Loader spasmed as the bullets tore into his body. One round smashed into his face, shattering his jaw.

Bowman saw the flickering of muzzles at his ten o’clock. The two other rebels behind the depression had broken cover and aimed their weapons at Loader, riddling his body with lead.

He instantly raked the depression with gunfire, slotting both of the rebels before they could duck from view. Then he lowered his rifle and shouted at Gregory.

‘Cover me!’

He shot up from behind the pillar and bouldered down the steps. Gregory continued peppering the rebel positions, keeping them busy as Bowman sprinted across the open ground. Legs chopping, lungs burning. He reached Loader, glanced down at him. There was no need to check for a pulse. His body was in rag order. Rounds had punched through his throat and right arm, his shoulder. Half of his face was missing. Bowman looked at his lifeless friend and felt something clench around his heart.

Tiny. One of the genuinely good guys of the Regiment.

Dead.

He grabbed hold of Casey and yanked her to her feet.

‘Move!’ he screamed at her. ‘Let’s go!’

They set off towards the stronghold. Casey stumbled forward, taking in ragged draws of breath. Bowman helped her along while Gregory put down covering fire from the porch. Enemy rounds slapped into the turf, missing them by inches. Somewhere to the rear a grenade detonated. Bowman gritted his teeth and urged Casey to move faster. They ran on, hit the front steps and raced up to the front door. Gregory stayed behind the pillar until they had reached the safety of the atrium. He gave the enemy a three-round burst and hurried back inside, slamming the front door behind him.

‘Are you hit?’ he asked Casey.

She shook her head.

‘Tiny,’ she croaked. ‘They got Tiny.’

Bowman nodded. Rage and grief swirled inside his chest. There would be time to properly mourn his friend later. ‘There’s nothing we can do for him now.’

‘What’s the plan?’ said Gregory.

‘We need to barricade the door. Slow these bastards down if they try to breach the building. Stay here.’

They raced off in search of heavy furniture. Casey applied a field dressing to her wounds while Bowman and Gregory carried over a table from one of the dining rooms. They jammed it against the door frame, then reinforced it with several other sturdy items. A side cabinet, a sofa, a coffee table, several chairs.

As they worked, Mallet kept them updated on the enemy movements from his position on the rooftop. The rebels were less than a hundred metres from the mansion now. Webb’s GPMG had flamed out. Both men were down to their last four clips of 5.56 ammo.

This is like the Alamo now.

Gregory closed the plantation shutters screening the downstairs windows. ‘That should keep them at bay for a while,’ he said.

‘What now?’ Casey said.