Where’s the tank, then? Where’s the bloody tank, for Christ’s sake?

Doesn’t matter! Shoot it high, in the neck, just behind the head.

MacConnachie rose, stepped out, whipped up the gun, and took aim down the narrow corridor below the flashing blades of steel.

Then he saw Ansell was down.

Get up. In God’s name, get up!

Ansell had crashed down with such force that he was winded. He had no idea what was happening. The roaring, swishing horror closed over him.

Doesn’t matter. Take a chance. Shoot.

And then…

Oh, no. Oh, sweet Jesus, no. He’s shooting at him. The bloody man’s leaning out of the cab and he’s shooting at the boy. Ludicrously, MacConnachie took another step forward, protesting at this breach of orders.

‘That’s not right! It can’t be!’

Then he aimed at the head, and put in three shots, tight and neat. The figure slumped, and the gun tumbled down like a twig in a high wind.

Realign. Too late. Too late.

He got off two shots, but missed by a mile as the helicopter swept up, gaining altitude rapidly. Furious and frustrated, he took careful aim at the perspex frontage, and fired three more spaced shots. But he was wasting his time. On the side blind to the pilot, and at this range, he might just as well throw stones.

Ansell was staggering up, holding his head. MacConnachie ran to him.

Ansell shouted,

‘What happened?’

‘I missed.’

‘You what?’

‘Are you all right?’

‘You missed?’

‘Yes.’

‘You stupid bastard!’

MacConnachie ran to the fallen gun and picked it up.

‘Take this!’

‘Where the hell did that come from?’

‘Come on!’

MacConnachie ran back to the hill. Ansell screamed after him,

‘You stupid bastard!’

They had achieved nothing but to exhaust themselves. The helicopter sat above, comfortably out of range, waiting. They sat below, not bothering to hide. It was a grotesque situation, and bitterness wriggled between them like worms.

‘How the hell did you come to miss him?’

‘It wasn’t an easy lay, you know!’

‘I brought him in just right – I know I did!’

‘And you fell!’

‘I wasn’t in your bloody light, was I?’

‘He was shooting at you!’

‘Who was?’

‘The observer!’

‘So?’

‘I saved your life!’

‘It was your job to kill that thing, not look after me!’

‘You ungrateful bastard!’

‘What am I supposed to be grateful for – another gun? Next time, for Christ’s sake do what you plan to do!’

‘Get stuffed!’

MacConnachie stamped off and churned about in the scrub, muttering angrily,

‘How the hell did I get lumbered with you in the first place?’

‘You chose me. I was no friend.’

‘You aren’t now!’

‘All right, then – let’s go our own ways!’

‘Let’s do that!’

A silence. Ansell said,

‘If we can’t trust one another, we might just as well.’

MacConnachie said,

‘I didn’t see any tank, I’ll tell you that. There was damn-all tank on the back of that thing.’

‘What did you expect it to be? Painted bright red and labelled petrol?’