From the chapter: Zaids resistance

I ask Zaid what his greatest dream is. "Peace," he replies. And then a large family, at least 12 children, "so there will be lots of action at home!" Just two or three children would be boring, he says. If God gives him and his wife children, he will name their two first sons Haroun and Karim after his brothers. Zaid falls silent. The memory of his slain brothers casts a shadow over his face.

After a while he starts to talk again: His wife should be well brought up and very pretty. It will be up to her whether to wear a headscarf, a hijab, but he would certainly like that. It is part of their religion, and religion is important. The Virgin Mary - he calls her Maryam - also wears a veil on the pictures he has seen. But he will not argue with his wife about the hijab and she will certainly not have to cover her entire body with a black abaya.

He could imagine marrying a Shi'ite or Kurdish woman. "But what about a foreigner?" I ask. Of course, Zaid answers, if he loves her and if she loves him, why not? "You Westerners ask funny questions." Zaid sounds almost offended.

"We have the same dreams as you. I would like to have a large family and a big Japanese car - your German cars are too expensive - and eventually, if I work hard and am successful, a little house of my own. I think you can achieve anything if you work hard."

To try to make these dreams come true, Zaid will have to wait a long time, and he knows it. There is a war raging in his country, his brothers are dead, and he is a resistance fighter. Any day could be his last, even if for the moment there is a ceasefire in downtown Ramadi. He could be asked to join an operation anywhere in the region tomorrow.

I ask him what he associates with the name "United States." When he was a child, he admired the United States because it was a land of progress and advancement - despite the harsh and painful sanctions imposed on Iraq. But the war has made him change his mind completely. That holds true for the entire Muslim world.

"We have never done anything to them, and still they have destroyed our country and our lives." He doubts he can ever forgive the Americans for the death of his brothers. He will never forget those hours as his little brother bled to death in front of his very eyes.

Then I ask the question Zaid most dreads - and that I most dread as well. I ask when he first took part in an attack on American troops. "Four months ago, in April 2007," he tells me after a long pause.

Zaid stands up and leaves the room. Abu Saeed and I look at each other in silence. His little son Ali comes in with his half-deflated football. He wants to play with me. But playing is the last thing I can do at this moment.