The Arab-majority city in mostly Kurdish northern Iraq came under the control of US troops last Saturday morning.

But after a day of looting, the bloody account settling between the city's Arab community, widely seen as a bastion of support for the now ousted Iraqi President Saddam Hussein, and the Kurds gets into full swing.

Sporadic or heavy gunfire resounds across the city, as ambulances ferry in victims of the fighting, both Arabs and Kurds, to the hospital's operating theatre or in some cases straight to its morgue.

Without electricity, without water, the doctors operate on the dozens of casualties by candlelight.

US soldiers standing outside the hospital are shocked by the scenes.

"I hoped we get a good reception. I didn't expect such violence," one soldier said as the sound of gunfire reverberated around the hospital.

Sunday afternoon, the shooting starts at the gates of the hospital and moves inside the complex itself before the eyes of the terrified staff.

A motorist finds himself lost in a main avenue. A mistake which cost his life. Three men fire at a rooftop, and later a gunman is arrested, wounded.

"It's a Kurd, it's a Kurd," say the Arab doctors who refuse to treat him. US troops step in and insist they deal with his injuries.

Monday morning. The family of a member of Saddam's Baath Party is attacked. Two of them are wounded. They are the first casualties to be taken to the hospital for that day.

The city is calm. Children and policemen return to the streets. Electricity and telephone services are restored.

"That's better, the number of casualties has decreased," says Doctor Muzahim Kawat. "The Americans listened to us: they stopped flying their flag under our noses."

A young girl offers flowers to US soldiers.

Tuesday afternoon. The ambulance sirens begin again amid the wailing and tears.

A woman cries, cradling her young, wounded daughter in her arms.

"They (US soldiers) shot at the crowd in front of the governorate," shout those bringing the wounded to the hospital.

Hospital director Ayad al-Ramadhani does not know where to start.

"There are casualties everywhere, we do not have enough space for them," he says, as corpses pile up at the mortuary waiting to be placed in wooden coffins.

Emergency personnel bar Westerners from entering the hospital, amid shouts of their anger and hatred.

The US soldiers leave.

"We don't want the peshmerga (Kurdish fighters) or Americans. They say they have come to ensure our safety but they are firing on us," says Said Altah, a doctor.

Wednesday afternoon. The hospital's deputy director takes stock of the victims from the day before: 15 dead, 28 wounded.

A few hours later coalition forces admit that US troops shot at a crowd in the centre of Mosul, saying they were fired on first by demonstrators who turned hostile during a speech by an American-installed local governor.

However, another incident takes place Wednesday and at least four people are killed and several others wounded in a gunbattle with US soldiers who claim to have been shot at near the governorate buildings.

And the wailing sirens, tears and cries of hatred begin all over again.

SPACE.WIRE