"Энди Макнаб. Немедленная операция (engl) " - читать интересную книгу автора

target on a range and being in a situation where people are trying to push
and shove or get in the way, and the targets can fire back."
Mick had been in charge of jap-slapping in the Regiment for years.
He was about five feet six inches and wiry, slightly cross-eyed, and
with only about two inches between his chin and his nose. He reminded me of
Punch, but I wouldn't have mentioned it to him; we'd been told he came from
the world's most aggressive family of Taffs.
Apparently his old man still walked into pubs and tried to start
fights, and he was in his eighties.
As a schoolboy Mick had been picked for the Welsh gymnastics team but
couldn't take part because his old man wouldn't give him the fare to go
training. He then got seriously into the jap-slapping and fought for the UK.
Mick had become a millionaire in his youth with a shop-fitting business but
got ripped off by his partner and ended up in a council flat on social
security.
We'd driven to the training area in the civilian cars that we were
going to be trained in. We were sitting in a big, long concrete shelter in
our jeans and T-shirts and long hair, pistols in our belts.
It was a dusty, musty building with gym mats on the floor, punch bags
hanging from the girders and targets on the walls-all the equipment we'd
need to go around beating one another up.
"What I'm going to teach you is from twenty-seven years of experience,"
Mick said. "However, the first twenty-five years of it, the martial arts,
has been a waste of time. If you're my height and ten stone, and he's six
foot six and sixteen stone, knowing a few chops and flying kicks isn't going
to do you much good.
"If a sixteen-stone monster hits you in the face, you're going to go
down, no two ways about it. When you have a slight knock from a cupboard
drawer, it hurtsso if you get a fist with sixteen stone behind it coming
down at you, you're going to go down like a bag of shit, no matter who you
are."
What was called for was a combination of street fighting and certain
skills from the jap-slapping catalog, together with the controlled use of
weapons. If we got involved in a scuffle outside a Belfast pub, the other
person wasn't going to bow politely from the waist and stick to the rules.
It would be arms and legs everywhere, head butts, biting, and gouging. In
other words, we had to learn to fight dirty. If we got cornered in Northern
Ireland and did a Bruce Lee, they were going to say, "He knew what he was
doing. It looked too clear and precise; there's something wrong." But if it
just looked like a good old scrap with ears torn and noses bitten off,
they'd think it was a run-of-the-mill street fight and nothing to do with
the security forces.
"And when it's done," Mick said, "the idea is not to stand over them,
cross your arms, and wait for the applause. The idea is to fuck off as fast
as you can."
What we needed was, as always, speed, aggression, and surprise. "Once
you've committed yourself to go for it, you must crack into it as hard as
you can, apply maximum aggression, and get it done. If you dillydally,
you'll go down, and once you're down, and somebody's on top of you, it's
very difficult to turn things around. If the sixteen-stone monster gets you