"Ringo,.John.-.Weber,.David.-.March.1.-.March_Upcountry" - читать интересную книгу автора (Ringo John)

"We've got fifteen spares," Jasco said, flipping through the data. "And each Marine in the Company has one."
"Of course," Gulyas observed with a chuckle, "some of those have some . . . odd secondary settings."
"What?" Sawato smiled. "Like Sergeant Julian's 'out of tune lute' setting?"
"I was actually thinking of Poertena's 'pig pocking pag' setting," Gulyas snorted.
"I beg your pardon?" O'Casey blinked, and looked back and forth between the two lieutenants.
"The armorer controls the machine that resets the adjustable configurations," Pahner told her in a resigned tone. "Julian used to be Bravo's armorer before Poertena. Both of them are jokers."
"Oh." The prince's ex-tutor considered for several seconds, then snorted as she finally completed the translation of "pig pocking pag" in her head. "Well, in this case the setting makes sense. We're going to need lots of . . . large bags to carry equipment."

CHAPTER EIGHT
"Hey, Julian, old puddy!" Poertena yelled across the shuttle bay. "Gimme a hand what t'is pag!"
"Jesus Christ, Poertena!" Julian hefted the carry handles on the outside of the quivering memory plastic sack. "What the pock . . . I mean, what the heck do you have in here?"
"Every pocking ting I could pocking pack," the armorer answered. "Tee pocking suits don' run on t'eir pocking own. You know t'at!"
"What the hell is in here?" Julian asked, reaching for the mouth of the sack. It was heavy as hell.
"Get chore pocking hands out o' my pocking pag!" Poertena snarled, slapping at the offending member.
"Look, if I'm gonna help you hump it, I'm gonna know what the hell I'm carrying." Julian popped the sack opened and looked in. "Jesus Christ, Poertena!" he repeated. "The fucking wrench?"
"Hey!" the little Pinopan shouted, practically hopping up and down in fury. "You got your pocking way of doin' it, an' I got my pocking way! You never can get people out, they power goes off? Huh? Have to blow tee pocking seals! Only ting holding t'em seals is tee pocking secondary latches! You get tee secondary latches loose, you got tee armor open, and tee seals not damaged! Bot no! Big time billy badass soldier always gotta blow tee pocking bolts!"
"That's what it says to do in the manual," Julian said, throwing his hands up in the air. "Not bang on 'em until they come apart!"
"Hey!" Sergeant Major Kosutic shouted from the entrance to the bay as she strode across to break up the incipient fight. "Am I gonna have to jack both of you up?" she asked, glaring up at Julian.
"No, Sergeant Major," he said. "Everything's under control." He should have known she'd show up. She popped up like a damned Djinn every time anything got out of whack.
"Well, keep it strack! We've got a hard, cold mission to perform, and we don't need any sand in the gears. Do you understand that?"
"Yes, Sergeant Major!"
"And, Poertena," the sergeant major said, rounding on the braced Pinopan. "One, you'd better learn not to tell any more sergeants 'pock you' in public, or I will have your ass. Do you understand me?"
"Yes, Sergeant Major," Poertena said, looking for a convenient rock to melt away under.
"Two, you'd better learn a new word to replace 'pock,' because if you say it one more time in my hearing, I will personally tear off your stripes and feed them to youЧraw. You are in The Empress' Own now, not whatever rag-bag line outfit you came from. We do not say 'pock' or 'rap' or any of those other words. We especially do not say them while rigging the pocking Prince. Do I make myself pocking clear?" she finished, pounding a rock-hard index finger into the lance corporal's chest.
Poertena's eyes flickered for a moment in panic. "Clear, Sergeant Major," he answered, finally, obviously unsure if he could get along without his verbal comma.
"Now what's in the Santa bag?" she snarled.
"My pock . . . my tools, Sergeant Major," Poertena answered. "I gotta have my po . . . my tools, Sergeant Major. Tee armor don' run by itself!"
"Sergeant Julian?" the sergeant major said, turning to the sergeant who'd started to drop out of his braced position as Poertena seemed to be getting the worst of the chewing out.
"Yes, Sergeant Major?" Julian snapped back to attention.
"What was your objection? You seemed to have one."
"We have mass limitations, Sergeant Major!" the NCO barked. "I objected to certain of Lance Corporal Poertena's tools that I didn't believe were strictly necessary, Sergeant Major!"
"Poertena?"
"He doesn't like my po . . . my wrench, Sergeant Major," the lance corporal answered somewhat sullenly. He was fairly sure he was going to lose the tool.
The SMaj nodded and opened the bulging sack. She glanced at the packrat's nest inside, and nodded again. Then she turned to the armorer and fixed him with a glare.
"Poertena."
"Yes, Sergeant Major?"
"You know we're humping across tee whole . . . this whole planet, right?" the top sergeant asked mildly.
"Yes, Sergeant Major." Poertena didn't brighten up; he'd been on the receiving end of mild and bitter before.
The NCO nodded again, and pulled on her earlobe.
"Because of your unique position, you will probably be exempt from helping to hump the ammo, power, and armor."
Kosutic looked around the bay, then back into the sack.
"But I'm not going to have any of these people carrying unnecessary stuff," she growled.
"But, Sergeant MajorЧ"
"Did I ask you to speak?" the NCO snapped.
"No, Sergeant Major!"
"As I say, I'm not going to have anyone carrying unnecessary stuff," she continued, fixing the Pinopan with a frigid eye. "However, I'm not going to tell you, the armorer, what you really need to do your job, either. I'm going to leave that entirely up to you. But I will tell you that nobody else in the Company is going to hump one item for you. Is that perfectly clear?" she ended, with another rock-hard index finger, and the armorer gulped and nodded his head.
"Yes, Sergeant Major." He winced internally at what that meant.
"You are being given slack on what you've got to carry," Kosutic said, "because you have your own stuff to hump. Not, by Satan, so that other people can hump it for you. Clear?"
Index finger.
"Clear, Sergeant Major."