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terrifying moment Burke had wildly imagined that the drop was coming now, that there had been an accident and he and the cabin were about to start a long and steepening dive into the freezing water of the Kattegat. His hand shook as he lit another cigarette.
    ‘What you got there?’ Sergeant Hyde leant over Clarence’s shoulder and tried to see what he had so hurriedly stuffed into his pack. He reached in and pulled out the surprisingly heavy small screw-top cannister. Barely the size of a modest Thermos flask, it felt like it weighed twenty pounds or more. ‘You quite sure you want to undo it, Sarge?’ There was nothing in the sniper’s tone that conveyed threat or warning, but Hyde hesitated before taking hold of the top and starting to unscrew it. ‘Don’t.’
Hyde turned to see that it was Libby who had grabbed his wrist. ‘I’ve just about had enough of you. The major may have laid on that last minute trip to the refugee registry for you, but you’re not under any special protection. I’m warning you . . .’
    ‘Go ahead then, but I’m warning you, Sarge. You undo that and you might lose your nuts as well as your face, or at least the use of them.’ Not for a moment did Libby relax his hold, until Hyde slackened his grip on the container top, then he let go fast and took a step back.
    ‘What’s in this?’ Although he repeated the question, there was a hardening suspicion in the NCO’s mind.
‘I think you know what’s in it, Sarge, but if you want to make sure then go ahead, open it by all means. Be my guest.’ Taking a sip at his coffee and pulling a face at the taste, Clarence reached out for and took the weighty cylinder from Hyde’s grasp.
‘How many rounds have you got?’ Libby maintained his distance. ‘Six.’
The crowd that had gathered drew back as the sniper undid the top and pulled out a single 7.62mm NATO rifle round, unremarkable except for its exceptional length and the unusual yellow and purple colour code bands about its tip. ‘Really, there’s nothing to be afraid of. The depleted uranium core is in a lead sheath.’
‘I’m the armourer, remember.’ Along with all of the others, Libby was staying well clear. ‘Those little buggers were withdrawn a year ago. The shielding’s inadequate. What the hell do you want with them?’ Clarence casually rolled the bullet in his palm, making no move to replace it. ‘On two recent occasions I’ve been in good positions for clear shots at Commie officers; long-range, but nothing exceptional. I’ve hit them and seen them go down, only to watch them get to their feet a few minutes later and sprint for cover under their own power. One of them offered himself a second time, and I only put him down permanently by using a head shot. They’re wearing a new type of body armour, it can’t be anything else…’
‘I ain’t heard nothing about no new body armour.’
    Clarence brushed Dooley’s interruption aside. ‘Neither have I, but I’ve seen the evidence. I’m telling you, at a hundred yards or more, the worst those Ruskie officers suffered was a temporary loss of wind and dignity. I want to kill them, not play pat-a-cake. When they go down I want them to stay there, like they usually do.’
    There was movement among the front rank of men gathered about the sniper, and Andrea pushed through. She lifted the bullet from his hand and examined it. ‘I thought that these were to be used against light armoured vehicles, or gunners behind shields.’
    Retrieving the bullet, Clarence put it back in the cylinder. ‘That was their original use, yes, but if they’ll punch through sixty millimetres of plate at two hundred yards they’ll certainly go through this new personal protection the Ruskies are bringing into use, maybe out to six hundred yards or better.’ ‘If those fancy flak-jackets have got a metal insert, you’ll get the added bonus that they’ll burst into flame, whoosh.’ Dooley turned the flame of his lighter to maximum