She frowned and paced away from the door, chewing nervously on her finger as she peered out the small window. She looked across the olive trees to the...distant desert. If she could get word to her father about Marid’s death, then perhaps he would offer to repay the bridal price so that she could return home. The voices in the hall grew louder and she turned nervously toward the door. Her trembling fingers reached for her veil. She heard the lock scrap and her fingers fumbled in an effort to. A few lines of a poem by Kipling came into my mind, and I hoped it wasn't a omen.When you're wounded and left on Afghanistan's plains,And the women come out to cut up what remains,Just roll to your rifle and blow out your brainsAnd go to your God like a soldier.We spent the next couple of months in 'dry' training, but at the beginning of December 2001 we carried out live firing. On the firing range the tribesmen wouldn't wear helmets; in fact the only military kit they ever wore were ammo'. More

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