Bowman ripped open the lids from the last three boxes of GPMG ammo. He draped the gleaming belts around his neck, snatched up his rifle, and hastened towards the mansion with Mallet. They ran up the grand staircase, hit the second-floor landing and passed down a hallway lined with portraits of Seguma in various heroic poses: riding a horse, Seguma the hunter posing with a dead lion, Seguma in uniform inspecting the troops. They barged through the emergency fire exit, climbed a dank stairwell and cannoned through the door at the top.

The rooftop was a chaotic cluster of satellite dishes, antennae, solar panels and air-conditioning units. Rubbish and gravel littered the ground. The other members of the team had taken up firing positions along the decorative stone parapet. Loader was covering the eastern approach to the stronghold with one of the two GPMGs. Webb had a spot on the north side overlooking the ground to the front. He was in a kneeling stance, aiming his AWC rifle through one of the perforated gaps in the parapet wall. As well as the heavy weaponry each man also had his primary rifle, pistol and several frag grenades. A massive amount of firepower.

Let’s pray we don’t need to burn through it all.

‘Get on the other Gimpy,’ Mallet ordered. ‘Move!’

Bowman ran past the central skylight and darted over to the second GPMG resting on the floor next to the west-facing parapet. Mallet made for the .50 cal rifle along the southern wall, covering the rear of the estate. Bowman laid out the belts of 7.62 mm ammo he’d carried up from the Unimog, placing them on top of the seven other belts heaped next to the Gimpy. Two hundred rounds per belt. A total of two thousand bullets.

Bowman knelt beside the Gimpy, cocked the bolt on the side of the receiver and engaged the safety. He popped open the top cover, lifted up the belt of 7.62 mm from the top of the pile and inserted the end of it into the feed tray. Closed the cover. Glanced at his watch.

Sixteen minutes until first light.

‘See anything, Patrick?’ Loader said.

‘Nothing,’ Webb replied calmly. ‘It’s all clear out there.’

‘Where do you think they’ll hit us, John?’ asked Bowman.

‘The front,’ Mallet said. ‘It’s the most obvious route into the estate. No gate. If they’re going to attack us, that’s where the bastards will probably come from.’

‘They’re not military geniuses, Josh,’ Loader said dismissively. ‘We’re dealing with the Machete Boys. A bunch of pissed idiots. They’re not gonna sneak up on our flanks.’

‘Alex? You OK down there too?’ Mallet said into his mic.

‘This may come as a huge surprise to you guys,’ Casey said, ‘but I’m doing just fine.’