"Энди Макнаб. Немедленная операция (engl) " - читать интересную книгу автораdoing this technical stuff, Bob, one of the world's most confident men, the
sort who not only knows where he's going but also how he's going to get there and what time he's going to arrive, was doing pin steps along the footrail, whistling away as he counted them out. Bob always spoke at Mach 2. "You don't need all this technical stuff, all these fucking tape measures," he scoffed. "If you were doing it for real, you'd just be pacing it out. Twenty feet, twenty-one feet . . ." When he got to the far end of the bridge, he sat down and did a film director's square on it, took a couple of snapshots, and relaxed in the sun. The instructor came over and said, "You all sorted then, Bob?" "Yeah, no problems. I'm happier doing it this way." Bob sat there for the rest of the afternoon, enjoying the sunshine and having the occasional brew while everybody else was running around like an idiot. I was then up until two o'clock in the morning getting my recce report just right, but not Bob. He bounced into the classroom the next day as fresh as a daisy and said, "Piece of piss." The instructor assessed our efforts and passed comments. Most reports were competent, but Bob's, he announced, was outstanding. "Enjoy yourself yesterday, did you?" he asked Bob. "Lovely sunny day, wasn't it? I'm surprised you didn't get sunburnt, all the lying around you did." "Did my report, though, didn't I?" Bob smiled. "And you reckon it's a blinder.) "In every respect," the instructor said, "except one." "What's that?" "All your photographs show a bridge in the pissing rain!" Bob had spent the whole of the previous weekend doing all the photography and technical measurements on the bridge so that on the day he could piss us off by appearing to do nothing. It would have gone down as one of the great stitches if only he'd remembered that it had poured with rain the whole weekend. The dems course taught us how to use the equipment, but it also taught us how to translate that information for other people to use. Part of that involved covert photography and infrared photography. We might be a businessman with a view from his hotel room or a hiker. The stills or video camera might be concealed about our person or in a bag, or we'd be tucked a couple of kilometers back and using large mirror lenses in a covert OP. As well as all the technical bits and pieces for the demolitions, we'd be looking at all the defenses. How many guards are at the gate? Do they look alert? Are they slouched in a heap with fags in their mouths? What is the best way in and the best way out? We could be planning and preparing for another group, telling them what charges were required and sorting out the RVs and exfil from the target. We might be required to stay in the area afterward to confirm damage and reassess. It was all part of demolitions; there was much more to it than Clint Eastwood on his horse, lighting a stick of gelignite and lobbing it over a wall. We had all been trained in trauma management, dealing with gunshot wounds and fractures, stabilizing injuries, and intravenously administering fluids; everybody had the skill to keep a person alive if he'd been hit by a |
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