the.stainless.steel.rats.revenge-第14部分

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re；　went　through　myself　as　fast　and　low　as　I　could。
　　　　It　really　sounded　great。　Sirens　were　moaning；　men　shouting；　weapons　barking：　the　voices　of　utter　confusion。　I　threw　more　grenades　in　all　directions；　throwing　them　as　far　as　I　could　to　widen　the　area　of　cover；　until　only　a　half　dozen　were　left。　These　I　saved　for　possible　emergencies；　which　were　sure　to　emerge；　jamming　them　into　my　coat　pockets。　The　self…destruct　on　the　suitcase　had　a　five…second　delay　which　I　tripped；　then　buried　the　suitcase　away　in　the　opposite　direction。　I　crept　along　the　wall；　my　only　point　of　reference　in　the　blackout；　towards　the　guardhouse　I　had　noticed　when　I　had　first　examined　the　gate。　There　had　been　a　clutch　of　vehicles　parked　thereat　the　timeand　I　muttered　prayers　that　at　least　one　of　them　still　remained。　The　cloud　thinned　and　I　buried　two　more　grenades　ahead　of　me。　In　the　darkness　I　heard　a　motor　start　up。
　　　　Forgetting　caution；　I　ran。　Someone　slammed　into　me　and　fell　heavily　but　I　kept　my　feet　and　stumbled　on。　Then　I　tripped　over　a　curb　and　did　fall；　but　did　a　quick　roll　and　came　up　running　minus　my　hat。　The　engine　was　louder　and　then　I　saw　the　squarish　van　just　beyond　the　edge　of　the　smoke　cloud。　It　was　turning　to　start　down　the　road　and　I　threw　two　of　my　remaining　four　grenades　as　far　ahead　of　it　as　I　could。　The　driver　hit　the　brakes　as　the　mushrooming　clouds　sprang　out；　then　I　was　at　the　door　tearing　it　open。　He　was　in　cook's　white；　cap　and　all；　and　I　reached　out　and　dragged　him　to　me；　landing　a　swift　right　cross　on　his　gaping　jaw　as　he　went　by。　Then　I　was　in　the　driver's　seat　and　pushing　the　thing　into　gear　and　jumping　the　deadweight　of　the　vehicle　forward　as　fast　as　I　could；　letting　the　door　swing　shut　with　the　sudden　acceleration。　Once　out　of　the　smoke　I　saw　that　daylight　had　arrived。
　　　　Well　done；　I　congratulated　myself；　then　slowed　down　to　avoid　being　conspicuous。　More　soldiers　were　ing　down　the　street　towards　me；　running　at　the　double；　so　I　slipped　down　as　far　as　I　could　and　began　to　tug　at　the　gray　beard。　It　was　just　about　time　to　resume　my　Vaska　identity。
　　　　A　ringing　pain　possessed　the　side　of　my　head　and　I　fell　over；　shouting　aloud　at　the　sudden　agony　pulling　on　the　steering　tiller　as　I　went。　The　van　rushed　at　the　squad　of　soldiers　who　scattered　in　all　directions。　Something　shiny　flashed　in　the　corner　of　my　eye　and　I　moved　aside　so　the　second　blow　caught　me　on　the　shoulder　and　was　scarcely　felt　through　all　the　clothing。　A　white　clad　arm　holding　a　heavy　pot　projected　in　from　the　rear　of　the　truck。　I　jammed　the　steering　tiller　hard　over　and　the　arm　vanished　from　sight　as　its　owner　fell。　In　the　rush　I　had　forgotten　there　might　be　others　in　the　van。
　　　　Just　before　the　truck　a　frightened　officer　was　spread…eagled　against　the　wall。　I　pushed　the　tiller　again　and　narrowly　avoided　him　and　we　had　a　good　look　at　each　other　as　the　van　rushed　by。　He　was　sure　to　be　impressed　by　my　gas　mask　and　beard　and　would　instantly　report　it　on　his　radio。　Time　was　running　out。　Ann　and　pot　reappeared　and　I　chopped　the　wrist　with　the　edge　of　my　hand　and　gained　possession　of　the　pot。　As　soon　as　I　had　whipped　the　van　around　another　corner；　foot　hard　down　on　the　throttle　now；　I　threw　the　pot　back　to　its　owner　with　a　blackout　grenade　inside；　silencing　at　least　this　source　of　trouble　for　the　moment。　I　straightened　the　weaving　course　of　the　van；　gently　touched　the　growing　knot　on　my　head；　and　noticed　a　brace　of　armored　vehicles　that　appeared　in　the　road　ahead　and　turned　in　my　direction。　Buildings　rushed　by　and　I　braked　and　turned　into　the　next　crossroad。　The　van　was　being　more　of　a　liability　than　an　asset　and　I　had　to　get　rid　of　it。
