Special Ops Quotes

And in that vast emptiness, two heads bobbed above the surface without a sound, just one hundred feet from them.

That’s the second time you’ve apologised in less than a minute, Remo. When you have to do that to an admiral it could be your career on the line.

Whoever he said he was, thought Marsh, he was not from the immigration department, and the web that he was convinced Walsh had been weaving was beginning to unravel with disastrous and dangerous consequences.

She smiled again and the sun came back out. Raced backward up from the sea and lit her face. He told himself to ignore it. It wasn’t that special. Not really. He couldn’t be sure, but if his display of ignorance could make her do it again, it might be worth checking out.

Why are we sitting way back here?" "This way we can see the whole room and do some recon." "Great, here we go with the black op lingo. Were you a Navy SEAL or some special forces officer in a past life?" Sally asked. "It's a gift. It comes so naturally that you think I've had formal training." Jen winked. "Yeah, that's exactly what I was thinking. And, by the way, Hogwarts accepted you and is awaiting your arrival." "Ha ha, good one," Jen said dryly. "You have my vote – you'll be mayor in no time.

Gentlemen,” he said. “I give you The Eagle’s Covenant.

Special ops have earned the right to boast and don’t; you’re just a wannabee, which is why you do.

I was in the army, Terri. Special Ops, sent into the most godforsaken places you can imagine, where I did unspeakable things. We weren’t exactly sent in to teach our enemies to knit. (Nathan)

After a beat, he revealed a crack in his armor. The tiniest of smiles. “What?” she asked. Rocking back on his heels, Jacin rested his hand on the knife again. “I wasn’t sure what kind of girl could make a special op go ballistic over her. I’m glad to see it’s not the stupid kind.” She

Brooke?" he finally found the sense to ask. "What are you doing here?" "I need a gun." This was not how his dream was supposed to go.

The Special Operations Network was instigated to handle policing duties considered either too unusual or too specialized to be tackled by the regular force. There were thirty departments in all, starting at the more mundane Neighborly Disputes (SO-30) and going onto Literary Detectives (SO-27) and Art Crime (SO-24). Anything below SO-20 was restricted information, although it was common knowledge that the ChronoGuard was SO-12 and Antiterrorism SO-9. It is rumored that SO-1 was the department that polices the SpecOps themselves. Quite what the others do is anyone's guess. What is known is that the individual operatives themselves are mostly ex-military or ex-police and slightly unbalanced. 'If you want to be a SpecOp,' the saying goes, 'act kinda weird...

He’d never felt this protective of a woman before. Only she brought that out in him. That powerful, odd mixture of independence and vulnerability completely melted him. The fact that she flew a Black Hawk and could talk shop with the best of them? Hot as hell. And her laugh. God, she had the dirtiest laugh he’d ever heard. Every time he heard it he thought of sex. Hot, sweaty sex, the kind that left a man exhausted and weak and his partner unable to move.

Don't tell people what you're going to do, or what kind of person you are. Just show them.

I brought my daughter today because I wanted her to know what a hero was," the woman said, holding the hand of a little girl. "And I wanted her to know girls could be heroes, too.

Er was een speciale soort eenzaamheid dat ze bewaarde voor de nacht, omdat de gedachten dan donker zijn als de wereld daarbuiten, omdat er niemand is om ze tegen te spreken, omdat een bang hoofd zichzelf maar moeilijk kan kalmeren. En soms waren er nachtgedachten die weigerden te verdwijnen in de ochtend.

Tightening his arms, he dropped his head and pressed his face against the side of her neck to inhale her delicate scent. The instant he did, a sharp gasp tore out of her, her slender body rippling with a shiver as the sexual energy arced between them. Cam couldn’t help but groan and gather her closer, nuzzling the velvety skin beneath her ear. She lifted her face, and took him off guard by kissing him full on the lips. Hard and fast, the gesture so full of hunger it made him ache.

(Devon) “Cam—you’re killing me,” she quavered, pressing her head back into the pillow and praying for patience. Her heart was pounding. “I’m loving you,” he corrected in a hot whisper, then took her nipple deep into his mouth as his palm brushed over the damp lace covering her core.

Gathering her courage, she swallowed past the lump in her throat and held his gaze. It wasn’t how she’d envisioned telling him, but she couldn’t let him go without saying the words. “I’m falling in love with you.” The smile died, his amused expression dissolving into shock. “What?” “Yeah. So you have to come back so I can finish the job.” A jumble of emotions swirled in the blue depths of his eyes as he stared at her. Then he broke into a wide smile and brought a hand up to cradle her cheek. “I’m coming back, sweetheart. I wouldn’t miss that chance for the world.

The muscles in his arms and back trembled as he pushed in as deep as he could go, until all of him was buried inside her. His head sagged and a deep, primitive snarl ripped free. Sparks of light exploded behind her tightly closed lids. His hands burrowed into her hair, holding her head still while he kissed her hard and deep and wild. Then he began to move. Hard, steady strokes that ignited every nerve ending in her body.

Then I thought of the federal government discovering they could send special ops into the past to change whatever they wanted. I didn’t know if that were possible, but if so, the folks who gave us fun stuff like bio-weapons and computer-guided smart bombs were the last folks I’d want carrying their various agendas into living, unarmored history. The

No food, you die in weeks. No water, you die in days.

It’s a lot cleaner when Command kills you on purpose . . . than when they do it by accident.

We have a man down in a hole.

�“You swore this deal would be a safe little exchange. I didn�’t sign up for this�—Chinese mafia and Hashishins. I�’m an MD, not special ops.�” Kira Hardy in Dawn of a Dark Knight

This is an opportunity for failure as much as it is one to succeed. Do not block out the voices of opposition, study them and defeat their words and prejudices through brilliant action.

(Devon) “Cam, what’s wrong?” He cursed and held her tighter. “Help me,” he rasped. Her senses dizzy from the scent and feel of him, it took a few moments for the words to register. She stroked her fingers through his thick, soft hair. “Help you?” His head moved against her hand, as much a show of helpless pleasure as it was a nod. “Help me slow down.” She shook her head. “I don’t want you to slow down—” “I want to be gentle,” he said roughly, his warm breath tickling her neck. “But I’m so fucking turned on right now all I can think about is pounding into you.

She (Candace) straightened her spine and shot him (Ryan) a warning glare. “You know what? You just reminded me why I don’t like you.” He grinned like he got a giant kick out of needling her. Or maybe it was her response that he found funny. “Well I like you.” “That’s because I’m not rude and obnoxious.” “Well there is that. But I think it’s mostly to do with the fact that I’m standing here breathing because of you.” “Ah. So gratitude makes you rude? I’ll have to remember that if I’m in the area next time you get in a tight spot.

