Syrians describe living in the crossfire of a brutal civil war for 13 years

Amna Nawaz:

Since Syria's own Arab Spring protests there have devolved into a decade-plus bloodletting, fleeing civilians have been caught in the crossfire between the Assad regime, its Russian and Iranian allies and various opposition groups. Now the conflict has reignited in Northwest Syria's Idlib and Aleppo provinces principally.

Before this new offensive began, special correspondent Leila Molana-Allen traveled there to meet some of the victims of this war and its survivors.

Leila Molana-Allen:

A brutal return to the bloodiest days of the Syrian civil war, as allied Syrian rebel forces surged from the country's rebel-held northwest enclave to seize the country's second city, Aleppo, in a matter of hours.

But as rebels continue to push their way towards the heart of the country, it's civilians back in Idlib and Aleppo bearing the terrible brunt of Syrian President Assad's retaliation, as his allies in Russian warplanes double down on their bombardment.

Trapped by Syrian forces on one side and the Turkish border on the other, more than four million destitute, grieving civilians languish in despair. Families here in the rebel-held northwest have been under assault from Syrian and Russian forces for years, suffering in silence. Many of the young children born here don't know a life without the sound of bombs and bullets.

We're just a few miles from the front line here, and the tens of thousands of civilians living in these areas so close to Syrian regime territory face the constant threat of both shelling from regime forces and airstrikes carried out by Russian warplanes. When tensions are high, they're sometimes attacked every few days.

Many of those living here have already been displaced once, twice, half-a-dozen times by this bitter and brutal civil war. They tell me they fear they don't belong anywhere now. Their Syrian passports blocked by much of the world stop them from travelling anywhere except back to regime-held Syria, where they fear imprisonment or death.

They build their lives around the threat of attack, bags full of essentials ready to run, and little effort to build more than rough shelters, fearing their temporary homes may be destroyed as well.

Amir has seven children. Displaced from their home village of Ruweiha by Syrian government forces five years ago, his extended family packed their eight families inside this water tower complex in an abandoned area for shelter, thinking they would be safe. They were wrong.

Amir Ahmed Al Khalid, Father (through interpreter):

The kids were sleeping. Then we heard a loud bang, a bang, then fire, shrapnel and falling stone.

Leila Molana-Allen:

Their shelter was under attack from a Russian warplane.

Amir Ahmed Al Khalid (through interpreter):

It was very, very scary. We didn't know which way to go. The kids were screaming. We ran to the mountains. Then I started screaming, screaming for my dad and my nephew.

Leila Molana-Allen:

Amir's father and his 6-year-old nephew were killed in the attack.

Amir Ahmed Al Khalid (through interpreter):

We are always afraid. We have been scared for 13 years, not just this year. We live in fear. The jets are always targeting civilians.

Leila Molana-Allen:

With little outside help, under relentless attack, local volunteers from the Syrian Civil Defense Force, better known as the White Helmets, continue to do what they can.

Hassan came running the night Amir's shelter was hit.

Hassan Al Hassan, Syrian Civil Defense Volunteer (through interpreter):

The scene we found was brutal and so painful. People were running around in terror. Everyone was in a state of panic because of the bombing, in fear in case of a second bombing.

When our team arrived, we found bodies lying around, the victims hit by the aircraft that bombed the station. There was a child who'd been killed. It was devastating. His body was covered in dust and his face too. A wall hit by the bombs collapsed on top of a man.

Leila Molana-Allen:

The volunteers risk the regular practice of double-tap attacks, when forces wait for rescuers to arrive before unleashing a second strike to rescue who they can.

Hassan fears this will never end. By day, they bury their neighbors. By night, the attacks begin again. For those who survive, the road to recovery with no home to return to is far from certain. Thousands of patients beg the Turkish authorities to let them cross to get medical treatment they can't get here. Few are given permission.

Mohammed is one of the lucky ones. He made it across the border to the house of healing in Gaziantep, a medical center for displaced Syrians, run by NGO the Syrian Emergency Task Force. When Mohammed was just 2 years old, his home in Aleppo was hit by a Russian airstrike. His aunt and grandmother were both killed. The bomb hit the building's gas tank and baby Mohammed's entire body was burned.

Ali Zakhour, Father (through interpreter):

He suffers from burns in his lungs, from constant infections, and suffers from weakness in walking due to intensive nerve damage from the burns.

Leila Molana-Allen:

Desperate to save his son, Ali smuggled the family into rebel-held territory. Then he began trying to get him to Turkey for further treatment. Now 7, Mohammed has been waiting years for the surgeries he needs to correct his agonizing injuries. There's little more doctors can do for his face.

His father hopes next they will be able to separate his fingers fused together by the flames. Mohammed has never been to school. He's spent his whole life waiting for painful operations. Excluded since infancy, he sits alone, playing silently. In darker moments, he begs his father to find a way to help him make friends.

Ali Zakhour (through interpreter):

The children at the displacement camp wouldn't stand near my son or talk to him. They were afraid of the shape of his face. So he remained isolated in the camp and wouldn't leave his tent because, when the children saw him, they would be afraid of him.

Leila Molana-Allen:

Just one family member is allowed to accompany a patient across the border. Ali's wife and their three other children wait in a makeshift displacement camp. With no breadwinner and little means to survive, Mohammed hasn't seen his mother in more than two years.

Ali Zakhour (through interpreter):

My family is living in a difficult situation in Syria. They have no one to support them. They are alive simply because they have not died.

Leila Molana-Allen:

Mohammed now has permission to have surgery in Turkey, but the costs aren't covered. His next operation will cost $450, nearly a year of average wages in Northwest Syria, for those who can find work.

Across this beleaguered pocket of the world, frozen in time and misery, millions more children spend their days in a forgotten limbo. Deprived of education for much of their young lives, the earliest lesson they have learned is the harshest, not to hope that help is coming.

For the "PBS News Hour," I'm Leila Molana-Allen in Idlib, Northwest Syria.