He moved to cut the German off, a sense of triumph welling up in his throat. Twice Ziegler looked back towards the house, but the two men were only about twenty yards apart when he caught sight of Farnham. ‘Halt,’ the SAS man yelled, noticing the gun in the German’s hand for the first time.
Ziegler seemed to hesitate, the gun hanging loose in his right hand, and for a moment Farnham thought he was going to surrender. But the German had apparently made a realistic assessment of his life expectancy in Allied captivity, for he suddenly accelerated down the path, firing off a shot as he did so.
Farnham instinctively ducked, and his foot slipped in the wet grass, sending him sprawling. He scrambled back to his feet and went after Ziegler. In the distance another door slammed.
On the jetty the German was desperately working at the knotted mooring rope. As Farnham walked calmly towards him he looked up, desperation in his eyes, and wildly opened fire with his revolver. The SAS man braced his legs, raised the Webley into the firing position with both hands and pulled the trigger. Ziegler spun with the impact, and collapsed with a dull thud on to his knees, the gun still in his hand. There was probably no need for a second bullet, but Farnham fired one anyway, a surge of terrible satisfaction blazing in his mind. The body collapsed into a foetal crouch on the edge of the jetty, and then slowly slid off, entering the water below with a dull, plopping sound.
On the path he could hear running feet.
‘Boss,’ a familiar voice yelled.
Farnham was smiling to himself when the first bullet hit him. Once, twice, he felt the agony of something ripping through his chest, and a cloud of pain seemed to expand inside him, red to purple, purple to black.
Rafferty and McCaigh opened up with the Stens, raking the bushes where the muzzle flashes had come from. There was no returning fire, and they found the boy lying face down, half his head blown away. He couldn’t have been more than twelve.
There were footsteps behind them, and a woman walked into view, rain streaming down her face. She said nothing, just bent down and cradled her son’s bloody head in her hands.
Rafferty picked up the boy’s gun and walked back down the path to where Farnham was lying, his eyes closed, his lips slightly curled in a smile of satisfaction. McCaigh walked up to stand beside him, and in the dim light his face was the one his father had described.
OTHER TITLES IN THE SAS OPERATION SERIES
Behind Iraqi Lines
Mission to Argentina
Sniper Fire in Belfast
Desert Raiders
Samarkand Hijack
Embassy Siege
Guerrillas in the Jungle
Secret War in Arabia
Colombian Cocaine War
Invisible Enemy in Kazakhstan
Heroes of the South Atlantic
Counter-insurgency in Aden
Gambian Bluff
Bosnian Inferno
Night Fighters in France
Death on Gibraltar
Into Vietnam
Kashmir Rescue
Guatemala – Journey into Evil
Headhunters of Borneo
Kidnap the Emperor!
War on the Streets
Days of the Dead
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