"Gustav Hasvord. The Short-Timers " - читать интересную книгу автора

A poge colonel pounces out of the jeep, marches up to face me.
"MARINE!"
I think: Is that you, John Wayne? Is this me? "Aye-aye, sir."
"Corporal, don't you know how to execute a hand salute?"
"Yes, sir." I salute. I hold the salute until the poge colonel snaps
his hand to his starched barracks cover and I hold the salute for an extra
couple of second before cutting it away sharply. Now he poge colonel has
been identified as an officer to any enemy snipers in the area.
"Corporal, don't you know how to stand to attention?"
Right away I start wishing I was back in the shit. In battles there are
no police, only people who want to shoot you. In battles there are no poges.
Poges try to kill you on the inside. Poges leave your body intact because
your muscles are all they want from you anyway.
I stand to attention, wobbling slightly beneath the sixty pounds of
gear I'm humping.
The poge colonel has a classic granite jaw. I'm sure that the Marine
Corps must have a strict examination at the officers' candidate school at
Quantico designed to eliminate all officer candidates who lack the granite
jaw.
His jungle utilities are razor-creased, starched to the consistency of
green armor. He executes a flawless Short Pause, a favorite technique of
leaders of men, designed to inflict its victim with fatal insecurity. Having
no desire to damage the colonel's self-confidence, I respond with my best
Parris Island rendition of I-am-only-an-enlisted-person-I-try-to-be-humble.
"Marine..." The colonel stands ramrod straight. This stance is the Air
of Command, intended to intimidate me, despite the fact that I'm a foot
taller and outweigh him by fifty pounds. The colonel investigates the
underside of my chin. "Marine..." He likes that word. "What is that on your
body armor, Marine?"
"Sir?"
The poge colonel stands on tiptoe. For a moment I'm afraid he's going
to bite me in the neck. But he only wants to breathe on me. His smile is
cold. His skin is too white. "Marine..."
"Sir?"
"I asked you a question."
"You mean this peace button, sir?"
"What is it?"
"A peace symbol, sir..."
I wait patiently while the colonel tries to remember the "Maintaining
Interpersonal Relationships with Subordinate Personnel" chapter of his OCS
textbook.
The poge colonel continues to breathe all over my face. His breath
smells of mint. Marine Corps officers are not allowed to have bad breath,
body odor, acne pimples, nor holes in their underwear. Marine Corps officers
are not allowed to have anything that has not been issued to them.
The colonel jabs my button with a forefinger, gives me a fairly decent
Polished Glare. His blue eyes sparkle. "That's right, son, act innocent. But
I know what that button means."
"Yes, sir!"
"It's a ban-the-bomb propaganda button. Admit it!"