Unveiling the Unseen: New Book ‘Ash and Honor’ Details the Minute-by-Minute Reality of September 11

As the twenty-fifth anniversary of the tragic events of September 11, 2001, approaches, a forthcoming book titled Ash and Honor promises to shed unprecedented light on the darkest day in modern American history. Written by author Jeffrey Robinson, the publication brings forward the accounts of more than sixty individuals whose stories have never before been told to the public. Through a meticulous, minute-by-minute narrative, the book captures the harrowing responses from the worlds of aviation, national security, and the military as the United States faced an unprecedented coordinated attack.

From the secret service agents tasked with shielding President George W. Bush to the military pilots who prepared to fly suicide missions to intercept hijacked aircraft before they could strike their targets, Ash and Honor reconstructs the confusion, heroism, and agonizing decisions of that fateful Tuesday.

Chapter 1: The Hijacking of American Airlines Flight 11

The narrative opens with the quiet, routine moments aboard American Airlines Flight 11, a Boeing 767-223ER scheduled to fly from Boston’s Logan International Airport to Los Angeles. On board were seventy-six passengers and eleven crew members. In the cockpit sat fifty-two-year-old Captain John Ogonowski of Dracut, Massachusetts, accompanied by first officer Thomas McGuinness Jr., a forty-two-year-old from Portsmouth, New Hampshire.

Air traffic control recordings from that morning capture the chilling transition from a standard flight to a hijacking in progress. Boston Center controllers repeatedly attempted to contact American 11 as the plane veered off its assigned course.

"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," the controller radioed.

After repeated attempts yielded silence or static, the voice of hijacker Mohamed Atta suddenly broke through the radio frequency. Responding with chilling calm, Atta inadvertently transmitted his commands to the ground instead of the cabin passenger address system: "We have some planes. Just stay quiet and you’ll be okay. We are returning to the airport."

As air traffic controllers struggled to comprehend the bizarre transmission, Atta issued further warnings to the trapped passengers and crew: "Nobody move. Everything will be okay. If you try to make any moves, you’ll endanger yourself and the airplane. Just stay quiet… Nobody move please. We are going back to the airport. Don’t try to make any stupid moves."

At 8:46:40 a.m., the communications abruptly ended as the aircraft struck the North Tower of the World Trade Center, leaving behind stunned silence across the air traffic control network.

The President’s Detail in Florida

While the nation’s commercial aviation network was beginning to unravel, President George W. Bush was in Florida, wrapping up a two-day trip. On Monday, September 10, the president delivered a speech at a Republican fundraiser in Jacksonville before flying to Sarasota. From there, a motorcade transported him twenty miles to the exclusive Colony Beach and Tennis Resort on Longboat Key, a barrier island along the Gulf of Mexico, where he spent the night following dinner with friends.

Advance preparations for the presidential visit had been largely handled by the Secret Service office in Tampa. However, Dave Wilkinson, the agent designated as the second shift supervisor for the visit, arrived a day early to review every logistical detail of the president’s itinerary. He quickly identified a major obstacle: the beach stank.

President Bush was an avid runner who maintained a strict routine of logging at least three miles whenever he traveled. The initial plan anticipated the president running along the resort beach. However, a seasonal red tide—a harmful algae bloom that discolors coastal waters and kills marine life—had left the shoreline littered with decaying fish, creating an unbearable odor.

To circumvent the issue, Wilkinson scouted a nearby golf course using a golf cart, plotting agent positions along the fairways and greens. Once he confirmed the location met security standards, he radioed senior shift supervisor Eddie Marinzel to approve the alternative route.

Later that evening, as the president prepared for bed, Marinzel asked if he still planned on running the next morning. Bush confirmed he did, stating he would head out at 6:00 a.m.

Veteran agents like Marinzel and Wilkinson, who had protected commanders-in-chief as far back as the Ronald Reagan administration, understood that presidential schedules could be fluid. With Bush, however, schedules were often accelerated. Having learned during the first nine months of the presidency that "six o’clock" could easily mean 5:45 or 5:30 a.m., Marinzel and the protective running detail assembled by 5:15 a.m. The president emerged at 5:20 a.m.

Air Force One and the Aviation Protocol

High above, preparations for the presidential aircraft were also underway. Colonel Mark Tillman served as the commander of the VC-25 Special Air Mission, operating as the chief pilot of Air Force One whenever the president was aboard.

