TIME: Almanac of the 20th Century

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<text> <title> (1981) How It Happened </title> <history> TIME--The Weekly Newsmagazine--1981 Highlights </history> <article> <source>Time Magazine</source> <hdr> October 19, 1981 SADAT How It Happened </hdr> <body> Four suicidal killers succeed in slaying Sadat and stunning the world The day dawned warm, dry, sunny, a typical October morning in Cairo. In the modern suburb of Nasr City, tank and truck engines were coughing to life as the troops began their final preparations for the big parade: the President, as every soldier knew, demanded nothing less than crisp precision and split-second timing. Already the six-lane parade route had been cleared of traffic, and about 2,000 portable chairs were neatly arrayed in the reviewing stand across from the pyramid-shaped monument that is Egypt's Tomb of the Unknown Soldier. A motley mix of military equipment--U.S.-built M60 tanks, Soviet-supplied personnel carriers, field guns made in South Korea--gleamed in the sun, ready to roll, polished to spit-shine perfection. It was Oct. 6, a festive occasion in Egypt, the annual commemoration of the day in 1973 when Egyptian forces stormed across the Suez Canal. Although Israel ultimately recovered to turn the October War in its favor, Egypt's thrust through Israeli defenses in the Sinai purged the country of the humiliation it had suffered in three previous wars with the Jewish state. For most Egyptians, who would watch the parade on television, the occasion also signaled the start of a holiday celebrating Abraham's sacrifice. For President Anwar Sadat, 62, haled by his countrymen as the "Hero of the Crossing," the anniversary had special meaning. His decision to strike across the canal in 1973 had transformed his reputation at home and abroad from that of a mere transition figure to that of a leader, daring enough to go to war in order to seek peace. In that sense, Oct. 6, 1973, had been the first step on his historic journey to Jerusalem and a peace treaty with Israel. Normally, Sadat, a man who had spent much of his early life as a soldier, relished the pomp and flourish of military power on display. On this morning he was not enthusiastic. Complaining of fatigue to his Vice President, Hosni Mubarak, he said he wished he did not have to attend the parade. Mubarak urged him to stay home and rest. But Sadat's sense of duty won out. He would go, and afterward, in his Nile Delta home village of Mit Abu el Kom, visit the grave of his brother Atif, a pilot killed on the first day of the October War. Dressed as Egypt's Supreme Commander in a field marshal's gold-braided blue uniform festooned with a green sash, Sadat made a traditional stop on the way to the parade, paying his respects and praying at the grave of his predecessor, Gamal Abdel Nasser, in nearby Heliopolis. Then the President climbed into an open-roofed limousine, accompanied by eight bodyguards, to join Mubarak and Defense Minister General Abdel Halim Abu Ghazala for the short ride to Nasr City. At 10 a.m., the trio took their places of honor in the reviewing stand, front row center, slightly elevated above the parade route behind a 5-ft.-high wall, Sadat in the middle, Mubarak to his right, General Abu Ghazala to his left. For three days before the parade, security personnel had inspected every rifle, every truck, every tank that would be in the march, to make sure that no live ammunition would be issued. Now the security men were combing the arriving invited guests with metal detectors. Jehan Sadat, the President's elegant wife, 48, had brought her grandchildren and was watching from a glass enclosure at the top of the stand; it was the first time she had taken the youngsters to a public event. Abu Ghazala launched the proceedings with a speech praising Egypt's armed forces. The review began. It was 11:30 a.m. As the first units rumbled by, Abu Ghazala began to explain to Sadat that purposes and capabilities of each piece of equipment. Relaxed and smiling, the President puffed on his pipe, savoring the show of Egypt's passing firepower. One of the vehicles and a motorcycle broke down near the stand, briefly disrupting the march-past, but the columns quickly reformed. At about 12:40 p.m., midway through the parade, Abu Ghazala pointed out to Sadat six Mirage jet fighters sweeping low overhead, trailing plumes of blue, yellow, red and white smoke across the azure sky. Directly in front of the reviewing stand, a truck towing a Soviet-made 130-mm antitank gun braked to a halt. Other drivers in the four-column-wide procession, apparently suspecting more mechanical trouble, swerved to pass the vehicle. With their eyes cast skyward to watch the planes, the dignitaries in the stand, some 100 ft. away, were oblivious to what was happening in front of them. Suddenly, there was the staccato sound of gunfire. Three uniformed men were spraying the stand from the back of the truck; a fourth leaped from the passenger seat and hurled a grenade into the crowd. The grenade landed at the feet of Abu Ghazala but failed to explode. A second grenade hit the face of Major General Abdrab Nabi Hafez, the Armed Forces Chief of Staff, who was also sitting near Sadat, but it too was a dud. The grenade thrower dashed back to the truck, grabbed an automatic weapon from the seat, turned again and began firing as he charged toward the stand. The three other uniformed men jumped from the back of the vehicle to join him, sprinting toward the dais and unleashing a torrent of automatic-weapons fire as they rushed ahead with shouts of "Glory for Egypt, attack!" For seconds the spectators sat frozen, apparently thinking that the assault was part of the show. Sadat rose as if preparing to salute the onrushing men. As the truth bore in with each relentless round of fire, the sounds of frightened screams and crashing chairs exploded, and the crowd stampeded for the exits at the rear. Sadat was struck by bullets or fragments. Others fell around him. "I pulled the President down, and someone else tried to shield him with a couple of chairs," Abu Ghazala said later. "I felt the bullets flying all around me. I could feel the heat of them. Twice I thought it was all over: when I saw the grenade flying toward me, and when I saw a gun barrel right in my face, just five feet away from me." The four assassins encountered little resistance in the first 50 seconds or so as security men and military police dived for cover. One attacker raced to the right flank of the stand, presumably to pin down Sadat's security detail, and later joined another assailant, who charged straight to the podium, unimpeded. The two men stood on tiptoe against the wall, guns raised above their heads, firing a fusillade of bullets into the tangled melee of bodies and chairs. A third killer ran diagonally to the left side of the dais. The fourth attacker joined the others as they emptied their clips into the throng of wounded and dead. The assault so stunned most of Sadat's U.S.