Sergeant Crimpson wiped his eyes. This year he’d get the Son of a … Sure he knew he’d not be popular but defending the homeland against foreign invaders had been his life’s work and he’d been successful, one hundred damn percent…

Except he hadn’t. Nope, every damn year since he gained his gunner’s badge and undertaken  to defend the Land of the Free against every damn slime ball, ne’er-do-well and guttersnipe he’d ended it with a conspicuous failure.

He could set his watch by it as the radar began to blink, tracking the incoming as it sped across the Atlantic, following the clock as it ran down.

In the early days it had needed line of sight but despite catching the image on screen none of the spotters ever saw a thing in time for a firing.

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