Washington (state) is 3 hours behind NYC. Being light infantry, we lined up for PT testing at 5:30 local time, just minutes before the first plane hit. After reporting and stretching, I was volunteered to go inside to collect stop watches for the PT test, mainly because I had to piss. I didn't run well under the best of circumstances and didn't need a reason to be any slower. Our platoon CP was just off the day room where the staff duty officer and charge of quarters NCO were watching coverage. To this day, I can't remember who the SDO was. I just remember the SDO telling me to go get the CO and to tell him to get in there and post someone by the Batphone, a term we adopted for the line dedicated to QRF call-up.
I ran faster than I ever have that day. I couldn't find the battalion commander, so I settled for the company commander and 1SG. I gave a 45 second briefing to them, and Cpt Highfill told me to stick by him while the First Sergeant Wood emphatically stated he was going to smoke my ass if it was BS. We got back to the day room less than a minute before the second plane entered the picture. Every time I see that scene replayed, I'm amazed at how fast it happened. It seemed like eternity as we watched the inevitable. I think it was the CQ that summed it up with one word. "F$}"
Seconds later, CPT Highfill looked at 1SG Wood and then at me. Chills ran down my back as I heard his first words were the ones we had heard every day since arriving to Fort Benning, GA, for basic training. "Follow me" had never carried so much weight.
As we moved down the hall, the CO never stopped. He never stopped moving. He never stopped giving commands. The SDO was charged with finding the BC who we knew was on one of his runs through the woods. The CQ was charged with rounding up Platoon Leaders and Platoon Sergeants. His directive was simple. Find them and give them on pair of words that brought a combination of dread, excitement, and confusion all at the same time. "Lancer Anvil" were only conceptual up until that time.
He stopped me as I was headed to find my PL, and said, "Comfort, I need you to find Grayson (our armorer). He's going to want to go to the day room and watch. I need you to get him to the arms room. It needs to be open in 5 minutes. I don't care if he's in the shower. Get his ass down there now." He said something about pallets 1 and 2 of .556 and to alert the depot that we'd be there in 20. I found Grayson on the can as tequila and teriyaki from the night before were not treating him well. I relayed the information as we made our way to the arms room. After listening to a string of profanities that were, I'm sure, being repeated all over Ft. Lewis, I made my way back to the CO's office as directed.
I'll never forget the scene. It had been about 10 minutes since I'd left to find Grayson. CPT Highfill was standing with his back to me and the door staring out the window just soaking in the sounds of the broadcast as he watched his men rushing to arms. Sixth sense must have told him I entered because he asked if I'd found Grayson. My affirmative was met with his rhetorical, "why haven't they called?" He knew the political ramifications if the we went through this and the call didn't come. They became all too real when the battalion commander and sergeant major came storming in. I was about to leave when the CSM slammed the door and posted himself between me and the door. Crazy Larry wasn't someone you asked to move. The BC's, "What the f*$& are you doing?" was met with a quiet, respectful, "Sir, we are under attack. In your absence, I have activated QRF protocol."
CPT Highfill just stood there and took it as the litany of profanity and diatribes about overstepping bounds and jumping to conclusions rattled out. He only once interjected, "Sir, we are under attack." Instead of calming, this only added to the fire burning in the BC. After a good 3-5 minutes, the world froze again.
It hadn't rung since the call up for Vietnam. Deuce-Four was shunned for Panama, Grenada, Desert Storm, Somalia...all of it. But here we were about 6:30 in the morning, less than 1/2 hour after the second plane hit. The Batphone rang and all heads turned. CPT Highfill was right next to it. It was his phone, so the honors were his even though his boss was in the room. I never thought to ask what the person on the other line said. I'll never forget hearing CPT Highfill's side:
"Deuce-Four, Captain Highfill.....Say again....Roger. I confirm Lancer Anvil." He hung up the phone and looked at the BC with no judgement or condemnation that was warranted by being right. He simply stated, "Sir, you need to get to your office. Brigade has been trying to reach you for 10 minutes."
