Oh, the quiet streets of war. I hate them. Fear echoes and multiplies in the silence. Give me a place where you can hear the sounds of battle, where you know where the fire is coming from. In Jalula the streets were empty. I glimpsed a man behind a half-open gate talking on his mobile phone. Is he tipping off the militants that we are here? In this atmosphere every approaching vehicle becomes a potential suicide bomber, the pile of rubble by the roadside the perfect hiding place for a bomb.