It was 5:45 a.m. on a typical Wednesday here; it's cold as the mountains begin to fill with snow. I had just returned from the shower -- and began peeling off the sweats I use to keep warm during my trek down to the facilities -- when I heard that eerie sound.
It was a whistle from overhead, high pitched at first turning to a low, weaker version as it seemed to descend on the camp.
For a split second as I stood there in my birthday suit, the sound vanished. And just as quickly, the "BANG" erupted from the silence.
It's a jolt you can't help react to; I knew alarms would be sounding soon, so I scrambled to throw on some warm clothes to sit out the events (whatever they may be) from the bunkers on base.
As it turned out, it was one mortar round that came in ... close enough for me to hear that whistle.
It was the third time such incoming has come up a few hundred yards short of my "hooch" which, being on the second floor, would only serve to protect those below from the blast.
It's going to get interesting here very soon.
