THE message over the tannoy took my breath away and I stopped still.

‘Standby for broadcast, standby for broadcast ..... Op Minimise, Op Minimise is on’.

We had been told what it meant as soon as we arrived in Camp Bastion: a soldier had died or been seriously injured and communication with the outside world was suspended.

The message sounded at 7am as I was reaching for my toiletries ahead of a quick shower.

I closed my eyes as its meaning hit me. I just wanted to know the soldier was OK. I wanted them to survive. Later I was told the person this message was about died.

That was the first Op Minimise I heard. There have been several more since.

You think you would get used to it hearing the crackling, echoey message. But it gets worse, not easier, especially the look on people's faces and remembering how I felt the first time.

Soldiers here have come to dread the broadcast.

The reason for the communication lockdown is to stop word of an incident getting out before the family has been informed.

At first everything in the camp seemed so exciting to the point that I almost felt like I didn't know what all the fuss was about.

Bastion is so heavily protected it is like being in a giant bubble.

Staff are around to take care of you every need, whether that was making sure we get fed three times a day or getting the light fixed in the toilet and shower block.

We felt so safe that the war with the Taliban could have been millions of miles away.

We lived and worked in a tent which, though basic, had bunk beds, air conditioning, and even a decked area with a cushioned bench, tables and chairs.

The food is great, there's no rent, council tax or bills to pay, and there's free interet and phone access.

You get caught up in the illusion of this way of life.

Then out of nowhere you are brought back to reality with a stark reminder about the horrors of war.