"Smith, Wilbur - Courtney 03 - A Sparrow Falls" - читать интересную книгу автора (Smith Wilbur)

were too calm, and he nodded his thin neck stiffly.

Fergus MacDonald fussed over the lad, and once again Sean was reminded
of a trainer preparing his fighter in the dressing-room. He stripped
off the heavy, voluminous great-coat and the battle-dress jacket. Over
the long woollen full-length underwear went a woollen shirt and two
knitted jerseys. A woollen scarf around the throat.

Then a mechanic's boiler-suit which covered the layers of clothing in a
single neat skin that would not snag, or flutter in a breeze to draw an
enemy eye. A woollen balaclava over the head, and a leather airman's
helmet, and Sean saw the reason. The British steel helmet had a
distinctive brim, and anyway was no protection from a Mauser bullet.
Keep your nut down, Mark, me boy. Knitted mittens with fingers cut out,
and then thick loose gloves over them. Keep the old fingers working,
lad. Don't let them stiffen up on you. A small leather shoulder bag
that slung comfortably under the left armpit. Ham sandwiches with
plenty of mustard, chocolate and barley sugar, just the way you like it.
Don't forget to eat, keep you warm. Four full clips Of . 303
cartridges, three slipped into the thigh pockets of the boiler-suit, and
one into the special pocket sewn into the forearm of the left sleeve. I
waxed each round myself, Fergus announced mainly for the benefit of the
listening General. They'll slide in like,- and the simile was crude and
obscene, meant to show Fergus scorn of rank and class. But Sean let it
pass easily, he was too interested in the preparations for the hunt.

I won't show Cuthbert until the sun is right. Cuthbert? Sean asked,
and Fergus chuckled and indicated a third figure that lay quietly at the
back of the dugout. It was the first time Sean had noticed him and
Fergus chuckled again at his puzzled expression reached out to the
reclining figure.

Only then Sean realized it was a dummy, but in the light of the brazier
the features were realistic and the helmeted head rode at a natural
angle on the shoulders. The model ended abruptly at the hips and below
it there was only a broom handle. I'd like to know how you are going to
do it? Sean addressed the question to young Mark Anders, but Fergus
replied importantly. Yesterday the Hun was shooting from low on the
northern slope of the hill. Mark and me worked out the angles of the
two shots he made and we've got him pegged to within fifty yards. He
may change position, Sean pointed out. He'll not leave the north slope.
It's in shadow all day, even if the sun comes out. He will want to
shoot from shade into light. Sean nodded at the logic of it. Yes, he
agreed, but be may shoot from a stand in the German line. And Mark
answered quietly, I don't think so, sir. The lines are too far apart
here', the German line ran across the crest of the hill, he'd want a
shorter range. No, sir, he's shooting from close in. He makes a stand
in no-man's land, probably changes it every day, but each time he comes
close as he can get to our lines while still staying in the shadow. The
boy had not tripped on a single word now that his mind had locked on to