Attacks put Hawai'i troops on front line

•	Security presence boosted, but no direct threat here
•	U.S. braces for another attack
•	Hawai'i dreams died one year ago
•	Hawai'i values impelled 9/11 hero
•	Bob Krauss: No replays, please — just serious reflection
•	Sept. 11 anniversary events
•	Readers reflect
•	Special report: 9/11... One Year, One Nation
	Share your thoughts as the country observes the anniversary of the Sept. 11 attack

By Karen Blakeman
Advertiser Staff Writer

Lt. Col. Darrell Chung, an on-call F-15 pilot sleeping in the Air National Guard's alert pad just off Runway 8 at the Honolulu International Airport, woke too early on the morning of Sept. 11.

The Coast Guard stepped up patrols after Sept. 11 as America went to its highest level of alert since World War II. Bruce Asato • The Honolulu Advertiser

It took a while for Chung to realize he was about to fly an intercept mission on a civilian airliner, becoming one of the first members of the military in Hawai'i to respond in America's new war against terrorism.

More than 150 guardsmen would be activated to watch over Hawai'i's airports alone.

Other guardsmen and reservists would leave civilian jobs for a range of active-duty military positions, from chemical warfare defense and gathering intelligence to filling in for active duty people needed elsewhere in the world.

Active-duty members and reservists would fly or set sail for Afghanistan and neighboring nations, fighting directly against Taliban and al-Qaida troops or supporting those who did.

Marines from Hawai'i would establish a Marine Forces Central Command headquarters in Bahrain, a region under the highest security level as the United States braced itself against the possibility of future attacks.

The Hawai'i-based special operations command, SOCPAC, would quickly gather a team of soldiers, sailors, airmen and Marines, establish operations in the Philippines and help forces there to clear Basilan of Abu Sayyaf, a terrorist organization with ties to al-Qaida that has terrorized locals and Western visitors to that nation for years.

The 14th Coast Guard District, already overtaxed, undermanned and short on financial support, would stretch itself even further and become the state's first line of defense from attack by sea.

One Hawai'i-based enlisted man, Master Sgt. Jeffrey T. Haynes, would spend months coordinating with officials from Uzbekistan and Afghanistan to secure airspace for U.S. and allied forces aircraft to undertake the war against the Taliban. He would serve so well under extreme conditions that he would be awarded the Bronze Star, one of the military's most esteemed decorations.

Chung, like other half-asleep Hawai'i residents stumbling toward their televisions, radios and ringing telephones on the morning of the terrorist attacks, brushed away the cobwebs, turned on the television to an all-news station, and tried to get his head around a real-life nightmare on Sept. 11.

"They were saying a commercial airliner had flown into it, but that was impossible," said Chung, whose civilian job is DC-10 captain for Hawaiian Airlines. "Even if a pilot was experiencing catastrophic mechanical problems, he wouldn't crash into a building. He'd take it down into the river or something; try to minimize the loss of life. Even if he knew he would lose everyone aboard, he wouldn't take out all those people on the ground, too."

Understanding dawned when he watched the second aircraft crash into the towers: The pilots were not in control. America was under attack. Chung knew he had a mission. He'd trained for it for years.

"I went upstairs and woke the other pilot and the mechanics," Chung said. "I said: I think we're about to be scrambled."

Pentagon colleagues

A year after the attacks, Jo Estrada reacts as she sees, for the first time, the hole in the skyline of Manhattan left by the destruction of the Trade Center towers. Estrada was standing outside St. Paul's Chapel, where a huge makeshift shrine was set up on the gates of the church. Associated Press

Like other district commanders, Utley had manpower and money shortages. Congress had taken note of the condition, and the situation was improving, but not quickly enough. The additional manning alone would take months or years to find its way to his level. New ships and state-of-the-market technology would take even longer. Now Utley would have to ask his troops to stretch themselves even further. Utley's "Coasties" would become Hawai'i's primary defense at sea in a nation under the highest level of alert since World War II.

Troops assigned to fisheries enforcement would now escort ships in and out of Honolulu Harbor or patrol Hawai'i's shoreline. Cutter commanders would send boarding parties onto ships that appeared suspicious or could pose a threat. Inspectors would pore over ship cargo and passenger manifests, comparing them to information gleaned from civilian and military intelligence and law enforcement.

Utley's troops would subject themselves to long hours and grueling work schedules, their sacrifices extreme, but not as extreme as those Utley had left behind.

