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

was a vastly different world here. I guessed I was near the bottom of what
would turn out to be a very steep learning curve.
"When you get back to the block," the instructor said, "practice your
drawings in front of the mirror.
Don't worry, nobody will laugh. We all do it."
We were there for an hour after dinner, practicing in front of the
mirrors in the toilets. Finally Ted came by with loads of boys and said,
"What the hell are you doing, you dickheads?"
We looked sheepishly at the imaginary pistols in our hands while they
took the piss mercilessly.
On the final day Ted said, "Right, let's have a bit of fun then."
He got all the targets in and marked one of them with a circle the size
of a tenpence, another with one the size of a Coke can, then a larger one
still. We had to fire at different timings: firing three rounds into the
tenpence piece in five seconds at five meters, then back to ten meters,
going back and back. We all put a fiver in at a time, and the winner took
all.
Next we did some demolitions training with basic charges, saw some more
of the squadron kit, and did a bit of signals work with the squadron radios.
"Wherever you are operating in the world, you will send directly back
to Hereford," the instructor said.
"You'll have to learn a lot of antenna theory; it's not like in the
films where they've got a radio the size of a cigarette pack with a little
antenna and they start sending signals off to Katmandu. It doesn't work like
that at all.
Depending on the frequencies and the time of day, you'll have to
calculate the size of the antenna."
We had introductions to all the different departments, from the
education center to the Regimental Association; the only ones we didn't see
were the "gray" ones tucked away that we were told we would only find out
about later.
After three weeks it was time to go to Brize Norton to be para-trained.
It was one of those things that had to be done but that I couldn't really be
arsed about; I was itching to go straight to the squadron. The one
consolation was the thought that the only way I was not going to get in now
was if I broke my neck-or blotted my copybook.
I found out what squadron I was going to go to. If I'd wanted a
particular squadron, and there'd been a reason, maybe I'd have got in.
If you wanted G Squadron and you were a guardsman, for example, you
would definitely get it. Otherwise it all depended on the manpower
requirements. I wanted to go to D Squadron because Jeff was in it and they
were the current counterterrorist team, based in Hereford. Things with
Debbie were not exactly brilliant. I was paying a bit more attention now to
what she said in her letters from Germany, so I knew she was severely pissed
off. In reply I kept telling her that as soon as I'd passed I would organize
a quarter. However, D Squadron wasn't to be; four of us were off to B
Squadron, though we wouldn't be allowed anywhere near them yet.
Blokes who were already para-trained were badged now and went to their
squadrons. The rest of us went to Brize Norton, into the R.A.F's hands and
out of the Regiment's system. It was like a holiday-' but one of those