The others swiftly converged on the north side of the parapet. Bowman and Loader stood with their GPMGs resting on the top of the stone capping, either side of Mallet. The latter dropped to a prone firing position and poked the .50 cal barrel through an opening in the parapet. Bowman peered through the Gimpy scope and saw the stone archway at the far end of the front drive, four hundred metres to the north of the stronghold. He saw the clearing beyond. The dark mass of woodland either side of the approach road, screening the main road from view. He concentrated on that area, straining his eyes.

Then he saw the technical. Which was basically a battered pickup truck with a machine gun mounted on a tripod on the rear platform. The distance from the rooftop to the vehicle was something like six hundred metres but Bowman could clearly identify it. He saw the gun mounted on the back, the gunner. The technical was crawling along at walking speed towards the stone archway.

Two groups of rebels were moving forward in the shadows either side of the truck, staying close to one another. A safety in numbers thing, Bowman guessed. He couldn’t see their faces at this distance, but he could easily distinguish their shapes through the GPMG sights. The driver had killed the technical’s headlights to reduce their visibility.

Loader said, ‘The Machete Boys?

‘Looks like it,’ said Webb. ‘Three of them are wearing lucky charms.’

‘They won’t be feeling so lucky in a few minutes.’

‘Do you see any weapons, Patrick?’ said Bowman.

‘Most of them are carrying AK-47s. A few have got pistols or knives.’

Mallet hit his pressel switch and spoke into his throat mic. ‘We’ve got incoming rebels. Approaching the archway. Don’t fire unless I give the order.’

‘Roger that,’ Gregory said.

‘Roger,’ said Casey.

Mallet scoped out the enemy with the .50 cal. ‘Tiny, on my signal you take the guys on the left of the technical,’ he said. ‘Josh, drop the fuckers on the right. We’ll deal with the technical.’

Bowman exhaled and kept his cross hairs fixed on the rebels. Dawn burnished the sky, a ribbon of orange rising above the distant hills. The shapes to the left and right of the technical grew more distinct as they neared the clearing. Bowman understood why Mallet wanted to wait. If they fired too early, the Boys would scatter into the woods. Better to hold their fire until they had broken beyond the trees. Once they were in the open ground, there would be nowhere to hide.

‘How many guys have you got eyes on, Patrick?’ Loader asked.

‘Thirty,’ said Webb. ‘Two more in the technical. One driver, one on the back manning the machine gun.’

‘A small unit for an assault.’

Bowman said, ‘They’re not expecting a big fight. They probably think they’ve only got to deal with a few guards.’