Chris heaved himself to his feet and shuffled his load into place. For a few seconds, it felt as if the top of his head was evaporating. He forced himself to focus his vision and set off down the street with Rami in tow.

Sergeant Abdullah, absorbed in his haggling, barely noticed their approach. Chris turned to Rami, then remembered that he was meant to talk directly to the Afghan, not the interpreter.

‘Sergeant Abdullah, we are leaving now.’

Rami translated this. Abdullah looked at Rami, then to Chris, then answered directly to Rami.

‘He’s buying cigarettes,’ Rami explained.

Chris was annoyed but he knew that his next move required careful formulation; the Afghans were tired and crabby, and he couldn’t afford a confrontation. It was hard to think in this heat. As he was trying to devise a tactful but persuasive response, he vaguely heard a vehicle approaching, larger than a motorcycle and revving higher than most local cars. Then came a squeal of brakes and a scream foreshortened by an audible thud. Chris whipped round, his hands tightening on his rifle, his right thumb resting against the safety catch.

All heads were turned towards the noise. People were starting to gather near a corner at the end of the street. Chris could hear angry shouting and the sound of a child wailing.

Sergeant Abdullah was immediately decisive. He looked at Chris, nodded once, then turned and said something to his soldiers. Three of them moved off in the direction of the sound. Chris followed with Rami, reaching for his radio, feeling very unsure of himself.

‘All call signs, two two alpha, uh, possible, uh vehicle incident at my location, wait out.’