‘Back, back,’ the boy shouted again.

His voice was ragged and there was sweat pouring off his face.

Porter could see his hand waving with the Browning first at him, then at the hostage. He was moving too fast to get a decent shot, he reckoned. His finger started to close on the trigger of the M16. Right then, a sudden burst of gunfire rattled through the room. The first bullet caught the Arab on the chin, smashing the bone, and snapping his head straight back. A flicker of flame lashed out of the muzzle of the Browning as the shot was fired, but it struck the wall harmlessly, loosening off a chunk of dusty concrete. The boy staggered backwards with blood already pouring from the lower half of his face. He was trying to cry out in pain but his mouth was smashed to pieces. Porter twitched the M16 towards him, and put one bullet straight into his skull. By the time the third bullet pierced his heart, he was already dead.

Ugly work, decided Porter. But you started it …

Steve was standing in the doorway, the smoke still smouldering out of the barrel of his M16.

‘Nice work,’ muttered Porter.

‘You’ve done all the heavy lifting, mate,’ said Steve. ‘Now let’s get the fuck out of here.’

With their Regiment-issued Spider knives, it took just a few seconds for the ropes that bound Bratton to his chair to be severed. His hands snapped free of their captivity, but with the tape still covering his mouth he was unable to speak. Porter grabbed his shoulder, helping him to his feet, but, like a man who has had his leg in plaster for a month, his nerves had grown rusty and he couldn’t find his balance. He was holding on to Porter’s shoulder as they navigated their way back towards the staircase. Porter could feel his pulse slowing down. The buzz of the adrenalin was starting to drain out of him as the immediate danger passed, and he felt empty and exhausted.

As they reached the end of the corridor, Mike and Keith were standing next to them. Collinson was at their side, some grime on his face. ‘Bloody good show, men,’ he said.

‘I didn’t see you lining up to take a bullet,’ snapped Steve. ‘Where the fuck have you been?’

Collinson was about to say something, but then stifled his words. As he glanced into his eyes, Porter could tell he had been humiliated, and the pain was stinging through him. ‘Let’s just get out of here,’ he said stiffly.

‘Leave it to some proper bloody soldiers,’ said Steve. ‘The fighting kind.’

He pointed to Keith to keep hold of Bratton, then started climbing the stairs. Mike and Porter followed him with Collinson bringing up the rear. As Porter pushed his head up into the main room, the way seemed clear enough. They just had to get back up to the roof, then the chopper could pick them up and they could fly home.