From one of the more presentable hovels along the street, a pretty teenage girl emerged waving a packet of papers above her head. “Liban! Liban!” She screamed at the soldiers but nationality made no difference if any of the men even heard her over the shouting and shooting that roared through the streets of Sabra. The girl died in a hail of gunfire that was aimed at an old man in a greatcoat and a checkered kefiyeh who aimed a vicious swipe at the shooter with a gnarled cane. The soldier ignored his victims and charged after another target he spotted at the end of the street.
The radioman caught just a glimpse of the chunky woman in Muslim robes hunkered in a corner of the goat shed. He was confused and conflicted. What happened here? He didn’t know beyond the shots he’d fired at the boy