-trained security men that they failed to respond through much of the attack. Not a single security guard or soldier had been posted between the route of march and the reviewing stand, undoubtedly because no one expected trouble from soldiers on parade who, supposedly, carried no live ammunition. Thus a wide passage was left open that led straight to Sadat. The only shield afforded the President came when several plainclothesmen threw chairs over Sadat in a hopeless bid to save his life. Once the assassins had turned to flee toward the moving truck, the security guards gave chase, firing pistols and automatic rifles. Abu Ghazala, who had received shrapnel cuts in his face and right arm, sought to restore order amid the bloody chaos. "I told everybody to shut up," he said later, "and I ordered the military police to take charge." In the end, fire from the guards killed one of the attackers and wounded the other three. Amid the screams and shouts of the terrified crowd, Abu Ghazala radioed a military facility near by for a helicopter to pick up the stricken President. It arrived three or four minutes later in an area behind the reviewing stand. Jehan Sadat, who had watched the assault unfold from her box, tried to rush to her husband's side, but was pushed down forcefully by her security guard. She finally reached Sadat's side as he was lifted on a stretcher into the helicopter for the 20-minute flight to Maadi Military Hospital, south of Cairo, where the deposed Shah of Iran had died last year. "I knew he was finished," said Mubarak, who escaped with only cuts on his left hand. "I saw all the blood. I just couldn't believe it." Nor could the rest of the world, as news of the attack rippled out. In Washington, President Ronald Reagan had just risen when Secretary of State Alexander Haig telephoned him at 7:20 a.m. local time to relay word from the U.S. embassy in Cairo that there had been a shooting incident involving Sadat. Reagan was relieved when he was told that the embassy believed Sadat was only slightly injured. Reagan immediately cabled a personal message to Sadat, offering his prayers and assurances that "we stand ready to assist in any way we can, including the provision of medical assistance to any of those wounded in this despicable attack." But Washington's optimism soon turned to gloom. Just after 9 a.m. Reagan received his first detailed briefing from National Security Adviser Richard Allen. As Allen described the attack, Reagan mumbled repeatedly, "Good Lord, good Lord." At 11:15 a.m. the White House Situation Room confirmed that Sadat was dead. On Capitol Hill, Vice President George Bush was informed of the tragic news in a phone call from his chief of staff. Bush promptly relayed word to Senate Majority Leader Howard Baker, who announced Sadat's passing to the Senate. The White House, however, quickly disowned the statement and refused to confirm or deny the Egyptian leader's death until Cairo had released an official declaration nearly three hours later. In Tel Aviv, Egypt's Ambassador to Israel, Sa'ad Mortada, was host at an early afternoon reception at his modern residence north of the city to celebrate his country's "victory" in the 1973 war. It was hardly a popular party, understandably, and not one Israeli Cabinet minister was present, but the ambience was congenial as the guests--a sprinkling of ambassadors, some journalists, a handful of academics--sipped drinks on the patio. Then U.S. Ambassador Samuel Lewis arrived and took Mortada away from the reception line. As they huddled in serious conversation, Mortada's face went white. Soon others learned that something terrible had occurred in Cairo and scurried to back rooms to hover around radios. By then, Radio Cairo was broadcasting only music. In Jerusalem, Prime Minister Menachem Begin was taking the eight-minute ride in his official car from his office to his home in the city's Rehavia section to have lunch. It was the day before the eve of Yom Kippur, Judaism's holiest day, and Begin was planning to take the afternoon off to prepare for the holiday. As he heard the news over the car's communications radio, Begin was "absolutely stunned," in the words of a senior aide. Once the Prime Minister arrived at his house, he tuned in the Voice of Israel and fielded phone calls keeping him abreast of developments in Cairo. Jimmy Carter called from Plains to tell Begin that Sadat was only slightly injured. The two men expressed mutual hopes for his swift recovery. A short time later, the first reports appeared on U.S. television networks announcing Sadat's death. Begin at first refused to believe the news. "You heard ABC," he told an aide. "ABC didn't say he died." When the truth finally sank in, Begin slumped disconsolately in his library armchair, reflecting on the special moments he had shared with Sadat. For most Egyptians, the first indication that something was amiss came when television transmission from the parade broke off. With martial music playing in the background, peaceful scenes of Egyptian villages flashed onto the screen. Finally an announcer told the viewers that the President had left the parade. By that time, the toll from the attack stood at five killed and 28 wounded, including four Americans. Sadat was in the hospital in a coma, blood gushing from his mouth. Bullets and shrapnel had ripped into the left side of his chest, his neck, knee and thigh. A later medical bulletin would reveal that death occurred at 2:40 p.m., two hours after the attack began, and that it was due to "violent nervous shock and internal bleeding in the chest cavity, where the left lung and major blood vessels below it were torn." A doctor emerged from the operating room, his face streaked with tears, to break the news to Jehan Sadat. "Only God," he said, "is immortal." -- By William Drozidiak. Reported by Robert C. Wurmstedt and Wilton Wynn/Cairo </body> </article> </text>