"The Forlorn Hope" - читать интересную книгу автора (Drake David)

Chapter Two

The lobby and counter area of the warehouse were silent except for the scraping of the front door which Albrecht Waldstejn had unlocked to enter. Enclosed, the fumes of the explosives were more noticeable than they had been outside. The Lieutenant's stomach roiled, not only at the odor. There were splashes of blood on the lobby floor.

He stepped forward. "Hodicky!" he shouted."Quade! Where the hell are you?"

Hodicky popped out of the main storeroom so abruptly that Waldstejn cursed despite his relief. "Private Quade all right too?" he asked in his next breath.

"Oh, yes sir," the little enlisted man said. "Q's up on the roof, checking the part we can't get to from below because of the racks. If it's all like this-" he waved at the lobby roof with its bright splotches of sky-"just the sheeting and not the beams, we'll have a quick fix done before dark."

Somebody finally shut off the siren at Headquarters. Waldstejn had not realized how irritating its distant throb had been until it ceased. "How do you plan to fix that?" the officer asked, duplicating Hodicky's upward wave. Maybe, he was thinking, they could set a fan in the front doorway blowing out to vent some of that damned sweetish stench.

"Well, sir," Private Hodicky said brightly, "the plastic sheeting for waterproofing the insides of dug-outs came in yesterday. We'll use it ourselves instead of issuing it. And I just checked stores. There's thirty liters of spray epoxy, that'll be plenty to tack the sheets down with." He frowned. "Now, we're not talking blast-proof, but a quick fix to keep out most of the rain-that we can have up whileit's still daylight."

"Well, I'll be damned," Waldstejn said. He nodded his head in agreement. "Just the two of you, though? You don't need some more bodies?"

Hodicky snorted. "You think they're-" he thumbed in the general direction of Headquarters- "going to assign more men becauseyou ask them, sir? No, Q and I'll handle things, don't you worry."

The Private glanced upward. The roof quivered thinly to the touch of boot soles. "Ah, sir," Hodicky said as he eyed the roof, "you wouldn't mind if a couple bottles of gin evaporated from the boozelocker, would you?" Immediately within the main storehouse were two large steel cabinets. One held small arms andammunition, the other held the battalion's medical supplies and the officers' liquor rations. Their hasp locks would open to Waldstejn's thumbprint alone. "There was a lot of stuff flying around a few minutes ago. Some it it probably busted a bottle or two, don't you think?" Hodicky hopefully met his superior's eyes.

"I think,"said Lieutenant Waldstejn very carefully, "that if anything evaporates from that locker, you will get the same three years in the glasshouse that Quartermaster Stanlas got when I caught him."

The silence was broken only by the measured pad of Quade's boots, coming nearer along the ridge line. "However," the Supply Officer continued, "I will very cheerfully withdraw two bottles of gin from my own ration as a present for you and Private Quade when you've finished with the roof."

"Mary, you scared me, sir!" Hodicky gasped through his smile. "We'll get right on it." He turned to dart back into the store room. But as the little man did so, he paused and turned again. "Sir," he said, "I ought to just keep my mouth shut, I know, but… Look, it's just as much against regs to issue your own booze to enlisted men as it is to let a couple bottles disappear. What's the deal?"

Waldstejn smiled, more at himself than at the question. "Look, Hodicky," he said, "if you get caught and my ass comes up on charges as a result-fine. I trusted somebody I shouldn't have and I got burned for it like I deserved. I never swore to anybody I'd make sure enlisted men got pissed on beer and officers on spirits. But my accounts are going to be straight because / say they will, not for some damned regulation. Now, go fix the roof while I take a look at what's happened inside." He walked toward the counter's gate.

"It's like you said, Pavel," Private Quade called from above. His head was silhouetted against one of the larger rips in the lobby ceiling.

"Come on down and help me carry," Hodicky shouted back. "We're in a hurry."

Hodicky waved the Lieutenant through into the stores area and followed him. In a low voice- though there was no one nearer than Quade, whose rapid footsteps were slanting toward the ladder at the back of the building-the Private said, "Ah, sir, I noticed lots more rat droppings than we'd thought when I was checking things out a moment ago. The shipment of warfarin hasn't come in-" it had, but Hodicky had checked the invoice himself- "and you know how they give Q the creeps. While you're in the locker, why don't you withdraw some digitalis from medicalstores. I'll lace some flour with that and put it out for Q, you know. I don't like it when he gets upset."

The holes in the roof now lighted the warehouse more than the glow strips did. Waldstejn frowned at his subordinate in puzzlement. If Hodicky knew that digitalis was poisonous, then he did not have some wild-hare idea of using it to get high on. The officer sighed. "All right," he said, "but be careful. You two are the only staff I'll get from the Major, and I don't need you keeling over with heart attacks."

"Thank you, sir," the Private said. He began to walk briskly down the aisles toward the back door of the building.

"If this bombing means what I'm afraid it does," Waldstejn called after him, "I guess we're going to have worse problems than rats in a little bit."

Maybe you will, Pavel Hodicky thought as he jogged between racks of boots and uniforms. For the Privates, though, a couple of rats named Breisach and Ondru were the number one problem.

If Hodicky did not take care of it fast with spiked gin, Q was going to do it his own way. At the moment, Hodicky was still uncertain which result frightened him more.