Once placed, he would initiate the detonator with his own clacker, the charge would cut straight through the wood, and Kev would step in.

The shockwave and noise from the blast would disorientate any guards before they had a chance to react.

That, at least, was the plan.

But their first challenge was to get to the door.

Through his night-sight, Carr could see the exterior guard, dozing on his chair, AK across his lap.

If they approached him they risked waking him – and being compromised – so they’d have to take him out before they crossed the open ground.

Over on this side of the compound, the helpful rumble of the genny was less intrusive, and Carr knew that it was likely that someone would hear the shot, even with the suppressor fitted.

But sometimes caution is advised, and sometimes you just have to go for it.

Carr keyed his pressel.

He was about to do something that was unprofessional – he didn’t need to send anything, because they’d be going noisy with the door charge in a matter of seconds, and that would be all the notice Geordie and Fred needed – but he had the urge to say something.

To let them know the cards were about to be thrown in the air.

A big grin spreading over his face, he simply transmitted, ‘Who Dares Wins.’

Away to the rear, both men on the Minimis heard the call, and smiled.

Next to Carr, Kev McMullen heard the transmission and turned his eyes.

Carr gave him the thumbs-up, and McMullen took aim on the centre of the guard’s face.

The crack from his weapon sounded fucking loud to Carr, but the shot was a beauty: the 5.56mm round hit the sleeping man just above the top of his nose, the pressure blowing the top of his skull clean off, taking half his brain with it, and punching him off the chair and into the dust.

And that’s when their luck ran out.

The sloppy bastard had been holding the weapon with his finger on the trigger, and the safety off, and, although the bullet had stopped his brain immediately, a complex combination of chemical interactions in his spinal nervous system had caused a cadaveric spasm, a reflex electrical action which had closed his hands.

Half-a-dozen 7.62mm rounds smacked into the far wall, but the noise of the discharge, deafening and unmistakeable in the night air, blew away all hope of their remaining covert.

‘Fuck,’ hissed Carr, moving immediately and rapidly across the open ground towards the door.

Surprise was gone, now it was all about speed and aggression.

A second and a half, maybe two seconds after the shots, he was at the left-hand side of the door, and – ensuring that he kept his body well away from the doorway itself – was rolling the door charge down the inside edge of the flaking, white-painted wood.