles of wave-eroded rock that barricade the Strait make it look for all the world like a crooked-fanged mouth, the thick, misty froth boiling at its lower lip like the foaming slaver of a mad dog.
    “Magnificent!” says a voice beside her; Wittenoom, as though she cann’t have guessed.
    “Only you would think so.”
    “Oh, no,” he replies, her sarcasm missing him completely and evaporating, unappreciated, among the chilly breezes. “You’re wrong, your Highness; a great many people think that the Strait at full flood is one of the great wonders of our world, that is, among the natural wonders, of course. The only debate I’ve ever encountered has pertained to its actual place in the hierarchy of astonishments. It depends a little upon what sort of criteria one bases one’s judgment, I suppose. Are we talking about a kind of spiritual rapture feels when gazing upon a sight so overwhelming from a human standpoint? or the simple, yet for that reason profound, excitement one feels when confronted with such primal energy and power? or should we be swayed by the convincing arguments put forth by the aestheticists, who make a case on purely Romantic grounds? or, on the other hand, what about those who would rank the various wonders solely according to their scientific interest or importance? or, perhaps even more prosaically, on their physical size? I, for one, think that the Strait at full flood ranks among the top two or three, at the very least; in fact, I, personally, would not limit it in such a way and would consider the Strait to be a natural wonder of the first order at any time of the year. My reasoning for this is based upon just these same various arguments I’ve just been mentioning. There are so many valid reasons for considering the Strait to be a great and grand thing that there’s always sufficient cause available.”
    “Are you finished?”
    “Yes, I think so.”
    “I’m very happy that the Strait impresses you so much; I never realized what a thrill this is going to be for us.”
    “Yes, indeed. This is a wholly unexpected pleasure. I’m seeing the Strait from an entirely novel perspective. Of course, like many others, I’ve visited the Strait purely as a tourist and found myself immensely moved, naturally, as who can not be? And as a scientist, though geology is a little out of my field, I have the additional pleasure of being able to appreciate what is undoubtedly invisible to the awestruck sightseers around me: the appreciation of the vast and irresistible forces at work within our planet. You’re aware, I’m sure, that the Strait is ever-widening? That fifteen or twenty million years from now, what is now a narrow channel will be a vast gulf . . . virtually a new