The rattle of machineguns echoed incessantly as Syrian rebels, wearing combat vests stuffed with ammunition, attacked a football stadium held by President Bashar al-Assad's forces in Aleppo.
A rebel on patrol near Aleppo
An explosion signalled the destruction of a tank, triggering jubilant cries of "Allahu
Akhbar (God is Great)" from the insurgents.
But their celebration was shortlived: the soldiers launched a counter-attack,
trying to break through rebel lines. The thin cluster of gunmen approaching
the stadium, where perhaps 80 of the regime's tanks are deployed, had to
fight hard to avoid being outflanked.
Mr Assad yesterday described the struggle for Aleppo as one that "will
determine the destiny of our people and the nation's past, present and future".
In his first public words since July 18, when a bomb killed four key members
of his security establishment in Damascus, Mr Assad praised the army as the "shield,
wall and fortress of our nation".
But his annual address on Army Day came in the form of a written statement;
unusually he did not deliver a speech or appear on television.
Just how high the stakes are in Aleppo was shown by the deployment of jet
fighters to carry out air strikes for the first time. The United Nations
confirmed that its observers had seen the Syrian air force in action in the
city on Tuesday. The monitors also reported that rebels were using tanks and
other heavy weapons in the battle for control of Syria's commercial capital,
the home of 2.5 million people.
The outcome of this confrontation is hanging in the balance. Moving between rebel positions in a white van that had, in happier times, been a tourist bus, we encountered the destruction caused by a tank shell.
In the smoke and dust, people were trying to retrieve the contents of a devastated row of shops. At that moment, a second tank round slammed into a block of flats 50 yards away. The shock waves from the blast sucked air from our lungs as a cloud of black smoke enveloped the target.
Mr Assad's Russian-equipped army, using the tools developed for war on the plains of Europe, is focusing its attack on the Salahaddin area, a middle-class residential district next to the stadium. This was the third day of fighting in the street leading to what was once Aleppo's showcase football venue.
On the rebel side, the pace is frantic. One of their hardest tasks is to retrieve injured men who have crept forward for a better shot at government troops. "It's very difficult to get the injured – we have to go round the block and come from another way, where no one is in control," said Abdullah Yassin, a Free Syrian Army (FSA) fighter. One team left on a rescue mission, covered by a barrage of fire from a heavy machinegun. They returned later, but without their wounded comrades.
Close-quarter combat in these streets is a crucial test for the FSA. Although Salahaddin is friendly territory, the rebels have only a tenuous grip on other districts, such as Fardos and Marjeh, leading to the guerrilla supply lines in north-eastern Aleppo.
Getting to Salahaddin means driving down backstreets where the stench of uncollected rotting garbage fills the senses.
Much of central Aleppo is a no-man's land, with the outcome of the battle still unpredictable. Even in areas that the rebels claim to have conquered, pro-regime militias pose a pervasive threat.
At Marjah Medical Clinic, however, insurgent fighters were jubilant. Abu Hamid placed his foot on the head of a bust of Hafez al-Assad, the Syrian leader from 1970 until 2000, and founder of the ruling dynasty. Someone had written "I'm sorry I'm a donkey" in marker pen on the bust.
"I am happy to rest my feet on Hafez al-Assad's head," said Abu Hamid. "He has caused me much pain and I am happy to get something back."
Hundreds have been injured during the battle for Aleppo. The lightly wounded are treated in the city, the more seriously injured are smuggled out to Turkey. Munsel Yarud, 28, who had been drafted into the fight from his native city of Hama, which was also besieged after rising up against Mr Assad, said his stomach wound had not put him off the struggle. "It may be months until I recover, but I will go back and fight until we bring this dictator down," he said.
The outcome of this confrontation is hanging in the balance. Moving between rebel positions in a white van that had, in happier times, been a tourist bus, we encountered the destruction caused by a tank shell.
In the smoke and dust, people were trying to retrieve the contents of a devastated row of shops. At that moment, a second tank round slammed into a block of flats 50 yards away. The shock waves from the blast sucked air from our lungs as a cloud of black smoke enveloped the target.
Mr Assad's Russian-equipped army, using the tools developed for war on the plains of Europe, is focusing its attack on the Salahaddin area, a middle-class residential district next to the stadium. This was the third day of fighting in the street leading to what was once Aleppo's showcase football venue.
On the rebel side, the pace is frantic. One of their hardest tasks is to retrieve injured men who have crept forward for a better shot at government troops. "It's very difficult to get the injured – we have to go round the block and come from another way, where no one is in control," said Abdullah Yassin, a Free Syrian Army (FSA) fighter. One team left on a rescue mission, covered by a barrage of fire from a heavy machinegun. They returned later, but without their wounded comrades.
Close-quarter combat in these streets is a crucial test for the FSA. Although Salahaddin is friendly territory, the rebels have only a tenuous grip on other districts, such as Fardos and Marjeh, leading to the guerrilla supply lines in north-eastern Aleppo.
Getting to Salahaddin means driving down backstreets where the stench of uncollected rotting garbage fills the senses.
Much of central Aleppo is a no-man's land, with the outcome of the battle still unpredictable. Even in areas that the rebels claim to have conquered, pro-regime militias pose a pervasive threat.
At Marjah Medical Clinic, however, insurgent fighters were jubilant. Abu Hamid placed his foot on the head of a bust of Hafez al-Assad, the Syrian leader from 1970 until 2000, and founder of the ruling dynasty. Someone had written "I'm sorry I'm a donkey" in marker pen on the bust.
"I am happy to rest my feet on Hafez al-Assad's head," said Abu Hamid. "He has caused me much pain and I am happy to get something back."
Hundreds have been injured during the battle for Aleppo. The lightly wounded are treated in the city, the more seriously injured are smuggled out to Turkey. Munsel Yarud, 28, who had been drafted into the fight from his native city of Hama, which was also besieged after rising up against Mr Assad, said his stomach wound had not put him off the struggle. "It may be months until I recover, but I will go back and fight until we bring this dictator down," he said.
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