I was assigned to Helicopter Anti-Submarine Squadron-EIGHT (HS-8) on North Island, Calif., at the time of the terrorist attacks on September 11, 2001. I was the maintenance control chief for the squadron, assigned to the day shift. One of my responsibilities was to conduct the morning maintenance meeting where I reviewed the status of each of the 10 helicopters with the off-going maintenance chief. I was responsible for ensuring the aircraft were ready and capable of performing the assigned missions for the day. I also coordinated the schedule and unscheduled maintenance requirements for each aircraft and assigned each helo to the missions on the flight schedule. To do that, I held a maintenance meeting every morning at 6:30 with the supervisors of each maintenance shop (i.e. mechanics, electricians, ordnance, survival equipment, etc.). My command was schedule to go to Fallen, Nev., on September 12 to prepare for our upcoming six-month deployment in January 2002 so the focus of my meeting on September 11th was regarding the preparations for our departure the next day.

On the morning of September 11, 2001, I went to work at 5:30 am as usual to prepare for the morning meeting. Shortly after arriving at work, my husband, who was at home with our seven-year-old son, called to give me the news about the first tower at the World Trade Center being hit by a passenger airliner. I had no television or radio in my workspace so he was my only source of information. He called again only a few moments later to tell me about the second plane and the second tower. Like everyone else, when the second plane hit the second tower, I knew this was no accident. When he called a third and fourth time to give me the shocking news about the Pentagon and then about the flight with the passengers who bravely fought and died in a field in Shanksville, Penn., I knew our world would be changed dramatically and permanently from this day forward.

I think it was a blessing in disguise that we did not have a television or radio because we would not have been able to concentrate on the things done that needed to be done – we would have been glued to the TV like everyone else in America. My first priority was making sure everyone in the command was safe. Unfortunately, because it was only 6 am in Calif., most people were still coming into work. North Island Naval Air Station is at the back side of Coronado. The only way to reach it is by going over the two mile long Coronado Bay Bridge. Once the attacks happened the base shut down which left thousands of people stuck on the bridge, including all of the squadron’s officer leadership. It didn’t dawn on security or the San Diego police that all those cars were sitting ducks for another attack. My commanding officer was on leave and the executive officer and all the department heads were stuck on the bridge. After several hours, the realization that the bridge was a potential target, the police frantically cleared it by compacting cars on either side of the bridge into every conceivable parking area, most of which was either on the interstate before the bridge or along the shore line and parks on Coronado. Every ship at 32nd Street Naval Station pulled out of port because the only way out of the port was under the bridge. Visions of Pearl Harbor haunted our minds.

Everything seemed to need to be done at once but we soon learned that there was no formal plan in place telling us what to do for this type of crisis. I was trying to communicate with my CO, XO, and dept. heads via land line and cell phones but all the airwaves were jammed. I was directed by our wing commander to launch one helicopter out to the USS John C. Stennis (which was pulling into port that day after a weekend of reservist training.) The ship obviously remained out of port but became the afloat command center. My helicopters were the only means of transportation to anywhere, so every commanding officer and the Pacific Fleet admirals were flown out to the carrier for an emergency meeting to determine the necessary actions. After the helo landed on the ship, it was not allowed to return to the base because NORAD had grounded all aircraft including military ones. We could launch from the base, but were told our helos would be shot down if they tried to return to base. No one knew how deeply the terrorists had infiltrated the pilot training programs. It was then determined that since we had a helo out on the ship but no maintenance people with it to repair it if necessary, I was ordered to launch another helo to the ship with the most qualified personnel from the various shops – preferably people who were crossed trained in other fields so they could perform multiple functions. Since no one knew how long the flight crew or maintainers would be there, I had to contact their spouses to bring in uniforms, toiletries, etc. to be flown out to the ship on the next helo. But, getting them on and then off the island and the base proved to be extremely challenging as well. After several hours and only a few sets of toiletries, we launched the second helo with maintenance personnel, tools, repair manuals and overnight kits. Our only means of communication was the aircraft radio as the aircraft approached the ship so I was passing and receiving messages to and from my leadership via the pilots flying the helos.

