"Philip Jose Farmer - The Empire of the Nine omnibus" - читать интересную книгу автора (Farmer Phillip Jose)

The burning gasoline roared so that I could not hear Murtagh and his men, and
the smoke was so intense that I could not have smelled them even if they had
been upwind. But I could see quite well, and I smiled as I saw the scared or grim
faces peeking from around bushes. They were not about" to venture into the
camp, since I might be waiting to ambush the ambushers.

Murtagh, of course, would wait until the two copters appeared and then bring
them down for protection. But he did not do so. At least, not where I had thought
he would. Instead, the men walked away. I had gone around them to come up
behind them but by the time I got near the north end of camp, I found them gone.
They were easy to track, which I did on a parallel path. It was well that I did,
since the canny Murtagh had placed four men at two places to catch me if I came
loping along after them. Each couple was back to back to make sure that I did
not sneak up on them. I still could have wiped them out with short bursts from my
concealment, but I did not see any reason to notify Murtagh that I was on to
them. I passed them by and presently was alongside the double file of men
heading for the beach. Murtagh was in the lead, and four men who kept watching
over their shoulders were the rear guard.

Murtagh was about six feet five and had very rounded shoulders and a forehead
that bulged out like the prow of a ship. He removed his hat once to wipe a
completely bald pate. The hair that rimmed the back of his head was grey. His
eyes were set deeply under a bulging supraorbital ridge. His jaws were so
outthrust he might have been an aboriginal Australian. His long neck was bent
forward so that he always seemed to be sniffing for something, like a snake. The
snakishness was emphasised by the steady movement of his face from side to
side.

Behind him was a man carrying a flame-thrower and about six men behind him
was another man with a flame-thrower.

I went ahead to a point equidistant from both men and then I fired six bursts. The
first shattered the equipment on the back of the first man, but the liquid did not
catch fire. The men between the first target and the second went down, and then
the flame-thrower on the second man exploded in a globe of fire that enveloped
two men behind him.

I was away, rolling down a slight slope and then crawling into its bottom and
along it until I reached a shallow ravine. The vegetation and the dirt above me
whipped and flew as if a meteor stream had struck it. The firepower poured out in
my direction was impressive and must have terrified the birds and the monkeys.
But I was not hit.

I made a mistake by not killing Murtagh then. I should not have spared him
because of wanting to take him prisoner for questioning later. But I did not regret
not having killed him. Though I admit quite readily that I've made a mistake or
erred, I never regret. What has been always will be and what is is. And what will
be is unknown until the proper time.