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

job. That was how I rationalized it to her anyway. In reality I wanted it
for me.
I filled in an application form and started really working on my
fitness but at first didn't tell anyone but Key what I was up to.
"I was thinking about doing it myself," he said. "I'll join you.)) Then
I talked to Dave, who said, "Yeah, fuck it, let's all do it."
We got our bergens on, did some running and circuit training.
Then Dave introduced us to a captain, a Canadian called Max, who wanted
to throw in his lot with us as well. He'd been away to Oman for two years on
secondment to the sultan's forces; he'd met some of the Regiment and had got
a taste for it. His family owned farmland near Winnipeg, and he spoke with a
distinctive twang. He planned to do the tour with the Regiment, go to Staff
College, and carry on his career.
The ultimate aim was to go back to the farm. He was married and very
down-to-earth, not' at all the officer type. The great thing from our point
of view was that he'd have the authority to get us places.
We spoke to everybody we could think of who knew somebody who'd danced
with somebody who'd done Selection. "What's the best stuff for hardening the
feet?"
we'd ask when we tracked them down. "Any hints on special food or
drink?"
"I know somebody in Third Battalion who passed Selection and he swore
by neat's-foot oil," was the furthest we got.
We tried it for two weeks, then switched back to meths.
Once the buzz started going around the battalion that there were people
going for Selection, a fellow called Bob came forward. A bricklayer from
London, he had joined the army late in life. He was five feet seven inches
and strongly built; fitness seemed to come very naturally to him. Nothing
fazed Bob; he laughed everything off.
"If I don't pass, I'll get out anyway," he said. "I've had enough; I'll
go back on the sites."
Bob had a diary written by a fellow called Jeff, who had just passed
Selection and at twenty-one was one of the youngest people ever to get into
the Regiment. It contained details of routes used in the Brecon Beacons and
became our bible.
The captain, having more money than we did, decided to buy a VW camper
van so we could get over to the UK for training; we chipped in for petrol.
We were helped enormously in our training program by Alex, the antitank
platoon commander, who had been in the Regiment himself and was now back
with the battalion. He organized a three-week exercise in Wales for us as an
excuse for us to get up on the hills.
We drove through the night, caught the early-morning ferry, and reached
one of the military transit camps near Brecon by breakfast the next day.
We met up with Johnny Two-Combs. He'd already done Selection at the
same time as Jeff and had failed.
He'd made the commitment to go straight back and do the next Selection
and was doing his own training. It was great; he had more information.
"Try witch hazel on the feet," he said. "And if you get blisters, sort
them out with iodine."
It was all desperation stuff, trying to find some magic formula that