"Bill the Galactic Hero" - читать интересную книгу автора (Asprin Robert)

That's the way it goes. The Chingers are the only non-human race that has been
discovered in the galaxy that has gone beyond the aboriginal level, so
naturally we have to wipe them out."

"What the hell do you mean, naturally? I don't want to wipe anyone out.
I just want to go home and be a Technical Fertilizer Operator."

"Well, I don't mean you personally, of course-gee!" Eager opened a fresh
can of polish with purple-stained hands and dug his fingers into it. "I mean
the human race, that's just the way we do things. If we don't wipe them out
they'll wipe us out. Of course they say that war is against their religion and
they will only fight in defense, and they have never made any attacks yet.
But we can't believe them, even though it is true. They might change their
religion or their minds some day, and then where would we be? The best answer
is to wipe them out now."

Bill unplugged his razor and washed his face in the tepid, rusty water.
"It still doesn't seem to make sense. All right, so the sister I don't have
doesn't marry one of them. But how about that " he pointed to the stenciling
on the duck boards, KEEP THIS SHOWER CLEAR-THE ENEMY CAN HEAR. "Or that-"
The sign above the urinal that read BUTTON FLIES-BEWARE SPIES. "Forgetting
for the moment that we don't have any secrets here worth traveling a mile to
hear, much less twenty-five light years-how could a Chinger possibly be a spy?
What kind of make-up would disguise a seven-foot lizard as a recruit? You
couldn't even disguise one to look like Deathwish Drang, though you could get

pretty close-"

The lights went out, and, as though using his name had summoned him like
a devil from the pit, the voice of Deathwish blasted through the barracks.

"Into your sacks! Into your sacks! Don't you lousy bowbs know there's a
war on!"

Bill stumbled away through the darkness of the barracks where the only
illumination was the red glow from Deathwish's eyes. He fell asleep the instant
his head touched his carborundum pillow, and it seemed that only a moment had
elapsed before reveille sent him hurtling from his bunk. At breakfast, while
he was painfully cutting his coffee-substitute into chunks small enough to
swallow, the telenews reported heavy fighting in the Beta Lyra sector with
mounting losses. A groan rippled through the mess hall when this was announced,
not because of any excess of patriotism but because any bad news would only
make things worse for them. They did not know how this would be arranged, but
they were positive it would be. They were right. Since the morning was a bit
cooler than usual the Monday parade was postponed until upon when the
ferro-concrete drill ground would have warmed up nicely and there would be the
maximum number of heat-prostration cases. But this was just the beginning.
From where Bill stood at attention near the rear he could see that the
air-conditioned canopy was up on the reviewing stand. That meant brass. The
trigger guard of his atomic rifle dug a hole into his shoulder, and a drop of
sweat collected, then dripped from the tip of his nose. Out of the comers of