"David Drake - Hammer's Slammers 13 - The Sharp End" - читать интересную книгу автора (Drake David)

a half-audible conversation at the battery end.

National Army heavy equipment was generally of off-planet manufacture, ranging from good to very
good in design. The local personnel were of low quality, however, and virtually untrained. Coke didn't
dare call an ordinary fire mission to support units within half a klick of the intended.impact area. Battery
7's200-mm guns were capable of nail-driving accuracy at thirty kilometers, but the crews were as apt as
not todrop their heavy shells directly onThe Facts of Life.

Technology could eliminate the problem. The battery was issued four Frisian-manufactured seeker
rounds, one per tube. These self-steering warheads were designed for use against ill-defined or moving
targets, and combined with satellite photos of Parcotch Hamlet 2 they would obviate the friendly-fire risk.

"Chief Edson," a businesslike voice said. "Who is this?"

"Major Matthew Coke," Coke said, "acting Fortress Command. Where's your battery commander?"

"Who the fuck knows?" said the chief, the battery's ranking enlisted man. "Look, Major, I don't care
about your authorization тАФ I flat don't have the codes to open the special locker. Maybe Captain
Wilcken does, maybe the Marquis does тАФ maybe nobody. Forget the seeker warheads, they're just for
show."

"Prepare the battery," Coke snapped. "I'm on my way."

He dropped the handset onto its cradle and rose. More figures drifted through the shadows of the split
screen. Lennox and Dubose held their silence, as Coke had directed them at last transmission.

Coke settled his commo helmet, slung the sub-machine gun over his shoulder, and started for the door.
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General Bradkopf and his entourage burst through from outside.

"Coke!" the Marquis roared. "Where's тАФ there you are!" He pointed an index finger at Coke's face.
"What's happened to my tanksP'

Bradkopf was in his mid-fifties. His body was fleshy but powerful, since swimming and exercise
machines controlled the grosser results of the dissipation nonetheless evident on his face.

"Sir, you and I discussed using the combat cars for an ambush patrol," Coke half-lied. His mouth was
dry, and his palm was sweating on the grip of his sub-machine gun.This could get him reprimanded. If
Bradkopf was angry enough, he could even have Coke recalled to Friesland.

The group oozing into the TOC behind the Marquis included most of the higher male officers of Fortress
Auerstadt's complement. Among them was Captain Wilcken, a 20-year-old of excellent family and the
titular commander of Battery 7.

Each of the men had a woman in train. The redhead on the Marquis' arm was approximately a third of
his age.