John Wiseman - Operation Lavivrus

Nicotine addiction finally got the better of Chas and he said, ‘I’ll leave you in the capable hands of Albert and meet up with you in the missile section. See you soon,’ and he disappeared outside for a smoke.

Albert led them through the maze of weapons to the opposite wall where impressive arrays of missiles were displayed. The exhibition represented the state-of-the-art weaponry required for hostilities on land, sea and air. Smaller examples were displayed on blanket-covered tables, with the larger ones housed in cradles on the floor. Some models were cutaways revealing complex circuits, sensors and guidance systems. They all had an explanatory plastic covered display card which gave the name and details of the missile. Under the bright lights they looked too polished and clean to be dangerous. Their sleek lines were a work of art belying their destructive qualities. This opinion was changed by the photographs displayed, however, as they formed the backdrop to each table, showing targets destroyed by these very missiles.

Albert ushered them to a large white projectile which had some bold lettering stencilled on the side. As they got closer the word AEROSPATIALE leapt out at them. When he spoke he tended to favour Tony, so Pete felt a bit left out. He wondered if he reminded Albert of a rebellious son. To gain favour, Pete read out the title on the display card, ‘AM39, EXOCET’.

‘Yes, gentlemen, this is the anti-ship missile, weighing 652 kilogrammes with a high-explosive warhead of 160 kilogrammes. It flies at wave-top height with active radar terminal homing. This is what we are going to lie to. This is the nasty thing that has been causing all the trouble.’

They had a good look at the dart-like object, imagining its performance. They heard some coughing and were surprised to see Chas back so early. In fact he had been away for over an hour, but to the engrossed pair it seemed like minutes. They retired to his office for further questions over another pot of tea, and suddenly they both felt very weary.

Chas rounded up the visit saying, ‘I wish you all the very best, and success for Operation Lavivrus.’

On the way back to Hereford Peter said to Tony, ‘Do you know what I’ll always remember about this visit?’ Tony shrugged in answer, and Pete said, ‘The curtains in Chas’s office.’

CHAPTER TWO Table of Contents Title Page JOHN ‘LOFTY’ WISEMAN OPERATION LAVIVRUS Copyright Prologue Chapter One Chapter Two Chapter Three Chapter Four Chapter Five Chapter Six Chapter Seven Chapter Eight Chapter Nine Chapter Ten Chapter Eleven Chapter Twelve Keep Reading Конец ознакомительного фрагмента. Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес». Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию на ЛитРес. Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом. About the Author About the Publisher

Tony left the cosy cottage and headed for camp. At seven in the morning there was a chill in the air which cost him a good fifty metres to get into his stride. He was still stiff from the rugby, and yesterday’s travelling had done nothing to help his aches and pains. He welcomed the cold air on his ears, but the muscles of his legs were protesting and needed to be warmed up gently.

As he ran he noticed that flowers were appearing and the trees showed the first sign of buds. This was his favourite time of year. The morning gave promise of a fine day; it was clear and still, encouraging the birds to sing.

His cottage was perched on the side of a hill, so at least he started with an advantage. The view from the hill was stunning, and today he could see for miles. Rolling fields stitched with hedgerows dropped away to the river. Behind him the ground rose, with the fields giving way to forested hills. The city of Hereford sprawled in the hollow below him, an assortment of buildings and structures dominated by the cathedral and surrounding churches, standing out like giant chess pieces. One church had a misshapen spire that leant to the left, looking like a discarded ice cream cone dropped by an inattentive child. Away to his left he could see the outline of Offa’s Dyke, which appeared like a continuous blue line. The city was three miles away but looked a lot closer in the bright morning light.

Tony had left his wife Angie in bed, dressing in the dark so as not to disturb her. She usually ran with him, but since the early-morning sickness and backache started she had cut down on physical activities. She would walk the dog later at a more leisurely pace.

They had been married for two years, and Angie was a sobering influence on Tony. She was the one who kept him on the straight and narrow, and this helped his career no end. It had blossomed since the union, as the regiment looked for stability before promotion. Loose cannons were dangerous.

The small pack sat squarely on Tony’s back, high on the shoulders so it wouldn’t bounce. The damp grass helped cushion the impact of his powerful stride, but soaked the legs of his tracksuit. He chose to run across the fields rather than the roads, wearing boots instead of the customary trainers, as this gave him a better workout. Once in his stride his aches and pains fell away and it felt good to be alive.

Muster parade this morning was in the gym, and he had a ninety-minute session to look forward to, courtesy of Jim the Sadist. He reached the stile where Angie usually turned around, and once clear he lengthened his stride for the last half mile to camp.

Peter hammered the alarm clock into submission, seeking vengeance for disturbing him from a deep, much-needed sleep. He didn’t get to bed till after three, as the Colonel asked him to stay behind after the briefing to run through the details of the new device.

Tony had opened the Ops Room briefing, and was giving an outline plan of their proposed attack. It was sketchy at present, being based on old intelligence. They needed an update, and the big problem of insertion was still the weakest part of the plan. Things had been non-stop for the past three weeks. Everyone was hard at it, but as troop officer Peter had extra responsibilities, having to attend all briefings, presentations and intelligence updates.

‘I’ll get Tony to stand in for me at lunchtime,’ he thought, and started to think of a plan.

He savoured the luxuriant warmth under the covers, snuggling down for an extra five minutes. He fought the nagging impulse to get up and face endless problems; instead he tried focusing on less demanding matters.

‘I must get an early night,’ he thought, but there was little hope of this. On top of everything else going on, he had finally met a girl whom he really liked. She had a great sense of humour, and shared a lot of his interests. He lay on his back staring at the ceiling with his hands behind his head. He envied his Staff Sergeant, who had an uncomplicated life. He went home every night to the same woman, who cooked his food and provided all the necessary comforts.

‘Here I am,’ he reflected, ‘nearly thirty, still living in the mess, and still ironing my own shirts.’

The depression lifted as he thought about the new girl in his life, whom he had just met. She was something special. ‘Wait till the troop find out about Mo,’ he thought. “Will I get some stick!’

Peter was a big hit with the ladies, and his choice of women was somewhat unusual. His last flame was, literally, a fire-eater. He met her at a holiday camp where the troop stayed during an exercise on the coast. His new love, Mo, was a trumpet player, currently playing in the orchestra at the Three Counties Festival. They had met at a reception hosted by the mayor in the Town Hall, and straight away the chemistry flowed between them. She was different from all the other women he had known, and satisfied a deep-seated desire.