Except for the boss updating HQ on the net, nobody spoke. Finally, as they neared the FOB, Dave asked about the casualties. He was relieved to hear that they were still both T1s. If either had reached the point where no one could help them, they'd have slipped down the emergency agenda to T4.

He remembered the way Steve's leg had sailed so gracefully through the air. It must only have taken a few seconds but he remembered it in slow motion, as though it had taken an hour. And at the end of the hour, two bodies lying in the street.

Jordan Nelson had recently joined 1 Platoon from another battalion. He was liked, but not yet fully integrated with his new section. He was unmarried but had talked about his family in Watford a lot. He was the oldest of three boys. Or was it four? Jordan talked about his younger brothers as though he was their father. Dave imagined the mother and brothers answering the doorbell, standing in a hallway full of muddy football boots and hooks piled with too many coats. He tried not to think about the silence in the hallway when the Families Officer told them the news.

A Families Officer would also be standing on Steve and Leanne's doorstep back in Wiltshire in a few hours. The other women in the street would be at the window; they'd see the Families Officer ring the bell and fear the worst. Dave's wife Jenny would be sure to see. Leanne and Steve lived right across the road. Sol's wife Adi was a few doors up but she would know, because she always knew everything. Jamie's wife, Agnieszka, who lived up a side street, would probably guess what was going on, even though her English wasn't that good. And like all the others, she'd cry. Both with sadness for Leanne and relief for herself because it wasn't her own husband who was maimed for life.

'You all right, Sarge?' Jamie Dermott asked quietly.