The stag stood us to, and we covered our arcs as first light came. After that, and before I did the brief, I wanted to check the dead ground again, even though we’d covered it last night. I knew we were definitely on the MSR, but I wanted to look for any form of identification which would give us the landlines. It was also a personal thing; I wanted to check that there had been no changes above us. Shielded from sound by the walls of the cave, we could have sat there with Genesis giving an open-air concert and we wouldn’t have heard a thing.

Chris covered me while I scrambled up the rocks and peered over the brim. It was the last time I’d risk doing this in daylight.

I looked northeast and there, just on the far edge of the MSR, were another two S60s. They must have arrived during the night. I could see two wagons, tents, blokes stretching and coughing-all just 1000 feet from our position. I couldn’t believe it. This was getting unreal. Our recce patrol must have missed them by about 150 feet. I came down and told Chris, then went to brief the rest of the patrol. Mark went up and had a quick squint to confirm that I wasn’t hallucinating.

I was not really impressed by this development. It was quite scary stuff, because these characters were right on top of us. They were going to inhibit us badly.

I spread out the map and showed all the locations we had discovered-including the new S60 sites. We spent the rest of the day trying to transmit our Sit Rep again. The new S60s were obviously there to protect the MSR. There was no reason, however, why they should send out clearing patrols. They were in their own country and they had mutual support. We reassured ourselves that we could only be compromised from the opposite lip, and even then only if someone was literally standing on it, looking down.

Again we all had a go with the radio, but to no avail. Our lost com ms contingency would have come into effect by now, and the helicopter would have been briefed to meet us the following morning at 0400.

There was no concern. We were in cover, and we were an 8-man fighting patrol. When we met the aircraft we would get a one-for-one exchange, or get on the aircraft and relocate.

In my mind I ran through the heli RV procedure again. The pilot would be coming in on NVG (night viewing goggles), watching for a signal from my infrared torch. I would flash the letter Bravo as a recognition signal. He would land 15 feet to my right, using the light as his reference point. The load master door was just behind the pilot, and all I would have to do was walk up to it, put the radio in, and receive the new radio that was handed to me. If there was any message for us, he would grab hold of my arm and hand me the written message. Or, if a longer message was involved, the ramp would come down and the lo adie would come and drag me round to the back. The rest of the patrol would be out in all-round defense. If I had to go and get them in, they knew the drills. If I wanted to get us relocated, I would grab hold of the lo adie and point to the rear of the ramp. The ramp would then come down, and we’d all get on.

And that was the plan. No drama. We would move back that night and relocate.

We’d been listening to vehicles bumbling up and down the MSR all day. They posed no threat. Around mid-afternoon, however, we heard a young voice shout from no more than 150 feet away. The child hollered and yelled again; then we heard the clatter of goats and the tinkle of a bell.

It wasn’t a problem. We couldn’t be compromised unless we could see the person on the other side of the lip. There was no other way that we could be seen. I felt confident.

The goats came closer. We were on hard routine, and everybody had their belt kit on and their weapons in their hands. It wasn’t as if we’d been startled in our sleeping bags or caught sunbathing. Just the same, I felt my thumb creep towards the safety catch of my 203.

The bell tinkled right above us. I looked up just as the head of a goat appeared on the other side. I felt my jaw tighten with apprehension. Everybody was rock still. Only our eyes were moving.

More goats wandered onto the lip. Was the herder going to follow them?

The top of a young human head bobbed into view. It stopped and swiveled. Then it came forward. I saw the profile of a small brown face. The boy seemed preoccupied with something behind him. He was half looking over his shoulder as he shuffled forwards. His neck and shoulders came into view, then his chest. He can’t have been more than a 3 feet from the edge of the lip. He swung his head from side to side, shouting at the goats and hitting them with a long stick.

I silently shouted at him not to look down.

We still had a chance, as long as he kept looking the other way.

Please, no eye-to-eye, just look at what you’re doing…

He turned his head and surveyed the scene.

I slowly mouthed the words: Fuck… off!

He looked down.

Bastard! Shit!

Our eyes met and held. I’d never seen such a look of astonishment in a child’s eyes.

Now what? He was rooted to the spot. The options raced through my mind.

Do we top him? Too much noise. Anyway, what was the point? I wouldn’t want that on my conscience for the rest of my life. Shit, I could have been an Iraqi behind the lines in Britain, and that could have been Katie up there.

The boy started to run. My eyes followed him, and I made my move. Mark and Vince, too, were scrambling like men possessed in an attempt to cut him off. Just to get him, that had to be the first priority. We could decide later what to do with him-to tie him up and stuff his gob with chocolate, or whatever. But we could only go so far without exposing ourselves to the S60 sites, and the child had too much of a head start. He was gone, fucking gone, hollering like a lunatic, running towards the guns.

He could do a number of things. He might not tell anybody because it would get him into trouble-maybe he shouldn’t have been in the area. He might tell his family or friends, but only when he got home later. Or he might keep running and shouting all the way to the guns. I had to assume the worst. So what? They might not believe him. They might come and see for themselves. Or they might wait for reinforcements. I had to take it that they would inform others and then come after us. So what? If they discovered us, there would be a contact before dark. If they didn’t discover us, there would be a chance to evade under cover of darkness.

We had picked our LUP because it provided concealment from view-apart from the one place where the boy had gone and stood. We certainly hadn’t picked it as a place to defend. It was an enclosed environment, at the top of a watershed, with nowhere to go There was no need to say anything: everybody knew we’d have to take it as a compromise. Everything happened in quick time. However, that wasn’t to say we just got our kit on and ran, because that would have been totally counterproductive. It’s worth taking those extra few minutes to get yourself squared away.

Everybody rammed chocolate down as well as water. We didn’t know when we would next be able to eat. We checked that our pouches were done up, that the buttons were fastened on our map pockets so the map didn’t fall out, that our magazines were on correctly. Check, check, check.

Vince put Stan and Bob out with the Minimis. As soon as two other men were ready, they’d swap places and let the two stags get themselves sorted out. Everybody else automatically carried out tasks that needed to be done. Vince went through the cached kit. He pulled out a jerrican of water and helped everybody fill their bottles. If we got into a contact, we were going to lose our berg ens and all that they contained. People took great gulps to get as much water on board as they could, draining their bottles, then refilling. Even if there was no contact, we all knew we were in for a fearsome tab.