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

"On operations, you don't eat lizards and snakes and all that sort of
stuff unless you absolutely have to. It's pointless. If you've got to,
that's fine, but why not take in food that is going to give you the
nutrition so you can do the job? Also, you've got less chance of getting
disease or gut aches. Can you imagine having the shits and being totally out
of it on operations for two days?
You've gone into an area, you've got no support, you've got no way of
coming back, and you're eating lizard heads, and then you get gut ache. You
can't do your job-at least, not a hundred percent. Anyway, the amount of
energy and time it takes to collect food, you wouldn't have any time to do
anything else, so you take the food and water with you."
We were sitting on our belt kits along the riverbank, cradling our
weapons. The lbans were with us; they had a few little fires going and were
smoking their huge rollups as they showed us various fishing nets and traps
that they'd made. We had a go ourselves and everything we made fell to
pieces.
One of the lbans held a small termite nest over the water with a stick.
The termites tumbled into the water, and the fish rose to eat them.
"We also have the red buttress tree," Peter said. "It holds a natural
source of fluid."
We thought this was all rather interesting, especially when he went
around the back and pulled out several six-packs of beer. It was the first
time we'd got anything overtly friendly from the training team.
Once a week we had "fresh." We were given an egg, a couple of sausages.
One particular afternoon they said, "Go away, eat the fresh, and then come
back; we've got a lecture two hours before last light."
It was lovely to be able to cook in daylight, and afterward, as we came
back at the appointed hour with just our belt kit, golacks, and weapons,
everybody was full and content. I settled down for the lecture, thinking
about what I'd do afterward, which was to sort out my webbing sores and the
sore inside my thighs. I was looking forward to getting some army-issue
talcum powder between my legs, lying on my bed and going through my notes.
No sooner had the DS started than the ground was rocked by explosions.
Rounds whistled through the air and thumped into the ground.
"Camp attack! Camp attack! RP, RP, RP [rendezvous point]!"
We bomb-burst out of the schoolhouse. There was smoke everywhere and
bits and pieces of shit flying through the air.
It was a complete pain in the arse. It was week three, we were starting
to get fairly comfortable, starting to adjust to life in the jungle, so all
of a sudden they had hit us with "night out on belt kit."
I made my way to the troop RP. We all had emergency rations in our belt
kits, but no hammocks. We had to sleep on the floor. A lot of armies think
it's dead hard to lie on the ground in the jungle, but there are so many
other factors to fuck you up in that environment, without having to lie in
the mud getting bitten and stung and being so wary of scorpions and snakes
that it's impossible to sleep. It's not macho, it's stupid, and the idea of
, 4 night out on belt kit" was to treat us to that little experience. We got
it in spades because it poured with rain all night.
During one five-day exercise I was moving into a troop RP one evening.
We were patrolling tactically, moving really slowly, to get into an area