Уловка 22

Milo

           Hebowledtwoofthemasideinhislungeforthenickel-platedmicrophone,hiseyesglitteringwildlyandhisbeefyfacecontortedwithstress.Hesqueezedthemicrophoneinabestialgripandbeganshoutinghystericallyatthetopofhisvoice.

           "Milo,yousonofabitch!Areyoucrazy?Whatthehellareyoudoing?Comedown!Comedown!"

           "Stopholleringsomuch,willyou?"answeredMilo,whowasstandingthererightbesidehiminthecontroltowerwithamicrophoneofhisown."I’mrighthere."Milolookedathimwithreproofandturnedbacktohiswork."Verygood,men,verygood,"hechantedintohismicrophone."ButIseeonesupplyshedstillstanding.Thatwillneverdo,PurvisI’vespokentoyouaboutthatkindofshoddyworkbefore.Now,yougorightbacktherethisminuteandtryitagain.Andthistimecomeinslowly…slowly.Hastemakeswaste,Purvis.Hastemakeswaste.IfI’vetoldyouthatonce,Imusthavetoldyouthatahundredtimes.Hastemakeswaste."Theloudspeakeroverheadbegansquawking."Milo,thisisAlvinBrown.I’vefinisheddroppingmybombs.WhatshouldIdonow?"

           "Strafe,"saidMilo.

           "Strafe?"AlvinBrownwasshocked.

           "Wehavenochoice,"Miloinformedhimresignedly."It’sinthecontract."

           "Oh,okay,then,"AlvinBrownacquiesced."InthatcaseI’llstrafe."ThistimeMilohadgonetoofar.

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