Chapters (60)
- Note to Readers
- Dedication
- Discover the Series You Can’t Put Down …
- PROLOGUE
- Chapter 1
- Chapter 2
- Chapter 3
- Chapter 4
- Chapter 5
- Chapter 6
- Chapter 7
- Chapter 8
- Chapter 9
- Chapter 10
- Chapter 11
- Chapter 12
- Chapter 13
- Chapter 14
- Chapter 15
- Chapter 16
- Chapter 17
- Chapter 18
- Chapter 19
- Chapter 20
- Chapter 21
- Chapter 22
- Chapter 23
- Chapter 24
- Chapter 25
- Chapter 26
- Chapter 27
- Chapter 28
- Chapter 29
- Chapter 30
- Chapter 31
- Chapter 32
- Chapter 33
- Chapter 34
- Chapter 35
- Chapter 36
- Chapter 37
- Chapter 38
- Chapter 39
- Chapter 40
- Chapter 41
- Chapter 42
- Chapter 43
- Chapter 44
- Chapter 45
- Chapter 46
- Chapter 47
- Chapter 48
- Chapter 49
- Chapter 50
- Chapter 51
- Chapter 52
- Acknowledgements
- About the Author
- Other Books By
- About the Publisher
The bullet that took away most of Goffin’s head came from a fifty-calibre rifle, fired at close range from less than a hundred metres away behind the houses. Milliseconds later, the booming report sounded over the rooftops and echoed around the mountains. But by then all hell had already broken loose and the rattle of automatic gunfire was coming in staccato bursts from all over the village.
If Ben had had time to think about it instead of ducking for cover, he’d have been remembering what Goffin had said about Faazel: the way he’d texted instead of calling, the fact that anyone could have sent that message. He’d have been thinking that Faazel was probably already dead before that; that the enemy had taken him, tortured information out of him, and that this fake rendezvous had been set up as an orchestrated ambush. And that Saleem’s associates who’d brought the Humvees here to Ghurdak had already suffered a nasty death as well.
But Ben didn’t have time to reflect over any of those things as the bullets were suddenly flying everywhere. The Taliban fighters had picked the perfect moment to spring their surprise attack, just as the task force were at their least prepared for it and most of their kit was still packed up in the vans, much of it not even assembled let alone combat-ready. If they hadn’t been carrying their personal weapons they would have stood no chance at all against the withering enemy fire.
As it was, even so they stood very little.
It was impossible to tell how many Taliban fighters had invaded the tiny village, but it seemed like over fifty judging by the ferocity of the attack. Darting shapes of men could be seen running between the buildings, clutching assault rifles and grenade launchers. Ben had unslung his carbine and managed to get off a couple of short bursts, taking one man down and injuring another, before the ground at his feet was violently whipped into a storm of flying dirt, a line of holes punched into the bodywork of the van behind him, and he was forced to dive under the vehicle for cover.