‘I’d like to be an operator in a Sabre Squadron again,’ said Carr, knowing he had more chance of levitating. Experience and know-how took you a long way, but there was no substitute for the strength and fitness and aggression that a younger man could bring.

‘Yes,’ said Topham, making a church steeple out of his fingers and smiling ruefully. ‘I thought you’d say that. But that’s the one thing we can’t do. Not even for Mad John, I’m sorry to say.’

Carr smiled despite himself at the nickname, which had followed him round the Regiment for the last fifteen years.

‘Of course you cannae,’ he said. ‘But you asked. What else is there? Become an officer? No offence, Mark, but that’s not me.’

‘This has been your life for nearly twenty years. Are you sure you want to walk away from it all?’

Carr looked at the CO for a moment. ‘No, I’m sure I don’t want to. I fucking hate the idea. But it comes to us all, and this is my time. I’m going to walk to the main gate, hand in my pass, and it’s all behind me.’

‘I respect that. It’s a shame, but I respect it.’

Carr smiled. ‘Not to mention, I’ve been offered a job I can’t refuse. Twenty years living in shitholes, getting shot at, blown up, eating compo… It’s time to enjoy life. It disnae last forever. I want the cash.’

‘You tight Jock bastard,’ said Topham, shaking his head and grinning.

Carr laughed. ‘Me, a tight Jock bastard? Here’s you with your stately home, and your polo ponies.’

‘Fair one,’ said Topham, with another rueful expression.

‘Boss, trust me, I hate it more than you do, but it’s just time to go. At least I can walk out the gate with my head held high, and think about all the guys we knew who didn’t have that option. I beat the clock. Ask young Rooney if he wants to walk out the Camp again. Ask Pete Squire, or Jonny Lawton, or Rick Jones. Ask any of them.’

‘True. A lot of good men on that clock.’

‘Too many.’

Mark Topham stared out of the window at a cloudless blue sky. The thump of a helicopter landing on the field outside bounced through the glass.

‘Well, you can’t say I didn’t try,’ he said, with a resigned smile. ‘You’ve had a citation submitted for the night in Dora, by the way.’

Carr raised his eyebrows. ‘Just doing my job,’ he said. ‘It’s not about the medals.’

‘Sell it to Ashcroft, then. But joking aside, well done. Richly deserved.’

‘Thanks boss. Means a lot.’

Topham stood up, and Carr followed suit.