eugen_br: переводы

→Hanno heard the rustle of conversation drop a notch and he looked around, a soldier's instincts for danger not yet completely obliterated by the alcohol he'd consumed. Through the haze of hookah smoke and stinging eyes, Hanno saw that virtually every face in the bar was turned towards him.

→'Damn, but that's good stuff,' spluttered Hanno, tossing a crumpled handful of the new Imperial currency onto the bar. 'Give me the bottle, you robbing bastard.'

→He lifted the drink and again drained it in a single swallow, coughing at its potency.

→From the pattern of the rivets and the faded markings along its length, Hanno could tell that the bar had once been the side of a Chimera. Slots that had once been fitted with integral lasguns were now repositories for spent and crushed lho sticks. The drink was a cloudy, gritty concoction distilled in a corroded drum that had once been a Hellhound's fuel tank. It was lethal stuff, but it was the only thing that helped Hanno Merbal blot out the memories of the Killing Ground.

→He lifted his head, studying the bar and the drink that sat upon it.

→'Another one,' he said, and another measure was duly poured and set before him. Hanno took a deep breath, inhaling the stink of his own sweat and guilt, and closed his eyes against the sight of his rounded belly and sagging chest.

→Hanno lowered his head until it rested on the cool metal of the bar.

→Yes, the man wore a mask of ungrateful resentment etched into his face, just like all the other locals. Hanno wouldn't have put it past him to try and poison a decorated Imperial soldier of the Achaman Falcatas, but as the heat of the liquor spread through his gut, he smiled as the strength of the drink eased the frantic screaming inside his skull.

→The crude liquor burned his throat and he coughed, wondering for a moment if the sour-faced bastard behind the bar had simply served him a glass of promethium as some kind of sick joke. He slammed the glass down onto the beaten metal bar and looked into the man's yellow eyes, seeking confirmation of his suspicions.

→To Jimmy, Dave and Pete of the 1st Battalion of the Royal Anglians, and Commissar Chris from the RMP. Thanks for chat and the info. Come back safe, guys.

→'You can't,' agreed Nisato. 'That's why you need to come with me now.'

→'No,' wept Hanno, shrugging off Nisato's grip, 'I'm not. I can't go on like this.'

→He drew in a deep breath and in the blink of an eye the inferno of the bar, the melting child and the burning men vanished. All was as it had been moments before. Hanno snatched at the bar to steady himself as the world spun crazily around him, his senses trying to reorient to normality in the wake of such horror.

→Nisato was instantly alert. 'What are you doing, Hanno? Put that away.'

→'Or what? You'll arrest me?'

→'Keep your voice down, Hanno,' cautioned Nisato.

→'If I have to, yes. A night in the drunk tank might do you some good.'

→'You want a drink?' asked Hanno.

→'Of raquir? No, I think not. I don't think you should have any more either.'

→'There's duty,' said Nisato. 'You have yours and I have mine.'