"Clayton Emery - Blood Sacrifice" - читать интересную книгу автора (Emery Clayton)

Bullock was dappled head to toe in pulsing raw redness like skinned muscle.

A tech took his face shield. "Welcome to the Red Guards. You get six weeks R&R to cool
and harden."

The other said, "Then it's out to the fringes, to fame and glory."
Bullock grinned. "About time!"

&&&&&-----&&&&&

A year later, Bullock was back.
Busted to private again. Busted for goldbricking, for sucking up the wrong people, for
cussing the wrong idiots. Busted to the crappiest detail in the army, herding sheep and
soldiers into the armor machine in the winding stinking misting corridors.

And watching for scorpions, though he wasn't worried. He'd seen one blown down when he'd
escorted Jessup and earned his armor. His armor. No matter what, they couldn't take his
armor. So it was just a matter of time --

"SCORPION!" the headset crackled. An officer barked flankers to Checkpoint C, near the
entry doors.
"HEY!" bawled another voice. "Another one! Point K! No, THREE!"

WHAT THE HELL? Bullock wondered. Scorpions never attacked in packs --
Gray mist boiled as four scorpions charged him in tandem. Snapping his rifle high, Bullock
slammed massed plasma at the first one's leg joints. White fury sizzled across red chitin. He
whirled and fired again, but a pincer snagged his leg and jerked so his bolt scoured dust off
the ceiling. He kicked loose, bounced to his feet, and fired at scorpions all around. His
headset snarled with screams and pleas -- red guards dying. Scorpions charged
infantrymen and sheep, scattering the line but slashing and nipping only soldiers. A red
guard convulsed as a stinger punctured his armor's neck joint.

A behemoth blind-sided Bullock, and his back slammed stone. A pincer crushed his rifle,
spitting electricity and ozone. Bullock scrabbled for his pistol but lost it. Twin pincers
bracketed his neck, banged him against the wall and snipped his comm wire. But the
pincers didn't close, nor did the poisonous stingers stab.

In fact, the scorpion seemed to wait. For what? And since when were these bastards so
SMART?
Bullock croaked for help and got no reply. The scorpion scuttled down the corridor with the
man dangling like a mouse from a cat's maw. Where was it going?

To a smooth stretch of wall where Bullock's headlamp painted a white blob. The forked tail
crooked over the soldier's head. A stinger scratched like a steel stylus.
HI BULLDICK.

"What?" Bullock chirped. "My God!"
The pincer scratched slowly. THE NEW ME.

"There's -- no way!" Bullock sobbed for breath. "Jessup? You got -- ripped to shreds!"