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

If we'd had a bad day, we'd get a "gypsy's warning."
The sergeant major would say, "The following people, come and see me."
Those people would gather around him. He'd say, "You didn't do very well
yesterday. This is a gypsy's; you'd better sort your shit out because next
time you'll be gone."
If anybody had already had a gypsy's and his name was called, he could
assume the worst.
I'd be feeling fairly confident if I was in the first wagon on the way
back. Second wagon, I was unsure but not too worried. Third wagon, I would
have been shirting myself. It happened to me only once.
Most days, however, I was looking at other people, chuffed that these
six-foot-four-inch blond-haired, good-looking thoroughbreds were getting the
shove.
I'd say, "That's a shame," but inside I'd be thinking, Good shit!
Everybody was for himself; everybody wanted to pass.
"The point is," the DS said, "if you've got to be in a position to give
covering fire with your GPMG (general purpose machine gun) in six hours and
forty-five minutes' time, it's no good being there in six hours, forty-five
and a half minutes because you're late. You might as well be ten hours late.
If you're given a timing, you must be there.
The attack group might have to go in without fire cover because their
attack might be time coordinated with another attack that's going in three
or four kilometers away. You must keep your timings; lives might depend on
it one day."
The training team did the course every day as well, and they would vary
the time limit according to the conditions. If there was a
forty-mile-an-hour wind, they took it into consideration. It was then up to
us to be as good as they were.
The big thing was Platform 4. At Hereford railway station, Platform 4
went to London. "It's Platform four for you" was the Regiment's way of
saying, "Thank you and good night."
Of course, by the time people got back to their units, the reason they
left Selection was a "back or leg injury," but they shouldn't have been
embarrassed: They had more guts turning up for Selection in the first place
than the people they were giving excuses to.
The Royal Signals people definitely had the edge on tuning in and being
happy with the environment. At that time, if a bloke wanted to go for the
Regiment from the signals, he first had to be in 264, the signals squadron
in Hereford. So these guys were in the environment to begin with, and they
had the Black Mountains,forty-five minutes up the road to train on. A lot of
them were going home of an evening. In the beginning I felt they had an
unfair advantage. Then I came to see that when it came down to it, they
didn't; they still had to get the boots on and go up the hill with everyone
else.
I was looking at the blokes who'd done Selection once already; maybe
they had got up to the jungle phase of continuation training and then
failed. I was hoping that they were going to pass this first stage again. If
I got to the jungle as well-and I hoped with them-they would know what was
going on.
Some people had turned up looking fearsomely fit. I judged myself all