"Linda Evans - Sleipnir" - читать интересную книгу автора (Evans Linda)

I grinned; then we headed into the woodline and fell silent. It hadn't snowed yet. The iron-hard
ground was littered with leaf debris, all of it tinder-dry. It was tough to move without making enough
noise to wake the dead. Thanks to the full moon, ghostly white light fell in odd bright patches. The forest
floor was a nightmare of shadows and light. Where moonlight cut across low-hanging branches, hard
black lines ended abruptly in a tangle of silver limbs, confusing the eyes and distorting depth perception.
Patches of shapeless grey where low-hanging pine boughs brushed the ground made it hard to see what
was pine tree and what might be a foreign object under it.
With this lighting, we could run across anything from a wild boar to a Soviet Spetznaz platoon, and
not even see it. Of course, realistically speaking, we'd probably either run into ragheads or nothing at all.
I figured it was just a matter of time before one of the groups hit a nuke site. They didn't even need to
carry off any warheads—just blowing up a Pershing or three would generate the desired effect, and be
much easier.
I could see the headlines now—U.S. NUCLEAR MISSILE EXPLODES.
Ought to do wonders for our political and military presence in Europe. Not that any of the little incidents
we'd had with terrorists over the past few months had made it into the press. They hadn't. Not one. And
we soldier-types were expected to keep the world safe for democracy—without bullets? I shuddered.
Stupid peacetime army . . .
One of these nights I was going to get backed into a tight enough jam to make a pact with Odin
myself, and see where it got me. All I'd ever gotten from Jehovah was a great big, fat silence, leaving me
to figure out ways to save my own rear end. That was the trouble with gods—
Gary froze.
Instinctively, I did, too.
He stood slightly ahead of me in a deep patch of shadow. I was near its edge, and had just been
about to move out of it. I held my breath and scanned the moonlit woods, although I knew what I'd see
even before I spotted them a heartbeat later.
And there they were.
I swallowed: half a dozen ragheads in black, hugging the shadows under the trees, their AKs held
at ready.
And I'd almost stepped out into that bright little patch of moonlight, straight into their line of sight. . .
.
We went to ground, flat on our bellies under rustling pine branches, and watched them slip through
the deep gloom between the trees. They were headed away from the site, from the direction of Tower
Three. A scouting party that meant trouble later? Or part of a team sent to eliminate the patrol?
—Us.
I clutched my empty M-16 in sweaty hands and listened to Gary's breathing and the ragheads'
careful footsteps. I was surprised they hadn't heard us. Of course, I hadn't heard them either, and Iknew
better than to spend patrol time woolgathering, dammit.
The ragheads stopped within spitting distance and began to whisper among themselves. It sounded
to me like an argument. The evident leader said something really foul-sounding. The man who'd raised an
objection backed down. Then, just as they were turning to go, a brittle, snapping sound loud as gunfire
cracked through the darkness from almost next to my ear.
Sweat popped out all over my belly and thighs. The ragheads whirled and stared straight at us.
Rifle barrels swung around into a deadly line aimed less than a foot above our backs.
Iwilled the bright moonlight to blind them. . . .
Another loud snap came from near my right ear.What the hell was it? I didn't dare look—didn't
even dare breathe.
At a whispered command, the last terrorist in line started toward us, his features lost in the smear of
camouflage lampblack rubbed into his skin. His rifle—it looked like a Rumanian copy of the Soviet
AK-47—glinted in the cold moonlight. I watched the terrorist's boots walk straight toward my face.
Saw him begin to stoop down to peer under our tree . . .