A few hours later, sometime before the first rays of dawn at a prearranged location several kilometres to the east of the Kabul city outskirts, they RV’d with Saleem, one of their contacts on the ground. Saleem and his four associates, Fathullah, Ghani, Habib and Mazdak, would have the job of sneaking the task force into the heart of the city, taking advantage of the general chaos to go rolling through the many armed checkpoints. They were posing as Taliban fighters, and they looked the part: lean, mean, hairy and suitably villainous with ammunition bandoliers criss-crossed over their chests and their assorted Russian and American automatic weapons dangling from their shoulders. They had been militia soldiers with the Northern Alliance, a coalition of Mujahideen warrior groups that were sworn opponents of the Taliban. All five men bitterly detested the new regime and were more than eager to lend their support to any effort that might do them some damage. God only knew where the colonel had dug them up from.

Come the dawn, the task force were approaching the first checkpoint. This would be the moment of truth, testing the theory that the Humvees would just blend in with all the other captured American hardware driving around Kabul. Like his four colleagues in the front vehicle, Ben was hunkered down in the back of the second with Cale, Meadows and Dixon, hidden underneath layers of stinking sackcloth while Saleem’s men lounged comfortably up front, feet up on the dash, arms dangling nonchalantly from the windows, weapons propped between their knees. They were driving straight into the dragon’s den and if anything went wrong at this point, the mission would certainly be obliterated before it had even begun. Ben’s carbine was off safety and his finger was hovering close by the trigger. He exchanged glances with Meadows under the sackcloth and saw the gleam of nervous tension in the guy’s eyes.

But any concerns that the Taliban guards would see through the deception – or, possibly even worse, that the ex-Northern Alliance men would cave in to the temptation of opening fire on their hated enemies – were soon dispelled as they went cruising casually through checkpoint after checkpoint, pausing to natter amicably in Pashto with the sentries and share a few jokes before rolling onwards. Meadows made eye contact again with Ben and puffed his cheeks in a sigh of relief.

‘Is okay, can come out now,’ said their driver, who insisted on speaking his limited English with the Special Forces men. Ben and the others emerged from their hiding place and gazed cautiously out of the Humvee’s windows.