Holding her steady as he kissed her, Cam caressed back and forth over her nipple, swallowing her cries while he rubbed the length of his cock between her open thighs. He could come right now, just from doing this. Just from the incredible heat and feel of her, and knowing she wanted him so much. She was so goddamn soft and responsive. He’d always known it would be like this with her. Hot and explosive and so damn good it ripped away the civilized part of him to expose the raw, dominant hunger inside.

That’s when I feel like the real me. I want to be a rock for you too, but I often feel inadequate to do so. I know I should express my self-doubt to you rather than leave you guessing my feelings. If I am given the chance, I will show you just how much my very essence is intertwined with yours and that I am incomplete without you. I will commit to nurturing our union, including keeping the lines of communication open.

Marcinko chose SEALs for his new command based solely on his personal opinion of them, an opinion often formed during barroom interviews with prospective members. “The man liked to drink,” said an officer who worked under Marcinko in Team 6. “To be with him, you had to drink—to be in the ‘in’ crowd.” Marcinko acknowledged to an author his capacity to down large quantities of Bombay gin on the job, but added, “I use booze as a tool.” Fairly or not, such behavior colored the opinions of Team 6 held by many others in the special ops community for years after Marcinko left the unit in July 1983.

The fact that no military was deployed to the hot zone during the seven-hour attack was unthinkable. Military assets were just hours away in Italy. Nordstrom testified, “The ferocity and intensity of the attack was nothing that we had seen in Libya, or that I had seen in my time in the Diplomatic Security Service.”87 Yet aside from that one team from Tripoli, which included Glenn Doherty, there was no show of force from outside Benghazi. A special ops whistle-blower told Fox News that the military had a team ready to scramble from Croatia. That would have taken some four to six hours. The attack lasted for seven hours.88

A successful special operation defies conventional wisdom by using a small force to defeat a much larger or well-entrenched opponent. This book develops a theory of special operations that explains why this phenomenon occurs. I will show that through the use of certain principles of warfare a special operations force can reduce what Carl von Clausewitz calls the frictions of war to a manageable level. By minimizing these frictions the special operations force can achieve relative superiority over the enemy. Once relative superiority is achieved, the attacking force is no longer at a disadvantage and has the initiative to exploit the enemy’s weaknesses and secure victory. Although gaining relative superiority doesn’t guarantee success, it is necessary for success. If we can determine, prior to an operation, the best way to achieve relative superiority, then we can tailor special operations planning and preparation to improve our chances of victory.

Be amazing, because you are.

My dad always used to say that the truth will out—in other words, you can’t hide from who you really are and you will at some point reveal yourself.

The old dictum is that “no plan survives first contact with the enemy,” and the special-ops team is already regrouping and improvising a new plan. He hears the sharp, disciplined fire

This was a mental game as much as a physical challenge, designed to reinforce the fact that staying focused and motivated is absolutely critical to mission success and basic survival in war.

The woman tensed. As anger and fear ricocheted across her face, her eyes changed from red to green to brown in a dizzying display like nothing he’d ever seen. Every instinct in Angelo’s body screamed at him to lunge for his weapon. Instead he set his feet for impact, blocking her slashing claws. Unbelievably, after a few moments of struggling, she went still, all the fight gone… Minka isn’t sure she should trust the sexy Special Forces soldier who found her. Subjected to horrors, on the run from scientists set on locking her in a cage, Minka is terrified of the monster she’s becoming…and somehow, Angelo is the only one who can calm the beast inside her and make her feel safe. But can she trust the way he makes her feel when she’s not even sure she can trust herself?

Wolfe,” Wolfe said. “I’m Jet’s best friend.” Jethro paused and then just let the moment unfold. “Oliver’s dark eyebrow rose as he also adopted a flat Iowaesque accent. “Jet doesn’t usually have friends.” “I’m special,” Wolfe drawled.

The raid comes without warning, like a team of Juvie-rounders in the night. A real special-ops team—nothing like the playacting kids Starkey calls special ops. The invaders tranq the storks guarding the entrance to the mine before they can even raise their weapons and flood into the tunnels, tranq’ing anyone who comes into view. Their directive is simple: Get to Mason Starkey. The commotion wakes kids deeper in the mine in time for them to scramble for weapons, which they’ve learned to use without hesitation and without fear. They bring several of the intruders down, but there are more behind them—and this force is armed with weapons the storks have never seen: squad machine guns that spray tiny tranq-tipped darts at such an alarming rate, they create an inescapable wall of unconsciousness before them. The layers of protection surrounding Starkey peel away until he’s exposed and vulnerable before the invading force. Starkey swings his own weapon up, but fumbles with it just long enough for his attackers to grab it and grab him. The entire operation is over in less than five minutes.

Funding for the Special Operations Network comes directly from the government. Most work is centralized, but all of the SpecOps divisions have local representatives to keep a watchful eye on any provincial problems. They are administered by local commanders, who liaise with the national offices for information exchange, guidance and policy decisions. Like any other big government department, it looks good on paper but is an utter shambles. Petty infighting and political agendas, arrogance and sheer bloody-mindedness almost guarantees that the left hand doesn't know what the right is doing.

Sometimes what you need is somebody to help you push through to find out that the limits you thought you had were just a little beyond your expectations of yourself. Sometimes you fall short of what you thought you were capable of, but then someone gives you the push you need to accept that limitations are temporary things.

McRaven’s thesis, which would become part of the curriculum at the Naval Postgraduate School, set out the core concept of special ops: that a small, well-trained force can deliver a decisive blow against a much larger, well-defended one. He defined such a mission as one “conducted by forces specially trained, equipped, and supported for a specific target whose destruction, elimination, or rescue (in the case of hostages), is a political or military imperative.” Refining the key elements to success for such missions, he prescribed, in a nutshell, “A simple plan, carefully concealed, repeatedly and realistically rehearsed, and executed with surprise, speed, and purpose.

There was also a “perverse inverse relationship” between fame and accuracy. The more likely an expert was to have his or her predictions featured on op-ed pages and television, the more likely they were always wrong. Or, not always wrong. Rather, as Tetlock and his coauthor succinctly put it in their book Superforecasting, “roughly as accurate as a dart-throwing chimpanzee.

The church is a political body in that it is interested in the common good and not in the sense that it is a political party with members to represent. After evangelical flagship magazine Christianity Today published an op-ed by editor-in-chief Mark Galli supporting President Trump’s impeachment, the president tweeted that the magazine was looking for Democrats “to guard their religion” and that “no President has ever done what I have done for Evangelicals, or religion itself!”7 It not only revealed the president’s view of his relationship with evangelicals but highlighted the attitude many evangelicals share: Christians make political decisions based on what will protect them and their interests. But the church is commissioned to seek the flourishing of our communities, not special privileges for ourselves.

