As he rounded the corner, Chris saw a lightly bearded Afghan man in his early forties, clearly furious and shouting directly into the face of an equally irate man dressed in Afghan National Police uniform. Chris recognised him as a local police commander he’d had dealings with once or twice before. Next to the two men was the ANP commander’s four-by-four. The driver was still sitting behind the wheel, watching dispassionately. Another police commander was busy trying to keep the gathering crowd away from the argument. Some of the onlookers were more interested in what was happening behind the four-by-four. Chris stepped forward to get a better look: a limp figure in a burqa was being half-carried, half dragged into an adjacent compound by a younger man and an adolescent boy. A little girl in a frayed red scarf stumbled after them, tears darkening the dirt on her cheeks. She was shrieking one word over and over again, something that sounded like ‘more, more, MORE’. Chris’s first instinct was to push through the crowd to see how badly injured the woman was. But contact with a Western male would only cause her more trouble. For a heat-addled second, he found himself wondering whether he had any women in his team who could check on her.

One of the ANA soldiers had been talking to the policeman marshalling the villagers. Now he walked over to where Chris was standing next to Sergeant Abdullah and began reporting back in rapid Pashtu. Rami translated: the ANP ranger had hit a local woman, and the husband – the lightly bearded man currently arguing with the ANP commander – was angry.

Rami was in the middle of this explanation when the husband’s gesticulating hands came into contact with the ANP commander’s chest. None of them had been watching directly but all of them registered the contact. The ANP commander reacted violently, forcing the man back with a vicious swipe from his rifle. All attention was focused on the two men. What had been a complex and confusing situation was suddenly reduced to a single point of tension. The crowd grew animated with indignation as the ANP commander forced the injured woman’s husband to the ground. He kicked him three times then stood over him with his gun pointing at the man’s chest. Now everyone was very still and silent. Chris stifled a cough, as if the slightest noise might provoke the policeman into actually pulling the trigger. But he simply yelled a few more words at the man on the ground, then made a dismissive gesture and stormed back to the four-by-four. Without offering any acknowledgement to the British and Afghan troops, he signalled to his driver and the car pulled away. The little crowd of villagers closed in round the beaten man.

Sergeant Abdullah looked at Chris and then spoke to Rami, gesturing after the departing vehicle.

Rami turned to Chris. ‘He says something bad about the police.’