Looking For Trouble

March 28

(Published March 29) STRANGE to think that it is only a week since we crossed the Iraqi border, that mixture of anticipation and excitement and trepidation as we drove through the gaps in the sand bank, passed the wire and over the ditches and on into Iraq. We didn't know then about the militiamen with their rocket-propelled grenades, had no reason to fear the guerrilla raids, the sudden explosion of mortar rounds, the rattle of gunfire from unseen enemies by the roadside. We didn't know then that those two soldiers would disappear without a trace, or that all the others would be gone. Back then, the war was supposed to last three days at most. Basra by breakfast, Baghdad in time for tea. The Iraqis would welcome us with open arms and Saddam would be a footnote in history. Our biggest problem would be coping with the thousands of Iraqi prisoners surrendering because they had no stomach for the fight. But I think we knew in our heart of hearts that it would never be that easy. Yes, we fretted as we sat waiting in the deserts of Kuwait, fretted the Americans would have finished the job before we even set eyes on an Iraqi, wondered whether we would fire a shot in anger. Back then, we worried about the sand that crept into our tents and our rucksacks and our sleeping bags, coated our clothing and matted our hair. We cursed the sandstorms and the heat and the flies, the stinking latrines and the inconvenience of washing in a bowl of freezing water outside our tents. Later, we grumbled about the Scud alerts, the shouts and alarms that sent us diving into slit trenches, dirt in our mouths and noses to wait for what seems hours for the distant thump of an explosion that told us it was safe to scramble out again. We bitched over the need to carry our gas masks with us everywhere we went and the shouts of "gas, gas, gas" and the blaring of vehicle horns that has us pulling on our respirators and running for cover in our baking hot vehicles, sweat pouring off us, breathing heavily through the filters designed to save our lives but which seemed designed solely to make those lives a misery. And when the bombing started and the night sky was lit with the fires burning over the horizon and the sound of the bombers filled the air, we felt sympathy for those crouched in their trenches on the Iraqi side of the border, waiting for oblivion. But that day we crossed the border, something changed in all of us. Driving up the road north, the days of waiting became a distant memory amid the ever-present signs of battle. Abandoned tanks and armoured personnel carriers littered the countryside, burnt-out trucks stood by the roadside, hit by tanks or artillery or air strikes as the Americans, heading for Baghdad, passed that way. Groups of prisoners of war sat miserably beside the road, ringed by hoops of barbed wire and guarded by British soldiers with bayonets fixed to their rifles. From up ahead came the first reports of Black Watch units engaging the Iraqis near the town of Az Zubayr, a place which would become all too familiar in the days to come. But we didn't know that then. At night we camped up where we could, barren patches of land littered with rubbish and patrolled by packs of noisy dogs, sleep broken by the sound of explosions all around, the flash of bombs and artillery shells going off, the sky glowing orange from the oil-field fire trenches lit by the Iraqis and the burning fractured pipelines. If there were no explosions, then there were more alerts, scrambling out of sleeping bags into ditches or under vehicles, searching in the dark for helmets and body armour and gas masks. The days ran together, sand storms that blotted out everything around giving way to thunder, lightning and driving rain, turning the dust to mud. We camped in the mud beside the road, protected by machine-gunners perched on sand bags at the end of that stretch of tarmac, tanks and armoured vehicles offering cover to those with little protection, the Land Rovers and the ammunition and fuel trucks. Camped among tonnes of high explosives, their protection offered little comfort. Clustered round our radios, we listened as the war went wrong, listened as those early gains lost their certainty, the sweeping advances faltering. Towns that had fallen were no longer secure, bridges taken no longer under control. And Basra, which some would have had us believe was all but taken when the Americans drove past at the start of the week, standing firm, packed with Iraqi troops and weaponry. The Iraqi soldiers had not stayed to fight, but thrown away their uniforms and vanished. Instead of a straight fight between two mismatched armies, now it was a guerrilla war against an enemy who could appear from anywhere and disappear just as quickly. The first losses among our own were hard to