There was nowhere they could go and nothing they could do. They could only watch as Jack’s battle with Sphinx and Rastor and Ezekiel played out.

They watched in awe as the Russian aircraft carrier came thundering over the far rim of the wall and slammed down onto the ancient buildings on that side. Then they saw the Russian destroyer come in behind it and get beached on the carrier’s flight deck.

They stared helplessly as they saw the tiny figure of Sphinx scaling the gold-and-silver pinnacle leading to the Life Throne.

And then they reacted with stunned joy as, without warning, the beached destroyer’s gun boomed and a couple of its shells hit the Life Throne’s pinnacle and broke it, foiling Sphinx’s climb.

At that, Aloysius said, ‘That determined bastard is still alive. Only Jack West would do something that crazy.’

And sure enough it was Jack.

For, moments later, Alby and Aloysius—still watching from the transport chopper lashed to the helipad of the side-turned oil rig—cheered as they saw the tiny figure of Jack racing down the length of the aircraft carrier and leap-swing-and-bound his way across the city-maze to the central castle, never giving up.

And then Jack hurried inside the castle and was gone, and the city-maze was suddenly quiet except for the two waterfalls of seawater filling it.

After a time, the deep whump-whump-whump of a helicopter caught their attention and a fearsome-looking Russian Werewolf attack helicopter lowered into view right in front of their vertical helipad.

It hovered menacingly in front of Alby and Aloysius, bristling with guns and missile pods, while they sat huddled inside their chopper still tied to the side-turned rig’s landing pad.

‘It was nice knowing you, kid,’ Aloysius said. ‘Rufus told me he really enjoyed working with you on your mission to Libya. Wish I could’ve got to know you better.’

‘You, too,’ Alby said.

‘What a shitty fuckin’ way to go,’ Aloysius said.

A second later, the Werewolf’s six-barrelled forward mini-gun whirred to life, a vicious tongue of flames flashing out from it, and a withering torrent of gunfire blazed at them.

A Man Named Jack: Part III After the Schoolyard Fight

Jack is lying in bed.

It is night-time, hours after the schoolyard fight.

His father stands in the doorway, silhouetted, disappointed.

‘Why can’t you have normal friends like your sister?’ he says.

It was like that Jack’s whole childhood.

Two years older than him, Jack’s sister Lauren had always been their father’s favourite. She could do no wrong.

The praise of the great soldier, Jack West Sr—Wolf—was something Jack always yearned for but, for some reason, could never attain.

Wolf lavished Lauren with praise and gifts, attention and warmth.

With Jack it was the opposite: criticism and coldness, and physical violence—usually after Jack stepped in when Wolf had been beating Mae.