Operation Lavivrus. John Wiseman

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ exaggerations and obscenities. An outsider listening to the troop would have thought a fight was taking place, but it was all good-natured.

      Suddenly everyone all went quiet. The silence coincided with the appearance of a short, squat figure, dressed in a white vest with black tracksuit bottoms. The vest had red piping around the edges and crossed sabres on the chest. Massive arms hung from broad, sloping shoulders, emphasising a bulging chest tapering down to a narrow waist. Powerful legs were encased in the tight black bottoms, bulging like a speed skater’s, but most impressive was his head, which was covered finely with short ginger hair, so fine that it failed to conceal the many scars beneath. These were pure white, in contrast to a slight tan elsewhere. Almond-shaped eyes glared out from heavily hooded brows consisting mostly of scar tissue. A small pug nose was stuck on as an afterthought, underlined by thin lips that emphasised a cruel mouth which hardly moved when he spoke.

      ‘Good morning, pilgrims. Nice to see you all so happy.’

      A thick Glaswegian accent rounded off his aura. This was Jim the Sadist, long part of regimental legend.

      ‘Right, gentlemen, you know the rules. Follow me.’ He span around and disappeared through the door that led to the spacious hall. One rule was that once you entered the gym you never stopped running, and the other was that no jewellery was to be worn or anything carried in the pockets.

      The gym was large and well lit, big enough to contain two full-size basketball courts. These were marked out on a spotless wooden floor that was swept regularly with sawdust impregnated with linseed oil. The walls were adorned with an endless run of wall bars; the only break in them contained beams that could be pulled out to support pull-up bars and climbing ropes. On one side was a recess that contained half a dozen multi-gyms and free weights. At the far end there was a climbing wall, and suspended high in the ceiling were parachute harnesses. This is where the lads did ‘synthetic training’ prior to parachuting. There was an abseil platform in the corner, with an array of punch bags, and speed balls underneath, suspended from sturdy brackets.

      Every gym has a smell of its own – a mixture of blood, sweat, liniment and tears. Hundreds of bodies had been conditioned here, creating an ambience that leapt out and grabbed you by the throat. This was a place of work.

      They started off quite sedately, stretching and jogging, warming up tired muscles, jogging around the periphery of the courts, punching out their arms from the shoulders on Jim’s command. They changed direction regularly, high-stepping and hopping on alternate legs. When Jim thought they had got in a rhythm he would order giant striding, bunny-hops and star jumps. Then he would snap, ‘On yer backs. Stand up. On yer fronts,’ and in a high, hysterical voice shout, ‘Top of the wallbars, GOo. Back in the centre, GOooo. Touch four walls and back again, GOoooo.’

      The pace was unrelenting, and soon the troop was sweating freely. The sweat dripped on the floor, forming slippery areas that caused a few falls. There was no sympathy for the faller, who he was abused till he got back on his feet. ‘Get up, you idle bastard. No one told you to lie down.’

      They completed short sprints, trying to pass the man in front. Teams were picked to race against each other. The race started with the first man carrying his team one at a time in a fireman’s lift to the end of the gym and back. When they had all completed this it was a wheelbarrow race, followed by a few circuits of leapfrog. They finished with a series of stretching exercises, starting with neck rolls, moving down the body and ending with hamstring stretches.

      The regiment was motivated by self-discipline, and every man was responsible for his own standard of fitness. Most people give up when they are tired, which is normal, but to be special and to achieve that little bit extra the urge to let up must be overcome. That was where Jim came in. He applied the fine tuning and encouragement to increase performance. He took the men to levels that they never dreamed they could attain. He kept them going when muscles screamed and tendons and ligaments burnt. He drove them on through pain barriers, getting that little bit extra from them. He kept them going when they wanted to quit, and he made good men even better.

      ‘OK, lads. Nice and warm now, eh? On the line. When I say go, sprint to the first line, ten press-ups, return. Out to the next line, ten crunches, return. Out to the far line, ten star jumps, return. Stand by. GOooo.’

      These shuttle runs seared the lungs. The three lines were fifteen metres apart; after six repetitions even the strongest of men were wasted, but Jim made them do twelve. Every part of the body was punished, Muscles that were seldom used protested violently at the abuse they suffered.

      When they finished they just wanted to die, but Jim wouldn’t let them. He made them run on the spot to regain their breath. ‘Stand up straight, deep breath through the nose, force out through the mouth. Keep you legs shoulder width apart. Don’t stand there like a big tart! Brace up, man.’ Everyone was searching for breath, bent double trying to take the strain of scorching lungs. Excruciating pains radiated from all parts of the body; death seemed a good option.

      Sweat was by now dripping freely onto the parquet flooring, and for the first time that morning Jim looked happy. ‘Come on, air is free. Take advantage of it. Where you’re going there may be none.’

      Fitness is judged by the amount of effort sustainable over a given period, divided by the time it takes to recover. It’s what you do in a certain time that’s important. You could jog all day but not get a lot from it. Once you get into a rhythm it becomes monotonous. What this regiment did was rapid heart exertion, which created cat-like responses, speed and power.

      Only Jim could talk by now. ‘Right, lads, jog around the courts while you get your second wind. Keep loose, breathe deeply.’

      Most of the men were regretting their ill-discipline of the night before, and were grateful that they had not had their breakfast yet. Just as they started feeling human again, Jim raised the pace. ‘Up the wall bars . . .’ And so it went on relentlessly.

      ‘Right, lads, on the mats. It’s time for your old favourites.’ They lay on their backs with legs raised, doing a series of abdominal exercises. Jim led them, starting with repetitions of ten. The rest position was with legs extended and six inches above the mat; any one who lowered their limbs cancelled out that set of reps, which had to be done again. ‘This is where the power come from. You can’t cheat the gym.’ A continual chorus of groans, grunts, and shrieks accompanied their exertions. They stretched, twisted, curled and contorted, and just when they thought they had finished Jim introduced them to a new exercise. He kept up a non-stop barrage of obscenities in his native tongue. The lads wanted to laugh, but had forgotten how to.

      ‘Just one more set, lads. Keep flat, arms behind the head, keep the legs straight, point your toes.’ The gym was large enough to allow the body emissions to dissipate and the efficient air blowers replaced the stale air with fresh.

      ‘Good wee session, lads. Everyone OK?’ He assembled the troop in the centre of the gym, and allowed them to sit down while he briefed them. Praise from Jim was rare indeed, and hard earned. He didn’t let anyone take a drink; this was against his doctrine. It helped condition the body, and more importantly made the mind aware of what could be achieved on limited resources.

      ‘Now remember, speed kills. Do unto others as they will do unto you, but do it first.’ Jim surveyed the class, ensuring his message had sunk in.

      ‘Come here, Tony.’ Jim always selected Tony for his demonstrations. He was the punch bag, the rag doll, the guinea pig for the series of punches, strikes and kicks that were about to be delivered. He used Tony because they sparred together in their spare time. He only used someone else if he caught them slacking or not paying attention.

      Tony had a martial arts СКАЧАТЬ