In his office in the Federal Building, Utley has an imposing view of Honolulu Harbor and the Coast Guard ships, helicopters, airplanes, foot patrols and bike patrols that have helped to keep it safe. On the opposite wall he keeps a plaque from the men and women who served under him in his previous job as director of Navy Command Center and Interagency Support Division at the Pentagon.

The admiral runs a finger along the glass above the signatures of his old co-workers. The office they had shared had been in the Pentagon, the part destroyed by terrorists on Sept. 11. Many of the signators were killed. Others were seriously injured.

"This," Utley said of America's new war, "is personal."

Intercepting flights

Alice Hoglan, mother of Mark Bingham, looked for the marker with her son's name yesterday at a memorial to Flight 93 near Shanksville, Pa. Associated Press

Inbound flights were arriving from everywhere. Some had been diverted from the Mainland; denied permission to land. Some were from more distant places. Many would be running low on fuel.

Chung's job was to help the control tower decide whether all of them were under control of their respective pilots. He or his wingman intercepted each flight, pulled up on the pilot's side of the aircraft and escorted the airliner in, watching the cockpit carefully to see whether the crews behaved normally. Chung knew their routines: A different day and he might have been inside the airliner instead of the F-15.

The worst-case scenario would have developed like this: a plane that looked suspicious, a pilot ordered to divert to another airport, a second order to divert if the pilot didn't immediately comply. There would be no third order if compliance still was not obtained, and at that point Chung would get his orders.

"We were going to have to take the airplane down," he said. "It would be better than having a plane crash into a Honolulu high-rise."

Chung relied on his training to get through the next three hours before the next team of fliers took over. Dozens of rapid intercepts and a midair refueling later, Chung landed and climbed from the F-15. As his feet hit the pavement he discovered his life had a new depth and focus.

"You've got to appreciate every moment," he said. "It could all change at any time."

Special operations

Firefighters lead a funeral procession in the Bronx borough of New York for firefighter Peter Bielfeld, who died in last year's attacks. Associated Press

Beginning in January, SOCPAC took a team of Army Green Beret troops, helicopter pilots, Navy SEALs, Air Force special operations forces and Kane'ohe Marines to the Philippines to help local forces rid the area of terrorists. The mission concentrated on the island of Basilan. The weather was hot and humid, the jungle dense, Teramae said.

While some of the military trained the Filipino fighters, others built roads or dug wells while still others ferried in supplies. As conditions improved, the military brought medical and dental specialists to tiny jungle villages.

Teramae remembers a 15-year-old girl injured in the cross fire between Filipino and Abu Sayyaf forces: The girl was brought in for treatment of back and leg wounds at one of the jungle clinics. The villagers, accustomed to violence, barely gave the injured girl a second glance, Teramae said.

Some among the American forces, particularly the Marines, were very young, Teramae said. She enjoyed hearing them discuss how pleased they were that months and years of training during peacetime really did make them more effective in combat situations — even the things that seemed to make no sense during training.

The military likes to think of its special operations as "the quiet profession," Teramae said.

Air Force Master Sgt. Jeffrey Haynes is a quiet man who worked with quiet professionals during his deployment, Air Force officials at Hickam said.

Haynes was awarded the Bronze Star for his work as a combat airspace manager in Uzbekistan and Afghanistan. Haynes worked with local officials to make sure allied and American air forces, including the "Skinny Dragon" squadron of Navy P3 reconnaissance aircraft from Kane'ohe and a contingent of C20G logistics airplanes flown by Hawai'i reservists, could do their jobs as safely and effectively as possible during the war against Taliban and al-Qaida forces.

Haynes also conducted reconnaissance missions to airfields in Afghanistan, and helped clear airspace to evacuate wounded troops and repatriate the remains of CIA agent John Spann.

The environment was brutally cold, desolate and cruel, Haynes said. The American troops he saw serving there were impressive in their degree of professionalism and patriotism.

Careers were made, he said. A few were ended, including that of the young British man who had stepped off the flight line to urinate, and lost a foot and an eye to a land mine.

Haynes starts to describe the emergency surgery conducted on the flight line, the man's laments about his fiancee, then stops himself.

"You should understand," Haynes said quietly, "it was a real war."

Reach Karen Blakeman at 535-2430 or kblakeman@honoluluadvertiser.com.