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have always known about gunpowder。 as far back as the seventeenth century； court paintings recorded fireworks displays。
he is small； not much taller than i am。 an intimate smile up close that can charm anything when he displays it。 a toughness to his nature he doesn’t show。 the englishman says he’s one of those warrior saints。 but he has a peculiar sense of humour that is more rambunctious than his manner suggests。 remember “i’ll rewire him in the morning。” ooh la la！ he says lahore has thirteen gates—named for saints and emperors or where they lead to。
the word bungalow es from bengali。
at four in the afternoon they had lowered kip into the pit in a harness until he was waist…deep in the muddy water； his body draped around the body of the esau bomb。 the casing from fin to tip ten feet high； its nose sunk into the mud by his feet。
beneath the brown water his thighs braced the metal casing； much the way he had seen soldiers holding women in the corner of naafi dance floors。 when his arms tired he hung them upon the wooden struts at shoulder level； which were there to stop mud collapsing in around him。 the sappers had dug the pit around the esau and set up the wood…shaft walls before he had arrived on the site。 in ； esau bombs with a new y fuze had started ing in； this was his second one。
it was decided during planning sessions that the only way around the new fuze was to immunize it。 it was a huge bomb in ostrich posture。 he had e down barefoot and he was already sinking slowly； being caught within the clay； unable to get a firm hold down there in the cold water。 he wasn’t wearing boots—they would have locked within the clay； and when he was pulleyed up later the jerk out of it could break his ankles。
he laid his left cheek against the metal casing； trying to think himself into warmth； concentrating on the small touch of sun that reached down into the twenty…foot pit and fell on the back of his neck。 what he embraced could explode at any moment； whenever tumblers tremored； whenever the gaine was fired。 there was no magic or x ray that would tell anyone when some small capsule broke； when some wire would stop wavering。 those small mechanical semaphores were like a heart murmur or a stroke within the man crossing the street innocently in front of you。
what town was he in？ he couldn’t even remember。 he heard a voice and looked up。 hardy passed the equipment down in a satchel at the end of a rope； and it hung there while kip began to insert the various clips and tools into the many pockets of his tunic。 he was humming the song hardy had been singing in the jeep on the way to the site— they’re changing guard at buckingham palace— christopher robin went down with mice。
he wiped the area of fuze head dry and began moulding a clay cup around it。 then he unstopped the jar and poured the liquid oxygen into the cup。 he taped the cup securely onto the metal。 now he had to wait again。
there was so little space between him and the bomb he could feel the change in temperature already。 if he were on dry land he could walk away and be back in ten minutes。 now he had to stand there beside the bomb。 they were two suspicious creatures in an enclosed space。 captain carlyle had been working in a shaft with frozen oxygen and the whole pit had suddenly burst into flames。 they hauled him out fast； already unconscious in his harness。
where was he？ lisson grove？ old kent road？
kip dipped cotton wool into the muddy water and touched it to the casing about twelve inches away from the fuze。 it fell away； so it meant he had to wait longer。 when the cotton wool stuck； it meant enough of the area around the fuze was frozen and he could go on。 he poured more oxygen into the cup。
the growing circle of frost was a foot in radius now。 a few more minutes。 he looked at the clipping someone had taped onto the bomb。 they had read it with much laugh… ter that morning in the update kit sent to all bomb disposal units。
when is explosion reasonably permissible？
if a man’s life could be capitalized as x； the risk at y； and the estimated damage from explosion at v； then a logician might contend that if v is less than x over y； the bomb should be blown up； but if v over y is greater than x； an attempt should be made to avoid explosion in situ。
who wrote such things？
he had by now been in the shaft with the bomb for more than an hour。 he continued feeding in the liquid oxygen。 at shoulder height； just to his right； was a hose pumping down normal air to prevent him from being giddy with oxygen。
（he had seen soldiers with hangovers use the oxygen to cure headaches。） he tried the cotton wool again and this time it froze on。
he had about twenty minutes。 after that the battery temperature within the bomb would rise again。 but for now the fuze was iced up and he could begin to remove it。
he ran his palms up and down the bomb case to detect any rips in the metal。 the submerged section would be safe； but oxygen could ignite if it came into contact with exposed explosive。 carlyle’s flaw。 x over y。 if there were rips they would have to use liquid nitrogen。
“it’s a two…thousand…pound bomb； sir。 esau。” hardy’s voice from the top of the mud pit。
“type…marked fifty； in a circle； b。 two fuze pockets； most likely。 but we think the second one is probably not armed。
okay？” they had discussed all this with each other before； but things were being confirmed； remembered for the final time。
“put me on a microphone now and get back。” “okay； sir。”kip smiled。 he was ten years younger than hardy； and no englishman； but hardy was happiest in the cocoon of regimental discipline。 there was always hesitation by the soldiers to call him “sir；” but hardy barked it out loud and enthusiastically。
he was working fast now to prise out the fuze； all the batteries inert。
“can you hear me？ whistle。。。。 okay； i heard it。 a last topping up with oxygen。 will let it bubble for thirty seconds。 then start。 freshen the frost。 okay； i’m going to remove the dam；。。。 okay； dam gone。” hardy was listening to everything and recording it in case something went wrong。 one spark and kip would be in a shaf