Поющие в терновнике

           "ForCrissakepipedown!"camethecaptain’swhisper."Who’sthebloodyidiotyelling?"

           "Patsy,"chorusedhalfadozenvoices.

           Theroaroflaughterfloatedreassuringlyacrosstheminefields,dieddowninastreamoflow-tonedprofanityfromthecaptain.SergeantMalloyglancedathiswatch;thesecondhandwasjustsweepingupto9:40pip-emma.

           Eighthundredandeighty-twoBritishgunsandhowitzersspoketogether.Theheavensreeled,thegroundlifted,expanded,couldnotsettle,forthebarragewentonandonwithoutasecond’sdiminutioninthemind-shatteringvolumeofnoise.Itwasnousepluggingfingersinears;thegargantuanboomingcameupthroughtheearthandtraveledinwardtothebrainviathebones.WhattheeffectmusthavebeenonRommel’sfrontthetroopsoftheNinthintheirtrenchescouldonlyimagine.Usuallyitwaspossibletopickoutthistypeandsizeofartilleryfromthat,buttonighttheirironthroatschorusedinperfectharmony,andthunderedonastheminutespassed.

           Thedesertlitnotwiththelightofdaybutwiththefireofthesunitself;avastbillowingcloudofdustroselikecoilingsmokethousandsoffeet,glowingwiththeflashesofexplodingshellsandmines,theleapingflamesofmassiveconcentrationsofdetonatingcasings,ignitingpayloads.EverythingMontgomeryhadwasaimedattheminefields—guns,howitzers,mortars.