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

of the timings and number two because I was starting to freeze.
I was dripping all over him.
He looked up, took a sip of coffee, and said, "Stop fucking sweating on
me."
As he gave me my next grid reference, he said, "See you," and did up
the zip.
I turned to face into the blizzard again and trudged on.
I arrived at one checkpoint at the same time as two ruperts who'd
tabbed in together from a different direction.
"This checkpoint is not where it should be," one of them said to the
DS.
The biwi bag was in a snowdrift on a piece of ground called a spot
height. The DS, who happened to be Peter, the chief instructor, said, "Well,
where do you think it should be then?"
The rupert pointed on the map; then the two officers started to argue
between themselves. There was only a difference of one or two hundred
meters; it wasn't as if we were in. different valleys.
The DS said to me, "Where are we?"
I pointed to the spot height on the map and he said, "Correct." I
wasn't going to argue.
Then he turned to the two ruperts and said, "Wherever you think you
are, here is your next grid.
Off they went, and as he gave me my grid, he shook his head and said,
"I can't understand what's the matter with these guys. They're here to
become part of something that I'm already a member of. I'm the chief
instructor, and they're arguing with me. Even if I'm wrong, what's the point
in arguing with me?"
I didn't see them again. Next time, if there was a next time for them,
perhaps they wouldn't approach Selection with their ruperts head on. At that
stage the DS couldn't even be arsed to know our names unless,we'd done
something wrong. All they were trying to confirm was that we had endurance,
stamina, and determination. They couldn't give a monkey's about our skills
and aptitudes.
A character called jock was in the next bed to me.
Every night, when we got back from another shattering day on the hill,
he'd say, "Och, I think I'll just nip down the town and have a drink." He'd
get all dressed up and go down to one of the discos, rolling back at three
o'clock in the morning, stinking. He'd fall into bed, curl UP, and fall
asleep.
Next morning I'd give him a nudge and say, "Jock, it's scoff."
"Och, aye."
He'd get up, right as rain, put his kit back on, make loads of toast,
and carry it to the wagon in his hands.
The most I could manage, and it certainly wasn't every night, was a
trip to the local chip shop and a couple of pints of Guinness on the way.
At the end of the first two weeks the really serious stuff started,
revisiting the Elan valley. I used to like the drive up there because we had
to start really early in the morning. I could get my head down in my
sleeping bag and drink loads of tea. All good things come to an end,
however, and the truck would eventually stop, the engine would be switched