September 11, 2001

Do you remember where you were? How you felt? Were you afraid? Did you hug your children tighter? Or maybe you fell to your knees and prayed?

I remember calling my husband at work, just before the first tower fell. He hadn't heard a word about it yet, and just as I told him about the two planes hitting the towers, the first tower fell. I was sobbing as I described what was unfolding and he had to ask me to repeat myself over and over again so he could understand. I remember him saying something that made me think, "No, he doesn't get it." He works in the steel industry and it's beyond his comprehension that an entire tower of the World Trade Center, an invincible monster of steel and concrete, is simply gone. Without ever seeing it, how would he ever understand that now both towers are gone?

Even as I tried to convince him, I struggled to believe the pictures on TV were real myself. I kept waiting for one of the newscasters to announce that it was just some sick Orson Welles, War of the Worlds joke. Never mind the emotion in their voices and the unshed tears in their eyes. It was all part of the act, right?

Even when I see the tapes now, I wonder if any of us have ever completely wrapped our brains around the horror of that day. How much worse would it have been to be completely cut off, to be alone in the dark when word came with no way to see it for ourselves?

As hard as it may have been for any of us to comprehend the events of September 11, 2001, imagine this. . . .

You're sitting down to supper--miles, fathoms, and months from home--and you can't remember the last time you saw the sun. It's been even longer since you've seen the face of someone who remembers that next Friday is your birthday.

And you ache. God, how you ache. You quit being tired weeks ago. Now, you'd have to get some rest before you could be tired. Stringing five hours of sleep together is a luxury you can't afford. And maybe that's a good thing too. Because when you do get to sleep, it's in a rack that's best suited for a torture chamber and only leaves you with a new place to hurt.

You take another bite of corn and try to imagine it came off a cob and not out of can. Then you push yourself to hurry so you can squeeze in a little more time for quals. Gotta get those Dolphins. Gotta prove you're worthy to be a Brother of the 'Phin. And if you work hard now, maybe then you can take liberty when the boat pulls into Bahrain in a few days. After that, it'll be time to go home. And, oh, what a sight that pier will be. You can almost feel the sea breeze on your skin. You close your eyes and think about Susie and that first kiss. God, how you've missed holding her. Then you chuckle when you think about your mother and how hard she'll cry. She always swears she won't, but in the end, she always does. Even the old man will get a little teary-eyed. And that's okay too. Because the truth is, as much of an ol' salt you'd like to think you're becoming, you know you'll probably shed a few tears yourself. Especially when you hold Joey again. He was only six months old the last time you saw him. Is he walking now? Talking? You swallow hard when you wonder if he'll remember you then try to shoo the thought away. And when he gets older, will he understand why you weren't there? Will he be proud of his old man? Or resent him for all he missed?

Then, as you stab a hunk of chicken, it happens. The Captain comes across the intercom and announces that the United States has been attacked. Two planes have flown into the World Trade Center and there had been an explosion at the Pentagon. And now...now it's all up to you.

You scan the mess deck, searching the faces of your shipmates. Why aren't they laughing? Why do they all look as stunned as you feel? The knot in your gut tightens. It's a joke, right? Or maybe a drill? Certainly, it can't be true . . . Can it?

Breathing as if his chest might explode, Johnson slowly rises to his feet. All color drains from his face as he looks from shipmate to shipmate and tears begin to well in his eyes. Finally he utters--barely a whisper, "My mom works in the towers." Monroe quickly moves to his side and pats him on the back. He wants to tell Johnson that his mom will be fine, but he's not so sure.

Carson slams his fist down on the table. "Somebody's gonna get a Tomahawk shoved up their ass!" He snatches his plate from the table and stands as he wonders who's gonna get it--who is this enemy?

As Carson storms toward the Torpedo Room, Kimble stumbles in from his rack, still in his boxers and desperately trying to bat the sleep from his eyes. "Is it true? Are we goin' to war?"

You wonder the same as you stare across the table at Ricker. He hasn't moved since the Captain stopped talking and you're not sure he's even breathing. Finally he blinks. You give him a nod as if to say, "We'll make it," then pick up your half-full plate and head for your station. There's a job to be done--a country to defend. And you've gotta do it.

There are no pictures to show you what's happened--to help you understand the reality of it all. No calls from loved ones to assure you they're all right. Just the call of duty--the call of war.

You think of Pearl and the souls that still patrol the depths of her shining waters. Will the pier you call home still be there to come home to? Then you remind yourself that you've trained for this moment since you first passed through the gates at Great Lakes. But are you ready? Is the crew ready?

As the following will show, the USS Key West and her crew were more than ready. God bless them all.

The Commander Speaks

The COB Speaks

Home at Last, Home at Last