The usual images of war, and of the soldiers who fight in them, are of confused battle scenes. Men and women in combat clothing – ‘battle fatigues’ – with faces covered in camouflage cream and sweat, carrying the weapons of war and portraying a hardness of heart and a gung-ho attitude.

Wearing body armour they are protected in close combat from the direct and indirect fire of the enemy; and when that fails the images switch to limbless and blooded victims surrounded by medics whose job it is to keep them alive as they wait for the helicopters to sweep in and carry them away to the field hospitals – and then home to ‘Blighty’. Images of glory – parades, medals and speeches for our heroes.

But, behind the steel helmets and the hardened masks of courage lie individual hearts and minds struggling to come to terms with all that they have seen and heard; all that they have experienced. As I look into these images I see many questions and few answers. If I didn't know they were soldiers I would struggle to place them – indeed a first reaction might well be that they are actually dead, not alive; maybe university students caught up in the latest shooting. But their close-cropped hair perhaps gives them away, and there is life in at least some of the eyes.

Lying on the hard floor they seem vulnerable. Amongst them I see a mixture of naïve youth – wide eyed surprise – and hardened maturity. Some look intently and deeply into the camera; others avoid the lens, gazing into the distance with far off thoughts, lost in their own worlds. In most of them there is a mixture of grief and fear, hopelessness and anger. In some of the faces I sense an acknowledgement that they couldn't take any more.

Whilst one or two of the gazes are steely, most are dead-eyed. Stripped of their protection and their friends, these soldiers are now alone. Alone to face up to the events that they have been through and the world that they have returned to – a world that will have little or no comprehension of what they have experienced.

In Figure 3, I see suspicion and a resentment of all that has gone on; a somewhat scornful stare into the camera lens with eyes that have seen too much to be fooled by the speeches of the politicians and the trite words of those who sent them away. In Figure 2 there is introspection – a heaviness of heart. Sad and traumatised, the eyes looking down and refusing to engage with the camera as she reflects on memories of people and events perhaps best forgotten.

But both of these images stand in contrast to Figure 1. Here I sense a slight smile of satisfaction, of contentment. Deep in sleep, bone tired but a job worth doing has been well done. Glad to be home – maybe he has found something within himself that he hoped would be there but only the ultimate test of battle would confirm. There is contentment here; contentment not reflected in the other images.

Over the 36 years of my commissioned service I deployed on several operations; Northern Ireland in the 1970s, Cyprus in 1981 with the United Nations, three times in the Balkans in the mid-late 1990s, and Kuwait and Iraq in the 1990/91 and 2003. Operating as we now do in a fully professional Army, the vast majority of the people living in Western democracies have no personal links into the military; most seem to assume that soldiers are unthinking automatons, keen for a fight and uncaring of the consequences. The reality is far from that.

It has been said that the young men and women who end up in places like Iraq are a mixture of missionaries, mercenaries and misfits; and there is some truth in that. Words like honour, duty and integrity certainly mean far more to them than most, and for many the military is the one place where they find true friendship. As James Elroy Flecker's poem puts it: ‘Go out as a pilgrim, and seek out danger … pit your very soul against the unknown and seek stimulation in the company of the brave.’ Clothed in the outward equipment given them to wear in battle, they are trained to try to become what the image portrays; hard and tough. But take away the paraphernalia of war and you are often left with an individual trained to wear a mask; and too often not trained to cope when the mask slips or is stripped away.

Most of the soldiers I have commanded over the years are good people – some are the best I have ever come across. From patrolling the streets in counter insurgency operations, to fighting their way into places like Iraq, to dealing with the humanitarian fallout of what we now call ‘Complex Emergencies’, they have responded with humanity and humour to whatever has faced them. But they too ask the questions that others outside of the military ask. Questions like: ‘Why?’ or: ‘What is this all about?’ or: ‘How can people be so brutal to one another?’ or: ‘Where now?’

When they return home they are left with the memories of failure and violence, death and injury, as well as the successes and the moments where they have individually and collectively made a difference to the lives of those caught up in the maelstrom of war. For some – indeed many – the experiences build and enhance, bringing confidence and a sense of justice and righteousness. But for many others the memories become too much; and too often they are left to pick up the pieces alone.

How many of the young men and women shown in these images will find themselves locked in depression and loneliness – abandoned, along with many others, by the very nation that sent them off to war in the first place? We may never know; but it is a question worth asking – unnerving though it might be.