‘Now, look, kid – ’

‘No, you look! I told you where it is – now trust me. We trust one another, or we’ve had it! I rely on you, bloody well rely on me!’

MacConnachie turned away, and after a moment said quietly,

‘I do rely on you.’

‘All right, trust me then. We can’t afford another mistake like that.’

‘All right, all right! We were both wrong. Now forget it!’

Ansell had to settle for that. He reached for their new gun, and began to strip it down. MacConnachie said,

‘I’ll do it.’

But Ansell ignored him. Trust. MacConnachie sat at his side and looked up at the helicopter.

‘We’ve got him for the rest of the day.’

‘Um. It’s funny.’

‘I’m glad somebody thinks so.’

‘I mean, he can’t come down in case we hit him. But we don’t want to use ammunition. So he sits there, and we sit here, and neither of us does anything but watch the other.’

‘He’s doing something. He’s talking in the Goons right now. We’ll have to move soon.’

Ansell had unscrewed the barrel of the gun; he sighted along it, then handed it to MacConnachie. It was impossible to see from one end through to the other. The gun had struck barrel down, damaging that component beyond repair. MacConnachie said,

‘Great for shooting round corners.’

‘That’s what I thought. The rest of it’s okay, though.’

‘What about the magazine?’

‘Nearly full.’

‘We’ll keep that and the breech-block when we chuck it away. Hang on to it for now.’

‘Right.’

Concentrating on reassembling the weapon, Ansell said carefully,

‘Was he really trying to kill me, do you think? That’d be against orders; they’ll take us alive, if they can.’

MacConnachie flushed.

‘Can’t think of everything, you go by instinct.’

‘I mean, he must be pretty clever, to have someone leaning out of the cab, just in case you took a shot at him.’

MacConnachie glared up at the sky.

‘He’s clever,’ he muttered, ‘that man, he’s good.’

The kid was right. He should have gone for the chopper. He shouldn’t have been fooled. But what the hell did he expect? Sackcloth and ashes. Counter-attack.

‘Where the hell’s the canteen?’

‘Behind the pimple.’

‘Is it hidden?’

‘Of course.’

‘Are you sure?’

‘Yes.’

‘Well, are you?’

‘I don’t make mistakes like that.’

It wasn’t the mistake Ansell would have expected of MacConnachie. A too great ruthlessness, yes; a careless overplaying of the hand. But an absence of ruthlessness, that was disturbing. To see MacConnachie unsettled, as now, was to suffer a frightening lapse in his own confidence. He needed MacConnachie, stupid, fearless and bold. Without him, he could never survive; and for that, he should be prepared to pay any price. He looked at the sulking figure, and smiled with affection. Not stupid, limited. He said,

‘I’m sorry, Mac. I’ll bet you got him.’

‘Of course. Three times. They all struck.’

‘Will the pilot go back for that?’

‘Not him. If the observer’s dead, it doesn’t matter. If he’s still alive, that man will let him bleed to death. It’s what I’d do.’ MacConnachie screwed up his eyes as though projecting himself into the helicopter. ‘There’s brains all over the inside of that crate.’