"Clancy, Tom - Jack Ryan 02 - Patriot Games" - читать интересную книгу автора (Clancy Tom)

carefully-laid plans foiled by the bold intervention of J. P. Ryan,
formerly a second lieutenant in the United States Marine Corps, and now an
historian . . .

Ryan flipped to the editorial page. The lead item, signed by the
publisher, screamed for vengeance while praising Ryan, America, and the
United States Marine Corps, and thanked Divine Providence with a flourish
worthy of a Papal Encyclical.
"Reading about yourself?" Ryan looked up. Sir Charles Scott was
standing at the foot of his bed with an aluminum chart.
"First time I ever made the papers." Ryan set them down.
"You've earned it, and it would seem that the sleep did you some good.
How do you feel?"
"Not bad, considering. How am I?" Ryan asked.
"Pulse and temperature normal -- almost normal. Your color isn't bad
at all. With luck we might even avoid a postoperative infection, though I
should not wish to give odds on that," the doctor said. "How badly does it
hurt?"
"It's there, but I can live with it," Ryan answered cautiously.
"It is only two hours since your last medication. I trust you are not
one of those thickheaded fools who do not want pain medications?"
"Yes, I am," Ryan said. He went on slowly. "Doctor, I've been through
this twice before. The first time, they gave me too much of the stuff, and
coming off was -- I'd just as soon not go through that again, if you know
what I mean."
Ryan's career in the Marine Corps had ended after a mere three months
with a helicopter crash on the shores of Crete during a NATO exercise. The
resulting back injury had sent Ryan to Bethesda Naval Medical Center,
outside Washington, where the doctors had been a little too generous with
their pain medications, and Ryan had taken two weeks to get over them. It
was not an experience he wanted to repeat.
Sir Charles nodded thoughtfully. "I think so. Well, it's your arm."
The nurse came back in as he made some notations on the chart. "Rotate the
bed a bit."
Ryan hadn't noticed that the rack from which his arm hung was actually
circular. As the head of the bed came up, his arm dropped to a more
comfortable angle. The doctor looked over his glasses at Ryan's fingers.
"Would you wiggle them, please?" Ryan did so. "Good, that's very good.
I didn't think there'd be any nerve damage. Doctor Ryan, I am going to
prescribe something mild, just enough to keep the edge off it. I will
require that you take the medications which I prescribe." Scott's head
came around to face Ryan directly. "I've never yet got a patient addicted
to narcotics, and I do not propose to start with you. Don't be pigheaded:
pain, discomfort will retard your recovery -- unless, that is, you want to
remain in hospital for several months?"
"Message received, Sir Charles."
"Right." The surgeon smiled. "If you should feel the need for
something stronger, I shall be here all day. Just ring nurse Miss
Kittiwake here." The girl beamed in anticipation.
"How about something to eat?"