"Энди Макнаб. Немедленная операция (engl) " - читать интересную книгу автораWe drew some more kit, and the next morning we were choppered in to join
them: four new blokes, every bit of kit shiny and squeaking. I felt like a nun in a whorehouse, knowing none of the jargon and none of the people using it. Nobody wore rank, everybody was on first-name terms; it was impossible to make out who was who. Best, I reckoned, to follow the RSM's advice. I shut up and listened. The squadron setup in the jungle was very much as it had been on Selection. There was the squadron HQ element, then the troops positioned satelliting it. People had set up home in the admin areas; A-frames were dotted around, many of them sprouting extensions. Figure "targets had been made into sit-up angle boards as a makeshift gym. Tables and chairs had been made out of crates. Here and there two or three ponchos had gone up to join A-frames and make what looked like minicommunes. Everybody in sight had a beard and long, greasy hair. Some blokes were lying in their A-frames reading books; others were bumming around in shorts or squatting over hexy burners, brewing up. But whatever he was doing, every bloke had his belt kit on, as well as his golack and weapon. The medic came up to us and said, "Most people are out at the moment. When they come back, everything will be sorted. Do you want a brew?" While we were drinking tea, the squadron O.C came over with all his entourage. "Good to see you! Right, we need a bloke for each troop." He looked at each of us in turn, then said, " You look like a diver George was a mountain "Okay, you can go to Mountain Troop. You, go to Mobility, and you look like a free faller." The last bloke he was pointing at was me, and that was me in Air Troop. "Wait here," he added, "and somebody will be along to pick you up." Blokes from different troops came down to pick up their new boys. The O.C and his party disappeared. I was sitting there on my own, taking in a bit of the setup, watching the signalers and medics at work at makeshift tables under ponchos. People were coming up and saying, "All right? How you going? What troop you going to?" "Air Troop." "Bloody hell, you'll have fun-the fucking ice-cream boys! Got your sunglasses with you, I hope?" I didn't have time to ask what they meant. A fellow who was six feet his and four feet wide appeared, p walking on the balls of his feet. His hands were so big his M16 looked like a toy. "Your name Andy? I'm Tiny, Seven Troop. We'll sort out some bits and pieces, and then we'll go back up to the troop area." I was smelling all nice, got my new boots on, and feeling like it was my first day at big school. Off we went, my eyes scanning the ground for a patch of mud to dunk my boots in. As we walked up the hill he said, "What battalion are you from then?" "Two." "Great! I'm Two Para myself." "No, two RGJ. I was a Green Jacket." |
|
|