take, the reports of engineers missing in an RPG attack. Then two more deaths, both to RPGs, the first Black Watch soldier lost. The news was broken to the men as they awoke, but there was news of other deaths too. This time, not from the Iraqi guns and rockets, but from a tank round fired by our own battle group. We took it in, talked about it, accepted it, accepted that such things happen in the confusion of war. But there were successes, too - the bridges of Basra taken, shells and mortars and bombs raining down on those inside the city. We revelled in the reports of every victory, every tank knocked out, every artillery piece destroyed, forgetful now of those who had been firing back at us. They were our enemy. It was their rockets that had killed our men, their attacks that caused the confusion in which our troops fired on their own. They wanted us dead, and we cared nothing for them. They would think the same of us, we told ourselves. When we heard that Douggie Hay had ordered his Warrior to ram the Baath Party headquarters in Az Zubayr, we smiled and thought no more of the seven men who died trying to fight off the attack. When we heard the helicopters flying overhead in the dark towards Basra, we gave thanks for the chance of a few moments' respite from the fear of fresh attacks to send us running for cover again. And so it goes on, lying flat under the body of a Land Rover waiting for shells to fall from artillery spotted a few miles away. Learning to live with fear that goes with sitting in the dark waiting to drive down roads where you know men are waiting to try to kill you. Hearing that the front of your convoy is under RPG attack, flinching at the sound of the explosion, rejoicing at the news that it has missed. Running for cover as mortar bombs explode 200 yards from where we are handing out humanitarian aid. Listening on the radios to our tanks and our armoured vehicles taking out the Iraqi positions at the front and cheering on their every success. And now as we wait for the moment when the commanders decide they can no longer put off the advance into Basra, we are the enemy at the gates, trying to avoid our own Stalingrad. We must hope that the promise of humanitarian aid, of food and water, will persuade those inside the city to rise up and overthrow the regime we are told they hate so much. But if it comes to street fighting, this week will soon seem as far away as last week does now.

(Original copy) Strange to think that it is only a week since we crossed the Iraqi border, that mixture of anticipation and excitement and trepidation as we drove through the gaps in the sand bank, passed the wire and over the ditches and on into Iraq. We didn't know then about the militia men with their rocket pro-pelled grenades, had no reason to fear the guerrilla raids, the sudden ex-plosion of mortar rounds, the rattle of gunfire from unseen enemies by the roadside. We didn't know then that those two soldiers would disappear without a trace or that all the others would be gone. Back then, the war was supposed to last three days at most. Basra by breakfast, Baghdad in time for tea. The Iraqis would welcome us with open arms and Saddam would be a footnote in history. Our biggest problem would be coping with the thousands of Iraqi prisoners surrendering because they had no stomach for the fight. But I think we knew in our heart of hearts that it would never be that easy. Yes we fretted as we sat waiting in the deserts of Kuwait, fretted that the Americans would have finished the job before we even set eyes on an Iraqi, wondered whether we would fire a shot in anger. Back then, we worried about the sand that crept into our tents and our rucksacks and our sleeping bags, coated our clothing and matted our hair. We cursed the sand storms and the heat and the flies, the stinking latrines and the inconvenience of washing in a bowl of freezing water outside our tents. Later we grumbled about the scud alerts, the shouts and alarms that sent us diving into slit trenches, dirt in our mouths and noses to wait for what seems hours for the dis-tant thump of an explosion that told us it was safe to scramble out again. We bitched out the need to carry our gas masks with us everywhere we went and the shouts of "gas, gas, gas" and the blaring of vehicle horns that has us pulling on our respirators and running for cover in our baking hot vehicles, sweat pouring off us, breathing heavily through the filters designed to save our lives but which seemed designed solely to make those lives a misery. And when the bombing started and the night sky was lit with the fires burning over the horizon and the sound of the bombers filled the sky, we felt sympathy for those crouched in their trenches on the Iraqi side of the border, waiting for oblivion. But that day we crossed the border, something