"Mickey Zucker Reichert - Flanking Maneuver" - читать интересную книгу автора (Reichert Mickey Zucker)

death of your shieldmate."
Umbert bit his lip and studied his own hands. As shocking as the revelation was, he appreciated the
older man's candor. "I'm going to die, aren't I?" The words came surprisingly easily, but true
contemplation of their meaning remained a distant abstraction, impossible to reach.
Oslan grasped the object he had poked from the flames, gingerly tearing it with light touches that
saved his fingers from burning. "We all are, son. Some sooner than later. That's just the way it is, the way
it's always been."
"Why?"
"Why, indeed." Oslan's lips formed a knowing smile that reflected all of his years. "Because we're at
war. And, in war, no matter how good you are, you'll run into an enemy who's faster or stronger or more
determined than you. Or into plain old bad luck. The fighting goes on; but, for you, it's over. Everyone's
time comes eventually. The quick, the alert, the lucky last longest." He passed over a greasy hunk of
charred grouse.
Umbert accepted the food gratefully. Like most boys his age, he could happily spend all day doing
nothing but eating and sleeping. "I meant 'why' as in, why are we fighting? What's the war about?"
"We're fighting to save ourselves, our women, our flocks, and our land from the Hurrdu."
Umbert savored the warmth of the cooked food in his hands and the heat of the fire on the front half
of his body. "Why do they fight?"
Oslan gave Umbert a patient look. "To get those things."
The explanation made little sense to Umbert. He took a bite of the grouse, considering for several
moments as he chewed. "We take those things from the Hurrdu, too."
Oslan took a bite of his own share of the meager feast. "We have little choice but to kill the black
devils when they attack us. We need their flocks to eat, their women to help us reproduce. And it seems
only right to reclaim the lands they steal from us."
Oslan's point seemed at once logical and ludicrous to Umbert. "But if we just stopped fighting,
wouldn't we each have our own flocks to eat, our own women to reproduce, and our youth back to
grow crops on our share of the land?"
Oslan rose, stretched, and placed a fatherly hand on Umbert's shoulder. "Wouldn't it be lovely if life
really were that simple?"
Umbert just nodded. So many things in life seemed easy and obvious to him, and grown-ups found
him eternally amusing. Will I ever get old enough to understand? If he believed what Oslan had told
him about war, it seemed unlikely.

The next day, another contingent joined them, bone-weary, disheveled, supporting their injured.
They also brought a line of twenty women, roped together to prevent escape. Their leader reported to
the commander; and, though Umbert could not hear the words, the deepening frown on the commander's
face suggested bad news. Umbert focused on the women, who ranged in age from nearing thirty to one
barely his own age. He studied her most closely. She bore the same velvety black hair as the others, but
her eyes held a glint of emerald. While the others kept their heads low, she glanced about fitfully, like a
deer seeking a safe place to give birth to a helpless fawn. Umbert's tea-colored skin was the darkest in
his company, yet all of the prisoners, save her, were darker still. The youngest matched him and was,
perhaps, even a quarter shade lighter.
The commander raised his voice above the camp hubbub and greetings, which silenced instantly.
"Men, our companions won a very hard-fought battle."
Cheering followed the announcement, cut short by the commander's sudden glare. Sunlight blazed
through his close-cut sandy hair, and his gray-brown gaze carved a trail of quiet through the ranks. "But
they could not prevent a flanking. Men, we must turn and fight the enemy behind us or risk losing our
entire village."
Umbert gave his attention back to the girl, who hurriedly looked away. It did not matter to him
where he fought and, probably, died.