Fighter Pilot By Cole Smithey

I'm one of the Navy fighter pilots that rocked the great state of New York on 9/11. At 6:59 AM my crew was scrambled to fly our six Boeing F/A-18E Super Hornets, along with ten other squads, to perform some aerial escorting for eleven hijacked commercial aircraft. Good thing the coffee was hot. In six minutes flat we were in Outrigger formation around our target. At the controls was a young Asian kid--must've been about ten-years-old. No matter. My squad was flying his plane now. Those boats are slow as molasses. Nothing I love better than pulling tight formation. I was on the left of the American Airlines plane--36 inches from the tip of my wing to his windshield. Kip was right-side. Tom and Jon had the wings--Berl on top--Ringo stuck at the bottom. As usual.

By the time we escorted the plane down safely at Langly, the other ten squads were waiting for us. "Damn it," I thought--my guys would have to buy beer for sixty other guys that night. At least the coffee was still hot.