During mission planning, we had intelligence concerning dogs that might impede our goal and were part of the target’s contingencies. The exact method used to neutralize aggressive dogs in the field is classified information. However, Special Ops has some really incredible dogs. In fact, during the raid to kill Osama bin Laden, the highly trained men of SEAL Team Six had with them a uniquely trained dog as part of the mission. SEAL canines are not your standard bomb-sniffing dogs. The dog on the bin Laden mission was specially trained to jump from planes and rappel from helicopters while attached to its handler. The dog wore ballistic body armor, had a head-mounted infrared (night-vision) camera, and wore earpieces to take commands from the handler. The dog also had reinforced teeth, capped with titanium. I would not want to try the techniques this book recommends on this dog. Thank God he’s on our side.

After the war, Manor returned to New York University and finished his degree in 1947. Later that year he became an instructor at the air tactical school at Tyndal Field, Florida. Following that assignment he went to Maxwell Air Force Base at Montgomery, Alabama, and helped organize the squadron officers’ school, staying on to teach the first class. He departed Maxwell for the Tactical Air Command air-ground operations school at Southern Pines, North Carolina.

How many times do I have to say I’m sorry before you believe it? That I acknowledge I made a terrible mistake and have done everything I know how to fix it? How can you just freeze me out after that and walk away from everything we had?” Hurt and resentment swelled inside him, mixing with the anger in a toxic, chaotic mess. “You walked away first,” he shot back. “That was your choice.” Then I made mine. It was a low blow, even if it was true. But he refused to feel guilty about it, even under the circumstances. He hadn’t wanted to have this conversation, but she’d insisted, and he wouldn’t lie to her about the way things stood. Honor’s chin came up, her tears evaporating as her eyes sparked with fresh anger. “I did,” she admitted quietly, her control merely emphasizing the loss of his own. “I did walk away and it was the absolute worst mistake of my life. I’m sorry, Liam. See? I’m a big enough person to admit it to your face. Are you?

He knew she had to be exhausted and he just wanted to take care of her. He nuzzled her hair and she turned in his arms, pressing her nose into the base of his neck and breathing him in as she slid her hands up his back. Liam hugged her close, his whole body tightening at the feel of her against him. It had been so close out there tonight. He’d almost lost her, would have died himself earlier if not for his body armor. “Do you know how much I love you?” she whispered, her voice slightly unsteady.

The biggest fear for homeschooled children is that they will be unable to relate to their peers, will not have friends, or that they will otherwise be unable to interact with people in a normal way. Consider this: How many of your daily interactions with people are solely with people of your own birth year?  We’re not considering interactions with people who are a year or two older or a year or two younger, but specifically people who were born within a few months of your birthday. In society, it would be very odd to section people at work by their birth year and allow you to interact only with persons your same age. This artificial constraint would limit your understanding of people and society across a broader range of ages. In traditional schools, children are placed in grades artificially constrained by the child’s birth date and an arbitrary cut-off day on a school calendar. Every student is taught the same thing as everyone else of the same age primarily because it is a convenient way to manage a large number of students. Students are not grouped that way because there is any inherent special socialization that occurs when grouping children in such a manner. Sectioning off children into narrow bands of same-age peers does not make them better able to interact with society at large. In fact, sectioning off children in this way does just the opposite—it restricts their ability to practice interacting with a wide variety of people. So why do we worry about homeschooled children’s socialization?  The erroneous assumption is that the child will be homeschooled and will be at home, schooling in the house, all day every day, with no interactions with other people. Unless a family is remotely located in a desolate place away from any form of civilization, social isolation is highly unlikely. Every homeschooling family I know involves their children in daily life—going to the grocery store or the bank, running errands, volunteering in the community, or participating in sports, arts, or community classes. Within the homeschooled community, sports, arts, drama, co-op classes, etc., are usually sectioned by elementary, pre-teen, and teen groupings. This allows students to interact with a wider range of children, and the interactions usually enhance a child’s ability to interact well with a wider age-range of students. Additionally, being out in the community provides many opportunities for children to interact with people of all ages. When homeschooling groups plan field trips, there are sometimes constraints on the age range, depending upon the destination, but many times the trip is open to children of all ages. As an example, when our group went on a field trip to the Federal Reserve Bank, all ages of children attended. The tour and information were of interest to all of the children in one way or another. After the tour, our group dined at a nearby food court. The parents sat together to chat and the children all sat with each other, with kids of all ages talking and having fun with each other. When interacting with society, exposure to a wider variety of people makes for better overall socialization. Many homeschooling groups also have park days, game days, or play days that allow all of the children in the homeschooled community to come together and play. Usually such social opportunities last for two, three, or four hours. Our group used to have Friday afternoon “Park Day.”  After our morning studies, we would pack a picnic lunch, drive to the park, and spend the rest of the afternoon letting the kids run and play. Older kids would organize games and play with younger kids, which let them practice great leadership skills. The younger kids truly looked up to and enjoyed being included in games with the older kids.

The waters of Skilak are notoriously cold and turbulent. It isn’t unusual to have water temperatures hovering around thirty-eight degrees, even in the summer. The mix of cold water and the glacial ice of the massive Harding Icefield, along with the high mountains that support it and work like a giant wind tunnel, make for a deadly combination that can turn a mirror-smooth lake into the frothing mouth of a monster in an instant. Within minutes, summer warmth combining with the cold can create winds that explode off the ice field in what Alaskans refer to as williwaws—strong gusts that tear down from glacial valleys, often wreaking havoc.

It was a gorgeous evening, with a breeze shimmering through the trees, people strolling hand in hand through the quaint streets and the plaza. The shops, bistros and restaurants were abuzz with patrons. She showed him where the farmer's market took place every Saturday, and pointed out her favorite spots- the town library, a tasting room co-op run by the area vintners, the Brew Ha-Ha and the Rose, a vintage community theater. On a night like this, she took a special pride in Archangel, with its cheerful spirit and colorful sights. She refused to let the Calvin sighting drag her down. He had ruined many things for her, but he was not going to ruin the way she felt about her hometown. After some deliberation, she chose Andaluz, her favorite spot for Spanish-style wines and tapas. The bar spilled out onto the sidewalk, brightened by twinkling lights strung under the big canvas umbrellas. The tables were small, encouraging quiet intimacy and insuring that their knees would bump as they scooted their chairs close. She ordered a carafe of local Mataro, a deep, strong red from some of the oldest vines in the county, and a plancha of tapas- deviled dates, warm, marinated olives, a spicy seared tuna with smoked paprika. Across the way in the plaza garden, the musician strummed a few chords on his guitar. The food was delicious, the wine even better, as elemental and earthy as the wild hills where the grapes grew. They finished with sips of chocolate-infused port and cinnamon churros. The guitar player was singing "The Keeper," his gentle voice seeming to float with the breeze.

