As the number of deaths of British soldiers in Iraq rises, Lindsay Jennings speaks to a former Catterick-trained soldier about patrolling the hell-streets of Basra and the problem of bullying in the Army.

THE words were designed to provoke patriotism and they certainly hit their mark. The young Steven McLaughlin felt a lump in his throat as he listened with rapt attention to the rousing speech of the sergeant major.

"In a few short sentences, he crystallised everything that was motivating me to become a soldier," writes Steven, in his revealing book of everyday army life, Squaddie, A Soldier's Story.

"He said 'for those of you from broken homes, poor backgrounds or without families, I don't want you to worry any longer. From now on, if you work hard for us and do your best, we will become your family'. I felt as if he was speaking to me directly."

Like many working class lads with uncertain futures, the Army offered Steven a fresh start; status and the lure of adventure. But his career was cut short when the Royal Marines discovered after training that he had had laser surgery to correct his eyesight.

Steven, 35, of Lytham St Annes in Lancashire, had all but given up on his dream of joining the Army, until he was spurred to try again following the death in a car crash of his brother Damian, who had been a member of the Royal Green Jackets. At the age of 30, Steven was four years over the Army's recruitment age, but his determination saw him become the oldest man to pass the modern-day combat infantryman's course at Catterick Garrison, in North Yorkshire and he too joined the Royal Green Jackets.

Catterick, he says, had an infamous reputation for its harsh treatment of recruits. He found some - the weaker or immature ones who disregarded safety rules - were given beatings as punishment by their colleagues or "physical beastings" by their instructors, such as being made to exercise until they vomited.

"On rare occasions, a certain person who perhaps shouldn't be in the Army in the first place, is placed in a position of authority and that person can damage people and they do damage people," he says.

"In the Army there is a very aggressive wolf pack environment. There is a strong element of teamwork. If you get a weakling, somebody who's letting the side down by consistently under performing, eventually that person will be turned on by his instructors and by his fellow soldiers.

"It's always gone on. It is a survival of the fittest environment."

But he feels it is a fine line between what constitutes bullying and strict discipline.

"We're living in the 21st Century and, at the moment, we're fighting two wars in Iraq and Afghanistan so the training has got to be very robust," he says. "If you've got a young lad who persistently fails to do his job properly, then at some point they'll get a smack in the face and a blind eye will be turned. The reason is if he makes those mistakes in Iraq or Afghanistan, someone might be killed."

Steven himself experienced savage violence within the ranks when a former friend turned on him with a rifle butt for being late for guard duty one night, ignoring his legitimate excuse. Although Steven, a former nightclub bouncer, fended off the attack, he knew he would have to take drastic measures were he not to become the platoon scapegoat, "scrubbing toilets and regarded as fair game for every disgruntled soldier to take a shot at."

"The Army only ever rewards strength," he says. "Never weakness."

Steven ended up dishing out his own bare-fisted punishment to his attacker and, as a result, was transferred to another platoon and fined a week's wages.

"I was received like a conquering hero," he says. "As I have said before, it is a sad indictment of the modern Army that violence is almost always rewarded, and so it was with me. The trick is to make sure your violence is morally justifiable."

Within months of his basic training, Steven had his first tour of duty to Iraq. He had his doubts about the validity of the war, but as a soldier did as he was told. While the country was not in the same grip of civil war as it is today, the dangers were ever present with terrorist attacks mounting daily.

"The insurgency was only just beginning in 2003. When we got there we thought we would engage their hearts and minds and at the beginning it was successful," he says. "But by the end of the tour the situation was deteriorating before our eyes."

He describes driving through the foul-smelling streets of Basra at night, eyes fixed ahead, heart banging against his ribcage. He felt the pure terror of an attack only once, when a dark-clothed figure made to shoot a rocket in their direction and his colleagues screamed "contact left, contact left" before firing into the night.

Steven left the Army in February 2005 after three years, following a tour of Northern Ireland. Now, he believes the war in Iraq was started on a false premise, and that the Government has "taken the lid off Pandora's Box".

"When we leave, and I think we should leave sooner rather than later, we'll be the ones responsible for the dreadful mess in the Middle East," he says. "We'll end up with a greater risk of terrorist attacks in Britain. We might see a 50-year Islamic war and we could get sucked in. The difference is all the Middle East countries will be aligned with Syria, Iraq and Iran."

His book is based on the diaries he kept during his military career and he wrote it because he felt there were none by ordinary British soldiers. He sees his portrayal as neutral - neither pro nor anti Army. And he has succeeded in giving an intelligent and insightful account of real army life - the exhausting basic training, the wolf pack mentality and being sent on tours with outdated and inadequate equipment.

In the future, he would love to write another book based on his bouncer days and become a journalist, perhaps even a war correspondent in search of the real story. "I'd like to be able to go to these private soldiers and say 'listen guys, what's really going on? How's morale? What's the real level of violence like?'" he says.

One thing is evident, he is no longer the same impressionable youth who felt his heart beat faster at the rousing words of his sergeant major. But he is still deeply proud of the Army.

"I feel pleased about the contribution I made," he says. "I was never a great soldier, but I was a good squaddie. That'll do for me."

* Squaddie, A Soldier's Story by Steven McLaughlin (Mainstream Publishing, £7.99).