Afterward, Morland still found it difficult to believe how quickly the Russians had arrived. Thirty-five minutes later, he picked up the distant noise of helicopter engines. And then the sound of explosions, as what had to be Mi-24 Hind gunships opened fire on the empty forest from where he had made the call to PJHQ. 80-millimeter rockets snaked from weapon stations mounted on their stub wings and pulverized the trees, while 23-millimeter, nose-mounted cannons hosed down what the Russians doubtless thought was a Forest Brother hideout.

Morland looked at Krauja. “Well, that much has gone to plan.”

A few moments later there was a lull in the Russian attack, almost as if the helicopters had either run out of ammunition, or were closing in to inspect the damage. Next instant there was a sharp crack, followed by a stream of smoke as a Stinger anti-aircraft missile rose into the sky in the far distance. It must have latched on to a Hind because there was a fireball above the tree line, followed a good couple of seconds later by a dull thump. And then silence.

“Now the Russians are going to really get stuck in. They’re going to flood the area with troops. Definitely time for us to thin out,” said Krauja tersely.

The Stinger teams appeared at the RV shortly afterward and, a couple of hours later, after another crazy motorbike ride through the forest on a different and very much longer route, in case they were somehow being tailed or monitored, they were back in the hidden bunker. As they entered, Krastiņš greeted them. “Mission accomplished. Well done. Losing a Hind to a Stinger will bring back unhappy memories of the Mujahedeen in Afghanistan in the 1980s. As expected, the Russians came back pretty quickly and gave Ligatne a good malleting.”

He stopped and looked troubled. “The bad news is that we’ve also picked up that a National Guard contingent, which was hiding out in the forest nearby, was attracted in by the shooting and caught the full force of Russian revenge. The Russians will think they were responsible, so that’s probably let us off the hook. However . . . those poor bastards . . .”

There was silence in the bunker. All knew that when the Russians exacted revenge, they did so with total ferocity.

There was a cough and Morland looked round to see that Bradley, the New Zealander, had entered the bunker unnoticed. For a big man, he moved with the agility of a gymnast.

“Boss, I’ve just picked up another data-burst transmission from PJHQ.”

The informal greeting in public like this was usually frowned upon in the Mercians, but somehow, here in the forest, it didn’t seem to matter. However, still shocked by what he had just heard, Morland was not in the mood for pleasantries. “And?”