A SEA STORY: THE UNTOLD STORY OF THE U.S. NAVY RESPONSE TO 9/11.

by Joseph Pignataro

  "Wh—what just happened there?" Brian asked Eddie, one of his grill cooks. "Did that…did that building just collapse or something?" Eddie was gaping at the screen as the rapidly pluming cloud of smoke rolled out in all directions. The camera zoomed out and the devastation was unbelievable. The plume had actually reached the Hudson River at New York Harbor and continued to spread north, south and eastward from the epicenter.

  "I think part of the building fell off or something," Eddie commented like a robot.

  "My brother's right there," Brian said in a very small voice.

  "Sorry to hear that, Brian," Echo, the fry cook, said with genuine concern.

  "Why the hell aren't they scrambling jets?" he screeched in anger. "What the hell're they waiting for?" Leaning forward, he turned up the volume on the television.

  "Something appears to have fallen off the building…we're not exactly sure…" Peter Jennings said with what appeared to be confusion. "Let's go to our special correspondent who is down there on the streets at this time—Dan, are you there?"

  "Yes, Peter," the reporter answered over the picture of the smoking tower and, now, smoking streets.

  "Can you tell us what's going on down there right now?"

  "Peter, it appears that the building has now collapsed in on itself and there is panic in—"

  "What has collapsed? Let's try to be clear…are you saying that part of the building has fallen off into the streets?" Jennings requested clarification.

  "No, the entire building—or what appears to be at least half or more of the building has collapsed into the streets."

  "Let me be clear—the side of the building has fallen into the streets?" Jennings questioned with incredulity.

  "No, no, Peter, the entire building—."

  "Are we talking about the South Tower behind—."

  "Peter, I'm standing about four blocks north of the World Trade Center…that's about a quarter mile uptown and from my vantage point, it appears that more than half of the South Tower has completely collapsed in on itself. I can't see lower than that because of all the smoke, but—" The reporter suddenly hesitated for a long moment and there was an eerie dead silence on ABC live air. Then, his voice broke through again. "Peter, there is mass panic on the streets right now—people are running away from the area. They appear to be running away from—all right, there's now a cloud moving toward us and it's moving rapidly. It looks like we're going to have to move away—all I can hear are screams and sirens—Peter, we're not going to make it. The cloud's going to catch us—I need to find shelter—."

  Then, Peter Jennings, realizing the precedence set here on the air, broke into the reporter's broadcast.

  "Dan, we'll come back to you when you're better situated. Here's video from moments ago, around ten o'clock, of the apparent full collapse of the South Tower of the World Trade Center." The video switched to taped footage as it was apparent that the tower had in fact, fallen completely to the ground.

  "My God…" whispered Brian as he watched in terror.

  "My God…" Jennings said on the air quietly, mimicking most everyone in the United States who was undoubtedly watching at that moment. Another long moment of dead air followed.

  "Peter?" came a producer's voice over the air, prodding the long-time, award-winning anchor to do something besides staring at the screen in complete incomprehension. "Peter?"

  "The South Tower of the World Trade Center has collapsed and now it appears that we are talking about casualties on a massive scale." The air was thick with tension and fear. "We have smoke pouring out of the North Tower, the South Tower has apparently fallen, and there is smoke continuing to pour out of the Pentagon…" he continued with hesitation. "We have been informed that the Capitol, the White House, and the Supreme Court buildings have all been evacuated. All business in the New York City and Washington, D.C. areas has been suspended at this time."

  "I'm gonna go start the prep work, Brian," Eddie prompted as he looked at the restaurant manager's blank stare. Brian nodded mechanically, not really hearing him. Picking up the phone, he dialed his mother's number. The dreaded incomplete tone met his ear.

  "All circuits are busy at this time. Please try your call again later," the recorded polite male voice explained. Scowling, Brian pressed the end button and redialed his uncle's number who lived in Fort Lee, New Jersey on the Palisades by the George Washington Bridge. The exact same tone sounded and the same message played.

  "What the fuck is this shit?"

  "Brian, are we gonna open today?" Echo asked innocently.

  "What?" Brian asked as he looked up to see the fry cook's oversized spectacles gawking at him. "Listen, Echo, I don't know. I don't know what the hell we're gonna do."

  "You know, the State Department has been talking extensively about the possibility of a large-scale terrorist attack on our country for the past few years," Jennings continued on the television. "They've talked most about the usage of biological weapons and other "dirty bombs" and such, but I don't believe anyone has ever talked about the event where a terrorist hijacked an airliner and flew it into a building. I find it hard to believe that no government officials ever entertained this possibility."

  Yeah, this is certainly something that is frightening, to say the least," the ABC producer added. "We're listening to the police traffic on the radio and we keep hearing the same call, over and over, and that is, police calling a Signal Ten-Thirteen. Ten-Thirteen is a call for "help". They need help for the triage stations that they've set up because it appears that the people who were assisting the injured have now become injured themselves."

  "The large cloud of dust and smoke has now traveled at least five blocks from the World Trade Center site and it doesn't appear to be slowing down. This is a horrible day in American history…"

  The Armory entrance and corridor leading up to it are jam-packed with sailors waiting in line for their weapons and equipment. Dominic and Sexton are sweating and working quickly and efficiently to get every single sailor his weapon.

