Helmand witness: 'Two cars sped at the patrol, horns beeping ...'

A small boy on a donkey stumbled up a rocky path past high mud walls concealing the homes of Gereshk. Through gates barely open, the odd curious eye offered the only evidence of the inhabitants.

It was into this biblical scene, that the Royal Marines descended to patrol one of the most volatile towns in Helmand. In formation, their heads constantly turning to check for threats, they walked slowly through the muddy streets. The stench of sewers, overflowing from the recent thunderstorms, hung heavy in the air.

As they descended into the busy market place, silence was replaced by a cacophony of noise and colour. Lorries adorned with a rainbow of dangling attachments - jingly trucks to the troops - squeezed through rows of stalls offering unleavened bread, vegetables, animal carcasses and the bright plastic flowers which adorn every dignitary's office in Afghanistan.

The patrol from 42 Commando had recently fought against Taliban sympathisers just a few miles away. As the marines took off their helmets to show a friendlier side of the British Army, their interpreter kept his firmly in place - his face hidden by a scarf.

Suddenly a man in a large, black slanted turban usually associated with the Taliban approached and glared at him nose to nose before slipping swiftly back into the crowd. On a nearby balcony another man was filming the British troops with his mobile phone. In the parlance of Northern Ireland, he was probably dicking or alerting associates to their presence in town.

Just minutes later two vehicles sped at the patrol from different directions, beeping their horns to scatter the crowds and ignoring calls to stop. The soldiers raised their rifles and fired warning shots straight into one car's engine and the vehicles screeched to a halt.

Having recently lost a comrade, Marine Gary Wright, to a suicide bomber the troops were taking no chances. Just 24 hours later, a driver who sped towards a British logistics convoy, ignoring calls and warnings to stop, was shot dead.

The bitter fighting in the north of Helmand during summer has shifted to the more southern parts of Gereshk and Garmsir. Just weeks ago, the men from 42 Commando, were greeted with angry glares when they first entered the town. Small children now pursue the troops while their parents, initially furtive, come out to watch. Calls of "Salaam Alaikum" and "Hey up fella" are returned; there are smiles and the odd proffered hand.

But a cursory glance offers evidence that the threat is still very real. The town's cemetery has far too many fresh mounds. Boxes for rifle rounds are scattered among the street rubbish. In nearby villages, some of which remain openly hostile to British troops, women and children suddenly disappear upon their arrival, a precursor to the sporadic battles that break out as they try to avoid being caught in the crossfire.