Yes they do have to do that; it doesn't always work. I guess my anger is more at him in being in that same kind of helicopter he used to kill 25 Afghans (or were they Taliban insurgents? Maybe Smegs will know). If someone is in an Apache over a mega mountainous country like Afghanistan, in my book they aren't helpless. The people on the ground are. I'm not angry at you; just at how stupid, tone deaf and disgusting he is
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It's also a bit odd that they never did anything other than the stuff they are seeking revenge about.What a bunch of lickspittles!
Tell me, am I alone in being extremely irritated by the so-called writing style this rubbish has been released in?
Its just a collection of bullet points, ie
* I said to Megan.............................
* Granny told me................
* I cried...................
* Blah-de-blah-blah..................
You'd think with his education he could manage somewhat better than this childish nonsense
He hated the members of the public who mourned his mother because they didn't know her.
Yet felt a "deep kinship" with the people who offered him their condolences on his flight from Balmoral when the Queen died.
Contrary aint he.
Yet felt a "deep kinship" with the people who offered him their condolences on his flight from Balmoral when the Queen died.
Contrary aint he.
That is sick sick sick sick sick sick
Cue Harry doing yet another interview. It's all lies, lies, lies, lies I tell ya. He's rolled out so many lies he wouldn't know the truth if it hit him over the head and paid him $20m.
It is all beginning to unravel.
It's almost an admission of truth about his mother.... almost.
I WAS THE FIRST in my squadron to pull the trigger in anger.
We took off, swept over the wall, went vertical, climbed to fifteen hundred feet. Moments later I swung the night sight onto the target area.
There! Eight hot spots, eight kilometers away.
Thermal smudges—walking from where the contact had been.
Dave said: That’s got to be them!
Yeah—there’s no friendly forces out here on patrol! Especially not at this hour.
Let’s make sure. Confirm no patrols outside the wall.
I called the J-TAC.
Confirmed: no patrols.
We flew above the eight hot spots. They quickly broke into two groups of four. Evenly spaced, they went slowly along a track. That was our patrolling technique—were they mimicking us? Now they hopped on mopeds, some two-up, some one-up.
I told Control we were visual on all eight targets, asked for clearance, permission to fire. Permission was a must before engaging, always, unless it was a case of self-defense or imminent danger.
Dave and I were ready to fire that flechette.
But permission still hadn’t come.
We waited. And waited. And watched the Taliban speeding off in different directions.
I said to Dave: If I find out later that one of these guys has injured or killed one of our guys after we let them go…
We stayed with two motorbikes, followed them down a windy road. Now they separated. We picked one, followed it.
Finally Control got back to us. The persons you’re following…what’s their status?
I shook my head and thought: Most of them are gone, because you’ve been so slow. I said: They’ve split up and we’re down to one bike. Permission to fire.
Dave said to use the Hellfire. I was nervous about using it, however; I shot the 30-mm cannon instead.
Mistake. I hit the motorbike. One man down, presumably dead, but one hopped off and ran into a building.
We circled, called in ground troops.
You were right, I told Dave. Should’ve used the Hellfire.
No worries, he said.
It was your first time.
Long after returning to base, I did a sort of mental scan. I’d been in combat before, I’d killed before, but this was my most direct contact with the enemy—ever. Other engagements felt more impersonal. This one was eyes on target, finger on trigger, fire away.
I asked myself how I felt.
Traumatized? No.
Sad? No.
Surprised? No.
Prepared in every way. Doing my job. What we’d trained for.
Prince Harry, The Duke of Sussex
We took off, swept over the wall, went vertical, climbed to fifteen hundred feet. Moments later I swung the night sight onto the target area.
There! Eight hot spots, eight kilometers away.
Thermal smudges—walking from where the contact had been.
Dave said: That’s got to be them!
Yeah—there’s no friendly forces out here on patrol! Especially not at this hour.
Let’s make sure. Confirm no patrols outside the wall.
I called the J-TAC.
Confirmed: no patrols.
We flew above the eight hot spots. They quickly broke into two groups of four. Evenly spaced, they went slowly along a track. That was our patrolling technique—were they mimicking us? Now they hopped on mopeds, some two-up, some one-up.
I told Control we were visual on all eight targets, asked for clearance, permission to fire. Permission was a must before engaging, always, unless it was a case of self-defense or imminent danger.
Dave and I were ready to fire that flechette.
But permission still hadn’t come.
We waited. And waited. And watched the Taliban speeding off in different directions.
I said to Dave: If I find out later that one of these guys has injured or killed one of our guys after we let them go…
We stayed with two motorbikes, followed them down a windy road. Now they separated. We picked one, followed it.
Finally Control got back to us. The persons you’re following…what’s their status?
I shook my head and thought: Most of them are gone, because you’ve been so slow. I said: They’ve split up and we’re down to one bike. Permission to fire.
