"Blish, James - Tomb Tapper" - читать интересную книгу автора (Blish James)

the dome light of his car on long enough to locate the
canvas sling which held the components of his electro-
encephalograph, and eased the sling out onto the sand.
He had just slammed the car door and taken up the
burden when little chinks of light sprang into being in the
blind windows of the shack. At the same time, cars came
droning out onto the field from the opposite side, four of
them, each with its wide-spaced unblinking slits of paired
parking lights, and ranked themselves on either side of the
landing strip. It would be dawn before long, but if the planes
were ready to go before dawn, the cars could light the strip
with their brights.
We're fast, McDonough thought, with brief pride. Even the
Air Force thinks the Civil Air Patrol is just a bunch of
amateurs, but we can put a mission in the air ahead of any
other CAP squadron in this county. We can scramble.
He was getting his night vision back now, and a quick
glance showed him that the windsock was flowing straight
out above the black, silent hangar against the pearly false
dawn. Aloft, the stars were paling without any cloud-dimming,
or even much twinkling. The wind was steady north up the
valley; ideal flying weather.
Small lumpy figures were running across the field from the
parked cars toward the shack. The squadron was scrambling.
"Mac!" Martinson shouted from inside the shack. "Where
are you? Get your junk in here and get started!"
McDonough slipped inside the door, and swung his BEG
components onto the chart table. Light was pouring into the
briefing room from the tiny office, dazzling after the long
darkness. In the briefing room the radio biinked a tiny red
eye, but the squadron's communications officer hadn't yet
arrived to answer it. In the office, Martinson's voice rumbled
softly, urgently, and the phone gave him back thin un-
intelligible noises, like an unteachable parakeet.
Then, suddenly, the adjutant appeared at the office door
and peered at McDonough. "What are you waiting for?" he
said. "Get that mind reader of yours into the Cub on the
double."
"What's wrong with the Aeronca? It's faster."
"Water in the gas; she ices up. We'll have to drain the
tank. This is a hell of a time to argue." Martinson jerked
open the squealing door which opened into the hangar, his
hand groping for the light switch. McDonough followed him,
supporting his sling with both hands, his elbows together.
Nothing is quite so concentratedly heavy as an electronics
chassis with a transformer mounted on it, and four of them
make a back-wrenching load.
The adjutant was already hauling the servicing platform
across the concrete floor to the cowling of the Piper Cub.
"Get your stuff set," he said. "I'll fuel her up and check the