A firsthand account of a young boy from Wolverhampton who joined the British Army for an adventure and his experiences of war in Iraq 2003 and Afghanistan 2006, which saw him and his fellow soldiers involved in some of the most intense combat since the Korean war.

The familiar sound of the Chinook’s rotors starting to turn, the unmistakable sound of the engines cranking up, and that smell of Jet A1 passing through our noses into our lungs. My nerves under control but building steadily in my chest and stomach. The following thoughts were running through my head - fear, uncertainty, hate. However, at the same time, I am praying that I will survive what is to come but more importantly that I will not let any of the lads down. Weapon systems made ready, me and the boys were good to go, straight into the hornets nest to take on the Taliban as soon as we touch down.

The story reaches its conclusion with an account of his career as an NHS paramedic, which follows him responding to life-threatening emergencies by ambulance, helicopter, and as part of the Hazardous Area Response Team.

“I am very sorry sir, your son is dead, there is nothing else I can do!” 

No mincing of words or giving false hope; that was it. My hands on his shoulders and looking him straight in the eye was the way it had to be done this time round. With the uniform, professionalism, and a calm empathetic approach, he accepted what he did not want to accept; his anger and frustration became hurt. He began to weep uncontrollably. I pulled him close, embraced him as a friend even though I was a stranger.