Behind every report of soldiers "seriously injured" there are young men whose lives have been changed forever as Jemma Walton reports.

See more from the ET's special week of features about life in the forces in the run-up to Remembrance Sunday, November 11.

THE burned, blackened, stitched and scarred face of Lance Corporal Dan Twiddy is why you should drop a pound in that poppy tin this weekend, and why you should wear that poppy with the deepest pride.

This is the face of a young man who joined the army wanting to serve and protect his country, a young man whose flesh caught fire when he was attacked by his own side while serving in Iraq.

This is the face of a soldier who has had to rely on the help of the Royal British Legion after receiving no help, or even an apology from the Ministry of Defence (MoD).

Dan's bid to sue the MoD for negligence has been thrown out because the MoD has "combat immunity". But Dan has no such immunity from having his mind and body scarred for life.

Dan was protecting bridges on the outskirts of Basra, on March 25, 2003, when at 1am, he was taking a nap on top of his tank, and the worst thing that can happen to a soldier happened to him.

His Challenger II tank had been securing bridges on the outskirts of Basra when the crew of another British Challenger II became confused, and fired a round at what they thought was an Iraqi vehicle, which missed Dan's tank and landed in front of it.

The force of the round landing on the ground blasted Dan from the top of his tank, and set him alight from head to foot.

He recalls the horror of what happened next: "I heard my commander shouting 'Roll yourself out, roll yourself' out, and so I did," he said.

"The commander had been in the tank with the driver, but was looking out at what had happened.

"And then another round hit our tank and the commander and the driver died instantly. That first round, which burned me so badly, saved my life."

Dan was 22, and 80 per cent of his body was burned. His life had been changed forever – and two of his friends had had their lives ended – by the saddest and sickest of ways to be injured at war: friendly fire.

"I was still conscious, and lying on the floor when I heard an army ambulance, which is just a smaller tank, coming – every soldier knows the sound they make," he said. "The medics pumped me full of morphine and I passed out."

He was taken to a US field hospital and 24 hours later was flown to the UK, where he was admitted to Broomfield Hospital, in Chelmsford.

"They woke me up on Mother's Day," said Dan. "Which was about three weeks after the accident. I started freaking out, as the morphine had given me some terrible dreams. I thought I had lost my legs.

"I was trying to get up and touch them, and my mum, who's a nurse, started to say 'Here are your legs, and your arms, and toes, and you are Dan Twiddy, and you are in hospital.'

"I said 'I know who I am and I know where I am' – with some swearwords thrown in. They said: 'Dan's back.'"

Dan, of Conduit Road, Stamford, was in hospital for a month-and-a-half, during which time he noticed that all of the mirrors in the room were covered with towels.

But when a nurse took him for a bath he decided to look at himself.