"Henry Kuttner - Clash by Night" - читать интересную книгу автора (Kuttner Henry)

'Yes, sir?'
'He's still holding out for a fifty per cent cut on the korium ransom from Virginia Keep. You'll
have to see him. Try and get the Mob for less than fifty if you can. Telaudio me from Mendez's
fort.'
'Check, sir.'
'Another thing. Bronson's in sick bay.'
'I heard that. If I may suggest Commander Bienne to take his place at left-wing command-'
But Cine Rhys raised his hand. 'Not this time. We can't afford individualism. The commander tried
to play a lone hand in the last war. You know we can't risk it till he's back in line - thinking
of the Doones instead of Fredric Bienne.'
'He's a good man, sir. A fine strategist.'
'But not yet a good integrating factor. Perhaps next time. Put Commander Geer on the left wing.
Keep Bienne with you. He needs discipline. And - take a flitterboat to Mendez.'
'Not a plane?'
'One of the technicians just finished a new tight-beam camouflager for communications. I'm having
it installed immediately on all our planes and gliders. Use the boat; it isn't far to the Mob's
fort - that long peninsula on the coast of Southern Hell.'
Even on the charts that continent was named Hell - for obvious reasons. Heat was only one of them.
And, even with the best equipment, a party exploring the jungle there would soon find itself
suffering the tortures of the damned. On the land of Venus, flora and fauna combined diabolically
to make the place uninhabitable to Earthmen. Many of the plants even exhaled poisonous gases. Only
the protected coastal forts of the Free Companies could exist - and that was because they were
forts.
Cine Rhys frowned at Scott. 'We'll use H-plan 7 if we can get the Mob. Otherwise we'll have to
fall back on another outfit, and I don't want to do that. The Helldivers have too many subs, and


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we haven't enough detectors. So do your damnedest.'
Scott saluted. Til do that, sir.' Rhys waved him away,
and he went out into the next room, finding Commander Bienne alone. The officer turned an
inquiring look toward him.
'Sorry,' Scott said. 'Geer gets the left-wing command this time.'
Bienne's sour face turned dark red. 'I'm sorry I didn't take a crack at you before mobilization,'
he said. 'You hate competition, don't you?'
Scott's nostrils flared. 'If it had been up to me, yqu'd have got that command, Bienne.'
'Sure. I'll bet. All right, captain. Where's my bunk? A flitterboat?'
'You'll be on right wing, with me. Control ship Flintlock.'
'With you. Under you, you mean,' Bienne said tightly. His eyes were blazing. 'Yeah.'
Scott's dark cheeks were flushed too. 'Orders, commander,' he snapped. 'Get me a flitterboat
pilot. I'm going topside.'
Without a word Bienne turned to the telaudio. Scott, a tight, furious knot in his stomach, stamped
out of headquarters, trying to fight down his anger. Bienne was a jackass. A lot he cared about
the Doones-
Scott caught himself and grinned sheepishly. Well, he cared little about the Doones himself. But
while he was in the Company, discipline was important - integration with the smoothly running
fighting machine. No place for individualism. One thing he and Bienne had in common; neither had
any sentiment about the Company.