"David Weber & Linda Evans - Hells Gate" - читать интересную книгу автора (Weber David)

Chan Yaran moved to the side until he could see his CO's face in the firelight. The platoon-captain's
eyes were wide open, unblinking, glittering with reflected fire, and chan Yaran swallowed hard. What the
hell was he supposed to do now?
He looked around, then leaned closer to the officer.
"Your Highness?" he said very, very quietly.
The wide, fixed eyes never even flickered around their core of firelight, and he muttered a soft,
heartfelt curse. Then he drew a deep breath and crossed to another sleeping bag and touched its
occupant's shoulder lightly.
Chief-Armsman Lorash chan Braikal twitched upright almost as abruptly as the platoon-captain had.
Unlike the officer, however, Third Platoon's senior noncom was instantly and totally aware of his
surroundings. chan Braikal hadn't drawn his present slot by random chance, and his eyes tracked around
to chan Yaran like twin pistol muzzles.
"What?"
The one-word question was quiet and remarkably clear of sleepiness for someone so abruptly
awakened. It came out almost conversationally, but chan Yaran wasn't deceived. chan Braikal wasn't the
sort to jump down anyone's throat without thorough justification. Gods help you if you screwed up so
seriously enough to give him that justification, though.
"It's the Platoon-Captain, Chief," chan Yaran said, and chan Braikal's eyes snapped wider. "He just .
. . sat up," the under-armsman said. "Now he's just staring straight ahead, right into the fire. He's not
even blinking, Chief!"
 "Vothan's chariot," chan Braikal muttered. He shoved himself upright and crossed to the
platoon-captain's side. He knelt there, looking into the young officer's eyes, but taking extraordinary care
not to touch him.
"Shouldn't we . . . well, do something, Chief?" chan Yaran asked. chan Braikal only snorted harshly,
never looking away from Third Platoon's commanding officer.
"There's fuck-all anyone can do," the senior chief-armsman growled. "Not till it runs its course,
anyway."
"Is . . . is it a Glimpse?" chan Yaran's voice was almost a whisper, and chan Braikal barked a laugh
deep in his throat.
"You've seen just as many Glimpses as I have," he said. "But I'm damned if I can think of anything
else that would hit him like this. Can you?"
chan Yaran shook his head wordlessly.
"What I thought," chan Braikal grunted, and sat back on his heels. He gazed at the Crown Prince of
Ternathia's profile for several seconds, then sighed.
"One thing we can do," he said, looking up at chan Yaran at last. "Break out that bottle of whiskey in
my saddlebag. He may just need it in a little while."
chan Yaran nodded again and hurried off. The chief-armsman scarcely even noticed his departure,
although half his reason for sending chan Yaran off had been to give the other Marine something to do as
a distraction. Now if someone could just distract him, as well.
The tough, experienced noncom snorted again, without a trace of humor. Third Platoon was still a
week out from Fort Brithik on its way forward to reinforce Company-Captain Halifu. The mountains
were far behind them them, as they headed out across the broad stretch of plains to Brithik, but the
autumn nights were cold under the brilliant stars. They were also indescribably lonely out here under the
endless canopy of the prairie heavens. The ninety-seven men of Third Platoon—outfits this close to the
frontier were always at least a little understrength, and Third Platoon was lucky to be only eleven men
short of establishment—were a tiny band of humanity amid these ancient mountains which had never
known the step of man.
Lorash chan Braikal had joined the Imperial Marines seventeen years before largely because he'd
known Marines tended to get sent places just like this. Places on virgin worlds, where the emptiness
stretched out forever, wild and free. Over his career, he'd seen thousands of them, and along the way