"Allen, Roger Macbride - Allies And Aliens 1 - Torch Of Honor" - читать интересную книгу автора (Allen Roger Macbride)

"I have no idea. I hope so."
"Jesus! But how are-never mind. Later. For now, what do we do about this guy Bradhurst?"
"Let me think. Look. Call the hangar. Tell them to tell his driver you're discussing security for the demonstration with him and you're going to drive Bradhurst back to his quarters. All we have to do is stall them until the test. Afterwards, it won't matter, one way or the other."
"Good enough. I'll be back. Don't go anywhere."
"Where have I got to go?" But George was already lost in the shadows. I sat in the dark for a long time.
George returned. "Okay, I think they bought it."
"Good. Let's get out of here and find a place to talk." I wanted to get away from the corpse.
George led me to an empty building at the end of the camp. He seemed to know how to avoid the sentries. George. What was in it for him? How much was this costing him? Could I really trust him, or would he change his mind by morning? Can you ever completely trust a turncoat?
There was no doubt in him tonight. He asked me questions and we made decisions. We planned and schemed. We were dealing with the death of the men he had eaten breakfast with that morning.
"It's a lot to ask of you, George."
"I know, but you're not asking. I'm doing. I've had it. I've wired up plenty of our nasty little killing gadgets. I went past the far end of camp this morning. A firing squad. I recognized one of the soldiers, and his gun. I had fixed the power feed for him the day before. And they were shooting a 12-year-old girl who had wandered in looking for her daddy. She thought he might be with the soldiers. She didn't think about whose. They shot her for spying."
There was nothing I could say.
It was too much, too fast, too close to the end. If, if, if was all I could think. No one had any idea what would happen tomorrow. The best we could hope was that Bradhurst hadn't told anyone what he had learned, and that the Guardians would know less than we did.
All I knew for certain was that tomorrow, some of us would die.

PART TWO:
WAR ON THE GROUND

INTERLUDE

The ghosts were with me that night. I dreamed in a pool of sweat, surrounded by faces that stared at me, unsure of me, doubtful I could fulfill the trust forced upon me.
I could clearly see only the eyes of the ghosts. Their faces and bodies glimmered, became nearly sharp, distinct, and real, only to fade away again.
A dirty, mud-caked GI with a a baby in his arms; a Cherokee watching in the night for the villains who savaged his world; a frightened, tiny slip of a girl trapped in a bombed-out subway, trying to calm the children imprisoned with her, singing them nursery rhymes, telling stories, half an ear listening for the sound of digging, scraping, the sound of rescue on the way, humming the little tune and wondering if help would ever come....
Forgotten heroes peered at me, pointed and prodded, asking if I would fail in this, my task.
But, toward dawn, I think, Joslyn appeared among them. She took my hand and smiled at the dead protectors.
They nodded, once each, slowly, and faded into the gloomy mists, to guard at another gate of danger, to peer into another part of the darkness that must of definition surround free men.

CHAPTER EIGHT

The next morning it took a long while to realize that the night was finally over, and that this was, indeed, the day. I dressed quickly, and, for the last time, went through the daily ritual of the trek to the latrine, closely followed by my two armed guards.
I returned to my room and put on an official-looking white lab coat over my coverall. I dug under my mattress, pulled out Bradhurst's laser, and shoved it into a coverall pocket, hoping the lab coat would hide the bulge.
I ate breakfast-or at least went through the motions of eating it. About three bites actually got down-and barely stayed down. Well, there was plenty to be scared of.
I shoved back the tray, tried to compose my face, and walked out into the hangar. All the debris of our frantic activity had been cleared away, and folding chairs set up in preparation for visitors. I knew there were going to be some visitors, but not that there'd be so many. Another worry, and not one I was prepared for.
The watch on my wrist grew bigger and bigger, and the numbers flashing on it took longer and longer to change. Hours went by as I stood over my control board, checking and rechecking the switch settings, double-checking procedures I knew by heart.
Time dragged on.
Finally, the moment was near. One grey uniform decked with braid, then another, and another, strolled in, found their places, and sat down.
I worried over Bradhurst. Was he expected this morning? How long until he was missed? How long until I was suspected? Had he reported finding this Commander Larson to anyone on his staff?
The grey men continued to file in, the clock crept toward the appointed hour, and I hoped a nervous scientist acted the same way a nervous spy did.
Again and again I asked-Was George to be trusted? He wasn't here yet. Did he have cold feet? Was he already talking to the secret police?
Fifteen minutes before the test, he appeared-the only man from his shop to come. He was in full dress uniform, the first time I had ever seen him in it. It was a formal affair, but that uniform also gave him a chance to wear his officer's sidearm. He nodded to me and tipped the side of his peaked cap with a large cylindrical map case. Poker-faced.
I began to have the presence of mind to think like a soldier. Half of the audience wore sidearms of some kind, and my two guards stood by the door, stiff and rigid, saluting everything that moved. Their boot tops gleamed in the afternoon light. With luck, they would be too busy with the spit-and-polish routine to be of much help in an emergency; however, they carried heavy firepower-laser rifles that could burn holes in steel plating.
Okay, hit them first, then the officers, in the few seconds between activation of the transmitter and the materialization of the first League troops.
The League troops were a completely open question as well. Assuming they had been transmitted, and assuming the capture device had done its work, and hadn't been wrecked by some fumble-fingered private in the Guardians' transport service, I still had no idea what sort of soldiers had been sent, or how they would react. All I could hope for was that they were ready for trouble.
At the time the League had sent the drone out to find the J.M., the League's military planning staff hadn't had a chance to get a force together. The reports sent with the drone said that we could expect a combined force made up of troops grabbed in a hurry from half the member states. Since the ship that was to carry the troops to the transmission point was to be launched from Earth, we were told to expect a large proportion of Earthside troops. Political realities (it was broadly hinted in the report) would require a number of small units, token contributions from member states that didn't have the time or money to offer more.
My worrying was interrupted when General Schlitzer, the base commander, arrived amid a flurry of saluting from all sides. Lieutenant Grimes escorted Schlitzer over to me, made introductions, and left us to talk. Schlitzer shook my hand and said, "Good day, Doctor. Are we ready to go forward with the demonstration?"
I gulped and tried to smile, with my heart in my stomach. "I think so, sir."
"Good. Let us hope this is a grand day for us both." He stood and looked over the great machine. "Tell me," he went on, "why is the receiver so much larger than the transmitter cage?"
Damn! He would ask that one. The bogus transmitter cage was barely a meter square, while the receiver was ten times that size. "Well, sir, the transmitter is a much more complicated device, and must be built to exact tolerance, while the receiver simply has to be at least large enough to accept whatever it is sent. So as to save time in later tests, we built one large receiver cage, which will be able to accommodate any and all of the big transmitters we hope to build later." I hoped he bought it.
"I see. Well, I suppose we can leave that sort of thing to you technical people." He nodded curtly and turned to face the audience, his back to me. Which killed him, a few minutes later.
The other brass noticed he was waiting for their attention and quieted down. Schlitzer proceeded to give a little speech.