SGM Larry opened the door to the chaos that is an infantry company's activation. Men running by stripping off PT gear or half dressed in BDU's. I noticed the SDO was already locked and loaded with his M4 and was distributing live ammo to the CQ and staff. CPT Highfill told me to come back in his office for a minute. He asked if I knew anyone in NYC. I told him no. He said, "No friends, family?" Again, a no. He told me to call my wife before the phones got jammed. "What do I tell her?" "Tell her you love her and you'll be home when you can. Then get changed, check out my weapon, Top's weapon, and your weapon and meet me back here." I told him I had to get to my platoon, to which he informed me I worked for him from that point on.
Helplessness is not being able to be with those you love when you're needed most. My wife was crying. She hadn't left for her 90 minute commute to downtown Seattle yet. I didn't have good answers. I only had answers. Stay home. Watch the news since they will tell us if we are deploying before the Army does. Yes, the airports are shutting down. No, we wouldn't be going to her mom's wedding that weekend (we listened as her mom held her cell phone throughout the ceremony on Sept 15th.) I'll be home when I can, but I don't know when that is.
We were on lockdown. No one leaves until we stand down. If you live off post, you're not going home until the base reopens. I watched as my platoon formed up and moved to the motor pool to load into HMMWVs headed to base security. I stood silent as the AT platoon rolled by headed to the depot for live ammo draw. I stood stunned as the Recon platoon started recording bets on who would actually get to fire the first shot. Griffin was a sniper that was a red shirt tailback for UGA before he realized not going to class meant trading the redshirt for camouflage. Even the CO got in on the action with $100 on Griff.
Information came in much more slowly than we wanted. Not wanted, needed. We needed some outlet for everything we were experiencing. We had some of the crazies that just wanted to kill someone. We had people who were from NY. I can't imagine what Santos was going through not knowing. There was dread from those that "signed up for the college money." Although most will never admit it, there was fear. Some of us came to grips with it before we ever joined, but you could see it settling in on a lot of men over those few days.
We called him Sandy most of the time because, let's be honest, an infantry unit isn't known for political correctness, and he was Jordanian. Most people in the unit didn't even know where Jordan was or that King Hussein was an ally until he died a few years prior. They just knew the name Hussein and Iraq. But no one ever said anything cross to Sandy. I never heard it behind his back. Sandy was one of us. I swear, every time someone said something to him for the next six months, his only reply was "F($& em all." "Damn right" was the obligatory response back to him.
It was 24 hours before we were allowed to use the phone. I count my blessing that CPT Highfill let me use his that morning. I found out later that my wife was a focal point as she was one of the few that had heard from us. It was almost 72 hours before we stood down and were allowed to go home with a 2 hour recall window.
People join for different reasons. Some for the college money; some because their father or grandfather did; some because the court told them it was Army or jail (yes that happens at least in LA and NC); some were getting experience for future careers; some of us joined because we always wanted to (although career path recommended it too). People wanted out. Those that did would do anything. Some claimed to be gay (this was during Don't Ask/Don't Tell). Some got into drugs, but were shocked when we only busted them down to private and took their pay. Some committed crimes. It was a total mess that helped justify the stop loss order that kept many in past their time.
We didn't deploy while I was in. Sure, there were practice alerts to see how quickly we could manifest with people off post, off duty, and off their rockers drunk, but no real deployment. I had a medical condition that required surgery. I was told I couldn't stay in the Infantry. After that, I just didn't see the point of staying in. My wife encouraged me that it was time to get out. I left the Army in 2003 after 4 years, 3 months, and 2 days, but nobody counts. My guys deployed to Fallujah 6 months later. They became the most decorated battalion in this whole war on terror.
Regardless of why they join, every one on active duty September 11, 2001 has a story like this. The circumstances and details vary greatly. I'm sure if you talked to my old CO, he'd have a much different account. These are the stories you won't see on television or read in most books. The don't compare with "American Sniper" or "Zero Dark Thirty." They are, however, a little more real. These are the stories we share with each other. These are the stories that run through our mind when our spouse has to prompt us to stand up when the pastor asks us to stand and be recognized on Veteran's Day weekend service. These stories are the reason we get pissed off when people confuse Labor Day with one associated with the armed forces. On Memorial Day, we pour out a beer in salute to the SGT Price's of the world that tackled his battle buddies in the DFAC to protect them from a suicide bomber walks in trying to collect on his 72 virgins. So forgive us this weekend if we have one too many before kick off as we toast the 4th anniversary of Paco's death at the hands of a drunk driver in middle Tennessee after surviving a crazy divorce, 2 tours in Iraq, and one in Afghanistan. These are the stories that prompt people to say, "Thank you for your service," when, really, a head nod and a beer are more than enough.
