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

Satellite Alpha-Nine for duty until relieved. Your personal gear is already aboard."

"Alpha-Nine, Herr General? Robertson has Alpha-Nine on the duty roster next shift."

"Robertson is in the brig with Garcia. They got into a disagreement in the Lounge last watch and will be
cooling off for the next ten days or so."

"Robertson and Garcia? I can't believe it. What started it?"
"What else?" the Commandant asked, staring idly at the blue and white UN flag that decorated one side
of his office. His voice was weary with too much strain and work.

Stassel did not have to ask what he meant. Robertson was an American and Garcia a Mexican. Their
fight had started over the border crisis, of course. They were too good friends to let anything other than
women or politics come between them.

"It's getting bad, isn't it?" he asked.

Heinemann sighed. "Worse than you might think, Hauptmann. Even the ranks of the Peace Enforcers
are not immune to these internecine squabbles that have broken out all over the face of the Earth. If it is
not the North Americans against the South, then it is the Australians versus Indonesia, or Japan against
China and West Russia. I tell you the whole world is going to Satan in a hand trolley." Heinemann
glanced at the chronometer on the bulkhead behind Stassel. "The time is getting short, Hauptmann. You
still need to be briefed."

"Yes sir."

"Before you go, Friedrich. Do you know why I am picking you for this assignment instead of the backup
astronaut?"

"No sir."

"Because, like your father, you are a good German. And the world needs more of us. We know how to
follow orders without question. Few other people do. It is a much-maligned trait, Friedrich. The
Yankees and French are always making snide comments about blind Prussian obedience to orders. Do
not let them faze you. In the current situation, blind obedience to orders is the only thing that is going to
save us. I need men in orbit who can keep their heads and do their duty. Can you?"

"I think so, sir."

"So do I, Friedrich. You are your father's son. Now you had better see the Briefing Officer in
Compartment One-Twelve. You are minus minutes for that shuttle launch. They'll hold it if you're late,
but they won't like it."

"Thank you, Herr General."

Wing Commander Livingston was on detached service from the RAF. His powder blue uniform looked
out of place next to Stassel's silver and black. Stassel sat in an aluminum chair and took notes as
Livingston reeled off figures in his clipped, Oxford accent.

" тАж Your area of responsibility will include Longitudes 100 West to 120 West, Captain. Your satellite