The column of US tanks shimmered like a mirage in the morning sun. We had reached the siege lines around Falluja.
For three days, 2,000 US Marines have surrounded the rebellious city west of Baghdad, making forays into its heart, retreating when the men most Iraqis now refer to as "the mujahideen" attack them with kalashnikovs and rocket-propelled grenades.
We stopped the car 300 metres from the Marines, and I got out to walk to them. Driving towards a US position - especially one engaged in battle - is suicidal. After 50 metres I heard the popping of heavy machine gun fire, but thought the Americans were shooting at the mujahideen and kept walking. The popping grew louder. I hesitated; I wanted to talk to the Marines, but they seemed to be under attack. So I turned round and headed back to the car. Now I understand how so many Iraqis are killed at US check-points. My driver and interpreter saw the Marine waving me back; I didn't. They realised that the machine gunner was firing in the air to warn me; I didn't. If I had continued walking towards them, the Marines would have assumed I was a suicide bomber.
We had parked between two abandoned garages for protection. Moments after I reached the place on foot, the explosions started. First a mortar landed next to the tank I'd headed for, leaving a curly-cue of black smoke, like a genie coming out of a bottle.
There was a change in air pressure as the tanks fired, then more explosions. A half dozen men from Garma and a haggard man named Ali, who had walked out of Falluja early yesterday morning, led us to a more sheltered alcove. Four Apache helicopters darted past us.
"I was in Jolan quarter," Ali said. "Thirty-five people were killed there yesterday. I saw bodies on the ground, and nobody moved them. I saw five houses destroyed. Every time the Americans start searching houses, the mujahideen attack them."
Just then, a dark blue van carrying perhaps 10 men in the red and white keffiyeh headdresses worn by the mujahideen sped in a diagonal line across the vacant lot behind the garages. "Many fighters will now come from other places, from Baqouba and Diyala, to help the mujahideen in Falluja," one of the men explained to me. A US drone, like a large model airplane, whined overhead. Had it spotted the van full of fighters?
Was it transmitting video pictures of our little group, hiding in the unfinished building? How many minutes before the Apache came for us? Paranoia, perhaps. But unlike the mujahideen, The Irish Times' driver, interpreter and correspondent were not eager for martyrdom. We headed down the abandoned highway and stopped in the next town, Khan Dari.
Sheikh Khalaf Zobaee (50), a tribal leader, was holding court in front of a grocery store. Men gathered round him, sitting on plastic chairs, fingering worry beads. Most have relatives in Falluja, and all communications were cut off.
The Marines call the operation "Vigilant Resolve," and it is meant to avenge the killing of four American security contractors in Falluja last week.
"Those people who were killed by the people of Falluja were Jewish spies," Sheikh Khalaf claimed. "But we don't approve of the way they were killed. Force is the only thing the Americans understand," he said. "If they don't give power to the Iraqi people, all Iraq will be like Falluja."