"Jerry Pournelle & Roland Green - Janissaries 3 - Storms of Victory" - читать интересную книгу автора (Pournelle Jerry)

and running men floated up from the cobblestoned courtyard six stories
below. "What in hell?" Rick muttered. Then he shrugged. "Guess I'll find out
if I need to know. Okay, Art, what's next?"
"Next you get your armor on. Flak jacket first, then the mail."
"Christ, Mason! I'll roast. Look, I don't have to wear this tonight."
Art Mason spoke slowly and carefully. "Colonel, why do we have to go
through this every week? You're not leaving this room without armor, not
without you sending me to the brig first. Look, we've got that nice Kevlar
jacket Les brought you. Only thing like it on this planet. And don't ask me
who's going to shoot you. You know damn well the little king has that
Browning."
"Ganton wouldn't shoot me." Rick held out his arms and let Mason help him
into the Kevlar vest, then the fine chain mail shirt that covered it.
"I grant you that, Colonel. But I can think of some in his court who'd be glad
to borrow that pistol. With or without royal permission." Mason tugged on the
straps. "And I grant you that Wanax Ganton needs you. The problem is, he
knows he needs you. Kings don't like that. Neither do teenagers. We got a
teenaged king, and if you know what he's going to do, you're doing better than
me."
There were more shouts from below. "Sergeant of the Guard! Post Number
Twelve. Officer of the Guard! Post Number Twelve."
"That sounds serious," Rick said.
"Yeah, maybe I better have a look." Mason glanced at his watch. "Better not.
Can't let the troops think I don't trust them. Follow proceduresтАФ"
"Yeah. Follow procedures." Rick laughed, then went to the table and poured
two glasses of wine. The table was massive, carved from a wood that had
never grown on Earth. The goblets were gold, hammered with scenes of men
riding centaurs and hunting strange beasts. Rick handed one to Mason.
"Here's to proper procedures."
"Yeah." Mason sipped at his wine, then frowned as Rick drank his in a gulp.
"Colonel, you drink too damned much."
"You sound like my wife. Are you my wife?"
"No, sir."
"I could say it's none of your business."
"No sir, you couldn't," Mason said. "Very much my business. Anything
happens to you, and I'm supposed to be in command. Only you know damned
well it won't work that way. Sergeant Major Elliot will choose your successor,
and it may or may not be me."
"Well, nothing's going to happen to me tonight," Rick said. He poured another
goblet of wine and sipped at it. "We were drinking to proper procedures. Ever
think where we'd be if we'd followed procedures? What the hell is the
procedure for meeting a flying saucer?"
"Yeah. Well, we managed all right," Mason said. "Bloody good thing it came
along."
"Yeah. I guess."
"Guess, hell, Colonel. We were goners, and you know that better'n me."
Mason swept his hand in a wide gesture to indicate the stone walls, tapestries,
fireplace, and primitive furnishings of the room. "This may not be all we ever
wanted, but it's sure as hell more'n the Cubans would have given us."
"Yeah, I know, Art, but ..." Rick let his voice trail off as he heard more shouts