I ran faster than I ever have that day. I couldn't find the battalion commander, so I settled for the company commander and 1SG. I gave a 45 second briefing to them, and Cpt Highfill told me to stick by him while the First Sergeant Wood emphatically stated he was going to smoke my ass if it was BS. We got back to the day room less than a minute before the second plane entered the picture. Every time I see that scene replayed, I'm amazed at how fast it happened. It seemed like eternity as we watched the inevitable. I think it was the CQ that summed it up with one word. "F$}"
Seconds later, CPT Highfill looked at 1SG Wood and then at me. Chills ran down my back as I heard his first words were the ones we had heard every day since arriving to Fort Benning, GA, for basic training. "Follow me" had never carried so much weight.
As we moved down the hall, the CO never stopped. He never stopped moving. He never stopped giving commands. The SDO was charged with finding the BC who we knew was on one of his runs through the woods. The CQ was charged with rounding up Platoon Leaders and Platoon Sergeants. His directive was simple. Find them and give them on pair of words that brought a combination of dread, excitement, and confusion all at the same time. "Lancer Anvil" were only conceptual up until that time.
He stopped me as I was headed to find my PL, and said, "Comfort, I need you to find Grayson (our armorer). He's going to want to go to the day room and watch. I need you to get him to the arms room. It needs to be open in 5 minutes. I don't care if he's in the shower. Get his ass down there now." He said something about pallets 1 and 2 of .556 and to alert the depot that we'd be there in 20. I found Grayson on the can as tequila and teriyaki from the night before were not treating him well. I relayed the information as we made our way to the arms room. After listening to a string of profanities that were, I'm sure, being repeated all over Ft. Lewis, I made my way back to the CO's office as directed.
I'll never forget the scene. It had been about 10 minutes since I'd left to find Grayson. CPT Highfill was standing with his back to me and the door staring out the window just soaking in the sounds of the broadcast as he watched his men rushing to arms. Sixth sense must have told him I entered because he asked if I'd found Grayson. My affirmative was met with his rhetorical, "why haven't they called?" He knew the political ramifications if the we went through this and the call didn't come. They became all too real when the battalion commander and sergeant major came storming in. I was about to leave when the CSM slammed the door and posted himself between me and the door. Crazy Larry wasn't someone you asked to move. The BC's, "What the f*$& are you doing?" was met with a quiet, respectful, "Sir, we are under attack. In your absence, I have activated QRF protocol."
CPT Highfill just stood there and took it as the litany of profanity and diatribes about overstepping bounds and jumping to conclusions rattled out. He only once interjected, "Sir, we are under attack." Instead of calming, this only added to the fire burning in the BC. After a good 3-5 minutes, the world froze again.
It hadn't rung since the call up for Vietnam. Deuce-Four was shunned for Panama, Grenada, Desert Storm, Somalia...all of it. But here we were about 6:30 in the morning, less than 1/2 hour after the second plane hit. The Batphone rang and all heads turned. CPT Highfill was right next to it. It was his phone, so the honors were his even though his boss was in the room. I never thought to ask what the person on the other line said. I'll never forget hearing CPT Highfill's side:
"Deuce-Four, Captain Highfill.....Say again....Roger. I confirm Lancer Anvil." He hung up the phone and looked at the BC with no judgement or condemnation that was warranted by being right. He simply stated, "Sir, you need to get to your office. Brigade has been trying to reach you for 10 minutes."
SGM Larry opened the door to the chaos that is an infantry company's activation. Men running by stripping off PT gear or half dressed in BDU's. I noticed the SDO was already locked and loaded with his M4 and was distributing live ammo to the CQ and staff. CPT Highfill told me to come back in his office for a minute. He asked if I knew anyone in NYC. I told him no. He said, "No friends, family?" Again, a no. He told me to call my wife before the phones got jammed. "What do I tell her?" "Tell her you love her and you'll be home when you can. Then get changed, check out my weapon, Top's weapon, and your weapon and meet me back here." I told him I had to get to my platoon, to which he informed me I worked for him from that point on.