One of the next priorities was to figure out if we were still going to Fallon, Nev., the next day. Not only could we not get there since the transport airplane we would have been taking was grounded, we didn’t know whether it would be worth going if our helicopters would not be able to get there or fly once there. After much confusing debate and endless waiting for direction, I was ordered to arrange commercially-owned buses to drive the 150+ maintenance personnel in my command and another North Island-based command to Fallon. Once we had those marching orders, I had each shop pack up everything we would need for our planned 4-week training detachment. Again, because no one had ever experienced anything like this, the decision to go to Fallon remained in flux. No one could confirm we were going to go to Fallon or even if we would remain in Fallon for the duration. It was decided that when we were finally released to go home to pack our personal belongings we needed to pack for one or more of the three scenarios – go to Fallon for 4 weeks and return to North Island, go to Fallon for the 4 weeks or less and be recalled to go on deployment four months early for an undetermined period of time, or be locked down on the base either in Fallon or North Island. None of these options were any more possible than the other so we packed our seabags in layers according to the three possibilities.

We all finally got to go home to collect our things and say our goodbyes. The hardest thing was not knowing how long we would be away. It was very difficult to explain not only what was happening but why I didn’t know when I would be back. Even though my son was used to me being gone for varying periods of time, the constant video and talk was scaring him even more than usual. I left for the base at 3 am, knowing it would take me several hours to get through the gate and to my hangar. It was a breeze getting through San Diego and even across the Coronado Bay Bridge. But, that’s where that all ended. It took me nearly 3 hours to go the 2 blocks I need to go to get to the front gate of the base. Every vehicle was being so closely scrutinized that it took the military police a very long time to screen every car. I knew I was never going to make it to my hangar in time to organize the transport of the hundreds of people going to Fallon. Because of the long line beginning to build, the Coronado police were directing all drivers to pull off onto the shoulders of the road and park our cars. We were told they would not be towed or ticketed. I hoisted my seabag onto my back and walked to the gate, passed inspection and caught one of the shuttles the base had activated to pick Sailors up at the front gate and take us to where we needed to go.

As the morning progressed, all the squadron’s personnel were accounted for and we waited for our buses to pick us up. But, because of the backup at the front gate, the buses couldn’t get through. We all ended up hiking the 2+ miles, with our overloaded seabags on our backs, out to where the buses were staged in the town. We then drove for about 10 hours to Fallon. Once we got there, I was met by my superior who told me to turn right around and go back to our base. I was to take a small contingency of 32 people out to our aircraft carrier for an undetermined period of time. Our mission was to keep our helicopters flying around the clock in order to load all the supplies, ordnance, food, medical equipment, etc. that would be needed for an extended deployment into a war zone. So I and my group jumped into a van and drove back to San Diego. We returned to the base and were launched out to the John C. Stennis on a C-2. For two weeks my squadron performed vertical replenishment sorties, transferring tons of palletized crates from the deck of supply ships to the deck of the Stennis. It looked like an ant farm of crewmembers from the Stennis loading the pallets of crates onto forklifts and transferring the supplies below deck via the aircraft elevators.

The most remarkable memory I have of this replenishment evolution, dubbed “Operation Noble Eagle”, is that of a young E4 who was one of the members of my maintenance team. Several months before 9-11, I was doing a presentation to a group of Sailors who had just become E4’s. He was one of the Sailors in that group. During my presentation, I spoke about the indefinable emotion and trust that we all have with each other – even with those who we don’t know very well or maybe don’t even especially like. But, that we all know and accept that we would lay down our lives for our shipmates. This native New Yorker spoke up and told me that there was no way that he would do such a thing considering the meager pay he receives; that he would have to be paid a whole lot more money to actually die for anyone outside his bloodline family. I had told him at the time that I hoped that wouldn’t be true if the time ever came where he would have to face that choice.

