"Gordon R. Dickson - Childe Cycle 04 - Tactics of Mistake" - читать интересную книгу автора (Dickson Gordon R)

"On the important military routes, we do," said the Exotic. "But we're short-handed these days and
the local flora grows back fast. We're trying to variform an Earth grain or grass to drive out the native
forms, and plant it alongside our roadsтАФbut we're short-handed in the laboratories, too."
"DifficultтАФthe services and supply situation," jerked out Eachan Khan, touching the right tip of his
waxed gray mustache protectively as the command car came unexpectedly upon a giant creeper that had
broken through the bonded earth of the roadway from below, and was forced to put down its treads to
climb across.
"What do you think of the dally gun?" Cletus asked the Dorsai mercenary, his own words jolted from
his lips by the lurching of the command car.
"Wrong sort of direction for small arms to go тАж " The creeper left behind, the car rose smoothly onto
its supporting air cushion again. "Nagle sticksтАФdally gunsтАФultrasonics to set off, jam or destroy the
components in your enemy's weaponsтАФit's all getting too complicated. And the more complicated, more
difficult the supply situation, the tougher to keep your striking forces really mobile."
"What's your idea, then?" Cletus asked. "Back to crossbows, knives and short swords?"
"Why not?" said Eachan Khan, surprisingly, his flat, clipped voice colored with a new note of
enthusiasm. "Man with a crossbow in the proper position at the proper time's worth a corps of heavy
artillery half an hour late and ten miles down the road from where it should be. What's that business about
' тАж for want of a nail a horseshoe was lost тАж '?"
" 'For want of a horseshoe a horse was lost. For want of a horse a rider was lost тАж ' " Cletus
quoted it through to the end; and the two men looked at each other with a strange, wordless but mutual,
respect.
"You must have some training problems," said Cletus, thoughtfully. "On the Dorsai, I mean. You must
be getting men with all sorts of backgrounds, and you'd want to turn out a soldier trained for use in as
many different military situations as possible."
"We concentrate on basics," said Eachan. "Aside from that, it's our program to develop small, mobile,
quick-striking units, and then get employers to use them as trained." He nodded at Mondar. "Only real
success in use so far's been with the Exotics, here. Most employers want to fit our professionals into their
classical tables of organization. Works, but it's not an efficient use of the men, or the units. That's one
reason we've had some arguments with the regular military. Your commanding officer here, General
TraynorтАФ" Eachan broke off. "Well, not for me to say."
He dropped the subject abruptly, sat up and peered out through the open window spaces in the metal
sides of the command car at the jungle. Then he turned and called up to the driver on the outside seat.
"Any sign of anything odd out there?" he asked. "Don't like the feel of it, right along in here."
"No sir, Colonel!" called the driver back down. "Quiet as Sunday dinтАФ"
A thunderclap of sound burst suddenly all around them. The command car lurched in the same
moment and Cletus felt it going over, as the air around them filled with flying earth. He had just a glimpse
of the driver, still holding the dally gun but now all but headless, pitching into the right-hand ditch. And
then the car went all the way over on its side and there was a blurred moment in which nothing made
sense.
 Things cleared again, suddenly. The command car was lying on its right side, with only its armored
base and its left and rear window spaces exposing them to the outside. Mondar was already tugging the
magnesium shutter across the rear window and Eachan Khan was pulling the left window-space shutter
closed overhead. They were left in a dim metal box with only a few narrow, sunlit apertures toward the
front and around the armored section behind the driver's seat.
"You armed, Colonel?" asked Eachan Khan, producing a flat, little, dart-thrower sidearm from under
his tunic and beginning to screw a long sniper's barrel onto it. Solid pellets from sporting
gunsтАФtheoretically civilian weapons, but deadly enough at jungle rangesтАФwere already beginning to
whang and yowl off the armor plating of the car surrounding them.
"No," said Cletus, grimly. The air was already close in the car and the smell of crushed grass and
nutmeg was overwhelming.