As I watched my critically wounded friend being bundled onto a makeshift stretcher, my days as a chronicler of war around the world felt like they were coming to an end. Both his arms had been smashed by a volley of high-velocity bullets, and another bullet had torn through our interpreter’s throat, leaving him gasping and frothing on the back seat of our bullet-riddled car.
Leaving Afghanistan in a Red Cross ambulance, our adventure was far from over. A gruelling drive through the Khyber Pass and the lawless border area of Pakistan stood between us and a flight home. There was plenty of time to reflect.