BY Scotsman

THE camp siren rang out loudly, indicating a rocket or mortar attack was imminent. Staff and patients at the tented field hospital in the British Army's base at Basra Airport dived or were speedily helped to the floor for cover.

Captain David Wright, from Musselburgh, the nursing officer in charge of the surgical unit, was with a young Aberdeen soldier who had just come out of an operation to remove his appendix.

He had to get the groggy, aching lad and all his attached equipment on to the floor fast. The 38-year-old, of Queen Alexandra's Royal Army Nursing Corps, said: "Two hours after his operation he was on the floor with all his drips and drains. He was in agony."

Indirect fire comes into the camp around three times a week. When the sirens sound, wherever soldiers may be, they have to hit the floor, because after impact the blast hits all in its path. It is David's second tour of Iraq – he was here four years ago, just after the war ended. Then he was treating Iraqi detainees, as well as British troops, and the hospital was much busier. Despite that, the father-of-two says this tour, although quieter, has been more stressful. "Immediately after the war, we had to have Iraqis and our troops in the same ward," he said.

"It was extremely chaotic at times, but it was less stressful because there was no threat of indirect fire."

We experience an attack firsthand, just hours after talking to David, on our second day staying with troops at the base.

We were at the entrance to our quarters just after midday on Saturday when the siren sounded. Without a second thought we flung ourselves on to the hard plastic path, which tore into my knees. Flak jackets have to be carried at all times and we happened to be wearing ours.

My helmet was tied to my rucksack. As I lay on the ground, face down, I tried to untie it and hold it as best I could on to my head. I could hear the deep breathing of my companions, but no one spoke. The silence is probably what I will remember most.

After the regulation three minutes on the ground our guide – a female lieutenant with the Scots Guards – ordered us to enter our tented quarters quickly.

It might sound a strange place to be when there is an attack, but a soldier's bed is judged the safest spot to avoid injury.

The beds are enclosed on three sides, giving a coffin-like effect. If an attack happens during the night, the drill is to don body armour and helmets and stay in bed. Many soldiers now claim to sleep right through them.

Our first experience of being under attack ended quickly. Before we could get into our tent, the all-clear siren went off. It had been a short reality check, reminding us we were in a war zone.

Many of the attacks happen in the evenings or during the night, when the Iraqi civilians who work in the camp have left for the day. Long rockets are launched from outside the camp.

Mortars, the other weapon of choice, have to be fired from closer range, requiring more bravery on the part of the attackers, so they are less frequent. In the past few months there have been no fatalities from attacks, though there have been a few minor injuries or "walking wounded". So morale is not affected, soldiers are not told the outcome of attacks.

Private Grant Smith, from Calder, joined Edinburgh-based battalion 1 SCOTS a year ago, and has been in Basra since December. Standing in the sunlight doing maintenance on his Warrior tank with other Edinburgh soldiers from the 1 SCOTS also attached to the Scots Guards, the 18-year-old says his first operations overseas are not quite living up to expectations.

"Iraq is boring," he says. "I thought I was coming to get some action but there's been none." The teenager spent Christmas day on guard duty and is still waiting for his presents to arrive. "The mail is awful," he complains.

Access to internet and phones in the Scots Guards' camp, where soldiers are forbidden from using mobiles, has been down for around two weeks, so Grant is feeling understandably fed up and looking forward to going home to Edinburgh for his mid-tour rest and recuperation, next week.

As for indirect fire on the camp, the Rangers fan, who plays football for Dickens Waterfront pub on Dalry Road, says it worries his family at home more than it does him.

"My mum was on the phone once when the siren went off and she was beside herself. She said she was up all night," he says.

Grant's colleague, Private Paul Lambert, 27, from Musselburgh, has been in the army for two years. But Basra life has come as something as a shock to him, too. "I thought it would be more exciting," he admits. "It's boring, more like a training exercise. I didn't expect the cold either."

The 1 SCOTS attachment does regular patrols around Basra, mounting vehicle checkpoints, for which the troops have learnt a few Arabic phrases, such as translations for "turn off your vehicle" and "show me your ID card", which they proudly show off.

Private David Lafferty, 19, from Niddrie, says he joined the Army to sort himself out, but now plans to stay.

"I was always causing trouble and my ma was getting sick of it," he says. "I only plan to do two years in the infantry and then join the medics, because it's a better way of life."

"And there's more chicks," a colleague chips in helpfully. "That too," laughs David.

Later that evening, we learn that three rounds were fired in the midday attack. It is not yet known if it was rockets or mortars, but only one landed in the camp and fortunately no-one was hurt.

Over at the 50-bed field hospital at the other side of the vast base, which is 27 kilometres in circumference, the Aberdeen soldier is making a good recovery from his appendix operation and is sitting up in bed reading a book.

"It was awful," he bellows, when he hears Capt Wright talking about his post-operative experience of attack.

As the senior nursing officer, David works 12-hour days, seven days a week. But as luck would have it, he is only due to be here for three months, instead of the usual six. He is missing his wife Kirsty and children Aaron, 20, Andrew, 14 and Emily, eight, but it won't be long now until he sees them again.

There are even a few reminders of home nearby for the hospital's lone Jambo. As he shows me out of the ward, he points towards the main exit and the barren desert beyond. "Look out there," he quips, "There's a view not unlike Portobello beach."

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