I am running down a deserted, flaming street in West Beirut. Broken
glass, smashed concrete and burning cars litter the street. I hear the hysterical
screaming of young children huddled for shelter in the dark basements beneath
their homes. Their Arabic wailing mixes with the sound of gunfire and the
shock waves of crashing artillery shells. I run from street to street, photographing
all I can see.
About a block away, I see a lone figure, a gunman with a red scarf. I call to him, and he waves me over. A few moments later we huddled in the doorjamb of a shattered building. His name is Nero. I explain that I am a photographer and I want to see the battle, up close. He closes his eyes, and smiles. Nero likes pictures. We share a Marlboro cigarette. Then he gives me a curious look, swings his machine gun over his shoulder, checks the bolt action, and says, "Now we go to the war."
Check point | Fire fight | the Boys | Shelling | Machine gun nest | Home Guard | Aftermath
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