This time, it is not the popping of the tubes, but the whistling of the mortars themselves that alerts us. We run for the bunkers. They are not bunkers as such, but the cinder brick foundations to be seen during the early construction of a home. There is no roof, only a few pieces of lumber overhead; it is very, very open. The mortars begin to drop, I hear the explosions very clear. This part of the dream seemed the most real. I recall huddling in a corner, shifting positions, as I anticipate a direct hit amidst us. The mortars continue to fall.