It was just another cold evening with the clouds scurrying across the face of the moon as one looked up over the tall pines towards the dark mountains, the mountains through which we were to pass on just another patrol - the same old routine which by now, after six months, seemed almost part of our very lives.

We had been briefed earlier in the day and had tried to sleep during that period of so called 'enforced rest' and now we stood, still somewhat sleepy, awaiting the arrival of our transport. Many things were running through my mind. I had checked the weapons, ammunition, maps and cases, compasses issued, bag rations and a container of hot cocoa for those cold damp hours of the early morning.

Everyone was correct, all that was left to do was to get into the transport and depart to return again at first light the next day, cold, wet and either with or without a captured terrorist, but, above all, successful or not, the satisfaction that one has done one's duty well.

I glanced again towards those dark peaks and smiled to myself, this was probably going to be my last patrol because, within the next fortnight, I would be travelling back to Malta to my wife and baby daughter to take them home to England with my two and a half years with the Commandos finished. I was not to know that the Gods had decided otherwise.

The jeep and car arrived. The patrol was split into two and we climbed into our vehicles. The Officer was in the leading jeep with the signalman, a wireless set and a couple of men from the patrol. The remaining three and myself got into the car driven by the interpreter.

Out of camp we drove along the road leading up into the Troodos mountains.  As we climbed slowly towards the snowline the wind became cold and more bitter with traces of the winter snow becoming more obvious. We were glad of the extra shirt and vest, the polo necked sweaters, the extra pair of socks that experience had taught us to wear under the heavy smocks that we wore. Laying concealed amongst the rocks and trees on some mountain road or track in snow, rain, mist or fog with a chill wind blowing is neither a pleasant nor healthy pastime, particularly when there is only a very slender chance that a terrorist or terrorists may use that road or track that night. The slightest whisper of information had to be followed up hence many cold and wet nights up in the mountains.

After some time we had made our way up towards the tops of the mountains and made our way through the sleeping village of Troodos before starting the downward descent on the other side towards the mining village of Amiandos, a stretch of road that had been the scene of an ambush by terrorists not many weeks beforehand.

As we approached that particular stretch of road the whispering in the back seat ceased as we all seemed to sense the hidden danger that might, or might not, lie just around the next corner. As we passed that place we all felt much nearer to the possibility of an ambush and my mind, and I'm sure the minds of the three lads sitting behind me, went back to an ambush we ourselves had been involved in a few weeks before, when we had been lucky but not so my young Lance Corporal and the driver of the other lorry.

But that was past and our main aim was to stay in one piece for now. In my case it was just another fourteen days until I could board that ship or plane back to Malta and my six month stay in Cyprus could be put among my other memories of far away places.

Now we were well past Amiandos and passing over the crossroads to navigate a stretch of road that any soldier would hate. We had named it 'Ambush Alley'.  It consisted of low hills with outcrops of rocks running down to the road and having twists and turns every hundred yards, a perfect road for ambushes every yard of its length.
It was with very mixed feelings that we started along that road, it was by now quite dark, the clouds were thicker and the brightness of the moon only broke out now and then from behind the clouds.

There was now no talking in the car, everyone was thinking his own private thoughts and there was no noise apart from the purr of the car engine and the noise from the tyres on the bad road surface.
I have always hated silence but it just seemed as though there was nothing to say as we crept slowly around those corners, driving on side lights and keeping the flickering red tail light of the lead vehicle about fifty yards ahead of us.
I glanced up at the moon as it appeared from behind the cloud and, as I did so, it happened, the flash and report of a gun. With that first signal it seemed that the whole world had gone mad, guns started firing from all sides. The vehicle in front was hit, but the driver who was unhurt drove on.

Then our car was hit by a number of shots and I realised that we had stopped. "Drive on !" I shouted. "I cannot, I'm wounded" was the reply. This was not the time to argue. "Right, get out, go up the road !" I shouted. By this time all the fire was being directed at our car. I swung my legs out and dived forward but, as I did so, something smashed into my back, a bomb exploded and a piece of metal dug itself into my left shoulder. I tried to crawl to the side of the road but my legs were paralyzed. I tried to fire my gun but I couldn't. I went to shout an order but blood came into my mouth. A thousand thoughts rushed through my head. Was this the end ?. I didn't want to die, I couldn't die and I wouldn't die. God, don't let me die like this. As I laid there in the middle of the road I prayed as I had never prayed before and as I prayed I also cursed the terrorist who had shot me.

The next few minutes were the longest of my life before the firing ceased and the attackers withdrew. I was still alive and one of my lads was bending over me, I again cursed all men who kill and maim each other for such stupid reasons. "You're okay Sarge, you can still swear !" he said. I asked how the others were and he alone was unwounded. He brought the other two over to where I was lying. They were, thank God, only slightly wounded and the driver's leg wasn't too bad.