"Michael Z. Williamson - Freehold 02 - The Weapon" - читать интересную книгу автора (Williamson Michael Z)

and Goddess did you two screwups let a student get a blade in here?"
As they looked stunned and sheepish, he turned to me and said, "Chinran, you are a devious, non-regulation,
bloodthirsty, vicious, murderous little bastard. You'll go far. If you live long enough." Then he left and it did turn
into a real fight. I'm sure he knew it, he just pretended not to see it.
Higher praise a student cannot get.
***
It always bothers civilians, and more than a few military personnel, that it is a required part of our training to
practice suffocation, drowning and surviving torture. But they're just exercises. We cannot,ever , panic in an
emergency. We've made a career field out of hypoxia and pain.
Let me start at the beginning. This will be graphic, so don't read it if violence and human suffering bother you.
Everyone has heard of Black Operations, the utterly clandestine division of Freehold Military Forces Special
Warfare. You probably know how badly we beat up Earth during the war. However, virtually no one knows what
actually goes on within our ranks. This narrative is of course,not complete, since there's far too much that you as
the reader have no need to know, especially about me. I'm the man who destroyed most of Earth.
***
I went into the military to get away from home. I suppose, looking back now, that my home life wasn't that bad.
At the time, however, it seemed interminable, oppressive and objectionable. So I went into the military. The
inconsistency in that should be obvious to all readers.
The recruiter I spoke to was honest, but did have a quota. He tried to get me into a slot in missile control. I didn't
want missile control. It had few civilian applications and little activity or travel. I chose combat communications,
which had some technical transference to the civilian world and lots of travel. A tentative date was set for me to
depart and I took the battery of standard tests.
Less than a week after that, I got a phone call. "Is Kenneth Chinran there?" the caller asked. He was military, in
uniform and looked sharp. In fact, he was huge. He'd make a good recruiting vid actor.
"That's me," I replied.
"Mister Chinran, you recently enlisted in combat comm. I'd be interested in offering you a different slot, with a
bonus," he said. "Can we meet?"
"Sure," I said. I didn't figure I'd be interested in switching, but I'd give him a fair listen.
He flew in, dropped and landed on our apron a short while later. I walked outside into the glaring summer Iolight
and met him as he left the vehicle. I really didn't want him to meet my parents. They'd be polite, hospitable and a
bit condescending. They like to think they've done it all, but they come across as insecure.
"I'm SergeantWashington ," he said. He was as tall as I, had fairly obvious African ancestry with some of the
local influx of Hispanic, Indonesian and American. His muscle tone was incredible and he was obviously very
competent, deadly and self-secure. I knew I'd never look like that, skinny, gawky kid that I was.
We left as soon as I strapped down and we chatted as he flew. "You blew the tests off the scale, Ken. May I call
you Ken?" he said.
I love hearing about how smart I am. I'm still waiting for someone to offer me money commensurate with my
brains. "Sure. Or Kenneth. I don't mind," I replied.
"Good deal," he said. "Sure you want to go into combat comm? Can I ask why?"
I shrugged. "It has a bit of travel. The technical training is good, and it gets me out of here," I said. "Here" was
New Rockville, a small suburb ninety kilometers south ofWestport . It's an okay town, but hardly the center of
Freehold culture, much less of the galaxy.
"I have a position available that's better. Not to put the combat comm guys down, I mean, but—"
"What is it?" I interrupted. I didn't want to hear a spiel, just the facts.


file:///K|/eMule/Incoming/Michael%20Z.%20Williamson%20-%20Freehold%2002%20-%20The%20Weapon.htm (4 of 238)9-12-2006 0:14:01
 Back|Next