SAMAWA, Southern Iraq - It was mid-morning when the air raid sirens sounded
              throughout the Samawa market square. At the governor's headquarters, several
              Iraqi soldiers in the courtyard stared skyward trying to spot any trace of
              approaching U.S. aircraft, while an anti-aircraft gunner atop the roof
              anxiously traversed his automatic weapon at the unseen foe. Several seconds
              later, the sound of jets high overhead indicated that this was no false
              alarm.

              Everyone grew tense, bracing for an imminent attack. When the sound of the
              aircraft engines faded and there were no explosions, the people in the
              market and the Iraqi soldiers who had been frozen in anticipation, quickly
              resumed their activities as though nothing had happened.

              Just one week earlier, U.S. and British bombers had pounded this same town
              of Samawa in two separate attacks. The Pentagon's explanation for those
              attacks claimed their jets were fired upon by Iraqi forces while they were
              patrolling the southern ''no-flight'' zone. (Ever since the Gulf War in
              1991, the U.S. has imposed and enforced strict ''no-flight'' zones in the
              north of Iraq -- above the 36th parallel -- and in the south below the 35th
              parallel.)

              Lt.-Cmdr. Ernest Duplessis, a spokesman for the United States Central
              Command, which is responsible for the Persian Gulf, also claimed that the
              Samawa attack had destroyed a building ''used to store air defence equipment
              and weapons.''' However, my inspection of the actual bomb site did not
              substantiate either of the claims.

              Two large blackened craters mark the actual point of impact in an empty lot,
              some 300 metres in front of the train station. The shrapnel from these
              rockets damaged nearby houses, but caused only superficial damage to the
              warehouse. If this lightly damaged building was the U.S. jets' intended
              target (and it's the only facility even close to the impact area), then the
              Pentagon's initial intelligence reports were also faulty.

              A portion of the Samawa warehouse is now used as an administrative office
              for food distribution, while the remainder -- formerly an auto parts centre
              -- has long since been empty (as evidenced by the mounds of pigeon droppings
              heaped on the floor).

              In total, 19 civilians were injured in the Aug. 11 attack, and two of the
              warehouse employees were killed. In interviews with several of the surviving
              victims, all claim that there were no sirens and no anti-aircraft fire
              preceding the attack. The blasts came as a shock. ''I was just having a
              smoke break beside my car when there was a giant flash in front of me,''
              explained Talib Lamir Sahib, a 56-year-old railway worker. ''The shock threw
              me to the ground about 20 feet away.''

              Mr. Sahib received a 20- centimentre gash to his forehead from a piece of
              shrapnel when a second rocket exploded, even closer to him, just seconds
              later.

              Rad Hazal-Kareem, a 24-year-old security guard at the station, received
              injuries to his arms and wrists as a result of being blown out of his cot
              and onto the roadway. ''I was sound asleep at the time,'' he admitted
              sheepishly.

              Yet even if the Iraqi forces had fired at the U.S. planes, such a gesture
              would have been merely an act of defiant futility. With its air force either
              destroyed or still being held in limbo by the Iranian government (135 Iraqi
              fighter pilots flew their planes to what they believed was to be a safe
              haven during the Gulf War and remain there to this day), Iraq's only
              challenge to the ''no- flight'' patrols must come from its ground forces.

              The Iraqi air defences, which proved to be woefully inadequate and were
              heavily targeted during Operation Desert Storm 10 years ago, have been
              neither replaced nor modernized. In the no-fly zones, the majority of Iraq's
              anti-aircraft weapons consist of 23-millimetre automatic cannons and
              145-millimetre heavy machine- guns. Around major military installations,
              these weapons are grouped together in four-gun batteries and directed by
              primitive radar units. However, most of the air defences consist simply of
              single cannons mounted atop the facility they are intended to protect. While
              neither the 23-mm or 145-mm guns are effective above 6,000 feet, the
              majority of the U.S. patrol flights -- like the bomb sorties launched
              against Yugoslavia in 1999 -- are flown between 15, 000 and 23,000 feet. The
              state-run press reports daily on the number of sorties flown against Iraq by
              the ''U.S. and British aggressors.'' These attacking jets are derogatorily
              referred to as ''ravens'' and the pilots as ''cowards,'' but even through
              the jingoistic bravado, the importance of the Iraqi air defence effort is
              readily apparent.

