In bed with the army

Whether through optimism or plain arrogance, I listened little to those who warned me that being "embedded" with the British Army would be frustrating. My time with the 3 Regiment Army Air Corps – one of the fighter helicopter units of 16 Air Assault Brigade – in Iraq was the most exasperating experience of my career. But it was also the most fascinating and rewarding.

To say that the embedded media were given incredible access would be an understatement. We lived in the same uncomfortable and perilous conditions, dug the same protective bunkers, endured the same gas alerts, ate the same inedible food and witnessed the soldiers' fear and grief first-hand.

Much to my surprise, the soldiers welcomed our presence. As is often the case in societies where people have little, they shared all they had without hesitation.

Throughout the war, one was constantly reminded of the two-tier media system – those of us with the forces and those working independently as "unilaterals". It was only upon emerging from the regimental cocoon that I appreciated the equal frustrations the unilateral reporters were enduring. While we had been jealous of their freedom, they had been jealous of our access.

For many of those embedded with the British forces there was a frustrating 48-hour news blackout before we crossed the border as we listened to US journalists broadcasting the beginning of the war, convinced the unilaterals were having a field day. It was only later that I realised the difficulties they were having, blocked from crossing into Iraq as we moved forward as part of the invading force.

So it was a system that created a strange rivalry. On one occasion, I was among a handful of embeds taken to speak to Royal Engineers who had been tasked with checking the giant gas and oil separation plants in the Rumaila oilfields for booby traps. We arrived, a bedraggled bunch, only to realise that a group of pristine TV reporters had been brought in by helicopter that morning from Kuwait. Their arrival was a bone of contention. Ironically, some of the independent reporters felt the same, having struggled through hostile terrain to get somewhere interesting, only to watch the embedded media sweep into town.

Censorship was obviously a big fear, with the insistence that all copy be checked by assigned media officers in case information should jeopardise operations. However, my "minder" never once asked me to delete anything he considered negative, although I understand other embeds were not so lucky. The frustration lay in simply accessing information in a rigid system. Details of attacks were initially drip-fed, deadlines ignored and perfectly reasonable questions left unanswered.

In fairness, I am sure they were as frustrated by my initial failure to appreciate their systems as I was by their lack of understanding of my requirements. We were two diametrically opposed worlds attempting to coexist. Repeatedly, when I challenged the wisdom of decisions, I was reminded curtly that I was privileged to be an embedded journalist. It was a statement that irritated intensely and failed to grasp the concept that this was meant to be a mutually beneficial relationship. But after hours of bartering, we did develop a modus operandi.

Would I do it all again? Definitely.