Don’t do this,” he begged hoarsely against her temple, crumbling inside. Honor wasn’t the type to make empty threats or do something like this on a whim. No, she meant it and was prepared to go through with it. He had one last shot to change her mind, right now, before he lost her forever. So no, even he wasn’t above begging if that’s what it took to make her stay and work this out. “You said you still love me,” he whispered brokenly. He was holding onto that for all it was worth. It had to be enough. He squeezed her tighter. “I know you’re scared and I know you’re hurting but… Don’t do this. Don’t walk away. Please.” Don’t leave me. She’d never know how much it cost him to beg her this way, but he was so damn scared right now he didn’t care how pathetic it made him look. He’d do or say f-ing whatever it took to get her to listen to reason, make her change her mind. Anything except agreeing to live a lie and hide his true feelings for her from the rest of the world, no matter what the reason. A sob tore out of her. Honor stopped shoving at him. She wound her arms around his back and squeezed so hard he felt the muscles in her arms tremble. Liam closed his eyes and pressed his face against her hair, that painful bubble of hope surfacing again. He could feel her torment, her pain. If he could just calm her down long enough to get her to listen, really listen and then think this through… “Sweet pea, just listen to me,” he began softly. “No, I can’t.” Honor tore away from him and grabbed the doorknob. Before he could recover enough to reach out and stop her, she’d slammed the door shut behind her. Gone.

It was discussed and decided that fear would be perpetuated globally in order that focus would stay on the negative rather than allow for soul expression to positively emerge. As people became more fearful and compliant, capacity for free thought and soul expression would diminish. There is a distinct inability to exert soul expression under mind control, and evolution of the human spirit would diminish along with freedom of thought when bombarded with constant negative terrors. Whether Bush and Cheney deliberately planned to raise a collective fear over collective conscious love is doubtful. They did not think, speak, or act in those terms. Instead, they knew that information control gave them power over people, and they were hell-bent to perpetuate it at all costs. Cheney, Bush, and other global elite ushering in the New World Order totally believed in the plan mapped out by artificial intelligence. They were allowing technology to dictate global control. “Life is like a video game,” Bush once told me at the rural multi-million dollar Lampe, Missouri CIA mind control training camp complex designed for Black Ops Special Forces where torture and virtual reality technologies were used. “Since I have access to the technological source of the plans, I dictate the rules of the game.” The rules of the game demanded instantaneous response with no time to consciously think and critically analyze. Constant conscious disruption of thought through television’s burst of light flashes, harmonics, and subconscious subliminals diminished continuity of conscious thought anyway, creating a deficit of attention that could easily be refocused into video game format. DARPA’s artificial intelligence was reliant on secrecy, and a terrifying cover for reality was chosen to divert people from the simple truth. Since people perceive aliens as being physical like them, it was decided that the technological reality could be disguised according to preconceptions. Through generations of genetic encoding dating back to the beginning of man, serpents incite an innate autogenic response system in humans to “freeze” in terror. George Bush was excited at the prospects of diverting people from truth by fear through perpetuating lizard-like serpent alien misconceptions. “People fear what they don’t know anyway. By compounding that fear with autogenic fear response, they won’t want to look into Pandora’s Box.” Through deliberate generation of fear; suppression of facts under the 1947 National Security Act; Bush’s stint as CIA director during Ford’s Administration; the Warren Commission’s whitewash of the Kennedy Assassination; secrecy artificially ensured by mind control particularly concerning DARPA, HAARP, Roswell, Montauk, etc; and with people’s fluidity of conscious thought rapidly diminishing; the secret government embraced the proverbial ‘absolute power that corrupts absolutely.’ According to New World Order plans being discussed at the Grove, plans for reducing the earth’s population was a high priority. Mass genocide of so-called “undesirables” through the proliferation of AIDS4 was high on Bush’s agenda. “We’ll annihilate the niggers at their source, beginning in South and East Africa and Haiti5.” Having heard Bush say those words is by far one of the most torturous things I ever endured. Equally as torturous to my being were the discussions on genetic engineering, human cloning, and depletion of earth’s natural resources for profit. Cheney remarked that no one would be able to think to stop technology’s plan. “I’ll destroy the planet first,” Bush had vowed.

Then he made the mistake of looking into her eyes and froze. Her expression was so open, so full of tenderness and longing as well as heat that he almost balked. This was supposed to be about closure, about having the goodbye they’d never gotten last time. How was he supposed to leave after if she gave herself to him this completely? Her hand came up to cradle the side of his face, her thumb stroking back and forth across his jaw, her touch gentle and loving. “Need you,” she murmured, It was good. Even better than he remembered. Liam buried his face in the side of her neck and sucked in a breath, struggling to hang on. Being cradled in Honor’s arms, buried to the hilt inside her while she opened her body and heart to him was the most incredible thing in the world. How the f*&^ was he going to walk away later? Without warning his eyes began to sting. As though she sensed how close he was to coming unglued, Honor murmured to him and pressed kisses to the side of his face, her hand urging his head to turn toward her. Liam shook his head, unable to bear that final level of intimacy when he knew this was their last time. Keeping his face in her neck he fought back the swell of emotion and began to move, a slow, shallow rocking motion that was more profound than words could ever be. He loved her. Would always love her, but it wasn’t enough because some things couldn’t be undone and he just couldn’t let her in the way he had before. All they had left was this bittersweet farewell, and he was going to make it memorable. .... A lump settled in his throat and he squeezed his eyes shut, torn between the excruciating pleasure swelling inside him and the need to see her face as he took her this last time. In the end, his heart won out. Powerless to stop himself, he lifted his head and looked down at her. Anguish sliced through his chest when he saw the tears glistening in her beautiful eyes. Don’t. Don’t cry. Shit, he didn’t want either of them to hurt anymore. He was sick of hurting. That’s why he was ending it all tonight. With a low sound of regret he covered her mouth with his, his tongue sliding against hers as he took her. Honor kissed him back deep and slow... Cupping her cheek with his free hand he gave her everything he had left to give, allowing his emotional shields to drop for these final moments. She ran her fingertips up and down his back in a soothing motion, her body limp and pliant beneath his, legs still wrapped around him. And all of a sudden he felt like crying. He felt too much, was in too deep again. He didn’t know what to say to make this any easier. After what they’d just shared he was more conflicted than ever about what to do. “I’ll miss you,” she murmured, and he caught the slight catch in her voice. Ah, fu&%. He gritted his teeth. It would be so much easier if they could just hate each other. For a moment he considered saying something to make her do exactly that, but couldn’t. Even he wasn’t enough of an a**hole to end things that way. And that look on her face… Against his better judgment, Liam sat back down on the edge of the bed and pulled her into his arms. Honor went willingly into his embrace, pressing her face to his chest as she hugged him tight in return. “I’ll miss you too.” Dammit, he should never have come here tonight. “I wish it could be different, but I just… I can’t do this anymore.” I’ll always love you but I can’t afford to let you back in again. “I’m sorry.

