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

"Check," Alex said. He waved and pointed, and the team rose and moved. Bart had the controller for
the pallet, and rolled it closer to the line of vehicles to make attaching it for tow easier. In only a few
minutes they loaded up and were ready.

The grumbly, so nicknamed for the low exhaust note of its cycloidal engine, seated eight. This one was
configured with an open top, and had two pintles epoxied to it for mounting guns. That meant plenty of
visibility, and no armor.

Eight was the nominal capacity. There were six on the team, the driver and codriver, and then four more
troops squeezed in to the seats and adjoining bed. They were armed, so no one complained, even though
it meant being crunched against dusty, sweaty soldiers with bulky gear.

It was a military convoy. That meant the seats were coarse, not well-padded, badly worn and flattened,
and only better than nothing for reducing bumps from spine-shattering to mere bruise-causing. The
drivers were going balls-out, and the reason became obvious.

It was a local sport to take potshots at convoys. The access road was straight, flat, and had ample clear
space around it. Behind rises and distant buildings, however, a number of locals were shooting.

"Which faction are they?" Jason asked the sergeant in charge of their detail.

"Does it matter?" the sergeant grinned. "They shoot at everybody. It's just what they do."

The distance was far too great for any incapacitating weapon. The gunner above and behind had a real
machine gun, and rapped off a burst here and there. Responding to every instance would waste ammo,
so he was judiciously choosing targets he had a chance of at least disturbing, and ignoring the rest.


"Kinda fun. Can't wait until we play," Aramis said.

"Yeah. Fun," one woman rasped. "I ain't paid enough to call this fun." She flicked her eyes at Aramis,
blazing jealousy, then turned back to the panorama, watching for threats. At least she took it seriously.

Jason took in technical details. It was a talent, a skill. He might not notice the contents of an adscreen
unless it changed, but he'd damned sure notice additional wires or a ladder. The grumbly was worn, one
pintle had been replaced and there were two extra ammo cases jammed in storage against a seat back.
He also noticed definite tampering with the safety cover on the machine gun. That was supposed to be
personalized to the operator and no more than two backups because of civilian paranoia about "weapons
getting into the wrong hands." Soldiers were far more paranoid of not being able to return fire, with good
reason.

"The safeties are pulled," he said softly to Alex and Elke. "Which I'm glad to see."

"Yeah, some regs are meant to be disobeyed," Alex replied. Elke just nodded and glanced over to
confirm the fact.
* * *

Alex had been briefed on friction between contingents. Most of the military were not happy with the
Executive Protection Details. EPDs could use nonstandard weapons, lethal force, and were almost