On the Wings of Angels

We were at the Temple, TX, VA hospital the day of the Ft. Hood shootings. I had been outside to have a cigarette and check in at work. They don't like to call me when I'm off, so I check in with them, instead. Plus, I needed an excuse for a smoke, and I hate talking on a cell phone in a crowded public place like a hospital waiting room.

Things were fine at the office, but when I got back upstairs to waiting room, all eyes were on the TV. They were covering a breaking story, and it was breaking not too far away. There was a mass shooting one town away at Ft. Hood, which abuts Killeen.

Everyone in the room had some connection to the military. Many were veterans; others were there with spouses or parents who were veterans.

It was kind of a surreal moment. As I struggled to wrap my mind around it, I realized I didn't know what to wrap my around yet. The information changed every few minutes or even seconds. All I could comprehend was that something very bad had happened, and not very far away.

I went back outside to make a couple of other calls. One to a friend who retired from the Army a few years ago and still lived in Killeen. I needed to know that none of his family had business on base that day. Early reports included civilian fatalities.

Another to my mother to tell her that she was going to hear about something very soon, but that we were not near it. Or at least not close enough to be in danger. She knew we were going to be at the VA that day, and she would have heard "military", "central Texas" and "Ft. Hood", then gotten worried. I told her that there was a noticable increase in police outside the hospital.

At the time, reports stated that there were multiple shooters and that some were still on the loose. While those reports eventually turned out to be inaccurate, I didn't want her worrying too much.

While I was out, I noticed a helicopter that seemed to be circling the city. I thought it might be looking for the people that might still be on the loose. The local schools were on lock-down, so I thought maybe someone might have been spotted in the area

I went back out a little later for a cigarette. My nerves were raw, I needed to pace. That outweighed the possibility of meeting a shooter in the lobby.

That helicopter was still circling.

Then I saw it stop and hover near Scott & White. It's a major hospital that sits on a hill above the VA hospital. It stayed there for a good 10 minutes before I went back in.

I could see it from the window of the waiting room. I got distracted, looked away for a minute and it wasn't there, any more. But then it was back a few minutes later. I could hear it before I could see it.

The doctor we were there to see was held up in a surgery that ran long, so I went back out again to pace and smoke and watch the helicopter circling. When I’m upset, I can’t sit still.

The doctor we were there for cut the appointment short once she finally got done in surgery because she'd been told to prep for overflow. And that she and other medical staff could not leave for the time being.

Turns out, it wasn't a helicopter circling. It was one after another coming in to land at Scott & White. It's where most of the shooting victims went. It has a very good trauma unit that can handle mass casualties.

The helicopter kept coming in for as long as we were there. And I'm guessing the one that was hovering was waiting for a place to land.

When we leaving, I looked up and saw several helicopters in the air, not one just circling. They were coming in one after another in a strict arc formation that allowed one to land and take off before the next one got there. The first ones had come in farther apart.

From the VA hospital, Scott & White looks like the proverbial "shining city on a hill". It doesn't shine physically. It's built of mostly brown masonry. But knowing what it is and what it does, then seeing its massiveness on high from afar, it shines spiritually. It's a city of hope. A city of last and best hope for some.

As it was that day. One helicopter at a time.