changed in all of us. Driving up the road north, the days of waiting became a distant memory amid the ever present signs of battle. Abandoned tanks and armoured personnel carriers littered the countryside, burnt out trucks stood by the roadside, hit by tanks or artillery or air strikes as the Americans heading for Baghdad passed that way. Groups of prisoners of war sat miserably beside the road, ringed by hoops of barbed wire and guarded by British soldiers with bayonets fixed to their rifles. From up ahead came the first reports of Black Watch units engaging the Iraqis near the town of Az Zubayr, a place which would become all too familiar in the days to come. But we didn't know that then. At night we camped up where we could, barren patches of land littered with rubbish and patrolled by packs of noisy dogs, as sleep broken by the sound of explosions all around, the flash of bombs and artillery shells going off, the sky glowing orange from the oil field fire trenches lit by the Iraqis and the burning fractured pipelines. If there were no explosions, then there were more alerts, scrambling out of sleeping bags into ditches or under vehicles, searching in the dark for helmets and body armour and gas masks.The days ran together, sand storms that blotted out everything around giving way to thunder, lightning and driving rain, turning the dust to mud. We camped in the mud beside the road, protected by machine gunners perched on sand bags at the end of that stretch of tarmac, tanks and armoured vehicles offering cover to those with little protection, the Land Rovers and the ammunition and fuel trucks. Camped among tonnes of high explosives, their protection offered little comfort. Clustered round our radios, we listened as the war went wrong, listened as those early gains lost their certainty, the sweeping advances fal-tering. Towns that had fallen were no longer secure, bridges taken no longer under control. And Basra, which some would have had us be-lieve was all but taken when the Americans drove past at the start of the week, standing firm, packed with Iraqi troops and weaponry. The Iraqi soldiers had not stayed to fight but thrown away their uniforms and vanished. Instead of a straight fight between two mismatched armies now it was a guerrilla war against an enemy who could appear from anywhere and disappear as quickly. The first losses among our own were hard to take, the reports of engineers missing in an RPG attack. Then two more deaths, both to RPGs, the first Black Watch soldier lost. The news was broken to the men as they awoke, but there was news of other deaths too. This time not from the Iraqi guns and rockets but from a tank round fired by our own battle group. We took it in, talked about it, accepted it, accepted that such things happen in the confusion of war. But there were successes too, the bridges of Basra taken, shells and mortars and bombs raining down on those inside the city. We revelled in the reports of every victory, every tank knocked out, every artillery piece destroyed, forgetful now of those who had been firing back at us. They were our en-emy. It was their rockets that had killed our men, their attacks that caused the confusion in which our troops fired on their own. They wanted us dead, and we cared nothing for them. They would think the same of us, we told ourselves. When we heard that Douggie Hay had ordered his Warrior to ram the Baath Party headquarters in Az Zubayr, we smiled and thought no more of the seven men who died trying to fight off the attack. When we heard the helicopters flying overhead in the dark towards Basra, we gave thanks for the chance of a few moments respite from the fear of fresh attacks to send us running for cover again. And so it goes on, lying flat under the body of a Land Rover waiting for shells to fall from artillery spotted a few miles away. Learning to live with fear that goes with sitting in the dark waiting to drive down roads where you know men are waiting to try to kill you. Hearing that the front of your convoy is under RPG attack, flinching at the sound of the explosion, rejoicing at the news that it has missed. Running for cover as mortar bombs explode 200 yards from where we are handing out humanitarian aid. Listening on the radios to our tanks and our armoured vehicles taking off the Iraqi positions at the front and cheering on their every success. And now as we wait for the moment when the commanders decide they can no longer put off the advance into Basra, we are the enemy at the gates, trying to avoid our own Stalingrad. We must hope that the promise of humanitarian aid, of food and water, will persuade those inside the city to rise up and overthrow the regime we are told they hate so much. But if it comes to street fighting, this week will soon seem as far away as last week does now.

