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Brooks Terry Magiczne Krolest Krolestwo na sprzedaz
Brooks Terry Shannara 004 Potomkowie Shannary
Buck Rogers 01 Buck Rogers in Addison E Steele (v1.0) (epub)
Discworld 31 The Wee Free Men Pratchett Terry
Discworld 26 The Thief of Tim Pratchett Terry
Brooks Terry Magiczne Krolest Nadworny czarodziej
Brooks Terry Magiczne Krolest Czarny jednorozec
Discworld 36 Making Money Pratchett Terry
Discworld 30 Monstrous Regime Pratchett Terry
Discworld 09 Eric Pratchett Terry

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.January gave up on the breeze, climbed onto his top bunk to stare at the ceiling.He observed the corrugated arch over him.Cricketsong sawed through his thoughts.Below him a rapid conversation was being carried on in guilty undertones, Fitch at its center."January is the best bombardier left," he said."And I'm as good as Lewis was.""But so is Sweeney," Matthews said."And he's in with Scholes."They were figuring out who would take over the strike.January scowled.Tibbets and the rest were less than twelve hours dead, and they were squabbling over who would re­place them.January grabbed a shirt, rolled off his bunk, put the shirt on."Hey Professor," Fitch said."Where you going?""Out."Though midnight was near it was still sweltering.Crickets shut up as he walked by, started again behind him.He lit a cigarette.In the dark the MPs patrolling their fenced-in com­pound were like pairs of walking armbands.The 509th, pris­oners in their own army.Fliers from other groups had taken to throwing rocks over the fence.Forcefully January expelled smoke, as if he could expel his disgust with it.They were only kids, he told himself.Their minds had been shaped in the war, by the war, and for the war.They knew you couldn't mourn the dead for long; carry around a load like that and your own engines might fail.That was all right with January.It was an attitude that Tibbets had helped to form, so it was what he deserved.Tibbets would want to be forgotten in favor of the mission, all he had lived for was to drop the gimmick on the Japs, he was oblivious to anything else, men, wife, family, anything.So it wasn't the lack of feeling in his mates that bothered January.And it was natural of them to want to fly the strike they had been training a year for.Natural, that is, if you were a kid with a mind shaped by fanatics like Tibbets, shaped to take orders and never imagine consequences.But January was not a kid, and he wasn't going to let men like Tibbets do a thing to his mind.And the gimmick… the gimmick was not natural.A chemical bomb of some sort, he guessed.Against the Geneva Convention.He stubbed his cigarette against the sole of his sneaker, tossed the butt over the fence.The tropical night breathed over him.He had a headache.For months now he had been sure he would never fly a strike.The dislike Tibbets and he had exchanged in their looks (January was acutely aware of looks) had been real and strong.Tibbets had understood that January's record of pin­point accuracy in the runs over the Salton Sea had been a way of showing contempt, a way of saying you can't get rid of me even though you hate me and I hate you.The record had forced Tibbets to keep January on one of the four second-string teams, but with the fuss they were making over the gimmick January had figured that would be far enough down the ladder to keep him out of things.Now he wasn't so sure.Tibbets was dead.He lit another cigarette, found his hand shaking.The Camel tasted bitter.He threw it over the fence at a receding armband, and regret­ted it instantly.A waste.He went back inside.Before climbing onto his bunk he got a paperback out of his footlocker."Hey Professor, what you reading now?" Fitch said, grinning.January showed him the blue cover.Winter's Tale, by an Isak Dinesen.Fitch examined the little wartime edition."Pretty racy, eh?""You bet," January said heavily."This guy puts sex on every page." He climbed onto his bunk, opened the book.The stories were strange, hard to follow.The voices below bothered him.He concentrated harder.As a boy on the farm in Arkansas, January had read everything he could lay his hands on.On Saturday afternoons he would race his father down the muddy lane to the mailbox (his father was a reader too), grab the Saturday Evening Post and run off to devour every word of it.That meant he had another week with nothing new to read, but he couldn't help it.His favorites were the Homblower stories, but anything would do.It was a way off the farm, a way into the world.He had become a man who could slip between the covers of a book whenever he chose.But not on this night.The next day the chaplain gave a memorial service, and on the morning after that Colonel Scholes looked in the door of their hut right after mess."Briefing at eleven," he announced.His face was haggard."Be there early." He looked at Fitch with bloodshot eyes, crooked a finger."Fitch, January, Matthews-come with me."January put on his shoes.The rest of the men sat on their bunks and watched them wordlessly.January followed Fitch and Matthews out of the hut."I've spent most of the night on the radio with General Le May," Scholes said.He looked them each in the eye."We've decided you're to be the first crew to make a strike."Fitch was nodding, as if he had expected it."Think you can do it?" Scholes said."Of course," Fitch replied.Watching him January under­stood why they had chosen him to replace Tibbets: Fitch was like the old bull, he had that same ruthlessness.The young bull."Yes, sir," Matthews said.Scholes was looking at him."Sure," January said, not wanting to think about it."Sure." His heart was pounding directly on his sternum.But Fitch and Matthews looked seri­ous as owls, so he wasn't going to stick out by looking odd.It was big news, after all; anyone would be taken aback by it.Nevertheless, January made an effort to nod."Okay," Scholes said."McDonald will be flying with you as co-pilot." Fitch frowned."I've got to go tell those British officers that Le May doesn't want them on the strike with you.See you at the briefing.""Yes, sir."As soon as Scholes was around the corner Fitch swung a fist at the sky."Yow!" Matthews cried.He and Fitch shook hands."We did it!" Matthews took January's hand and wrung it, his face plastered with a goofy grin."We did it!""Somebody did it, anyway," January said."Ah, Frank," Matthews said."Show some spunk.You're always so cool.""Old Professor Stoneface," Fitch said, glancing at January with a trace of amused contempt."Come on, let's get to the briefing [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]