The hatch of the black police truck opened with a pneumatic hiss, and a helmet slowly emerged. And the barrel of a gun.

We were edging closer to something bad.

Police were moving in, and people in the crowd were saying things like "you don't have to do this" and "drop the gun and come out smiling" and "these people will love you if you don't shoot them" – the last one brought some laughter, even amidst the growing tension.

It was about 7:25 p.m. Wednesday at the corner of Speer and Market, which is outside the Pepsi Center, where the night before I heard Hillary Clinton speak and then emerged to a miniature circus of t-shirt hawkers, street preachers, clowns and a guy hawking an Obama watch (it tells you when it's time for change).

Things were different tonight.

At least 1,000 civilians surrounded a squad of soldiers representing Iraq Veterans Against the War. The group was demanding to be heard by Barack Obama, freshly nominated that day by acclamation to be the Democratic Party nominee for president. While they were outside, inside the Pepsi Center such speakers as former President Bill Clinton were preparing to introduce vice presidential candidate Joe Biden, U.S. senator from Delaware.

In a tightening perimeter around the civilians around the soldiers were dozens or maybe hundreds of police in black body armor and visored helmets. Outside the police perimeter were more crowds; inside and out of the perimeter, the makeup of the people on the street was diverse. The crowd included pierced and tattooed anarchists with bandannas; punk rock bicycle riders; clean cut college students; young, middle and mature convention attendees and tourists and curious onlookers; parents with children; different shades of skin.

People were nervous partly because of the scene itself, and also because of what had happened Monday night, when police fired tear gas and arrested more than 100 people in what some witnesses claimed was a melee instigated by the authorities.

***

I didn't know at first exactly what was happening. I had walked over from Civic Center Park, where a Critical Mass bike ride kicked off at about 6 p.m.

At least a hundred riders, more likely somewhere between 100-200, took to the street and pedaled off. The idea is to converge upon a street and take it over from vehicle traffic.

I thought Civic Center Park would be a hotbed of activity. For the last several days it had been the scene of nearly nonstop protests, gatherings, poetry, music and other political statements. But when I got there looking for Critical Mass, which I had seen on the Recreate68 calendar, I found nearly the entire park except for one end fenced off.

The bicyclists and a handful of other people, including the soup kitchen from Food Not Bombs, gathered in the strip of park left open.

After the bicyclists left, the Ginger Ninjas and their opening act Crystal Stafford played. Actually, I didn't get to hear Stafford, who while the Ninjas played was one of four people pedaling bikes hooked up to the speakers. The band travels the U.S. and Mexico on bike and mass transit, and when they play they invite people from the audience to power the show, literally.

I noticed a few minutes into the show, as a few dozen people watched and a more started trickling in, that police were creating a loose ring around the scene. About 30 police, in pairs, surrounded us.

One young man called them names. Another guy told him to stop. Who are you going to call when you have trouble, he said, Save it for when they're doing something wrong. You're antagonizing them for no reason.

I went to talk to an officer. He was leery of me as a reporter, but I put the notebook down and talked to him straight. I understand there can be knuckleheads on both sides, I told him, except in much more diplomatic terms. He looked at me, almost sadly, and said, we're all human.

Then he told me that if I was looking for street gatherings a few thousand people were in front of the Pepsi Center.

***

I hoofed it over, and at first, overwhelmed by the number of police and the loose perimeter, I hung back.

Police were arrayed on one end on Speer, on the grassy area next to Speer where the crowd gathered, and at the corner of Speer and Market. At Market and Speer, the police were right next to the crowd. On the grassy area, police were within 10-20 yards. On Speer, they were further away, leaving a clear opening to get to the crowd.

The black truck came from the end of Speer, and with it a phalanx of police. As they started moving in, the crowd got more vocal. Besides the comments, they chanted "disarm, disarm, stop perpetuating harm." Inside the perimeter, a masked man knelt in front of the police with a sign strapped to his back: "So this is what a police state looks like." A young woman stood in the line with the police facing the crowd, silent and holding a small green sign that stated, "decrease police."

Every few minutes, the truck and the police with it would move a little closer.

I jumped inside the perimeter. I could see now the core of the crowd, made up of the soldiers of IVAW.

I wasn't close enough to hear what they were saying, and I was roaming the edges of heir cluster, every now and then turning to watch the police.

Then a roar went up from the center of the mass.

"We won! We won! Oh my God!"

I pushed through, but was stopped by yellow-shirted volunteers, who were well-organized and keeping the crowd off the soldiers. Other volunteers performed specific tasks. One, Francesca Lo Basso, was a spokeswoman. She said that a member of Obama's staff had come out and said the candidate agreed to meet with the soldiers. A few minutes of confusion ensued, as people tried to figure out whether it really was happening.

When it was confirmed, a roar went up from the crowd.

One of the soldiers came forward and formally announced the news, which was "you don't have to get arrested. Our mission always has been to get this letter read. You're welcome to hang out here. It's our country. Please remain non-violent."

Another soldier announced on a speaker that they were going to hold Obama accountable, that it wasn’t over yet.

The letter referred to by the soldier, identified by a spokeswoman as former Lance Corporal Jeff Key, had three points:

1. The immediate withdrawal of all occupying forces from Iraq.

2. Full and adequate health care and benefits to all returning service members and veterans.

3. Reparations made to the Iraqi people for the destruction caused by the U.S. war and occupation.

It can be viewed in its entirety here.

The Los Angeles Times article on the event can be seen here.

***

The soldiers marched forward, stopped and saluted. During a moment of silence, the soldiers and crowd raised their arms and flashed peace signs.

Then the soldiers stood at attention.

Some people started crying. One man shouted out, "Thank you," breaking the silence.

Finally, the call "at ease" came out, and a cheer went up.

One soldier, a young woman, went down to her knees, crying, while her comrade put his arm around her. Some of the soldiers didn't want to talk, explaining the emotional exhaustion of a tense day that started hours earlier at a concert featuring Rage Against the Machine four miles away.

Other soldiers did.

Dan Black, who said he was a former Marine, gave me a big hug, and thanked me. Um, I'm a reporter. I was just standing here taking notes. But thanks. And I hugged him back.

Was he afraid during the tense moments?

"It's far from the most frightening thing I've ever seen. Tear gas and rubber bullets? I'd rather not, but … " he said. I felt dumb for asking the question.

He said "we're not activists. We really appreciate the civilian support. That becomes the story to report. You can organize and make an impact. Regular people can reach the politicians. The answer is not by yourself, but with putting people together and organizing. We might not get Obama (to agree) but we're in there and he'll talk to us. People have to recognize that."

At 8:05 p.m. I started to go. Walking out, I passed a line of police, now relaxed, smiling and leaning against their vehicles. People who in the crowd only 20 minutes earlier were looking at the police hoping not to be teargassed, beaten and arrested were walking up to the police and shaking their hands and telling them, great job, thank you.

One office began to banter.

"How was the Rage show?" he asked. He had tattoos on his arm, and other than the black uniform and gun and short hair, he suddenly was indistinguishable from the young man with whom he was speaking.

"Man, I really wanted to go to that show," he said.

He smiled and held up a folded card and said, "this is really what I wanted to do."

The card had two words visible: "Make out."