For a number of reasons she'd also decided not to tell Sean that he was Niamh's father. Uppermost in her mind was an overriding instinct to protect her daughter from any further harm or emotional upset. It was obvious from what Sean had been saying that ultimately he was planning to go back to the States. Gaining a father who was already making plans to leave would be too much for Niamh to bear: it was in no one's best interest.

In the morning the family had breakfasted together, then Sean and Danny set off for Newry to pick up the girls' passports from their mother's house.

It had been decided during the course of their conversations the previous evening even before they'd heard the news reports that staying in Northern Ireland was no longer an option for any of them.

Back in the car, Sean reached across and retuned the radio to a music channel. David Bowie was singing 'Wild-Eyed Boy' from Freecloud. 'It's good to hear some decent music for a change,' he said, looking round at Danny. 'All they play in Tuscaloosa is bloody Country and Western or bluegrass. Not that they're shit, but it does your head in after a while . . . Are you all right, our lad? You haven't said a word for the past ten minutes.' asked Sean.

'I want to go in and visit Angela's ma, Mrs Fitzpatrick, before we head off.'

'Is that wise?' asked Sean. 'The RUC are out in force. Could cause us a few problems.'

'The least I can do is pay my respects in person.'

'It's up to you, our lad.'

The first he was aware that anything was wrong was when the car started swerving from side to side. Danny struggled briefly to keep it travelling in a straight line before the car suddenly slewed off to one side and crashed into a deep ditch that ran along the edge of the narrow road.

They came to a shuddering halt with the car resting on its side at a ninety-degree angle: the front and rear offside wheels spinning in mid-air and steam billowing from the engine.

Sean was slumped against the passenger door with his head pressed against the roof of the car and blood oozing from a cut above his right eye.

Luckily Danny had been wearing his seatbelt otherwise he would have landed on top of him. Instead he was clinging on to the steering wheel and trying to manoeuvre himself into a position where he could wind down the window and escape.

'Jesus, Danny, what the hell happened there?'

'God only knows, I think the front tyre blew.'

'We need to get out your side.'

'You okay?' asked Danny.

'Fine! Got a crack on the head, but I'm fine. C'mon, let's get out.'

Danny braced his legs against the steering column while he unclipped his seat belt, then clamped his arms on the side of the car and pulled himself clear.

He jumped down onto the rough tarmac, then turned to help Sean. As he reached in to take hold of his brother's arm, he caught a movement on the hillside just a few hundred metres over to his left.

There was a muzzle flash.

Sean's head was just above the level of the car door when the first bullet whistled past and caught Danny on the shoulder.

The impact spun his body backwards and sent him crashing to the ground.

Sean ducked back inside. Another round pierced the roof and buried itself in the padding of the driver's seat closely followed by another, then another.

Sean shouted to Danny, 'Are you hit?'

The roof exploded just above his head.

'Fuckers got me in the shoulder,' replied Danny. 'The front tyre's in shreds: they must have shot it out.'

'Where's your gun?'

'Nine mil's in the glove box,' replied Danny. 'Armalite's in the back.'

'Any movement out there?'

'Up on the hill to the left, but I've no idea how many.'

'I'm going to throw you out the Armalite. Tell me when you're set up, and see if you can keep the bastards' heads down. I need to get out of here. You ready? Here it comes.'

The instant Sean pushed the AR15 assault rifle up out of the window he heard several more rounds cracking off the hillside.

Another three holes appeared in the car roof.

'Have you got it?'

'Yeah!'

'On the count of three?'

'Go for it!' replied Danny.

'One . . . two . . . three.'

Danny stood up with the assault rifle clamped to his injured shoulder and sprayed several short bursts into the hillside.

Almost immediately there was a return of fire from not one, but two locations three hundred metres separating them.

Danny retaliated, this time alternating between the two areas.

