"David Drake - Hammer's Slammers 15 - Grimmer Than Hell" - читать интересную книгу автора (Drake David)

Kowacs cleared his throat. Before any of the half dozen Marines poised with further questions could
interrupt again, he continued, "The walls and roof are rigid enough to withstand considerable stress, but
they're apt to shatter once their integrity is breached. Intelligence believes that strip charges will hole them
and that plasma bolts should crumble sections large enough for easy entry."

Almost the entire complement of the 121stwas veteran. Even the scattering of newbies were aware that
Fleet Intelligence believed a lot of thingsтАФbut all Fleet Intelligence knew for sure was that no analyst's
butt was going to be on the line if his belief were false.

"The admin building is separated from the camp proper by double fences with a fifteen meters between
them," Kowacs continued as the hologram of the building froze and that of the fenced area brightened in
turn. "The intermediate separation is believed to be mined and is swept by automatic weapons sited on
the building's roof coping. The fence may be electrified."

Marines nodded, easy in the knowledge that barriers impassible to a bunch of unarmed civilians were
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going to be a piece of cake tothem .

The forty-eight buildings splayed like a double row of spokes around the hub of the admin building,
twelve and thirty-six, brightened as the hologram fence dimmed.

"Beyond that are the slave pens and workshops themselves," Kowacs said.

Just for a moment he paused, his mouth half openтАФprepared speech interrupted by memories of
Khalians and slaves. . . . Memories of his father and mother, dead on Gravely, and his sister's body left
behind two weeks later on LaFarge when the same raider landed to replenish its stock.

Its larder.

"Intelligence doesn't even guess at the structure within the compound," Kowacs forced his tongue to
continue, though it was several moments more before his eyes were focusing again on the Marines. They
were draped over folded bunks and the equipment crated to deploy with them. Some of them looked
back at their captain with vacant expressions that Kowacs knew must mirror his of a moment before.

"There may be guards in the barracks, there may not," he continued thickly, damning the emotion that
clogged his throat and made him less able to do his jobтАФ

Of erasing every living weasel from the universe.

"If there are guards, they probably don't have weapons; but most of you know an unarmed Khalian can
still be a dangerous opponent."

"It's still a fucking pelt, too," growled someone from a corner of the bay.

"Yeah, it's that too," Kowacs said in a voice with an edge. "And any Marine taking trophies while there's
still a job to do, I'll take his ears myself. Do you understand?"