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

hated rum, but this didn't seem the time to say so. I didn't like bread
pudding either, but I threw a lot of that down my neck as well.
One of the ruperts came up to me and said, "Bloody hell, were you
having some problems down by the reservoir?"
I explained what was going on and he said, "I could hear you. All I
could hear was this 'Fucking fuck, fuck ya!"
" He had been caught up in another firebreak, having the same problem.
We climbed into the wagons for the last time. Everybody was happy but
subdued. Nobody was sleeping; we were all too deep in thought.
I had the big Radox bath and tried to get all the strapping off my
legs. It was two-inch tape which like a dickhead, I'd put on the sticky way
around. All I'd needed it for was support, so it could have been the other
way around. I was in the bath, talking to George, and erring and blinding as
I ripped the tape off. By the time I had finished, half of my leg hairs had
disappeared.
One of the DS came around and said, "Everybody be in the training wing
lecture room for eight o'clock in the morning."
I was feeling confident. There were some who were on a dodgy wicket who
weren't too sure, but they were soon going to be finding out.
As soon as the DS said, "The following people go and see the training
major," I knew that they were binned. If they didn't call my name out, I'd
know that I'd passed.
He called out ten names. No McNab.
"The rest of you, are there any injuries? The medical center's open
now; go and get them sorted out."
There was one little job I had to do first. One of the blokes who had
failed needed driving to the station, and I had offered. There had been an
unfortunate incident on the hill-at least according to his version of it. He
was doing well and had got to a checkpoint at night where he was held
because a rupert had arrived in shit state and binned it. He was told, "Go
with this officer, make sure he's all right." He got the man safely down to
the next checkpoint but by now was very late.
"I was told to wait," he told the DS.
The DS just said, "Tough shit."
He was held because of the rupert, and quite rightly so; his job was to
make sure the rupert got down to the next checkpoint that had a vehicle; he
would then carry on. But he was late because of it, and they didn't seem to
take it into account. Maybe there was a cock-up in the administration.
Whatever, this boy was stuffed. As I drove him to the station, he was
crying. This had been his second attempt; for him there were no more
tomorrows. I could imagine how he felt.
We had the weekend off, and it was very much needed. My feet swelled up
as if I had elephantiasis and I couldn't put my shoes on. I had to cut holes
in my trainers with a pair of scissors.
I wanted to tell everyone that I'd passed Selection, that I was a big
boy now. But it meant jack shit to the blokes in the camp.
Apparently a lot of them did Endurance once or twice a year anyway. It
was good for them to get up on the hill; it showed example and also meant
there were more people in the area for safety reasons.
Some people slipped through the safety net. Two weeks later a fellow