Steve saw Rob take one in the neck. He watched him spin round and fall right next to him. Rob lay there, hands clutching his throat, legs jerking, eyes rolling, mouth opening and closing - like a fish on the deck of a trawler.

“Go. Just go, Steve. Nothin’ you can do for me here.” Rob’s voice sounded strange, sounded like he was being strangled.
“But Rob …”

There were other voices now, voices of the enemy finally breaking cover and rushing towards them.

Steve started running. He was running though a wood, dodging trees, running through brambles and ferns and roots that were trying to grab him. He kept running until he could hear no more sound from the chasing enemy.

He was slumped against a tree, breathing heavily. Oh, Rob! I should have stayed with him, he thought. Guilt began to replace the adrenalin. But Rob had told him to go.

What was that?

There was a rustle in a nearby tree. Steve started. It was just a bird. His eyes following it as it broke through the canopy, as it wheeled then glided smoothly across the blue patch of sky above. He thought again about Rob and what they might be doing to him. Then he thought of his own mother at home. His stomach clenched. He could picture her face. She hadn't wanted him here.

Below him the ground slipped away steeply to a river. Should I try to go down there and cross the water he wondered. Perhaps that would slow them down. Or perhaps they wouldn’t think he could cross it. That might just help me escape.

Suddenly there were voices nearby. They didn't seem to care if they were overheard. Perhaps they want me to hear, he thought, to panic me. “He won’t have got far,” one said. “Yeh, he’s here somewhere. We’ll get him for sure.”

If only I can run down there and jump the river. It’s worth a try.

In an ecstasy of tension he began to run again. Wet leaves whipped across his face. He smelt the damp vegetation, and he heard the pounding of his blood. The exhilaration of the chase thrilled through him. Yes, I can make it. I can escape. They won't stop me. But now he was overrunning himself. His legs were unable to keep pace with the speed and the incline. He stumbled. Now he was spinning, tumbling, feet no longer touching the ground. He was flying through the air. At last he hit the ground. His ears filled with the grating noise of pebbles and stones spraying from where he landed and then he heard the groan of air as it was forced from his chest.

“Ah my leg!” Arching his body forward, he saw the ripped trousers and the gravel-pitted flesh beneath and he screwed up his eyes, waiting for the wave of pain that he knew was about to come. “Mum!”

*****

He could make out faces above him. Dark faces, partly silhouetted against the light. The faces of the enemy. Most were grinning. Some had their guns pointing at him.

And there, staring down, stood Rob - a look of concern on his face.

*****

The ambulance siren had stopped several minutes ago and now the two paramedics, a middle-aged man and a young woman, were standing next to a group of small boys at the side of a little stream. In their midst lay a ginger-haired, freckle-faced 10-year old, covered in dirt, his chin wobbling a bit.
“You did well, lads, not to move him. And you were right to call us, Robert - he does look quite a mess. Then he spoke to the boy on the ground. “But don’t worry, Stephen, you’re going to be fine. Nothing broken, son, just a grazed leg which I’ve bandaged up."


*****

“Ace death you did there, Rob,” said Steve. The two boys were meandering happily towards their homes, reliving their day, grins on their grubby faces.
“Not as good as yours, though,” Rob replied. “You actually had me worried. But just look at the state of you, and them trousers. She’s going to kill you, your mum, when she sees them. You know what she told you about playing soldiers in the woods.”
“Yeh. I know.”
"Great game, though."

*****

“I just don’t understand, Bill ..." the young paramedic said to her partner as they were driving back to the ambulance station, "…why kids have to go chasing each other around, playing bloody war, what with pretend guns and all."
“Well, that’s what they do … lads,” replied Bill. ”Just human nature, isn’t it? That’s what blokes do. Play at war. You’re never going to change that.”