As Morland again looked left, the two ships erupted in a ballooning yellow fireball—intensely red at the center. He clearly saw chunks of molten material spin high into the air, before falling back into the water with a hiss of steam. A wave of heat engulfed them through the open windows and the car rocked wildly when the blast wave hit it. As they drove off the bridge, slowly now, the fireball subsided and he saw the two closest ships in flames. Then there was another, deeper roar as the ammunition and explosives on board each vessel erupted in an even bigger fireball. HMS Padstow and FGS Eckernförde turned turtle, broke up and began to sink.

Krauja drove into a side street, then halted. “What now, Tom? That’s your way home gone.” She was pale, angry at what she had witnessed and now struggling to control her emotions in the face of what the Russians were doing in her beloved Riga.

Morland looked around at his team, all of them in shock. Only moments ago he had not known what to say to Krauja after watching her countrymen being massacred at the airport and learning about the probable fate of her brother. Now he, too, was a witness to the death of fellow Britons.

Morland felt he was looking at a film playing in slow motion. He thought with perfect clarity, staring out of the window as he spoke, saying what he felt, exactly as he felt it; not something he would normally do with his soldiers. But then he had never witnessed anything like this before. “Those fucking bastards have just sunk a British and a German ship. That means we must now be at war with Russia . . .”

Krauja glanced at him expectantly, evidently wondering what he was going to say next.

He turned to look at his team and they looked back at him. He saw the expression on their faces that said: What the fuck now, boss? But he also saw the stubborn determination of British infantrymen, now really pissed off and more than ready to fight against the odds. Whatever it took.

“OK, that part of the job’s done and dusted. Nobody needs those bloody photos now. The proof about the Russians’ intentions is sinking right there, in the harbor . . . We’re staying to fight with the Latvians.”

“Well, that didn’t take the brains of an archbishop, Sir,” Wild said. “Unless someone has got a magic, bleeding carpet, they’ve sunk our only way home. I reckon we should head back to Ādaži and link up with our special forces mates. Just think, guys, we’ll get to do that forest-training phase after all.”

“Good call, sarge.” Morland looked at Krauja, grateful for the sergeant’s attempt at a joke, however small it might be. “Can you drop us back at Ādaži, Marina? Once you’ve done that I suppose you’ll be heading back to Riga?”