Raised in Hollywood, Florida, Tillman entered the Air Force through the ROTC program at Tulane University, where he studied chemical engineerings. Initially assigned to the Foreign Technology Division at Wright-Patterson Air Force Base, Tillman transitioned to flight training after meeting a cargo plane pilot who inspired him to pursue a career in aviation. Graduating as a "late rated" pilot—having already attained the rank of captain due to his prior service—he initially flew C-130 Hercules cargo planes.

During the height of the Iran-Contra affair, Tillman’s transport duties frequently took him through Central America, including Honduras, El Salvador, and Nicaragua. Seeking a change of pace, he successfully applied for an assignment with the 89th Airlift Wing out of Andrews Air Force Base, spending two years flying government Gulfstream IIIs before earning a coveted spot on the Air Force One crew.

The VC-25 is structurally a heavily modified Boeing 747-200. It features more powerful engines for increased airspeed, midair refueling capabilities, advanced communication systems, and defensive countermeasures against potential airborne threats. Despite these specialized upgrades, the aircraft’s handling characteristics closely mirror standard commercial 747s, allowing Air Force One pilots to maintain their training alongside commercial airline crews.

The aircraft typically carries a crew of approximately twenty-nine personnel, including ten flight attendants, five radio operators, two navigators, three pilots, and an eight-man security detail. Protocol strictly dictates that the primary presidential aircraft never lands at an unfamiliar destination without the flight crew having previously surveyed and practiced landings at the location. Furthermore, Air Force One is consistently accompanied by a secondary backup aircraft—on the morning of September 11, a Boeing 757 positioned at Patrick Air Force Base on Florida’s east coast—which shadows the primary plane approximately one hundred miles away to serve as both an immediate mechanical backup and a security decoy.

Additional airborne support systems, including aerial refueling tankers, an E-3 Airborne Warning and Control System (AWACS) for surveillance, and an E-4B "Doomsday Plane" equipped to serve as an airborne command center for the military, often operate nearby during presidential travels.

A notable operational difference between commercial aviation and Air Force One involves cockpit dining protocols. While commercial pilots typically consume separate, sealed meals to prevent simultaneous food poisoning, Air Force One meals are prepared on board by trusted chefs vetted by the Secret Service, allowing the entire flight crew to share the same food. Tillman, however, often bypassed the standard menu options, preferring to eat whatever down-home cooking was prepared for President Bush, noting their shared preference for straightforward meals.

Upon arriving at the aircraft that morning, Tillman was greeted on the tarmac by Senior Master Sergeant Will Chandler. Standing six-foot-four and weighing nearly 240 pounds, Chandler—affectionately known as "Big Will"—supervised the aircraft’s security detail. Marked by a prominent scar running from his ear across his neck from a teenage knife fight, Chandler was widely regarded by crew members as a fearless and unshakeable security leader. President Bush frequently noted that seeing Big Will stationed at the foot of the aircraft stairs provided a reassuring sense of stability, a feeling that was about to be shattered across the nation.

A Routine Morning in New Jersey

Far from the political and military command centers, thousands of civilians were simply beginning their daily routines. Among them was thirty-two-year-old Barbara Ritchwood of Jersey City, New Jersey. Known for her bright-eyed demeanor and love of travel, Ritchwood woke up at 5:30 a.m. on September 11 and went through her customary morning preparations.

After getting dressed in her violet-blue medical scrubs, feeding her Pomeranian, Baby Botev, and leaving her apartment, she walked across the street to catch the 6:06 a.m. PATH train. The transit system carried her beneath the Hudson River directly into the subterranean shopping concourse situated four stories below the World Trade Center towers.

True to her usual habits, Ritchwood paused briefly outside the window of the closed Rolex boutique within the World Trade Center mall to admire the displays before exiting out of 5 World Trade Center onto Church Street. She walked past the Millennium Hotel, glanced into the windows of the shuttered Century 21 department store, and descended into the New York City subway system.

Catching the number 4 express train north to Forty-Second Street, she transferred to the number 6 line and disembarked at the Sixty-Eighth Street Hunter College station. Stepping out into the crisp, crystal-clear morning air under a cloudless blue sky, she walked four blocks east toward York Avenue and the twelve-story Greenberg Pavilion at the New York-Presbyterian/Weill Cornell Medical Center.

Arriving on the eighth floor at the Burn Intensive Care Unit, the day shift staff prepared to relieve the night personnel, stepping into what was expected to be a standard twelve-hour shift, unaware of the historic tragedy unfolding just miles away down Manhattan.