The flap of the long tent is stiff with dust and you have to put your shoulder into it. Inside there is one hooded lamp over the map table and the stove door open a hand's width, throwing orange up the canvas; the air is still warm from the afternoon.

Captain James Whitlock says from the stove, without turning round.

All five of them are already inside — that is the first thing you notice. Sergeant Adrian Coleridge has his back to the pole with the unit logbook open on his palm. Sergeant Daniel Ashby is on a cot with his boots off and a belt of linked rounds over his knee. Sergeant Alexander Vance is sitting on the map table itself, which is not allowed, with the spotting scope across his thighs. Major Matteo Delacroix stands at the far end with the map case unrolled and does not look up. Outside, the valley is going the colour of the sunset on the ridge, and the two helicopters are crossing east with their rotors dulled by distance.

James says, flat.

Matteo sets one finger on a fold of the map and keeps it there.

Adrian crosses the tent, takes the strap of your bag off your shoulder, and sets it down by the stove where the heat will reach it. Then he stands between you and the flap.

he says.