The Complete Hammer's Slammers, Vol. 2 полностью

"No, on the contrary, the Hindis make very respectable troops," Broglie said. "And as for Baffin's Legion, they're one of the best units for hire. I don't mean the Legion's in our class, of course . . . ."

A fault in the video screen—or the transmission medium—gave the picture a green cast. It made Broglie look like a three-week-old corpse. Des Grieux's lips drew back in a smile.

Pesco followed the tank commander's stare. "You served under him before, didn't you?" he asked Des Grieux. "Captain Broglie, I mean. What's he like?"

Des Grieux slashed his hand across the air in brusque dismissal. "I never served under him,"he said."When he took over the platoon I was in,I transferred to . . . infantry, Delta Company. And then combat cars, India and Golf."

" . . . Baffin's tank destroyers are first class," Broglie's leprous image continued. "Very dangerous equipment."

"Yeah, but look,"Pesco objected."With him, under him, it don't matter.What's he like, Broglie? Does he know his stuff, or is he gonna get somebody killed?"

Near where the singers warbled,"Mother, make my bed soon . . ." a dozen troopers had wedged two of the round tables together and were buying drinks for Sergeant Kuykendall. Des Grieux had heard his former driver'd gotten a twelve-month appointment to the Military Academy on Nieuw Friesland, with a lieutenancy in the Slammers waiting when she completed the course.

He supposed that was okay. Kuykendall had combat experience, so she'd be at least a cunt-hair better than green sods who'd never been on the wrong end of a gun muzzle.

Of course, she didn't have the experience Des Grieux himself did . . . .

"For I'm sick at the heart, and I fain would lie down,"the singers chirped through fixed smiles.

"Slick?" Pesco pressed. "Sarge? What about the new CO?"

Des Grieux shrugged."Broglie?" he said."He's a bloody good shot,I'll tell you that. Not real fast—not as fast as I am. But when he presses the tit, he nails what he's going after."

"Either of you guys from Golf?" asked the veteran in new fatigues. "I just got back from leave and I'm lookin' for my cousin, Tip Rasidi."

"We're Hotel Company, buddy," Pesco said. "Tanks. Why don't you try the Adjutant?"

"Because the bloody Adjutant lost half his bloody records in the transit," the stranger snapped, "and the orderly sergeant tells me to bugger off until he's got his bloody office sorted out. So I figure I'll check around till I find what's happened to Tip."