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company’s quarters on base. They had breached the open plan living and dining area, but there were several doorways leading to other rooms.   As the fire continued, the marines were slowly advancing on the positions from both sides. Taylor held point for several of Charlie squad to head for the doorways to his left as he and Sergeant Silva went for the master bedroom.
    The two marines slammed up against the wall either side of the door to the bedroom. Taylor looked at his Sergeant and nodded in readiness. Silva reached for the door handle slowly, before quickly ripping the door open. The Major rushed through the entrance with his rifle raised. Initially he could see no sign of life at all, until in his peripheral vision he just caught sight of fast movement. It was too late, a British officer grabbed for his rifle and twisted around until he held his weapon and locked against his chest. The defender was holding him from behind in a tight grasp with a knife at his throat.
    Silva entered just a second too late, he raised his rifle to target the attacker but there was little he could do. From the other side of the entrance another Brit was pointing a handgun at the captured Major’s head.
    “Hard luck, old boy, this day belongs to us,” said the officer.
    “Nuts,” replied Taylor.
    He lifted his offhand and dangled a pin, which had clearly just been drawn from a grenade on his chest rig.
    “Oh, shit!” shouted the officer.
    The room erupted into a blinding flash of light. The two British soldiers dropped to the ground stunned and disorientated, the two marines stood as if nothing had happened. Taylor stepped over the officer who was rubbing his eyes in a desperate attempt to regain his vision. He was just beginning to get some sight back as Mitch offered out his hand, which the man gladly took.
    “Your boys don’t have flash protectors yet, Charlie? It’s an amazing piece of kit really, a liquified contact lens which increases vision abilities by ten percent while providing a barrier shield against extreme bursts of light.”
    Taylor hauled him to his feet, a man who had quickly become a friend of over the last three years. Captain Charlie Jones of the British Parachute Regiment, EUA army. Jones shook his head, trying to stabilise his body and regain balance.
    “That’s a hell of a way to regain control of a situation. It isn’t too sporting but if it gets the job done, well!”
    “You didn’t exactly play it straight yourself, Captain, I lost a lot of men getting up here.”
    He was glad of the challenge Jones had presented, but aware that had it been for real, they would have experienced far heavier casualties that he’d consider acceptable. The four men went from the bedroom and into the open plan vastness of the penthouse. The mission was over and both sides were hauling fallen comrades to their feet and patting each other on the back.
    “What are the total losses, Lieutenant Suarez?”
    “Twenty-one casualties, Sir.”
    Taylor turned to Jones and reached out his hand, which Jones took gladly.
    “Good job, Captain, a pleasure training with you once again. All I can say is that I hope we never come out on opposing sides, as it’d be a real meat grinder.”
    “Agreed.”
    One of the British soldiers stepped forward to Jones. “Sir, I am getting an urgent request from Commander Phillips to speak with you personally.”
    “Patch it through to my comm.”
    “Sir, this is Jones.”
    The Captain strolled off to the corner of the room, away from the troops. The British and American equipment was largely the same, but what few differences were now masked by the dust that had settled on their gear, making them blend into the demolished room. The men mingled and the ambience grew as they broke out into conversation. Taylor and Suarez stood off to the side of the room watching the men switch from hard-line enemies to the best of friends.
    “I am sorry I had to speak to you the way I did, but you must know that