"Arcady And Boris Strugatsky. Prisoners of Power" - читать интересную книгу автораtoday's quota. Or else we get no chow. Let's go!"
He walked ahead, waddling between the trees. Maxim asked Vepr: "Is he really a member of the underground?" Vepr shot him a rapid glance. "What are you saying? How could he be?" They walked behind Zef, trying to follow in his tracks. Maxim brought up the rear. "What's he here for?" "For jaywalking." Again, Maxim lost all desire for conversation. They had taken less than a hundred steps when Zef ordered them to halt, and work began. "Down!" shouted Zef, and they hit the dirt. Ahead of them a stout tree turned with a drawn-out creaking sound, disgorged a long thin gun barrel, and rocked it from side to side, as if trying to aim it. There was a buzz, a click, and a small cloud of yellow smoke rose lazily from the black barrel. "It's dead... finished," announced Zef in a very businesslike tone. He rose first and brushed the dust from his pants. They had blown up the tree and its cannon. Next, a mine field to clear. After that, a hillock with an active machine gun that kept them pinned down for a long time. Then they stumbled into a jungle of barbed wire, and barely struggled through it. When they finally did, firing opened up somewhere overhead, and everything around them began to explode and burn. Maxim was confused, but Vepr remained silent and lay on the ground calmly, face down, while Zef fired his grenade thrower. "Follow me, on the double!" shouted Zef, and they ran. The spot they had just left burst into flames. Zef swore, using unfamiliar words, and Vepr chuckled. When they cloud of poison gas swooshed through the branches. Again they had to run and force their way through underbrush. Zef repeated the unfamiliar words. Vepr looked quite ill. Exhausted, Zef finally called a halt. They built a fire. As the youngest member of the team, Maxim prepared dinner, heating canned soup in their pot. Zef and Vepr, grimy and ragged, lay on the ground. Vepr looked utterly exhausted. He was not a young man, and this life was harder on him than on the others. "It doesn't make sense. How could we have managed to lose the war with this incredible concentration of weapons?" asked Maxim. "What do you mean 'managed to lose'?" replied Vepr. "Nobody won the war. Everyone lost except the Creators." "Unfortunately, few people understand that." Maxim stirred the soup. "I'm not used to that kind of talk anymore," said Zef. "All you get here is 'Shut up, rehab!' and 'I'm counting to three.' Hey, boy, what's your name?" "Maxim." "Yes, right. You, Mac, keep stirring. See that it doesn't stick." Maxim stirred until Zef said it was time to serve the soup; he couldn't hold out any longer. They ate in complete silence. Maxim sensed a change in mood and was sure that today he'd betaken into their confidence. But after dinner Vepr lay down again and stared at the sky, while Zef, mumbling to himself, took the pot and wiped up the bottom with a crust of bread. "We ought to shoot something," he muttered. "My belly is so empty. I |
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