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How many Tuesday mornings had I passed through security on my way to deliver another briefing in conference rooms filled with General Officers and Senior Executive Service personnel. How many Tuesday mornings did I sit patiently in the outer office with the Chief National Guard Bureau’s secretary glaring at me and my fellow field grade worker bees lined up for our grilling? Did any of us ever think that our Crac des Chevaliers, our Masada, our Pentagon would be breached. No. It was eleven years after I bid a adieu to the ant hill on the Potomac. A typical September morning in South Carolina with just a hint of “we might be headed for fall in the air.” About 9:00 a.m. things suddenly did not feel so normal. One of the staff charged past my glaring secretary and told me to come quick. The conference room was quickly filling as reports began to pour in of an airplane crashing into the World Trade Center. The report came in that another passenger plane had crashed into the western façade of The Pentagon. How many times had I scurried down those hallways en route to another briefing? Do not forget. Never forget.