Apache

It took forty seconds for Billy and Geordie to get back their visibility. Hearn and Robinson had groped up and down the northern wall, looking in vain for Mathew, and were now jogging back to the Apache. Robinson was leading, hands and rifle raised as a signal to the pilots of their bewilderment. Geordie spotted them first from the back seat.

‘They’ve got no idea we’re in a different field. I’m going to have to show them where to go.’

Billy was the captain and Geordie was the primary pilot, but they didn’t have time to argue the toss about who should leave the aircraft. Geordie was out of his seat and gone, safety-locking the collective lever as he jumped but not stopping to unclip his carbine.

He charged over to Robinson and shouted: ‘Follow me, he’s this way.’

Changing course ninety degrees, Geordie made for the hole in the wall eighty metres to his left. That’s where Mathew was, Geordie thought – around the crater and immediately to the right.

The brown-out had disorientated Geordie too. His mental compass was off by ninety degrees. He led the marines at full tilt to a bomb crater in the field’s west wall instead. Geordie rounded the corner and turned sharp right. The marines dutifully followed – heading north, ever deeper into enemy territory.

Visibility was down to ten metres. Geordie, Hearn and Robinson were in the midst of the 2,000-pounder’s smokescreen. The stench of explosives and burning was overpowering.

‘Come on lads, the others will be up here somewhere,’ Geordie yelled over his shoulder as he pressed on up the canal path. Robinson was ten metres behind him, and Hearn brought up the rear.

One hundred metres along, Geordie still hadn’t found anybody. He knew Ford was just by the wall; he’d seen him from above. Had he regained consciousness and started to crawl away? Down to the river perhaps? Geordie pressed on.

After another eighty metres the black cloud began to dissipate. He was almost at the end of the wall now. The corner had taken a direct hit, strewing rubble across the path. Geordie didn’t remember the wall being hit here. When he’d last seen it, it was still standing. Perhaps Nick or Charlotte had smacked it while the rescue Apaches were at Magowan’s HQ.

He could see round the corner now. Fruit trees loomed over the piles of stone. He didn’t remember fruit trees either.

Geordie slowed to a walk. This wasn’t right. The canal should have been ahead of him. Where the hell was it? It started to materialise through the dust to his left…