I waited a few moments, breathing deeply, and then, shielding my eyes with my hand, I opened them again.

I was lying on my side by a burnt-out old Volvo estate that I remembered passing before the road bomb had exploded underneath us. I put my arm across my forehead to shield my eyes further from the blinding light. My whole body protested against the slightest movement. Nothing felt broken, though, as I rolled onto my hip and looked across the street.

Some fifteen feet away the hulk of our jeep was pouring thick black smoke into the blue sky like a distress signal being sent way too late.

Certainly far too late for the young driver. His right hand stretched towards me as though begging for help. His eyes lifeless as a fly crawled across his face.

Further out in the road lay Sergeant Jones. Only moments ago she had been celebrating the downfall of Saddam Hussein. Now she was as motionless as the toppled dictator’s statue. Her neck twisted at an impossible angle. Dead on the streets, killed by the same regime she herself had played a part in overthrowing. Dead before the new era she had wanted for the troubled country had even begun.

I dragged the back of my sleeve across my eyes and squinted into the sun again as I scanned back and forth around the jeep. There was no sign of my CO.

I levered myself clumsily up on one knee, wincing as the pain spiked through me again. My body was going to be black and blue with bruises, I guessed. But at least I was alive. Miraculously – I was still alive.

I took a breath and stood up. I regretted it immediately. Gasping in agony as my ankle gave way. I fell sideways – part instinct, part simply collapsing – at the same time as the shot rang out. A single sharp crack.

A fraction of a second later the bullet slapped into my left arm, hitting it just below the shoulder. Spinning me round and dropping me back to the ground like a tenpin nicked on a split.