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I stepped into the bedroom where he was killed and looked up at the ceiling, where you could still see the patterns of blood that had spurted from bin Laden's head when the bullet fired by a U.S. Navy SEAL tore through the terrorist leader's face.

I heard this massive thud. I spun around, and there Keith was, on the ground. He'd cut his gums up on impact, he was very bloody, and clutching his head. I think it was a kind of wake-up call for him.

Now I am within thirty yards of him. He must fall. The gun pours out its stream of lead. Then it jams. Then it reopens fire. That jam almost saved his life.

This man who was my father's age hit me hard on my head when I was 17. I started bleeding. I took out my sandal and hit his head hard, and he started to bleed, too.

Quick as lightning Wild Bill pulled his revolver. The stranger fell dead, shot through the brain.

You shoulda shot that fella a long time ago. Now he's too rich to kill.

I was shot down by a fifth ball, which struck me squarely in the face, and passed out.

He hit me 18 times while I was in the act of falling.

I looked, and saw that Bob had entirely lost his left ear, and a large piece from his left cheek. His right eye was a little discoloured, and the blood flowed profusely from his wounds.

In the forensic science course I took at university they used photographs of dead bodies. For ballistics they showed us a guy lying on the floor, and his head had burst.