There was a brief pause as Casey set the fuses on the mortars to near-surface detonation. At the front of the estate, Bowman saw the middle assault group spring up from ground cover and start towards a new baseline. The two teams on the left and right flanks began putting down suppressive fire on the GPMGs on the rooftop, covering the middle team’s advance. Bowman came to the end of another belt and hastily reloaded. His fourth belt. Six belts of 7.62 mm brass left.

In the next breath, he heard a sequence of dull pops as Casey launched the mortars at terrific speed. The bombs plunged to the earth and detonated half a metre above the surface. Which gave a much wider spread than an impact-burst bomb. Men screamed as a deluge of shell fragments tore through them, slashing through flesh and lacerating vitals. Three more mortars dropped into the stretch of dead ground between the front and rear assault teams, wreathing the ground in greyish smoke.

‘That’s it!’ Loader roared. ‘Fucking give it to ’em!’

With mortar shells exploding all around them, the two groups of rebels to the rear struggled to keep up their sustained fire on the stronghold. The middle assault team suddenly came under an intense hail of fire as Bowman, Loader and Gregory poured bursts into them from the Gimpys. A handful of figures peeled away from the group and fled towards the breach in the fence. One stout rebel in a beret, presumably the commanding officer, gestured frantically at his men, urging them on. Webb dropped him with a single well-placed shot. With no one to organise the men, panic swiftly set in. The remaining fighters turned and bolted.

‘They’re on the back foot!’ Mallet roared. ‘Target the other groups!’

Bowman and the others continued plugging away with the GPMGs. The two outer assault teams swiftly broke contact, running pell-mell for the breach. Half a dozen rebels were struck down, nailed in the back before they could escape the estate. The rest scrambled back across the clearing in a disorganised rabble. Mallet ordered Casey to lob in a few more mortars. Bombs pounded the clearing, throwing up clods of earth and fragging several rebels before they could escape.

With the main attack repulsed, the gunfire from the west flank quickly abated. ‘Enemy retreating!’ Mavinda yelled over the radio. ‘The rebels are pulling back.’

Bowman looked past his shoulder through an opening in the parapet. He glimpsed the Machete Boys beating a hasty retreat across the plain.

‘They won’t be hassling us for a while now,’ Loader said.

‘Alex, are you OK down there?’ Mallet asked.

‘I’m fine,’ she reported. ‘But I’m almost out of ammo.’

‘How many?’

She paused. ‘Four bombs. That’s it.’

Bowman said, ‘It’ll be harder next time. That mortar was our trump card. We’ve just used it. And we haven’t got another.’

He looked at his watch: 08.31.