Shelling Near Iranian Border Is Forcing Iraqi Kurds to Flee

A U.S. Defense Department spokesman, Lt. Col. Jonathan Withington, said in an e-mail: "I am not aware of any support being provided to the PJAK."

The Kurdish refugees from the shelling say they are the victims of the Iranian strategy. Ahmed Shilhan, 89, said his son lost an eye when he was struck by shrapnel. Several of Baiz Aziz Khuder's sheep died in the shelling. His father, Aziz Khuder Hussein, recalled watching his apple orchards burning, then piling his family into his Nissan Patrol to escape. A shell burst nearby, spraying shrapnel into his vehicle, he said.

"My daughter-in-law is pregnant and I am afraid she will miscarry," he said, huddled with 30 relatives and neighbors under a tree where they are living. "It feels like we have lost everything."

When the shelling started, Taban Koha Rasheed, 28, was sitting at her breakfast table with a bowl of goat's milk yogurt. The first shells fell high on the mountain above Upper Arcae village, then dozens more swept down into the valley. Her dishes crashed down off the shelves. The windows in her stone house shattered. A shell slammed into the outhouse. "It was like an earthquake hitting the house and everything fell down," she recalled.

Rasheed, a nurse, led several relatives and children into a nearby cave, but a shell burst next to the entrance, spraying them with rocks and dirt, so they rushed farther down the mountain. "The kids kept crying and we couldn't keep them silent," she said. "During the bombing it felt like they wanted to eliminate us."

After walking for several hours, Rasheed and her neighbors camped along a creek, with little more than a few blankets and the food they could carry. The Iraqi Red Crescent and officials in the Kurdish region have contributed additional supplies.

Residents from different villages have staked out territory in these ravines. As the days passed, they brought their goats, sheep and cattle down to the river, and arguments have sprung up over animals crossing into other villages' campsites.

Rasheed now passes her days treating scorpion bites, fevers and stomach sickness from drinking creek water. Other villagers milk goats, cook rice and tea over wood fires, and watch over the children.

One morning last week, after a few days of respite from the shelling, the sound of thunder filled the ravine, but there were no clouds in the sky. Mir Hamza Farha, an elderly woman with bright red hair under her black and white head scarf, knelt by the shallow creek. She closed her eyes, raised her face and open palms to the sun, and prayed she would be spared.

"The bombs are coming," she shouted across the water. "You must leave now!"

Smoke from the shelling began to rise from the tan hills above their campsite. Farha herself had no place left to go.

Special correspondents Saad al-Izzi and Dlovan Brwari contributed to this report.