On a hill to the north, overlooking the pasture, two men lay in the grass, watching the proceedings with interest. And binoculars. One of the fellows, a large hunk of man who may have been hewn out of solid rock from the mountains of North Wales, turned to his companion, an overweight man in a grey suit with a long moustache and bad hair, who was composed mostly of rock buns and welsh cakes from the bakeries of South Wales.
"I think the fun's starting, sarge," said the man-mountain, a slight tremor in his voice betraying a touch of excitement about the mounting spectacle.
"It certainly is, Tommo," came the soft Welsh brogue of the soft, suited sergeant. "It's just a pity that their fire stops us using our night-vision goggles."
Tommo, who was kitted out in his black Police flak jacket, baseball cap (worn backwards) and camouflage face-paint, agreed. He liked night-vision goggles.
"Still," he countered, "the sun will be up soon, sarge."
"Yes it will, Tommo," the other agreed. "Yes, it will. Get out the video camera."
Tommo tucked his binoculars into one of the many pouches that adorned the webbing of his flak jacket and pulled out a video camera. One with a zoom lens, naturally. A very long zoom lens. To their left, the changing colour of the sky indicated that the sun was indeed about to rise. And it wouldn't be the only thing.
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