Sasa is telling a group of us about a press conference when the air-raid sirens sound again and a security guard tries to thrust us downstairs to the shelter. We bid a hasty farewell, but Radan has had enough. NATO has fallen into his trap. Finding another driver, we discover in the outskirts of Belgrade the terror of NATO's missile technology. A thick plume of smoke is still rising less than a kilometre away.
Chickens crow and there is a rich smell of home produce.
Predrag and his wife, Sanja, describe how they watched from their field as seven missiles shot overhead the previous night, and then fled downstairs to their cellar as the shock waves rocked their dilapidated house. With them, they took old and young alike, screaming children and, most bizarrely, their ethnic-Albanian neighbours. We're great friends. We've got nothing against Albanians like him. Their son, Darko, sits quietly in his track suit.