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‘Charlie Victor standing by,’ Q announced from the heavens.

With us in position, four cameras primed and a bird in the air, Phil released the Furies.

I feathered the approach to the lane, took the long route behind a pile of stone and flicked the Evo right with the Jackal cutting across my back end. We bounced along the lane; I zapped the power and dropped the entourage to head around the outside of the open plateau. I kicked the Evo into a long, sweeping powerslide, sending clouds of dust into the air. The Army vehicles punched through it and closed in on their tighter line, while Q was 50 feet above their heads, then plummeting through the air to less than 20 feet above ground and swooping across my windscreen. It made my hair stand on end.

The chalky ground looked like an even sheet of paper at 70mph, and I slammed into some hidden troughs so hard my feet came off the pedals. The car surely couldn’t take it. The chutes carved into the hillside, that had each appeared so distinctive on foot, now looked identical. Only one contained a camera and I had to choose quickly to make my exit.

I spied the minute cairn I’d placed as a marker amongst a sea of stones and dived into the chute beside it. My arms went straight as my head pressed into the head-rest and my stomach lurched. I never even saw Iain’s camera. The Evo shot down the earth corridor, absorbing some bloodcurdling bangs from the ruts as they boshed the sump guard. The car was a criminal; it deserved it. Shot One was in the can.

We gave Q another angle on the plateau, which involved him hovering in my line of fire near the precipice and gaining altitude as I slid towards him. Working alongside skill of that magnitude was epic; I put my faith in Q without hesitation.

We descended into the basin. I arrived from a flat section that dropped, caught some air and crashed further down whilst the Army vehicles took everything in their stride. Sand filled the wheel arches. Somehow the Evo kept going.

The plan was for the vehicles to do a frenetic Benny Hill chase in and out of the trees and knolls of the basin until we felt our sporadic routes conflict. I kept my eyes peeled as we whipped around its tighter confines, only to see a big blue hornet appear on the other side of some trees and begin mirroring my route. I spun around to accelerate through the heli’s camera frame and made eye contact with Q. The cheeky sod yawed sideways with one hand on the collective and the other pulling at his steering handle, yet still managed to give me a wave. I returned the greeting with my middle finger.

The heli hovered so close to the action at times I could almost touch it. We kept on going until I lost track of the Army and called it quits.

Having never been a fan of either the Evo or the Subaru Impreza as road cars, I had reluctantly fallen in love with my machine. Its narrow rally tyres gave as much grip on the loose as slip on the road. The wanton grunt was addictive; its catapulting slides across tarmac or gravel were so enjoyable I never wanted to stop.

The Bovington chase unfolded largely according to Jeremy’s master plan and Phil’s shot list. We knocked out a bunch of ‘ups and passes’, speeding past camera through woods and lanes, so that we were ready for Jezza to play his part.

He pitched up in his pride and joy, the mighty Mercedes CLS Black. On seeing me he parted his legs and extended his hands to and from his groin, treating me to the ‘big wanker’ greeting. I held my thumb and forefinger half a centimetre apart and rewarded him the traditional ‘infinitesimally small cock’ response.

‘What’s it like?’ he asked.

‘It doesn’t get any better than this. But you have to pull the handbrake like a demented milkmaid; the cable’s knackered.’

‘Good.’ Jezza was on typically jovial form, in his element around a bunch of nutters with expensive hardware. He was a huge supporter of the military. In a former life he was probably a general, the kind that never got shot. He joined the story together