"Mr. Tuttle, what could cause a plane to crash into a skyscraper?"
We were sitting on the loading ramp of the clothing issue point at Fort Dix, waiting for the facility to open so we could draw our two dufflebag-loads of deployment gear. Fifteen officers and enlisted -- Jersey's contribution to the 29th Infantry Division and SFOR-10 -- feet dangling off the edge of the dock, everyone Bosnia-bound, and everyone asking the Deployment Subject Matter Expert -- me -- what to bring in addition to what we knew would be issued.
Then came the airplane question from one of the enlisted guys.
"Bad weather, low visibility, fog, the pilot not realizing where he is and not talking to ATC, most likely. In 1945, a B-25 flew into the side of the Empire State Building -- the pilot was scud-running in bad weather and just flew right into it. And at night, all buildings are lit up like Christmas trees, so, yeah, I'd say crummy visibility. What brought *that* up?"
He held up his go-anywhere radio. "A plane hit the World Trade Center a little while ago."
The pilots in the group automatically looked up to check the ceiling and visibility. It was a little hazy, but there were no significant clouds anywhere below what we guesstimated as 6,000 feet. And all of us had the same thought: somebody in a little bug-smasher had been sightseeing up the Hudson Exclusion Zone and wandered out of the corridor over the city. But why would he hit a building -- heart attack? Stroke? We were trying to visualize what set of circumstances would cause an accident like--
"Geez, now they said another one just hit! Two airplanes hit the World Trade Center!"
??? A newsie reporting on the first accident? Couldn't be -- all the newsies up that way use helicop--
"What was the second one, an airplane or a helicopter?"
"An airplane. An airliner. Two airliners hit the buildings."
"That doesn't sound like any accident, especially if it's two airliners. ATC keeps them north and south of the city, except when they're above about 4,000 feet."
Oh, damn -- kamikazes...
Everyone's first thought after that was about Pete. Pete was one of our part-timer Huey pilots and the full-time Head of Security for the WTC complex. In the '93 bombing, a retaining wall was the only thing that kept him from being flattened by the pressure wave...
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We had no training scheduled -- once we had drawn our gear, we were supposedly Bosnia-bound the following day. No training would have been accomplished that day, anyway. We could see the smoke.
We saw the Cloud that rose from each tower when it fell. The Cloud of smoke from burning plastic and paper and people. We expected to be trucked to the site for rescue operations, and wondered if anyone knew we were there, and ready to go. We were there. Ready. We waited. We waited, growing impatient to be called -- and we waited, wondering why we hadn't been called to help and feeling helpless because we hadn't been called to help. And waited...
We were told to form up outside the barracks for an address by the CG.
"...and you will *not* be called to assist in the rescue efforts, because you have a more important task. The President is gonna open a can of WhupAss and you people will be the first thing he shakes out of it."
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Shortly after we arrived as Peacekeepers, we got in the first licks in the Global War On Terror at a small airfield in the small town of Visoko -- and discovered exactly why the adjective "Global" applied...
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Pete was retiring and had spent the previous week breaking in his replacement as Head of Security. He had decided to go in late that morning. He survived.
His replacement, John O'Neill, and 2,600 other men, women and children did not.
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