Loud Boom, Then Flames In Hallways

The area of the building hit by the 757 contains the offices of Army and Navy operations personnel. That section had recently been renovated, and officials said they hoped the death count would be limited by the fact that many people had not yet moved into their offices.

The search for survivors was hampered by intense heat and smoke. As late as 10 p.m., rescue teams were having trouble getting close enough to the worst damage.

"We went down that first ring, but we only got 100 feet," said Derek Spector, 37, an Arlington firefighter. "It was an intense amount of heat."

About 70 people, including some rescuers, were taken to hospitals in Virginia and the District. Among the most seriously hurt were a Virginia state trooper, listed in critical condition from smoke inhalation at Inova Alexandria Hospital, and patients at Washington Hospital Center who had burns on 25 percent to 70 percent of their bodies.

Many Pentagon employees pitched in on the relief effort. But others were overwhelmed by the trauma. After fleeing the building, workers collapsed on the lawn, some crying, some struggling to get a connection on cell phones, others looking dazed.

Tamara Moore, an employee in information management support, spoke haltingly.

"We knew the building had been hit. We could feel it." She paused. "It's tough. It's tough to talk about. I ran. I don't have anything. I don't have my pocketbook. I'm worried. Some of my co-workers were in that area."

Ambulances and government helicopters raced to the Pentagon after the attack. More than 300 military and medical personnel rushed into the building in waves, many bearing stretchers.

As firefighters trained streams of water on the blazing building, rescue workers carried dozens of people on stretchers from the interior onto the grass. There, emergency medical technicians from across the region laid out mats, set up intravenous tubes and organized teams of litter-bearers.

"We've got people in there dying," someone shouted.

At one point, panic set in when a rumor swept the crowd that another attack was imminent.

"There's another plane coming," someone shouted. Authorities ordered everyone to get under a concrete underpass. The crowd waited uneasily, staring at the sky. But there was no other attack.

Navy Lt. Evelyn Gibbs, who works at the Pentagon Annex nearby, had just dropped her children at the Pentagon day-care center when she heard about the crash.

"I grabbed my things, and I started running for the Pentagon. . . . I was heading for the day care. I ran, I ran fast. It was about three miles. I just kept running. Good people helped me. They showed me shortcuts," she said.

Finally, Gibbs got to the day-care center, only to find the children gone. She found them in a nearby grassy area with their teachers. "The children were oblivious. They were outside. They were playing," she said.

By afternoon, the investigation was underway. At one point, a column of 50 FBI officers walked shoulder-to-shoulder across the south grounds of the Pentagon, picking up debris and stuffing it into brown bags. The lawn was scattered with chunks of the airplane, some up to four feet across.

In the evening, some 100 people gathered on a hill in Arlington with a panoramic view of the Pentagon and the city beyond. Several set up cameras on tripods.

"I was just looking for someplace that I really could get in touch with what happened today," said Keith Whited, 49, a real estate agent from Mount Vernon. "I can't imagine how anybody could even conceive or do anything so terrible."

"I think a lot of people up here are just curious. I think a lot more up here are like me. They're just trying to understand how this could happen."