Brent is very unique. Unicorn needs someone who has the respect of the developers, has enough deep experience with almost every sort of it infrastructure we have, and can describe what the developers need to build so that we can actually manage and operate in production. Those skills are rare, and we don’t have anyone else that can rotate into this special role right now.

Within the U.S. military, members of Special Ops were considered a breed apart, an elite warrior class that carried out the most difficult missions under the most dangerous circumstances—the guys in the movies rappelling from helicopters into enemy territory or making amphibious landings under cover of darkness.

data mining program called Able Danger was set up by US Special Operations Command (SOCOM) in late 1998. It begins collecting data mostly on Bosnia and China but at this time it begins collecting data on Al-Qaeda---which is essentially collecting data on clandestine CIA black ops.

Rival

He told me that quitting is addictive and that it got easier and easier to do each time you made that decision.

澳洲昆士兰大学假毕业证获得咨询【Q微202 661 4433】（昆士兰大学毕业证成绩单一模一样）如何购买UQ毕业证高仿成绩单，如何购买澳洲毕业证办理昆士兰大学毕业证|购买UQ毕业证|Q微2026614433|出售澳洲毕业证|购买澳洲文凭TheUniversityofQueensland SMNSNMSNMSNMSBSMNBSSMNBSSNMSBNSMBSMNSSMB Not that Americans need any more to fear and fret over, but one of their toughest, Dan Schilling, has written a book about awareness. Schilling is a 30-year, top secret, special ops combat controller, conducting clandestine missions all over the world. His book, The Power of Awareness, is a lively, often sarcastic and even funny guide to being awake to the possibilities, wherever you find yourself. It is fast paced, and actually, full of suspense.

Spec Ops: Case Studies in Special Operations Warfare: Theory and Practice.

was squeezed between two large Special Ops officers in the back of a black SUV. It was seven a.m.

I’ve come across otherwise smart people who are of the mistaken belief that if they hold on to a task, something only they know how to do, it’ll ensure job security. These people are knowledge hoarders. This doesn't work. Everyone is replaceable. No matter how talented they are. Sure it may take longer at first to find out how to do that special task, but it will happen without them.

I’ve seen stuff, Tanner. You know that. In special ops, I saw all sorts of violence against men, women and children that is the stuff nightmares are made of. But nothing I ever saw there puts me anywhere near the killing rage I feel when I think about Ellis hurting Marilyn.

The various branches of the US military have special operations forces. These are made up of units of soldiers who have been specially trained to tackle the most risky and dangerous military operations in the world—most of which are never heard about by the general public. Special-ops forces such as the Navy SEALs, Army Green Berets, Marine RECONs, and Air Force Special Tactics are comprised of the most elite soldiers in the world. Their training is beyond rigorous, and the qualifications to join such exclusive groups of warriors are extremely high. These elite soldiers make up a small percentage of the total military, but they are the tip of the spear when it comes to critical combat operations. These units usually operate in small numbers, drop behind enemy lines, practice tactics repetitively before executing a given operation, and train for every combat condition they might encounter. But even with an exceptional level of training and expertise, there is one critical component that is absolutely necessary for them to successfully reach their objective: communication. These elite special-ops fighters are part of a larger overarching entity with which they must stay in communication—SOCOM. This acronym stands for Special Operations Command.1 Key to their success from the elite soldier on the field all the way to the commander-in-chief is communication through SOCOM. A unit or soldier on mission in the theater of battle can have the latest weapons and technology, but they cannot access the fuller power and might of the military without the critical link—communications. If a satellite phone goes down or can’t access a signal, this life-or-death communication is broken. Without the ability to call in for air support when being overrun, medical evacuation when someone is injured, or passing on key intelligence information to SOCOM, an operation can be compromised. When communication is absent, things can go south in a hurry. In the realm of special military operations, communication is life.

French Special Ops. Sir? Isn’t that a culinary skill? Like soufflé flambé? Or crêpe suzette?

Bewilderingly, among some enterprises, there is a recent trend of anointing a special team that is separate from development and operations: the “DevOps” team. The whole point of DevOps is to create unity and collaboration among different specialties, not more silos. We even see job ads for “DevOps engineers,” who apparently are a special breed different from normal engineers and system admins. What happened? We believe this is the result of a buzzword-bingo approach to management. Rather than cultivating “individuals and interactions,” we have organizations hoping to avoid rethinking how to operate and instead get by with a reconfiguration of the software factory. And the surprising thing is that many have achieved that dubious goal.

me.” He looked out the window at the

They may call it special ops and even give me fucking medals, but I was an assassin. A coldhearted assassin, but even I couldn’t do that. So I carried her to the hospital, where they saved her life. I killed so many people,

All three of the North brothers enlisted as soon as we turned nineteen. I was pulled into special ops for my cold, calculating mind and my sharpshooting. The poison—that, I learned on the job. There are only two reasons the government needs to hide what a soldier does. One, because he’s going to kill someone. Or two, because he’s going to gather secret information. A spy, basically. That’s what they recruited Josh for. He’s a fucking chameleon when he wants to be.

This cousin of yours, Francis? It says here that he was the one who referred you to special OPS and from there you were selected to join Agents with super abilities." "Yeah, but the years I have been here there's nothing 'super' that makes me any different. Other Agents have special suits and special weapons. I have nothing ... I do it raw!

After the three of them got back to the Portakabin, while Quill and Ross started to add the details from the manuscript pages to the Ops Board, Sefton got out his special notebook and checked through everything he'd written down about his encounter with...whatever Brutus had been. "I was proceeding in a mystical direction when I encountered a six-foot-two Roman male, with whom I shared a certain sexual tension.

