Firefight

TEN

'Get to your feet.'

Latifa's frightened eyes looked up at him. 'I cannot,' she said.

'What do you mean, you can't?' Will demanded. But even as he spoke, he directed his torch back towards the woman's feet. The bright white light illuminated the weeping sores.

'They burned my skin,' Latifa said in pitiful explanation. 'They brought fire and burned my skin.'

'Jesus,' Will whispered. The woman was a mess. But there was no time for sympathy. He strode towards her, letting the Diemaco hang from its strap.

'Did Faisal send you?'

The question wrongfooted Will for a moment, and he hesitated. 'Yes,' he lied, finally, knowing that this was one way to get her on side. He despised himself for doing it. 'Your brother sent me.' He put his hands under her armpits and roughly pulled her up.

Latifa's body was impossibly bony and she was as light as a child. The moment her feet touched the ground, however, she opened her mouth to scream. The sound never left her throat — Will's hand was there before she could make a noise and he held it firmly over her lips while her body adjusted to what was clearly an agonising pain. Her breath came in short, sharp bursts and tears came to her eyes.

'Listen to me,' Will hissed. 'I'm going to get you out of here, but you have to do as I say. If you don't do what I say, they'll kill all of us. Do you understand?'

Latifa, her eyes wide with fright and hate, nodded.

'Good. I know you're in pain, but you're going to have to deal with it. Can you do that?'

Latifa moved a hand up to his and pulled it firmly from her mouth. 'Yes,' she said, a hint of steel entering her frail voice. 'I can do that.'

Will nodded. He couldn't help feeling a twinge of respect for this woman; it was an uncomfortable sensation, given how much he wanted to loathe her for what her brother had done. As if to conquer his confused emotions, he tugged her arm forcefully. 'Come on,' he whispered.

They squeezed through the back of the hut and out into the snow. Latifa walked barefoot and painfully and the expression on her face spoke of the agony she was experiencing. Will kept his Diemaco raised, the torch switched off to avoid anyone spotting them from a distance. It seemed to take an age to get back to the RV point, but Latifa was treading gingerly and Will knew that short of carrying her, there was no way he could speed her up.

By the time they reached the RV point, Latifa's whole body was shaking with cold, pain and fear. Drew and Kennedy were waiting for them, hiding in the shadows with their guns pointing outwards. 'Fuck me,' Kennedy breathed when Will and Latifa joined them. 'Is that her?'

'Yeah,' Will stated, flatly. 'That's her.'

'Christ,' he whispered. For once Kennedy was lost for words.

Latifa's shivering was getting worse. 'She's not going to make it at this rate,' Will muttered. 'She's going to freeze.' He lowered his weapon and started removing his snowsuit. As soon as it was off, he felt his body temperature drop, but it was more important that Latifa had some warmth — Will was in much better shape to withstand the cold than she was.

'Put this on,' he told her.

The woman stared back at him uncomprehendingly.

'Put it on!' he repeated, before abruptly forcing her limbs into the snowsuit. Only when she was more suitably dressed did Drew speak.

'She's not in any kind of state to make it back to the truck,' he observed, quietly.

He was right. Creeping around the village was one thing, but it was a couple of hours' hard walk through the snow back to where they had left the vehicle. Even if they managed to raise her body temperature, she wasn't going to make it.

'You'll have to carry her,' Will told them. 'Between the two of you. One person carry her, the other provide cover from the rear.'

'What about you?' Kennedy asked.

Will glanced around him, remembering Anderson's body in the schoolroom.

'I'm going to deal with Ismail,' he said, calmly.

'Don't be a fucking idiot,' Kennedy snapped. 'Look, Anderson was a friend and I'm sorry he's dead. But we're lucky we're not all in two pieces like him and we haven't got the time for revenge killings. We all leave together. Now.'

Will's face stiffened. Kennedy was right, of course. With Anderson down, all they had to think about was the mission: their priority was to get Latifa the hell out of here and that was what they should be doing. But somehow Will couldn't quite see it that way; and besides, there was another reason for putting a bullet in Ismail's skull.

'They'll find out that we've gone before long,' he said. 'When they do, they'll want to follow us. Ismail knows where we're headed. I need to stop him from telling them.'

Kennedy looked unconvinced. 'He's probably told them already. We need to expect a surprise party when we get to the truck.'

'But if he hasn't,' Will replied, 'we don't want them following us. I need to deal with it.'

