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was an Illegal Vehicle Checkpoint (IVCP) a second car would now be blocking their retreat, probably boasting several armed men with itchy trigger fingers.
    “Moving.” Snow quickly got out of the front of the stationary Vectra and climbed back in behind Fox. He retrieved a short stock HK assault rifle from its hiding place.
    The drill for a possible IVCP was something they had practised until it became second nature to them. They would approach the obstruction slowly, weapons ready. If an x-ray appeared Fox was to shoot through the open side window. Immediately Snow would burst out of the Vectra, grab the body and throw it into the back of the car before they raced off. If needed Fox could use the flash-bangs, but this was still no defence against a roadside bomb…Snow felt his heart beat faster, their armoured Q car could not take the direct blast of an IED.
    Behind them Napp spoke over the net. “Nothing seen here.”
    “Have that. Proceeding to possible contact.”
    Fox put the Vectra into first, rolled forward then up into second. The Opel closed the distance to the stationary vehicle as both men readied themselves for immediate action. Unexpectedly the driver of the abandoned car reappeared; he casually looked up and waved before getting into his car and driving away.
    “What’s the bugger up to?” Fox asked.
    They came level with where the car had stopped. Snow looked left and then right as they passed. He saw cattle grids at the entrance to cow fields. “He was a farmer closing his gates.”
    Fox let out a sigh of relief. “Then we have no beef with him.”
    Snow smiled in the twilight. Fox stopped the car and Snow got back into the front. As they carried on for the next half hour and moved deeper into South Armagh, Snow became pensive. He cared little of the politics that caused the conflict. What was far more important to him than religion or nationality was the protection of the Northern Irish people on both sides, like the farmer, who just wanted the chance to get on with their lives in peace. The fact that they were being targeted by armed extremists gnawed at him.
    As the adrenalin ebbed away Snow’s focus alternated between the road ahead and the dense hedgerows that hemmed them in on each side. It had been a cold November evening and now that night was upon them the temperature had dropped to below freezing. They were dressed in cheap dark jeans and scruffy parkas - just a couple of lads returning from enjoying ‘the craic’. However both men had black balaclavas and gloves stowed in their pockets.
    Snow and Fox were familiar with the layout of the target having studied surveillance photographs taken by the two man Det team monitoring the farmhouse. The Observation Post (OP) was in the treeline, on a hill half a mile from the target. The farmhouse sat on the edge of a village and faced east onto a lane. It was set on a concrete yard with a driveway. Fields surrounded it on three sides, the southern side leading to the hill. A barn stood behind the farmhouse at the end of the yard and the start of the fields. The weapons cache was believed to be covered by a tarpaulin at the back of the barn. The farm had originally produced milk but had been forced to close years before. The current resident, McCracken, South Armagh’s hardest ‘hard man’ had no interest in dairy farming. Although they had seen others come and go, the OP had placed four IRA men inside the house at the present time.
    “You ready, kid?” Fox asked sarcastically.
    “I was born ready.” Snow answered flatly, ignoring the jibe.
    Fox grinned. “No. You were born yesterday; I’m asking if you are ready.”
    Snow shook his head slowly and said nothing. Fox pressed a button to disable the brake lights before he slowed the Vectra and pulled into a layby. A line of trees obscured them from the road. Once behind these the dark green family saloon was all but invisible. A minute later the Sierra drove past as a steady rate. It would