Dave said to use the Hellfire. I was nervous about using it, however; I shot the 30-mm cannon instead.
Mistake. I hit the motorbike. One man down, presumably dead, but one hopped off and ran into a building.
We circled, called in ground troops.
You were right, I told Dave. Should’ve used the Hellfire.
No worries, he said.
It was your first time.
Long after returning to base, I did a sort of mental scan. I’d been in combat before, I’d killed before, but this was my most direct contact with the enemy—ever. Other engagements felt more impersonal. This one was eyes on target, finger on trigger, fire away.
I asked myself how I felt.
Traumatized? No.
Sad? No.
Surprised? No.
Prepared in every way. Doing my job. What we’d trained for.
Prince Harry, The Duke of Sussex
Is it possible them pair could get more teeth?
And they are a right pair of tits.
It was really just simple maths.
These were bad people doing bad things to our guys.
Doing bad things to the world.
If this guy I’d just removed from the battlefield hadn’t already killed British soldiers, he soon would. Taking him meant saving British lives, sparing British families. Taking him meant fewer young men and women wrapped like mummies and shipped home on hospital beds, like the lads on my plane four years earlier, or the wounded men and women I’d visited at Selly Oak and other hospitals, or the brave team with whom I’d marched to the North Pole. And so my main thought that day, my only thought, was that I wished Control had got back to us sooner, had given us permission to fire more quickly, so we’d got the other seven.
And yet, and yet.
Much later, speaking about it with a mate, he asked: Did it factor into your feeling that these killers were on motorbikes? The chosen vehicle of paps all over the world?
Could I honestly say that, while chasing a pack of motorbikes, not one particle of me was thinking about the pack of motorbikes that chased one Mercedes into a Paris tunnel? Or the packs of motorbikes that had chased me a thousand times?
I couldn’t say.
Prince Harry, The Duke of Sussex
These were bad people doing bad things to our guys.
Doing bad things to the world.
If this guy I’d just removed from the battlefield hadn’t already killed British soldiers, he soon would. Taking him meant saving British lives, sparing British families. Taking him meant fewer young men and women wrapped like mummies and shipped home on hospital beds, like the lads on my plane four years earlier, or the wounded men and women I’d visited at Selly Oak and other hospitals, or the brave team with whom I’d marched to the North Pole. And so my main thought that day, my only thought, was that I wished Control had got back to us sooner, had given us permission to fire more quickly, so we’d got the other seven.
And yet, and yet.
Much later, speaking about it with a mate, he asked: Did it factor into your feeling that these killers were on motorbikes? The chosen vehicle of paps all over the world?
Could I honestly say that, while chasing a pack of motorbikes, not one particle of me was thinking about the pack of motorbikes that chased one Mercedes into a Paris tunnel? Or the packs of motorbikes that had chased me a thousand times?
I couldn’t say.
Prince Harry, The Duke of Sussex
I am absolutely gobsmacked by the audacity of his sayingChrist, what a prize bleep
Our wedding was cited as Exhibit A. It cost millions, and thereafter we’d up and left. Ingrates.
But the family paid for the actual wedding,
Yes The Family NOT YOU nor The Woman You were marrying but YOUR supposed family YOUR FATHER who your Mother had taken to the cleaners in the divorce. Unfrickinbelievable
You see a self-centred selfish duplicitous bastard* who casts a long dark shadow.Weird addition to the thread from me, but yesterday I was talking to my therapist and I asked her what she'd thought of Prince Harry's interview. I mentioned this because the whole thing made me wonder about narcissists in my family and whether they believed the lies that they tell. My therapist then told me she'd felt a lot more empathy towards him since the interview. I'm genuinely questioning her intelligence now
Therapist sees mortgage payments, new kitchen & long haul holiday
.*Narc’, not therapist…just in case FiftyMinutePhillipa is on this thread.
See you Phillipa on Friday, usual time.
Dave obviously recounted his mission to Harry during a visit to the HQ Comms shelter, Harry was busy scribbling away the details to keep, for later, to put in his book.
Obviously this was a mission by proxy. Thanks Dave.
Concrete canoe.
Of course meg asked him to call her immediately instead of letting him speak to his family first. She really can't see she has made herself look like a grade a gaslighter here.
This kind of fuckwittery really annoys me. She’s probably trying to remember how many fishfingers are left, do they need butter and did I pack Louis swim hat? How quick can I run the hoover round before I can sit down with a cuppa and is tonight really going to be bath night again?!
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Especially when she was getting reimbursed by the palace.If Megatron could afford a first class ticket from
Mexico to the UK, she could afford to pay for a full price sofa from sofa.com
I want to know what Doria was buying with the £1m or so she wangled out of Charles.
so how did he manage to get the drugs?
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