At War

Eleven years after the 9/11 attacks, we remain at war against bloodthirsty fanatics who dream of killing us in large numbers.

I fly the American flag at full staff and not half staff as it is supposed to be flown on this day of remembering. It is too soon for weepy sentimentality for the victims of that day. We are at war and the war is not yet won.

No, because we are at war, I remember this day as a day we fought back. The moment the second plane struck the World Trade Center, I knew in my bones we were at war. I felt that this would be no outrage met by a barrage of cruise missiles to even the score--until the next time our enemies attacked us.

I remember that in the sky over Pennsylvania, ordinary Americans launched the first counter-attack to deny our enemies one more target that they could say they struck that day. Those passengers denied the terrorists the ability to control that plane, and all perished in a crash well away from any target.

I remember that military personnel and civilians endured a strike on the Pentagon and coped with rescue operations while continuing their mission to react to this surprise attack.

And I remember the brave firefighters and police who rushed up the World Trade Center as it burned from double impacts in order to rescue people trapped there--before they too died in the crumbling masonry and steel.

And I remember those who showed bravery that day that will never be known because they and those who witnessed their bravery perished in the collapse of those towers.

I know that some of the victims went room to room in their office to make sure nobody was left behind before they sought escape.

I know that some of the dead led survivors down stairwells and kept people calm and moving.

I know some who died offered words of encouragement to keep people hopeful as they moved to safety or waited for rescue.

I know some refused to leave a friend, co-worker, or even a stranger too injured to move in order to wait for rescue together rather than let someone lose hope and believe that they were forgotten.

They all bore the brunt of our first hours at war. And we'll never know their stories of bravery and common decency. But I know they took place. That's who we are.

For all of them, my flag flies at full staff as a symbol of the war we must wage to defeat these bastards who struck our nation on that morning.

One day, I hope to fly my flag at half staff, in sadness at the price we paid for victory.

That day is not here yet.

UPDATE: And when you think we've been fighting long enough, remember that our enemies seem to keep that murderous rage working for them.