‘Mate …’ he started to say.

  ‘Forget it,’ Lukas said. ‘If I was you, I’d have said and thought the same. I almost was thinking the same. I wasn’t sure I hadn’t killed them.’

  ‘Even so,’ Max said, ‘I should have known you’d never do that. It’s just …’

  ‘What?’

  ‘You seemed like you were in a weird place at the beginning of the operation. You weren’t yourself. I thought maybe everything had got on top of you.’

  ‘Maybe it had,’ Lukas replied.

  Max didn’t push it. He figured his friend would open up if he wanted to.

  Lukas continued. ‘It’s just … when Hector told us all about Oscar Juwani and Joseph Kony, and their child soldiers and child slaves, it kind of …’

  ‘Kind of what?’

  ‘It kind of sounded like me, growing up. My whole life, my whole family’s life, was gangs. I saw kids with guns every day of the week. Oscar Juwani’s just a gang leader. Those Blackshirts, they’re just like my old friends. Different part of the world, different language, but not different people. You get me?’

  ‘I think so,’ Max said.

  ‘That guy Babaka? He’s not so different to me.’

  ‘You’re wrong, you know,’ Max said. ‘You couldn’t be less like Babaka if you tried. The gang member who killed your mum and dad? He would be dead if you hadn’t done the right thing and turned him in to the police. Babaka likes killing people, Lukas. You go out of your way to avoid it, despite everything you’ve been through. Babaka continues the cycle. You break it.’

  ‘You’re wrong,’ Lukas said. ‘If Babaka was here in front of me, after what he made me do to Lili and Abby …’ Lukas was silent for a full thirty seconds. When he spoke, his voice wavered a little. ‘I think I’d want to kill him.’

  ‘Remember what Sami said to Oscar Juwani, Lukas. We’re Special Forces Cadets. We don’t kill people. We save them.’

  ‘When the Watchers come, they’ll have an SAS team with them. They won’t hold back. You know what that means?’

  ‘For the Blackshirts, yes,’ Max said.

  ‘So what does it matter who kills them – the SAS or us?’

  ‘It matters,’ Max said firmly. ‘Trust me, Lukas, it matters. We can still help people.’

  ‘Like who?’

  ‘The Redshirts and the Blueshirts. I don’t know about you, but I’m not leaving here until we know they’re going to be taken back out of the jungle to safety. They live, Lukas. If you and I have anything to do with it, they live.’

  Max listened hard, straining for the sound of approaching choppers, but all he heard was the confused shouting of the Blackshirts – then a burst of fire from the right-hand side of the clearing. A brief silence, then two more bursts. There were ferocious shouts in the clearing, and Max heard Babaka roaring instructions at the others. ‘I’m going to check what’s happening,’ he whispered to Lukas.

  He forced his way through the jungle to the edge of the open space. The Blackshirts stood in a line, facing the nine o’clock position, their weapons engaged. The remaining Redshirts and Blueshirts huddled near the cage where Max and Sami had been locked up. There was no sign of Roland. Babaka barked an order. The Blackshirts all fired a single shot into the trees.

  ‘Move,’ Max hissed to himself, willing Lili, Abby and Sami to get out of the firing line. The Blackshirts advanced and entered the jungle, moving out of sight. Max maintained his position for a little longer. He saw Roland sprinting down the steps from the plateau towards the Redshirts and Blueshirts.

  That was enough. He made his way back to Lukas. ‘The Blackshirts have left the clearing,’ he said.

  ‘They fired their weapons?’

  Max nodded. ‘But the others will have been on the move by then.’

  They waited in silence. The occasional shout of a Blackshirt deep in the jungle reached them, but nothing else. Max didn’t voice the nagging worry in his mind: the watch had been in Babaka’s possession for more than a day. Was it still operational? What if the Blackshirt had damaged it? What if the Watchers weren’t on their way after all? The cadets couldn’t avoid their enemy for ever …

  Movement, nearby. Max and Lukas engaged their weapons and peered blindly through the darkness. Max’s finger was sweaty on the trigger guard. His lips were dry. He knew people were close, but he didn’t know how many or who they were …

  ‘It’s us.’ It was Sami.

  Max lowered his weapon. ‘Here,’ he whispered.

  Seconds later, the others were with them.

