Another message floats along the column of soldiers: "Prepare to move." I look down the line and see young faces illuminated by the glow of cigarettes being sucked for the final time. Others are hauling their impossibly heavy packs on to their backs. There is a flurry of activity and then, without ceremony, we move silently beyond the walls of Patrol Base Inkerman. After 20 minutes we stop in a small hamlet and a soldier crawls towards me and whispers: "If we get ambushed and you find yourself in the killing zone, stick with me." I ask him what he means by "the killing zone". "It's the area of ground in an ambush where you have the greatest chance of being killed. If you're in it, you're in the s**t." He then smiles and says: "And if I'm dead, you're probably f****d."