Kennedy shrugged his shoulders. 'It's your fucking skin,' he said, before turning to Latifa. 'Can you get on my back?' he asked.

Latifa just stared at him.

'Fuck it,' Kennedy murmured, picking her up in his arms. 'Don't think I'm carrying her all the way.'

A flicker of a smile passed across Drew's face. ''Course not,' he murmured. 'Listen, we entered the village from the west, so I don't think we should leave that way. Let's head north, then skirt round to the west.' He looked out into the barren snowscape beyond the village. 'That way,' he pointed.

Kennedy grunted in agreement.

'How long do you need here?' Drew asked Will.

Will shrugged. 'Twenty minutes max,' he said.

'Right. We'll wait at the truck for half an hour. If you haven't shown by then, we're leaving.'

'Roger that,' Will nodded, then watched as the two SAS men and the shivering woman disappeared into the darkness.

The hut into which Will had seen Ismail disappear was at the opposite corner of the main square, but he couldn't risk heading straight there — he would be too exposed, easily picked off by anyone with a weapon. So he crept around the edge, keeping to the shadows and treading as softly as he could. He felt strangely naked without his snowsuit. Light. Already the chill had started to penetrate to his skin, but he did his best to put that from his mind. Keep moving, he told himself. Keep moving and you'll be OK.

His footsteps crunched in the snowy ground, but other than that there was no sound as he approached the hut he had seen Ismail enter. It was built on top of a concrete foundation block perhaps half a metre high and it had posts at regular intervals around it, which held the flat roof up. There was a wooden door on one side, but a quick recce around the building told him that there were no windows or any other mode of entry. He stood by the door for a moment, holding his breath as he strained his ears to hear any sound from within.

Nothing.

Will stepped to one side of the door, put his back against the wall, then used the barrel of his Diemaco to rap on the wood. Tap-tap-tap. Quietly, but loud enough for anyone inside to hear.

Still nothing.

He tapped again. This time there was a shuffling inside, then silence.

Will waited. He couldn't risk barging in — it would make too much noise and he would be an instant target in the doorway. No, he'd have to wait for anyone inside to come to him and if that didn't happen, he'd have to abort.

His breath steamed in the cold air as he continued to press himself against the wall.

More shuffling. Someone was approaching the door. He could sense they were just on the other side now and he thought he could hear a faint click — the sound of a weapon being readied.

The door opened.

It all happened in a couple of seconds. As the door edged open, Will saw a handgun appear in the crack. Instantaneously he brought the barrel of his own gun down fiercely on to the hand; there was a whimper of pain and the gun fell to the ground. Will barged in, pushing the figure roughly to the floor, and kicking the door shut behind him.

What little light there was inside the hut came from a small, smoky lamp with a flickering yellow flame. It sat on a wooden table; elsewhere there were a couple of stools and a yellowing mattress rolled out in one corner. And on the floor, staring up at Will with a look of such abject fear as the SAS man had never seen in his life, was Ismail.

Will raised the Diemaco and aimed it directly at the head of the terrified Afghan.

'The man those bastards killed had a family,' he whispered. 'Thanks to you, someone's father won't be coming home.'

Ismail shuffled on his back away from him, but Will kept the gun aimed steadily at his head.

'I had no choice,' Ismail whispered. 'I promise you, I had no choice!'

'Don't give me that shit. Of course you had a choice. Them or us. It's very simple.'

Ismail closed his eyes, clearly preparing himself for the end to come. 'They found out two days ago that I was informing against them,' he stuttered. 'They abducted my wife and my little boy. They said they would kill them if I did not do as they said.' He opened his eyes again. 'They were serious,' he said with a sudden and simple conviction.

Will felt his lip curling. 'I don't believe you,' he growled, though in his heart he knew that Ismail's words had the desperate ring of truth.

Ismail was shaking now and his skin was sweating despite the cold. 'How did you break out?' he asked.

Will remained silent.

'It doesn't matter,' Ismail whispered. 'If you escape, they will kill me anyway, and my family. But not before torturing me first to see if I know where you have gone. My family is as good as dead. Perhaps it is best that you end it all for me now.' He closed his eyes again and took a deep breath.

Will's finger hesitated on the trigger. Whether Ismail was telling the truth or not, he was a liability to the safety of their mission. He should plug him now. Silence him. Make sure he could not tell the Taliban where to look for them. But something stopped him. Silently he cursed himself. Two years ago he wouldn't have given this a second thought; if Drew or Kennedy were in his position now, Ismail would already be dead.

