"Peter F. Hamilton - Misspent youth" - читать интересную книгу автора (Hamilton Peter F)

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7. MAGIC MEMORIES


There was a particular day which Timothy Baker always remembered
whenever he thought back to his childhood. It was the air
tattoo at RAF Cottesmore when he'd been six years old. One of
the rare events that his parents actually attended together, which
to his young mind had made a perfect happy family outing. To
start with, at least.

The EuroAir Defence Force had assigned a good number of
both combat and transport aircraft to the open day, always eager
to show the bolshie English how worthwhile and relevant the
unified European squadrons were. It was also well attended by
international aerospace companies, as well as senior air staff from
over thirty foreign air forces. Elaborate company pavilions lined
half of the taxiway, their tiered seating giving patrons and customers
an excellent view of the flying exhibition. While the static
displays of combat aircraft, transports, tankers, radar cars, and
missile batteries stretched along the entire three kilometres of the
parking apron.

Over ninety thousand people were expected during the weekend,
taxing Rutland's rural transport infrastructure to the limit. By
mid-morning on the Saturday Timothy was convinced that most
of them had turned up already; he'd never seen so many people in
one place before. He walked along between his parents, sometimes
managing to hold hands with both of them at once as they roamed
around the powerful, lethal hardware. It was a typical late-August

sky. The GM tuber grass was still green, if somewhat dry and wiry,
after seven straight weeks without rain.

The Baker family walked the entire length of the apron in the
morning; Timothy and Jeff, his father, stopped to admire most of
the aircraft along the way. Sue, his mother, tagged along gamely as
her two enthusiastic boys quizzed the smiling, polite aircrews for
facts and squadron stickers. Timothy managed to plead and entreat
his way into the cockpits of several helicopters.

They reached the end of the hot concrete apron and began the
long walk back, this time through the circus of commercial stalls

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