‘Major, tell your men on the west to concentrate on the Machete Boys. Whatever you do, keep them from the stronghold. We’ll take care of the enemies to the front.’

The defenders were constantly shifting firing positions, targeting each assault group as they advanced four metres before going to ground again. Then the team switched their aim to the next group breaking cover. Loader fired at them with short spurts from the other Gimpy. Webb dropped targets with the AWC. Mallet had switched to his C8 rifle for the closer-range stuff. But the barrage of rebel gunfire was unrelenting. Dust and masonry whipped up around the men on the rooftop. With all the shit flying past them, Bowman and the others found it harder to aim. The rebels were now twenty metres inside the estate, edging forward slowly but steadily. Like the tide creeping in.

In the tail of his eye, Bowman glimpsed several rounds smacking into the northern garden wall as some of the rebels trained their fire on the mortar pit. A few others aimed at the gun pits scattered across the front of the stronghold. But the majority targeted the GPMGs on the rooftop. Bowman felt the hot carriage of air as a bullet winged past him and glanced off the generator.

‘Jesus,’ he said.

‘This is nothing like the last attack,’ Webb said.

‘Tell me about it,’ Loader shouted. ‘These guys actually know how to fucking shoot.’

Mortars splashed into the soft ground around the rebel groups. A few men were torn apart by the bombardment, but most were sheltered behind the dips in the ground. Bowman saw an orange flash below the parapet as Gregory opened up with the platoon GPMG in the front gun pit. The assault teams continued to advance despite the appalling fire pouring down on them. They knew how vital it was to maintain momentum during an assault.

Bowman put in another burst at the rebels and stole a glance at the ground to the west. To his surprise, he saw that the Machete Boys were a hundred metres inside the fence and closing fast. Mallet yelled an order at Loader. The latter uplifted the GPMG and swung round to the west-facing parapet. He went prone and gave the Boys a few spurts from the Gimpy. Then he shifted back round to the north side, fired at the main group.

‘We’re juggling here!’ he shouted. ‘We’re in trouble, John!’

Mallet got straight on the comms to Casey.

‘Pull back fifty metres. Repeat, fifty metres,’ he said. ‘Hit them with some near-surface bursts.’