"Edmond Hamilton - Whats It Like Out There" - читать интересную книгу автора (Hamilton Edmond)

down, and there we were in our squad cell, all of us
strapped into our hammocks, waiting and scared, wishing
there was a window so we could see out, hoping our rocket
wouldn't be the one to crack up, hoping none of the rockets
cracked up, but if one does, don't let it be ours. . . .
"We're coming down. . . ."
Coming down, with the blasts starting to boom again un-
derneath us, hitting us hard, not steady like at take-olf, but
blast-blast-blast, and then again, blast-blast.
Breck's voice, calling to us from across the cell, but I
couldn't hear for the roaring that was in my ears between
blasts. No, it was not in my ears, that roaring came from the
wall beside me: we had hit atmosphere, we were coming in.
The blasts in lightning succession without stopping, crash-
crash-crash-crash-crashi Mountains fell on me, and this was
it, and don't let it be ours, please, God, don't let it be
ours....
Then the bump and the blackness, and finally somebody
yelling hoarsely in my ears, and Breck Jergen, his face
deathly white, leaning over me.
"Unstrap and get out, Frank! All men out of hammocks
. all men out!"
We'd landed, and we hadn't cracked up, but we were half
dead and they wanted us to turn out, right this minute, and
we couldn't.
Breck yelling to us, "Breathing masks on! Masks on!
We've got to go out!"
"My God, we've just landed, we're torn to bits, we
can't!"
"We've got to I Some of the other rockets cracked up in
landing and we've got to save whoever's still living in them!
Masks on! Hurry!"
We couldn't, but we did. They hadn't given us all those
months of discipline for nothing. Jim Clymer was already on
his feet, Walter was trying to unstrap underneath me, whis-
tles were blowing like mafl somewhere and voices shouted
hoarsely.
My knees wobbled under me as I hit the floor. Young Las-
sen, beside me, tried to say something and then crumpled
up. Jim bent over him, but Breck was at the door yelling,
"Let him go I Come on I"
The whistles screeching at us all the way down the lad-
ders of the well, and the mask clip hurting my nose, and
down at the bottom a disheveled officer yelling at us to get
out and join Squad Five, and the gangway reeling under
us.
Cold. Freezing cold, and a wan sunshine from the
shrunken little sun up there in the brassy sky, and a rolling
plain of ocherous red sand stretching around us, sand that
slid away under our feet as our squads followed Captain