(Original copy) THE looters are already running when the patrol spots them, darting into the wreckage of the buildings of Basra's old southern university, hurdling the blocks of rubble, looking for somewhere to hide from the British troops. In the open-topped Landrover, the two soldiers who had been scanning the area, rifles at the ready, train their weapons on the fleeing pair and the driver takes off, accelerating over the uneven ground, throwing those inside against the sides of the vehicle as it races across the uneven ground, screaming round a corner, tyres scrabbling for purchase, trying to cut off the escape. Round another corner, faster still, the soldiers in the back struggling to stay upright, jamming themselves agaist the roof bars as they keep their weapons pointed at the running men. For a moment the view is obscured by the remains of another building. The Landrover slews to a halt where the men should have emerged, but they are gone. A little way away, four young men stroll nonchalantly away from the British soldiers, hands dangling by their sides, casting the occasional glance back over their shoulders. Loose white shirts, dark trousers, like the men who ran away, but there is no way of telling for sure. The patrol lets them go. The looters had been after copper electricity cables, a valuable commodity in a city were money is in short supply. Digging two holes a few feet apart down to the cable, they light fires, burning through the rubber insulation and shorting out the electricity supply. With the power off, they cut through the cable and drag it away to be melted down into ingots. It is one of the many problems facing the British troops trying to bring order to Iraq's second city, but by no means the most serious. Three nights ago British forces in the north of the city suffered their first casualty in a direct attack since the fighting ended in April. A routine patrol operating in two soft-skinned Landrovers in the north of the city was ambushed by a group of gunmen who opened up from scrubland by the side of the road. A bullet passed through the leg of a lieutenant in one of the vehicles. The troops returned fire and gave chase, but their attackers had fled, abandoning their AK47 rifles, probably confident they could easily find more in a country awash with weapons of all kinds. It is three months since British troops finally captured the city and in that time much has changed. Flying into Basra international airport at night, Basra resembles any other medium sized city. Where once the only illumination came from the burning oil trenches and fires started by the fighting, now a mass of lights sprawls along the line of the Shatt al Arab waterway. On the ground, water and electricity supplies have been restored and a nascent police force has taken to the streets. Road sweepers have worked their way through the mounds of rubbish which lined the kerbs when the British first arrived. The pictures of Saddam Hussein have all gone. The shops are open again, the markets packed with traders, street vendors setting up by the side of the road, selling everything from toilet bowls to car engines. The roads themselves are heaving with traffic, the drivers hurling their vehicles into junctions apparently without a second thought for their own safety or that of anyone else on the road. People still smile and wave at the British troops as they pass by, though they no longer cluster round their vehicles. But not everything has changed in a way the British might have hoped. The water and electricity supplies are still regularly interrupted, often by the efforts of looters. The police force is still in its infancy, and some of its members are struggling to come to terms with the new rules. There have been allegations of corruption and at least one officer has been sacked. The pictures of Saddam may have gone, but they have been replaced by freshly painted images of Islamic clerics, stern men with bushy white beards and sombre black clothing. And not everyone is happy. There have been protests over pension payments, disgruntled members of Saddam's disbanded army left with no money and no job. There are groups who do not want the British in their city, and it is these groups that are now beginning to surface. Saturday night's attack may have been the first to inflict casualties in the city, but it is by no means the first of its kind. Sergeant Major Carl Tomkinson, of the Queens Lancashire Regiment, has been in the city for three weeks, operating out of the old Baath party headquarters partially destroyed by air raids and where unexploded bombs still lie amidst the rubble. He says troops have got used to the sound of gunfire at night and are coming to terms with the threat of attack: "We had one incident where we were engaged by three gunmen firing from a roof. We fired back at them and they fled," he says. "Another time we had a situation where we were near the palace and weapons were fired nearby. But they weren't being fired at us, they were firing over our heads, so we did not fire back." The troops still generally patrol without their body armour and helmets during the day, but at night it is a different matter. "Generally the population seems fairly friendly but you have to weigh up the threat level. Some areas you do feel a bit edgy. There are people here who are opposed to us, but if you went out fearless every time, you'd be a fool. "The threat is gettig more sophisticated and camp security is tight, otherwise we would be open to suicide bombers." Major Peter Mabbutt, the officer commanding HQ company of 1 Kings Own Scottish Borderers, insists that despite Saturday night's shooting will not change the way that British troops patrol. "It is not going to change our posture overnight. All our soldiers are very professional but you need to be able to deal with any situation. The soldiers are now more aware of the dangers of Iraqi fundamentalists who don't want to see an improved state. I think most soldiers recognise that it is a minority few." Major Mabbutt, whose troops have taken over responsibility for patrolling the area in which six British military police officers were killed two weeks ago (CHECK) said the perception was that the situation was deteriorating, but the reality was that such incidents would always occur while pockets of opposition to the British and US presence existed. "Maybe there is now a slight air of caution but my view is that it is sporadic. Unfortunately there is a culture of weapons in this country where every man believes he has the right to defend himself and while we have this huge number of weapons cached around the country there will always be a problem." The difficulty of ensuring an uninterrupted supply of water, fuel and electricity, and the problems of unemployment among thousands of former state employees has exacerbated resentments and created a breeding ground for dissent. But out on the streets, Basra does not exude the sense of a city descending into crisis: it has an air of a city getting back on to its feet. The troops, too, seem unperturbed by Sayurday night's shooting. The excitement over, the patrol that spotted the looters returns to the traffic-packed streets, their body armour and helmets discarded on the floor of the Landrover. As they drive through Basra, the soldiers are alert, but calm, smiling back at those who smile at them, acknowledging those who wave. They drive on past roadside stalls piled high with goods, flocks of sheep being herded along, men selling petrol from jerry cans. Much of the housing is poor, but festooned with television aerials and satellite dishes. The streets are jammed with cars and the sound of vehicle horns fills the air. A few traffic policemen in clean white shirts and smart black caps, some on white painted police motorbikes, attempt to bring some semblance of order to the chaos. Junctions are bedlam, but no worse than many in Italy or France. The shops appear well-stocked and busy, children still run up to the vehicles and wave, although the days when the soldiers would hand them sweets are gone, large posters around their camps warning them "Do not feed the children". The streets are cleaner than when the soldiers first arrived three months ago, the sweepers taken on by the provisional authority doin their job. A market place is crammed with people, others sit around on chairs beside outside the shops, or in groups down side streets out of the searing heat of the Iraqi summer. A hotel has translated its sign into English: "Hotel and restaurant. Well Come," [correct] it says. A military ambulance is trying to force its way through the traffic, but the drivers are ignoring its siren. The soldiers shout angrily, motioning the driver of a lorry to get out of the way. The man smiles back at them, makes what he must think is a placating gesture. "You f***ing knob", one of the soldiers shouts angrily. Behind him, a green flare soars into the sky, probably looted from one of the ships along the canal. At last they reach the palace, with its gold taps and ornate fittings which have fascinated so many people, and they drive through the gates, past the small crowd of people asking for jobs, complaining about their unpaid pensions, or just hanging around. One of the soldiers looks back at the street scene. "It's a bit wild west," he says, and he may have a point.