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The Strait of Death - Вадим Кучеренко

The Strait of Death

Страниц

10

Год

2021

Throughout ancient history, countless sailors met their untimely demise while attempting to navigate the treacherous and perilous waters of the infamous Strait of Death. These brave souls risked everything, braving the wrath of the unforgiving sea in hopes of gaining a shortcut to their destination. Among the throngs of unfortunate seafarers, there was one elderly sailor who, against all odds, miraculously survived a harrowing shipwreck within the cursed strait. His tenacity and will to live propelled him through the darkest depths of despair. However, his survival came at an unimaginable cost.

Now, in an exhilarating and heart-pounding tale entitled "The Strait of Death," renowned author Vadim Kucherenko unveils the gripping saga of this lone survivor. With his signature flair for crafting compelling narratives that transcend borders, Kucherenko takes readers on an unforgettable journey through the very essence of human resilience and sacrifice.

The story delves into the mysterious origins of the Strait of Death, intertwining elements of folklore and myth to create a rich tapestry of legends that surround this treacherous waterway. Kucherenko's meticulous research paints a vivid picture of the dangers that await any who dare enter its formidable confines.

As the protagonist navigates through the perils of the strait, the reader is transported into a world of unimaginable danger and heart-stopping action. From the ferocious storms that relentlessly batter the weary sailors to the haunting whispers of lost souls that echo through the mist-shrouded waters, each twist and turn keeps readers on the edge of their seats.

But "The Strait of Death" is much more than a mere tale of survival. It explores the timeless themes of sacrifice, redemption, and the unyielding spirit of humanity in the face of impossible odds. Through his masterful storytelling, Kucherenko reminds us all of the indomitable power lurking within the human heart, waiting to be awakened by circumstances beyond our control.

As a reader, you will be captivated by Kucherenko's distinctive style, seamlessly blending breathtaking action sequences with poignant introspection. With a readership that extends far beyond his native Russia, Kucherenko has solidified his standing as a literary giant, immersing audiences in gripping tales that know no boundaries.

Prepare to embark on an extraordinary adventure as you join the elderly sailor on his quest for salvation and uncover the hidden truths concealed within the very fabric of the Strait of Death. Vadim Kucherenko invites you to sail away with him on an unforgettable odyssey that will leave you breathless, questioning the limits of human endurance, and forever changed.

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– The sea, the sea, – grumbled an old man. – What do you know about the sea, boy? I mean the real sea, when you can’t even see the coast through the highest scope telescope, when the wind is a hundred knots and the waves are up to the sky…

The "boy" who was being scolded by the old sailor might have been not less than thirty-five. And it didn’t seem at all that he hadn't seen the sea – it had left too much of a mark on his face and hands, and had thoroughly tanned his skin with sea salt and squalls. But not a shadow of resentment flickered in his blue, like the sea in clear weather eyes.

They were sitting on the open terrace of the tiny wooden one-storied house where the old man lived, and from where they was a wonderful view of the port and the surrounding costal area. A cool breeze had been blowing steadily from the morning, pleasantly refreshing in summer, but very few people would enjoy it by the end of autumn. The old man was sitting ensconced in an old Voltaire-like armchair, cloaked in a warm blanket and resting his head on the back of the armchair, in a way that he was able to reach a bottle of madeira wine that stood on a roughly built lumber table. But he had no need in making efforts – his guest, who had one gifted him that armchair, brought the bottle and from time to time filled the old man’s glass with thick dark-cherry drink, raising himself for a moment from a comfortable old cane chair. The lower was the level of liquid in the bottle, the more talkative the host became.

– I’m telling you, Anton, – the old man continued his speech – that you’ll never understand what the Sea is, until you experience a dozen storms, like those when masts are bent almost to the water level, and, at least one shipwreck. Such a shipwreck when you are not saved immediately from the water like some soaked puppy, but being drenched to the skin for a couple of days in a devilish cold plunge pool. Then you will really be able to tell what the sea is, and how much salt it has per a square-mile.

The old seawolf himself survived a good deal of sea accidents during his long life, and never was onshore longer than one month at a time. He was very proud of this fact, and mentioned it whenever he could during a talk.

Although the word “talk” was not suitable for uncle Egor (he went by that name along the whole coast). He wasn’t keen on listening to people, and every discussion would have been possible only in case he had been the one to talk. Falling that, and the old man became silent, started yawning or simply turned his face to the wall, snoring loudly, showing his brazing disregard. Uncle Egor considered that no one could tell him anything more than he had already known about the sea and seamanship. The other topics were nothing to him. As there was nothing except the sea in his life.

– Do you remember how the old walnut-shell “Fortune” was cracked in two parts, virtually like a nutshell, near the Cape of Hope? – In his excitement, the old man wanted to change his position in the armchair in order to be able to gesture with his arms, and Anton helped him by putting a pillow behind his back. Uncle Egor impatiently pushed away caring hands and continued. – It was made of wood and as light as a feather, both of her halves were getting out from the sea for a long time since, as if they didn’t want to rest in peace. And the whole crew of “Fortune”, starting from a sailor boy up to the boatswain perched there like hens, including the captain himself. It was a laugh!

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