Surin Kab Choeng: Unexploded BM-21 Rockets Near Cambodian Border

Back in their homes after a tense evacuation, residents of Surin’s Kab Choeng district returned to their fields expecting weeds and wind damage—and instead found war relics jutting from the earth. Four unexploded BM-21 rockets, believed to have been fired from across the Cambodian border, turned up in farmland and forest patches, partly buried like unwelcome fence posts in the quiet countryside.

Local officials moved fast. The Dan Subdistrict Administrative Organization, alongside the Surin provincial police’s Explosive Ordnance Disposal (EOD) team, locked down the area and issued a clear warning: keep out. The message is simple but serious—do not approach, do not touch, and call in the professionals.

It was the returning villagers themselves who first spotted the danger. Walking the edges of sugarcane fields and rice paddies, they saw odd shapes breaking the surface—metal cylinders planted tail-first, noses lifted skyward. Sirichai Tantirattananon, the mayor of Dan subdistrict, described the scene with an image that stuck: the rockets sit with “their tails embedded, leaving the nose pointing up like bamboo shoots.” In other words, unmistakable once you know what you’re looking at—and terrifying if you don’t.

A wider survey in Dan subdistrict has since revealed nearly 40 BM-21 rockets, according to local reporting by KhaoSod, and officials suspect more unexploded ordnance may still be out there. Picture courtesy of thaiarmedforce.com Facebook captured the stark reality: tidy fields interrupted by sleek, inert missiles that have no place in a harvest.

This unsettling discovery follows recent border tensions that rattled communities along the Thai-Cambodian frontier. While the military clash has subsided, the aftermath is proving complicated. As of August 3, with Cambodian troops still reported near the boundary, some evacuees remain under restrictions from returning home. Meanwhile, the EOD team continues a methodical sweep of suspected impact zones, combing fields and forest edges where debris might have landed. Authorities say they’ve already recovered nearly all rockets from affected villages—but “nearly all” is not the same as “all,” and that’s why vigilance matters.

BM-21 rockets, sometimes known by the system nickname “Grad,” are designed for saturation bombardment, not for sowing panic among farmers and foragers. Yet here they are, dropped into the landscape of northeastern Thailand’s daily life: between sugarcane rows, near trails where children play, in soil that feeds families. Even unexploded, they demand respect—and distance.

Officials are urging residents to be their eyes on the ground. After heavy rains, telltale signs can vanish as soil shifts and puddles fill. What looked like a metal fin one afternoon could be a harmless-looking mound the next morning. That’s why the advice from authorities is calm and consistent:

• If you notice fresh ground depressions, unusual metallic objects, or anything resembling a rocket part, stop where you are.
• Do not poke, prod, dig, or move the object. Even a nudge can be dangerous.
• Mark the spot from a safe distance—think a stick, a ribbon, or a pile of stones—and note nearby landmarks.
• Alert the village head or call local officials so the EOD team can inspect and clear the site.

That last step is crucial. The EOD specialists are trained for this exact scenario, and the sooner they can map and remove remaining ordnance, the sooner life can return to its rhythmic normal—planting, harvesting, market runs, and the everyday hum that defines Dan subdistrict.

For many in Kab Choeng, the past weeks have been a breath-holding exercise. First the evacuation, then the wait-and-see, and now the painstaking cleanup. And yet, amid the caution tape and the hum of official vehicles, there’s a steady undercurrent of Surin resilience. Farmers know how to read the land; now they’re learning to read new signs—disturbed soil, strange shapes—until the last rocket is logged, lifted, and gone.

Mayor Sirichai’s “bamboo shoots” image has become an unofficial shorthand in the villages: it’s a reminder to pause, look twice, and call for help. In a region where bamboo is a familiar friend—used for baskets, fences, and shade—this eerie likeness is a mental note everyone can carry with them. If it looks like a bamboo sprout of steel, it probably is not a plant.

What happens next? More of the same, and that’s a good thing. The Dan subdistrict administration will keep the cordons in place until specialists declare each site safe. The EOD team will continue its grid-by-grid inspections, expanding outward from known impact points. Communications will flow through village leaders and official channels, with updates whenever another piece of debris is recovered. And the rains—ever the wildcard—will keep everyone on their toes, because they can both reveal and conceal.

In the bigger picture, this episode is a sobering illustration of how border tensions can ripple far beyond the front line, affecting families who never expected their plow lines to set the stage for ordnance disposal. It’s also a testament to coordinated local response: farmers spotting trouble, administrators locking down danger zones, and EOD experts doing the slow, steady work that saves lives.

Until the last rocket is accounted for, the advice stands: stick to known paths, steer clear of cordoned areas, and report anything unusual without delay. Surin’s fields will be fields again—lush, green, and busy—just as soon as the land is cleared of these steel “shoots” that never belonged there in the first place.