"MCNAB, ANDY - LIBERATION DAY" - читать интересную книгу автора (McNab Andy)

point between the city and a place called Cap Ferrat. One look at the
map during the briefing in Alexandria had made it clear the French had
left their mark here big time. The coastline was peppered with Cap
this, Plage that, Port the other.

Cap Ferrat itself was easy to recognize. Its lighthouse flashed every
few seconds in the darkness to the left of the glow from Oran. We were
heading for a small spit of land that housed some of the intermittent
clusters of light we were starting to make out quite well now as we got
closer to the coastline.

As the bow crashed through the water I moved to the rear of the boat to
minimize the effects of the spray and wind, pissed off that I was wet
and cold before I'd even started this job. Lotfi was the other side of
the outboard. I looked across as he checked his GPS and adjusted the
throttle to keep us on the right bearing.

The brine burned my eyes, but this was a whole lot better than the sub
we'd just left. It had been built in the 1960s and the air con was
losing its grip. After being cooped up in diesel fumes for three days,
waiting for the right moment to make this hit, I'd been gagging to be
out in the fresh air, even air this fresh. I comforted myself with the
thought that the next time I inhaled diesel I'd be chugging along ninety
metres below the Mediterranean, back to Alexandria, drinking steaming
cups of sweet black tea and celebrating the end of my very last job.

The lights got closer and the coastline took on a bit more shape. Lotfi
didn't need the GPS any more and it went into the rubber bow bag. We
were maybe four hundred metres off the shore and I could start to make
out the target area. The higher, rocky ground was flooded with light,
and in the blackness below it, I could just about make out the cliff,
and the beach Lotfi had assured us was good enough to land on.

We moved forward more slowly now, the engine just ticking over to keep
the noise down. When we were about a hundred metres from the beach,
Lotfi cut the fuel and tilted the outboard until it locked horizontal
once more. The boat lost momentum and began to wallow in the swell.
He'd already started to connect one of the full fuel bladders in
preparation for our exfiltration. We couldn't afford to mince about if
the shit hit the fan and we had to do a runner.

His teeth flashed white as he gave us a huge grin.

"Now we paddle."

It was obvious from the way they constantly took the piss out of each
other that Lotfi and the one whose name I still couldn't pronounce
Hubba-Hubba, something like that had worked together before.

Hubba-Hubba was still at the bow and dug his wooden paddle into the