"Энди Макнаб. День независимости (engl) " - читать интересную книгу автора

never, ever lose control of the initiation device until you're ready to
leave the area. I wanted to know that every second we were by the tanks, the
eraser was still covering that panel pin. The faint sound of Al Jazeera
floated through the air. I could feel the wetness of my clothes cold against
my skin now that I'd stopped moving.
It was time to connect the flash det and the timer to the device. I
held up my hand and showed the boys the wooden box. They knew what was about
to happen, and got up and left for the cut in the fence line I knelt down by
the fuse instantaneous to fit the flash det, checking the eraser was still
in place before feeding the fuse into the small aluminium tube. I made sure
the fuse end couldn't get any further inside, so it would initiate then
taped the whole lot in place. There was a crimping tool that would have done
the job much better, but it had to look low-tech.
I then unwound the wire from the elastic as I climbed back over the
bung. This was very bad drills. I had connected the initiation device to the
charges and was climbing about: if I dropped it, I'd turn the whole job into
a gang fuck as the charges took out the tanks as well as me. But fuck it,
this was the only way to do it tonight as far as I was concerned.
I lay as flat as I could in the sand, even forcing my heels down, with
the extended wires running over the bung, before removing the top of the
box.
To arm the device, I turned the Parkway dial to 30. Then I gave it
another one or two minutes for luck, all very high-tech stuff.
I let go of the dial and could hear the ticking as the spring began to
unwind. I had tested this unit over and over again and, give or take five
seconds, it was always on time over the half-hour. The panel pin that was
attached flat to the dial had maybe an inch and a half to travel before
connecting with its vertical twin.
All that remained was for me to take off the rubber wedge and replace
the wooden lid on the timer unit so no dirt could find its way between the
two pins. I joined the others. All being well, fragments of the timer unit
would confirm that tonight's devastation was the work of an old and bold
ex-muj who'd been up to no good. It would just underline what the security
guy told them.
As we went past the hut the door was open and an Al Jazeera newscaster
was taking us through more fuzzy black and white pictures of the night's
events in Afghanistan. We made our way to the cut in the fence line and
Lotfi pointed to his shemag as a signal for me to cover up. I tucked the
cotton around my mouth and saw the security guy, still bound up with tape,
now lying in the sand below the lip. He had shit his baggy trousers
big-time, but he'd live through the night. Hubba-Hubba knelt down and gave
him a few highlights in rapid Arabic from the GIA party political broadcast,
then at Lotfi's nod we all left him praying noisily to himself through the
gaffer tape and ran directly towards the house.
Lotfi pulled out the alloy caving ladder from his bergen and unrolled
it in the sand. Hubba-Hubba moved round to the other side of the wall facing
the road to check the garage door. Why climb the wall if there was an easier
way through?
I gave the heavy wrought-iron door handle a twist. It turned, but the
door wouldn't budge. Hubba-Hubba came back shaking his head. We were going