‘Who’s there?’ called a feeble voice from the darkness as Ben and the group approached the temple’s entrance. ‘Don’t come any closer!’

‘We’re British and American aid volunteers,’ Ben called back. ‘Ex-SAS and US Special Forces. Got some of your people here, but your Lieutenant is dead.’

After a long pause, figures appeared from the shadows. It soon became apparent that even if the rest of the unit had possessed much in the way of ammunition, they were hardly strong enough to use it. As Ben and the others entered the ruined building they found a half a dozen men huddled around the faint light of a dying gas lantern, so weak with hunger that they could barely stand up. Only four or five were still able to help Holt, Wolf and the others bring the survivors and the casualties in from the Humvee, while Ben asked for the unit commander. There were a lot of questions to be answered.

‘I’m in command here,’ one of the men replied, wearily introducing himself as Captain Warner. ‘It seems we owe you a debt of gratitude, whoever you are.’

‘And some explanations,’ Ben said. ‘I wasn’t aware that there were any other British servicemen left in this country.’

‘Nor was I,’ Warner said, eyeing Ben inquisitively in the dim light. Ben gave him a brief, pared-down account of the SAS Operation Hydra, but without getting into the specifics of its failed objective.

‘Another bloody mess,’ Warner said. ‘It’s been a disaster from the start.’

‘We have food and ammo,’ Ben said. ‘More than enough to share around. I’m sorry about your men. We’ll do what we can for you. But first, tell me what you’re doing here.’

‘Come and sit down before I collapse,’ Warner sighed, leading him to the shadowy corner of a small chamber. The remains of a stone altar where the temple’s Buddhist occupants might once have knelt and prayed now served as a makeshift bench covered in sleeping bags. The young captain slumped on it with a groan, as spent and depleted as the rest of his men.

It was too dark inside the chamber to make out much of his features, but Ben had the strangest feeling of recognition. Warner was fairly tall, around Ben’s height, sandy-haired as far as Ben could tell, and appeared to be around twenty-six or twenty-seven, around the younger end of the spectrum for his rank, but definitely far too youthful to be anyone Ben had ever served with. Perhaps a relative of someone he’d known, Ben thought – though he had no recollection of a Warner among his past army comrades.