I thought it would be a normal break for an early lunch as I booted across the compound that James Bond might traverse had I been in Soviet Siberia. For the sake of this tale I'll relocate myself to Manhattan, overlooking the water towards...
It was cool day with a breeze that reminded me of the sub-Arctic tundra of years past. I was simultaneously walking and throwing a salute toward the brim of my hat as if it were custom I greeted the young Lieutenant who could have been my schoolmate if I had gone to college, which he acknowledged and exchanged with his own. Muscle memory moved my hand to my chest and removed my access badge from the bushel of cards clipped the chest pocket of my uniform and toward the RF-tag sensor to release me through galvanized turnstile dissimilar to the Moscow Metro - and beyond the prison-like fencing and across ten yards of river-rocked no-man's land. A digital beep resounded almost as bitingly as the wind that terrified me, for my ears were not to be focusing on the clear day's wind, but on the metal block that was supposed to allow the seven-foot gear to machinate that did not emanate.
Beep : Wind :: Try : Fail
Many times I tried, but the bid by my badge was rescinded as Lt. tried to the same end. The compound was locked-down, surely in response to what I saw next...
My eyes triangulated a bright glimmer across the bay; the distant silhouette of an airframe moved swiftly towards the compound toward Manhattan behind me. That terror of possibly missing lunch seemed like the stature of the Father blessing the dead and dying below the dead and dying towers on that day in 2001 when I lost my greatest faith. Here I stood, next to that Officer on our increasingly frigid day as that September was being re envisioned.
This time a 747. Modern engines; quiet, smokeless, fuel efficient and quite possibly guzzling that synthetic fuel which was a great way to keep the Luftwaffe aflight, but an impractical means subsidizing this Nation's consumption. Were these my only thoughts as impending doom screeched only 500 feet above my regulation-cropped hair? Where was my drilled response? I've been trained on deploying to the corner of my hardened relic to challenge these intruders.
Could I return to my post in six-seconds? A seat at the helm of a missile battery was empty for me. Six-seconds was the best that the military-industrial complex could do for Manhattan. Six-seconds to acquire a target, confirm and launch a response to protect the lives of thousands upon thousands from a polished-aluminum cigar and fiery doom. Was it Boeing? Raytheon? L3? General Dynamics or BAE?
-- absolutely not. Ironic, even if I could: the same folks who produced the terror weapon to devastate Manhattan yet another time developed the one which I neglected to use in defense of the other?
--absolutely not. The plane was over the tops of other others, seeking out a more prominent edifice. Out of my scope now. I collapsed to the ground in agony. I collapsed as the day's reckoning homed-in on my only son; a field trip to Ground Zero and the Freedom Tower. Anguish. I cried in recollection of my lost faith, and that Father who I had only envisioned amongst the dead and dying, as I envisioned his soul returning to administer more rites to the ashes. Lieutenant advised me of the email that I had been sent by the Command Section, informing all personnel, top to bottom, of Air Force One's publicity flight which was to take place at approximately that very moment.
I looked at my trembling hand to notice that I hadn't grabbed my access badge, but my ID card from the bushel of laminated plastic. Embarrassed, I asked pardon and beeped out of the turnstile as a pair of F-16s screeched above, walked across the center walk through the rocks and to my car, to Subway for a Mountain Dew, Baked Lay's and a five-dollar foot-long.
It was cool day with a breeze that reminded me of the sub-Arctic tundra of years past. I was simultaneously walking and throwing a salute toward the brim of my hat as if it were custom I greeted the young Lieutenant who could have been my schoolmate if I had gone to college, which he acknowledged and exchanged with his own. Muscle memory moved my hand to my chest and removed my access badge from the bushel of cards clipped the chest pocket of my uniform and toward the RF-tag sensor to release me through galvanized turnstile dissimilar to the Moscow Metro - and beyond the prison-like fencing and across ten yards of river-rocked no-man's land. A digital beep resounded almost as bitingly as the wind that terrified me, for my ears were not to be focusing on the clear day's wind, but on the metal block that was supposed to allow the seven-foot gear to machinate that did not emanate.
Beep : Wind :: Try : Fail
Many times I tried, but the bid by my badge was rescinded as Lt. tried to the same end. The compound was locked-down, surely in response to what I saw next...
My eyes triangulated a bright glimmer across the bay; the distant silhouette of an airframe moved swiftly towards the compound toward Manhattan behind me. That terror of possibly missing lunch seemed like the stature of the Father blessing the dead and dying below the dead and dying towers on that day in 2001 when I lost my greatest faith. Here I stood, next to that Officer on our increasingly frigid day as that September was being re envisioned.
This time a 747. Modern engines; quiet, smokeless, fuel efficient and quite possibly guzzling that synthetic fuel which was a great way to keep the Luftwaffe aflight, but an impractical means subsidizing this Nation's consumption. Were these my only thoughts as impending doom screeched only 500 feet above my regulation-cropped hair? Where was my drilled response? I've been trained on deploying to the corner of my hardened relic to challenge these intruders.
Could I return to my post in six-seconds? A seat at the helm of a missile battery was empty for me. Six-seconds was the best that the military-industrial complex could do for Manhattan. Six-seconds to acquire a target, confirm and launch a response to protect the lives of thousands upon thousands from a polished-aluminum cigar and fiery doom. Was it Boeing? Raytheon? L3? General Dynamics or BAE?
-- absolutely not. Ironic, even if I could: the same folks who produced the terror weapon to devastate Manhattan yet another time developed the one which I neglected to use in defense of the other?
--absolutely not. The plane was over the tops of other others, seeking out a more prominent edifice. Out of my scope now. I collapsed to the ground in agony. I collapsed as the day's reckoning homed-in on my only son; a field trip to Ground Zero and the Freedom Tower. Anguish. I cried in recollection of my lost faith, and that Father who I had only envisioned amongst the dead and dying, as I envisioned his soul returning to administer more rites to the ashes. Lieutenant advised me of the email that I had been sent by the Command Section, informing all personnel, top to bottom, of Air Force One's publicity flight which was to take place at approximately that very moment.
I looked at my trembling hand to notice that I hadn't grabbed my access badge, but my ID card from the bushel of laminated plastic. Embarrassed, I asked pardon and beeped out of the turnstile as a pair of F-16s screeched above, walked across the center walk through the rocks and to my car, to Subway for a Mountain Dew, Baked Lay's and a five-dollar foot-long.
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