(Published March 29) THE crowd was halfway across the concrete and steel bridge when the mortar rounds started falling on the Basra side. Men, women and children screamed as they ran to escape Iraqi machine-gun fire. A thousand people, maybe more, ran for their lives. A young woman fell, hit by shrapnel as a pick-up truck broke cover and charged forward, the machine -gun mounted on its roof spewing bullets at the crowd. On the British side, a tank lurched forward, the gunner training his sights on the truck a few hundred yards ahead. One shot and the truck was blown apart, the three people in it killed in an instant. Around the British positions, mortar shells were falling, the Black Watch firing back. The crowd had made it safely across the bridge, hands raised as they ran towards the troops, ducking for cover as the British guns moved round to cover their escape. They began moving along the road in the direction of Az Zubayr. They may take shelter there or camp out in the countryside around. A young woman, badly hurt, was plucked to safety by a British vehicle and driven back across the lines. Others were also injured and medics rushed to tend their wounds. Then came the clatter of rotor blades and two Lynx helicopters appeared, hovering over to the right, just visible between the concrete pillars holding up the bridge. They hung in the air for what seemed an age before releasing their missiles, guiding them into the target on the other side of the canal, then tilting and peeling away. On the Iraqi side of the Shatt al-Basra canal, the missiles struck two positions manned by the Saddam Fedayeen, the militia who were holding out in the besieged city. In the turret of his Warrior armoured vehicle, Lieutenant Colonel Mike Riddell-Webster, the commanding officer of the Black Watch, raced back to the British positions on the west side of the bridge. Its radio crackling with reports from his unit, the Warrior rattled to a halt. The crowd had appeared at about 8am, he said, clearly desperate to flee the city. British tanks had held them at the far bank before the decision was taken to let them cross. "We gave permission for them to come through, but there was no firing then," he said. "The people were overjoyed when we let them through, they were blowing kisses and waving their hands in thanks. As they came across the bridge, the Iraqis opened up with 50mm mortar fire. The intent was clearly to stop their own people moving across. "Then a pick-up with a machine-gun mounted on the back came down the road and opened fire on our troops and the civilians. The machine gun was firing into the crowd. One of our tanks fired back and destroyed it, and the three people inside it. Any time we moved between our vehicles, more fire came in, hitting the vehicles. "One of our lads had a bullet rip through his smock, which was a bit close. They wanted to get out and away. Most are heading for Az Zubayr and the farms around there, but they are not really aware of what is going on in the town so many of them will camp out in the fields. "They want to get away but when they came across the bridge, they had their hands up. They were scared of us as well. They don't know what is going on, but they are more scared of the Baath Party." On the far side of the bridge were 200 or more civilians who could not get shelter on either side of the road, terrified of moving in case they came under fire. Behind them, huge plumes of black smoke drifted eastwards from the fire pits filled with oil lit by the Iraqi defenders. Across a flat landscape, there was a smell of burning oil in the air. Inside the British compound, Warrior armoured vehicles kept their guns trained on the opposite bank, but the Iraqi guns had fallen silent. Lines started to move back across the bridge again in both directions, people coming back from Az Zubayr passing those determined to get out of Basra at the centre of the span where a British Warrior stood guard. A Challenger tank rumbled past, heading over towards Basra and covering the Iraqi positions with its weapons. In a sand-bagged observation post littered with spent bullet cases at the edge of the bridge, Major Lindsay MacDuff had been watching the break-out. As forward air controllers guided the helicopters in towards their targets, he recalled that it was the second time the Iraqis had opened fire on their own people trying to escape the city. The militia have been there for days, he said, niggling away at the British positions, using maybe eight vehicles, with mortars and machine guns mounted on the back, each manned by two or three men. Major MacDuff said: "Yesterday afternoon, we were about to do a raid and there was a log-jam of people coming over the bridge and the Iraqis fired mortars at us and at the civilians, but this is the first time they have just tried to target the civilians alone. Their ability to get the rounds where they want them to is more than just down to chance so they are clearly aiming at them. "We can shelter in our vehicles but we can't get all the civilians in. You can't get 200 people in the back of a Warrior. We've heard of direct fire being used to shoot civilians leaving Basra, which is a worrying trend." Major MacDuff has been camped out on the edge of Basra for five days, organising raids designed to sap the resistance of the gunmen and encourage the civilian population to rise up against the Iraqi regime. Last night, it increasingly appeared that this was not going to happen without significantly more pressure. Major MacDuff said the civilian population was eager for the British troops to enter the city, but too scared of the Iraqi regime to take action: "The message coming across is that they are unhappy about life in Basra and they are keen for us to come in and help them, which we are keen on doing. "But the difficulty is that the conditions for us going into Basra haven't yet been achieved. We're keen to go in but we haven't got the orders to go." Major MacDuff said even those who want the British to enter the city are facing terrible pressure from the Iraqi authorities to continue the resistance. He said: "One man came up to us and told us that if we didn't let him through he would be shot, but the next day we saw him with an AK47 taking action against us, so the pressure they are under is clear to see. Tribal elders are being coerced into taking action against us with the help of a gun to the head or the promise of money. The problem is fear and the regime is working on fear. "I'm not sure what makes people collectively take the decision that it is time to take action themselves. I think their understanding of what we are is jaundiced because the only understanding they get is through the regime." The British are using interpreters to try to explain their position to those moving into and out of the city and they hope that the activity against the militia forces is sending out the same message. Major MacDuff said: "I was talking to the CO about setting up an aid post here to give them food and water but they would just be a target for fire. So until we can make it safe we can't do it." In London, the Chief of the General Staff, General Mike Jackson, said British forces were making progress in wearing down resistance from Saddam's forces in the south of Iraq. He insisted: "The Iraqi forces in the south are fixed, by that we mean they are pinned down - their ability to manoeuvre is very limited indeed." However, a British military spokesman in Iraq, Colonel Chris Vernon, said Basra was "nowhere near yet in our hands." He added: "We have no way at the moment of getting humanitarian aid into Basra. "But as we begin to pressurise Basra and begin to dominate it militarily, it is fixed in military terms. Nothing can move in or out militarily. The key to Basra is to eradicate the Baath Party control and the irregular forces under their control, so the lid is taken off the people."

