"Andy McNab - Bravo-Two-Zero" - читать интересную книгу автора (McNab Andy)

friend to France for the weekend, expeditions that were financed by him
doing over his aunty's gas meter. I was soon getting into trouble with
the police myself, mainly for vandalism to trains and vending machines.
There were juvenile court cases and fines that caused my poor parents a
lot of grief.

I changed jobs when I was 16, going behind the counter at McDonald's in
Catford. Everything went well until round about Christmas time, when I
was arrested with two other blokes coming out of a flat that didn't
belong to us in Dulwich village. I got put into a remand hostel for
three days while I waited to go in front of the magistrates. I hated
being locked up and swore that if I got away with it I'd never let it
happen again. I knew deep down that I'd have to do something pretty
decisive or I'd end up spending my entire life in Peckham, fucking about
and getting fucked up. The army seemed a good way out. My brother had
enjoyed it, so why not me?

When the case came up the other two got sent to Borstal. I was let off
with a caution, and the following day I took myself down to the army
recruiting office. They gave me a simple academic test, which I failed.
They told me to come back a calendar month later, and this time, because
it was exactly the same test, I managed to scrape through by two points.

I said I wanted to be a helicopter pilot, as you do when you have no
qualifications and not a clue what being one involves.

"There's no way you are going to become a helicopter pilot," the
recruiting sergeant told me. "However, you can join the Army Air Corps
if you want. They might teach you to be a helicopter refueler."

"Great," I said, "that's me."

You are sent away for three days to a selection center where you take
more tests, do a bit of running, and go through medicals. If you pass,
and they've got a vacancy, they'll let you join the regiment or trade of
your choice.

I went for my final interview, and the officer said, "McNab, you stand
more chance of being struck by lightning than you do of becoming a
junior leader in the Army Air Corps. I think you'd be best suited to
the infantry. I'll put you down for the Royal Green Jackets. That's my
regiment."

I didn't have a clue about who or what the Royal Green Jackets were or
did. They could have been an American football team for all I knew.

If I'd waited three months until I was 17, I could have joined the Green
Jackets as an adult recruit, but like an idiot I wanted to get stuck
straight in. I arrived at the Infantry Junior Leaders battalion in
Shorncliffe, Kent, in September 1976 and hated it. The place was run by