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

We ran over logs, jumped behind trees; it was all over within fifteen
seconds. Then the DS shouted, "Stop!"
After each contact the DS would debrief us. We'd be panting away,
trying to catch our breaths; it was only a short, sharp burst of activity,
but even patrolling I'd get out of breath. The body was tensed up; the brain
was concentrating. It was live ammunition, and we were being tested.
I was already finding the jungle as physically hard as Selection
because the pressure was unrelenting. I assumed that all the time they were
asking themselves the questions: Would I want him in my patrol?
Has he got the personality? Has he got the aptitude? The closed, harsh
environment of the jungle, where everybody depended on everybody else, would
show us in our true light.
"Why did you take that bit of cover there? Look over there-the world's
biggest tree. That'll stop seven-sixtwo."
The DS, Keith, walked us back to the static target The canopy had
retained the pall of smoke and the smell of cordite from the contact.
I took a swig of water from my bottle as I listened.
"When you saw that, you were right on top of it.
Walk back five meters, turn around, and now look. You can see it now,
can't you? The reason you can see it is that you know that it's there.
You've got to be good enough to notice it before you get there, and the only
way you're going to do that is getting up and down here, and watching, and
practicing.
"Let's now go and see if you hit what you saw."
There wasn't a scratch on the target Mal and I had been firing at.
"What's the point of firing if you're not going to kill him?"
Keith said. "It's all well and good getting that constant fire down to
get away, but what you're trying to do is kill them so they don't follow you
up and kill
you."
We built up to four-man contact drills. The lead scout would be moving
very slowly, stop, observe the area, start moving. If we had a rise to go
over and the other side was dead ground, he would tell the patrol to stop,
and go over, butt in the shoulder, using the cover of the trees. If that was
okay, he'd just wave everybody on.
The rest of us would be covering our arcs as we walked.
The lead scout might have missed something; we might end up with a
contact right or a contact rear.
The one piece of advice I'd got from Jeff in D Squadron was: "Butt in
your shoulder, sights up." It was tiring to move so slowly and deliberately.
I was breathing really hard and deeply-, concentrating so much on what I was
doing.
In any slack time we were expected to mug up on what we had been taught
the day before. Mal was so good at everything that he didn't need to. He'd
just lie there with a fag and a brew. It was impressive. I was jealous; I
would have done the same, only I was way behind because my Morse was shit.
Any spare time I had, I cracked on.
The jungle canalizes movement. The dense vegetation, deep gullies,
steep hills and ravines, and wide, fast rivers are obstacles that make
cross-country movement very difficult. However, it's got to be done. High