"David Gerrold - Chtorr 3 - A Rage for Revenge" - читать интересную книгу автора (Gerrold David)

through the bushes like a boar in heat. I told you not to talk and you had to ask why, what was
happening? That spider was half blind. We could have faded back into the bushes if you hadn't opened
your mouth."
"We got away okay, didn't we-?" he gasped. "Please, Lieutenant, you're hurting me!"
I cocked the pistol and put my face very close to his. His eyes were round with terror. Good. I wanted
him awake enough to hearl this. "Do you want to be my partner or my enemy?"
"Sir, Please-!"
I leaned on his throat a little harder. "Are you my partner or my enemy?"
"Part-ner," he croaked.
"Thank you." I eased my grip a little; he gasped for air. "So that means when I give an order, you're going
to follow it. Right?"
He nodded. "Yes. Sir."
"Immediately-and without question. Right?" He gulped and swallowed and managed to nod. "Do you
know why I'm telling you this?"
He shook his head. The sweat was beading on his brow. "Because I'm trying to save your life. I'm
assuming, of course, that you are survival-driven. If I'm mistaken in this assumption, please tell me now
so I can get out of your way. I promise I won't interfere. You want to die, that's fine by me. I like
paperwork. It's nice and safe. But I won't have you endangering my life too."
"Yes . . . sir." His words came hard.
"You remember this and we'll get along just fine, Private. The next time I give you an order you're going
to follow it as if your life depends on it-right? Because it does. Because if you don't follow my orders, I'll
take your fucking head off, do you hear me?"
"Yessir!"
"And I'm not going to hear any more fucking questions either-isn't that also right? You don't have the right
to ask them. You are lower than whale shit. The only answer you need is this one: `Because I'm your
superior officer and I say so.' Right?"
"Yessir!"
I let go of him and stepped back, reholstering my pistol. He hesitated, then started tucking his shirt back
into his pants. He glared over at me, but didn't speak. There was hatred in his eyes.
"Go ahead, try it," I said. "I know what you're thinking. Go ahead. I don't want there to be any doubt."
He dropped his eyes. He still hated me, but he wasn't going to swing.
He came up at me suddenly, swinging with a roundhouse punch that would have knocked the wind out of
me if I had still been there to receive it. I was already stepping back on one foot. I grabbed his arm and
pulled, tripping him as he came. He sprawled flat in the dirt and skidded.
I walked over to him, kicked him gently to roll him over on his back, and offered him a hand. He refused
it and sat up.
I grinned. "Want to try for two out of three?"
He shook his head.
I offered him my hand again. He refused it again and stood up by himself, brushing himself off. His
expression was still smoldering.
"What's your name, Private?"
"McCain," he grumbled. "Jon McCain."
"Well, listen, McCain-" I faced him and realized again how young he was. Sixteen? Fifteen? He really
was only a kid. He couldn't even grow a proper mustache-his upper lip just looked dirty-and he needed
a haircut. His scraggly brown hair hung down over his forehead, almost hiding his dark shaded eyes. He
looked like a hurt little boy.
"It's like this," I said. "Yes, I'm pissed as hell at you. I always get pissed at people who endanger my life.
But that's not why I put you up against that wall. That's just the fastest way I know to teach you the kind
of obedience that will ensure your survival. You have to trust me, because what you don't know could kill
us both. Do you know my record?"