It’s because of that conversation that the mission of loading the carrier for war is my most remarkable memory. On the first day of performing the replenishment, that young E4 came to me and with tears in his eyes said, “Senior Chief, I get it now.” And he told me his very emotional story of being a New Yorker, the connection that New Yorkers have with each other, that his father worked just blocks from the World Trade Center, and that he would now do anything he could to help find justice for those people – his distended family of strangers from New York. He now understood what I was saying in that class many months before.

After two weeks on vertical replenishment, we went back to North Island and drove back to Fallon, Nevada. We joined the rest of the squadron in completing the training needed for the deployment. We worked around the clock providing aircraft and weapons systems to the pilots and aircrew who needed to complete their qualifications prior to deployment. After about three weeks of non-stop shifts, all qualifications were met and we returned to North Island. We spent the weekend with our families and deployed for what turned out to be one of the most team-focused deployments I had ever been a part of. For nearly eight months with only four port visits (the first port was after 100 days at sea), the Sailors on the USS John C. Stennis worked with only one thought in mind – patriotism. The selfish dramas of personal issues were nearly non-existent, volunteers for any duties needed were plentiful, requests for reenlistment were at an all-time high, and everyone worked as a team with a single and central mission that overshadowed any individual needs.

Many incredible events stay with me from that deployment, but one particular event stands out. During my shift we got a radio call from the flight deck overseers that a French helicopter was coming in for fuel. It had come from a ship far from us and couldn’t make it back to it without some fuel. My flight deck coordinator met the helicopter as it landed and although neither could communicate what type of fuel their helo took or how much they needed, we gave them what we had. They obviously had no payment system established with our ship. As a matter of payment, the French pilot removed his velcroed-on patch depicting our Twin Towers and handed it to my flight deck coordinator. As he handed it over, he said it his very broken English, “We are with you in this fight.” It was the most simple yet most heartfelt admission of solidarity that the entire world was feeling. It was definitely words we needed to hear after having been at sea for so long.

The day we received the flag that flew atop the World Trade Center on the day it was brought down was another of the most memorable days of this deployment. The flag was the one recovered by the New York firefighters amongst the rubble. They had sent it to us and asked that we fly it for the duration of our deployment. They wanted us to keep the memory of all those who perished in the forefront of our minds while we were flying our missions against those who murdered these innocent people. We did not need the reminder, but we proudly flew that flag throughout the duration of our deployment. We did not take it down until the day we returned to the United States. We were all given the opportunity to have a picture taken with that flag hanging in the background. It is a prized photograph that I will cherish forever.

As indescribably stressful, helplessly confusing, and emotionally draining as 9-11 and the months that followed were, I felt closer to those shipmates than any I had ever served with in my then-20 years of service. The young Sailors were more focused on the real reasons we serve our country – not just for the educational and medical benefits or the exceptional training they could take advantage of to apply for a job in the civilian world. As I look back at that time, I regret that the American people have such short memories and have already forgotten that moment in our history that we all realized what is truly important in life – our freedoms, our families and our American way of life.

It was because of my experiences during 9/11 and the aftermath that I knew I wanted to continue to be a part of the defense of our great country after I retired from the Navy. When I joined CBP, I was given a choice of what day I would like to report. It was late fall when I was offered the position. I chose December 7th because it was the first time America was so brutally attacked by those who wanted to destroy our way of life. I pray the September 11, 2001 will be the last day our citizens will ever have to endure that level of grief and disbelief. If my service in CBP helps secure our country in any way, I will know I have done my part to protect the United States from losing another life to terrorism.

Thank you for giving me the opportunity to tell my story. I know there are millions of Americans who have equally-dramatic and life-altering memories of that day. I am honored to be able to share mine.