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Sargent_Stench_MctavishHello,

As ex-special forces I know about adapting to my surroundings through disguise, evasion and aromatherapy.

My account of life behind enemy lines in Iraq called, “He’s A Foreigner – Kill Him,” gives examples of my ability to carry out a mission however pointless or dangerous. Here is an extract from Chapter 5, “Kill The Lad In The Turban – He Might Be Up To Something.”

“Phew, it was hot. Over 120 in the shade. The Lethal Force Action Group were struggling. Prickle Heat had laid Fungus Thompson out and I could see that Sniffer Tomkins and Jellytits O’Loon were also beginning to wilt.

Food supplies were running low. Dangerously low. We were forced to suck stones . My field training allowed me to assess the situation. I made a tasty stone stew with a variety of pebbles. To add flavour  I used the chicken stock cubes and herb garland (Tarragon, Rosemary and Bay Leaf) I carry in my Ammo Belt.  Boy, did the lads lap it up! Tough, dentally though………..

……………………………..Finally, after days of searching we came across the enemy compound. The evil nuclear rocket scientist was watching The Love Boat on DVD and was distracted by the antics of that titchy lad who was also in a Bond film. My favourite Bond Film is From Russia With Love.

I could smell soup. Vegetable soup. It lacked flavour. In less hostile times I would have volunteered one or two of my stock cubes and a dunk of the herb bouquet.

Sadly this was not the case. I was here to serve my country, kill some foreigners and find the missing nuclear warhead.

Whilst Gurkha Tenpin-Bowling reccied the compound and our misanthropic Sioux Brave, Itchy Scalp performed a rain dance (very light on his feet is Rain Dance – think Fred Astaire meets Freddie Kruger) I inched my way into their mess hall. The Big Lad stirring the soup was one mean looking honcho. 6 foot tall and 6 foot wide with knees to die for.

I had to think. Fast. On my feet. My field training helped.

I disguised myself as a bowl of soup.

soup_mctavish

The bowl containing me was placed on the table accompanied by lovely crusty bread rolls. Seeded naturally.

I reconstituted myself in double quick time and with a plucked eyebrow, strangled the evil nuclear rocket scientist. It turned out that he was not an evil nuclear rocket scientist but a vegetable stock salesman from Baghdad trying to earn an honest pound. The nuclear warhead turned out to be some pickled cabbage well past its sell by date. We had at the very least averted a food poisoning outbreak.

I had served my country.  Furthermore, Itchy Scalp’s dance did cause a shower or two which was very welcome in the heat.

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