"Simon Hawke - Time Wars 01 - The Ivanhoe Gambit" - читать интересную книгу автора (Hawke Simon)

got into Priest's good graces by offering him a Diehard. Lucas pulled one out and rubbed it along the side
of the pack, igniting it.
"Code Green, Forty Fowar, Code Green, Forty-Fowar, report to Seven Yellow, Grid Six
Hundred, Seven Yellow, Grid Six Hundred."
"Well, that's us," said Lucas, taking several quick drags on the cigarette before stubbing it out with his
boot. It would probably be a long time before he had another one, assuming he made it back alive.

The chronoplate left Lucas feeling slightly vertiginous, as it always did. He had never been able to get
used to it, but his reaction was less severe than Hooker's.
"Didn't anyone tell you not to eat anything within two hours of clocking out?'' he said.
Hooker looked puzzled for a moment, then got the joke. It was rare for the army to leave anyone
waiting around at a departure station for much more than an hour. So long as a soldier was in Plus Time,
the clock was ticking away. If a soldier was in Minus Time and had ample warning of a clock out, there
might be two hours during which he could refrain from eating, but the pickup squads rarely gave anyone
that much notice. They liked to cut it close.
"I think the last time I ate was a couple of thousand years ago," said Hooker, grinning weakly. "I
could've saved myself the trouble. I didn't even get a chance to digest anything."
"Welcome to 12th century England, gentlemen," said the referee.
Lucas was surprised. Very surprised. It was not unusual to run across observers in the field, but what
sort of hitch required the presence of a ref in Minus Time?
"Questions can wait a while, gentlemen," said the ref, a soft-spoken, professorial sort. "First things
first. Mr. Hooker, you'll be pleased to know that we have third mess laid on for you and that you'll have
the opportunity to digest your meal this time. If you'll follow me, please?"
Hooker and Delaney began to pick up the gear, but the ref told them to leave it. "It will be taken care
of," he said. They glanced at each other, shrugged, then followed Priest and Johnson.
"We must be the last ones through," said Bobby. "Everybody else must already be at mess. With our
luck, all we'll get is table scraps."
But such was not the case. They trudged a short distance to a prefabricated hut where they were
served venison, kidney pie, roast pheasant, squab and potatoes cooked in an open fire so that their skin
was black and crackly. They drank a truly potent ale. It was one of the best meals Lucas Priest had
eaten since he had joined the service. That made him worry.
The referee sat with them, but did not eat and except for the orderlies who served them, no one else
was present.
"Excuse me, sir," said Johnson, "where is everybody?"
"There is no one else, Mr. Johnson," said the ref.
"You mean that there are only four of us on this hitch?"
"Essentially."
"I don't get it, sir."
"All in good time," said the ref. "Meanwhile, don't feel that you have to stretch out your meal. There's
plenty more where that came from and that goes for the ale, as well. You don't have any duties until
tomorrow morning, so relax and enjoy yourselves."
He reached into his jacket pocket and brought out a silver cigarette case. "Would any of you
gentlemen care to smoke?"
Now Lucas knew they were in trouble.
"With your permission, sir," he said, accepting the cigarettes. "I mean no disrespect, but I've been in
the service long enough to know that this sort of treatment is hardly s.o.p. This is the first time I've seen a
referee clocked out to the Minus side. Somehow I have the feeling that this hitch is hardly going to be a
soft assignment."
The ref smiled. "Your point is well taken, Mr. Priest. You're quite correct in assuming that this is
going to be an unusual hitch. There will be some risk involved, but you gentlemen should be accustomed