  The cadets stood in a circle, facing outwards, shoulders touching. They raised their weapons at a forty-five degree angle. ‘Now!’ Lili said.

  They fired. The short, sharp bursts were almost deafening, and the recoil from the automatic rifles jolted sharply against Max’s shoulder. He made his weapon safe and lowered it. ‘Move back,’ he whispered. ‘Further into the jungle. They’ll be heading this way.’

  ‘I just hope that Roland is clearing a landing zone,’ Abby muttered. ‘I’d hate to be doing all this for nothing.’

  They ploughed further into the jungle, away from the clearing. The shouts of the Blackshirts grew closer. They sounded stressed and confused. They obviously thought they were under attack, but they didn’t know where from. It was a volatile situation. The Blackshirts would be scared. And trigger-happy.

  ‘Get down!’ Lili hissed. ‘They’re close.’

  The cadets hit the forest floor. Max found himself at the base of a tree trunk, his weapon pointing randomly into the darkness. He could hear his heart thumping. He could also hear someone moving through the foliage. He tried to estimate how close they were. Ten metres? A little less maybe? It was impossible to be accurate in the darkness. He held his breath, trying to keep as still and silent as possible.

  Then he heard it.

  It was muffled and distant, but there was no doubt that it was the sound of a helicopter – maybe more than one – approaching from behind them. It quickly grew much louder. The Blackshirts started shouting at each other again. The proximity of their voices made Max realise they were closer than he had thought: several of them right nearby. He felt his muscles tensing up, his finger tensing on the trigger.

  Then the choppers were almost on top of them. And with the choppers came light. Powerful searchlights, moving at speed, the fierce beams penetrating the canopy. Max winced. A ray of light swung across him, hurting his eyes. But more than that, it lit him up. He heard the Blackshirts shouting again. Another pass of the light illuminated, for a split second, a face. It was Babaka: he had seen Max and he was pointing his weapon right at him.

  Darkness. Then gunfire. The sound of Babaka’s weapon was ear-splitting. Max expected to feel the bullets penetrating his body. Instead he felt them drum into the tree trunk just above his head. He rolled quickly to the right as a searchlight passed their way again. This time it just missed Max, but he saw Babaka down on one knee, his face wild, his gun swinging from side to side. Standing behind him, his weapon pointing at the back of Babaka’s head, was Lukas.

  ‘Lukas, no!’ Max bellowed. They were all in darkness again. A second burst of fire flew in Max’s direction. He could feel the air displacement as the bullets whizzed past his head. And when the searchlight reappeared, lighting up the ground in front of him, Max could no longer see either Babaka or Lukas.

  The choppers – Max thought there were three – had passed over. It sounded like they were touching down in the clearing. The jungle was in darkness again, but there was movement all around. Max stayed very still, crouching in the darkness, desperately hoping that none of the Blackshirts would stumble across him. The foliage around him rustled. Branches creaked and snapped underfoot. Then, suddenly, there was the hushed thud of a weapon being discharged twice in quick succession.

  Max knew what that meant. The rescue team had arrived.

  He lowered his weapon and laid it on the ground. From somewhere behind him, there was another suppressed double tap. Max raised his hands, palms upwards – and not before time. A figure loomed above him. He could just distinguish the outline of a person in full military gear: camo trousers and jacket, bulging ops waistcoat and a Kevlar helmet with night-vision goggles and boom mic. And a weapon, of course: an assault rifle with a short stock pressed into the soldier’s shoulder.

  ‘My name is Max Johnson,’ Max whispered. ‘I’m a British citizen.’

  To his right, there was another double tap. The soldier raised his assault rifle and quickly fired another two rounds. Max heard the unmistakable sound of a body slumping to the ground. Then the soldier held out one hand. Max grabbed it. The soldier pulled him to his feet, then spoke. ‘Nice work, Max. Hope these guys in the black shirts weren’t friends of yours.’

  It was a female voice.

  ‘Angel?’ He felt suddenly drenched with relief.

  Angel didn’t reply. She raised her weapon again and fired two more shots. Another body hit the ground. ‘Some kid in the clearing said it’s the ones in black shirts who are armed. How many are there?’ she demanded.

  ‘Fifteen in total.’