(Original copy) The crowd was halfway across the concrete and steel span of the bridge when the mortar rounds started falling on the Bas-ra side, men, women and children screaming as they ran to escape ma-chine gun fire coming from the Iraqi positions. A thousand people, maybe more, running for their lives. A young wom-an falling, hit by shrap-nel, as a pick up truck broke cover and charged forwards, the machine gun mounted on its roof spewing bullets at the crowd. On the British side, a tank lurched forward, the gunner training his sights on the truck a few hundred yards ahead. One shot and the truck was blown apart, the three people in it killed in an instant.Around the British posi-tions, mortar shells were falling, the Black Watch firing back.The crowd had made it safely across the bridge, hands raised as they run towards the British troops, ducking for cover as the British guns moved round to cover their escape. Now they are moving along the road in the direction of Az Zubayr. They may take shelter there or camp out in the countryside around. The young woman, badly hurt, is plucked to safety by a British vehicle and driven back across the lines. Others are also in-jured and medics rush to tend their wounds. Then the clatter of roter blades and two Lynx he-licopters appear, hover-ing over to the right, just visible between the concrete pillars holding up the bridge. They hang stationary in the air for what seems an age and then release their missiles, guiding them into the target on the other side of the canal, then tilting over and peeling away. On the Iraqi side of the Shatt Al Basrah Canal, the missiles strike two positions manned by the Sadayeen Hussein, the militia who are holding out in the besieged city. In the turret of his Warrior armoured vehicle, Lieutenant Colonel Mike Riddell-Webster, the commanding officer of the Black Watch, is racing back to the British positions on the west side of the bridge. Radio crackling with reports from his unit, the Warrior rattles to a halt. The crowd had appeared at about 8am, he says, clearly desperate to flee the city. British tanks had held them at the far bank before the decision was taken to let them cross. "We gave permission for them to come through, but there was no firing then," he says. "The people were overjoyed when we let them through, they were blowing kisses and waving their hands in thanks." As they came across the bridge, the Iraqis opened up with 50mm mortar fire from the southern edge of an estate near the bridge. "The intent was clearly to stop their own people moving across. "Then a pick up with a machine gun mounted on the back came down the road and opened fire on our troops and the civilians. The machine gun was firing into the crowd. "One of our tanks fired back and destroyed it, and the three people inside it. "Any time we moved between our vehicles, more fire came in, hitting the vehicles. One of our lads had a bullet rip through his smock, which was a bit close. "They wanted to get out and away. Most are heading for Az Zubayr and the farms around there but they are not really aware of what is going on in the town so we think many of them will camp out in the fields. "They want to get away but when they came across the bridge, they had their hands up, they were scared of us as well. They don't know what is going on, but they are more scored of the Baath Party." On the far side of the bridge, 200 or more civilians who could not get across are sheltering on either side of the road, terrified of moving in case they too come under fire. Behind them, back inside the city, huge plumes of black smoke drift eastwards from the fire pits filled with oil lit by the Iraqi defenders. Across a flat landscape, across the oily lagoons of stagnant water lying beside the canal, people can be seen scurrying for better cover. Above them, the sky is blue but tinged with grey nearer the sky-line from the clouds of smoke hanging over the city. There is a smell of burning oil in the air. Inside the British compound, Warrior armoured vehicles keep their guns trained on the opposite bank, but the Iraqi guns have fallen silent. People start