"Kenneth Robeson - Doc Savage 127 - Hell Below" - читать интересную книгу автора (Robeson Kenneth)

“Oh!”
“Is this Doc Savage going to get to fight?”

“Not,” said the clerk, “if we can help it.”



TOO-TOO THOMAS listened to the voice of Doc Savage which was causing the door to bend on its
hinges. He chuckled and said, “I'll bet you he does. I'll just bet you.”

Then he leaned back to listen.

The head man was speaking, trying to soothe Doc Savage.

He was saying, “You're doing the work we want you to do. It's the work for which you were fitted when
you were placed in the hands of scientists, as a child, and given the remarkable training which lasted until
early manhood. You were given that specific training to fit you for the job of righting wrongs and
punishing evildoers who are outside the law, and to do the job in the far corners of the earth if necessary.
We want you to go right ahead.”

Doc Savage said loudly, “There's a war going on!”

“Yes, a modern war,” the other said. “A war being fought on the home front just as much as in the
foxholes and behind bombsights.”

“The home front,” Doc Savage shouted, “is getting along extraordinarily well! Capital and labor and other
special interests now and then try to push across one of their pet greedy ideas under cover of the war
excitement, but the newspaper publicity and the people are taking care of that very nicely. The war is
where the shooting is. We want to be in it.”

Doc Savage had a remarkable voice, a voice that was full of controlled power, deep and modulated,
giving the impression of vast strength and ability.

“You are not feeling very reasonable, are you?” the head man asked.

“Not particularly,” Doc said. “Not to the brand of reasoning you are offering.”

Now the other became indignant.

He shouted: “There is more to this war than just shooting Japanese or Germans. They can sink a
battleship and we can build another one. But if they kill you, where would we get another man with your
inventive skill and your thinking equipment? Where would we get a man with your almost fantastic ability
to ferret out the most remarkable plots and intricate schemes?”

“You won't,” asked Doc, “assign us to active service?”

“I will not.”

Another voice, a small, squeaky one that the owner should have outgrown about the age of twelve, burst