"Jeff Verona - Myrmidons" - читать интересную книгу автора (Verona Jeff)

his
weapon. He was a big man, but the unrelenting cold and damp had begun to
wear
him down as well.
"Everybody here okay?" he called, as he neared the first tarp. A chorus of
groans answered him.
"You want some, Sarge?" That was Holmgren, offering a small flask.
Cabesa shook his head. "Not now. But get back to me when we're in space."
"Okay." Holmgren licked his lips. He was trying to grow a mustache, but it
wasn't much. "Is it true we're going home, Sarge? Back to Earth?"
 "That's what the orders say."
A thin, sharp-faced woman looked up from the weapon she was cleaning and
cursed. "They could have shipped us back months ago. Why are they wasting
our
time?"
"Shafransky, I work for a living. Don't ask me how they come up with our
orders." Weak laughter trickled through the troops. "Just keep your heads
down
for four more hours, boys and girls. We'll be out of here soon. And
Peterson,
remember you have patrol duty in two hours."
Peterson, a tall red-haired country boy, pulled his visor down lower over
his
eyes and burrowed deeper into sleep.
"Somebody make sure he does it," Cabesa said tiredly. "I'm tired of
spanking
his butt." With a nod, he ducked back into the icy mist and slogged to the
next tarp.
He finished his check with the perimeter patrols. Here the soldiers were
more
awake, pounding their hands and stamping their feet to keep their
circulation
going. Cabesa did a quick count. Seven. Seven?
"Where's Harris?' he asked.
Their replies were a chorus: "Haven't seen him." "No idea." "I'm too damn
cold
to care."
A chill hand wrapped around the sergeant's heart. Reaching up beside his
temple, he flicked his microphone stalk down. "Harris, this is Sergeant
Cabesa. Report." He tapped the bead in his ear. "Private Jerome Harris,
report." Nothing.
Cabesa glanced up to see the patrol in a loose circle around him. "Who was
the
last to see Harris?"
They stared uneasily at each other, until a deep voice said "I saw him
about
twenty minutes ago. Said he was going to the latrine."
"All right, Cooper. Anybody else see him?"
Mutterings, coughs, but no replies.
"Cooper, you hook up with Garcia and Shearer. You others, form pairs. Keep