to move back across the bridge again in both directions, people coming back from Az Zubayr passing those determined to get out of Basra at the centre of the span where a British Warrior stands guard. A Challenger tank rumbles passed heading over towards Basra, covering the Iraqi positions with its weapons. In a sand bagged observation post littered with spent bullet cases at the edge of the bridge, Major Lindsay MacDuff has been watching the break-out. As forward air controllers guide the helicopters in towards their targets he says it is the second time the Iraqis have opened fire on their own people trying to escape the city. The militia men have been there for days, he says, niggling away at the British positions, using maybe eight vehicles, with mortars and ma-chine guns mounted on the back, each manned by two or three men. "Yesterday afternoon we were about to do a raid and there was a log jam of people coming over the bridge and the Iraqis fired mortars at us and at the civilians but this is the first time they have just tried to target the civilians alone. "Their ability to get the rounds where they want them to is more than just down to chance so they are clearly aiming at them. We can shelter in our vehicles but we can't get all the civilians in, you can't get 200 people in the back of a Warrior. "We've heard of direct fire being used to shoot civilians leaving Basra, which is a worrying trend." Major MacDuff has been camped out on the edge of Basra for five days, organising the raids de-signed to sap the resis-tance of the gunmen and encourage the civilian population to rise up against the Iraqi regime.Inside the compound, now nicknamed Camp Keltie by the troops, they have torn down any pictures of Saddam Hussein they find, Major MacDuff taking personal charge of demolishing one mural, ploughing his Warrior into the brick work, smashing it to pieces. He believes that the civilian population is eager for the British troops to enter the city but is still too scared of the Iraqi regime to take action. "The message coming across is that they are unhappy about life in Basra and they are keen for us to come in and help them, which we are keen on doing. "But the difficulty is that the conditions for us going into Basra haven't yet been achieved. We're keen to go in but we haven't got the orders to go." As he speaks, people are now moving freely across the bridge, running when they hear the sound of fresh firing coming from the British positions. Major MacDuff says even those who want the British to enter the city are facing terrible pressure from the Iraqi authorities to continue the resistance. "One man came up to us and told us that if we didn't let him through he would be shot but the next day we saw him with an AK47 taking action against us, so the pres-sure they are under is clear to see. "Tribal elders are being coerced into taking action against us with the help of a gun to the head or the promise of money. "The problem is fear and the regime is working on fear and the catalyst for overcoming that fear is different for everyone. Everyone has their different line in the sand. "I'm not sure what makes people collectively take the decision that it is time to take action them-selves. "I think their understanding of what we are is jaundiced because the only understanding they get is through the regime." The British are using interpreters to try to ex-plain their position to those moving into and out of the city and they hope that the military activity against the militia forces is sending out the same message. "We've got to try to meet their needs," he says."I was talking to the CO about setting up an aid post here to give them food and water but they would just be a target for fire, so until we can make it safe we can't do it." As the CO's Warrior roars away, the helicopters are clattering into the distance.In the British positions they start planning the next strike, determined to knock out the gunmen who are prepared to fire on their own people and who they believe are all that is preventing the people of the city from rising up and welcoming in the troops camped at the gates.

