"David Drake - Hammer's Slammers 10 - Paying The Piper" - читать интересную книгу автора (Drake David)

jitney; he suddenly dropped back into his seat and drove forward to keep from being crushed by the
underslung cargo containers. The official stopped again and got out of his vehicle, running back toward
the dirigible with his fists raised overhead in fury.

Huber looked over his shoulder to see how the spacers were making out with the turnbuckle. The tool
they'd brought, a cart with chucks on extensible arms, wasn't working. Well, that was par for the course.

Trooper Kolbe sat in the driver's compartment, his chin bar resting on the hatch coaming. His faceshield
was down, presenting an opaque surface to the outside world. Kolbe could have been using the helmet's
infrared, light-amplification, or sonic imaging to improve his view of the dimly lit hold, but Huber
suspected the driver was simply hiding the fact that his eyes were closed.
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Kolbe needn't have been so discreet. If Huber hadn't thought he ought to set an example, he'd have
been leaning his forehead againstFencing Master 's cool iridium bow slope and wishing he didn't hurt so
much.

Platoon Sergeant Jellicoe was at the arms locker, issuing troopers their personal weapons. Jellicoe
seemed as dispassionate as the hull of her combat car, but Trooper Coblentz, handing out the weapons
as the sergeant checked them off, looked like he'd died several weeks ago.

Unless and until Colonel Hammer ordered otherwise, troopers on a contract world were required to go
armed at all times. Revised orders were generally issued within hours of landing; troopers barhopping in
rear areas with sub-machine guns and 2-cm shoulder weapons made the Regiment's local employers
nervous, and rightly so.

On Plattner's World the Slammers had to land at six sites scattered across the United Cities, a nation
that was mostly forest. None of the available landing fields was large enough to take the monster
starships on which the Regiment preferred to travel, and only the administrative capital, Benjamin, could
handle more than one twenty-vehicle company at a time. Chances were that even off-duty troopers
would be operating in full combat gear for longer than usual.

"What's that gas-bag doing?" Deseau asked. "What do they fill 'em with here, anyway? If it's hydrogen
and it usually is . . ."

Foghornhad shut down, well clear of the starship's ramp. Her four crewmen were shifting their gear out
of the open-topped fighting compartment and onto the splinter shield of beryllium net overhead. A
Slammers' vehicle on combat deployment looked like a bag lady's cart; the crew knew that the only
things they could count on having were what they carried with them. Tanks and combat cars could shift
position by over 500 klicks in a day, smashing the flank or rear of an enemy who didn't even know he
was threatened; but logistics support couldn't follow the fighting vehicles as they stabbed through hostile
territory.

"Aide, unit," Huber said, cueing his commo helmet's AI to the band all F-3 used in common. "Tatzig, pull
around where that dirigible isn't going to hit you. Something's wrong with the bloody thing and the locals
aren't doing much of a job of sorting it out."