I woke early – very early – I said goodbye to the family, including little Trinity, who was born exactly one month prior, and hefted my bags out to the driveway to wait for the taxi that would take me to the airport.  Preparations had been hectic.  I had only received orders about a week prior, and all I knew was that I was to link up with my new unit in San Diego, train up with them, and then head to Iraq – again.  My orders were for at least 18 months, so I packed heavy.  I brought every combat uniform I owned, all my kit, civilian clothes, and several personal items as well. 

Normally for a trip out of the country, I would have schlepped my bags down to the train station and taken the train from Huntingdon to Kings Cross station in London – then transferred to the Metro for the trip to Heathrow.  Fortunately, I had the extra bags, and the Army would reimburse me for the transport via car, directly to the airport.  I helped the driver load by bags and climbed into the front passenger seat of the almost new taxi/van/car thing that the British are so fond of employing in this situation.

The trip took about an hour and a half, through moderate traffic for a weekday, really about the same about of time that it would have taken by train.  The cabbie and I chatted about terrorism and his time in the South African military during Apartheid.  It was an interesting discussion with a chap that had been there and told it as he saw it – uncolored by the media…

As we transitioned from the A1(M) to the M25 and made our way to the M4 – thus to Heathrow, we began to hear report of the power being out in the Tube due to a fire.  Not completely unusual – but nonetheless noteworthy.  I joked with the driver about how late I would have been, had I taken the train.  More reports came in sporadically, informing people to avoid Kings Cross Station as well as the Circle and Piccadilly lines as they were all closed due to a fire and power outage.  More jokes passed between us about the troubles with the Tube as well as mass transit in general, and I spoke to my appreciation for his driving especially since the Piccadilly Line was my usual conveyance to Heathrow.

As we pulled into Heathrow, the traffic was relatively light, and it seemed to be really quiet.  We unloaded my bags onto a trolley before I paid and tipped the driver and we bid each other farewell.  I noticed that the normal plethora of skycaps on standby at the drop off were strangely absent, but did not think much of it.  I made my way inside the terminal and to the ticket counter easily enough as the area was mostly deserted.  I checked my bags and received my boarding pass without any trouble and began to make my way on foot to very end of Terminal 5 which was, I am pretty sure, is over 10 miles away. 

I was ready to get checked in, and did not make any stops.  Besides, every shop with a TV on seemed to be packed with people – to overflowing.  Was it the Premiere League?  This early?  Nah – maybe the World Cup?  I dunno – Brits and their Footie.  I made the journey to the last gate at the end of Terminal 5 – with the supplemental security checkpoint for flights to the US. I felt a bit of relief as I strolled over to the vending machines and took my time getting a snack and drink as everyone at this gate was crowded in front of the TV as well.  I shook my head and grinned at their love of sport – they really are as bad as Americans.  I grabbed my goodies and made my way to the seating area, figuring that I would take in some footie and relax until they made the boarding call.

However, on the TV was not a Futbol match or even Cricket.  There was an image of one of these huge double –decker London busses, ripped asunder by what was obviously a bomb.  I thought that this show ought to be interesting, as they are obviously covering some of the old attacks during The Troubles with the Irish.  Then it hit me…the pieces began to fall into place.  The catalyst was noticing the date on the screen and the word “LIVE” emblazoned right below the “Sky News” logo.  It all came together at once and hit me like a ton of bricks.

My ears and eyes began absorbing every word, sight, and bit of minutia on the screen.  I reached for my cell phone – but I had left it at home – it would not work in the US anyway.  I saw a bank of pay phones against the wall and found myself dropping Pound coins in one, and then dialing home.  All circuits were busy, and they stayed that way through boarding time.

I took a step back and stared at the TV realizing that there had been multiple bombings throughout London.  I further realized that there was a high probability, considering the timing, that I would have been on the Piccadilly Line train that was bombed.  It appeared that the attacks were confined to London and only on Mass Transit – so I relaxed by mind and the instant worries I had about the family.

I was finally able to check in via AirPhone about halfway across the Atlantic and let everyone know that I was ok, as well as check up on family and friends…all was well at home – but London was forever changed.

The date was 7 July 2005.  Islamist Salafists under the tutorage of Al Qaeda began the first of several attacks and attempts throughout Britain.  These “immigrants” were “disaffected” and “disenfranchised” and whatever other buzz word the apologists uses to excuse their behavior and attitudes.  They came to Britain to undermine the government, displace the Anglo inhabitants, and hope to one day fly the black flag of Islamic jihad over the Parliament House.  52 people were killed and over 700 were injured that day.  It was to Britain, as 9/11 was to the US.  It is when many Britons “woke up” and realized the very real danger that they were and are facing.

I will NEVER forget 9/11 or 7/7 – both days will be with me forever.  As Britain has firmly stood by us in our time of crisis as well as remembering each anniversary – so too should we remember.  May the gods bless Britain and save the Queen!