We arrived at JTAC Hill in the back of a British Mastiff Armoured vehicle. The short journey from the F.O.B. in Garmsir, Helmand, had been hot, cramped and full of apprehension. I was warned that there were at least two firefights a day at JTAC Hill, one in the afternoon, and one first thing in the morning around 8am - which was the time we were due to arrive.

JTAC Hill was originally built in 1841 by Royal Engineers for the tactical defence of British India. I was therefore expecting something a little grander in scale. Instead what I came across was a small hill amongst a vast landscape of flat desert. In this terrain any high ground gives a definite advantage.

From our elevated position looking south, I was told that the Taliban positions were just 400 metres away. In months of fighting they had been pushed back no more than about 200 metres. In front of me was the landscape, referred to as No Man's Land.

Amongst the Gurkha unit that was manning the fort, one face stood out. His was a face I knew. A very English looking face, a few years junior of me, but with an expression a lot older. The constant stress of the fight was etched into every wrinkle of his sand-blasted face.

The sun was just rising and the light in the clear Afghan sky was magnificent. If only I could get this soldier to a position a little higher I could avoid the shadow being cast by the high Hesco walls. He agreed to go with me so I could shoot a portrait in the light. The result was perfect. The light enhanced the dirt and dust against his chiseled good looks.

After a few frames he asked politely if we could stop. Why, I enquired, was the light too strong for his eyes? No, he replied, his head was above the parapet and he didn't want his fucking head blown off.

As I made way back down the hill to the waiting Mastiff a few minutes later, the sound of gunfire started right on cue.

Robert Wilson

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