Soldier-turned-law student Patrick Hennessey on how his experiences in Afghanistan helped him land a pupillage

Pupillage interviews are nerve-wracking at the best of times. They are never improved by the experience of desperately trying to remember what cases you mentioned in your application while your rivals chat about the dozens of mini-pupillages and endless hours of pro-bono work they've already done.

In a number of such interviews last summer I would spot the eyebrows raise, ever so slightly, when I had to concede that I hadn't done any mini-pupillages, any clerking or even any mooting. All those little extras are bread and butter to an undergraduate law student planning to come to the Bar, but are out of the experience of most of those coming from another career, attempting to cram the conversion course into an already full working week and wondering what the hell they have let themselves in for.

Thank goodness for the invariable follow-up question (usually phrased in a tone strongly indicating that a rope is being thrown to the rapidly drowning candidate): "Well, when were you last in court?" For a serving army officer, this was always a 'gimme'. What did the interviewing panel want to know about? A little stabbing up in Staffordshire? An interesting Crown Court case in Bulford? Or perhaps how we managed to persuade a judge down in Winchester to grant a non-custodial sentence for the soldier who'd broken a policeman's head last month? Interest often picked up from that point.

Compared with the scores of officers of my vintage who decide after a number of years of military service that they wish to move into finance or consultancy, those who want to become barristers are few and far between. Now in the middle of that process (halfway through the Bar Vocational Course (BVC) and the very grateful recipient of a pupillage offer), this continues to baffle me. As stated on my pupillage application, many of the qualities required of a good army officer are similar to those required of a good barrister.

While I don't doubt that, on occasion, a number of barristers have longed to call in an air-strike on the co-ordinates of a particularly frustrating judge, or lead a bayonet charge on an annoyingly smug opponent, the softer, but no less essential, skills that saw me through tours of Iraq and Afghanistan have kept me going so far. As the Bar course grows increasingly practical and our advocacy classes more frequent, the confidence and ability to think on your feet by which military commanders survive comes to the fore.

I know of three other ex-servicemen on my current course who have all made similar observations and fallen back on old army teachings as familiar and useful friends. Few nervous, newly-called barristers can forget the 'seven Ps' as they were first taught to me at Sandhurst – Prior Planning and Preparation Prevent Piss Poor Performance!

I suspect that the treasured independence of the Bar is also something that attracts and suits those brave enough to leave the job security and cast-iron pension (not to mention exotic travel perks) of the military. Contrary to popular belief, the British Armed Forces have survived for the last 20 years or so by granting a great deal of independence to junior leaders.

Far from the rigidly controlling organisation of popular imagination, the army usually tells you what you need to do, what tools are at your disposal and allows you to get on and do it. Even as a 22-year-old second lieutenant I had far more responsibility and far less supervision than any of my contemporaries in other jobs.

In inaccessible patrol bases in Helmand, orders are often received remotely and require quick action – so the sense of panic induced by last-minute instructions and assessments on the BVC is familiar. The powers of practical advocacy are rarely as urgently called upon as when under fire in a ditch, convincing a platoon that the plan to charge the Taliban position is a good one.

The past few years have also seen an interesting rise in the number and prominence of cases involving military issues. More than ever, the legal profession is engaging with the military on questions both big and small. Just behind the new Supreme Court, the Chilcot Inquiry prods around the legality (or otherwise) of British involvement in the invasion of Iraq in 2003, while round the corner from my law school the Baha Mousa Inquiry continues to investigate deeply shocking allegations of mistreatment of Iraqi prisoners by British soldiers during that conflict.

The tempo of operations has been at its highest for a generation in recent years; the conflicts we are engaged in are both more brutal and complex and the legal framework in which they are conducted is more sophisticated than at any previous time.

While academics and military strategists contemplate the Future Character of Conflict study and the implications of an impending Strategic Defence Review, one of the uncontested assumptions is that the military will rarely, if ever, operate in the relatively luxurious legal clarity with which the Falkland Islands, Kuwait and the Balkans conflicts were launched.

Against this background, the Court of Appeal ruled last year that the provisions of the Human Rights Act applied to soldiers serving in conflicts overseas. As a result, the British Armed Forces are likely to be opened up to challenges over the minute tactical decisions its commanders make about deployment of sub-units and vehicle selection from grieving families.

Filling out my application forms last year and wondering how best to squeeze why I thought coming from the army to the Bar was a good idea into a 300-word gobbet, I stumbled across the obituary of Sir Kenneth Hollings, a clearly well-liked and highly-respected High Court judge. He was of the generation that, regardless of the professions to which they returned, always carried strong memories of conflict and military life.

He rarely spoke about his experiences in World War II, still less his gallantry under fire that led to the award of the Military Cross. But his obituary recognised he'd been well prepared for his distinguished legal career by those experiences: "As friend, colleague, subordinate and commander to a wide range of people from many different backgrounds, he developed an understanding of and love for humanity that allowed him to evaluate situations with clarity and perceptiveness."

I was certainly not a soldier of Hollings' calibre and can barely aspire to his achievements at the Bar – but those qualities of a good soldier are unchanged and remain valuable. With some military understanding an increasingly relevant and useful asset, I can only recommend that more of my former comrades follow in Hollings' footsteps.

Patrick Hennessey is a BVC student at BPP Law School and author of The Junior Officers' Reading Club: Killing Time and Fighting Wars.