"Philip Jose Farmer - The Gate of Time" - читать интересную книгу автора (Farmer Phillip Jose)

He unsnapped the straps and began to roll his chute into a ball. O’Brien was doing the same
thing. Having collected the silk, Two Hawks picked it up and jogged towards O’Brien, who was
running towards him. O’Brien said excitedly, “Did you see those soldiers over to the left?”
Two Hawks shook his head. “No. Were they coming our way?”
“They were on a road at right angles to this one. Must be a main road, although it wasn’t paved.
They were too far away for me to get many details. But they sure looked funny.”
“Funny?”
O’Brien removed his helmet. He ran a thick stubby hand, freckled and covered with pale red
hairs, through his orange mop. “Yeah. They had a lot of wagons drawn by oxen. There were a
couple of cars at the head, but they didn’t look like any cars I ever seen. One was an armored car;
reminded me of the pictures of cars like in that old book my Dad had about World War I.”
O’Brien grinned toothily. “You know. The Great War. The Big War. The Real War.”
Two Hawks did not comment. He had heard O’Brien talk about his father’s attitude towards the
present conflict.
“Let’s get into the woods and bury this stuff,” he said. “You get a chance to bring any survival
stuff with you?”
Two Hawks led the way into the thick underbrush. O’Brien shook his head, “I was lucky to get
out with my skin. Did any of the others make it?”
“I don’t think so,” Two Hawks said. “I didn’t see anybody.”
He pushed on into the woods. His legs and arms were shaking, and something inside him was
trembling also. Reaction, he told himself. It was natural, and he would be all right as soon as he got
a chance to get hold of himself. Only thing was, he might not get a chance. The Germans or the
Rumanians would be sending out search parties now. Probably, the peasants living in the house on
the other side of the road had seen them drop, although it was possible that no one had. But if they
had watched the big American ship burning and falling, and had seen the two chutists, they might
be phoning in now to the nearest garrison or the police post.
He had been on his hands and knees, covering his chute with dirt in a depression between two
huge tree-roots. Abruptly, he straightened up, grunting as if hit in the pit of his stomach. It just
occurred to him that he had not seen a single telephone wire during his drop. Nor had he seen any
electrical transmission towers or wires. This was strange. The absence of these would not have
been peculiar if the plane had gone down out in the sticks. Rumania was not a very well developed
country. But the Hiawatha must not have been more that five miles from the refineries in Ploesti
when it had encountered the German fighter.
Moreover, where were the suburbs that had been below him only a minute before he had
experienced that twisting feeling? One moment they were there; the next, gone. And there was
something peculiar also about the suddenness with which the German had appeared. He could
swear that it had dropped out of the sky itself.
They finished covering up the chutes. Two Hawks stripped off his heavy suit and at once felt
cooler. There was a slight breeze, which meant that the wind must have sprung up again outside the
woods. O’Brien already had his suit off. He wiped his freckled forehead and said, “It sure is quiet,
ain’t it? Hell of a lot quieter than it’s going to be, huh?”
“You got a gun?” Two Hawks asked.
O’Brien shook his head and pointed at the .32 automatic in the holster at Two Hawks’ side.
“That isn’t much of a gun,” he said. “How many bullets you got?”
“Five loaded. Twenty more in my pocket,” Two Hawks said. He did not mention the two-
barreled derringer in the little holster on the inside of his belt in back nor the switchblade knife in
his pocket.
“Well, it’s better than nothing,” O’Brien said.
“Not much better.” Two Hawks was silent for a moment, conscious that O’Brien was watching
him with expectation. It was evident he was not going to offer any suggestions. That was as it