"Энди Макнаб. Кризис четвертого (engl) " - читать интересную книгу автора

forty pounds of equipment, were hanging from our rigs and down the back of
our legs. We waddled forward like a gaggle of geese, putting weight on each
foot in turn. Thankfully the berg ens hadn't needed to be fully laden. If
everything went to plan, we'd be on the ground for only a few hours.
There was a pause of about five seconds as the lo adie by the door
spoke into his mike to the British Airways navigator, then he nodded to
himself and swung into action. The door was about half the size of an
average up-and-over garage door. Pulling out all the levers, he swung them
counterclockwise, then pulled the handles toward him. Even though I had a
helmet on, I heard the massive rush of air, and then a gale was thrashing at
my sniper suit. Where the door had been there was now just a black hole.
The tags on the aircraft's luggage containers fluttered frantically.
The freezing cold wind whipped at the parts of my face that weren't covered
by my mask. I pulled my jockey's goggles over my eyes, fighting against the
blast, gripping hard on to the airframe.
Seven miles below us lay Syria-enemy territory. We did our final
checks. I wanted to get this jump out of the way, get the job done and be in
Cyprus for tea and toast tomorrow morning.
We rammed up close to each other at the exit, the roar of the wind and
the jet engines so loud I could hardly think. At last came a handheld red
light from the lo adie We all joined in with a loud scream: "Red on, red
on!" I didn't know why, no one could hear anything; it was just something we
always did.
The lo adie light changed to green and he shouted, "Green on!"
He moved back as we all shouted to ourselves, "Ready!"
We rocked forward, trying to scream above the roar: "Set!"
Then we rocked back.
"Go!"
Out and out we spilled, four people on three rigs, tumbling toward
Syria. Being the last man, I was pushed by the lo adie to make sure there
wasn't too much of a gap between us in the sky.
You can now free fall from an aircraft flying at high altitude and
miles from the target area and land with pinpoint accuracy. The HAHO (high
altitude, high opening) technique calls for extreme weather clothing and
oxygen equipment to survive temperatures as low as minus 40 C, especially
when a fifty-mile cross-country descent can take nearly two hours.
It has now largely replaced the old HALO (high altitude, low opening)
approach, for the simple reason that, instead of hurtling toward the ground
at warp speed, with no real idea of where you're going to land or where the
rest of the team are once you're on the ground, you can glide gently onto
the target sitting in a comfortable rig. Unless, of course, a man in a white
coat has recently clipped a bit off the end of your cock.
I felt the jet stream pick me up and take me with it. As the aircraft
thunders over you at 500 miles an hour you think you're going to collide
with the tailplane, but in fact you're falling and never hit it.
Once I was out of the jet stream it was time to sort myself out. I
could tell by the wind force, and the fact that I could see the aircraft
lights flashing three or four hundred feet above me, that I was upside down.
I spread my arms and legs and arched my back, bunging myself over into a
stable position.