6 V 3ep*B05b^^?«p|92
Just a Nonnal Day: September 11, 2001
wars around the world (some were Aces), and some had seen tragedies almost as
incomprehensible as what would continue to unfold. They were not unconcerned
or heartless people. They were individuals whose careers were founded on
compartmentalizing data in order to execute the most demanding of missions at
fractions of a fraction of a second. They took the news simply as data. 
I don’t know why I did, but I decided to turn on the TV in the office and swing it
around for them to actually see the live feed coming from NBC. When they saw the
smoke from the north tower, all literally jumped to their feet, leaving the conference
table to view the TV much more closely.
It had now been approximately 10 minutes since American Airlines Flight 11 had
hit the north tower. At 0903, United Airlines Flight 175 hit the south tower. The first
comment from one of the two-stars was, “It’s a terrorist attack.” As this sunk in to the
assembled viewers, I said, “We’re next.”
We watched for some time trying to understand what had occurred. Was it
a terrorist attack? Was there an algorithm flaw in the air traffic control system
governing air traffic in one of the busiest air spaces in the world? That’s a stupid
question. Well, what is happening in the rest of the US? Should we alert the Navy’s
Senior Admiral? I had a direct line to his executive assistant, and they were watching
exactly what we were watching. Yes, they knew; everybody knew. They just didn’t
quite understand it.
At 0945, as we continued to watch, an angle of attack was perpetrated on us which
we had not planned for. Today I would not be successful in keeping my boss ahead
of the power curve. Thirty feet below our office and approximately 20 feet clockwise
aroimd the E-ring honeycomb, colleagues and friends—who moments earlier had
been contemplating their continuing daily schedule, or thinking about last night’s
dinner, or a soccer game they would attend with their son or daughter that afternoon
if the puzzle palace would permit—lost their lives to a massive explosion, a fireball
and mass of careening concrete, steel, aviation fuel, engine parts and unrecognizable
bodies within the disintegrating fuselage of American Airlines Flight 77 as it
W/7 William’s I ^^N^fison\
W Floorcovering & Interiors
JUST ARRIVED
Large Selection Area Rug Display
• Hardwoods & Exotic Hardwoods SU RYAI
Area Rugs
Textured & Patterned Carpets • Laminates j
• Ceramic Tile Sheet Vinyl & Designer
Vinyl Tiles Window Treatments
Service before, during & after the sale.
We are one of the few retailers offering in-hoiise certified
installers and other oldfashioned courtesies.
(252) 726-4442 • (252) 726-6154
Westport Shopping Center HOURS; Mon.-Fri.
Hwy. 70 West • Morehead City 9:00 am - 5:00 pm
William Perri, Owmer • Jimmy Pittman, Manager After Hours Appointments Available Upon Request
NAME BRANDS A1 COMPEJITIVE PRICES
Bruce.
'•o-T.voodikxyi
daltile*
fipndatile
(Armstrong
Cjpn^edeuttr
(Continued from page 1)
mercilessly tore its way from the E-ring to the A-ring of the first deck of the Pentagon.
The massive tube of steel broke through all five concrete-reinforced honeycomb rings,
finally stopping when its kinetic and potential energies had been expended.
In our office, at that moment, the exterior windows looking directly at Arlington
Cemetery were assaulted with the shrapnel from the impact point 30 feet below
our office. We heard a duU thud, and then about two seconds later debris hurtling
at tremendous speed and with tremendous force lashed against these windows. The
windows had been replaced with reinforced shatter-proof glass only two months
before. Those surreal moments shifted, in a split second, to action. While the action
was not planned, it simply was executed: account for everyone—understand their
status (injured/not injured/functional/not fimctional/cognitive/not cognitive)—and
lead everyone to a safer place. As we raced to the corridor just 90 seconds after
the impact of the Boeing 757, smoke had filled from the ceiling level to waist level,
causing us to quickly rim in a crouched position counterclockvdse away from the
area engulfed in the conflagration.
At this point, our objective was to account for all personnel who could be found
and get them out of this building. My boss, a war-seasoned Navy Ace, virtually
turned into a person I did not recognize. His only objective was to get to the CNO
(Chief of Navy Operations, the senior Admiral in the US Navy) and ensure he
was safe. I argued that the CNO has his own team to ensure his safety, and that
our responsibflity was to our own people, and to get them out to a safe location. I
literally pulled him back at one point from attempting to proceed further, and we left
to coordinate our own recovery efforts and to take stock of our situation. Just as with
the twin towers, my greatest fear was that this was the first of two attacks. Taking
anyone to “Ground Zero,” the nickname of the center courtyard of the Pentagon
would be shear suicide, as it would be the likely strike point of the next attack. This
would later prove not to be the case, as the terrorists had a much larger objective in
mind, and because of other extraordinary American heroes, they would not be given
the chance to execute that objective—the White House.
In the immediate vicinity, there were screams of horror, the natural reaction to
the shock of surprise and fear, and there were screams of those who were literally on
fire or were being crushed by the falling debris, or those being sucked into the chasm
which took those direcdy next to our office whose concrete floors were no longer
there. While on a fractional scale compared to the World Trade Center, our situation
was no less real, and no less horrifying.
Because the Pentagon is a 24-hour operation, its corridors are always lighted; it
looks the same at 3 a.m. as it does at 3 p.m. This was the first time in 10 years I had
ever seen the Pentagon completely darkened. As the smoke chased us, we ran where
we could and doubled back when our path was blocked by the collapsed building
and remains of the 757’s fuselage. We sought the path that would least restrict our
objective of achieving safety in the massive parking lots surrounding the Pentagon.
South Parking was our goal.
Because of the natural training in the face of great peril, there was not mass
hysteria, and in some areas people not close to the impact simply asked what was
happening. It can best be described as an “organized rush” to a broadly defined
objective—get everybody out safely. We gathered as many people as we could.
The Pentagon, while actually laid out in a logical and methodical way, can be
enormously confusing to those who have not developed the required internal
“puzzle palace GPS” to get from one location to another. For those with years of
experience, that internal GPS served us well as we navigated past the unlit and
smoke-blocked corridors and alternate passageways. Because of the circuitous route
required simply to keep moving forward, we actually ended up at Ground Zero.
I pulled my boss to the side and said this is the last place we or anyone else wants
to be. If they hit us again, the people here would be sitting ducks. He jumped onto
a bench and started yelling at those who occupied that space that they needed to
leave immediately. There were people who were stunned—those who were not able
to comprehend, those who were bleeding and severely injured and those who were
rushing back into the carnage to save as many lives as they could.
(Continued on page 7)