Morland and Webb dropped into the bottom of the sunken lane and were conscious only of a blinding flash lighting the horizon above them, followed a split second later by an ear-splitting roar as the Maverick missile, fitted with laser seeker and 298-pound penetrative-blast, fragmentation warhead, hit the watchtower and eradicated it with the precision of a sniper’s bullet. From his position three hundred meters away, Morland was surprised by how little blast there was; all the energy appeared to have gone downward. He scrambled up the edge of the sunken lane and peered at the perimeter through the base of the hedge. The crack and thump of incoming machine-gun fire had disappeared and when the smoke cleared, there was no longer any watchtower.

“Neatly done,” said Webb. “Bull’s-eye . . . and all without setting off the nukes.”

“Shit, that I hadn’t thought of . . .” muttered a suddenly very relieved Morland, as a figure in a para smock, face smeared in cam cream and framed by a British airborne ballistic helmet, unexpectedly appeared beside him.

Morland realized he must have been temporarily deafened by the noise of gunfire and explosions as he had not heard the man approach. He looked over his shoulder and saw two similarly equipped soldiers on either flank, covering the lead man. One was carrying an SA-80 assault rifle and the second a Minimi, 5.56 millimeter, light machine gun.

The lead man knelt beside him. “Sergeant Atkins, Recce Platoon, 3 Para. We’re the advance party. Main body of the company is approaching the LZ right now,” he said in a strong Brummie accent.

Morland looked up at him. “Captain Tom Morland, Recce Platoon commander, 1 Mercian. What kept you?” he said with a grin, as a massive sense of relief swept over him. Somehow, with 3 Para here, he knew it was going to be alright.

Behind them, Morland now heard the steady, rhythmic whack, whack of double rotors as Chinook helicopters landed beyond the forest to the north. And then the brief silence was shattered as multiple streams of tracer again lit the sky. This time, though, the firing came from above the trees to his rear left. Apache attack helicopters, laden with lethal ordnance and equipped with thermal and night-imaging sights, were putting down concentrated fire onto the compound perimeter, prior to shooting in the assault company attack and blasting any surviving defenders into surrender.

Epilogue

0915 hours, Sunday, August 20, 2017

Brown’s, Woodstock Road, Oxford

Sunday morning in Oxford in August, out of university term time and before the bus loads of tourists arrive en masse to flood the city, is usually quiet and that morning was no exception. The sun shone on the elegant buildings where St. Giles merges into the Woodstock Road as Captain Tom Morland opened the door into Brown’s, where he’d agreed to meet Nicola Allenby for a late breakfast.