Captain Nemo_ The Fantastic History of a Dark Genius - Kevin J Anderson [191]
“We are doomed,” Verne muttered.
As the Saint Michel began to flee, the Prussian warship closed the gap. Within an hour, the enemy vessel had approached close enough that the Prussians let loose another volley of cannon fire. The terrible balls struck closer, splashing all around the yacht. Miraculously, they did no more damage than splintering one of the yacht’s top deck rails.
Next time, the cannonballs would probably sink them.
“We will have to surrender,” Verne said, groaning in despair. “Raise our white flag.”
“But Captain Verne, we are defending the French coast!”
Verne’s voice cracked in abject panic. “We can do nothing against that monstrous vessel. Just look at all of her cannon!”
“Oh.”
Even as they hoisted the white rag, hoping for mercy from the enemy captain, the big warship turned about, bringing her port-side cannons to bear.
Verne stared, appalled. There was nothing he could do, no means of escape. Even if he should dive overboard, he could never swim all the way to shore in the cold winter ocean.
He was about to die.
Then, as he faced the oncoming battleship, he saw a golden glow in the sea behind the Prussian vessel -- the luminous yellow eyes of a deep-sea leviathan rising to the surface as it picked up speed.
Verne put a hand over his mouth and saw the great armored vessel breach the surface just enough so that its razor ridge of reinforced steel cut a vicious wake like a shark’s fin. The Nautilus.
The veterans onboard the Saint Michel were appalled. “It’s a monster!” At the bow, Verne gripped the side of his yacht close to the tiny cannon and shook his head, unable to believe his eyes.
The men aboard the Prussian battleship gave brusque orders to ready the cannon -- just as he heard the growl and hum of the sub-marine boat. The armored vessel leaped forward at top ramming speed and crashed into the warship. Too late, the Prussian cannons fired, intending to sink the Saint Michel. But with their aim thrown off, the weapons blasted harmlessly into the sky.
Verne watched, stunned, as the Nautilus plowed through the lower hull of the Prussian vessel with a rending crunch. The sailing ship canted to one side, taking in huge amounts of water.
Sparks from the cannon torches ignited black powder that had spilled onto the decks. Enemy sailors ran about, trying to escape from the unexpected attack by the sub-marine vessel. Then the warship exploded.
Verne’s heart pounded in his chest, and he found himself short of breath. He couldn’t believe Nemo’s timely appearance. “Old friend, you always did manage to defeat impossible odds.”
“We did it, Monsieur Captain Verne,” one of the old veterans said, grabbing his arm with joy. “We have sunk that Prussian ship!”
Verne scowled at the ancient soldier. The other eleven men jabbered amongst themselves, not sure what had just happened. The dusk had deepened enough to make details in the water uncertain.
“What if the sea monster attacks us next?” another one said.
“It won’t,” Verne answered, leaning over the side of the boat and searching the waters. “He won’t.”
As the Prussian vessel collapsed into a sinking mass of broken debris and flaming timbers, Verne wondered if he should take the Saint Michel over and rescue any survivors. He had only a small yacht, a few weapons, and just twelve crewmen. If he took aboard too many prisoners, they could easily overpower their captors -- and then what would he do?
Verne had no stomach for an actual fight. He had never expected to be this close to the realities of war. He scratched his beard, struggling to reach a decision. The Prussian warship had meant to sink them without remorse, to kill him and his crew in cold blood, even after they had raised a white flag. They could all swim to shore, for all he cared.
Another wake curled up beside the Saint Michel,