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

"Right lads," the sergeant major said. "Chicken time.
The only problem is, there's only one chicken between every six of you.
If you don't get one, you'll have to go to somebody who has one and hope
he'll share it."
We were sent to the bottom of the hill, the chickens were released, and
on the command it was every man for himself. The Worzel Gummidge convention
raced up the hill; I pulled off my combat jacket as I ran and threw it over
the first hen within range. That night it was cooked in the fire and shared
with three others.
The old poachers came in and gabbed off about how to catch a salmon. We
had one weird lecturer who worked for the Water Board, in charge of all the
lakes.
He was a real Herefordshire boy with a craggy old face and greasy blue
nylon parka and a checked cap that was probably older than he was.
He was in a world of his own as he passed on his expertise.
"When you put your net out here, don't 'ee worry about that," he'd say
mystifyingly, chuckling to himself on the riverbank as he seemed to remember
old stories that he then didn't share with us. Then suddenly he was telling
us, 'When you go into a pub, lads, make sure you've got your back to the
wall." We were rolling up.
The DS said to us afterward, "We let him get on with it because we
don't want to upset him. He's, so good at what he does."
After the first two weeks we'd had all the theory, we'd had all the
practice, it was time to go and do it for real.
We were put into groups of four. The scheme was that we were going to
navigate for seven days from point to point as if we were on a "rat run,"
the system of passing escaped POWs from agent to agent in an occupied or
enemy country. It was down to us to move from RP to RP; the only navigation
kit we were allowed was the button compass we'd have around our necks and
the escape map that we'd made ourselves-the whole of Wales on a piece of
parachute silk the size of a handkerchief.
We were told that sometimes on operations we'd be given a ready-printed
one, but more often we would make our own.
We were told that in the areas where we'd be operating, the Regiment
invited in all the farmers and householders for a big barbecue. They were
told that combat survival was on again, that it would be very much
appreciated if their land could be used, and that if they were approached by
any people wearing bin liners and rabbit fur hats, they were to Turn them
away and report it. It was emphasized that they had to be cruel to be kind;
feeding us wouldn't help us because we wouldn't be learning.
A Guards rifle company would be the hunter force out to capture us.
They would be in vehicle and helicopters and would be using dogs.
As a performance incentive, each soldier was told that if he made a
capture, he would be given two weeks' leave and money.
We turned up in the training wing with all our survival equipment,
including a small tobacco tin of bits and pieces that would be all we could
take apart from what we had made. The contents included a razor blade, a
spare compass, water sterilizing tablets, matches and bits of magnesium
block to start fires with, a magnifying glass, a heliograph, and a condom.
This last piece of kit wasn't in case we got lucky on the top of the Black