Isa looked up into the starless night, a vast cavern that guarded their ultimate destination. His heart thumped at the thought of what awaited them after they had done their duty. The poppy was their last cover. Once through that they would be out in the open, with only half a kilometre of dirt before the perimeter. The orange glow of the floodlights was already visible beyond the foliage. He heard a sharp hiss a few feet ahead from the Leader, invisible in the darkness, who seemed to have eyes that glowed in the dark. Isa dropped his head so his nose scraped the dirt as he had been told, and kept on moving towards the poppy, where they would switch to a crouching run, guarded by the tall stalks, quickening their pace towards the target.

The base had been there barely four years. It had taken shape with astounding speed, an instant fortress city of concrete, metal and wire on a previously barren plain. So many thousands lived behind its walls that the sewage run-off had given life to the desert, and fields of poppy had sprung up. Before, the invaders had destroyed the crop, eradicating the extra source of income. But all that had done was antagonize the population.

They look strong with all their machines and missiles but, as you will see, they are weak, the Leader had explained. They have grown too sure of themselves, and because of that they are lazy. And on their useless diet of junk they have become fat and slow, while we have speed and patience, which is why we will prevail. The Leader had many such explanations for why victory was assured. The last reason, he had said, was They do not give their lives as you have chosen to. For this reason we will prevail.

Isa didn’t remember choosing. He remembered the Leader appearing one night on a grey mare and telling his father that the boys of the village had been chosen to serve the Almighty, and that he should celebrate his good fortune. When his father had stood there, dumb-struck, the Leader had swung the AK47 into his face and knocked him to the ground. Before he could rise, the Leader had pushed the barrel of the gun into his mouth. Only Mother’s dramatic display of gratitude had stopped him pulling the trigger.

Inches in front of his face Isa could just make out the heels of Khanay, his cousin, the hard calloused shells of skin built up over years of going barefoot, the loose legs of the oversized Afghan National Army uniform flapping around his ankles. And on his back, the dark mound of his pack stuffed with the devices they had prepared. Khanay had got the message. This is the greatest day of our lives! he had exclaimed, his eyes wild. Until this night we have been peasants of no value. Tomorrow we shall be princes, honoured by our family forever.