Inside the Minutes That Changed History: An Excerpt from Jeffrey Robinson’s New Book Ash and Honor

From the Secret Service agents racing to secure President George W. Bush to the military pilots thrust into harrowing, unprecedented scenarios in the skies, the human stories behind the tragedy of September 11, 2001, continue to reveal hidden depths. In his new book, Ash and Honor, published to coincide with the 25th anniversary of 9/11, author Jeffrey Robinson delivers a minute-by-minute account of the military, national security, and aviation response to the attacks. Drawing on more than sixty previously untold accounts, the book reconstructs the unfolding crisis through the eyes of the people who lived it, offering a fresh and deeply human perspective on a day that forever altered the course of modern history.

Chapter 1

The morning began quietly, with routines that millions of Americans repeated every day, entirely unaware of the catastrophe about to unfold.

On board American Airlines Flight 11, a Boeing 767-223ER scheduled to fly from Boston to Los Angeles, sat seventy-six passengers and eleven crew members. In the cockpit were fifty-two-year-old Captain John Ogonowski of Dracut, Massachusetts, a devoted husband and father of three daughters, and forty-two-year-old First Officer Thomas McGuinness Jr. of Portsmouth, New Hampshire, who left behind a wife and two daughters.

At 8:46:40 a.m., the normal rhythm of air traffic control communications shattered. Radio transmissions captured the chilling transition as the flight fell under the control of hijacker Mohamed Atta:

Air Traffic Control: “American eleven, if you hear Boston Center, ah, recontact Boston Center on one two seven point eight two, that’s American eleven one two seven eight two.”

ATC: “American eleven, American one one, Boston.”

ATC: “American eleven, if you hear Boston Center, ident please.”

ATC: “American eleven, Boston.”

ATC: “American eleven, American one one, how do you hear the center?”

The voice of hijacker Mohamed Atta, now flying the plane: “American eleven, Boston.”

ATC: “Is that American eleven trying to call?”

Mohamed Atta: (garbled)

Mohamed Atta: “We have some planes. Just stay quiet and you’ll be okay. We are returning to the airport.”

ATC: “And uh who’s trying to call me here? American eleven, are you trying to call?”

ATC: “American eleven, are you trying to call?”

Mohamed Atta: “Nobody move. Everything will be okay. If you try to make any moves, you’ll endanger yourself and the airplane. Just stay quiet.”

Mohamed Atta: “Nobody move please. We are going back to the airport. Don’t try to make any stupid moves.”

Then came silence.

Thousands of miles away in Florida, the nation’s chief executive was preparing for a standard day of official duties and travel. On Monday, September 10, President George W. Bush delivered a speech at a Republican fundraiser in Jacksonville. Following the event, he flew to Sarasota and traveled by motorcade twenty miles to the exclusive Colony Beach and Tennis Resort on Longboat Key, a barrier island along the Gulf of Mexico, where he dined with friends and spent the night.

The logistics of presidential travel require extensive preparation, and the Tampa office of the Secret Service had spent weeks coordinating the visit. However, just a day before the president’s arrival, Dave Wilkinson, the scheduled second-shift supervisor for the detail, flew down to walk through every minute of the itinerary. Almost immediately, Wilkinson encountered an unexpected obstacle: the beach smelled unbearable.

President Bush was an avid runner who maintained a strict fitness routine while traveling, typically logging at least three miles early in the morning. The original plan anticipated the president running along the beach at Longboat Key. However, the shoreline was afflicted by a severe red tide—a seasonal harmful algal bloom that discolors the water, releases toxins, and leaves miles of the shore littered with rotting fish.

Faced with an untenable environment, Wilkinson quickly adapted. He scouted a nearby golf course using a golf cart, carefully plotting agent positions along the fairways and greens. Once satisfied that the location met stringent security standards, he radioed senior shift supervisor Eddie Marinzel to confirm that the alternative route was secured.

On Monday night after dinner, as President Bush prepared for rest, Marinzel asked if he planned to run the following morning. Bush confirmed he did, specifying a time of six o’clock.

Both Marinzel and Wilkinson were veterans of the Presidential Protective Division, having served details going back to the administration of Ronald Reagan. With previous commanders in chief, an appointment for six o’clock usually meant precisely six o’clock.

President Bush, however, operated on a different clock. In the nine months since his inauguration, Marinzel had learned that when Bush said six, it could easily mean 5:45, or even 5:30. Anticipating this tendency, Marinzel and the running detail positioned themselves and were ready by 5:15 a.m. The president appeared at 5:20 a.m.

High above, another critical piece of the presidential apparatus was preparing for the day’s operations. Colonel Mark Tillman held the official title of commander of the VC-25 Special Air Mission, but whenever the president stepped on board, Tillman was the chief pilot, and the aircraft became Air Force One.

Raised in Hollywood, Florida, Tillman earned his commission through the Reserve Officers’ Training Corps (ROTC) at Tulane University, where he studied chemical engineerings. Initially assigned to the Foreign Technology Division at Wright-Patterson Air Force Base as a junior officer in a propulsion shop, Tillman’s career trajectory shifted when he befriended a C-5 cargo plane pilot. Inspired by the prospect of global travel, he applied for pilot training, was accepted, and graduated as "late rated"—meaning he had spent enough time in service prior to flight school to enter as a captain rather than a first lieutenant.