  Angel spoke into the boom mic. ‘This is Alpha three. We have fifteen targets in black shirts. Confirming five kills.’ She cocked her head and listened. Somewhere, a little further off, Max heard more gunfire.

  ‘We have nine targets down,’ she said to Max. ‘Sami, Lili and Abby are safe. There’s no sign of Lukas yet.’

  Max felt sick. ‘Last time I saw him, he was with Babaka – Oscar Juwani’s right-hand guy.’

  ‘And Oscar Juwani?’

  ‘Dead,’ Max said.

  ‘How?’

  ‘You don’t want to know.’

  ‘Get back to the clearing. No heroics, Max. I’m going after this Babaka guy.’

  ‘Angel, find him quickly. If you don’t, I think Lukas might try to kill him.… ’

  ‘Get to the clearing,’ Angel said, and she melted back into the darkness.

  Max stumbled through the jungle, following the sound of rotor blades and the shards of light penetrating the jungle from the clearing. He ignored the thorns cutting his face and the scurrying creatures fleeing his path. He just wanted to be out of the jungle, away from all the horrors it contained.

  He burst out into the clearing by the log pile. Sami, Lili and Abby were there, crouched down behind the logs. Three Chinooks had touched down. Their double rotors were still spinning, kicking dust up into the air which sparked against the blades, causing a strange circular glow. The tailgates were open. In the air, circling the clearing, was an Apache attack helicopter, its guns and missiles visible. Soldiers, heavily armed, swarmed through the clearing, shouting instructions and securing the area. All the Redshirts and Blueshirts were on the ground, face-down. Max tried to pick out Roland, but couldn’t see him amid the confusion. Then he looked over towards the suspended cage, where the SAS hostages were being held. There was much activity and torchlight here. The huts blocked Max’s view of the ground, but he could see the cage being lowered.

  ‘They’re not going to be in a good way,’ said a voice behind Max. ‘But as far as we can tell, they’re alive, just. Thanks to you lot.’

  Max turned. Hector stood there. He was dressed as Angel had been, in military camo and night-vision goggles, though these were perched on the top of his helmet.

  ‘Lukas –’ Max started to say.

  ‘Angel and Woody will find him,’ Hector said firmly.

  Max pointed into the clearing. ‘The Redshirts and Blueshirts,’ he said, ‘you mustn’t shoot any of them.’

  ‘They’ll all be fine. We’re airlifting them to safety. They’ll get the help and support they need. We were beginning to worry about you guys. How come you didn’t activate the PLB earlier?’

  ‘Long story …’ Max started to say, then fell silent. Two figures had just emerged from the treeline. Babaka first, his hands on his head. And behind him, his assault rifle pointing at the back of Babaka’s skull, was Lukas. Angel and Woody burst into the clearing, clearly searching for something. When they saw Lukas and Babaka, they stopped.

  Babaka was sweating, but there was a fierce madness to him, along with his usual arrogance, as if he didn’t care whether he lived or died. Lukas seemed calm and determined. His finger lay lightly on the trigger of his rifle. He was a few millimetres away from taking a life – for real, this time.

  Max stood up and walked towards Lukas. They stared at each other.

  ‘You’re not that person, Lukas,’ Max said. ‘We all know that. You’re the only one who doubts it.’

  Lukas lowered his head. Max thought he was going to shoot. But then he kicked Babaka in the back of the knee. The Blackshirt fell to his knees and Lukas lowered his weapon. ‘Nobody is to shoot him,’ he announced. ‘I want him to rot in jail.’ He turned away from his prisoner as Hector ran up and bound Babaka’s hands behind his back.

  Max strode up to his friend, wanting to shake his hand. Then Lili cried out ‘Roland!’ and Abby swore. At the top of the steps leading to the plateau was Katva the Redshirt, on his knees. Roland had a gun to his head.

  ‘Roland,’ Max whispered, ‘don’t do it.’ He turned to the others. ‘Come with me!’ he shouted.

  The cadets sprinted across the clearing towards the steps. Max took them two at a time, hurtling up to Roland and Katva, his friends on his heel.

  ‘Stand back!’ Roland shouted when Max was up on the plateau. ‘I don’t want to hurt you too.’ His gun hand shook and his face was damp with sweat. The barrel of his handgun was almost touching the back of Katva’s head. Katva was trembling too.

