The siege of Syria's Saraqeb

The sound of the caterpillar tracks could be felt as much as heard, a deep rumble that sent a rattle through windows and a tremble of fear through the guts.

Then we saw them. Huge Soviet-made T72s, accompanied by troop carriers driving slowly into town, plates welded on to the sides to deflect rocket-propelled grenades. It was just after 9.30am, and the tanks were coming to Saraqeb.

"Light the tyres!"

The rebels of the Free Syrian Army in Saraqeb, a farming town of 30,000 in northern Syria, are better organised than many in the surrounding Idlib province. Squaring themselves away into formation around the central marketplace, they poured petrol on truck tyres and lit them, sending plumes of thick, black smoke into the air, obscuring the sun and - we hoped - the tank gunners' visibility.

Still the tanks came. The troop carriers stopped to take up holding positions, while the T72s turned in pairs to face towards the centre.

I had been smuggled into Saraqeb last weekend by a guerrilla unit keen to show the world that despite playing along with international efforts to broker a ceasefire, President Bashar al-Assad was continuing to use all-out force to crush his opponents.

While he agreed last week to a six-point peace plan brokered by Kofi Annan, what I saw suggests the Syrian leader intends anything but.

As Syrian army snipers deployed to Saraqeb's high buildings to provide covering fire, the rebel fighters around me took up positions on street corners and pavements.

Their pick-up trucks screeched to a halt, bringing reinforcements, rocket-propelled grenades and improvised bombs built from gas bottles and steel pipes which are placed against kerbs and disguised with cardboard. Then came the click-clack of 200 Kalashnikovs being loaded, a few unaimed rounds fired in anger.

For five tense minutes, nothing happened. Then the T72s began to advance, the shriek of their tracks reverberating up the street. With several dozen rebels, I watched from 100 yards away as the gun turrets swept left, then right, scanning side alleys for threats. For now, their 125mm cannon remained silent.

"Allahu Akbar!"

Chanting the rebel cry of "God is great", one fighter shouldered his RPG launcher, aimed down the tube and fired. The rocket flew straight and true, catching the lead T72 just to the left of the driver's porthole. A cheer went up, the rebels punching the air in celebration.

Yet no-one noticed that the rocket had not exploded, but merely shattered into a hundred useless pieces of metal.

Then the tanks opened fire. The first shells punched into buildings, producing a shockwave of sound and a sea of grey dirt and dust that rolled up the road like a tsunami. Fist-size pieces of hot shrapnel sliced through the air, decapitating one fighter instantly. His rifle clattered against a wall as his friends dragged his headless torso from the line of fire. Another rebel caught a piece of shell in his leg, a deep femoral bleed that left a crimson trail across the road.

"RPGs! Get more RPGs up here!" shouted one game fighter, to little avail. With no real chain of command, the rebels use as much energy arguing among themselves as they do fighting the enemy. As panicky bickering ensued, a woman ushered her terrified children out of the door.

"Please don't shoot from here," she begged the rebels. "My mother is very old and cannot move - if you shoot at them here they will destroy our house."

"We will use our bombs to stop them, I promise," replied a fighter. But home-made bombs do little against a battle tank. As the T72s began shooting at the base of buildings to make them collapse, Muktar Nassar, a young man in white robes, ran up with another RPG, one of the few with a functioning warhead.

Clearly terrified at being just 50yd from a T72, he briefly got the perfect firing angle to hit the tank's more vulnerable side armour, only to be forced to run for cover as the tank behind his target fired again.

"No good, it's no good" Muktar muttered as we retreated, showered again in dust. Up above, sniper rounds peppered the mosque minarets. The fighting was brutally one-sided. As a show of force it was absolute.

By 3pm the rebels knew it was over, retreating to cover to smoke cigarettes, leaving the tanks to roam and shell as they pleased. In the space of just a few hours, Saraqeb had been broken.

Then it was everyone for themselves. Some families stayed in their homes, hoping for the best, others threw belongings into cars and headed out of town. The rebels, meanwhile, staged a chaotic withdrawal, driving at 100mph down country roads to villages beyond shelling range, while an army helicopter circled above.

"What could we do against that?" lamented Abdul Karali, a student whose family lives in Saraqeb. "We're not soldiers, we have no training and few weapons."

Seven were killed in the fighting that day and 28 wounded. Next morning, Sunday, an attempted rebel counter-attack ended in retreat. The uprising in Syria is turning into a hit-and-run guerilla war, but without money, training or anti-tank weapons, the rebels have little bite. Until the big city businessmen from Damascus and Aleppo commit to the fight, Syria's revolution is a working man's uprising of limited means.

Farmers and students sell their belongings to raise the $2,000 required for an AK-47 smuggled from Iraq and to pay $4 for each round of ammunition.

"Until the big cities help us we will scrape along for ways to fight this revolution," said Hussein al-Brahim, an activist from Saraqeb. "But Aleppo businessmen don't want to get involved. They cannot be anti-Assad because he gave them everything."

The smoke and chaos that engulfed Saraqeb last weekend disguised the well-drilled military procedure that was under way. It has been honed during sieges of other rebel hotspots, from Homs and Deraa to Idlib city and other towns across the province.

The tanks go in first, shelling rebel positions and driving them out. The next day, random shellfire to soften the target. Then, once every rebel - and foreign journalist - has left, the ground forces go in. This way, there are few witnesses to what happens next.

The accounts of atrocities committed when Syrian ground forces move are impossible to verify, but the numbers hurt and arrested are unquestionably high.

"The shabiha (pro-government militia) came and took my children," said Fatoum Haj Housin, a resident of Sarmin, five miles north-west of Saraqeb, which had been attacked a few days earlier.

"They took all three of them. They were young men in the army but they defected in January. The militia shot them in the head and burned their bodies in front of me in our courtyard.

"In the name of God, bring me a Kalashnikov and I will kill Assad myself."

There was still scorching and ash in front of her house - and much evidence elsewhere in Sarmin of destruction by ground forces.

Yet for every person killed the rebels' resolve seems to grow day by day.

"We can never go back now," said Feras Mulheen, a student from Saraqeb who had just seen his house destroyed by the tanks. "There's nothing to go back to. We either win or we die trying. There's nothing in between."