OPINION:
Many might remember the Al Rashid Hotel. It was the place from which CNN’s Peter Arnett broadcast the start of the first Gulf War with the famous line, “The skies are lighting up over Baghdad,” back in 1991. It was famous for its secret passages, listening devices, and an infamous disco where Uday Hussein’s bodyguards would snatch girls to be dragged away to be raped and sometimes killed.
For those of us who served in Iraq during our second engagement in the country, however, it was home for a time — a place to blow off steam after working 16-hour days in the heat. In the few hours that we had to decompress from the meetings about security and governance amid mortar attacks, tense Black Hawk flights over unstable territory and more, the American and coalition personnel revived the pool and lounges there.
The Al Rashid was many things in those early days of the coalition’s administration of the country, but perhaps foremost among them was being a giant target looming over the landscape. We knew it but went about our work. The building had been attacked before, but 20 years ago this week, what happened would stay with many of us for a lifetime.
The night before that fateful morning, a group of my colleagues and I went downtown to a gathering hosted by ABC News’ Baghdad bureau. Such social events were not uncommon at the time despite the obvious risk. They were important for those of us who dealt with the media to build relationships.
With us, the chief of staff in our office, Lt. Col. Charles H. “Chad” Buehring, a Citadel graduate and a towering presence in our operation. A “lead from the front” kind of guy, he offered to drive and run security, knowing that we civilians had been dropped into the war zone with no training, no weapons and no protection. He took care of us and his soldiers with a professionalism and confidence that made each of us feel safe, even in the most dangerous situation.
As we came “home” to the Al Rashid late that night, Chad, as he preferred to be called, saw I was exhausted. I’d been working seven days a week for months. As he stuffed the weapons he was carrying into a black backpack and slung it over his shoulder, he suggested I take the morning off and sleep in.
As I watched him walk slowly away into the lobby, wearing his signature Hawaiian shirt, I decided he was right. I’d sleep in tomorrow. I’d feel better.
But it was not to be.
It was 6:30 a.m. when I heard the first explosion, when I felt the building shake. Jolted awake, I opened my eyes wide, staring at the ceiling. I knew this sound. I had heard it before. It wasn’t a roadside bomb. It was a rocket. Rockets have a distinctive sound when they hit a target and explode. At least, I thought so.
I heard another. They were hitting the building. There was a massive explosion above me, then one on my floor.
The door to my room was blown off the hinges, and smoke and dust filled the air. As I quickly dressed and yelled for people to get out, I could see the debris in the hallway. A room across the hall was reduced to kindling. Helping people to the stairs, I could see the blood smeared across the walls and the white marble steps, creating a trail to the lobby.
The terrorists must have known that Deputy Defense Secretary Paul Wolfowitz was in the hotel. As the wounded were triaged in the lobby and moved across the street, I asked to stay behind to help Patrick F. Kennedy, the coalition chief of staff.
Then medics brought down one last ashen man, laid him on the lobby floor and tried desperately to save him. There was nothing for Mr. Wolfowitz, Mr. Kennedy, Lt. Gen. Ricardo Sanchez and I to do but stand there, watch and pray.
Lt. Col. Chad Buehring’s room had taken a direct hit.
Over these 20 years, I’ve thought about Col. Buehring’s wife and children often. I know the emptiness of that loss. I was about the age of Chad’s two children when I lost my father.
Growing up like that means birthdays and Boy Scouts, graduation ceremonies, and Christmas mornings tinged with grief that mercifully fades with the passage of time but never disappears.
Chad would have been 60 today.
I’ve thought a lot about my life over the last two decades, how much it’s changed and how blessed I’ve been. Those are 20 years Chad and his family lost. But I hope that they know how much he loved them. I hope they recognize the nobility of his service and dedication to a set of ideals that, if lost in this country, imperil the whole world.
Lt. Col. Chad Buehring understood that well. His death was not then and is not now an empty one. It has meaning and purpose that transcends time and the politics of the moment, trends and fads, and all those things that diminish our nation’s once-unsurpassed commitment to service.
There is no greater calling than serving this nation in its military or as a police officer. The dangers and the sacrifices are real, but the reward is having a hand in ensuring this last best hope of earth sustains. Twenty years on, his memory will not depart from me, nor should his example from the soul of the nation.
• Tom Basile is the host of “America Right Now” on Newsmax and the author of “Tough Sell: Fighting the Media War in Iraq.”
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