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

"Let's go," I say. I grab Rafter Man's shoulder. "The tank can waste
the gook."
Rafter Man doesn't look at me. He pulls away.
I turn away and I duck walk to the edge of the roof. I stand up and am
about to jump across when the house explodes beneath me.
I fall on my back.
The sniper is moving.
Rafter Man jumps over the crest of the roof and slides down the incline
on his ass.
I try to stand up. But all of my bones have shifted one inch to the
left.
Suddenly a foot steps on my chest, pinning me. The sniper looks down,
surprised. The sniper sees that I'm helpless, glances back at Rafter Man,
gets ready to jump across to the other roof.
Rafter Man runs back up the incline and slides back down on his ass,
ten yards away.
I reach for my grease gun.
The sniper turns toward Rafter Man and raises her SKS carbine.
The sniper is the first Victor Charlie I've seen who was not dead,
captured, or far, far away. She is a child, no more than fifteen years old,
a slender Eurasian angel with dark, beautiful eyes, which, at the same time,
are the hard eyes of a grunt. She's not quite five feet tall. Her hair is
long and black and shiny, held together by rawhide cord tied in a bow. Her
shirt and shorts are mustard-colored khaki and look new. Slung diagonally
across her chest, separating her small breasts, is a white cloth tube fat
with sticky reddish rice. Her B.F. Goodrich sandals have been cut from
discarded tires. Around her tiny waist hangs a web belt from which dangle
homemade hand grenades with hollow wooden handles, made by stuffing black
powder into Coca-Cola cans, a knife for cleaning fish, and six canvas
pouches containing banana clips for the AK-47 assault rifle slung on her
back.
Bang. Rafter Man is firing his M-16. Bang. Bang.
The sniper lowers her weapon. She looks at Rafter Man. She looks at me.
She tries to raise her weapon.
Bang. Bang. Bang. Bang. Bang. Bullets shock flesh. Rafter Man is
firing. Rafter Man's bullets are punching the life out of the sniper.
The sniper falls off the roof.
The tank fires into the ground floor beneath us. The house shakes.
I stand up. I feel like a dead man's shit. I walk to the front of the
house. I wave to the blond tank commander. He swings a fifty-caliber machine
gun around and aims it at me. I step into full view on the edge of the roof.
I wave an "all clear."
The tank commander gives me a thumbs-up.
I pop a green smoke grenade and I drop it on the roof.
I limp over to the skylight and I climb back down into the library.
Rafter Man has already jumped into the library and is running down the
shrapnel-scarred stairs.
Down on the street I watch as the tank rolls up to the last house still
standing. I wave another "all clear" and the tank commander gives me another
smile and another thumbs-up and then the tank fires, blasting the top floor.