"E. C. Tubb - Dumarest 15 - Spectrum of a Forgotten Sun" - читать интересную книгу автора (Tubb E. C)

"I'm using a grenade."

It exploded in a blossom of flame as Dumarest dived for the cover he
had spotted, a narrow crack in a shattered wall, shrapnel whining inches
from his helmet, dust stinging his eyes as he dropped to turn and stare
into the flame-lit darkness. Two men at least, but the captain would not
be alone, with him would probably be a patrol sent to sweep up any
stragglers and, when they found no body, they would close in.

Dumarest looked upwards. The crack narrowed as it rose, to climb it
would merely place him in a blind extension of the trap in which he was
placed. Behind him reared a jumble of debris, stone precariously
balanced which would fall if he attempted to burrow into it. The only
way out was the way he had come.

"Lorne, check the area," ordered the deep voice. "And hurry!"

"One dead, Captain. He's the man the one I saw was trying to rob."

"Anything else?"

Boots scrabbled over stone and Dumarest heard the sound of ragged
breathing as the young man came to investigate. A dark patch showed
against the illuminated sky, light reflected from a pair of eyes, more
catching a polished spot on the helmet. A target impossible to miss, but
to fire would bring another grenade.
 "Lorne?"

"Nothing, Captain." The young voice echoed its disappointment. "But
he couldn't have got away. I'm sure I hit him and he couldn't have
escaped the blast."

"Then he must be there. Look again."

The dark shape came closer, head bent, gun ready to fire. The finger
on the trigger would be tense, a word, a movement and he would shoot
without thought or hesitation.

Dumarest rose slowly, taking care not to touch the stone to either side.
Lifting his gun he waited until the dark shape had turned away then
threw it with the full power of his arm. It landed with a clatter, a sound
immediately drowned in the roar of the weapon cradled in the
mercenary's arms. A blast of thunder which sent echoes from the
buildings and masked the thud of Dumarest's boots as he lunged
forward. One hand lifted, weighed with his knife, steel gleaming, it came
to a halt as it touched the bare face beneath the helmet. His other hand
slammed over a shoulder to clamp over the chest and pull the body of the
soldier hard against his own.