Sean was already out of the window and scrambling across the door. He was nearly over the edge of the car when a bullet punched his leg out from underneath him. A searing hot pain surged up the middle of his calf. 'Bastard,' he screamed as he crumpled onto the ground next to Danny. 'Ya fucker!'

His calf muscle had a six-inch tear running lengthways along it.

'Is it bad?' asked Danny.

Sean shook his head. 'Nah! Stings like fuck, but I've had worse playing football.'

'You reckon we could make it across that field?'

'Probably . . .'

'But?'

'But, there's no glory in running away. They're never going to write a rebel song about two brothers that jumped over a hedge and crawled away.'

Sean and Danny exchanged a look.

'We are in the shit, are we not?' asked Sean. 'If there are two snipers up on the hill, there's bound to be another one at the bottom of the field behind just waiting for us to come leaping over that hedge. And then there's the fucker that shot out our tyres. He'll be along in a minute as well. These SAS guys give good ambush.'

'We could split up, take a flank each, see how far we get down the field,' said Danny. 'Take at least one of them in a pincer movement.'

'I'm not crawling anywhere,' replied Sean.

'Nah neither am I,' said Danny. '. . . Listen!'

'What?'

'What's that noise?' asked Danny.

A low rumbling noise like a peal of rolling thunder growled in the distance.

'Here, you take the pistol and I'll have this,' said Sean, reaching over to take the Armalite from Danny. 'They've got back-up. Shitehawks have called in a chopper.'

'Ah well,' sighed Danny, 'that's the end of that then, eh?'

'No option but to take the fuckers on, eh?'

'Aye, it looks like it,' replied Danny. 'Remember that night at Cailleach Berra Lough?'

'Jesus! Talk about random! What the hell's that got to do with anything?'

'I never thanked you for saving my life.'

Sean thought for a second then said, 'You've got it all wrong, Wub. It wasn't me saved you. I was too scared to go on the ice. It was Lep ran on and grabbed you.'

'You sure?'

'Positive. That ice was thinner than a sheet of cling film.'

Danny looked up at the cloudless sky and sighed. 'Ah, well . . . thank you, Lep.'

'You know, the worst part of those years I spent in America was not having you there. I missed you like crazy, our lad. I wish we had a wee bit longer.'

'Sure, you've nothing to worry about Sean: we'll be together for the rest of our lives,' said Danny, looking over at his brother.

Another thought struck him. 'What does Wub stand for?'

'What made you think of that?'

'Because I've never known.'

The helicopter was getting closer, drowning out their voices.

'Wee ugly bastard,' shouted Sean over the din.

Danny smiled.

Sean cocked the Armalite and stood up. 'You coming?'

Danny raised himself off the ground and stood beside his brother.

They walked out from behind the car together and took it in turns to fire into the hillside and up at the approaching dark-green military helicopter.

Suddenly the air around them was filled with the rasp and crack of gunfire.

The ground they were standing on disintegrated and crumbled and seemed to vanish beneath their feet as the two men disappeared behind a fine mist of blood, dried earth and smoke.

Their bodies buckled and bucked as the bullets ripped and tore at their flesh.

When they fell they landed side by side in the ditch at the front of the upturned car.

Sean lay staring blindly at the clear blue sky overhead, his eye sockets filled with blood.

The shooting had finally stopped.

Through the stillness he could hear the echo of a woman's voice calling to him.

Two young boys raced each other across the sands of Cushendun towards their parents, who were standing together at the head of the bay.

Sean could see his father waiting to sweep the winner up into his open arms. He tried even harder to catch his brother, who was just a few paces in front.

But as they approached the finish line, Sean noticed Danny starting to tire. Rather than push past and overtake him which he could easily have done Sean held back so that his brother could still win the race.

He stood and smiled at Danny's whoops and screams as his dad spun him high through the air.

Sean reached out and fumbled beside him, searching for his brother's hand. Using what little strength he had left, Sean pulled Danny closer.

'You'll be all right, our lad, don't you worry now,' he said as he kissed his brother on the forehead for the last time.

Epilogue.