Read Online Hunting the Dragon by Peter Dixon - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Peter Dixon
Tags: Fiction - Young Adult
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and thought, Without you, where would I be?
He turned his eyes from the dolphins, and with the voice of a conquistador ordering his cavalry to slay the unbelievers, he screamed savagely, “Atún! Atún! Atún!”
CHAPTER SIX
T he klaxon’s strident blast, followed by the captain’s command booming out of the ship’s loudspeakers, energized the crew like a lightning bolt. From every companionway the seamen dashed to fishing stations. Billy was caught up in the frantic rush of fishers dropping chase boats over the side and readying the net for release. He ran on for the stern to find Rocha already in the skiff waving for him.
“So, Surfking’s a flyboy now. How come you rate a joyride in the chopper?” Rocha demanded as he hurriedly hooked a line from the bitter end of the net to the skiff’s tow bit.
“Hey, he invited me. I didn’t have a station, and next thing I knew, I was up in the sky getting airsick.”
“You don’t look sick to me, bro.”
“Just wanted you to know you weren’t missing anything, homeboy.”
“Enough of that.”
“Okay with me. What happens next?”
Rocha checked the pelican hook securing the net to the towline, seemed satisfied it would hold, and said, “It’s gonna be a few minutes, or maybe an hour, before we launch. It all depends on how long it takes the cowboys to corral ’em.”
“You know a lot about fishing for a—”
Rocha’s glare stopped him. “My grandfather was a fisherman. He took me out a lot as a kid.”
His attention shifted to the water and Rocha said, “He’s going to set for sure.”
On either side of Lucky Dragon excited fishermen were hurriedly dropping outboard motor-powered speedboats over the side and into the sea. Six of them splashed down, engines roared, and the drivers raced off ahead of the clipper after the pod of leaping dolphins. The lightweight, open chase boats, driven by 125-horsepower Yamahas slammed across the water at 35 knots. The drivers, called cowboys, quickly overtook the dolphins and began to circle the pod. The leaders dove and surfaced, swimming steadily eastward, ignoring the snarling, bucking machines that charged them. Suddenly a geyser of water burst out of the sea in front of the pod, followed by the deep boom of an explosion. Then came more eruptions and another and another loud report. Billy turned to Rocha and asked, “What’s that?”
“Seal bombs. When the cowboys can’t turn ’em with the boats, they throw those firecrackers.”
“Pretty big firecrackers.”
“M-80s…like little sticks of dynamite. They do the job.”
“It’s gotta be hard on their ears.”
Rocha shrugged and then pointed toward the pod. “Hey, they’re turning. We got ’em now. We’ll launch any minute.”
Billy glanced about the aft deck. Santos and half the crew were standing there. They were tense, like soldiers waiting to charge into battle. Billy climbed on the skiff’s engine cover to see better. Off the port side the cowboys were racing around the dolphins that were now gathered in a great mass some 200 yards away. The pod had stopped and the dolphins were darting, jumping, diving, and leaping high to spin and fall back into the sea in a confused, fear-driven frenzy. Then Santos waved at a seaman standing by the skiff’s bow. He pulled the pin holding the retaining line. The boat suddenly tipped and slid off the stern to smash into the sea. Billy grabbed the gunwale to keep from going over the side as the big Volvo roared. The skiff surged away from the clipper, hauling out the net that slithered off the stern like a nylon reptile diving into the sea.
Rocha’s eyes darted between the pod and the stern of the ship. “Keep watching the net. If it snags, yell like hell!”
They powered out, pulling the net in a huge circle around the confused dolphins. Every few seconds one would leap skyward, spin, and fall back with a splash. Then a tuna shot out of the water and nosed in like a bomb. Already some of the
He turned his eyes from the dolphins, and with the voice of a conquistador ordering his cavalry to slay the unbelievers, he screamed savagely, “Atún! Atún! Atún!”
CHAPTER SIX
T he klaxon’s strident blast, followed by the captain’s command booming out of the ship’s loudspeakers, energized the crew like a lightning bolt. From every companionway the seamen dashed to fishing stations. Billy was caught up in the frantic rush of fishers dropping chase boats over the side and readying the net for release. He ran on for the stern to find Rocha already in the skiff waving for him.
“So, Surfking’s a flyboy now. How come you rate a joyride in the chopper?” Rocha demanded as he hurriedly hooked a line from the bitter end of the net to the skiff’s tow bit.
“Hey, he invited me. I didn’t have a station, and next thing I knew, I was up in the sky getting airsick.”
“You don’t look sick to me, bro.”
“Just wanted you to know you weren’t missing anything, homeboy.”
“Enough of that.”
“Okay with me. What happens next?”
Rocha checked the pelican hook securing the net to the towline, seemed satisfied it would hold, and said, “It’s gonna be a few minutes, or maybe an hour, before we launch. It all depends on how long it takes the cowboys to corral ’em.”
“You know a lot about fishing for a—”
Rocha’s glare stopped him. “My grandfather was a fisherman. He took me out a lot as a kid.”
His attention shifted to the water and Rocha said, “He’s going to set for sure.”
On either side of Lucky Dragon excited fishermen were hurriedly dropping outboard motor-powered speedboats over the side and into the sea. Six of them splashed down, engines roared, and the drivers raced off ahead of the clipper after the pod of leaping dolphins. The lightweight, open chase boats, driven by 125-horsepower Yamahas slammed across the water at 35 knots. The drivers, called cowboys, quickly overtook the dolphins and began to circle the pod. The leaders dove and surfaced, swimming steadily eastward, ignoring the snarling, bucking machines that charged them. Suddenly a geyser of water burst out of the sea in front of the pod, followed by the deep boom of an explosion. Then came more eruptions and another and another loud report. Billy turned to Rocha and asked, “What’s that?”
“Seal bombs. When the cowboys can’t turn ’em with the boats, they throw those firecrackers.”
“Pretty big firecrackers.”
“M-80s…like little sticks of dynamite. They do the job.”
“It’s gotta be hard on their ears.”
Rocha shrugged and then pointed toward the pod. “Hey, they’re turning. We got ’em now. We’ll launch any minute.”
Billy glanced about the aft deck. Santos and half the crew were standing there. They were tense, like soldiers waiting to charge into battle. Billy climbed on the skiff’s engine cover to see better. Off the port side the cowboys were racing around the dolphins that were now gathered in a great mass some 200 yards away. The pod had stopped and the dolphins were darting, jumping, diving, and leaping high to spin and fall back into the sea in a confused, fear-driven frenzy. Then Santos waved at a seaman standing by the skiff’s bow. He pulled the pin holding the retaining line. The boat suddenly tipped and slid off the stern to smash into the sea. Billy grabbed the gunwale to keep from going over the side as the big Volvo roared. The skiff surged away from the clipper, hauling out the net that slithered off the stern like a nylon reptile diving into the sea.
Rocha’s eyes darted between the pod and the stern of the ship. “Keep watching the net. If it snags, yell like hell!”
They powered out, pulling the net in a huge circle around the confused dolphins. Every few seconds one would leap skyward, spin, and fall back with a splash. Then a tuna shot out of the water and nosed in like a bomb. Already some of the