[...]
Deserted streets, scattered animal corpses, a ghost town
The Julan district was like a ghost town. Deserted streets, collapsed buildings, heaps of rubble and spent rifle and artillery casings were everywhere. Animal corpses made of just skin and bones littered the streets.
On the first day of the U.S. military assault on Julan, electricity and water were cut. These places were where the Mujahadeen were living. It was there that I met them.
[...]
Soccer field becomes public cemetery
As they spoke, the sound of small arms and artillery fire could be heard. For the 40 minutes I was in Julan district, we heard six or seven shots from U.S. snipers.
Last April 30, the U.S. military said it would be withdrawing from Fallujah, but from what I could see at their base in the central hospital, they are staying put. U.S. snipers are positioned all around Julan district.
On that day, I heard that one Mujahadeen was severely injured by a sniper's bullet. That is why every time we heard the shot of a sniper's rifle, the Mujahadeen's faces hardened and they clasped their old Kalashnikovs.
As the sound of the shots got nearer, they indicated that it was getting dangerous. They used hand signals to say they could no longer stay and quickly made off.
For the past 25 days, U.S. snipers have killed so many people that it is difficult to tally the number. Both of Fallujah's public cemeteries are completely full, so citizens have begun burying their dead in a nearby soccer field.
The soccer field is a huge public cemetery. As I headed to the field, I saw an old pickup truck parked in front of a house. A person wearing a surgical mask got out of the vehicle and went inside.
An ambulance pulled up and some men went into the front garden. They said they were going to move a buried body from there to the public cemetery. Then one of the men grabbed my arm.
"OK, look at this carefully. And take pictures. Make a video recording and tell President Bush and the world about what is happening here!"
[...]
They would not give me the volunteer team leader's name. When I asked why, they replied, "Since the start of the blockade, our ambulance has been fired upon twice by U.S. troops... One volunteer has already been killed."
"The U.S. soldiers are dogs. They kill humanitarian workers. Even if they see a humanitarian team, or a doctor, they attack. It's like they're trying to get rid of us. Why do they do this?"
At Hadrah clinic, I found one doctor who complained of the same treatment. He made an appeal to the U.S. forces to let up on the shooting long enough for his clinic to receive the approximately 170 killed.
"I'll need about a week to get a grasp of the exact number," he said. "We are unable to bury the dead through all the shooting, so there are temporary graves all around."
At the soccer field turned cemetery, already 300 bodies are buried there.
The stadium walls are collapsing and there are burial mounds everywhere. The names of the dead are written in red paint on pieces of concrete stuck in the soil.
Beside the graves, volunteers dig long ditches, which separate the graves along with pieces of stone. They mark the minimum distance between the bodies, as there is a lack of space for all the corpses.
[...]