APRIL 2004 FALLUJAH: Driving through the empty streets of Fallujah, I felt the stench of death in the air. I could feel the terror of the families locked behind the closed doors. Already seven hundred dead. The graveyards were full, so the local soccer field had to be dug up to make room to bury the dead from the assault on this town.

We cautiously made our way through the deserted streets straight to the clinic where our friends had helped out a few days before – a small neighbourhood clinic that had been transformed into a makeshift hospital after the main hospital in Fallujah was bombed and closed by the US military. Weary staff adapted admirably to the influx of wounded continually delivered in the backs of cars, vans and pick-ups – extra beds were wheeled in and cans of soft drink were emptied from the “Coke” machine so it could be used to cool bags of blood.