Sporadic gunfire could be heard in the near distance.

Bolan caught vivid glimpses of pure havoc each time he and the Israeli darted across a side street that bisected the alleys.

Everywhere he looked, Bolan saw chaos: walls of buildings disintegrating from the shelling; families, residents standing around numb with shock; automobiles flaming, trashed in the streets; dead bodies sprawled everywhere — Muslim and Christian soldiers and civilians, men, women and children fallen in awkward positions on the sidewalks, in the gutters.

A pack of drunk Phalangist troops were too busy looting a Muslim store to see Bolan and Herzi slide by behind them. The cries of the wounded and others mourning their dead echoed throughout the ravaged city.

I have arrived in Hell, Bolan thought.

The farther they penetrated via the network of alleys, the worse it became.

A frightened family rushed past them on foot, heading in the opposite direction. The father watched the two armed men dash by and muttered a warning in Arabic that Bolan could not understand. Then Bolan and the Israeli passed the family, cutting toward another side street.

"He says we are crazy," Herzi explained, "and perhaps he is right. But our luck is holding out." At that moment they left the cover of the alley in a beeline through the darkness toward an opposite alley that bisected the first block. They were in a neighborhood of Beirut's distinctive multileveled limestone housing projects, many punctured here and there by gaping holes from the artillery bombardment.

Bolan and the Israeli each scanned a different direction up the side street before leaving cover of the alley, as they had done at each cross street during their penetration of the war zone.

The street looked empty enough. Two bodies of dead soldiers were sprawled down the way — nothing more.