By Richard Engel, NBC News Chief Foreign Correspondent

BEIRUT, Lebanon – I remember it was an almost moonless night in Baghdad seven years ago when the war began. 

I was in my room at the Palestine Hotel, a shabby state-run tower with balconies facing the Tigris River. There were just a few western journalists who’d decided to stick it out. We were all nervous. President Bush had called on foreigners to leave, and specifically mentioned reporters.  Our safety, he said, wasn’t guaranteed. No target would be off-limits.


Bush had given Saddam Hussein and his sons 48 hours to leave Iraq. The deadline had just past. Saddam had made it clear: He wasn’t going anywhere. 








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We also were worried about how the Iraqi government would react to the invasion. Would the regime arrest American reporters in Baghdad and use us as human shields? Would Saddam use chemical weapons on the Americans? Where would the clouds of chemical gas blow? Would there be riots in the streets? 


A thousand scenarios – all of them ending badly – swirled though my head. I couldn’t sleep. I don’t think any of us could. We were bracing for the American assault and felt like passengers in a car about to slam into a wall. We expected the invasion to begin in the next couple of days when the last sliver of the moon disappeared.


But the bombs came early. The first explosions were several miles from my hotel, but they were still loud. Seconds later, I heard the yattering of Iraqi anti-aircraft guns shooting blindly into the sky. These guns were close and shook the glass of my balcony door. I watched the “tracer rounds” cut through the night sky as air raid sirens whined across the city. 


It was a surprise attack. The Americans had received intelligence that Saddam was at a meeting. The attack was designed to kill the Iraqi president and end the war before it began. 


The attack, of course, missed Saddam. 


I remember thinking to myself that the assault wasn’t that bad. It wasn’t terrifying. The city didn’t shake. There was a lot of noise, explosions, gunfire and air raid sirens, but in the morning Baghdad was quiet again.  “If this it, I can handle it. No problem,” I assured myself. 


The real assault, the full furry of the American invasion – the “shock and awe” – would come two days later.

Those early days now seem like ancient history. Iraq has undergone several revolutionary transformations since the war began – and I don’t think the final war is over yet. Here are the stages I have witnessed since my night of nervousness at the Palestine Hotel.

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