  ‘Mate,’ Max said, ‘seriously, you don’t need to –’

  But before he could finish, Lukas had shoulder-barged him out of the way. ‘Go ahead,’ he said. ‘Shoot him.’

  Roland’s hand shook a bit more.

  ‘Seriously,’ Lukas said. ‘nobody’s going to stop you. But before you pull that trigger, have a think about what happens next. Maybe Katva has a brother of his own. Or a sister. Maybe his mum and dad are still alive. What will they do if they find out how he died? Shrug their shoulders and think, Whatever?’

  Roland swallowed hard. He remained silent.

  ‘Or will they want revenge, just like you did? How many people will they want to kill to get it? Just you, or you and your family? Or you and your friends? Or just some random, innocents who have nothing to do with this?’

  ‘You expect me to forgive him?’ Roland asked, his voice little more than a whisper. ‘What about justice?’

  Lukas stepped a little closer. ‘Justice and retribution aren’t the same thing, Roland. Trust me. I’ve seen what happens when people get them mixed up.’ He glanced back at Max, then at Roland again. ‘You can break the cycle,’ he said. ‘You can do your bit to stop the violence. All you have to do is step back and lower your gun.’

  ‘He’s right, Roland,’ Abby called over the sound of the choppers. ‘Shooting him achieves nothing.’

  There was a pause. Then Roland fired his weapon. Three rounds, in quick succession, so close and loud that Max almost felt as if he had been shot.

  But he hadn’t been. And nor had Katva. Roland had emptied the weapon into the ground. He kicked Katva in the small of the back. Katva collapsed. Roland walked up to Lukas and handed him the weapon. ‘I never want to see another gun in my life,’ he said.

  Epilogue

  The next few hours were a blur of activity. Babaka, Katva and two other Blackshirts were held under armed guard. The remainder were brought out of the jungle and placed in body bags. Two of the Chinooks airlifted the prisoners, the body bags and half the Blueshirts and Redshirts out of the jungle before returning to continue the evacuation. A temporary medical tent was set up near the plateau. Max saw the SAS prisoners being stretchered into it for immediate attention, and with a twist of anxiety in his stomach he realised he had forgotten about the kid with the septic hands. He searched the clearing with a rising sense of panic until he found the little boy sitting by the half-burned log pile, clutching his knees and shivering. The boy didn’t seem to know where he was. Max wasn’t even sure he was aware of Max’s presence. He bent down, scooped him up in his arms – the boy’s body was burning up – and carried him across the clearing to the medical tent.

  Inside the tent, three medics were tending to the SAS men under the glare of some portable lights. The captured soldiers were gaunt, their faces covered with sores, their eyes bloodshot. They smelled foul. But they were alive. Just.

  One of the medics turned to Max. Max thought he was about to chide him, but then he saw the state of the boy in Max’s arms. ‘What’s wrong with him?’ he asked.

  ‘Infection,’ Max said, ‘I think. From his hands. He’s been getting worse.’

  The medic nodded. ‘Leave him with us. We’ll clean him up, get some antibiotics into him.’ He took the boy from Max. ‘You have to leave. Medical personnel only.’

  Max nodded. He gave the kid one final look, and left the tent.

  Outside, more children were being loaded into the Chinooks. Sami, Lukas, Abby and Lili were helping Woody, Angel and several other soldiers lead them into the choppers. Hector was waiting outside the medical tent. His face was grubby, his beard wet with sweat and humidity. ‘Who’s the kid you just took in there?’ he said.

  ‘I … I don’t know his name,’ Max said. ‘He was in a bad way.’

  ‘They’ll do their best for him.’

  ‘What if their best isn’t enough?’

  Hector gave him a steady stare. Max bowed his head.

  ‘You saved some lives today, Max. That’s getting to be a habit for you and your team. Your dad would be proud.’

  ‘We lost some lives too.’

  Hector nodded. ‘Sometimes,’ he said, ‘you can’t do one without doing the other. At the end of the day, that’s what soldiering’s all about.’

  ‘We nearly lost our own lives.’

  ‘Sometimes, that’s what soldiering is all about too.’ He put a hand on Max’s shoulder. ‘Look on the bright side,’ he said. ‘You haven’t killed anybody yet. Although young Lukas came close, from what I hear. He and I will need a discussion about that little strategy of his.’