Holmes - There and Back Again: A Fobbits Journey

The war started for me, like most of my generation, on a clear day in September. It ended, so far as I can tell, or faded for while, more likely, on a cool day in October, four years later. I suspect, though, that it will flare back again before Im done. I wish I could explain how badly I want it to, and how terrified I am that it will. In my heart, I desire to be a part of greater things, and to adventure out in the world, bringing order from conflict, safety for my loved ones by defeating my countrys enemies, and making a secure world for my sons to grow up in. And yet, the fear is there. The fear of loss, of separation again from my family, of time lost and hearts broken, the fear of death. I dont fear injury, unless its the kind which renders me completely useless. Anything short of that is a price to be paid and an obstacle to be overcome.

That morning, just shy of 5 years ago, was the beginning of a beautiful day such as only the tail end of summer in New York can bring. The trees on the foothills of the Adirondack Mountains were starting to show a glint of color, and as I headed south on Route 4, the occasional early school bus held me up, kids just back in school after a long summer. I had said goodbye to my wife and boys for the day, leaving early in the morning to get to the armory in Poughkeepsie, where I had been working a few extra days for the Guard.

The first hint of trouble was a news report on one of the local AM news channels that a small airplane had hit one of the World Trade Center towers. I tuned to Howard Stern, who I knew broadcast from NYC, and might have some more idea of what was going on. His reports confirmed that something had indeed had happened, but it as unclear what, exactly something was.

As I drove, getting down to Albany, I didnt know that a plane made a left turn over my head, and headed south along the Hudson River. The first I learned of it was when someone on the radio said that another plane has hit the second tower.

At that point, I had just gotten on the NY State Thruway at Exit 23, just south of Albany. Everything in me said, this was an attack.. I felt an icey chill grip me, and stomped on the gas, heading south as fast as I could go. I grew in Long Island, and although I hadnt lived there in years, I was intimately familiar with New York City. I held Manhattan as one of my favorite places in the world, and thought of it as The City. as if there were no others.

As I drove, I put names with places. One of my four brothers was working on 36 th ST, on the West Side, about Midtown, and I measured distances and thought of how impossible it would be for him to get off Manhattan. My parents had headed down to Long Island to visit friends that day, and were somewhere in the vicinity of the City.

I first tried to call my brother, but I couldnt get through on the phone. I then called my wife, and explained to her what was going on, and told her that I may be gone for a while. Next, I called everyone I knew in the Guard, friends and fellow soldiers. A few had heard and were already on their way down to their armories. Any that I talked to who didnt know immediately hung up and grabbed a uniform, some gear, and drove down to their units. I learned later that some National Guard Units responded before the towers fell.

Looking in my review, I saw a State Trooper coming up from behind me. I was doing about 115, and he steadily gained on me. He pulled along side, and saw that I was in uniform, and waved me on. I pulled in behind him, and we both ran at about 125 down to Kingston. He looked like I felt, an anxious, scared and angry look on his face. We both got off at the Kingston exit, and I quickly made my way to the Armory. Cars were pulling into the parking lot, and guys jumped out and ran into the building.

I reported into the main office, and told them I was going to head out to my unit in Poughkeepsie, another 30 minutes south. Our S-3 (Operations Officer) told me to sit tight, that they might need my help organizing things for a response. I made my way to the club, where the TV was tuned to CNN. Just as I got there, the first tower fell, and we watched mutely as our world came crashing down with it. On the second tower, we could see people jumping, and around me several of the guys had tears running down their faces. No one said a word, but we all felt like we had been punched in the gut.

One of the senior NCOs said. They hit the Pentagon, too. Were going to war. A statement, not a question, and we all agreed. Yet I felt as if we had failed, we, the Guardians. This was our home, and we had been hit despite all our training and standing in readiness.

I reported back in to the S-3 shop, and the Major told me to go home and get your gear, the 69 th Infantry is handling things in the city, and we dont know if were needed yet.

I drove home over a deserted Thruway, no traffic on the road, doing about 100 the whole way. Not a plane in the sky, not a truck moving. Over the radio, news reports told me of the collapse of the second tower, and of the mass exodus of people from the city. I finally got through to my parents, who were on their way back home, and they had heard from my brother, who was trying to make his way out of the City. I wasnt worried about him then, because as a former soldier himself, I was pretty sure he could handle himself, and would make his way home as best he could.

At home, I packed enough gear for what could be a long stay, and said goodbye to my wife again. I told her that if there was any problem or anything else happened, she should go to her sisters house. Right then, we had no idea what was happening. I then said goodbye to my boys, told them I would be back as soon as I could, and headed south.

I got to Poughkeepsie around 3 PM, and walked into nothing. Everyone sat around watching the TV, but there was nothing for us to do. There was no mission, and we stood around discussing what had happened that morning, and waiting. A little while later our First Sergeant came in, and he was covered still in dust. He worked at Cantor Fitzgerald, and had been late getting off the train that morning. Hundreds of his co-workers were missing, and he had just managed to escape the towers falling. We all pressed him to tell us what had happened, what it was like there, but he couldnt even say how he had gotten away.