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К Ibuki
Дата 17.04.2020 10:17:16 Найти в дереве
Рубрики Современность; Политек; Версия для печати

Это первые дни второй части OCS в Куонтико, не путайте.

Боже, какой же отвратительный русский перевод. Вот оригинал, чуть раньше:

When the colonel concluded, he called forward the school's staff, introducing each Marine. All had served as drill instructors. At OCS, though, they were called "sergeant instructors," and we would address them by that title, their rank, and their name. The staff marched smartly down the aisle and stood at attention before us. Khaki uniforms with splashes of colored ribbons, eyes focused over our heads on the back wall of the room, no smiles. They were sergeants, staff sergeants, and gunnery sergeants, mostly men with ten to twenty years in the Corps. I saw scars and biceps and tattoos. With introductions complete, the colonel turned to the staff and uttered ten words that ended our civilian lives: (вот здесь начинается Ваша русская циатата:) "Take charge and carry out the plan of the day."
Tables turned over, chairs clattered to the floor, and I forgot all about the half-eaten apple in my hand. The staff charged us. We ran out the back door of the Quonset hut. I wanted to keep running, to disappear into the woods, make my way out to the highway, and hitchhike home. But pride trumps most other impulses in young men, and I fell into a ragged formation with my new platoon-mates. "Stop eyeballing the freakin area, maggot." My eyes were locked to the front. I didn't think he was talking to me. Warm, wet breath on my cheeks. If not me, then someone right next to me."

Почувствуйте разницу и не читайте перед обедом советских газет бестолковых переводов действительно хороших книг