Het eerste wat ik moest leren was altijd kaarsrecht te lopen en tegelijk mijn linkerhand losjes op mijn buik te houden in de hoop dat die hand en niet mijn gezicht de klap opvangt bij de botsing met een obstakel dat buiten bereik van mijn stok blijft, een uitstekend muurtje, een lantaarnpaal, een open raam of deur. Het schijnt dat de huid van ons voorhoofd speciale hypergevoelige sensoren heeft om de omgeving te 'scannen'. Dat zou verklaren waarom mijn kin telkens op mijn borst zakt, mijn voorhoofd vooruitgestoken als een voelspriet. Mijn stok helpt me om weer rechtop te lopen.

Splash or crash? Do you want special ops messing about in boats? Or special ops messing in aeroplanes?

Bruno returns, still clad in only his green towel, hair poofing out a little as it dries. “Everything all right?” I ask, with a stupid smile. I fight my line of sight to stay above the shoulders, but despite my best efforts, my eyes dart down a few times as he strides across the room to his closet. “Yes, clothes. Please,” I say too fast. “Good idea.” Shut. Up. The corner of his mouth hitches up, and his head turns toward my open suitcase on the floor. He bends over and I realize I’m still watching, both to see what he’s doing, and to see if his towel can hang on for the ride. He pulls out a few of my shirts and flings them onto the bed, digging deeper into my suitcase until he pulls out a coral-colored sundress. “Oh, that’s going to look fabulous on you,” I say. “I do not doubt it.” He laughs, turning and holding the dress up to himself, one hip jutting out, then closes the distance between us in a couple of steps. I take the dress from him and do my best to avoid eye contact. But now I’m looking at his chest. His bare chest. His tan, bare chest. And he smells clean, like almonds and oats. A feast for all the senses. Maybe eye contact would be better. I look up into them and immediately regret it. They’re big and golden and deep, and they’re looking at me. I have no clue what’s happening. “You will wear this for me today, yes?” I nod. “Bene.” He walks back to the closet and pulls out a thin white button-down shirt and a pair of navy-blue shorts, then heads for the door. “Wait,” I say, shaking my head out of my daze. He stops just before he passes me. “What’s so special about today? Aren’t we just working?” Darren said he was coming back today and would pop by the restaurant, but we didn’t set a specific time. I assumed I’d be at work all day. “Later, yes,” he says quietly, leaning in like we’re coconspirators. “First, I am taking you on my boat.” I get pulled into the conspiracy and lean in too. “Your boat?” “My boat.” He’s even closer now, still shirtless. His clothes are just an afterthought of wadded-up laundry in his hands. It’s probably such a chore for him to put them on every day. He’s clearly in his element without them. Chiara did say that I had to see Cinque Terre from the sea, that there’s nothing else like it. The anticipation of the photo ops alone is enough to make my answer “Si, si, si,” forget about the half-naked guy standing in front of me. Forget about his lips, inches from mine. Forget that he has his own boat in Italy. “Where are we going?” I stare at his mouth, waiting for an answer. He smirks and I’m pretty sure I’ll follow him anywhere. Bruno traces my jaw with a fingertip and lightly taps the tip of my nose. “You will see.

Day an' night they set in a room with a checker-board on th' end iv a flour bar'l, an' study problems iv th' navy. At night Mack dhrops in. 'Well, boys,' says he, 'how goes th' battle?' he says. 'Gloryous,' says th' Sthrateejy Board. 'Two more moves, an' we'll be in th' king row.' 'Ah,' says Mack, 'this is too good to be thrue,' he says. 'In but a few brief minyits th' dhrinks'll be on Spain,' he says. 'Have ye anny plans f'r Sampson's fleet?' he says. 'Where is it?' says th' Sthrateejy Board. 'I dinnaw,' says Mack. 'Good,' says th' Sthrateejy Board. 'Where's th' Spanish fleet?' says they. 'Bombardin' Boston, at Cadiz, in San June de Matzoon, sighted near th' gas-house be our special correspondint, copyright, 1898, be Mike O'Toole.' 'A sthrong position,' says th' Sthrateejy Board. 'Undoubtedly, th' fleet is headed south to attack and seize Armour's glue facthory. Ordher Sampson to sail north as fast as he can, an' lay in a supply iv ice. Th' summer's comin' on. Insthruct Schley to put on all steam, an' thin put it off again, an' call us up be telephone. R-rush eighty-three millyon throops an' four mules to Tampa, to Mobile, to Chickenmaha, to Coney Island, to Ireland, to th' divvle, an' r-rush thim back again. Don't r-rush thim. Ordher Sampson to pick up th' cable at Lincoln Par-rk, an' run into th' bar-rn. Is th' balloon corpse r-ready? It is? Thin don't sind it up. Sind it up. Have th' Mulligan Gyards co-op'rate with Gomez, an' tell him to cut away his whiskers. They've got tangled in th' riggin'. We need yellow-fever throops. Have ye anny yellow fever in th' house? Give it to twinty thousand three hundherd men, an' sind thim afther Gov'nor Tanner. Teddy Rosenfelt's r-rough r-riders ar-re downstairs, havin' their uniforms pressed. Ordher thim to th' goluf links at wanst. They must be no indecision. Where's Richard Harding Davis? On th' bridge iv the New York? Tur-rn th' bridge. Seize Gin'ral Miles' uniform. We must strengthen th' gold resarve. Where's th' Gussie? Runnin' off to Cuba with wan hundherd men an' ar-rms, iv coorse. Oh, war is a dhreadful thing. It's ye'er move, Claude,' says th' Sthrateejy Board. "An

At the time, we were told that this was also the area from which up to ninety-eight percent of the opium, and eventually heroin, that enters the U.S. originates. The Taliban would use the profits of that sale to fund their terrorist activities. I remember thinking in those early days in the country when we were being so heavily fired on, from where the heck did these guys get all their armament?