'Did you tell them?' he asked, quietly. 'Where the truck is, I mean.'

Ismail looked up at him. 'No. Not yet. But they asked me if I knew where it was. I will do my best not to take them,' he replied. 'But I am not a strong man. I am not like you and your friends. I cannot guarantee that I will be able to withstand their tortures. You must either kill me or leave quickly before they realise you have gone.'

The Afghan's ultimatum hung in the air. He continued to shiver, his whole body consumed with trembling.

'You're coming with me,' Will stated, firmly.

An uneasy smile came on to Ismail's frightened face, and he shook his head. 'I cannot,' he whispered. 'If I do that it would be like pulling the trigger on my family myself. You do not perhaps understand quite what the Taliban are capable of.'

'I've got a pretty fucking good idea,' Will murmured, almost to himself. He thought for a moment before speaking again. 'Get up against the wall,' he said, quietly. His Diemaco was still pointing directly at Ismail's head.

For a moment Ismail didn't move. But then he nodded his head fearfully and shuffled backwards.

Once he was pressed against the wall, Will stepped back. He opened the door with one hand. 'Stay there,' he told Ismail, before turning and stepping outside.

The Sig handgun that he had given the Afghan and which only a minute earlier he had knocked from his hands was still lying in the snow. He bent down, picked it up and stepped back inside. Ismail was still huddled against the wall. Will placed the gun on the table.

'If you're not going to come with me, then you're on your own. Use this to defend yourself when they come for you.'

Ismail looked nervously at the gun. 'I am not a fighter,' he whispered.

'I didn't say you were, Ismail. Just do what you have to do.'

The two man stared at each other.

'You must go,' the Afghan said finally. 'They will soon find out you are gone and if they catch you—'

Will nodded, curtly. Then, without saying another word, he left the hut, leaving the frightened Afghan shaking in the semi-darkness.

Ismail stared at the gun.

Soon, he knew, his wife and little son would be facing the barrel of some such weapon and it would be the last thing they saw on earth. It was all he could do not to retch at the thought of it. These Taliban, he knew what they were like. He had lived through their regime. They were merciless. There was no way they would believe Ismail that he had not released the SAS men. No way at all. They would kill his family in front of him, not because they were involved in any way; just to make Ismail himself feel the pain.

A coldness ran through him as a possibility suggested itself. Perhaps there was a way to save them after all. Perhaps there was a way out of this, for his wife and child if not for him. If Ismail himself was not around to witness his family's death, there would be no reason for the Taliban to kill them.

It was like a game of chess. And as his father had taught him so many years ago when they played during the summer outside the cafés of Kandahar, in chess you must sometimes make sacrifices in order to win.

Big sacrifices.

Ismail realised that his body was shaking as he approached the table and touched the handgun before picking it up and feeling its weight.

What he was about to do was haram, forbidden. A line from the Koran flashed through his mind: Whoever takes his life with a piece of iron will be punished with the same piece of iron in the hell fire.

The piece of iron he held in his hand was cold. He prayed silently that Allah would look with forgiveness on what he was about to do.

And then, the whispered words of the takbir repeating on his lips, he put the cold metal to his head and closed his eyes.

It was probably a mistake — Will knew that as he left the hut. But if Ismail had been telling the truth, he was as much a victim of the Taliban as Anderson or Latifa. He didn't deserve a bullet in the head for that, even if it was going to make their escape more risky. But Drew and Kennedy had a good head start and Will himself would be out of the village within minutes.

But his train of thought was shattered by a sudden bang.

A single gunshot.

He flung himself against the nearest wall, looking for the source of the fire; but intuitively he knew where it had come from. Poor bastard.

The gunshot, he knew, would attract attention. He had to get the hell out of there, and fast.

Will upped his pace, skirting around the main square. The others had left from the north, near the units where they had been held. Will wasn't going to do that — if anyone had been roused by the gunshot, the first thing they would do would be to check on the SAS men. That area would be swarming with Taliban within minutes. Instead he headed west, back the way they came, darting down the dark streets where the huts of the ordinary Afghan villagers were to be found. Behind him, in the distance, he heard shouts. Thirty metres away, maybe forty. Too fucking close, in any case. The dog he had heard earlier began barking; this time, though, it was joined by two or three others. It sounded like bedlam back there. Clearly their escape had been discovered.

His breath steamed heavily in front of him and as he ran along the snowy streets he became aware of voices all around. He stopped for a moment, listening carefully. They were to his left and right, but not straight ahead. Will continued to run.