              ''Our brave soldiers chased away the hostile intruders'' is the common
              closing line for most of these articles, while any claim of downed U.S.
              aircraft is accompanied with the acknowledgement that the wreckage (i.e.,
              proof) went down outside Iraq's borders.

              In the central region, which is unaffected by the ''no-fly'' patrols
              (between the 35th and 36th parallels), Saddam Hussein has retained the best
              of what little air defence he has left. Larger 35mm cannons, which are
              effective to 10,000 feet, and guided missile batteries are in evidence
              throughout Baghdad and surrounding the capital.

              Privately, Iraqi officials admit that even these heavier weapons are
              virtually useless against the U.S. warplanes.

              It is in this relatively secure central region that the remains of Saddam
              Hussein's armoured personnel carriers are housed in covered vehicle parks.
              Ten years ago they failed to put up any resistance against the U.S.
              coalition forces.

              Starved for spare parts due to the past decade of UN trade sanctions, the
              Iraqis have had to seriously curtail the use of their armoured vehicles.
              Roving army patrols now use civilian Toyota pickup trucks with a light
              machine-gun mounted above the cab, while armoured personnel carriers (APC)
              are often seen dug into sand berm perimeters established as permanent
              bunkers around military encampments.

              In travelling through the south of Iraq, the level of destruction levelled
              against the Iraqi forces during the bombing campaign in 1991 and the
              subsequent air strikes, is apparent.

              Every current Iraqi military facility now sits adjacent to its obliterated
              predecessor. Huge lots of twisted metal and destroyed vehicles remain as
              grim testimony to the havoc unleashed on them by the allied warplanes.
              Inside the rebuilt compounds, herds of sheep sleep under the canopies meant
              to house Iraq's once vaunted armoured regiments.

              With the best of Saddam Hussein's military hardware hidden away from U.S.
              air force patrol zones, the opposite is true for the calibre of soldiers
              deployed into these two regions. The Republican Guard and airborne units
              stationed in Basra and Samawa, for example, are far more martial in their
              demeanour than the rag- tag units that provide security around Baghdad's
              official buildings (with the exclusion of the elite military police units
              who patrol certain key intersections).

              All of the troops in the Iraqi Army are conscripted for a mandatory
              three-year term of national service, but those who desire more money ($15 a
              month instead of $10) and better food, can volunteer for more strenuous
              demands of serving in the Republican Guard.

              Even among these elite units, there is an evident shortage of basic
              equipment: Footwear is by no means standardized, with civilian leather shoes
              being the norm; body armour or flak jackets are non-existent; ammunition
              pouches are shared between on- and off-duty sentries; and the wooden stocks
              of personal weapons are badly scarred and worn.

              The officer corps remains the only ''professional'' element of the Iraqi
              army with all of their senior commanders having had some combat experience
              over the past twenty years of constant warfare.

              When the 1980-89 war with Iran was concluded, Saddam Hussein and the Iraqi
              people celebrated it as a tremendous victory.

              As part of the same victory celebrations, Saddam Hussein staged a massive
              parade of military power through the streets of Baghdad.

              Unfortunately, these old images of massed tanks, over-flown by hundreds of
              fighter aircraft, serve only to illustrate how thoroughly Iraq's armed
              forces have been ravaged.

              What was once the fourth largest army in the world is now a shattered hulk,
              unable to defend its own territory and people from the ongoing air strikes.

              Scott Taylor is publisher of Esprit de Corps magazine. He is the author of
              several books and his most recent, INAT: Images of Serbia and the Kosovo
              Conflict,examined NATO's 1999 air campaign against Yugoslavia.