There will always be wars and rumors of wars... a military career is a good bet. Wars will be different but also the same - only getting more brutal with time and technology

A number of secretive and advanced units have been op-conned (or, assigned) to JSOC since 2003. How they directly interact with the command is unclear, but they spend most of their time helping JSOC with its special missions. These units report directly to the Office of the Commander and his chief of staff. They include a unit known by the abbreviation BI, consisting solely of highly trained female intelligence collectors and interrogators operating undercover;

Bloed op ’n blom. Goed. Om ’n lang storie kort te maak. Ek staan hier met my hakke teen die voetenent van haar graf en die kort loop teen my voorkop. My duim is op die sneller. My wysvinger op die hamer. My hand ruk onder die gewig. Maar ek hou hom lynreg gerig. Solank Moses sy hand opgehou het, was Israel die sterkste en wanneer hy sy hand laat sak het, die Amalekiete. Is dit U sagte hand hier onder my elmboog vandag? Want dit help net mooi niks. Die dêm ding raak swaar. Hoe lank staan ek al hier? Hoeveel vrae gevra? Hoeveel antwoorde gekry? Niks. Time-fokken-out. Tyd het nog nooit so min beteken, na so min geruik of so sag geklink nie. Tyd was nog nooit so ontydig nie. Dalk proe tyd na die binnekant van jou mond, na die laaste ding wat daar deur is. Soos ’n vloekwoord. ’n Sug. Of ’n naam. Ek rol my tong een keer deur. Nog ’n sintuig klok uit. As ek haar naam net mag proe. Maar dis nie meer daar nie. Daar is niemand wat sal kom as ek haar naam roep nie. En dis my skuld. En ek kan net nie daardie kruis alleen dra nie. Ek is nie Job nie, Ma. Ek kan nie toekyk terwyl die gode deals maak onder my neus nie. Die lyn wat Goed en Kwaad skei loop eintlik dwarsdeur elke mens. Deur my ook, sê jy. Maar links hou op ’n tiekie is sommer baie inspanning vir ’n ou sonder ’n plan B. Ek wil nie meer nie. Beproewinge bevry my nie soos vir Job nie. Dit beleër my. Rampe maak my nie sterker nie. Dit troef my. Ondervinding bevry ander, maar maak my swaarder. En ek voel my omsingel vandag. Fyngedruk soos ’n mot. Die gode het gewen. Ek glo nie meer in dinge-sal-regkom nie. Ek het my geloof in God en goeie vooruitsigte so saam-saam verloor. My verhemelte wil die heil en onheil nie meer onderskei nie. My hemele stuur die Eliaswolke en reënnewels tegelyk. Ek kyk nie eers meer op nie. Dis nie dat ek nie weet nie. Dis dat ek te veel weet maar die deugde nie uitmekaar kan ken nie. Om jouself om die lewe te bring is soveel anders as om iemand anders dood te maak. Soveel moeiliker. Jy weet, selfmoord is sneaky. Die een helfte van jou brein probeer jou oorreed dat die ander helfte lieg. Links priem jou met redes om te gaan en regs por jou om te vertoef, soos vir ’n loopdop. Maar dié koeël sal my kwytskeld. As jy in die kort loop van ’n .38 Special staar, kan jy die merkies op die stomp loodpunte van die ander vier patrone sien. Nie dat ek hulle ooit nodig sal kry nie. Op hierdie afstand sal een koeël meer as genoeg wees. Ek kyk vir oulaas om. Ag. Die blomme. Ek laat sak die rewolwer, draai om en haal die mooi ruikers van die groot grafsteen af. Ek kyk rond. Daar is niemand nie. Net die denne. En ’n duif wat roekoek. Dis jammer. Ek wil vir iemand sê mens bloei nie op blomme nie. Wat ’n gedagte moes bly, glip toe uit. Die duif vlieg met trae vlerkslae weg. Mens bloei nie op blomme nie.

If I wanted something, I’d do almost anything to make it happen. It had been part of my job in the special ops for around ten years. It was drilled deep in my head: work any angle you could find to your advantage, the end result should never be any less than victory.

His Army Ranger unit had always been ready for an ambush. Five years in special ops had made him suspicious of most. On that last mission, though…even Luke had been taken in.

The United States military officially began using canines in World War I and by World War II more than four hundred scout dogs were taking part in combat patrols, finding and hunting the enemy. After Pearl Harbor, a group of dog breeders formed “Dogs for Defense,” with the goal of building a well-trained canine force in the event America went to war. Come Korea, roughly 1,500 canines performed guard duty with the Army while others joined patrols. During Vietnam, with its close-quarters combat in treacherous terrain and tropical climes, dogs were once again called into action: around four thousand joined patrols to hunt for weapons and enemies, and served duty on army bases, especially at night when soldiers were most vulnerable to attack. But many of the dogs that served alongside U.S. soldiers never made it home; some were euthanized and others abandoned in

When Ashley White-Stumpf became an angel she was at the apex of her life. She was a newlywed with an incredibly loving and supporting husband. She had just purchased her first home. She had a good job and an amazing family. And yet Ashley asked, “what can I do, how can I make a difference?” Think about that for a minute. How much better would this world be if every person, at the happiest, most fulfilled point in their life, thought not of themselves, but of the good they could do for things bigger than themselves? It is a question for each of us.

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Her body didn’t give a damn that he was all wrong for her, it wanted him anyway. Badly. Either oblivious of or not wanting to encourage the attraction between them, Wade looked down at his mug as though he wasn’t comfortable holding her gaze at such close range, and took a sip. As he swallowed, one side of his mouth curved up and he let out an appreciative groan that seemed to reverberate right through her, heating her blood. Startled, she drank in the almost dreamy expression on his angular face and imagined that same look right after he’d enjoyed an intensely satisfying orgasm. Erin couldn’t be positive, but if his reaction to a simple cup of coffee made him groan like that, she was pretty sure it had been a while since he’d had one of those, too. And man, the idea of being the one to end his dry spell was way too freaking hot for her own good.

Truth was, he was sitting on the floor only partly because he was more used to that, but more because it gave him an excuse not to have to sit close to her. If anything he was more attracted to her with every hour that passed, rather than leveling off. He’d been telling himself he was hot for her simply because it was a natural reaction for a man who’d been without a woman for four years to want one as beautiful as her, especially when they were staying alone in a house together. But if he was honest it was way more than physical attraction. Erin was kind and brave and sweet. She made him simultaneously want to gather her up in his arms to protect her and pin her to the nearest flat surface and kiss her until she melted and wrapped around him.

I’m sorry you got dragged into this.” He waved a hand to indicate he meant the house, the entire situation. “Having to stay here, with me, when you should be home with your family.” A pang of homesickness hit her as she thought of her parents and how disappointed they’d been that her leave had been “cancelled”. That wasn’t his fault though. To ease his concern, she put on a smile. “Yeah, but hey, I could’ve done way worse in terms of roommates.” She gave his leg a playful nudge with her hand. His eyes warmed at her words and touch. The firelight brought out the deep bronze undertones in his hair, flickering in tones of gold and orange. She wanted to run her fingers through it to find out if it was as soft as it looked. He shook his head slightly at her, looking amused. “Why’d you have to be so sweet?” She shrugged and countered, “Why’d you have to be so damned good looking?