　　　　But　what　then？　I　did　not　want　to　be　found　away　from　my　quarters；　this　would　bring　instant　suspicion；　and　the　officers'　buildings　woe　in　the　opposite　direction。　But　the　officers'　club　was　not　too　far　away　in　the　recreation　area。　Could　I　get　there？　Was　it　possible　that　the　unconscious　drunks　of　the　previous　evening's　festivities　still　lay　on　the　bunks　where　I　had　left　them？　This　was　too　good　a　chance　to　miss；　because　if　I　could　get　back　into　my　bunk　I　would　certainly　not　be　suspect。
　　　　This　was　close　enough。　There　were　vehicles　ing　towards　meand　undoubtedly　more　behind　mebut　none　dose　for　the　moment。　I　twisted　the　van　into　a　narrow　street；　beaked　to　a　stop　and　hit　the　ground　running。　Shedding　my　disguise　as　I　went；　coat；　beard；　gas　mask　marking　the　trail　behind　me。　I　stuffed　the　remaining　grenade　into　my　pocket；　pulled　on　my　cap；　squared　my　shoulders　in　a　military　manner；　and　strolled　around　the　corner。　A　squad　of　soldiers　were　pouring　out　of　barracks　and　forming　ranks；　but　they　ignored　me；　just　another　uniform　among　uniforms。　The　officers'　club　was　not　too　far　away。　Two　more　corners　and　there　it　was。　The　front　door　sealed；　but　I　knew　the　bunkroom　entrance　would　be　open。
　　　　Just　as　I　was　about　to　turn　the　corner　I　heard　the　men　talking　and　I　held　back。
　　　　〃Is　that　all？〃
　　　　〃Just　a　few　more；　sir；　a　couple　that　are　hard　to　wake　up。　And　one　who　won't　get　out　of　his　bunk。〃　
　　　　〃I'll　talk　to　him。〃　
　　　　I　took　a　quick　look；　then　drew　back。
　　　　I　was　too　late。　An　officer　was　just　entering　the　bunkroom　door　and　plenty　of　soldiers　were　milling　about；　guiding　hungover　officers　to　a　waiting　truck。　One　of　the　officers　was　sitting　on　the　ground；　holding　his　head　and　ignoring　the　soldiers　who　were　trying　to　entice　him　into　the　waiting　transportation。　Another　was　flipping　his　cookies　against　the　wall　of　the　building。
　　　　Think　quickly；　diGriz；　time　is　running　out。　I　bounced　the　last　smoke　grenade　in　my　palm；　then　flipped　the　actuator　with　my　thumb。　If　I　could　join　the　drunk　team　I　would　be　safe；　it　would　be　worth　the　risk。　I　stepped　around　the　corner；　arm　back；　and　no　one　was　looking　in　my　direction；　with　a　quick　heave　I　threw　the　grenade　over　the　truck　as　far　as　it　would　go。
　　　　It　exploded　nicely；　thud；　boom；　clouds　of　smoke　and　startled　cries　from　the　soldiery。　And　everyone　looking　in　the　same　direction。　Eight　fast　paces　took　me　up　behind　them；　to　the　seated　officer　who　mumbled　unhappily　to　himself；　ignoring　all　else。　I　bent　over；　agreeing　sympathetically　with　his　half…heard　plaints；　helping　him　to　his　feet。
　　　　Then　the　soldiers　were　helping　me；　holding　me　as　well　since　I　seemed　none　too　steady　on　my　feet；　guiding　us　both　to　the　waiting　truck。　I　tripped　and　almost　fell　and　they　caught　and　righted　me。　Now　the　stage　was　setbecause　there　was　one　more　thing　I　had　to　do。　The　cook　in　the　truck　would　report　that　he　had　hit　the　spy　on　the　head。　So　the　word　would　be　out　to　look　for　a　head　woundlike　the　one　I　had。　I　couldn't　get　rid　of　the　knob　on　the　side　of　my　skull；　but　I　could　camouflage　it。　It　would　be　painful；　but　it　was　necessary。
　　　　The　soldiers　helped　me　to　the　first　step　and　I　started　up。　As　soon　as　they　let　go　I　missed　the　next　stepand　plummeted　over　backwards　between　them　cracking　my　head　on　the　ground。
