"Dafydd ab Hugh, Brad Linaweawer DOOM: Knee Deep in the Dead (english)" - читать интересную книгу автора

Arlene's report, trying to stifle the lieutenant with his
other hand.
But Weems saw a ghost to his left, a specter to his right.
We were surrounded! In Weems's mindЧI use the term
looselyЧthey were Indians, we were the 7th Cav, and he
was Custer.
"The lieutenant isn't going to stand for this!" snapped
the lieutenant. "Goforth, take out those soldiers!"
The gunny broke his own drill. "Sir, we don't even
know who they are... Sanders says they're wearing
robes and hoodsЧ"
"Scythe of Glory!" said Weems, again raising his
voice.
"No sir, just robed menЧ"
"Gunny, I gave you an order... now take down those
men!"
Arlene flashed past me again. "What the hell's going
on?" she hissed.
"Weems wants us to take 'em down. "
"Fly, they're monks! You gotta stop the crazy son of a
bitch!"
I was the second-ranking noncom; Goforth would
listen to me, I thought. I hunched over and jogged to the
gunnery sergeant. "Gunny, Arlene says they're monks."
"Taggart, right?" said Weems, as if bumping into me at
an oyster-shucking party.
"Sir, they're just monks. "
"Do you know that for sure? Does anyone know that
for sure?"
"Sanders saidЧ"
"Sanders said! Sanders said! Does Sanders have to
deal with Colonel Brinkle every week?"
"Sir," began the gunny, "I think we should recon the
group before we open fire."
Weems looked him in the face, shaking in fury. "As
long as I'm giving the orders here, Marine, you'll obey
them. Now take down those men!"
Monks. Freakin' monks!
I snapped. Maybe it was the bodies, or the body parts.
The mountain air, thin oxygen. A gutful of Weems,
Arlene's frightened, incredulous stare, the way Goforth's
jaw set and he turned to give the orderЧa twenty-year
man, he wasn't going to throw it away over a bunch of
lousy religious dinks.
But suddenly, it occurred to me that if Weems were
lying facedown in the deep muddy, he wouldn't be giving
no orders. Then we could let the damned monks disap-
pear, and nobody would be the loser.
"Scuse me, sir," I said, tapping the looie on the
shoulder.