Ahead of him he could see the generator building where they had left Ismail earlier that evening. He sprinted towards it, then hid behind the back wall, which faced out on to the snowy landscape beyond. But as he held his breath and listened, he could hear people approaching the generator. It sounded like two voices.

Will's eyes narrowed slightly as he gripped his Diemaco.

He edged to the corner of the outbuilding, listening carefully. They were near, but he was sure they hadn't seen him — they were just searching here on the off-chance. That gave him the element of surprise. He pressed the Diemaco hard into his shoulder, then swung round the corner of the building.

He nailed the first of them before the guy even knew he was there, the suppressed weapon firing a silent shot that hit him straight in the face. He collapsed like a stone to the ground. But in the split second Will took to aim his weapon at the second man, his Taliban pursuer managed to raise his AK-47.Will released a lethal headshot that brought the man to the ground, but not before his target had managed to release a single burst of fire from his own weapon. It missed Will by several metres, but the sound of gunshot seemed to echo all round the surrounding countryside.

'Shit,' Will whispered to himself. Everyone would have heard that and when they found the two Taliban corpses lying in the snow, they would know which way he had escaped.

There was no time to hide the bodies. It was now just a matter of who was quickest. He checked his watch: 01.35. The others had a twenty-minute start. He had to catch up with them.

Will ran to the back of the generator building and plunged into the snowy countryside beyond.

Distance was what he needed — distance between himself and the Taliban. They would be making chase any minute. They would be on foot. The snow was too deep for any kind of vehicle, so it would all come down to how much distance he could put between them. With a pang he realised that they could well be using the NV goggles they had taken from the SAS team earlier in the evening: it spurred him on to move even faster through the snow.

'Don't look back,' he whispered to himself. The temptation to do so was immense, but it would only slow him down. They'd be on his trail any minute — there was nothing he could do about his footprints in the snow and the Taliban would just have to follow them.

He pushed on into the darkness, cursing his decision to go back for Ismail. Clouds scudded against the silver moon: occasionally the way ahead would be lit surprisingly brightly as the moonlight reflected off the snow; but mostly it was pitch black. Will had to rely on his in-built sense of direction and hope he was going the right way. At one stage, the moon peeped out from behind the fast-moving clouds and illuminated the way ahead. There were footprints — two sets. Drew and Kennedy, it had to be. He was on the right path.

He should be catching them up soon. Will would be moving faster as they would be slowed down by Latifa Ahmed. Christ, he thought to himself. It was going to be a relief. Three men's firepower would make him feel a lot more confident than just his.

He continued to pound the snow-covered earth, his lungs swallowing great mouthfuls of freezing air as he ran.

At first he didn't hear it; his heavy breath was too loud in his ears. But eventually the sound was unmistakable. It was not so much a bark as a yelp. It sounded thin and desperate.

Dogs. And they were close.

How close, Will couldn't say. He allowed himself a moment to stop and listen. The wide open space around him meant that it was difficult to tell which direction the sound of the dogs was coming from. One moment it would be coming from the east, behind him; the next minute, it seemed to come from the north or the south.

'Shit,' he muttered. He started running again. The dogs would be faster than their masters, but also faster than Will. And somehow he doubted that all they were after was a pat on the head and a juicy bone.

As he ran, he prepped the Diemaco. The minute the dogs came into view, there really was only going to be one option.

The barking grew louder. It was frenzied and Will tried to work out how many animals he could hear. Three? Maybe four? It was impossible to tell: the noise of their yelps seemed to merge into one great howl of fury. The more of them there were, the more difficult this was going to be. He would have to wait until they were close enough to see, but they would be fast-moving, unpredictable targets. He'd need to take them all out before they got close enough to attack.

Will stopped to give himself time to prepare. He turned round, hit the ground and lay on his front, ignoring the uncomfortable sensation of cold snow seeping through his clothes. He pressed the butt of his Diemaco hard into his shoulder, then surveyed the darkness, waiting for the first sign of the animals he could hear so clearly, but could not yet see.

The horrific noise of their barking grew even more frantic. It was as if they sensed they were close.

They emerged like ghosts from the darkness, silhouettes that seemed to dart around without coming any closer. Will knew they were coming closer, however. It was just a trick of the light. As if called to attention by that one thought, the moon suddenly emerged from behind the clouds and the ground was illuminated before him like a floodlit football pitch.

