He flattened himself against the barrier, trying to get sight of the ANA uniformed men. He picked off the furthest of the five he could see first. Seeing their brother fall, the rest hesitated – just long enough for Tom to hit each of them. The nearest, also one of the smallest, had just set down a heavy belt-fed machinegun. Tom aimed and took him down before he could fire. But a second even smaller man, perhaps a boy, sprang forward out of the gloom and embraced his fallen comrade. Seconds later the boy had grabbed the ancient weapon and swung it in Tom’s direction. Bullets spewed out of it, peppering the wall behind him. The shooter could barely control it, but seemed intent on emptying the belt regardless. Tom raised himself to get an angle, and found the insurgent in his optic. It was clear now that he was no more than a boy. Remembering he had only a handful of rounds, Tom took a breath to steady his aim and fired a single into the figure, who slumped lifelessly against the concrete.

Now the airfield was alive with troops, pouring fire down on the remaining insurgents. Slow to react, the full force of the ISAF had now been brought to bear. It was as good as over.

Tom ran up to the two boys spread-eagled on the flight line. One was dead, the other wounded but conscious, on his back, his right arm trapped under him. He couldn’t have been more than thirteen, the new ANA uniform stiff and several sizes too large, the old sneakers dangling off his feet split at the sides, the soles completely worn through. He had taken a bullet in the shoulder. On its way it had burst the breast pocket of his tunic, exploding a bag of nuts and raisins that were now scattered over his chest. He was saying something over and over. Isa, Isa.

Tom dropped to his haunches and addressed him in Dari. ‘Which way did you come?’ The boy didn’t move. His eyes were full of tears. Tom repeated the question in Pashto. ‘Which way?’

The boy tilted his head and glanced towards the East Gate.

‘Through the wire or through the gate?’

The boy coughed.

‘You need medicine. I can get you medicine. Just answer the question.’

The boy jerked to the left and brought out his right hand. The muzzle of an ancient Chinese QSZ 92 9mm pistol was pointing straight at Tom. You had to admire the kid’s persistence.