Child hostages test Russia's antiterror response

Such stories abound, circulating among brooding clusters of family, who clutch handkerchiefs in their distress, hoping that their prayers will see their children home.

"If we could, we would exchange ourselves for the children," vows Zurab Daimazov, a young man in the crowd.

"We would all go [in their places], to save them," adds another woman.

"If they even touch one of the children, there will be a war here," says Yannick Tavitov, a young man with a short beard. "[The hostage-takers] are not human beings. They should be shot."

"No, not shot," interjects Murzat Saloyev, a mustachioed Ossetian whose son, Kazik, became a hostage on his first day of sixth grade. "They should be cut to pieces."

Aza Misikova spoke tearfully of her brother's crazy day. He and his wife took their son, Murat, to first grade. Her brother went to the car to fetch a camera to capture the momentous occasion and the shooting erupted, wounding him, and leaving his wife and son hostages.

For some, the wait is turning to anger - and questions about how such an attack could occur. Many speak of feeling more vulnerable than ever, despite a decade of war in nearby Chechnya.

One poster held above the crowd, read: "Putin, release our children!"

"Please don't scream, keep quiet," says Uruzmax Ogoyev, a local security official. "Have patience, remember that when we gather into such a big crowd, we are a good target."

"We have so many security and police - every sixth person belongs to one of these structures - but not one will take responsibility," says an exasperated Yuri Petrosa, a pensioner. "We can't understand how [this terror attack] could happen, but there should be people who do know how it could happen."

Despite the agony of uncertainty, many relatives and friends just hung their heads in silence Thursday. As the day dragged into nightfall, there some good news.

Oksana Pukhova says she will never forget the joy she felt when she collected her two kindergartners - pupils at another school - and the relief on the faces of other parents on Wednesday, as their picked up their children.

But that moment of personal relief has been tempered by a deep and collective shock in Beslan.

"What did you feel after September 11? We feel the same here," say Mrs. Pukhova. "It's not our pain alone, it's the pain of the whole world. National differences don't matter [to terrorists].

"We have felt such a shock. Now [terrorism] is directed at children - how could they not even give food for them to eat? They are sadists," says Pukhova, a teacher with brown hair pulled back tightly. "We hope there will be no storming [of the building] and no violence."

But those possibilities are haunting a mother at the last barricade before the besieged school. "We always hoped [an attack] would never happen here, but now we expect everything," says Mrs. Misikova, holding Alena tighter.

• Material from the Associated Press was used in this report.

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