She swallowed, blinked quickly a couple of times and it twisted his heart to know she was battling tears on his behalf. “So you’re going to what, sacrifice yourself? Stand out there and offer yourself up as human bait so they can bring him in—” Wade stepped up close and curved a hand around the back of her neck to silence her. She bit her lip and lowered her gaze, hitching in a ragged breath that tore through him. “It has to be me. Can you try to understand? The risk he poses outweighs everything else.” Even his life, if necessary. He tightened his fingers slightly, desperate to get through to her, to make her see why it had to be this way. But he hated leaving her, hated going with all this uncertainty left between them. He pushed out a breath and leaned his forehead against hers as the emotions bombarded him. Anxiety. Longing. An overwhelming sadness that this might be the last time he got to touch her. He didn’t know what to do with it all. “I never expected to fall for you,” he whispered, his throat tightening. Her head jerked back and she stared up at him with those huge green eyes swimming with tears. “I didn’t,” he insisted, feeling awed and bewildered at the realization that this woman meant so much to him. “You’ve made me feel things I never thought I’d—” He broke off, swallowing. Caressing her nape with his fingers, he cradled her cheek in his other hand and stared into her eyes. “It didn’t matter to me before if I lived or not, so long as I got him, but it’s different now. You matter to me, and I’m going to do everything in my power to come back for you. Okay?

A tall woman strode over to them, shouldering her rifle. Her helmet hid her hair, but her goggles were up, showing blazing blue eyes. “I’m Valkyrie, the team leader.” She waved a hand at the dark-skinned soldier holding him up. “Doc’s our medic, he’ll see to your leg.” Rhys didn’t move and the woman’s face turned harsher than the mountains surrounding them. “Do you have a problem, sailor?” She knew they were SEALs, even without identifying insignia. “No, sir,” Rhys said. “I mean, ma’am.” She rolled her eyes before facing Jake. “My team can handle this from here. Get on the bird.” Jake shook his head in confusion, pain making his thinking slow. “You’re a woman.” Her voice hardened. “I’m a captain, and you’re done here. This is now my mission.” “You’re not spec ops.” Jake’s leg might be screaming at him, but no American woman was allowed in special operations. “We’re better than spec ops,” she said. “We’re E.D.G.E. operators. Now get your ass onboard.” She walked away. “I think I’m in love,” Rhys said, staring after her.

convince you there’s life after the military, though,” Tyler added. Joe towered behind his wife’s chair, massaging

shoulder

Last, but not least, legendary Special Forces Sergeant Major Billy Waugh, who till this day is a role model.

See, most civilians don’t understand that you need a certain level of callousness to do the job we were being trained to do. To live in a brutal world, you have to accept cold-blooded truths. I’m not saying it’s good. I’m not necessarily proud of it. But special ops is a calloused world and it demands a calloused mind.

Zolang de internationale coalitie weigert grondtroepen in te zetten om overal in Syrië verscholen zelfmoordterroristen uit te roeien zal dit soort aanslagen verder toenemen. Volgens SOHR heeft het kalifaat nog een arsenaal potentiële zelfmoordterroristen van minstens 1250 man, goed voor nog minstens 600 aanslagen. Toch weigert Obama, onder druk van het Amerikaanse militair industrieel complex, om op de grond special forces in te zetten die ter plaatse tabula rasa gaan maken van de Augiasstallen boordenvol zelfmoordterroristen. Hoeveel winstgevender is het voor de Amerikaanse wapenhandel niet uit de lucht te bombarderen in plaats van op de grond efficiënt te gaan vechten? Bommen brengen de wapenhandel nu eenmaal zoveel meer op dan de verkoop van doelgerichte kogels.

It’s nothing, Steve. I should get back to all this paperwork.” I nodded. “Yes, sir. I’ll talk to you later.” After visiting the mayor’s office, I went over to the blacksmith shop to chat with Bob. I found my friend hard at work in front of the furnace. He was smelting some iron ore that was just delivered from the secret mining location. “Did you get the mayor’s order for rail tracks?” I asked. Bob turned away from the furnace and nodded. “Yeah, it looks like your special armor will have to wait.” “That’s fine, I can wait.” “It’s a pretty large order, so you might have to wait a long while.” “Aw… I guess I don’t have a choice.” “Oh, I’ve been thinking about something.” “What is it?” I asked. “I thought of a cool name for your new extra heavy weapon.” “Yeah? You got a name for it?” Bob nodded. “Check it out…” I waited patiently. “The Diamond Destroyer.” “Ooooh… I like it!” I said. “It sounds super OP.

I’ve also come across otherwise smart [people] who are of the mistaken belief that if they hold on to a task, something only they know how to do, it’ll ensure job security. These people are knowledge Hoarders. This doesn’t work. Everyone is replaceable. No matter how talented they are. Sure it may take longer at first to find out how to do that special task, but it will happen without them.

Encourage teams to organize internal “yak days,” where teams get together to work on technical debt. These are great events because technical debt is so rarely prioritized. Hold regular internal DevOps mini-conferences. We’ve seen organizations achieve success using the classic DevOpsDays format, which combines pre-prepared talks with “open spaces” where participants self-organize to propose and facilitate their own sessions. Give staff dedicated time, such as 20% time or several days after a release, to experiment with new tools and technologies. Allocate budget and infrastructure for special projects.

Italië is nog een te jonge natie: er moet eerst wat tijd overheen gaan voordat we in staat zullen zijn om dezelfde taal te spreken. En dan bedoel ik niet de taal op zich, ik heb het over de cultuur die, in goede of slechte zin, onze gezamenlijke erfenis is. We liepen toch zeker niet met ringen door onze neus toen dat Italië werd opgericht!? Ik zeg dit: ze moeten ons de tijd gunnen om vast te stellen hoe we in deze natie willen staan. Ik denk dat we betere Italianen zouden zijn als ze ons als Sarden zouden laten toetreden tot deze natie.’ ‘Ja, maar we kunnen toch niet verlangen dat er speciale wetten of regels worden gemaakt, alleen om dat wij er nog niet klaar voor zijn…’ ‘Daar ben ik het niet mee eens! Hebben ze niet meer dan genoeg speciale wetten gemaakt? Nou en of ze die gemaakt hebben! Allemaal speciaal voor ons! En allemaal om ons te straffen! Die speciale wetten hebben we afgelopen mei toch in actie gezien? Massa-arrestaties. Hoeveel arrestanten waren het? Vierhonderd? Willekeurige vervolgingen; kinderen en zelfs zwangere vrouwen die van hun bed werden gelicht en voor de kerk bijeen werden gedreven! Allemaal misdadigers, allemaal schuldig! Tjonge, dat waren nog eens speciale wetten! Daar weet jij toch zeker alles van!?

Ethics in intelligence is about as common as honesty in politics.