"Ian Douglas - Inheritance Trilogy 1 - Star Strike" - читать интересную книгу автора (Douglas Ian)

“Sir, yes, sir!”

“And when I give you an order, you will respond with ‘sir, aye, aye, sir!’ Remember that! ‘Aye, aye’
means ‘I understand and I will obey!’ Is that understood?”

“Sir, yes, sir!”

Garroway was impressed. Under the DI’s unrelenting barrage, the line of recruits, until moments ago a
chaotic mélange of individually mumbled responses, was actually starting to chorus together, and with
considerable feeling…but then the DI was back in his face once again, eye to eye, screaming at him.
“What the hell are you doing on your feet, maggot? I gave you a direct order! I told you to give me fifty!
That’s fifty push-ups!”

Damn! Garroway had been as confused as the rest, stunned into unthinking immobility by the DI’s
performance. He dropped to the ground, legs back, arms holding his body stiffly above the sand, and
started to perform the first push-up, but then Warhurst was hauling him upright by the scruff of his neck,
dangling him one-handed above the sand, still screaming. “I did not hear you acknowledge the order I
gave you, mudworm!”

“Sir, yes, sir! Uh, I mean, aye, aye, sir!”

“What was that?”

“Sir! Aye, aye, sir!”

Warhurst released him. “Gimme those fifty goddamn push-ups!”

“Sir! Aye, aye, sir!”

Garroway dropped again and began cranking out the push-ups. He’d worked out a lot over the past
couple of years, knowing that this sort of thing would be routine. He’d also spent a lot of time recently
working in the Recovery Projects back on Earth. There he massed a full 85 kilos, so he had a bit of an
advantage of some of the other kids in the line. On Mars, he only weighed 32 kilos, compared to the 60
kilos he carried at his home level in the Ring.

So right now he weighed half what he normally did, and was feeling pretty strong, even competent. The
push-ups came swiftly and easily as Warhurst continued to parade up and down the line of recruits,
finding fault everywhere, screaming invectives at the other recruits. Before long, Garroway wasn’t the
only one doing push-ups. He completed his count and stood at attention once more, surprised to find he
was breathing harder, now. In fact, his chest was burning.

The Martian air was painfully thin, despite the nanochelates in his lungs that increased the efficiency of his
breathing. The terraformers had been reshaping Mars for almost four centuries, now, hammering it with
icebergs to begin with, but more recently using massive infusions of nanodecouplers to free oxygen from
the planet-wide rust and restore the ancient Martian atmosphere. For the past two centuries, the air had
been breathable, at least with nanotechnic augmentation, but it was still thin, cold, and carried a harsh
taste of sand and chemicals.

Abruptly, as if at the throw of a switch, Gunnery Sergeant Warhurst’s fury was gone. Instead, he seemed
relaxed, almost paternal. “Very well, children,” he said, standing before them with his hands on his hips.