As soon as he got among them, MacConnachie saw that the stalks in this field were, in one important respect, different from those in the last: they grew farther apart. This meant that he could run between them much more easily and quickly and that, since his field of vision was correspondingly enlarged, he could watch most of the helicopter’s movements most of the time. Also the air was notably clearer, the insects larger and less numerous, the danger of choking much diminished.

As the chopper bore down again, coming this time from their front, he looked up and stopped abruptly. The observer was leaning out of the cabin and aiming some sort of weapon at them. MacConnachie raised his own gun but before he could fire the other man discharged and a bright, glowing red ball flashed into the stalks in front of them. It took MacConnachie so completely by surprise that the observer had withdrawn and the helicopter broken off the contact before he could react.

It was a Very light, fired from a Very pistol. The pilot intended to set this part of the field ablaze as well. The stalks caught at once, flames spurting out from the furiously igniting centre of the conflagration. MacConnachie swung about.

‘Back to the break! We’ll operate from there!’

As he emerged again into the corridor, turning his face away from the hissing phosphorus, Ansell looked along the fire-break to his left and saw the leading members of the patrol rounding the bend into view. At the same instant they saw him, and aligned their weapons to fire.

‘Down, Mac!’

He pitched himself violently backwards into the stalks, taking MacConnachie down with him. A burst of rapid fire slapped and tore at the mushy strip in front of them.

MacConnachie was sure the Goons weren’t trying to kill them; they would have been ordered to take them alive. He scrambled up, stepped out into the corridor and fired three carefully aimed shots. Two men went down, the third ran for cover.

The far field was deeply ravaged now, with a tall wall of fire racing towards them; the phosphorus raged blindingly, and the new conflagration set off by the observer was beginning to bite and spread.

‘Come on! We haven’t any choice!’

They ran into the second half of the field. The race against time and fire was on with a vengeance now. But at least the ground favoured them very slightly: the deeper they committed themselves, the more the stalks thinned out – not dangerously, but enough to provide narrow, roughly uniform corridors down which they could run at full tilt.

But there was still the helicopter.