"13 Sentinels 01 - The Devils Hand" - читать интересную книгу автора (McKinney Jack)

Delivered into the upper reaches of Tirol's envelope only moments before, the Ghost Squadron dropped out of Tiresia's dawn like brilliant tongues of flame, half to batter away at the Royal Hall's evaporating shield, while Edwards's elite rushed in to follow the Wolff Pack's trail. Edwards had Cabell's map of that subterranean maze in hand now, and was determined to get to the Invid brain before anyone else.
The commander of the Hovertanks waiting by the crater entrance to the corridors didn't know what to think as he watched General Edwards leap from VT's cockpit and commence what looked like angry strides in his direction. He jumped down from his own turret cockpit and ordered everyone to attention. But it was obvious in an instant that Edwards wasn't interested in formalities or honorifics.
"What's Wolff's position?" Edwards demanded, pulling off his helmet and gloves.
A lieutenant ran forward and produced the sketchy map Wolff had sent back with one of the runners. Edwards snatched the thing away before the officer could lay it out.
"They're about half a mile in, General," the lieutenant said, while Edwards began comparing Wolff's map to the one Cabell had drawn.
"Who was the last man in there?" Edwards asked, preoccupied.
A young corporal presented herself and articulated a summary of the present situation. "The colonel has pulled back to a position...here," she said, indicating a corridor junction on the cruder map. "The colonel hopes to lure the enemy along this corridor-"
"It's plain what the colonel proposes to do, Corporal," the squadron commander said before Edwards could turn on the woman.
Edwards studied the maps a moment longer, then grunted in a satisfied way, and began to suit up in the gear one of his number brought over. "I want you to see to it that no one follows us in there, Captain-no one, is that understood." Menacingly, Edwards flicked his rifle's selector to full auto and all but brandished the weapon.
"Understood, General, we'll hold them here," the captain responded, trying his best not to have it come out sounding confused.
Edwards tapped the man roughly on the shoulder as he stepped past him. "Good for you." He waved his twelve forward and they disappeared into the floodlit entrance.
Five minutes along, Edwards pulled Colonel Adams aside to give him special instructions. Again they consulted the Tiresian's map, and Edwards pointed out the tunnels that would lead directly to the heart of the Royal Hall.
"Wolff is closer to the Invid brain than he probably realizes," Edwards began. "And if he can break through whatever it is they're throwing against him, he's going to find the way in. Detail three men and make certain that doesn't happen. Give him rear fire if you have to, anything that'll pin him down." Edwards showed Adams the route he would be taking. "I'm going around him, but I need some extra time."
Adams glanced at the corridor's smooth walls and ceiling. "Maybe we can arrange a cave-in for him."
"Do whatever it takes," Edwards said harshly, repocketing the map. "It'll be no one's loss if he doesn't make it out of here."

Elsewhere in the corridors, Wolff had ordered his Pack to open fire. They couldn't see what they were shooting at, but the energy hyphens the enemy was returning were similar to the drone bursts they had faced on the surface. There was nothing in the way of cover, so everyone was either -facedown on the floor, or plastered flat against the walls, retreating by odd and even counts through stroboscopic light, blasts of heat, and earsplitting explosions.
Backed around the first jag in the maze, they had a moment to catch their breath, while a horizontal hail of fire flew past them down the central corridor. In response to a tap on the shoulder from the radioman, Wolff raised the faceshield of his helmet. They had reestablished traffic with the Hovertank command.
"We must be outside the field already," Wolff said.
"Negative, sir. Command reports the barrier is softening. The Ghost Squadron's hammering it to death."
"Edwards, huh? Guess we shouldn't be choosy."
Quist smiled. "No, sir. The rest of his team-"
"We got troubles, Colonel," the team's point interrupted breathlessly, motioning up the corridor. "I'm picking up movement. They're boxing us in."
Wolff shifted his gaze between the storm off to their left and the corridor ahead. "But how...They would've had to pass the tanks-"
"Incoming!" someone yelled, and the corridor ceiling took two oblique hits.
Wolff and his team tried to meld with the floor as fire and explosive debris rained down all around them. The ceiling sustained two follow-up hits before he could even lift his head. Then he heard Quist say, "It's coming down!" just when everything began to crumble...

"It's no use," Rick announced in the dark, sitting straight up in bed.
Lisa stirred beside him and reached out a hand to find the light pad. He was already out of bed by the time the ceiling spots came on, hands on hips, pacing. Lisa said nothing, deciding to wait until he had walked off some of his frustration. She was exhausted and in no mood for a midnight support session, let alone an argument. Even so, she had managed only an hour of half sleep herself, expecting this very scene.
Rick had been impossible since the Tiresians' capture, and his behavior seemed to be having a kind of contagious effect on everyone around him. Suddenly there was an atmosphere of hopelessness, a sense that the situation had become untenable. Lives had been lost, the spacefold generators had been damaged, the very Masters they had come so far to meet were on their way to Earth...For Lisa the events of the past few days had given rise to a peculiar mix of thoughts and feelings; it was not unlike a time ten years ago, when the crew of the SDF-1 had been thrust overnight into a whirlwind of terror. But she refused to permit herself to relive those moments of dread and anticipation, and was determined to steer clear of behavioral ruts. And much to her surprise, she found that she had discovered the strength to meet all the fear and challenges head on, some inner reserve that not only allowed her to maintain, but to conquer and forge ahead. She wanted to believe that Rick had made the same discovery, but it was almost as if he had willingly surrendered to the past, and was actually desirous of that retro-gravitation. This from the man who had been so take-charge these past six years, who had devoted himself to the SDF-3's constriction and its crucial mission.
"Rick, you've got to get some rest," she said at last. "This isn't doing either of us any good."
It seemed to be the only conversation they could have anymore, and she knew exactly what he was about to say.
"You just don't understand, do you? I need to be doing more than just standing around waiting for things to happen. I have to get back where I belong-even if that means resigning my command."
She met Rick's gaze and held it until he turned away. "You're right. Maybe I don't understand you anymore. I mean, I understand your frustrations, but you're going to have to tell me why you need to risk your life out there. Haven't you proved yourself a hundred times over, Rick?" Lisa threw up her hands.
"It's my duty to be with my team."
"It's your duty to command," she said, raising her voice. "It's not your duty to get yourself killed!"
Rick had an answer ready for delivery when all at once Lisa's com tone sounded. She leaned over, hit the switch, and said, "Admiral Hayes."
It was the bridge: scanners had picked up two Invid troop carriers closing fast on the fortress.
Rick saw Lisa blanch; agitated, she pushed her hair back from her face. He was about to go over to her when his own intercom erupted.
"Tell General Reinhardt to meet me in the Room," Rick said, responding to the brief message. He switched off, and rushed to the wardrobe, pulling out one of his old flight suits.
"I'm on my way," he heard Lisa say into the com.
She watched him suit up in silence; there were tears in her eyes when he bent over to kiss her good-bye.
"I have to do it," he told her.
Lisa turned away from him. "Expect me to do the same."


CHAPTER FOURTEEN
We have a desperate new mission: to mine enough of Fantoma's mysterious ore to rebuild the fortress's damaged spacefold generators, and journey to the other side of the galaxy to save our beleaguered world from destruction at the hands of the Robotech Masters. If this mission sounds suspiciously like the old mission, it's because it is the old mission, played backwards. I am growing weary of the ironies; I am growing weary of the whole thing.
The collected Journals of Admiral Rick Hunter