One of my greatest frustrations on September 11 was the woeful communications technology on Air Force One. The plane had no satellite television. We were dependent on whatever local feeds we could pick up. After a few minutes on a given station, the screen would dissolve into static.
I caught enough fleeting glimpses of the coverage to understand the horror of what the American people were watching. Stranded people were jumping to their deaths from the top floors of the World Trade Center towers. Others hung out of windows, hoping to be rescued. I felt their agony and despair. I had the most powerful job in the world, yet I felt powerless to help them.
At one point, the television signal held steady long enough for me to see the south tower of the World Trade Center collapse. The north tower fell less than thirty minutes later. I had held out hope that the desperate souls trapped on the upper floors would have time to escape. Now there was no chance.
The collapse of the towers magnified the catastrophe. Fifty thousand people worked in the buildings on a typical business day. Some had been evacuated, but I wondered how many were left. Thousands? Tens of thousands? I had no idea. But I was certain that I had just watched more Americans die than any president in history.
I kept up-to-date on the latest developments by calling Dick and Condi in the PEOC. We tried to establish an open line, but it kept dropping. In the years ahead, Deputy Chief of Staff Joe Hagin oversaw major upgrades to the communications systems of the PEOC, Situation Room, and Air Force One.
When we did receive information, it was often contradictory and sometimes downright wrong. I was experiencing the fog of war. There were reports of a bomb at the State Department, a fire on the National Mall, a hijacked Korean airliner bound for the United States, and a call-in threat to Air Force One. The caller had used the plane’s code name, Angel, which few people knew. The most bizarre report came when I was informed of a high-speed object flying toward our ranch in Crawford. All of this information later proved to be false. But given the circumstances, we took every report seriously.
One report I received proved true. A fourth plane had gone down somewhere in Pennsylvania. “Did we shoot it down, or did it crash?” I asked Dick Cheney. Nobody knew. I felt sick to my stomach. Had I ordered the death of those innocent Americans?
When the fog lifted, I learned about the heroism aboard Flight 93. After hearing about the earlier attacks in phone calls to loved ones on the ground, the passengers had decided to storm the cockpit. In some of the last words recorded from the doomed flight, a man named Todd Beamer can be heard rallying the passengers into action by saying, “Let’s roll.” The 9/11 Commission later concluded that the revolt of the passengers aboard Flight 93 may have spared either the Capitol or the White House from destruction. Their act of courage ranks among the greatest in American history.
I had been trying to reach Laura all morning. She had been scheduled to testify before a Senate committee in support of our education initiative around the same time the planes struck the World Trade Center towers. I placed several calls, but the line kept dropping. I couldn’t believe that the president of the United States couldn’t reach his wife in the Capitol Building. “What the hell is going on?” I snapped at Andy Card.
Venting my frustrations to Andy Card. White House/Eric Draper
I finally connected with Laura as Air Force One descended into Barksdale. Laura’s voice is always soothing, but it was especially comforting to hear that day. She told me she had been taken to a safe location by the Secret Service. I was very relieved when she told me she had spoken to Barbara and Jenna, both of whom were fine. Laura asked when I was coming back to Washington. I told her that everyone was urging me not to return, but that I would be there soon. I had no idea whether that was true, but I sure hoped so.
Landing at Barksdale felt like dropping onto a movie set. F-16s from my old unit at Ellington Air Force Base in Houston had escorted us in. The taxiway was lined with bombers. It made for a striking scene, the power of our mighty Air Force on display. I knew it was only a matter of time before I put that power to use against whoever had ordered this attack.
There was no presidential motorcade assembled at Barksdale, so the commanding officer, General Tom Keck, had to improvise. The agents hustled me down the stairs of the plane and into a vehicle, which blasted off down the runway at what felt like eighty miles an hour. When the man behind the wheel started taking turns at that speed, I yelled, “Slow down, son, there are no terrorists on this base!” It was probably the closest I came to death that day.
I connected with Don Rumsfeld on a secure phone in General Keck’s office at Barksdale. Don had been hard to track down because he had become a first responder at the Pentagon. After the plane hit, he ran outside and helped emergency workers lift victims onto stretchers.
I told Don that I considered the attacks an act of war and approved his decision to raise the military readiness level to DefCon Three for the first time since the Arab-Israeli War of 1973. American military installations around the world heightened security precautions and prepared to respond immediately to further orders. I told Don our first priority was to make it through the immediate crisis. After that, I planned to mount a serious military response. “The ball will be in your court and [Joint Chiefs Chairman] Dick Myers’s court to respond,” I told him.
By 11:30 Louisiana time, it had been almost three hours since I had spoken to the country. I was worried people would get the impression that the government was disengaged. Laura had expressed the same concern. I taped a brief message explaining that the government was responding and that the nation would meet the test. The sentiment was right, but the setting—a sterile conference room at a military base in Louisiana—did not inspire much confidence. The American people needed to see their president in Washington.
I pressed Andy on when we could head back to the White House. The Secret Service agents felt it was still too uncertain. Dick and Condi agreed. They recommended that I go to the Strategic Command at Offutt Air Force Base in Nebraska. It had secure housing space and reliable communications. I resigned myself to delaying my return once again. As we boarded the plane at Barksdale, the Air Force loaded pallets of extra food and water into the belly. We had to be ready for any possibility.
After we arrived at Offutt, I was taken to the command center, which was filled with military officers who had been taking part in a planned exercise. Suddenly, a voice crackled over the sound system. “Mr. President, a nonresponsive plane is coming in from Madrid. Do we have authority to shoot it down?”
My first reaction was When is this going to end? Then I outlined the rules of engagement I had approved earlier. My mind ran through the worst-case scenarios. What were the diplomatic ramifications of shooting down a foreign plane? Or what if we were too late and the terrorists had already hit their target?
The voice on the loudspeaker returned. “The flight from Madrid,” he intoned, “has landed in Lisbon, Portugal.”
Thank God, I thought. It was another example of the fog of war.
We moved to the communications center, where I had called a national security meeting by videoconference. I had thought carefully about what I wanted to say. I started with a clear declaration. “We are at war against terror. From this day forward, this is the new priority of our administration.” I received an update on the emergency response. Then I turned to George Tenet. “Who did this?” I asked.