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

"I can't answer that question."
"Are you in the army?"
"I can't answer that question."
"Well, you must be in the army because you've got a regimental number.
What's your regimental number?"
"Two-four-four-zero-eight-eight-eight-eight."
"So you're in the fucking army then, aren't you?"
"I can't answer that question."
"Look here, sonny, if you don't fucking answer the questions, you're in
a lot of trouble. Do you understand that?"
"I can't answer that question."
"Okay, this is the score. This is what you're going to do.
You're going to sign that bit of paper for the Red Cross and tell them
that you're okay. Then you might be getting some food. Do you understand?"
"I can't answer that question."
They leaped up, hollering and shouting. "Stand up!
Stand to attention! Who the fuck do you think you are?"
They walked around me, saying, "Are you thick or something? Are you
fucking thick? I'm asking you questions and you're not answering.
Do you understand?"
"I can't answer that question."
I knew that as long as I stuck to the big four-name, number, rank, and
date of birth-and "I can't answer that question," I'd cracked it.
The one in the black polo-neck turned to his mate.
"Do you think he's thick? Yeah, he's got to be fucking thick, look at
him. Why doesn't he talk to us? He's thick. Do you have a mother?"
"I can't answer that question."
"I bet you don't know your mother, do you?"
"I can't answer that question."
"I bet your mother's a fucking stinking whore, isn't she? That's why
you don't know your mother, isn't it?"
"I can't answer that question."
I didn't mind any of it. In fact, compared with the stress positions, I
actually rather liked it. The room was warm, and I could sit down. I wasn't
in a stress position, and the blindfold was off. I just kept saying to
nlyself: "Don't deviate from number, name, rank, date of birth, and you're
home and dry."
They went through the good guy, bad guy routine, and I got the pieces
of paper that they wanted me to sign.
"I'm sorry," I said, "I cannot do that."
"What's your number?"
"Two-four-four-zero-eight-eight-eight-eight."
The session must have lasted about an hour.
Finally they said, "Right, sit down there, and close your eyes."
I was blindfolded again and just sat there. I heard scribbling but no
talking. 'Then the door opened, and I was picked up and dragged out again.
As I went down the corridor, I could hear, on the left-hand side, another
interrogation going on.
"What the fucking hell do you mean?" somebody was shouting.
Then I felt the air being pumped in and felt the gravel, and knew I was