View from Baghdad Aircraft and tanks blasted central Baghdad at will yesterday. Lara Marlowe dodged through the din and the traffic to see what was hit
The heavy machine-gun fire started at dawn, followed by US F-18s screeching low to bomb and strafe Iraqi forces between the presidential complex and the Jumhurriya Bridge over the Tigris River. The volume grew steadily louder, and it was during this pitiless morning bombardment that a plane fired a rocket at the roof of al-Jazeera television, killing their correspondent Tariq Ayoub and wounding his cameraman.
About 8.15 a.m., I heard a barrage of heavy machine-gun fire, magnified many times over, followed by what sounded like a horse whinnying. It was two A-10 "tank-busters" or "wart-hogs", firing into the much-bombed planning ministry, again in flames.
The A-10s released bright, white phosphorus trails in their wake, to divert any surface-to-air missiles the Iraqis might fire. The pilots performed aerobatics, rolling their aircraft in the sky - whether for tactical reasons or to show off, I don't know. One of them crashed later near Baghdad airport, its pilot unharmed.
Intense bombing, shelling and shooting continued throughout the morning. Its immediate purpose became clear when two M1-A1 Abrams tanks inched onto the Jumhurriya Bridge and stopped there, lobbing a few shells into the shopping and residential district to the east: casualties unknown. We had witnessed a whole morning of bombardment so that US forces could move half a mile from the presidential complex they occupied early Monday. By nightfall yesterday, the tanks had retreated.
When the opportunity of a quick drive around the city arose, I hesitated briefly. With so much ordnance exploding, it seemed wiser to wait. I mistakenly thought the Palestine Hotel was safer than the streets of Baghdad. But as a journalist, it's awful to feel trapped inside a hotel, so I went out. While I was gone, two television cameramen, filming from their balconies, were killed when one of the Abrams tanks on the bridge fired a tank shell at them.
Heading north-west across Baghdad, I was surprised by the amount of traffic. There were a few empty sand-bagged gun positions, but I wasn't sure if the Iraqis who'd manned them had fled or joined in defending the bridges.
A Shia cleric in flowing black robes and turban strode down the boulevard opposite the Education Ministry. From the square where bronze statues commemorate the 1920 Iraqi uprising against the British, I could make out the east end of the Rashid Bridge, parallel to the one just taken by the Americans. The road was blocked with a metal bed frame, and dozens of gunmen slinked along its walls. One tried to shoo away the dirty, barefoot beggar children who haunt the streets of Baghdad, even during bombardments.
At 11.30 a.m., a handful of vendors at Shorja market were packing up their wares - the only time I've seen Baghdad's most popular market close on a weekday. We continued on, past the abandoned mohafezat (governorate) headquarters and adjacent bombed telephone exchange, beyond the Bab al-Moaddam, the old city gate, into the district of Waziriya, where the British war cemetery is located.
The mood of motorists verged on panic: too many horns blaring, brakes slamming, tyres skidding. The arrival of a white, four-wheel drive with its siren on, carrying two uniformed army officers, racheted the panic a notch higher. There were long queues at two bakeries, an even longer queue at a petrol station in A'adhamiya, where a Red Crescent ambulance waited its turn with the others.
There was normal traffic across the suspension bridge that leads to motorways west and south. Despite the US conquest of several kilometres of central Baghdad - and reports that reinforcements are "closing in" from the outskirts - it was obvious that vast stretches of the capital are still outside US control. During a 30km return trip, we never encountered US forces, though it was impossible to ignore the aircraft overhead, and the continuous explosions. And the US now controls main access routes to the city: the International Committee of the Red Cross protested yesterday because US military authorities refused permission for a convoy leaving the city.
A large metal sign indicating the road to Damascus had been knocked down in a bombardment. Iskan - the poor district where Saddam Hussein was shown greeting rapturous crowds on Iraqi television on the night of April 4th - was pretty smashed up.
Then we were in Mansur, the west Baghdad district where US warplanes dropped four 2,000lb "bunker busters" on Monday, based on claims by a "human intelligence source" that Saddam and his sons Uday and Qusay might meet there. Two houses were destroyed and nine civilians, from two Christian Iraqi families, were killed. But there's not the slightest indication that the Iraqi leader or his reprobate sons were even in the district.
"The leadership target was hit very hard," said US Central Command in Qatar.
The Al-Sa'ah Restaurant, one of Baghdad's finest, stands next to the huge crater made by the US bombs. Its royal blue canvas awnings were torn off, the potted plants that surround it knocked over. Perhaps the Iraqi leader was in the area and couldn't resist a good meal.
But the explosions grew louder and closer, and civilian cars were driving fast in our direction. Militiamen wearing red keffiyehs, guns in hand, ran deeper into Mansur, towards the area where we'd heard reports of a US incursion. Our driver - perhaps affected by the same form of denial as the information minister - wanted to stop and ask the half-demolished and obviously shut restaurant how late they'd be open. It seemed a good time to head back to east Baghdad.
Back on Jumhurriya Street, one had the misleading impression of being sheltered by high buildings. There were more civilians out in the open than anywhere else in our long drive, and I realised from the way they were dressed and their manner that they were the poor, without access to any kind of information. With the racket of battle scarcely a kilometre away, they seemed impervious to danger.
As we passed the end of Rashid Bridge, I saw black smoke - a fire lit by the Iraqis to reduce visibility for the Americans - and a crowd of men, huddled beside the parapet, all straining to see Jumhurriya Bridge. Were they part of the 500-strong reinforcements reportedly bused in to defend the bridges? Or civilians, trying to catch a glimpse of US power?
By late afternoon, the F-18s were at it again, screeching in from the west, as if they were about to crash into the hotel, then veering left along the river, to drop their bombs on the main post office. One of the tallest buildings in downtown Baghdad, its centre was gutted by cruise missiles days ago.
But the bombers kept doggedly at it, their determination to flatten the building sending tremors across the city.