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Lavishly camouflaged and armed with broken branches and sticks, customised until they resembled the latest in 1970s mercenary hardware, and with Army/Navy store cast-off berets and cap badges and a canteen each slung around their waists, the two boys knelt and appraised the ridge on the other side of the field with a grim, professional eye. Vantage points for snipers abounded. There, by the outcrop of stone that guarded the left flank and that looked down into the hollow defile at the edge of the ridge, was a clear position for ambush.
Richard W. Strachan lives in Glasgow. He has had stories printed in Markings, Sein und Werden and Gutter magazine. He writes regular book reviews for The Skinny and The Scottish Review of Books. He also writes a blog at richardstrachan.wordpress.com