He only had a few seconds to take it all in. There were five of them, running as a pack. One dog strayed a few metres away from the others, but immediately rejoined them. It got too close to another of the animals, however, and was snipped and snarled at by its pack mate. It was obvious that they were hunting like this out of necessity, not unity. They were lean and vicious-looking, as if they had not been fed for many days; even from a distance Will could see a wildness in their eyes that chilled him.

These were mad dogs. They were hungry and they had caught the scent of food.

They were about thirty metres away and had not yet seen Will pressed down in the snow. That soon changed, however. As soon as they caught sight of their quarry, their snarling and yelping became hysterical. Their pace quickened as they bolted towards him. Twenty metres. Fifteen.

One of the dogs was out in front. The leader of the pack. It took all Will's self-control not to rush the shot. Fifteen metres was close range, but the target was moving unpredictably. He kept the gun trained accurately at the head of the beast and only when he was sure he was on target did he squeeze the trigger.

The bullet entered the dog's skull with a deadly silence.

As soon as it was hit, the dog raised up in the air. The animal's forward momentum, combined with the power of the bullet, caused it to flip a somersault on to its back, spraying blood from its exploding head across the surrounding snow and all over the rest of the pack. The remaining four dogs halted. They looked back at the fallen animal and, as if they had suddenly forgotten about Will, they turned on its corpse. Easy meat. As one, they started to rip into the flesh of their dead pack mate.

'That's right,' Will whispered as he watched the horrific scene with a crashing sense of relief. 'Get stuck in.'

He started to aim at a second dog. They might have been distracted, but he wasn't going to leave any of them alive. His eyes narrowed and he squeezed the trigger.

Click.

'Fuck,' Will whispered. The weapon had jammed. He tried to fire it again, then a third time, but no luck. It was as good as useless.

Gingerly, he started to push himself up. The dogs were thankfully distracted, but as he got to his feet, a fight broke out among them. Two of the animals, more dominant than the others, started to snap at their mates, warning them off from helping themselves. The two losers whimpered slightly, but they clearly understood the pecking order. Low growls rumbled in their throats; one of them allowed its tongue to loll lazily from the corner of its drooling mouth; and they turned to look at Will, who had no firepower now with which to stop them.

Then they fell silent.

Will swung the Diemaco over his head just as the two of them, in unison, started to bound towards him. Gripping the barrel of the gun firmly, he prepared to fight off these snarling animals using his weapon as a bludgeon. But their teeth were sharp and they were desperate. He knew his chances were slim.

It all happened in what seemed like a fraction of a second. The dog in front leapt at him, just as Will raised the gun over his shoulder like an axeman preparing to chop wood. The beast was so close he could smell it and he knew in that instant that without a working gun, he would be no match for the animals.

But just as he was beginning to swing the Diemaco, there was a loud bang from behind him and the dog fell to the ground, its head blown away. Will felt the animal's blood spatter over his face as, from behind him, a weapon cracked repeatedly through the night air, despatching the remaining three animals with pinpoint accuracy.

Will turned to see a familiar figure lower his Kalashnikov.

'Jesus Christ,' he breathed at Kennedy. 'Leave it a bit later next time, will you?'

Kennedy grinned. 'Didn't really think you'd need my help against a few Snoopies.'

'Fucking weapon jammed,' Will spat. 'I'll have something to say to the armourer when we get back home.'

'Yeah, speaking of which—' Kennedy peered into the darkness beyond the carnage of the dead dogs. 'They probably heard the sound of this fucking AK back in Hereford.'

'The Taliban won't be far behind,' Will agreed. 'How far ahead are Drew and the girl?'

'About a hundred metres. I only came back because I heard the sound of the dogs — figured they probably hadn't been let out just for a bit of fresh air and a run around. Did you find Ismail?'

Will nodded.

'You plug him?'

Will sniffed and looked back towards the village. 'He's dead,' he said, quietly. 'But it doesn't matter. We've still left a trail.'

'OK,' Kennedy said briskly. 'I don't think it's far to the truck now. Let's get moving.'

'Roger that,' Will said with relief and the two men started running through the snow, leaving the scene of their sudden and violent butchery behind them.

It only took a couple of minutes for them to catch up with Drew and Latifa. Drew was carrying her, but still moving surprisingly quickly. Will did his best not to look at the woman's face. Drew himself seemed neither surprised nor pleased to see them; he just spoke as if they'd never been away.

'I've found the tracks we made on the way in,' he stated. 'We're going in the right direction.'

'We need to up the pace,' Will told him. 'There's Taliban following. They're not waiting for us at the truck, but they won't be far behind.'