Though many of his peers pursued fighter aircraft, Tillman chose heavy planes, hoping to pilot a C-130 Hercules. Because he graduated with a fighter-attack reconnaissance rating, the Air Force initially assigned him back to flight school as an instructor. When he finally transitioned to C-130s, his travel aspirations materialized, though the geopolitical realities of the era—specifically the Iran-Contra affair—steered his routes away from European capitals and toward Central American nations like Honduras, El Salvador, and Nicaragua.

Seeking a new challenge, Tillman successfully applied to the prestigious Eighty-Ninth Airlift Wing out of Andrews Air Force Base, spending two years flying government Gulfstream IIIs worldwide before earning an assignment to the Air Force One fleet.

The aircraft itself, a heavily modified Boeing 747-200 designated VC-25, was built specifically for the presidency. It featured significantly more powerful engines for higher airspeeds, in-flight refueling capabilities, advanced communications arrays, and classified self-defense systems. Despite these specialized military upgrades, the interior layout and flight characteristics closely mirrored standard commercial 747s, allowing Air Force One pilots to maintain proficiency through commercial training programs.

The flight crew typically numbered around twenty-nine personnel, including ten flight attendants, five radio operators, two navigators, three pilots, and an eight-man security detail. Aviation protocol dictates that the designation "Air Force One" travels with the president rather than the airframe itself; any aircraft carrying the commander in chief assumes the call sign. Furthermore, protocol forbids the president from landing at any destination the pilots have not previously surveyed in person.

To ensure continuous security and redundancy, presidential travel always involves a secondary decoy and backup aircraft. On the morning of September 11, 2001, a Boeing 757 parked at Patrick Air Force Base near Florida’s Kennedy Space Center was scheduled to take off alongside Air Force One, shadowing it from a distance of one hundred miles to provide both a communications backup and a visual decoy. Additional assets, including airborne refueling tankers, an E-3 Airborne Warning and Control System (AWACS) aircraft for surveillance, and an E-4B "Doomsday Plane" capable of serving as an airborne command center, formed an invisible protective shield around the president’s movements.

One notable quirk separating Air Force One from commercial aviation involved protocol surrounding meals. On commercial flights, pilots are routinely served different, sealed meals to minimize the risk of simultaneous food poisoning. On Air Force One, food was prepared directly onboard by trusted chefs cleared by the Secret Service to feed the president, allowing the cockpit crew to share identical meals. For Tillman, however, menu choices were straightforward: sharing President Bush’s preference for simple, traditional American cooking, Tillman routinely told the staff to serve him whatever the president was having.

Upon arriving at the aircraft that morning, Tillman was greeted on the tarmac by Senior Master Sergeant Will Chandler. Known widely as "Big Will," Chandler stood six-foot-four and weighed nearly 240 pounds, projecting an imposing physical presence that earned him a reputation as someone not to be crossed—a persona reinforced by a visible scar stretching from his ear across his neck, the result of a teenage knife fight.

Chandler oversaw the plane’s security team and frequently expressed a fearless dedication to his duty. President Bush shared a warm rapport with him, often remarking that seeing Big Will stationed at the foot of the aircraft stairs provided immediate reassurance that all was well. On the morning of September 11, however, the world was about to change profoundly.

Far from the centers of political and military power, ordinary citizens were beginning their daily commutes with familiar routines. Barbara Ritchwood of Jersey City, New Jersey, a thirty-two-year-old medical professional who loved to travel, woke up at 5:30 a.m. Following her usual internal debate of reluctance to leave her warm bed, she began her morning preparation.

After showering and dressing in violet-blue medical scrubs, she grabbed a granola bar, kissed her Pomeranian named Baby Botev goodbye, and stepped out of her apartment. Crossing the street, she caught the 6:06 PATH train, which descended four stories underground to the station situated directly beneath the World Trade Center complex on the Hudson River’s New York side.

Navigating the underground shopping mall that served as the primary thoroughfare through the station, Ritchwood paused briefly outside the window of the shuttered Rolex store to admire the watches on display. Emerging from World Trade Center Building 5 onto Church Street, she walked past the Millennium Hotel and glanced into the windows of the closed Century 21 department store, wondering what new items might later catch her eye.

She then descended into the subway system to catch a #4 express train to Forty-Second Street, transferring to a #6 train that carried her upturn to the Sixty-Eighth Street station at Hunter College.

The morning sun had risen into a crystal-clear blue sky. Walking four blocks east toward York Avenue, she arrived at the twelve-story Greenberg Pavilion of the New York-Presbyterian/Weill Cornell Medical Center. Up on the eighth floor in the Burn Intensive Care Unit, the day shift was gathering to relieve the night staff at 7:30 a.m., preparing to embark on what would become the longest twelve hours of their lives.

Ash and Honor. Copyright © 2026 by Jeffrey Robinson. All rights reserved.