It is 6.30am. “Good morning, Afghanistan,” says Dusty Miller from the new BFBS (the British Forces Broadcasting Service) radio station at Camp Bastion.

The chill of the night is slipping away; the sky is deep blue. Many of the British Armed Forces serving up and down the country — from Kandahar and Camp Bastion to remote forward operating bases (FOBs) — are starting another day. The Boo Radleys’ Wake Up Boo or, perhaps, the Kings of Leon’s Sex On Fire can be heard playing out on local FM into the canteens and communal areas and onto every soldier’s radio.

From Monday morning, as Britain sleeps, those serving in Afghanistan will no longer rely on breakfast programmes at lunchtime or nightclub anthems at unsuitable hours. “We’ll provide local information and entertainment in real time,” Miller says, speaking to The Times from his studio.

“When the weather forecast is hot, we will remind people to drink more water. And now that Gordon Brown has announced 500 more troops we’ll keep them updated with when they’re arriving.”

The local programmes are a mix of music, local reports, sports, “on-air blueys” (messages and dedications for the Forces), and snippets of shows from the UK to give a taste of home.

Technicians have installed transmitters around the country, and Miller is handing out hundreds of radios to those passing through Camp Bastion. The studio looks the same as any other studio — apart from the body armour and helmets hanging on the wall and the view across endless desert. A playlist is prepared to play songs automatically in case Miller needs to take cover on the floor during a broadcast.

There are no spare parts. Miller relies on a supply chain through RAF Brize Norton — and there are often far more important things to transport. He asks anyone coming out to bring armfuls of spares with them.

BFBS began broadcasting in Algiers during the Second World War in a building that had once been a harem. When the war ended it moved to Germany. Now it has television channels and radio stations based in ten locations — Cyprus, Kathmandu, Gibraltar — and since April, broadcasts on DAB. The listeners number about 100,000 overseas and more than 800,000 in the UK.

Miller is 55 and has worked for BFBS since he left school. His father served in the Korean War, and he grew up on British bases in Germany. He has broadcast from the beaches of Cyprus to the jungles of Belize, where he trained army wives to help DJ and waited weeks to get the latest cassettes. He has toured to the Gulf five times.

The purpose of BFBS has remained the same: to link those serving overseas with their families. Wives at home dedicate Aerosmith’s I Don’t Want to Miss a Thing, or a song from their wedding, while soldiers’ requests are a bit more mixed. Heavy rock is always quite popular. “It’s vital for the soldiers’ morale,” Miller says. As he strolls across the base, he says that people come up to him and tell him how glad they are that BFBS has arrived.

The station likes to focus on the “feel-good” operational work: the installation of water supplies, the new schools and the work of people such as the TA. But it does not duck negative news. It is in a unique position. The presenters share tented accommodation. They gather knowledge on the local acronyms and jokes — some unrepeatable — and the studio door is open for people to drop in.

It would be easy for the station to sound like “Bastion FM”. But times of church services or weather forecasts need to be relevant from the mountains to the desert. Miller depends heavily on two BFBS reporters to go to each base to collect stories. A helicopter might be able to drop Miller off, but there is never a guarantee that it will be able to bring him back before his next show.

BFBS has a close relationship with the Ministry of Defence — which finances the overseas contracts — although its editorial control is independent. A local station is an important part of overall welfare provisions. When there is a fatality, it is entrusted with the name immediately to avoid playing any related messages. Miller judges carefully any song requests from units that he knows have just suffered a fatality. The black humour can be a giveaway to those listening at home.

As Miller speaks, Camp Bastion goes into lockdown. A loudspeaker announces that everyone must stay where they are or return to their place of sleep or work until the all clear is given. Out in the desert, he says, he feels relatively safe. In the Gulf he wore his body armour at all times. One evening as he left the canteen a mortar bomb landed 60m away.

He is trained in first aid and mine detection but, as he gets older, he contemplates the risks of his job. When he came on a recce to assess the site, it was the first week of Operation Panther’s Claw. On his flight back rows of seats had been removed. Twelve injured young men were brought onboard. One was younger than his son, heavily sedated and missing a limb. “That’s why I want to do my job: for people like him who deserve to have a link with their families.”

In Iraq the first song to be played in 2003 was The Boys are Back in Town. Debate is fierce over the first song for BFBS Afghanistan: “It needs to be familiar, bouncy. It needs to make people want to turn the radio up.”