Their commanding officer had explained that the fighting was continuing fiercely in the area, for it was vital that the enormous supply dumps and railheads at Dimapur were defended. Should it fall to the Japanese, it would be disastrous for the Allies, and a huge bonus to the Japs who, it was reported, were desperate for supplies now the Allies had bombed their stores of rice and made it almost impossible for anything to be flown in. Consequently, General Slim had called for reinforcements to form a rearguard, clear the road and mop up any Japanese who were retreating back into Burma.

Jim tried to ignore the swarms of flies and mosquitoes as he eased the straps of his backpack to a more comfortable position on his shoulders and cursed the monsoon rains which had turned the earth to a quagmire and soaked him to the skin. He wouldn’t have minded if the rain was cold – in fact, he would have welcomed it – but it was warm, and doing very little to alleviate the dreadful heat and humidity that rose sharply along with the number of noisome insects the minute the sun came out.

Jim and the rest of the column had encountered the enemy many times during the past few days, but they’d managed to get rid of them and carry on with very little delay, and, thankfully, few casualties. Like his fellow soldiers, Jim felt a certain pride in the fact they could come across the enemy unexpectedly during the night, kill them and continue their march without losing cohesion or discipline – it made them feel they could achieve anything.

The terrain they were travelling over now was nothing short of hellish. They’d crossed gorges and mountains, climbed cliffs and fought their way through dense jungle and forests of lethal bamboo which bore steel-strong barbs of up to ten inches long that could rip through flesh and have your eyes out in a split second of carelessness. At the same time they’d been involved in skirmishes with the enemy who would appear as if from nowhere, and had to be dealt with before they could move on.

The quiet order to halt came down the line, and everyone drew breath and eased their aching backs while they waited to be told what to do next. The Gurkhas, Jim noticed, were hardly sweating, and looked as fresh as they always did as, in pairs, they carried the enormous Bren guns between them on their shoulders, their sturdy bodies wreathed in ammunition belts.

Jim mopped his brow with his filthy handkerchief and eased the straps once again, wondering if he had time to roll a smoke. But within minutes, the long column began to move, and as he reached the edge of the jungle, he finally saw what the hold-up had been.