"William R. Forstchen - Wing Commander 06 - Action Stations" - читать интересную книгу автора (Forstchen William R)

hangers-on, lobbyists, and the ever-present news services, which were still salivating over the cheating
scandal of the previous semester and the fact that this might very well be the last graduating class if the
Senate Appropriations Committee voted next week to close the school down.

Mingled in with the background chatter he could hear Senator Jamison More, head of that committee,
being interviewed by one of the vultures of the press.

"Yes, very impressive ceremony, always is, a nice tradition. But there are other traditions far more
important and I must ask, is the money we spend on this place really worth it? We have several hundred
million homeless after the nova on Yorin, millions more addicted to Happy Death who need treatment,
the need for expanding our Confederation cabinet level position on cultural sensitivity and of course the
terraforming of a dozen planets which I'm deeply concerned about. This navy is a mighty expensive toy
for some of the boys around here and I have to ask, what are we getting back in return?"

He chuckled softly and shook his head. "After all, there hasn't been a war in over a century. Isn't it time
we realized those days are over?"

Banbridge started to turn, ready to wade in. The fact that he had shown up for the ceremony was a
boorish display that had soured Banbridge's mood. At least he could have given the kids this one day to
enjoy the honor of graduation without standing like the undertaker in the wings, ready to drive the final
stake into a tradition that dated back hundreds of years.

Through the crowd he caught a momentary glimpse of More, holding forth, surrounded by reportersтАж
and the bastard was looking straight at him and smiling.

"Not now, Skip," and he felt a restraining hand on his shoulder. He looked back over at Turner.

"Bastard, think he'd at least let the kids have their day without all this crap about another cutback."

"He's baiting you, Skip, and you know he can outtalk you in front of the vids."

Damn it all, Skip thought coldly.Never did have that polish and never will. I'm a born gutter fighter from
a godforsaken gutter world outpost who came up the hard way. Still an enlisted man at heart, and still
speak that way. Funny, how did I ever get to be what I now am ?

He looked over at his old roommate from the days when they were fleggies in this same Academy.
Turner was the proper first son of an American East Coast family that felt it necessary for their lads to do
a bit of service to the Confed. While he had been six years Turner's senior, an enlisted man of whom the
fleet believed that spending money on an education would pay off as a sound investmentтАж a friendship
formed that first day that had held through thirty long years of service.

"So why the hell don't you go over there and say something, Turner?" Skip snapped. "You're the damn
professor around here, you got the culture, let's go take the bastard."

"Not now, Skip. Anyhow, someone else already is in there."

Banbridge looked back and saw a newly-minted ensign stepping in front of the vids. He was a good
looking lad, tall, slender, calm, gray-eyed, already wearing the wings of a basic fighter trainee over the
left breast pocket. The lad had a respectful look. He was, after all, going up against a senator, but
Banbridge could sense that the kid was a scrapper if need be.