Divided We Stand, United We Fall
an excerpt

Prologue

Bullets fell low over Basra like hot, deadly summer rain. Bumping along the dirt road which formed a loose border around sniper territory was a battered jeep that was once white and behind the wheel was a man in his late thirties wearing a washed-out flannel shirt, stained khakis and military issue boots. British born but of Italian descent, his olive skin, thick black hair, bushy beard and tendency to carry a paunch meant that to the casual observer he did not stand out in his surroundings. His mother had named him Alvaro Ricardo Nolan at birth, everyone in the field knew him as Operative Richard Nolan, but over here his name was Mahmoud Said. Brown eyes, small and guarded beneath his deeply creased brow, scanned the rugged terrain.
On the outskirts of the ruined city a few buildings remained that stood taller than two stories and by the lights burning in the windows of an apartment block, Richard knew he’d found the right place. Guiding the jeep off the unmarked dirt track through a former parking lot and onto the road proper caused the report of metal grinding against concrete to echo through the ruined cityscape. He brought the vehicle to a skidding halt outside the block that contained the only signs of life for miles, remote and furtive though it seemed. The sound of a distant explosion was carried on the wind like the rumble of thunder from some far-off storm, if only it were the forces of nature and not of man, Richard thought in the moment of quiet that followed before ducking into the building.