Alan charged forward at the surprised Sykes and rocked him with a vicious right to the side, before driving his knee upwards. Sykes managed to block the blow, pushing Alan away before catching him with a right hook. Alan stumbled back and Sykes threw another clubbing blow. As a highly skilled fighter, Alan ducked, allowing the tattooed arm to fall across his shoulder. He clutched it with both hands, pulled it forward, and arched his back into Sykes’s body, flipping the man over his shoulder. Sykes crashed hard against the metal, causing a thin cloud of dust to rise up and the entire platform to shake. Alan planted his feet, keeping his balance as Sykes scrambled to his feet in exasperation.

‘Hold on.’ Sykes held his hand up. ‘Look, there is a way out of this.’

Alan glared at Sykes; the once terrifying muscle of the Riders was now pathetically clutching at straws.

‘Not for you,’ Alan warned.

‘You are a man of the law,’ Sykes spat. ‘It is your duty to arrest me. Serve and protect.’

‘Your duty as a marine was to protect this country’s interests. To serve with your brothers.’

Sykes laughed, his mocking chuckle echoing off the archaic structure.

‘I haven’t been a marine for a long time, son.’

‘I know. Neither has my brother.’ Alan’s eyes were locked on Sykes with pure hatred burning within them. ‘First Sergeant Peter Alan. A good soldier and an even better man. My brother. The man you killed all those years ago.’

Sykes’s jovial face turned to a cruel, twisted scowl as he accepted there was no way out of the situation.

‘Then allow me to send you to him.’

Sykes reached behind his leather vest, and his fingers gripped the handle of the bowie knife he’d attached to the back of his belt. Making a show of revealing the weapon he intended to end Alan’s life with, he then pointed the blade at Alan and stepped towards him.

Alan awaited the attack, thinking of his brother before uttering the marine’s motto under his breath.

‘Semper Fi.’

Sykes slashed at Alan’s throat, and Alan ducked, then blocked the return strike with his forearm, the blade just slashing the skin. He grit his teeth, ignored the pain, and drove his knee into Sykes’s hip, knocking him off balance.

With the fluidity of a Krav Maga expert, Alan drove his elbow into the side of Sykes’s skull, sending him sprawling to his knees, the knife spilling from his hands. Sykes scanned the platform, his eyes locking on one of the guns Alan had dropped on their fall, and he scrambled towards it. His murderous fingers slid around it, and he spun on his knees to take aim.