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the Chinook’s undercarriage lifted clear, and it skimmed away between the low hills, using them as cover until it was well beyond the range of the column’s SAMs.
    ‘See you got your stripes a bit dirty at last then.’ Burke added his grubby fingerprints to the smudges of mud despoiling the chevrons. ‘Don’t tell him that.’ Sensing entertainment, Dooley joined in. ‘Next thing you know hell have us licking them clean for him.’
    ‘Not on your bloody life. Not for all the money and the other stuff he’s got crammed in that flak-jacket.’
    It wasn’t difficult for the corporal to ignore Burke. Now that they were flying again, it took all his concentration to stop himself from throwing up. Dear God, and he’d thought skimmers were bad, but those armoured hovercraft were nothing compared to the yo-yo flight pattern this mobile sex shop was executing.
    ‘Oh, I don’t know.’ Dooley had been considering the proposal. ‘If he threw in all his back pay. I know he hasn’t spent any of his own money in the last year.’ ‘He doesn’t have to the way he wins at cards ...’
    ‘Sergeant Hyde has work for you two.’ Ignoring the ritual undertone of complaint and the pair’s sour expressions, Revell sat down beside the communication board. ‘We know what road they’re taking now. That advance guard took the left fork, so it’s Frankfurt for certain. Pass that on to our ECM merchant when it arrives. Is there any sign of it yet?’
    ‘It’ll be on station in a couple of minutes. Word is, it’s a four-seat Prowler, so there’s no way those Ruskies are going to yell for help, or chat to each other.’
    ‘Good. It’s a pity they don’t carry radar homing missiles. Could have taken out a flak-tank or two for us. Did you get that count I wanted?’
    ‘Close as I could. I might have missed one, what with the smoke and filth they kept shovelling over us, but I figure we destroyed a couple of T84s, damaged two more and totalled a self-propelled gun. With that Shilka losing a track and Sergeant Hyde plastering the countryside with that fancy mine clearer, I reckon it’s not a bad score.’
    Dooley staggered past, holding a crate whose other end he believed Burke to be supporting. ‘Chewed them up real good, heh, Major?’
    ‘Give him the other figure.’ Revell watched Dooley’s face as Cohen referred to his message pad.
‘Thirty-four, maybe thirty-five pieces of armour got past us. So you should chew a little harder next time.’
‘Do we have another go, or is that us finished? I’d like to know, I’ve got this vested interest - me.’
    ‘Yes, Dooley, we’re having another go, and another, and another. Until we’ve slowed them enough to give our armour time to get into position for an interception, or until there’s no more for us to have a go at.’ 
    ‘Or no more of us to have a go.’ Clarence had been listening to the major. There wasn’t any fear in the sniper’s voice, or doubt, or relish. He was simply making a statement.
If the sniper was expecting a snap denial then Revell would disappoint him. He nodded. ‘Or until there’s no more of us left.’

    THREE
    Burke threw the half-eaten slice of garlic sausage out of a window, and tried to wash away the taste with a gulp of Dooley’s equally ferocious black coffee. He pulled a face as he returned the flask. ‘Bloody hell, what do you have for your ruddy afters, a bowl of pepper?’
    ‘I like my food to have a bit of flavour. You don’t know good food when you taste it.’ Using his bayonet, Dooley cut off a large chunk of the fat-marbled meat and popped it into his mouth. He chewed slowly, rubbing his belly in exaggerated enjoyment.
    ‘Will you go and eat elsewhere!’ Cohen’s complexion was flickering through the spectrum again.
‘If you ate some of this,’ Dooley illustrated his point by waving the powerful smelling sausage under the radio-operator’s nose, ‘you wouldn’t have all this silly fucking trouble.’
‘What are