"John G. Hemry - Stark's War 3 - Stark's Crusade" - читать интересную книгу автора (Hemry John G)

“Well, that’s their job, ain’t it? Killing my shuttles would be fun, but those warships ain’t on
a hunter-killer sweep. So they’re just gonna hold me toff and make sure I don’t get to the
supply shuttles they’re charged with protecting. In the process of doing that, though, they’ve
lost track of those supply shuttles in the mess of combat and countermeasures we’re generating
up here.”

“Just like you said they would.” During the planning for the operation, Wiseman had been
confident. You want to raid the enemy? Fine. You can’t shoot your way in. The only way through
their defenses is by confusing ‘em and foolin’ ‘em. Give me an incoming convoy, and I’ll screw the
situation around so bad the enemy won’t know which end is up. “So you think this diversion is
working?”

“We’re gonna find out for sure any time now. One thing’s for certain, we’ve generated so
much ‘noise’ up here that anything being quiet is gonna be a lot harder to spot until it clears
this area. Keep your fingers crossed.”

Out of the confused tangle of dueling countermeasures and battle debris, four supply
shuttles fell toward the lunar surface, broadcasting urgent pleas for sanctuary on the enemy
landing field nearest their trajectories. One of Wiseman’s armed shuttles made an abortive
lunge in their direction, quickly shying off as enemy surface defenses locked on and prepared
to engage once the armed shuttle came within range. The supply shuttles dropped swiftly,
tracked by surface defenses that remained silent as the unarmed supply craft braked hard to
make emergency landings on the field.

Lunar dust drifted in fine, slowly falling clouds across the spaceport. Landing fields were
regularly swept for dust, but the fine particles always reappeared, drifting down from space or
dislodged by the actions of humans nearby. Against the solid black shadows and glaring white
of sunlight on the lunar surface, the gray shades of dust hung like a thin, pallid fog.

Now, as always, it hindered the vision of the multispectrum sensors trying to identify the
supply shuttles. “Unidentified shuttles,” someone called. “Provide your ship identification
codes and landing field authorization.”

“What?” The supply shuttle pilot responding had a ragged, frightened edge to his voice,
speaking too rapidly as he continued. “Didn’t copy. Say again. Who is this?”

“This is the landing field controller. I need your ship identification codes. Provide them
immediately. Where was your scheduled landing destination?”

“Uh, uh… I think, uh, right here. Yeah. This field. We were supposed to land here.”

“Negative, shuttle. We have no deliveries scheduled today. Identify yourself and your
authorized destination immediately.”

“Right here, I tell you! Hey, we almost got blown to pieces and just barely made it down,
and you’re giving us a hard time! Give us a break! Just let us off-load our cargo so we can get
the hell out of this war zone and back to near-Earth orbit where it’s safe!”

“Shuttle, do not off-load cargo onto this field without authorization. We have no heavy
transport available to receive your loads.”