*Subject:* *Lt. Lucky......... I never knew this.....*

Pilots often claim that the two worst things that can happen to a pilot are:

(1) Walking out to the aircraft knowing this will be your last flight or

(2) Walking out to the aircraft NOT knowing this will be your last flight.

This pilot's story adds another possibility....

The events of September 11, 2001, put two F-16 pilots into the sky with
orders to bring down United Flight 93.

Late on that Tuesday morning of September 11th, Lt. Heather "Lucky" Penney
was on a runway at Andrews Air Force Base and ready to fly. She had her
hand on the throttle of an F-16 and she had her orders, "Bring down United
Airlines Flight 93."

The day's fourth hijacked airliner seemed to be hurtling toward Washington.
Penney, one of the first two combat pilots in the air that morning, was
told to stop it.

"I genuinely believed that was going to be the last time I took off," says
Maj. Heather "Lucky" Penney, remembering the September 11 attacks and the
initial U.S. reaction.

The one thing she didn't have as she roared into the crystalline sky was
live ammunition…. or missiles…. or anything at all to throw at a hostile
aircraft…. except her own plane. So *that* was the plan.

Because the surprise attacks were unfolding, in that innocent age, faster
than they could arm war planes, Penney and her commanding officer planned
to fly their jets straight into a Boeing757.

"We wouldn't be shooting it down. We'd be ramming the aircraft," Penney
recalls of her charge that day. "I would essentially be a kamikaze pilot."

For years, Penney, one of the first generation of female combat pilots in
the country, gave no interviews about her experiences on September 11
(which included, eventually, escorting Air Force One back into Washington's
suddenly highly restricted airspace).

But 14 years later, she is reflecting on one of the lesser-told tales of
that endlessly examined morning: How the first counterpunch the U.S.
Military prepared to throw at the attackers was effectively a suicide
mission. "We had to protect the airspace any way we could," she said last
week in her office at Lockheed Martin, where she is a director in the F-35
program.

Penney, now a major but is still a petite blonde with a Colgate grin, is no
longer a combat flier. She flew two tours in Iraq and she serves as a
part-time National Guard pilot, mostly hauling VIPs around in a military
Gulfstream. She takes the stick of her own vintage 1941 Taylor craft
tail-dragger whenever she can.

But none of her thousands of hours in the air quite compare with the urgent
rush of launching on what was supposed to be a one-way flight to a midair
collision. First of her kind!

She was a rookie in the autumn of 2001, the first female F-16 pilot they'd
ever had at the 121st Fighter Squadron of the D.C. Air National Guard. She
had grown up smelling jet fuel. Her father flew jets in Vietnam and still
races them. Penney got her pilot's license when she was a literature major
at Purdue. She planned to be a teacher. But during a graduate program in
American studies, Congress opened up combat aviation to women and Penney
was nearly first in line. "I signed up immediately," she says. "I wanted to
be a fighter pilot like my dad."

On that Tuesday, they had just finished two weeks of air combat training in
Nevada. They were sitting around a briefing table when someone looked in to
say a plane had hit the World Trade Center in New York. When it happened
once, they assumed it was some yahoo in a Cessna. When it happened again,
they knew it was war.

But the surprise was complete. In the monumental confusion of those first
hours, it was impossible to get clear orders. Nothing was ready. The jets
were still equipped with dummy bullets from the training mission. As
remarkable as it seems now, there were no armed aircraft standing by and no
system in place to scramble them over Washington. Before that morning, all
eyes were looking outward, still scanning the old Cold War threat paths for
planes and missiles coming over the polar ice cap.

"There was no perceived threat at the time, especially one coming from the
homeland like that," says Col. George Degnon, vice commander of the 113th
Wing at Andrews. "It was a little bit of a helpless feeling, but we did
everything humanly possible to get the aircraft armed and in the air. It
was amazing to see people react."

Things are different today, Degnon says. At least two "hot-cocked" planes
are ready at all times, their pilots never more than yards from the cockpit.

A third plane hit the Pentagon, and almost at once came word that a fourth
plane could be on the way, maybe more. The jets would be armed within an
hour, but somebody had to fly now, weapons or no weapons.

"Lucky, you're coming with me," barked Col. Marc Sasseville. They were
gearing up in the pre-flight life-support area when Sasseville, struggling
into his flight suit, met her eye. "I'm going to go for the cockpit,"
Sasseville said.

She replied without hesitating, "I'll take the tail." It was a plan ….. and
a pact. 'Let's go!'

Penney had never scrambled a jet before. Normally the pre-flight is a
half-hour or so of methodical checks. She automatically started going down
the list. "Lucky, what are you doing? Get your butt up there and let's go!"
Sasseville shouted.

She climbed in, rushed to power up the engine, screamed for her ground crew
to pull the chocks. The crew chief still had his headphones plugged into
the fuselage as she nudged the throttle forward. He ran along pulling
safety pins from the jet as it moved forward. She muttered a fighter
pilot's prayer - "God, don't let me [expletive] up"- and followed
Sasseville into the sky.

They screamed over the smoldering Pentagon, heading northwest at more than
400 mph, flying low and scanning the clear horizon. Her commander had time
to think about the best place to hit the enemy. "We don't train to bring
down airliners," said Sasseville, now stationed at the Pentagon. "If you
just hit the engine, it could still glide and you could guide it to a
target. My thought was the cockpit or the wing."

He also thought about his ejection seat. Would there be an instant just
before impact? "I was hoping to do both at the same time," he says. "It
probably wasn't going to work, but that's what I was hoping."

Penney worried about missing the target if she tried to bail out. "If you
eject and your jet soars through without impact..." she trails off, the
thought of failing more dreadful than the thought of dying.

But she didn't have to die. She didn't have to knock down an airliner full
of kids and salesmen and girlfriends. They did that themselves. It would be
hours before Penney and Sasseville learned that United 93 had already gone
down in Pennsylvania, an insurrection by hostages willing to do just what
the two Guard pilots had been willing to do: Anything, and everything.

"The real heroes are the passengers on Flight 93 who were willing to
sacrifice themselves, "Penney says. "I was just an accidental witness to
history."

She and Sasseville flew the rest of the day, clearing the airspace,
escorting the president, looking down onto a city that would soon be
sending them to war.

She's a single mom of two girls now. She still loves to fly. And she still
thinks often of that extraordinary ride down the runway a decade ago.

"I genuinely believed that was going to be the last time I took off," she
says.




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