It disappeared harmlessly over the wall and out into the desert; Skelton just had time to confirm that both shooters were dead where they’d stood before he was back on his gun and trying to kill a man who was firing two- and three-round bursts from an upper window.

Just as he thought he’d got the guy, his weapon stopped firing. ‘Stoppage!’ he shouted, cursing.

At that exact moment, Fred West yelled the same thing from his position a few metres away, down behind a short, fat date palm.

There was a split second’s silence, as both men realised that they’d run out at the same time.

‘Change your belt, Kev, change your belt,’ shouted Skelton. With that, he stood up and reached for the 66mm LAW he was carrying on his back.

‘Motherfucker,’ he said, feeling for the pin holding the rear cap in place and pulled it out, the sling taking the front cap away too.

As he extended the weapon, he felt the rounds from multiple firing points passing him – standing there like this, big bastard target that he was, was truly shit without covering fire.

For a fleeting moment, his courage almost failed him, the desire to take cover all but overwhelming.

But it passed in a heartbeat: he had to do this, or they were fucked.

Geordie fully extended the weapon, pulled the arming lever forward, and quickly aligned the sight with the upper window where most of the fire was coming from.

As he located the target, something punched him in the chest and rocked him back a little – a single round had hit him straight over the heart, but his body armour had done its job.

Taking a breath, he realigned the sight and depressed the firing mechanism.

The flaming trail of the rocket flew straight into the blockwork just to the side of the window, spewing white-hot shrapnel and heavy chunks of masonry into the room.

He had no way of knowing it, but the shot had killed two of the shooters and mortally wounded a third.

He threw the empty tube away and dived back behind his Minimi, feeding a new belt into it as Fred’s weapon banged away to his right.

‘They fucking shot me, Fred,’ he shouted.

‘You mental bastard,’ shouted West, not moving his eye from his gunsight. ‘That was fucking crazy.’

Over to his right, near the servants’ quarters, he saw a figure, crouching low, holding a long weapon, run from behind the house and get down behind the three vehicles which were parked there.

Moving the muzzle, West fired a long burst into the area around the vehicles.

A moment later, and to his irritation, he saw the figure run back for the safety of the building.

‘You okay, you daft cunt?’ he yelled.

‘Think so,’ shouted back Skelton. ‘Thank fuck for Kevlar.’