"Michael McCollum - Duty, Honor, Planet" - читать интересную книгу автора (McCollum Michael)

that purpose. A blond young man with Heidelberg dueling scars around his scalp, a serious face, and
soft blue eyes that ill befitted a soldier peered out of the mirror at him. The picture was completed by an
asymmetric nose -- the result of ejecting from a burning plane at too high a speed in pilot training -- and a
spotless black and silver uniform. He carefully brushed a couple of imagined wrinkles from his tunic and
rubbed mirror-polished boots on pants legs for insurance.
Then he took a deep breath and knocked on the Commandant's door. A few seconds later he heard a
muffled order to enter. Stassel marched to the front of the Commandant's desk, snapped to attention,
and saluted. Heinemann was making notes on a yellow note pad and continued writing as Stassel held
the salute.

After a few moments, he put down the pen and looked up, his steel gray eyes more tired than Stassel
could remember having seen them before. The Commandant returned the salute and leaned back in his
chair.

"Have a seat, Friedrich. Smoke if you like."

Stassel was momentarily startled by General Heinemann's use of his first name. He had not known that
the Commandant knew it. He hesitantly took one of the gray UN issue chairs in front of the desk,
politely declining a cigar from the Commandant's humidor.

"How is your dear mother? It's been almost five years since I've seen her," Heinemann said, puffing a
stogie alight and blowing a blue cloud of smoke toward the ventilator shaft. "I'm afraid I have been
derelict in not visiting since your father left the service."

" Mutteris fine, Herr General."

"I served under your father inboard Graf Von Bismarck . Did you know that? I was his Executive
Officer and his friend."

"My father used to talk a great deal about his days in space aboard Bismarck, Herr General. He spoke
of you often, and only with highest regard."

"I was sorry to hear of his death last year, Friedrich. An accident on the autobahn is a tragic end for a
spaceman, no?"

"Yes sir. Most tragic."

"He was a good German, your father. In your great grandfather's time, that was a term of derision,
Friedrich. Did you know that? It has been men like Hans Erich Stassel who put some respect back into
the word Deutschlander . Why as late as fifteen years ago, a Luftwaffe officer could never have worn
black and silver. To do so would have been to invite comparison with Hitler and his maniac
Schutzstaffeln, the dread SS. Do you understand what a handicap we have had to overcome,
Friedrich? It was no easy thing to re-earn the respect of civilized folk after having lost it so thoroughly."

"Yes sir." Stassel wondered what the Commandant was getting at. The old martinet did not
usually give himself over to reminiscing. It was a bad sign.

The Commandant cleared his throat, and snubbed out the burning cigar, attacking it as if it were an
enemy. "I have orders, Hauptmann Stassel. You will report to the shuttle docking portal immediately
after your meeting with the Briefing Officer. There you will take the in-orbit shuttle to Peace Control