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

on a three-meter line. As soon as I heard it land, I flared, too. Hitting
the deck, I ran along for three or four steps, turned quickly and pulled my
lines to collapse the canopy.
A body appeared behind me. Regs 3 to 6 had been on the ground for five
days preparing the job and were manning the DZ (drop zone). Fuck knows how
they'd inserted in-country, and I didn't care.
"You all right, mate?" I recognized his voice. Glen, the only one whose
name I knew, was the ground commander. He looked as if you'd hear steely
Clint Eastwood when he opened his mouth, but in fact what you got was softly
spoken David Essex.
"Yeah. Fine, mate, fine."
"Let's get all this shit off."
Within minutes our rigs, sniper suits and oxygen kit had been stowed in
large bin liners and we were aboard two Toyota Previas, the drivers wearing
NVGs, bouncing along the desert floor, heading for a light industrial estate
on the outskirts of a town less than a mile from the Golan Heights and the
border with Israel. All of us were dressed the same, in green jump suits,
with civilian clothes underneath as part of the E&E (escape and evasion)
plan, plus belt kit and our own choice of boots. Mine were a pair of Nike
hiking boots, which we'd checked were available in any Tel Aviv main street.
Glen and I went way back. We had done Selection together in the early
Eighties, and had got to know each other later while chatting up the same
woman, who was now his wife. He was the same age as me-late-thirties-had a
swarthy Mediterranean look and a few moles on his face which were sprouting
hair, and he always needed a shave. Constantly smiling, he was one of life's
good guys-in love with his wife and two kids, in love with his job, probably
even in love with his car and the cat.
For the last five days they'd been preparing and placing an explosive
attack on an electricity substation, which was going to close down the town
while we hit the target, and I knew that Glen would have enjoyed every
minute of it.
"We're at the drop-off point."
If we had to talk it would be in a low whisper from now on. As we
clambered from the vehicles I motioned to Sarah for both of us to stand out
of the way. We got underneath one of the small stumpy trees that made up
this olive grove, the stars giving us just enough light to move in without
bumbling. The thing I'd always loved most about the Middle East was the
stars; it felt as if you could see the whole universe, and so clearly.
The Regs were putting their berg ens on and sorting themselves out.
The glow of the town could be seen coming from the dead ground about
five K-s beyond the target. The night air was cold after the warmth of the
people carrier and I couldn't wait to get moving.
The driver came over, holding up a small magnetic box.
"The keys," he said.
"Both vehicles, rear near-side wheel arch."
I glanced at Sarah as we both nodded. She had a smaller bergen than
mine, containing her trauma kit, with fluid, and anything else she would
need. Once the patrol kit was packed, what else went in was down to personal
choice.
Glen joined us with a jolly "You OK?," as if he felt he had to bolster