BY  Tom Squitieri; Jack Kelley

        PORT-AU-PRINCE, Haiti - "It's happening: Clinton is waging war," yelled secretary Emile Dance, 43, above the noise of U.S. Black Hawk helicopters passing in file overhead. "He's sending enough to blow up Russia."
        On this city's streets Monday, some Haitians cursed. Others held up their middle finger at the continuing streams of helicopters that deafened conversation.
        But there was enthusiasm as well. At day's end, hundreds of Haitians spontaneously descended on U.S. troops in the harbor area, chanting pro-USA slogans, cheering and shaking hands with them.
        U.S. troops had to hold back gates to prevent the men and women, some blowing kisses, from breaking through.
        "This is crazy," yelled Spec. Robert Celedon, 24, of Calcium, N.Y. protecting the seaport. "We didn't expect a celebration like this. They're telling me, `We're your friends. We're your brothers.' "
        But nearly all were overwhelmed by the magnitude of the intervention.
        By dawn thousands lined the seaport to watch the arrival of the aircraft carrier USS Eisenhower, a Coast Guard vessel, dozens of helicopters and hundreds of troops. By 9 a.m., the port area was nearly full.
        Some climbed atop buildings for a better view. Others stood atop their cars. And one man even brought wooden fruit crates to stand upon.
        Most of the crowd stood in silence as if dumbfounded, comparing the arrival of troops and equipment to U.S. movies like The Longest Day, the story about D-Day.
        "If this is peace, I'd hate to see war," said Marcus Anton, 24, staring at cargo planes flying overhead. "This is something else!"
        Although few voiced words of support, none of the Haitians carried weapons despite long-standing threats to do so.
        One shot was fired at the seaport by an unidentified man, sending people diving for cover. No injuries were reported.
        At the airport, there was one lone anti-American demonstrator - and he was severely beaten by the Haitian military before U.S. troops intervened and set him free.
        In the hills above the city, an Apache helicopter swooped low into the ravines of the mountains, skimming the treetops and sending up dust among the shacks of the poor and the mansions of the rich.
        "We bring democracy to Haiti," a loudspeaker boomed in Creole. The peasants who were watching here, and elsewhere down the road into Port-au-Prince, erupted with small cheers and waving hands.
        Then the voice from the helicopter boomed, "Work with your army to build with democracy."
        That caused listeners to laugh. "Your army" - the army of Lt. Gen. Raoul Cedras - was the one that had tormented them for almost three years. They had little inclination to take the plea seriously.
        There were scowls on the faces of the wealthy and bitterness on the lips of soldiers, the two elements in the 1991 alliance that deposed President Jean-Bertrand Aristide.
        "How do you think things are going," snapped Mireille Durocher-Bertini, former chief of staff to puppet Haitian President Emil Jonassaint.
        "No one likes to see their country invaded, no matter what they call it," said Maj. Marc Valme, army commander at Port-au-Prince's international airport, one of the first places U.S. soldiers took control of Monday.
        Under the agreement signed Sunday between U.S. negotiators and Haiti's military-installed government, there is to be "mutual respect" between U.S.-led intervention forces and the Haitian military and police forces.
        Monday, it looked liked that partnership was going to be a hard sell. In most areas, it meant Haitian soldiers and police standing aside and letting U.S. forces take over.
        As U.S. soldiers from the 10th Mountain Division fanned out along the entrance to the airport terminal building, across the street under the shade of trees Haitian soldiers watched coolly and carefully.
        "Li pa bom, li pa bom," said Pvt. Philippe-Pierre Jabon in a seething whisper. "This is not good, this is not good."
        Jabon was one of the few Haitian soldiers who was in uniform and visible Monday. Most appeared at the airport or near their posts in town in freshly washed civilian clothes.
        As U.S. troops spread out along the airport terminal, the Haitian soldiers stretched out across the street between worn-out trucks.
        As U.S. troops adjusted their weapons and bulletproof vests, the Haitian soldiers adjusted their sunglasses and unbuttoned their shirts to the day's heat.
        Meanwhile, paramilitary attaches drove by in four-wheel-drive vehicles, photographing the U.S. soldiers.
        Buttons worn by anti-Ari-stide individuals on Sunday evening were discreetly inside shirt pockets on Monday. Headquarters of the major paramilitary group, FRAPH, was empty.
        The house of leader Emmaunuel "Toto" Constant was clear of all but cleaning staff.
        Even the restaurant, La Normandie bar, a 24-hour attache hangout where gunmen boasted on Sunday how they would ambush U.S. troops, was closed. Its iron entrance gate was locked.
        Most paramilitary forces seemed to have vanished into the narrow streets and alleys of the capital, watching the helicopters from hiding.
        Many had yet to hear about Cedras' capitulation. Those reading Haiti's newspapers saw headlines and stories finished before the agreement.
        Reports spread that attaches brandishing weapons were hijacking four-wheel-drive vehicles, possibly to use to escape to the hills.
        And just to let everyone know they have not faded away, attaches threw roadblocks of tires on National Route 2, which leads south-southwest of Port-au-Prince, and set them on fire.
        It was a not-too-subtle reminder that when retribution time appears in Haiti, the weapon of choice is often a flaming tire.