"Blish, James - Pheonix Planet" - читать интересную книгу автора (Blish James)

"I know what you mean," Barret agreed. "They're scared of us, sure. I told you
our early counterattacks panicked 'em every time. The little suicide ships
toward the end did it, too. But that ain't goin' t' help. Them forts just make
it worse. They make bein' scared a luxury, and a safe one."
"Besides," Leland followed, "you don't realize just how few of us there are.
Barret's eighteen men and three women make up the largest community in these
parts. Mostly we think it too dangerous to collect together like that--too easy
for the turnies to spot us. Most everybody picks their own spot and lives alone.
There's ten people in my bunch."
"That's good," Marshall said instantly. "This is going to be guerilla
warfare--striking at weaknesses and disappearing again."
"The invaders ain't got no weaknesses," Barret retorted.
"On the contrary. That fear psychosis is one. It's all out of proportion to our
actual strength, and it was even when we were fully armed. That means one thing:
the invaders are not a fighting race, as we are. A fighting race equipped with
such weapons would have made short work of us, and cleanly and efficiently,
without any panic. They came here of necessity--some plague on their world,
perhaps, or another cataclysm approaching. They hoped to find this world
unoccupied; they didn't, and they were equipped to fight for it; but they didn't
want to. They didn't know how. And now they've another weakness; having erected
that ring of forts around their city, they think they're safe, and we're licked.
Well, they aren't, and we aren't, and that they think to the contrary is a big
factor in our favor."
There was a moment's silence.
"I ran once," said Brains Barret slowly and carefully, "and I left a lot a
people in the lurch I shoulda stayed by, to save my own skin. It prob'ly ain't
goin' to do any good, but I won't run agin. Pick your plans, Marshall; I'm right
behind you."
"Thanks," said Marshall seriously. "And you, Leland?"
Leland scratched his head. "I think it's futile, but I thought nobody'd ever
reach Mars, too. Count me in. What are you going to do?"
"I want to find out first what equipment we have. On my side there's the Icarus,
which needs fuel and is consequently not much good."
"Fuel?" asked Leland. "There's a smashed tank half buried near my place. One of
the forty-ton jobs. The ray got it and it ran into a wall when the crew died.
There's one tank of gas that didn't get burst."
"Gasoline isn't very good, but it's better than nothing. How much is there?"
"About twenty gallons."
"That won't keep me in the air much more than an hour," said Marshall, shaking
his head.
"How much can you carry, for God's sake?"
"Not quite ten tons--my own fuel. I've got maybe two gallons of that left. Well,
we'll put the gas in; maybe we can use it, or find some more. How about
weapons?"
All three men grinned mirthlessly.
"Twenty-one flint-tipped spears," listed Barret. "One hatchet, rusty; one
bread-knife, also rusty; one rifle, plus eight shells to fit and about
thirty-five or forty that don't; one bayonet for the rifle; one automatic with
one clip of shells; one clip of shells for an auto-rifle, but no auto-rifle."
"We've got an auto-rifle," Leland put in, astonished. "We used all the