Nigel Jaxon: Under the setting Afghan sun, silence and tributes for lost brothers in arms

I look around me and I am surrounded by a sea of hundreds of soldiers, sailors and airmen and women. All have gathered at this location that has become known as the vigil area, making their way here individually or in their own small groups to pay tribute to their fallen comrades.

A myriad of blue, green, brown, maroon and red berets of all different shades, regimental cap badges all strikingly different all worn with the same pride.

There is a general hubbub of chatter, some talking, some laughing, some just stood silent alone with their thoughts. They could be waiting to enter the cinema or a football match. Then, as if by some unheard signal, just before seven o'clock a hush falls across the assembled mass.

"Parade... Parade... Shun".

The Regimental Sergeant Major calls the parade to order, more than 500 servicemen, women and civilian personnel stand, like statues, as if

frozen in time and space, perfectly still.

A slight breeze wafts across the assembly, although still not enough to cool the gathering in the still heat of this Afghan evening. All is silent, even the firing on the distant range has stopped out of respect for the solemn ceremony taking place.

The Padre: "We are gathered here this evening, to remember the lives of Andrew, Paul, Stephen and Matthew, who gave their lives in the service of their country."

Silence, not a murmur, a cough or a shuffle of feet. Perfect silence. The Padre goes on to reflect on the sad loss to us all and especially to the close friends and families that they leave behind.

For each soldier, there is a short eulogy from their respective Regimental Colonels, followed by some personal words from the fallen soldier's friends.

These cause a few laughs from the audience, not meant to cause amusement but to turn around the sadness in a way that only other military people can.

Fond memories of training together, going on holidays together or even just a small thing about that person that everyone who knew them will associate with.

And remember.

Then, all too soon it is time for the farewells to come to a close, The Sergeant Major, once again, brings the assembled throng to attention. The boom of a 155mm howitzer shot rings out, causing more than a few people to jump at the report, such is their distraction.

As the sound of the shot fades, a lone bugler plays the Last Post.

The last rays of the setting sun are now clawing their way into the darkening sky from the hills on the distant horizon.

Another special, magic moment when the wind yet again picks up and lifts the regimental flags on their standards and lets them briefly fly out to full glory – showing, in their own way, their reverence for their now sleeping brethren.

In the far distance, a helicopter is making its way towards the camp, and as if it sees what is happening, it slows, comes to a hover and waits, silent, out of hearing range, another mark of respect, not only to the soldiers but to the assembled crowd.

As the last note of the Last Post fades away, another shot rings out, followed by a lone piper playing a soft lament to the fallen brave.

The Padre:

"They shall grow not old, as we that are left grow old:

Age shall not weary them, nor the years condemn.

At the going down of the sun and in the morning,

We will remember them".

Loud, proud and with ultimate conviction, those gathered say: "We will remember them."

The crowd are left alone in their thoughts for a short moment, contemplating their own future, the future of their comrades, the

future of their families.

What will the next few months, weeks, hours bring? Their reverie cut short yet again by the booming voice of the Sergeant Major: "Parade... Fall... Out."

In perfect timing, everyone turns to their right, marches forward the standard three paces and breaks off into their own individual groups to return to their billets.

As people drift away, there are still small groups of soldiers close to the front, friends, some arms around each other, some just sat staring into space, all comforting each other, all trying to come to terms with the fact that they will never see their brothers in arms again.

"They went with songs to the battle, they were young.

"Straight of limb, true of eyes, steady and aglow.

"They were staunch to the end against odds uncounted,

"They fell with their faces to the foe."

After 23 years' regular service, Captain Nigel Jaxon joined the Territorial Army. He is a member of the Royal Engineers' 170 (Infrastructure Support) Group.