Aleppo-based freelance journalist Mohammed al-Khatieb writes for Al-Monitor:

See also Barrel Bombs and the Regime’s Strategy of Urban Warfare


It’s 2 a.m. on June 7 and calm hangs over the neighborhood of Bustan al-Qasr. All the shops are closed. A few passersby walk the street; two, three, maybe five in total. Quiet reigns, except for the sound of a helicopter flying low to the ground, which is atypical during the day.

No one looked up to the sky, because the helicopter could not be seen while it circled. Maybe it was directly overhead or farther away.

Some inhabitants turned off all their lights, hoping to reduce the chance of being targeted. Others ignored the whole situation, having grown tired of all the security measures.

The helicopter’s rumble grew as it descended vertically. Suddenly, a young man yelled “ordnance released,” as the exploding barrel was heard whooshing toward the ground, growing louder as pedestrians scurried about. One man threw himself on the ground. Another ran away, while a third stood motionless. The whistling sound grew louder, followed by a young man’s cries of “Allahu Akbar,” right before the earth shook in a thunderous explosion.

The terror had ended. It took 20 seconds for the barrel to fall from the helicopter to the ground — 20 seconds when everybody thought the barrel would fall on their heads.

A man in the street examined himself, and, determining that he was still alive, continued toward his home, as the search for ground zero began. The intensity of the explosion meant that it occurred nearby, in the neighborhood of Bustan al-Qasr.

As a Suzuki pickup truck sped by carrying two wounded, the inhabitants asked the driver: “Where did it hit? Where did it land?” Without stopping, he replied, “The Sukkar Mosque”.

We arrived at the site, where the inhabitants gathered around the ruins of destroyed buildings. Everyone was in shock: One wore pajamas, another barely covered his body with a piece of cloth. The place was dark, and the people tried to illuminate it with handheld torches.

They began digging through the rubble in search of anyone who may be trapped. Minutes passed before members of the Civil Defense force arrived with the lone excavator they used in all targeted sites.

A man in his 40s, Abu Mohammed, whose relatives were trapped in the rubble, stood crying and screaming. He approached the devastated area and yelled at the top of his lungs, listening for a response from under the ruins. Everyone then went silent as Abu Mohammed heard a voice. “Someone is still alive,” he yelled, pointing to a location for the Civil Defense members to dig in, a place he thought was the bedroom.

Three hours later, four bodies were recovered. No one survived when the five-story building collapsed atop its occupants’ heads.

Abu Mohammed carried the body of a young girl pulled from the rubble. He seemed to know her well as he asked: “Why did you leave me? Where is your father? Where are your siblings? Please take me with you!” His imploring continued even as the child’s body was taken away.

On one side of the debris-strewn landscape, a mother held two of her dust-covered children while she waited, her eyes fixed on the people searching for survivors. After long hours of exhaustive work, and despite assurances by witnesses that people remained trapped under the rubble, the Civil Defense team left the scene, its members in desperate need of rest, having canvassed other areas targeted by death barrels throughout the “liberated” neighborhoods of the city.

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(Featured Photo: A building destroyed in Bustan al-Qasr on June 7 — Mohammed al-Khatieb)