HUMAN SHIELDS: At the Daura oil refinery, 30 km south of Baghdad, the rumble of B-52 airstrikes against the Republican Guard's Medina division rises to a constant roar, writes Lara Marlowe in Baghdad.
The Iraqis have opened a tap at the refinery to feed a burning oil fire on the far side of a wall, just a few hundred metres away.
Amid the swirl of black smoke and the endless detonations, near a banner saying "No Blood for Oil", I met Faith Fippinger (62), retired teacher of blind children, turned "human shield".
Ms Fippinger has the accent of her native Illinois, although she now lives in Sarasota Florida - "Jeb Bush country" - she notes bitterly. She stood bravely at the centre of a crowd of journalists bussed down from Baghdad, twisting her fingers and trembling with each explosion. But there was something elegant about her fine, weathered face and greying hair, not unlike Katherine Hepburn in The African Queen. Despite her fear and exhaustion, she was spirited and stubborn.
Ms Fippinger arrived in Iraq a month ago. Only once has she been shown unkindness. "A crew from ABC's Good Morning America came to interview me, and they introduced me by saying that I came here to support Saddam Hussein; it just isn't true."
Other "human shields" go into Baghdad for the relative luxury of international telephone calls and Internet access. Not Ms Fippinger. She has nieces and nephews but no children of her own. Her marriage ended many years ago. "I've stayed out here the whole time," she says, not boasting, just scrupulously honest. "I came alone. I heard about 'human shields' and I wanted to do something about the war. A lot of people are trying to fight this insanity. I would like to think my being here would make some kind of difference. My life is worth no more than the lives of Iraqis."
Ms Fippinger heard that the US Secretary of State, Mr Colin Powell, has threatened to imprison "human shields", if they survive. "I don't worry about it. That's down the road," she says.
"The explosions are constant, day and night; some nights more than others. Last night the anti-aircraft artillery never stopped. The closest hit was about 2 km away. Sometimes I'm afraid, but mostly I feel overwhelming sadness that this is what the world has come to.
"I read in a newspaper that Bush said this war is God's will," she said. "This man has made a sham of democracy, and now he's making a sham of religion. The last time I heard words like that, it was from Osama bin Laden."
The refinery is south-west of Baghdad, and Ms Fippinger could soon find herself in the path of US servicemen. What will she feel if that happens? "Disbelief perhaps; sadness that they've been brainwashed to do this." As I turned to go, I asked if I could help her. She shrugged sadly, wearily, and her voice was nearly drowned out by explosions.
"Call my family in America, if anything happens to me."