　　　　I　hit　harder　than　I　had　planned　and　the　blow　on　my　already　sore　noggin　felt　like　molten　lead　had　been　poured　on　it　and　I　must　have　passed　out　for　a　moment。　When　I　recovered　I　was　sitting　up　with　blood　running　down　the　side　of　my　faceI　hadn't　planned　that　but　it　certainly　made　a　nice　touchand　a　soldier　was　running　up　with　a　first　aid　kit。　I　was　bandaged　and　calmed　and　this　time　helped　all　the　way　into　the　truck：　I　felt　awful　which　was　fine。　With　dragging　feet　I　groped　my　way　to　the　far　end；　as　far　from　the　entrance　as　I　could　get；　where　a　voice　called　out　hollowly　to　me。　
　　　　〃Vaska　。　。　。〃　It　changed　to　a　hollow　coughing。　
　　　　My　roommate　Otrov　was　there；　looking　rumpled　and　miserable。
　　　　〃You　don't　have　a　drink？〃　he　asked；　his　usual　morning　salutation。
　　　　I　gave　him　sympathy；　if　not　beverage；　during　our　brief　ride。
　　　　There　were　aggrieved　cries　when　the　wheeled　drunk　tank　was　unloaded　and　the　officers　saw　that　they　had　not　been　returned　to　their　quarters；　but　had　been　brought　instead　to　one　of　the　administration　buildings。　I　plained　along　with　the　others；　although　I　had　been　expecting　something　like　this。　Someone　had　escaped　from　the　Glupost　base；　someone　else　had　entered。　Every　head　would　have　to　be　counted　until　the　missing　and/or　extra　party　could　be　found。　We　were　guided；　stumbling；　into　a　waiting　area；　to　be　called　out　one　by　one　to　confer　with　a　battery　of　tired　clerks。　While　we　waited　there　was　a　brisk　amount　of　business　back　and　forth　to　the　latrine　and　I　joined　the　queue。　Mainly　to　leave　a　little　soap　on　my　fingers　when　I　washed　my　hands；　so　I　could　rub　some　of　it　into　my　eyes。　It　burned　like　acid；　but　I　let　it　stay　for　a　moment　before　I　rinsed　it　out。　My　eyes　glared　back　at　me　from　the　mirror　like　twin　coals　of　fire。　Perfect。
　　　　On　cue；　I　found　the　clerk；　showed　my　identification　and　had　my　name　checked　off　a　roster。　I　hoped；　like　all　the　others；　that　we　would　be　allowed　to　leave　soon。　Many　of　than　had　gone　to　sleep　on　the　benches　and　I　joined　their　number。　It　had　been　a　strenuous　night。　What　better　disguise　for　the　spy　than　sleeping　in　the　heart　of　the　enemy？
　　　　It　was　the　sudden　silence　that　shook　me　awake。　I　had　been　lulled　off　by　the　grumbles　and　plaints　of　my　fellow　officers；　the　ing　and　going　of　soldiers；　the　busy　whir　of　office　machines。　These　noises　had　all　stopped；　and　had　been　replaced　by　silence。　Through　the　silence；　first　distant；　than　fonder　and　louder；　came　the　sound　of　a　single　set　of　footsteps　approaching　slowly　and　steadily。　They　came　towards　meand　passed　by；　and　I　kept　my　eyes　closed　and　forced　myself　to　breathe　regularly。　Only　when　they　were　well　past　did　I　open　my　eyes　a　crack。
　　　　I　wondered　at　the　silence。　All　I　saw　was　the　back　of　the　man；　a　nondescript　back　slightly　bent；　a　wrinkled　uniform　of　unimpressive　pale　gray　and　a　cap　of　the　same　fabric。　I　could　not　recall　seeing　this　particular　uniform　before。　I　wondered　what　the　fuss　was　about。　Yawning；　I　sat　up　and　scratched　my　head　below　the　bandage；　watching　as　the　man　reached　the　end　of　the　room　and　turned　to　face　us　all。　He　was　no　more　prepossessing　from　the　front　than　from　the　back。　Sandy　hair　getting　a　little　thin　on　top；　an　incipient　roll　of　fat　and　double　chin；　clean　shaven　with　an　unmemorable　face。　Yet　when　he　spoke；　in　the　tones　of　a　stem　schoolmaster；　all　of　the　veteran　officers　present　remained　dead　silent。
　　　　〃You　officers