ATLANTA BOMB: 'Victims were screaming and howling in pain: it was chaos'

The woman lay on the ground, her lower legs blown to pieces, blood oozing from her knees.

Seconds earlier, she had been one of the thousands of revellers partying into the early hours at a rock concert in Atlanta's Centennial Olympic Park.

The venue was specially designed for members of the public to join in the Olympic excitement. At 1.20am an explosion ripped through it, blasting shrapnel in all directions, blowing people into the air.

The ground shook, the giant video screen next to the stage jumped two feet, and a cloud of blue smoke rose slowly skywards. The smell of explosives filled the air.

A German television crew was interviewing Janet Evans, the American swimmer. She stopped mid-sentence and lurched to one side as the boom of the blast rose up behind her.

The worst fears of Olympic security chiefs had been realised.

For a time, the crowd could barely take in what had happened. Some thought it was fireworks, part of the performance by the band Jack Mack and the Heart Attack, who were just finishing a number on stage.

Then, as police rushed in and sirens rent the air, the full horror began to dawn. Some stood silent, stunned. Others cried. Many linked arms to try not to lose their friends and families as they attempted to run to safety. The injured tried to crawl. Four of the most badly hurt were left curled in foetal positions.

Steve Bass, 19, was 10 feet from the perimeter fence when the bomb went off. "At first we thought it was something to do with the show, but then the cops went crazy trying to get everyone out through the emergency exits," he said.

"I made my way into the park and I saw this guy lying beside the stage. He wasn't moving - he looked in really bad shape. It was a pretty awful sight, everyone just lying around, people screaming and no one really knowing what was going on."

Anthony Long, from Britain, said the band stopped playing. "They looked shocked - they looked around, they walked about and then they just went off the back of the stage."

The scene seemed even more shocking for the contrast with the joyous good humour of the evening, the eve of "Super Saturday" when Linford Christie was due to defend his 100m gold medal. "People were dancing, watching the concert, having a good time," said Senetricus Warford. "Then it went up."

Members of the public joined medical staff in tending the injured. Michael Effman, a soccer coach from California, said most had puncture wounds. "It was the impact of the debris. The first person I helped was a woman bleeding profusely from the head. I did the best I could to help. A lot of people were in shock and hyperventilating."

Jennifer Ellis, an Olympic volunteer from Florida, said of the injured: "They were bleeding, crying, screaming and howling in pain. It was chaos."

That there were no more fatalities was thanks to a quick-thinking security guard. Even as the bomb warning was being phoned in to Atlanta police, he had spotted an unattended bag at the base of the lighting and sound tower and thought it was suspicious.

Mark Smith, the band's sound technician, said: "Richard, our security guard, didn't like the look of it and he immediately informed the police. They immediately started clearing the area."

He was 50 feet from the bag when it exploded. A policeman in the path of the blast was badly hit. "We put a towel on his head and I poured some water I had on the towel to wash some of the blood away," Mr Smith said. "He was not even moving."

Soldiers cordoned off streets in ever-wider blockades which eventually extended to a nine-mile radius, and police dogs helped in the search which discovered a second device. The leaders of the British Olympic team did a frantic head-count to check everyone was all right. All were. Floodlights blazed through the night as security staff combed the nearby sports venues.

As dawn broke over the park, the four-tiered AT&T stand where the explosion had occurred stood like a ravaged wedding cake. Drizzle coated a team of workers from the Alcohol, Tobacco and Firearms Bureau as they began identifying the shrapnel fragments at the site. By 11am, the scarred bank beside the ruined edifice was dotted with dozens of fluttering pink markers.

Many of the workers in the park lay on makeshift mats, attempting to sleep. Others sat hunched on the pavements, watching others arrive, pointlessly, for work.

William Brown, a 38-year-old stallholder, sat on a freezer box at the corner of Spring Street and International Boulevard.

"Did I hear the sound?" Mr Brown said. "I heard the sound. I could feel the concussion. I served in the navy. I know the sound of an explosion."