Katherine Jenkins, superstar opera singer and Welsh beauty, was 20 years old when she shattered a chandelier while singing “O Holy Night” with her college choir. Thinking it was gunfire, the audience ducked for cover.

At 22, she signed a contract with Universal that set the record for classical music. Her debut album, Premiere, shot to No. 1 on the UK classical charts and made her the fastest-selling mezzo-soprano ever. Her third album held the top spot for 47 weeks. She has penned an autobiography, Time to Say Hello, and in October, she struck a second deal – also a record-breaker – for $10 million, with U.S. label Warner Music.

A regular on British television, Jenkins wears an evening gown whether performing for the royal family or for Rugby Union fans in her native Wales.

Today, however, at the offices of Bandana Management in London, she’s wearing jeans and a spangly T-shirt. “I’m only 28,” she says. “Everybody expects to see me in evening dress, but I have another side.”

Indeed, she wore a flak jacket and helmet when she was helicoptered in to entertain British troops in Afghanistan, Kosovo, and Iraq.

Jenkins also appeared at Naomi Campbell’s celebrity Fashion for Relief event in 2007 to aid the flood-disaster appeal of Rotary International in Great Britain and Ireland. During the evening’s charity auction, businessman Sir Philip Green bid £10,000 (US$20,500) to hear her sing. And she’s a face of Montblanc, helping to promote the company’s arts and cultural charities.

On 20 June, she’ll sing for Rotarians at a ticketed event during the RI Convention in Birmingham, accompanied by the 90-piece Birmingham Symphony Orchestra.

You’ve just scored a $10 million contract at age 28. What’s left to accomplish?
I would like to do some opera when I’m 30; apparently my voice will be ready by then. My dream is to play Carmen.

Who inspired your music?
My dad was 23 years older than my mum, and he sang songs by Frank Sinatra, Matt Munro, and Shirley Bassey around the house. I suppose I’m an old romantic. But Maria Callas is my absolute idol. I’m also fond of Mozart, Plácido Domingo, Luciano Pavarotti, Judy Garland, Doris Day, and Marilyn Monroe.

When you are on the road, what do you miss most about your hometown in Wales?
Walking down the street in Neath and knowing everybody. I miss the community. I still go home to Neath a lot, and I get no special treatment while I’m there. My dad died when I was 15, but my mum still lives there and has moved only a couple of streets away. There’s a place called the Gnoll nearby, and it has a lot of woodland and ponds, and it’s absolutely beautiful. I go there for a walk or a run.

Did you make a conscious decision to appeal to a wider audience than opera usually enjoys?
When I graduated from the Royal Academy [of Music in London], I was still very young, so I decided I’d spend a couple of years earning money, and then maybe I’d get a role in an opera chorus – and one day maybe make a record.

When I got the record deal at 22, I made a record I really wanted to make – a sort of introduction to me and where I come from. The album, without [my] thinking about it, became a crossover album, with a bit of opera, a bit of religious stuff, some songs from film soundtracks.

And, yes, I decided I wanted to take opera to a wider audience. At college, people always said to me, “You don’t look like an opera singer; you can’t be, surely,” and I decided I could make music to prove to people that they knew – and liked – opera, often without realizing it.

You performed in Iraq in 2005 and 2006. How long were you there and where did you stay?
I’m only there for 12 hours, because there’s nowhere for us to sleep. I fly into Kuwait, take a helicopter into Basra, and then do two shows. Going there is always worth it.

In what way?
The experience is a big-time reality check. On my last trip to Afghanistan, I had taken five military flights to get there, and I remember complaining on the phone to my mum about the lack of sleep. But then I met a soldier who told me she’d just come in on a flight with the wounded, and they’d been in a terrible state and many were crying. I realized I had nothing to complain about.

Some of the men open up to me and tell me things they don’t tell each other – that they are missing home, that they are frightened – and some of these things have haunted me, but I also have found some very moving.

What is the most frightening experience you’ve had on a military trip?
We did get fired at on one occasion, and I thought that was it, my time was up; the helicopter just fell out of the sky, and I was woken up by G-forces. But I didn’t have time to think about it too much.

The business of war has many parts. Did you see anything you had not anticipated?
I went to Cyprus, which is where there are decompression camps. You can’t come from spending six months in [a place] like Iraq and go straight back to your home. So [British] soldiers get three days where they can chill out. There are aspects of the military that I wasn’t aware of and that never get in the news. I’ve been in the hospitals and the decompression camps, and they’re not talked about.

What appealed to you about volunteering with the British Forces Foundation?
My part of South Wales is a [military] recruiting area because it’s an ordinary, working-class part of Britain. My first contact with the military was with the Chelsea Pensioners [retired British soldiers, many of whom live in the Royal Hospital in Chelsea, London, where Jenkins performed] and a relationship started there. I decided to go out to Iraq and other places.

Is music medicine?
It can heal, it can make you feel strong, and it can help you release emotions.

What did you sing on your first trip to Iraq?
I was nervous about how my music might go down out there, so I did “Nessun dorma” because it was used in the World Cup [soccer championship], “Everything I Do” by Bryan Adams, and Dolly Parton’s “I Will Always Love You.” One Christmas I also did “Somewhere Over the Rainbow,” and when I got to the chorus, the soldiers all started singing along, and I felt like crying.

Why do you go?
Well, I think it’s like Rotary: I was brought up to believe that when you have success at something, you have a duty to give something back. It’s something small I can do – just two days out of my life – and it makes a difference.