"You Could Die Here"

It started as if it were nothing. Just two red buses; maybe 150 people. They got out and started milling around the big iron gates. They chanted anti-Carter slogans, threw a few rocks over the red brick wall, got back in the buses and drove away. End of demo. I was headed for the cafeteria, and Embassy Political Officer Herb Hagerty called out, "Save me a seat, I'll be right there." He never made it. It was a few minutes later, about 1p.m., that the buses returned, this time six of them. They were crammed with people, both inside and clinging to the roof. And now all hell broke loose.

The Marines slammed shut the gates as some of the mob began setting cars in the parking lot afire. Others bashed at the brick wall, using a heavy pole. There was constant yelling outside. Embassy staffers began locking their files. Dave Fields, the administrative counselor, watched the rioters smashing at the walls. "If the wall goes, we're in for it," he said. Moments later it did. "Everybody upstairs," Fields shouted.

We climbed a curved staircase to the embassy's third-floor vault, a specially designed, windowless steel-walled room, about 20 ft. by 30 ft. It contained communications equipment, coding devices, and an enormous safe. It had its own back-up power generator and battery-powered radios. "They're shooting," someone shouted. "They shot a Marine." "Where was he?" "On the roof." "Is he O.K.?" "I don't know."

Cpl. Steve Crowley, 19, a Long Islander who served in Pakistan about three months, had been assigned to roof duty, and a rioter had shot him in the side of the head. They got him down and brought him to an anteroom of the vault. A nurse hovered over him, fitting an oxygen mask. He lay in a pool of blood. I hadn't been scared at first, but now I was as I stood there looking at this young dying Marine.

"Everybody into the vault," somebody ordered. Marines were throwing tear gas as we retreated. Some 90 of us were herded into the vault, arranging ourselves on chairs, desks, the floor. The tear gas began filtering into the room, causing a lot of crying and retching. "Down on the floor," Fields yelled. "The air's better there." A lot of people were already on the floor, bending over, retching from the gas. We were pretty packed in.

The lights went out, then on again. A phone rang and we were told that police were on their way. Six minutes later, another phone call said General Zia was sending reinforcements.

Just before 2 o'clock, one hour after the siege began, word came from the British embassy, which could observe the outside of our building, that "they" were moving demonstrators off the compound. But "they" were not. We began to smell smoke. There was fire somewhere.

At 2:23, the attackers smashed their way into the embassy itself. The Marines--there were seven of them--moved up to the third floor, covering their retreat with tear gas. Radio contact was established with other areas of the embassy community. We were Dixie 14. Dixie 20 was Ambassador Arthur Hummel, who was at home. "I know you're uncomfortable in there, but just hold on and take it easy," Hummel said. He told us the Pakistani army was just a few minutes away.

At 2:40, we learned that the warehouse near the embassy was on fire. We began to wonder how long we could hold out.

There were fresh attempts to reach the ambassador and a report that helicopters were on the way to rescue us from the roof. I was trying to listen for the helicopters when Public Affairs Officer James Thurber reached for my notebook and pen. When he handed it back, it contained this note: "3:35 Marine died." Tears started to my eyes. Thurber had his fingers to his lips. "Nobody knows," he whispered. It was an emotional piece of information the room did not need.

At 3:48, we heard new sounds. "They're on the roof," somebody yelled. Dixie 17, the American school, told us there were three truckloads of Pakistani troops on a side road "waiting to move." An embassy officer grabbed the mike. "This is the third floor of the American embassy," he yelled. "You have our permission to move those troops."

At 4:08, a voice in the back of the room asked: "You got a fire extinguisher in here?" The carpet was getting quite hot.

At 4:11, Dixie 53 (I don't know where it was) came on the air:

"The embassy is on fire--the theater building and the entrance --and there is also smoke pouring out of the motor pool. The Pakistani miliary are not doing anything at all. The front of the second and third floors is on fire."

There was a lot of banging and crashing outside the vault, but we had no way of knowing what it was. Our room was now mostly quiet. It was getting warmer and warmer; the first real thoughts began to enter your mind that you could die here, that somebody was trying to cook us to death--quite literally. The link to reality was Dixie.

"This is Dixie 14. Tell Zia to get the troops here and get the people off the roof."

Dixie 20: "More troops have arrived. The military are on the scene and have taken command.

They understand the urgency of clearing the building."

Dixie 14: "Someone is banging on the roof. Mr. Ambassador, they are shooting down the air-conditioning vents."

Dixie 20: "You are right.

There are still dissidents on the roof. You should not open the hatch."

Dixie 14: "Now they're beating on the vault door. We don't have much time."

There was a huge bang.

Dixie 14: "There's lots of smoke, gas, and they're using some heavy object to batter the doors. Do you have any hope for us?"

There was more heavy banging, and then someone un locked the door and our Marines crowded in; more tear gas came in with them. The radio now turned bad.

Dixie 14: "The floor in the vault is getting warm. There are fires underneath us. We need to evacuate to the roof. Can you tell us, is the roof clear?" No answer.

At 5:30 came a frightening call from the back of the room:

"Fire in the vault!" Amazingly, no one panicked. One official carried the fire extinguisher over to where the carpet had begun to burn. Two blasts put out the flames.

The steel shell of the vault was now so hot from the fires raging below that the tiles laid over it were beginning to crack and buckle. We were all drenched in sweat. We were breathing through wet paper towels, very slowly and shallowly, trying to save oxygen.

The smoke was getting heavy, making it hard to breathe. It was doubtful we could have lasted an other 30 minutes in the vault.

Dave Fields asked: "Are there some senior Pakistanis who would like to establish contact with the dissidents on the roof?" There were a number of volunteers.

"We will see if it's clear on the roof and we will go out very slowly, very orderly," said Fields.

"I will say who goes."

Finally it was the Marines who led the way up the stairs to the hatch. The first Marine opened the hatch and stuck his head out into the darkness. He had no way of knowing what might be waiting for him out there on the roof. It had gotten quiet; the shooting had stopped, the hammering and pounding had stopped. But it could well have been a trap. We didn't know. The only thing we had going for us was the darkness itself, and I guess the fires too. That must have been what drove the rioters away.

With the Marines standing guard over the hatch, two groups of women went out onto the roof, then some men, then some more women. A burst of fresh air suddenly hit me; very cold, very fresh. There was a strange glow around the edges of the roof from the fire that was consuming the building beneath us. The Marines warned us in whispers: "Stay down! Stay down!" They could not be sure there were not still rioters somewhere on the roof.

As more people came up from the vault, we gathered in knots for the move across the roof to a second ladder that went to the ground. The Marines led us over the side. "I'm sorry we have to take you through a little smoke here," one of them said to me. This part of the building was blazing from both sides, and smoke hung over everything. I kept thinking that the roof had to collapse soon--any minute.

When we came down the last ladder, we looked across to the embassy gates. The Pakistani army that had been coming to our rescue since the assault began at 1 p.m. finally opened the gates and some soldiers ceremoniously marched over to the ladder and welcomed us to the ground.

When we finally reached safety, Ambassador Hummel praised us for "having done more for ourselves than I could get the government of Pakistan to do." He was absolutely right. I don't care what President Carter says. I don't care what Secretary Vance says. We came out all by ourselves. It was our Marine guards who saved us. Nobody else.

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