"Robert A. Heinlein - Sixth Column" - читать интересную книгу автора (Heinlein Robert A)

and mild, but gave the impression of an untroubled strength of character
superior to that of a more extroverted man-he would do, and his advice would
be useful.
Ardmore mentally dubbed Robert Wilkie a "punk kid." He was young and
looked younger, having an overgrown collie-dog clumsiness, and hair that
would not stay in place. His field, it developed, was radiation, and the
attendant branches of physics too esoteric for a layman to understand.
Ardmore had not the slightest way of judging whether or not he was any good
in his specialty. He might be a genius, but his appearance did not encourage
the idea.
No other scientist remained. There were three enlisted men: Herman
Scheer, technical sergeant. He had been a mechanic, a die maker, a tool
maker. When the army picked him up he had been making precision
instruments for the laboratories of the Edison Trust. His brown, square hands
and lean fingers backed up his account of himself. His lined, set face and
heavy jaw muscles made Ardmore judge him to be a good man to have at his
back in a tight place. He would do.
There remained Edward Graham, private first-class, specialist rating
officers' cook. Total war had turned him from his profession as an artist and
interior decorator to his one other talent, cooking. Ardmore was unable to see
how he could fit into the job, except, of course, that somebody had to cook.
The last man was Graham's helper, Jeff Thomas, private-background:
none. "He wandered in here one day," explained Calhoun. "We had to enlist
him and keep him here to protect the secret of the place."
Acquainting Ardmore with the individuals of his "command" had used up
several minutes during which he had thought furiously with half his mind
about what he should say next. He knew what he had to accomplish, some
sort of a shot in the arm that would restore the morale of this badly
demoralized group, some of the old hokum that men live by. He believed in
hokum, being a publicity man by trade and an army man only by necessity.
That brought to mind another worry-should he let them know that he was no
more a professional than they, even though he happened to hold a line
commission? No, that would not be very bright; they needed just now to
regard him with the faith that the layman usually holds for the professional.
Thomas was the end of the list: Calhoun had stopped talking. Here's
your chance, son, better not muff it!
Then he had it fortunately it would take only a short build-up. "It will be
necessary for us to continue our task assignment independently for an
indefinite period. I want to remind you that we derive our obligations not from
our superior officers who were killed in Washington, but from the people of
the United States, through their Constitution. That Constitution is neither
captured nor destroyed-it cannot, for it is not a piece of paper, but the joint
contract of the American people. Only the American people can release us
from it."
Was he right? He was no lawyer, and he didn't know-but he did know
that they needed to believe it. He turned to Calhoun. "Colonel Calhoun, will
you now swear me in as commanding officer of this detachment of the United
States army?" Then he added, as an apparent afterthought, "I think it would
be well for us all to renew our oaths at the same time. "
It was a chanted chorus that echoed through the nearly empty room. " `I