Last night a siren went off after midnight, warning of an attack.
Most attacks are indirect fire, usually referring to mortars which the enemy likes to pop off so that they can scoot away in the hopes of avoiding return fire.
Sirens are very rare here on Bagram. They occur far less regularly than in Balad, Iraq, where we never went more than a few days without an attack, though they were almost universally ineffective.
The siren accordingly takes me by surprise, but based on the tone of it no immediate action is required other than to hunker down. Depending on the pitch (wavering or constant), duration, and any follow-up messages from the Big Voice, we may have to put on our armor and helmets, take cover in the nearest bunker (about 15 feet from my front door), and/or call our command for accountability.
I will never learn what caused this alarm, though I’m sure if I asked around someone would know. Certainly my friend Trey in the BTN could find out – he’s shown me similar intelligence reports in the past. It would also be common knowledge if an attack were ever successful – whether causing loss of life or property damage – so usually I just wait for the intel to reach me through natural channels and assume it was nothing if I hear nothing.
It may also have been a drill, though that’s less likely.
The siren going off does remind me of how close we I live to the wire. The hesco baskets and concertina wire that separate Bagram Air Field from the rest of Afghanistan is about 20 yards from my hooch.
Izzy, who lives in the other half of the building I live in, often jokes that when people from home ask him if he needs anything, he says he wants a tennis racket so that if the bad guy throws a grenade over the wire he can return it to them.
