"David Drake - Belisarius 2 - In The Heart Of Darkness" - читать интересную книгу автора (Drake David)

"Yes. Yes. Those are possible."
The thought which now came from Aide carried more than an undertone of
grievance.
Why is this possible and not tanks? Both are made by the same methods, which
you said were impossible. Contradiction.
"You are confusing the -- trucks? -- with the rockets. They are two different
things. We cannot make the trucks, but we can make the rockets. Not as good,
but good enough. And then -- we can substitute a different -- " He groped for
unfamiliar, as yet unknown terms.
Weapons platform.
"Yes. Exactly."
Belisarius straightened his back, stretched his arms. The movement broke his
concentration, slightly. He saw Dadaji Holkar kneeling on his pallet,
engrossed in silent prayer. The slave looked up. Holkar and Belisarius
exchanged a silent stare for a moment, before the Maratha bowed his head and
resumed his devotions. For all the solemnity in the man's posture, Belisarius
was amused to note the smile on his face. He had never said a word to Holkar
concerning Aide, but he knew that the Maratha had drawn his own conclusions.
Conclusions, Belisarius was certain, which were not too far from the truth.
Belisarius closed his eyes and returned to the task at hand.
"You keep showing me things which are much too complex and difficult to make,"
he whispered. "We must stay within the simple limits that are possible, in the
next few years."
A flash of exasperation came from Aide. A new vision erupted.
A man shuffling through a forest, stooped, filthy, clad in rough-cured animal
skins. In his hand he clutched an axe. The blade of the weapon was a crudely
shaped piece of stone, lashed to the handle with rawhide.
Belisarius chuckled. "I think we can manage a bit more than that, Aide. We are
civilized, after all."
Again, exasperation. Again, a vision:
A man standing in a chariot. He was clad in gleaming bronze armor -- a
breastplate, greaves. A magnificent, ornate helmet, capped by a horse-crest,
protected his head. His left arm carried a large, round shield. In his right
hand he held a spear. The chariot was a small vehicle, carried on a single
axle, drawn by two horses. The back of the chariot was open. Beside the
armored warrior, there was only room for a charioteer, who handled the racing
horses while the spearman concentrated on the approaching foe.
Belisarius started to laugh softly. Aide was still sulking. The image, for all
its clarity, was a mocking rendition of an impossible, legendary figure.
Achilles before the walls of Troy.
But then, suddenly, the laugh broke off.
"Yes!" hissed Belisarius. "Chariots!"
Now he did laugh, loudly. "Mother of God -- nobody's used chariots in warfare
for centuries! But with rockets -- and some changes -- "
The facets splintered, reformed, shattered, coalesced -- all in an instant,
trying to follow the branching trail of the general's thoughts. The
kaleidoscope swirled around sequences. Aide brought sudden order. A new image,
melded from crystal vision and human reasoning:
Another chariot. A bit longer, and wider. Also drawn on a single axle, also
open to the rear. Again, a single charioteer handled the reins. But now, the