'We should attack from both sides,' Anderson breathed.
Will addressed Drew and Kennedy. His voice was tense. 'You two, stay here. We'll skirt round to the other side. Once we're there, take them out.'
'Roger that,' Kennedy replied.
Will and Anderson waited until they were sure the guards were not looking their way, then ran to the back of the large building, confident in the knowledge that if anyone saw them, Drew or Kennedy would nail them in seconds — and at fifty metres they would be sure of hitting their targets. Once there, they peered around the other side. There was a large concrete building with a corrugated iron roof on the north side of the village. Standing outside it, rifles in hand and surveying the surrounding countryside, were two men. In front of them was a metal bin, flames flickering from the top. The snow around it had melted. They did not seem to want to stray far from the warmth of that fire and Will didn't blame them.
It was instantly clear to both SAS men that they would have to take these guys out if they wanted to alert Drew and Kennedy to their presence here and a cursory nod between them was all it took to establish that this was what they were going to do.
They raised their rifles, got the targets in their sights and fired. Their suppressed weapons let out two almost silent shots as they doubled-tapped each of their targets. Two head-shots: they fell immediately.
Will didn't even see them hit the ground. Once they were neutralised, his attention had to be elsewhere. He edged round the corner of the building and looked back towards the area where they had left Drew and Kennedy. His NV illuminated all the dwellings they had sneaked behind, he could see the snow-covered square in the middle of the village and the two guards in front of the main building were in plain view.
But he couldn't see the two SAS men.
He gave it thirty seconds. Still no sign.
'Shit,' he whispered. 'Where the fuck are they?'
As he spoke, Will turned round to look at Anderson. He was facing Will, the butt of his weapon still dug firmly into his shoulder, ready to take on anything that came at him. What he wasn't ready for, however, was what came from behind.
The instant Will saw the three Taliban fighters approaching from behind the building, he raised his gun to fire.
Anderson inclined his head slightly — it must have looked to him as though Will was aiming the weapon in his direction. The surprise was not allowed to register for long, however, because within a split second the sound of gunshot filled the air and Anderson hit the ground, a bullet lodged firmly in the back of his skull.
'Anderson!' Will roared. The situation had gone noisy now and there was no need for silence. His stomach was turning over as he realised that his partner had just been nailed. Sheer rage descended on him and on instinct he started pumping bullets into the Taliban who had just killed Anderson. Two of them fell, then a third. For a moment all thoughts of the mission left Will's mind — he just wanted to kill these people.
But suddenly they were swarming around him — four of them, maybe five, all armed, all pointing their guns directly at him. His weapon was knocked from his hands and landed with a clatter next to Anderson's still-warm body.
Instantly they were upon him, smashing the NV goggles from his face, beating him with their guns and then, when he was on the ground, kicking him brutally in the stomach and the head until he was helpless with the pain. Finally, he felt himself being dragged to his feet and pulled out towards the central square.
Drew and Kennedy were there too, captured, their hands bound behind their backs and their NV goggles ripped from their faces. They looked stunned. And well they might. It had all happened so quickly and none of this made any kind of sense. They had approached in darkness; they had kept out of sight; the mission had barely even begun and nobody in the village could have known that they were coming.
Nobody, Will realised with a sickening lurch in his stomach, except one person.
As he was pushed roughly towards Drew and Kennedy, his eyes scoured the groups of bearded Taliban extremists who had congregated to witness the capture of the SAS unit. He knew who he was looking for and he saw him soon enough.
Ismail was standing on the corner of the square, flanked by two Taliban men, both considerably taller than him. One of them had a deep scar on his lower lip. Ismail hadn't been roughed up; he hadn't been bound. As Will's eyes met his, he gazed at him expressionlessly.
Then, unable to keep up that stare for long, the young Afghan's eyes fell to the ground. He turned and wandered off, alone, through the door of a small hut in the shadows beyond.
NINE
The brutality that their Taliban captors inflicted on them happened in a blur. Hugely outnumbering the SAS men, they seemed to take pleasure in kicking and beating them to a pulp. One of them struck Will so hard on the forehead with the butt of his gun that blood streamed down over his eyes, stinging them and blinding him. Only when the three of them were bruised and battered almost beyond recognition did they hear a man bark a single word that they didn't recognise. Immediately the beating stopped.
Held at gunpoint, their hands were tied behind their backs with lengths of roughly made rope.
'It was that fucking informant,' Kennedy gasped under his breath as they were being tied up. 'He sold us down the fucking river.'
'I know,' Will said, quietly. He glanced over to the corner of the square to see if Ismail had reappeared, but there was no sign of him. For now they had other things to worry about. Their Taliban captors began talking harshly to them in Pashto, jabbing them with guns and pushing them in the direction of one of the buildings they had been trying to storm. The three of them were marched through the main door and into a dark room. Their packs were taken from them and the door was locked from the outside.
The moment they were alone, curses started to fly around the room — most of them from Kennedy and most of them aimed at Ismail. 'Little raghead bastard!' he fumed. 'All that bullshit about his wife and kid. Anderson was right about the fucker all along.' The fact that his face was cut and his body was bruised seemed to worry Kennedy far less than Ismail's treachery. Will, too, was less concerned about the physical injuries that had been inflicted on him, choosing instead to feel his way around the dark room, searching for a way out.
As soon as Anderson's name was mentioned, however, they all fell silent. What a great Christmas present for his family back home this was going to be. They wouldn't even have a body to bury — just a plaque somewhere in St Martin's, Hereford, and a few kind words from someone in authority. Will tried to put from his mind the thought that must have been going through the heads of Drew and Kennedy too — that unless they experienced a sudden and remarkable change in their fortunes, that plaque in St Martin's would be joined by three more.
The door opened and they were blinded by the light of a couple of torches shining in on them. A man walked in, his body silhouetted in the doorway. Will could tell that he was aiming a gun in their direction.
This is it, he thought to himself. Strangely, he found he didn't much mind the idea of his impending death. All he felt was a vague sense of remorse that he would not be laid to rest alongside his wife and daughter.
The man spoke. Slowly and in deeply accented English, he addressed the SAS soldiers.