The body on the ground turned out to be Major Ellis. His eyes were open and his lips moving. The language was not suitable for sensitive young recruits nor anyone of a nervous disposition.

Matthew stared down at his palm, black with blood in the harsh white lights. His mind struggled to keep up. The blood wasn’t his. Someone had been shot but it wasn’t him. The blood wasn’t his. So whose was it? He crawled to Major Ellis and groped.

‘Left leg,’ gasped Ellis, his face paper-white, and now Matthew could see the dark blood soaking slowly into the darker dust.

For a moment he stared helplessly. His mind a blank. There was a procedure. He should . . . He should . . . This was Uncle Ellis . . . although it had been a long time since he had called him that. Uncle Ellis who had sheltered him, guided him . . . Uncle Ellis bleeding in the dust . . . He should . . .

‘He’s hurt,’ he said, and his voice trembled. ‘Do something.’

‘Busy,’ said Anders.

Matthew’s mind snapped back into working order. Adrenalin coursed through his system like an express train. No time to search for a medkit. Anders was busy securing the illegals. Which was the right thing to do. It was up to him. He found the wound and, two-handed, applied as much pressure as he could manage.

Ellis grunted in pain.

Regardless of the need for stealth, Matthew lifted his head, shouting, ‘Over here. Officer down. Officer down. Medic.’

A solid figure appeared beside him. He could see the field medic flash on his sleeve.

‘Keep applying the pressure until I tell you,’ he said, and Matthew nodded, staring down at the blood still seeping silently between his fingers despite his best efforts, while the medtec ripped his pack open.

‘When I say ready, lad, let go and get out of my way. Not till I say, though.’

Matthew nodded again, suddenly aware of his aching and cramped legs. He might not be able to move when the time came.

The medtec looked up. ‘Anders . . .’

‘Yeah – OK.’

‘Then – ready.’

Anders grabbed Matthew under the armpits and heaved him roughly out of the way. ‘Good job you’re so little.’

Matthew, who silently resented any comments on his size, scowled furiously at Anders who simply shrugged. The medic bent over Ellis then looked back over his shoulder and nodded at Matthew. ‘Is he OK?’

‘Dunno.’ Anders looked down at him. ‘You OK?’

Matthew nodded.

Anders was impatient. ‘No. None of that. Need to hear you say it. You’re not hurt?’

‘No. I’m not hurt.’ Aching, still scared, festooned with broken string, covered in Egyptian dust and Uncle Ellis’s blood, but not hurt.

‘Are you going to throw up?’

‘No,’ he said, inaccurately.

‘Best to keep an eye on him,’ said the medtec.

Anders sighed heavily and pulled a small flask from his utility belt. ‘Here. Sit down and take a sip. Only one.’