  A sailor steps up and holds up his weapons card.

  "Where are you posted?" Dominic asked the sailor quickly and impatiently.

  "Topside rover," came the answer.

  Immediately, the armory specialist thrust a helmet and flak jacket into the chest of the sailor. Shouting over his shoulder to his assistant, he called the weapons to be dispersed.

  "Em-Fourteen and a Nine-Mill!"

  Sexton repeated, "Em-Fourteen and a Nine-Mill!" Grasping the selected weapons from the metal rack, he quickly handed them forward to Dominic, who in turn, handed them with two hands to the sailor. Reaching below the counter, he slapped ammo-stocked magazines onto the tabletop and waited while the sailor pulled the drawstrings tight on his flak jacket.

  "This isn't my size," the sailor observed as he spread his arms for emphasis.

  "Move along, Naomi," Dominic quipped. "You're not making a fashion statement."

  The sailors behind snickered as the scorned seaman grabbed up his weapons and ammo and departed the Armory. The next sailor stepped up, showing his card, and Dominic shouted again.

  "Nine-Mill!"

  The front gate of the Norfolk Naval Base was normally vacant at this time of the morning. Once all the essential personnel had reached their duty stations, the guards at the gate had it easy, checking in the occasional visitor to the post. Today, however, was very different.

  Not only was the gate awash in vehicles, as if this was peak arrival time, but there were also an inestimable amount of people on foot, civilians, military folk, and reporters. The military personnel were there to check into the post because they had received desperate pleas from their supervisors over the telephone to get back to the base as quickly as possible. The civilians were there to try to convince supervisors that their loved one in the military didn't need to be deployed and were required to be at home due to some personal calamity or another. At least, that was the bulk of the civilians. Some were just locals who lived nearby who
were curious about the goings-on at the base in light of what was happening on a national level and were skulking about to hopefully hear some bit of enlightening news. The last were the reporters. They were there for one reason alone; and that was to get a shot on the naval base that would evoke some sort of tears or feeling of fear among their viewers.

  One MSNBC reporter had actually pushed her way up close to the front of the crowds with her cameraman, appearing somehow privileged to be in that locale. As she began to prepare her microphone for the "big story," one of the guards approached and told her to move back from the gate. Ignoring him, she turned toward the camera to kick off her report, when the guard stepped between her and the shot.

  "Listen, you need to back up and move down past that yellow line!" he instructed sternly.

  Flashing her media badge hanging upon a lanyard around her belt, she sassed him.

  "I'm with MSNBC and we're doing a rep—"

  "Lady, I'm gonna ask you one more time…" he replied sternly. "Move down past that yellow line." He pointed for emphasis.

  "Or you'll…" she chided with a sarcastic grin.

  "Chief Moss!" the guard suddenly shouted over his shoulder without backing away. Behind them, another guard ducked under the wooden traffic arm and approached the one who called him. The chaos all around them made for a situation that was, at best, volatile.

  "What's up?" he asked as he approached.

  "We're from MSN—" the reporter started, but was cut off by the other guard.

  "They were asked twice to back up past the yellow line and will not comply," he succinctly stated. Suddenly, a weeping, hysterical woman rushed forward toward the guard post and the subordinate yelped in her direction. "Ma'am, you need to back up from there!" He rushed forward to stop her, as the reporter turned to her cameraman and scoffed.

  "You need to move back past that yellow line," the Chief said sternly from behind her. Ignoring him, she indicated to her cameraman to start rolling with a raised finger in a circular motion. "Ma'am!"

  he shouted at a decibel that startled both her and the cameraman. In fact, many of the people surrounding them got quiet. She turned to face him with a look of confusion. Apparently, no one had ever talked to her in that way before. "Move…back…past that yellow line…or you'll be placed under arrest," he explained softly and plainly.

  "You—you can't do—" she began to protest.

  "Oh, but I can, ma'am," he explained with a grim smile. "And I will. And I have the President's order to do so."

  Staring into his face with a look of serious miscalculation, she slowly nodded.

  "Sorry," she answered in a tiny voice. "We'll shoot from down there."

  "Thank you," was his stern reply. Turning, he walked back toward the gate where he would assist the other guard with the panicking wife of a sailor.

  The reporter and her cameraman slunk away from the storm of people who continued to plead for entrance into the locked-down base.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Today, We Are All Americans

  Toni paced the kitchen in furious about-faces as she cradled Liam close to her chest. The television in the living room and kitchen were on and continuously tuned to CNN and ABC news. The anchors that would normally be on the air for a certain portion of the day found themselves glued to their seats and unmoving as the cameras refused to move from the destruction in Manhattan and Washington, D.C.

  Her cell phone was clenched in her left hand as she waited with bated breath for the circuits to clear so that she could just have one moment to speak with her husband. At first, she was dialing and redialing, furiously attempting to get through. Then the thought occurred to her that, perhaps she should just wait for Joe to call her; that, maybe somehow in their constant attempts to contact each other, they were negating each other's calls.

