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

I followed him over to the brew area just outside the living
accommodation. The Burco boiler looked as if it was kept going twenty-four
hours a day; next to it was a big box of NAAFI biscuits and jars of coffee
and sugar.
"How's the ice-cream boys then?" I said.
I'd eventually solved the mystery of that nickname, discovering that
the Air Troop had always had the piss taken out of them. Wherever there was
a camera, said everybody else in the squadrons, the Air Troop would be
posing in front of it-usually with shades and a deep tan. It stemmed from
the way we had to operate. When there was troop training or squadron
exercises, Mountain Troop would go and live on a mountain, Boat Troop might
go down to the dark and murky waters of Poole Harbor and paddle about in the
freezing cold, but we'd have to go where the clear skies were, and that
happened to be where the sun and Cornettos were too, so a few jumps, then
rig and jumpsuit off, get an ice cream and walk around in shorts and
flip-flops, looking good. No one said it 'Would be easy. There was one
exception, and that was G Squadron Air Troop, which was known as the
Lonsdale Troop because they were forever fighting one another. They even
fought a pitched battle on a petrol station forecourt one day because they
couldn't agree about who should get out of the minibus and do the filling
up.
"Seen anybody yet?" Nosh said. "The ops room is up the top there. just
leave your kit here. Fuck knows where you're sleeping. I think you're going
in Steve's room. But if you go upstairs and see who's up there, they'll be
able to sort you out. Tiny got his bike nicked in London, so he's really
fucking pleased about thatmake sure you ask him about it because he gets all
bitter and twisted. What's even worse, I'm living with him now, and he hates
it. Got to go now, Blockbusters is
on."
Nosh, I discovered that evening, after finding myself a bed space in
Steve's room, was still a nose-picking exmember of the civilized human race,
living in a disgusting world of gunge. If he didn't like something on the
television, he picked his nose and flicked the bogey at the screen. The
glass was covered with things.
"He's decided he wants to learn the guitar," said Frank. "He spends all
his free time knocking out 'Dueling Banjos." Not that you'll be able to
tell. It sounds like 'Colonel Bogey' to me."
"Talking of which," Steve said to me, "don't look inside the guitar."
"Why not?"
"Just don't."
I did. To judge by the volume of the crop, it was a miracle Nosh's head
hadn't caved in.
Besides fatting, picking his nose, and strumming, his other passion in
life was eggy-weggies and Marmite soldiers. Every night he'd go to the
cookhouse to get his boiled eggs and Marmite toast; then he'd come back, do
the crossword, watch the telly, have a fag and a fart, and go to sleep.
Johnny Two-Combs was also with us, from Boat Troop. There still wasn't
a hair out of place. The last time I'd seen him was in a bar in Hereford. He
was wearing a black polo-neck jumper, a yellow shirt over that, and black
trousers. He went up to a girl and said, eyes half closed and half