"Gustav Hasvord. The Short-Timers " - читать интересную книгу автора

guard. Have you ever seen a more beautiful piece of metal?" He starts
snapping the steel components back together. "Her connector assembly is so
beautiful..."
Leonard continues to babble as his trained fingers reassemble the black
metal hardware.
I think about Vanessa, my girl back home. We're on a river bank,
wrapped in an old sleeping bag, and I'm fucking her eyes out. But my
favorite fantasy has gone stale. Thinking about Vanessa's thighs, her dark
nipples, her fully lips doesn't give me a hard-on anymore. I guess it must
be the saltpeter in our food, like they say.
Leonard reaches under his pillow and comes out with a loaded magazine.
Gently, he inserts the metal magazine into his weapon, into Charlene.
"Leonard...where did you get those live rounds?"
Now a lot of guys are sitting up, whispering, "What's happening?" to
each other.
Sergeant Gerheim's light floods the far end of the squad bay.
"OKAY, LEONARD, LET'S GO." I'm determined to save my own ass if I can,
certain that Leonard's is forfeit in any case. The last time Sergeant
Gerheim caught a recruit with a live round-just one round-he ordered the
recruit to dig a grave ten feet long and ten feet deep. The whole platoon
had to fall out for the "funeral." I say, "You're in a world of shit now,
Leonard."
The overhead lights explode. The squad bay is washed with light.
"WHAT'S THIS MICKEY MOUSE SHIT? JUST WHAT IN THE NAME OF JESUS H. CHRIST ARE
YOU ANIMALS DOING IN MY SQUAD BAY?"
Sergeant Gerheim comes at me like a mad dog. His voice cuts the squad
bay in half: "MY BEAUTY SLEEP HAS BEEN INTERRUPTED, LADIES. YOU KNOW WHAT
THAT MEANS. YOU HEAR ME, HERD? IT MEANS THAT ONE RECRUIT HAS VOLUNTEERED HIS
YOUNG HEART FOR A GODDAMN HUMAN SACRIFICE!'
Leonard pounces from his rack, confronts Sergeant Gerheim.
Now the whole platoon is awake. We all wait to see what Sergeant
Gerheim will do, confident that it will be worth watching.
"Private Joker. You shitbird. Front and center."
I move my ass. "AYE-AYE, SIR!"
"Okay, you little maggot, speak. Why is Private Pyle out of his rack
after lights out? Why is Private Pyle holding that weapon? Why ain't you
stomping Private Pyle's guts out?"
"SIR, it is the Private's duty to report to the drill instructor that
Private...Pyle...has a full magazine and has locked and loaded, SIR."
Sergeant Gerheim looks at Leonard and nods. He sighs. Gunnery Sergeant
Gerheim looks more than a little ridiculous in his pure white skivvies and
red rubber flip-flop shower shoes and hairy legs and tattooed forearms and a
beer gut and a face the color of raw beef, and, on his bald head, the green
and brown Smokey the Bear campaign cover.
Our senior drill instructor focuses all of his considerable powers of
intimidation into his best John-Wayne-on Suribachi voice: "Listen to me,
Private Pyle. You will place your weapon on your rack and-"


"NO! YOU CAN'T HAVE HER! SHE'S MINE! YOU HEAR ME? SHE'S MINE! I LOVE