Drew nodded and silently they hurried on through the darkness.

It took about ten minutes to get to the truck. Snow had fallen, leaving a thick blanket over the chassis and drifting heavily against one side; it had even entered through the hole at the back where the rear door had been ripped off. Drew deposited Latifa in the back of the truck, where she sat gazing expressionlessly into space; then he stood back with the rest of them. 'We're going to have to dig it out,' he said.

Immediately they went to work on their hands and knees, shifting armfuls of snow out of the way so that the vehicle could move freely. Now that he had stopped running and without his snow suit, Will started to feel the cold all the more; his hands and feet were numb and he put more energy into digging to try and keep warm.

Soon they had dug the car out. Drew handed his Kalashnikov to Will, then took the wheel once more. Kennedy sat beside him in the front, his own gun pointing out of the passenger window back the way they'd come. Drew turned the ignition and their ears were filled with the thin, reedy sound of the engine trying, unsuccessfully, to turn over.

No one spoke. Drew tried again; again the engine coughed and spluttered before dissolving away into nothing. 'Battery must be cold,' he muttered. 'It's below freezing out there.'

'Well you'd better get it moving, quickly,' Kennedy said, his voice suddenly tense, even a little high-pitched. 'X-rays approaching.'

Will turned his head quickly. Sure enough, in the distance, highlighted by the silvery light of the moon, he could just make out figures coming towards them. Impossible to tell how many. But enough. A hundred metres away — and counting.

'How long till we get started?' he asked Drew, tersely.

'Impossible to say,' Drew replied. 'Could be a few minutes.'

Even before Drew had finished talking, Will was opening up the weapons stash. The Minimi 5.56 mm light machine gun was there waiting for him. 'Cover me while I set it up,' he told Kennedy.

Kennedy nodded. 'I'm counting about twenty of the fuckers!' he shouted. As Will pulled an ammunition belt out of the weapons stash, he started firing single shots from his Kalashnikov. It wouldn't be enough to overcome the number of enemy that were approaching, but it would slow them down and give Will time to set up the machine gun. Clutching the weaponry, he jumped down from the back of the truck and crawled along the ground, while Kennedy continued to fire off an occasional shot from his AK.

There was a trench on the side of the road. Will rolled into it, then opened up the V-shaped bipod at the end of the gun's barrel before feeding the small ammo belt into the chamber.

Behind him, the truck's engine coughed, them fell silent again.

Will heaved the machine gun over the edge of the trench.

It sank slightly in the snow, but he could feel the bipod hitting firm ground. His eyes squinted involuntarily as he aimed the weapon in the direction of the enemy. And then he fired.

The harsh chugging of the weaponry filled the air and the gun shook as the ammo belt rattled through it. A spray of gunfire showered into the approaching enemy and Will watched with satisfaction as about half of them fell to the ground like grass bending in the wind.

But that still left at least ten and they were approaching relentlessly.

He held fire. Behind him, the engine of the truck had roared into life. Drew was expertly massaging the throttle to warm the engine without letting it stall and Will heard Kennedy shouting at him. 'Get back in the truck! I'll cover you!' A shot from the Kalashnikov rang through the air.

Will pulled the machine gun towards him and crawled back to the truck. As soon as he climbed into the vehicle, he felt it lurch backwards as Drew reversed around in a tight turning circle, so that they were pointing the right way again. 'It's like a fucking zombie movie out there!' Kennedy yelled. The snow chains crunched noisily into the powder, but they did their job well. The truck held to the road and in an instant they were moving.

But there was still gunfire and it wasn't coming from Kennedy, who was facing the wrong side of the road now. With a roar, Will smashed the butt of the machine gun through one of the windows at the back of the truck, then turned the weapon around and started firing indiscriminately in the direction of the not-yet-dead enemy.

Latifa shrank back; she might even have screamed, Will wasn't sure. His whole body shook with the force of the weapon as, in this last, desperate burst of gunfire, he struggled to make sure that they were not scuppered by a stray enemy bullet bursting into one of their tyres — or one of their heads.

Whether he hit anyone he didn't know; but eventually, Drew turned a corner and they found themselves out of the range of the enemy.

Will eased his finger off the trigger, silencing the noise of gunfire. He was breathing heavily, panting almost. They all were — even Latifa, whose face was an undisguised picture of stress and panic.

The truck trundled along, as fast as Drew could safely make it travel. Back on the road — they hoped — to some kind of safety.