"Michael Z. Williamson - The Humans Call it Duty" - читать интересную книгу автора (Williamson Michael Z)

pool, and leaned on it to hold it there. Gurgling sounds came, and he knew death
would follow soon. He ignored the pain in his ribs, and the new pains as his Enemy
cut him with a Knife. He shrieked, but pressed lower, closing with the blade until it
could cut no more.

He fed on the pain, and pressed the attack. He could feel his foe weakening,
and knew it would not be long now. Exhaustion was taking a toll, though, and he
lacked the strength to attack again. Blood loss was making him weak, and spots
before his eyes told him he was fading. But his Enemy was faring no better. He
slipped under the water again, and emerged coughing, before falling back once more.
Cap crept closer, begging strength from his tortured body.

They clashed again, Cap desperate to finish this, his Enemy desperate to
survive. As they wrestled, he felt death hovering nearby. Or was that the sound of a
Vertol?

It was a Vertol. Cap snarled in outraged frustration. The Gunners aboard
wouldn’t shoot yet, but he had to leave or die. He drew back, dragging the limp,
almost dead Enemy with him, keeping the man between him and potential Bullets. He
slipped under water and headed for a moss-spattered rock, needing to get behind
cover. Bullets like a deadly hail stirred the water, and he sank as he’d been taught.
There was the cut in the bank, and there was the rocky shelf he’d taken on his way
in.

Another burst shredded the growth as he fled, while burning with rage at not
killing Sergeant. He could not dwell on that now. He had to escape to make his
Datadump, survive to fight again. Let the Enemy keep Sergeant and Cynd alive. They
could tell them how the fight would go. Not only the soldiers, but the human settlers
and their dogs and even the Leopards would fight.

Cap waited under a featherfern, eyes narrowed to cold slits, and held
motionless as the Vertol passed over, then again, then a third time. They knew he
was there, but couldn’t see him. Cap had played this game before, even though it
wasn’t a game now. Despite their tools, people couldn’t find Leopards. Not one
time in a hundred.

The Vertol flew over again, even lower, then the sound of it echoed away
across the hills. In moments, the normal sounds of the northern forest returned, and
Cap raised himself, all cuts and aches and bruises, to end his mission. It was nearly
sunset, and he still had to hurry.

****

High in a tree, Capstick spent some time recovering from the exertion, feeling his
heart thump, sensing his blood boil, hearing his thoughts roar. His injured shoulder
was an agony that he would have to accept for now. At Home, it would need
Surgery. His ribs might, also, and the wounds to his skin and tail. Then there was the
pain within. He was weak, ill, and hot, but he would rest to recoup his strength and
press on. The human doctors could heal him, as they had before. People wore good
at such things. His thoughts were interrupted as his harness clicked and began its