Stealing Trinity by Ward Larsen Read Free Book Online Page B

and her bow planes extended with a downward tilt.
    Braun scampered down from the sail and ran forward to the cargo hatch. He stomped on it with his boot, the rubber sole thudding against a steel fortress. The boat picked up speed, and soon foamy water began to churn over the top of her black hull. When the water reached his knees, he succumbed to the futility. Braun jumped as far as he could, hoping to clear the twisting screws. The water was cold and hit like a shot of electricity, but for the moment only one thing mattered -- kick, swim, get clear!
    With his head down, Braun pulled for all he was worth. The water transmitted a throbbing pulse to his ears, closer and closer. His body twisted against waves and whirlpools that seemed to pull him toward the spinning propellers. He went under, tumbling, not sure which way was up, which way was clear. Then, finally, he surfaced. He shook his head to clear the water from his face and saw U-801 slip down and disappear into a maelstrom of foam. The sound of her engines faded and the seas quickly reverted to their standard, uniform chaos, no traces left to betray the steel black monster lurking just below.
    Treading water, Braun scanned the horizon for the shoreline he had seen only moments ago. It was hopeless. The gentle waves that had caressed U-801 now seemed huge. Braun rose and fell on the swells, yet even at the crests he was too low to make out the horizon. He had to act fast. With water so cold his time was limited. There was only one reference, the moon, still low to the east. As long as he kept it at his back, he would be moving in the right direction.
    Braun began swimming at a brisk pace, but quickly realized his problem. The clothes were impossible, dragging like a sea anchor. He curled down and took off his boots, then tore away the heavy jacket. He tried again, but progress was still impeded, and when he stopped a breaking wave caught him flush in the face. Braun coughed and spit out the briny mess. He cursed inwardly. He had survived far too much. It will not end here, he thought. Not like this!
    He reached down and frantically stripped off everything -- shirt, pants, briefs, and socks -- until he was naked, save for the Swiss-made timepiece strapped to his wrist. Now the water seemed colder still, and for a moment Braun despaired. But he knew the one thing that would save him. He could just make out the second hand on his watch. One minute.
    He took a deep breath and fell back, floating fluidly on the churning sea. Above, he saw the stars in their familiar patterns, an unmoving reference against the roiling ocean. It was the same constant he had found in the skies over Stalingrad. There, on clear nights, the black stillness above was the only thing to hold against the chaos of bullets, knives, and explosions all around. Time and again over the last years he had watched men panic in the face of such trials. He'd seen them throw their guns down and run screaming from foxholes, seen them rush suicidal into enemy onslaughts, perhaps hastening what they saw as inevitable. He had watched men who were not on regular terms with God fall to their knees and pray for His intervention.
    Braun, however, had always been the provider of his own salvation. This was where he differed from other men. Purging the cold, purging everything, he closed his eyes and set his mind to a blank. He soon acquired a tranquility that mirrored the heavens above. It was his advantage, a mental structure that always held form and foundation. He would waste no thoughts on cursing Colonel Gruber or the captain of U-801 for bringing him here. He would not brag inwardly that he would win, or that he had never been beaten. He simply fell calm. Braun allowed his limbs to float freely in the ocean's cold, aqueous womb. His mind acquired order and a singular, absolute constant fell into place -- the task of swimming a few miles in the correct direction through a freezing ocean.
    He noted the time, referenced