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

We 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
climber, so he said, "I'd like Mountain Troop."
"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."