(News copy published March 29) BRITISH troops in the town of Az Zubayr have found a children's health centre that has been taken over by the Iraqi militia and converted into an armoury. Enough children's medicine for 10,000 treatments was found unopened next to rooms packed with rocket-propelled grenades, AK47 rifles and ammunition. British commanders were tipped off that the clinic had been taken over by Baath Party and militiamen. Troops stormed the building after armed men were seen leaving yesterday morning. Militiamen have launched a series of attacks on British soldiers in the town, and it is thought Thursday's assault on a site used to distribute humanitarian aid was launched from the clinic. Intelligence suggests an al-Qaeda cell might be operating in the town, and yesterday one prisoner told British officers suicide attacks were being planned on aid convoys. Troops have also been warned militiamen are targeting tank and Warrior commanders by stretching cheesewire across streets at head height. Lieutenant Colonel Kevin Beaton, senior medical officer for the British battle group, said the clinic contained medical equipment and hundreds of unopened boxes of medicine. He said: "There are kids with chest infections and thread worms that need this stuff now. I think it is a crime it has just been sitting here." The entrance to the centre was guarded by slit trenches and a 30mm anti-aircraft gun on the roof. Inside, weapons were found in rooms next door to medicines, some of them marked "United Nations IRAQ account". Corridors to the rear of the building, containing medical equipment and abandoned treatment rooms, had been bricked up but British troops smashed through. Aid agency posters were on the walls of consulting rooms and children's medical records were piled up on shelves. Major Douggie Hay, whose men found the clinic, said: "We reckon this was some sort of UNICEF distribution point or health clinic. If that is true, the storage of weapons is a breach of the Geneva convention."

(Original news copy) BRITISH troops in the town of Az Zubayr have found a children's health centre which has been taken over by the Iraqi militia and converted into an armoury. Boxes of children's medicines, enough for 10,000 treatments, were discovered lying unopened next to rooms packed with rocket propelled grenades, AK47 rifles and thousands of rounds of ammunition. British military commanders believe that the clinic had been taken over by the local Baath party and militia men. They spotted armed men leaving the building yesterday morning and it was quickly stormed by armoured units. Militia men have launched a series of attacks on British soldiers in the town, which have resulted in two deaths, and it is thought that Thursday's attack on a site used for humanitarian aid distribution was launched from the health clinic. Intelligence has suggested that an al-Qaeda cell may be operating in the town and yesterday one prisoner told British officers that suicide attacks were being planned on aid convoys. British troops have also been warned to be aware that militia men are targeting tank and Warrior commanders by stretching cheesewire across streets in the town at their head height. The discovery that the children's health centre had been converted into a military headquarters has shocked British troops in the town. Lieutenant Colonel Kevin Beaton said there were hundreds of unopened boxes of medicine and medical equipment intended for the children of the town lying unopened in their boxes. "There are kids that need this stuff now, kids with chest infections and thread worms that need this stuff today. I think it is a crime that it has just been sitting here," he said. Lt Col Mike Riddell-Webster, the commanding officer of the Black Watch, said he now wanted to get the medicine out to the children who needed it. "We'll get it back into circulation somehow, preferably with the message that this is what their regime has been sitting on." The entrance to the medical centre was guarded by a network of slit trenches and a 30mm anti-aircraft gun on the roof. Inside the front of the building had been converted into Baath party offices, decorated on every wall with pictures of Saddam Hussein and his sons. Weapons were found in several rooms next door to stocks of medicines, some of which were marked "United Nations IRAQ account." Corridors leading to the rear of the building, containing most of the medical equipment and abandoned waiting rooms and treatment rooms, had been bricked up but British troops were able to enter through holes smashed in the masonry. On the walls of consulting rooms were Unicef posters and Iraqi Red Crescent Society material. Children's medical records were piled up on shelves in the abandoned rooms. Other rooms contained school books, some decorated with pictures from the movie Lion King. The shelves of medicine boxes were stocked with boxes of antibiotics and paedeatric medicines, including ampicilin - which is used to treat pneumonia in children - folic acid for pregnant women and tapeworm treatments. There were 500 eye ointments, 1000 bottles of a Calpol equivalent and thousands of needles and syringes. Major Douggie Hay, whose men found the clinic, said they made the discovery after a tip off that it was being used as a Baath party headquarters. He said reconnaisance revealed men going into and out of the building carrying weapons and he decided to launch an immediate attack. Three Iraqis were killed in the raid. "We reckon this was some sort of Unicef distribution point or health clinic and if that is true the storage of weapons there is a breach of the Geneva convention," he said. "It had been taken over by the Baath party and they had filled it with weaponry. "I believe this is where they mounted the attack on us from yesterday." Major Hay also said that more information had been received from prisoners about possible al-Qaeda activity in the town. The discovery of the health clinic came on a day in which Iraqi militia men in Basra fired on more than 1,000 people fleeing the city over a bridge leading to the west. British troops returned fire and a tank destroyed a pick up truck with a machine gun mounted on the back which was firing on the crowd.

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