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

"Gentlemen. You have all heard the basic idea behind this device. If it is successful, it will be capable of transmitting matter over radio waves. The improvement in our ability to strike faster, harder, and more effectively is barely imaginable. In a few minutes we may know that our next conquest shall not only be greater-but bought far more cheaply. We see the transmitter today. Tomorrow, a dozen worlds will see it, worlds that will not be able to face us, except in death. Doctor?"
I nodded, swallowed hard, and started pushing buttons. I energized the system and heard the loud, satisfying clack of big relays coming on line. The lights in the room flickered and dimmed for a moment as the machinery absorbed more and more power. Pilot lights and meters came to life. Then there was just one button left to push to start the automatic sequencers. I looked out beyond the sea of faces to the only one that wasn't staring intently at the transmitter or receiver cages- George. Moving very slowly, he had gotten himself directly behind the oblivious guards.
I hit the switch.
The lights dimmed again as power rushed into the capture device. Now we were committed. From here on in, the transmitter operated automatically.
Queep! The first of three audio warning tones. System ready. I slid my hand into the lab coat and felt the butt of the dead man's gun. George had his hand on his holster.
Queep! Capture device engaged.
George killed one of the guards, a silent laser beam boring the life out of his skull.
QUEEP! Receiving objects ...
A blast of wind slapped across the audience as the air in the receiver was forced out by the materializing effect.
I pulled out my gun and shot the general. He turned in shock, screaming, and felt his spine opening up under my laser. He dropped like a stone.
There was a flash of light from the receiver that left an afterimage, no, a solid reality of-men!
They were here.
I turned and fired into the crowd of officers. George shot the other guard through the heart. He grabbed the guard's rifle, turned and played the rifle over the crowd, wounding, blinding, killing half of them in a sudden terrible moment. The Guardians were aghast, shocked. Two-thirds of them were dead before one of them thought to fire back at us.
I crouched behind my console-which wasn't heavy steel by accident-and looked at the troops that had arrived. They were here, real. It had all worked. But this was a hell of a surprise welcome for them.
Some of them dove off the receiver stage and took cover, not sure who to shoot at, if anyone. The rest stood there, dazed. It must have been a hell of a surprise.
Queep! The next cycle of troops would be here in ten seconds....
I stood up and yelled, "Get the hell off that platform! Clear out! Clear out!" They came, and I recognized the uniform. Well-armed Republic of Kennedy marines!
"Clear out! Clear out! Get out of that thing! Move it!"
They moved. One of them had the sense to throw something at the people I was shooting at. A loud flash and a boom, and where there had been people-the enemy-was gore and a sudden stench.
Queep! QUEEP! More on the way.
I holstered the gun and stripped off the lab coat. "Soldier! You! Get over here!"
She trotted over and saluted. "Sir!"
"Who knows when there's some artillery coming?"
"Kaplan, Corporal Kaplan has a printout of who's due when, sir."
"Kaplan!"
"Yo!"
Kaplan was in front of me, already fumbling with a thick sheaf of paper. "Kaplan, when do we get some artillery?"
"Just a sec, sir ... ah ... elements of 107th light artillery. British Army. Fifth outfit to arrive. Sir, what the hell happened?"
"Later. Stick by me." I looked up from the printout to see George. "Oh, boy. Hang on, George. It's gonna get worse." George dropped his rifle as if it had turned into a serpent in his hands. He looked bad, very bad. "George! Listen! Artillery. The fifth outfit to come through. Brits. You've got to get them out to the courtyard and show them those targets. Okay?"
"Oh, God. Yeah, okay." He was nearly in shock. Suddenly, he shook himself and answered again in a stronger voice. "Right. I'll do it." He strode, a bit jerkily, to the receiver.
Kaplan and the first private I had talked to were standing with me, just watching their fellows appearing out of nowhere and coming out of the receiver cage.
The first private said, "Pardon me, Commander Larson? Ah, where are we, sir? Weren't we supposed to land in an empty plain?"
"The main office made a mistake. The original site is under water. This is one of the enemy's main bases. We had to improvise. Oh, and it's also mid-October, Earth-side. You've been held as sort of a recording for about a month."
She swallowed suddenly and her eyes went pop. "My goodness. How are we getting out of here?"
"Very carefully."
Queep! Queep! QUEEP!
From the hardware on the shoulders, this was the load that carried the heavy brass. These were no desk jockeys; they had the look of field soldiers. I checked their insignia and spotted the commander. He was a big, solid man in a British Army brigadier's uniform.
This time I trotted up and did the saluting. "Commander Terrance MacKenzie Larson, ROK Navy."
He looked around himself at the smoky hangar, the mangled corpses in high-ranking uniforms, and the mob of soldiers trying to get themselves sorted out. Then he saluted back and said, "Report!"
"Error in cartography, sir. Original landing site was actually under water. The Finns and I worked out a way to hold your control signal as a recording, then we received the signal in free space and smuggled it to the surface, fooling the enemy into assisting in the construction of the receiver. We were forced to construct it in the middle of one of their largest army bases. Much of the camp brass was here thinking they'd see a demonstration of a matter transmitter...."
"And we've certainly given them that. They got shot up, and so the base doesn't have anyone to give it orders, and perhaps we've got a minute or two to ourselves."
"Yessir."
"Can we get out of here?"
"Maybe. If we can steal enough trucks from their motor pool." I nodded toward George. "This man can show you where it is on a map of the base."
"Roberts! Figure out where it is, take a couple of squads, and get those trucks!" He pointed to Kaplan. "You there! Stand by the transmitter and explain what's going on to the troops as they come through." The brigadier turned back to me. "What about help from the locals?"
"They should be hitting the Guardians-the enemy-on the planet and on the satellite Vapaus, a lot of little dust-ups, right now. Everything acting as mutual diversions."
"Very well."
Suddenly I spotted men pulling what looked like a midget howitzer behind them in the receiver cage. I nudged George and pointed. He finished up quickly with Roberts and took the rather bewildered-looking Tommies in tow, leading them to the courtyard.
The brigadier watched it all rather phlegmatically. "It looks quite a bit like we're in a right old mess. By the way, Brigadier Taylor, British Army."
"Sir."