"Michael Z. Williamson - Freehold 3 - Better to Beg Forgiveness" - читать интересную книгу автора (Williamson Michael Z)

"It would," Vaughn replied with a nod, "but there aren't proper facilities. They never had a pad at the
palace, and the only aircraft here so far are the Army's. They're trying to avoid this whole 'BuState mess,'
as they call it."

"Well, their priority is fighting the war," Anderson said. "You can't blame them for that." He was picking
at loose pieces of plastic on the crates.

"I am not blaming them," Bart said. "I would do the same. But it would be nice."

"Give it a month," Vaughn said confidently. "It'll change."

"Must be our convoy," Sykora said, pointing across the high, dusty apron to an approaching line of
vehicles, most of them military.
* * *

"Probably," Jason agreed. He hadn't done this for long, but he had been in the military for years, and his
assessment of the convoy wasn't a pleasant one. Mostly wheeled vehicles, almost no tracks, thin-skinned
and fine against small arms but no good against any kind of support weapon. Inadequate crew-served
weapons aboard. Likely great air support nearby, but that took seconds in which troops could die. The
UN didn't want to appear like an occupying force, so they were using the minimum amount of armed and
armored military gear. Yet another way to sacrifice troops for appearance. He was again thankful he'd
accepted retirement.

He couldn't wait to get to somewhere where he'd have Ripple Creek's own drivers and support. What a
sad statement that he trusted them better than the troops.

The irony was that the Army felt exactly the same way about contractors. How could you trust someone
who fought for a paycheck? How could you be sure they wouldn't bug out? Why trust people who were
outside the chain of command, and exempt from the Military Code of Justice?

The reality was, all those same rules applied on contract, and they'd forfeit their pay and face criminal
charges if they bailed. They had some wiggle room, being an independent command, so they could
dispense with a certain amount of stupidity and paperwork. After all was said and done, however, they
were still soldiers.

The convoy was accompanied by a wave of dust. Everyone squinted as it rolled up. There were twelve


vehicles; quite an entourage for six bodyguards. Jason surmised that the rationale was probably enough
vehicles to dissuade attack—on the troops, not on their "civilian" passengers. Alternately, they'd had
errands to run.

"Ripple Creek?" someone shouted from the second vehicle.

"Yes," Alex agreed, and showed ID. He was motioned up close and touched in a code on a proffered
pad screen. After checking that and his picture, and the officer nodded. Jason took in the exchange, and
looked at the officer closely. He was perhaps twenty-five, though his face was lined from exhaustion and
sun.

"Have your people climb in the grumbly," he said, indicating the next-to-last vehicle.