  A million thoughts coursed through her mind as she paced; and none of these thoughts were pleasant. What else could she think? Insane people had already murdered thousands (and perhaps, tens of thousands) of innocent people and her husband happened to be in the business of protecting the nation from these very same individuals. The only recurring thought in her head was that she would never see her husband alive again. The thought of Liam growing up without ever having known his father was too much to bear.

  The doorbell suddenly sounded, bringing Toni out of her own head, and she quickly bounded for the door. When she opened it, Emily was standing there with a worried look on her face.

  "Oh, my God!" Toni shouted as she embraced her best friend. Eighteen-year-old Emily Bouchard was Dominic's girlfriend who was now five-months pregnant and the only person at the moment who could possibly keep her from going over the edge.

  "Anything yet?" Emily asked as she cupped the baby's head to protect him during their tight hug.

  "No!" Toni answered as she began to well up in tears again.

  "Oh, honey, don't," Emily soothed. "We need to wait to hear something before we get all upset about this. We don't even know what's going to happen yet."

  In the background, the television was playing loudly and there was sudden chatter on the news that appeared to be an exclusive. Toni rushed to the kitchen to view the newest development, but was disappointed to see that the screen was showing Washington, D. C.

  "Reports are now coming in that a large portion of the Pentagon has collapsed and continues to burn," the reporter announced. "Witnesses have now confirmed that the main compound of U.S. military intelligence and operations was, in fact, struck by a large aircraft, possibly missing American Airlines Flight Seventy-Seven. Reports continue to come in through the FAA regarding another flight…as of yet unaccounted for…that has apparently lost contact with ground control. We will bring you the breaking news of that flight as soon as more information becomes available. Meanwhile, the United Nations building in Manhattan has been evacuated, as has both the State and Justice Department buildings and the World Bank in Washington."

  "The last thing that Joe said was that he didn't know when he was coming home," Toni said off-handedly to Emily. Gazing directly into the eyes of her best friend, she continued. "You don't think they'll send them off somewhere, do you?"

  Emily's face searched the walls around them.

  "I have no idea what they'll do," she said cautiously. "I mean, it's the Navy, Toni."

  "Yeah, but, they gotta know that he has an infant son at home, right?"

  "Toni, he signed up for this," she continued, but knew it was a risky statement.

  "He didn't sign up to abandon me and the baby, Emily!"

  Toni walked off into the living room to gaze at the television there, hoping to catch a glimpse of some sort of news from the base. As fate would have it, she saw a reporter standing right outside the front gate of Norfolk Naval Base.

  "Emily!" she screeched excitedly as she grasped the remote and turned the volume up to nearly the maximum setting. Her friend trotted quickly into the living room and stood shoulder to shoulder with her friend as they listened to the news report.

  "…Naval Base at threatcon Delta. As you can see behind me, the gates are heavily guarded with armed sentries and even those with military IDs are finding it difficult to gain entry to the post. MSNBC has learned that several warships will be deploying from this location in direct support of the no-fly order around the Metropolitan New York area. While the exact number of ships has not been divulged, we have been notified that the ships being sent are heavily armed and have been ordered to shoot down all non-military flights sighted within New York airspace."

  "Oh, my God, they are going," observed Emily with dread building.

  "I'm going," Toni suddenly said with a very determined look in her eye. Emily did a double-take and saw that her friend's face was deadly serious.

  "Going?" she repeated. "Going where? The base?"

  Without answering, Toni turned and walked out of the room. Emily's eyes widened as she followed her friend into the kitchen.

  "Toni, are you crazy? You can't j
ust go to the base!" Still, no answer. "Toni! Think about what's going on out there? There're planes crashing all over the place! Toni!"

  "You coming, or not?" Her tone was robotic and emotionless. Grabbing up her purse and diaper bag, she dug her keys out and walked to the front door. Halting abruptly and turning to face her worried friend, she had a blank look upon her face.

  Emily paused and continued to stare into the vacant eyes of her best friend. Blinking twice and swallowing hard, she finally found her voice.

  "Let's go."

  Joe had spent the last fifteen minutes ducking in and out of his work station, attempting to get an open signal on his cell phone, but the lines were infuriatingly jammed. As he began to go back inside following another failed attempt, he spotted something that made his stomach tighten up: the tow tugs were arriving to the piers. These small boats were used on a routine basis to assist the large military warships in leaving port. Rather than cause a lot of pier damage with the ships being put under full power, the tugs were utilized to help push and pull the huge ships out to sea. There were usually a bevy of these tow tugs moored at the docks for specific use in these cases. Now, there was no doubt in Joe’s mind that they would be leaving port.

  Ducking back into the corridors, he quickly wound his way through the ship's network of passages to the station of his best friend. The Armory was quiet now and he approached the door, hoping to find Dominic in his moment of apprehension; one that knew they would be leaving home very soon for an undetermined period of time.

  Dominic stood inside the station, behind the counter, as Joe opened the door. The armorer and his assistant were reading off an accounting list of all the weaponry they had dispersed and ensuring that they were crossing all their T's and dotting all their I's on the manifest.

  "Dom?" Joe started as his friend turned and grimly smiled in his direction.