"Asprin, Robert - Myth 09 - M.Y.T.H Inc. In Action" - читать интересную книгу автора (Asprin Robert)

"We're... trying... Sergeant!"

"WELL I CAN'T HEAR YOU! COUNT 'EM OFF!"

"Seventeen... Eighteen..."

"YOU DON'T START CO UNTING AT SEVENTEEN!! YOU START COUNTING AT ONE!!! DO YOU THINK I'M DUMB?!!"

"No... Sergeant!... One... two..."

"Now listen up 'cause I'm only gonna say this once!" The sergeant barks, turnin' his attention back to the rest of us. "When I'm talking, your ears are open and your mouths are shut! You Don't say no thin'' less I ask you a question, whereupon you answer it briefly then shut up! When I want questions from you, I'll say 'Any questions?'! Do I make myself clear!"

"YES, Sergeant!

"All right then." He started to look at his roster again, then glanced at the struggling figures on the ground." That's enough, you three. Get back in line. Now then, where was I? Guido!"

"Here, Sergeant!" I sez, 'cause I was.

"That's it? Just Guido? No nickname like cricket or anything?"

"No, Sergeant!"

He waited for a few seconds to see if I was gonna add any thing, but I didn't, as I've always been a fast study. Finally he gives a little nod and moves on.

"Juney!"

"Here, Sergeant!... But folks call me 'June-bug.'"

Some people, on the other hands, never seem to learn.

"Twenty!" the sergeant sez without even lookin' up from the roster.

And so it went. By the time the sergeant is through checkin' off the list of names, over half of our group has been called upon to demonstrate their physical prowess, or lack thereof, by performin' a number of pushups, the ex act count of which varies dependin' upon the sergeant's mood and their ability to remember to count out loud whilst performin' this exercise. This raises some serious questions in my mind as to the average IQ of the individuals who have chosen to enlist in the army, a rather disquietin' thought realizin' that I am one of said individuals. In an effort to maintain a positive-type frame of mind, I reassure my self that my enlistin' was a matter of followin' orders rather than any idea of my own.

"All right, LISTEN UP!" the sergeant bellows, havin' finished with his roll call "In about half an hour, Corporal Whittle will take you across ca MP and get your hair cut to conform with army standards."

The little shri MP, who has been lurkin' in the background, draws himself up to his full insignificant height and smiles at this. Now Sergeant Smiley is a rather i MPosin' dude, would a touch out of shape around the middle, but the corporal looks like he would fail the entrance requirements to be a meter-type maid. That is, he looks to be the unpleasant kind of wi MP who only pulls wings off Flies when he has enough rank to back him up. Lookin' at his smile, I begin to have serious misgivin's about these haircuts.

"In the meantime, " the sergeant continues, "you have a period of unstructured time, during which you may talk, sleep, or get to know each other. I suggest you take maximum advantage of this, as it will in all probability be the last time you will have to yourself until your training is co MPleted. Now, before I dismiss you, are there any questions?"

To my surprise, two individuals raise their hands. This is a surprise first of all because I thought that most individuals would be cowed in to silence by the sergeant's performance thus far, and secondly because one of the hands belongs to none other than my cousin Nunzio!

"You!" Smiley says, pointin' at the closest questioner. "State your name and question."

"Bee, Sergeant. I... I think there's been a mistake on my enlistment."

The sergeant shows all his teeth.

"The army doesn't make mistakes, son... Except, maybe one." He shoots a glance at Spyder, who ignores him this time." What's your problem?"