Helplessness is not being able to be with those you love when you're needed most. My wife was crying. She hadn't left for her 90 minute commute to downtown Seattle yet. I didn't have good answers. I only had answers. Stay home. Watch the news since they will tell us if we are deploying before the Army does. Yes, the airports are shutting down. No, we wouldn't be going to her mom's wedding that weekend (we listened as her mom held her cell phone throughout the ceremony on Sept 15th.) I'll be home when I can, but I don't know when that is.
We were on lockdown. No one leaves until we stand down. If you live off post, you're not going home until the base reopens. I watched as my platoon formed up and moved to the motor pool to load into HMMWVs headed to base security. I stood silent as the AT platoon rolled by headed to the depot for live ammo draw. I stood stunned as the Recon platoon started recording bets on who would actually get to fire the first shot. Griffin was a sniper that was a red shirt tailback for UGA before he realized not going to class meant trading the redshirt for camouflage. Even the CO got in on the action with $100 on Griff.
Information came in much more slowly than we wanted. Not wanted, needed. We needed some outlet for everything we were experiencing. We had some of the crazies that just wanted to kill someone. We had people who were from NY. I can't imagine what Santos was going through not knowing. There was dread from those that "signed up for the college money." Although most will never admit it, there was fear. Some of us came to grips with it before we ever joined, but you could see it settling in on a lot of men over those few days.
We called him Sandy most of the time because, let's be honest, an infantry unit isn't known for political correctness, and he was Jordanian. Most people in the unit didn't even know where Jordan was or that King Hussein was an ally until he died a few years prior. They just knew the name Hussein and Iraq. But no one ever said anything cross to Sandy. I never heard it behind his back. Sandy was one of us. I swear, every time someone said something to him for the next six months, his only reply was "F($& em all." "Damn right" was the obligatory response back to him.
It was 24 hours before we were allowed to use the phone. I count my blessing that CPT Highfill let me use his that morning. I found out later that my wife was a focal point as she was one of the few that had heard from us. It was almost 72 hours before we stood down and were allowed to go home with a 2 hour recall window.
People join for different reasons. Some for the college money; some because their father or grandfather did; some because the court told them it was Army or jail (yes that happens at least in LA and NC); some were getting experience for future careers; some of us joined because we always wanted to (although career path recommended it too). People wanted out. Those that did would do anything. Some claimed to be gay (this was during Don't Ask/Don't Tell). Some got into drugs, but were shocked when we only busted them down to private and took their pay. Some committed crimes. It was a total mess that helped justify the stop loss order that kept many in past their time.
We didn't deploy while I was in. Sure, there were practice alerts to see how quickly we could manifest with people off post, off duty, and off their rockers drunk, but no real deployment. I had a medical condition that required surgery. I was told I couldn't stay in the Infantry. After that, I just didn't see the point of staying in. My wife encouraged me that it was time to get out. I left the Army in 2003 after 4 years, 3 months, and 2 days, but nobody counts. My guys deployed to Fallujah 6 months later. They became the most decorated battalion in this whole war on terror.
Regardless of why they join, every one on active duty September 11, 2001 has a story like this. The circumstances and details vary greatly. I'm sure if you talked to my old CO, he'd have a much different account. These are the stories you won't see on television or read in most books. The don't compare with "American Sniper" or "Zero Dark Thirty." They are, however, a little more real. These are the stories we share with each other. These are the stories that run through our mind when our spouse has to prompt us to stand up when the pastor asks us to stand and be recognized on Veteran's Day weekend service. These stories are the reason we get pissed off when people confuse Labor Day with one associated with the armed forces. On Memorial Day, we pour out a beer in salute to the SGT Price's of the world that tackled his battle buddies in the DFAC to protect them from a suicide bomber walks in trying to collect on his 72 virgins. So forgive us this weekend if we have one too many before kick off as we toast the 4th anniversary of Paco's death at the hands of a drunk driver in middle Tennessee after surviving a crazy divorce, 2 tours in Iraq, and one in Afghanistan. These are the stories that prompt people to say, "Thank you for your service," when, really, a head nod and a beer are more than enough.
