Tom nodded as he went past the Afghan, up the steps into the gym. Inside, the kit was all new, smelling strongly of fresh paint and rubber. A recent shipment from the US, it was all set to do battle with the hearts – and, more importantly, stomachs – of the American troops. But he was the only one there. Sure enough, thought Tom, at this time of day they’d be more likely working on their endless appetites. There was no sign of Dave either. Maybe he was in the can. He looked at the brand new weights, then selected a couple of dumb-bells, nothing too heavy. He weighed them in each hand as he carried them over to the bench, set them down while he adjusted the height, and sat. Then, with his spine flat against the pad, he reached down and lifted the weights. Gripping them not too hard, his elbows aligned with his hips, he brought them up, breathing out as he lifted. Held them there, then lowered them, breathing in as they came down. Sweat beads immediately popped out on his forehead; he was out of shape. If nothing else, it would dissipate the tension after the talk with Delphine and tire him out enough for a decent sleep. He repeated the move ten times, then ten more. Even though it hurt he embarked on another ten. Just as he raised his hands, the distant ‘crump’ of a muffled explosion broke the silence somewhere to the west.

He put down the weights and stood up, just as a second, far bigger, bang rocked the gym, blasting out the windows. He dived out of the way of the flying splinters, snatched up his weapon and, still crouching, ran to the door. A huge column of fiery smoke funnelled into the night sky. Pieces of debris rained down. And as he stepped back into the doorway he caught sight of a mound between the two Portakabins opposite, illuminated by the blaze.

He sped across the roadway and into the gap, dropping to his knees as he came up to the huddled shape. He shone his torch into the face.

Dave.