The missile jumped off my shoulder, sucking the surrounding air with it toward the target over 200 metres away.

Unfortunately, I breathed in as the dirt-laden air rushed in to fill the vacuum and I took a lung full of soot.

The missile struck the stable white target and a boom vibrated the air and rocks for kilometres. But I didn't know - I was doubled over hacking up dust as Colour Sergeant Gavin Lee was patting me on the back.

"Good work Richardson, you hit the target," he said.

I thought he could keep his stupid missile, his stupid target and get me a stupid cup of water; the eye protection goggles tangling off my face from the boom.

A few moments ago, my five tracer rounds which are used to trace a line of fire to the target, were jumping around the range.

Private Costa, G Company of the Royal Gibraltar Regiment, advised me to use the glowing 400 metre mark which is in the sights of the 94-mm anti-tank LAW missile, to aim for the stable white target.

I did and the first one tracer fell so short I nearly killed a lizard.

The second was closer, the third on the mark but a little low. The fourth on the mark, right on the "sweet spot". The fifth flew over the top of the target.

So down a tiny bit, test and adjust, check the state of my weapon - by this point the heavy missile had been on my shoulder for a few minutes.

The weight was taking it's toll, my grip was too tight so the sight began to wobble and sweat was dripping through my loose fit goggles.

I switched the missile to active, pulled the trigger and the rest is history.

Whilst myself and Lance Corporal Wayne Smith were playing mountain goat in the Moroccan mountains with the British and the Moroccan 2nd Brigade d'Infantry Parachutist, Colour Sergeant Lee was building the range network we would use when we got out of the field.

Taking his cue from the British Army's Small Arm School instructors, he and Colour Sergeant Ali, of Gibraltar, began setting up the LAW range.

The first part of the range was a period-of-instruction shoot, using fake weapons that fired the tracers, then made a loud pop when the missile was activated and fired.

Colour Sergeant Sean Simons was four days into sniper training at that point and proficient at using reference points in target identification.

In addition, his training unit, the 13-man Sniper team, was mastering the 7.62-mm sniper rifle.

Although the sniper's barracks were only a few yards from Platoon's, their drills and exercises remained mostly confidential through the exercise, since most units did not train with each other.

Colour Sgt. Lee told me prior to embarking on the trip: "It's like that on every training mission. You see the snipers at the beginning of the trip, then you don't see them until the end."

When Platoon arrived back at Camp du Ram Ram, we began a range workload including General Purpose Machine Gun training, SA80 rifle zeroing shoot, firing the 9-mm pistol from different stances and positions, as well as using the 51-mm mortar.

Night time exercises became frequent: fighting patrols, ambushes, counter-ambushes and section attacks all became as normal as going for a walk in the park.

Camouflage cream was worn more than civilian clothing and your rifle soon became your best friend.

Then, I woke up in my low-set cot and it was my birthday, October 4.

I spent the day picking up cigarette butts around camp because some of the smokers did not throw their refuse in the trash. The rest of my birthday I spent cooking inside the back of the ARV truck while we moved from range to range.

Homesickness and culture shock began setting in among L/Cpl. Smith and myself.

We spoke frequently about oceans of water, Bermuda Regiment, music, food and everything else that one would miss while living in the desert.

"Jae-man, I know it's hard sometimes but you've got to remember - Playstation," Ian quipped, and used his hands to mimic playing an electronic video game.

Ian Getty, a soldier from the Royal Irish Regiment on attachment to Gibraltar, began calling me Jae-man halfway into the course.

"Playstation rocks Jae-man. Just think, in a couple of days we'll be drunk to the world and up to your arms in Playstation," his thick Irish accent nearly hiding the words.

No matter how hard the training got, there were always happy times.

For example, Cpl Sean Cawood forgot to take the firing pin out of the mortar round one day. Amazingly, the round did not get stuck in the 51 mm mortar chamber and fired off into the distance.

Problem was, since it didn't explode on impact, someone had to go out there to disarm and destroy the live explosive device.

A tall lieutenant from the Royal Highlander's Regiment, a friend of the Bermuda Regiment's Lt. Derrick Hurdle, sighed deeply and walked into the range.

About an hour later, he came back to the ARV44 and told us the round was too deep into the ground and he can't reach it.

The range was finished for the day and Sean was teased for the remainder of trip - by everyone.

The highlight of the trip was the Platoon live-fire exercise.

Nearly 30 men, with live-weapons, running around the chaotic Second World War battlefield.

Nearly all the British soldiers had been through a similar training exercise and were looking forward to it.

L/Cpl. Smith and myself did not have as much live-fire experience by the time we arrived in Morocco.

It was crazy in the barracks but L/Cpl. Smith and myself quietly packed our kit, loaded our magazines with live rounds and checked our weapons.

The Platoon live-fire was the culmination of nearly 30 days of hard, back-breaking work.

It was the middle of the afternoon when we loaded in the ARV's with the Moroccan army and drove for the range. The back of the ARV was in it's normal jovial mode.

Sean later told me that the chaps in my section were the jokers in the entire company and could laugh through almost anything.

When the ARV stopped, we disembarked, formed up and headed in the direction of the mountains. It was a brief climb up and over the saddle of twin mountains, before we dropped onto a slippery, slate mountain-side.

Lt. King, platoon commander, lead the group into a wadi and we waited.

Medical personnel and high ranking observers could be seen far too the rear and a few soldiers quipped that's were they belonged, not knowing that I am a medic for the Bermuda Regiment.

The platoon was going to advance in a line abreast, basically a line stretched out to the left and right of Lt. King. A loud whistle sounded, signalling the attack and we crawled out of the wadi.

Mr. King set the pace to a light jog, which is much harder with magazines and other sorts of kit hanging off your webbing. Then a mortar sailed over our heads into an area marked off with white mine tape.

The sustained fire troopers working the GMPGs opened up. Red tracers bounced off rocks ahead of us as thunderflashes exploded nearby. The bright white light was still blinding in the middle of the afternoon and the boom was still deafening.

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