Front Burner

LEAVING THE CENTRAL CONTROL STATION before dawn at about 0530 Friday, the day after the attack, I walked down the starboard passageway and out onto the flight deck. Everywhere I looked, I saw exhausted and dirty sailors sprawled on the deck of the ship. Some were out cold. Others had not been able to get to sleep, or had woken up and quietly spoke with friends and shipmates. Several looked up as I walked toward Chris and the Command Master Chief at the stern of the ship. Squatting down, I spoke quietly to not alarm either of them, “Hey, XO, good morning.” As he woke up, Chris sat up quickly and objected that I hadn’t awakened him earlier. Somberly, I said, “Well, I wanted you to get some sleep. One of us needs to be bright-eyed and bushy-tailed to face the day.”

I told Chris and the master chief that during the night the engineers had restored the freshwater and plumbing in the aft part of the ship and that they should go get a shave and a shower, and then get the crew up at 0600 to give them the good news that they could do the same. That meant that I could keep the crew on board instead of having to berth them in local hotels. I viewed this as critical to our survival as a group. It was imperative that we all persevere through this ordeal together.

Learning of the attack on Cole the day before through their respective military channels, three ships had arrived during the night off the coast of Aden within hours of one another: first was HMS Marlborough of the Royal Navy, commanded by Commander Anthony Rix, followed by USS Hawes and USS Donald Cook, with which Cole had been scheduled to rendezvous this day for turnover of Fifth Fleet duties. None of these ships had yet received diplomatic clearance to enter Yemen’s territorial waters. The Royal Navy chose to disregard this inconvenience and immediately had Marlborough proceed and offer whatever assistance we needed. South Yemen had at one time been a British colony, and they understood the culture well enough to anticipate that this action would command respect—as a show of determination, strength, and confidence in their ability to help and protect an ally. The U.S. Navy, on the other hand, took a much more rigid and bureaucratic approach to such things. Both Hawes and Donald Cook were obliged to wait until late morning for diplomatic approvals before crossing into territorial waters to offer assistance. Both commanding officers later told me they were frustrated by the bureaucratic red tape and were prepared to disobey instructions if we needed immediate help.

I was heartened when Marlborough’s Executive Officer Lieutenant Commander Andrew Webb—emerging onto the refueling pier from a small zodiac-style (inflatable) boat flying the Royal Navy’s white ensign—walked up the brow, requested permission to come aboard, and asked if there was anything we needed. With some pride, I told him that while the offer was greatly appreciated, the only thing that might be in need of replacement was aqueous fire-fighting foam; otherwise, the ship was in relatively stable condition. After exchanging a few more details about the attack and its aftermath, Lieutenant Commander Webb offered the immediate aid of Marlborough at any point we needed it, and left the pier.

By about 0825, a Yemeni boat carried Ambassador Barbara Bodine, Captain Hanna, and Lieutenant Colonel Newman across the harbor towards the Cole. Their boat approached the ship, slowing as it neared a point about 100 feet from the port side as Captain Hanna pointed out the huge blast hole, and then pulled up to the refueling pier. Ambassador Bodine was the first to walk up the brow. Saluting, I greeted her aboard and then walked them up the starboard side and across the middle of the ship to stand on the warped deck directly above the center of the explosion. Debris littered the area and the snapped lifelines still lay on deck—not the usual protocol for a VIP visit, but these visitors needed to be aware of the vast amount of damage that had befallen us. I also wanted them to be proud of what the crew had accomplished in the time since the attack.

We continued forward to the bow, where the ambassador could look back and broadly view the damage to the exterior, including the superstructure, electronic warfare system and radio antennas, the AN/SPY-1D phased-array radar, and the forward 20 mm CIWS cannon. Proceeding to the darkened interior, with the only visibility provided by a string of bulbs from the ship’s in-port decorative lights, I took the ambassador over to the port side of the ship, near the entrances to main engine room 1 and the chiefs’ mess, where the twisted deck bent upward into the overhead. I told her how the deck of the galley had been ripped into four sections and what each piece had done to material and people in the area. Ambassador Bodine, after hearing these gruesome details, became increasingly subdued, asking very few questions as we started the walk through the ship.

Unknown to anyone else on board, Barbara Bodine and I had been acquaintances for years. Introduced by mutual friends, Rick and Ann Dorman, at Thanksgiving dinner about five years earlier, Barbara and I had maintained contact, seeing each other at various parties and dinners. In 1997, I had enjoyed a Christmas dinner she cooked at her home, a few days after she took the oath of office as President Bill Clinton’s ambassador to the Republic of Yemen. Prior to this post she had clocked years of experience in the Arabian Peninsula, among them as Deputy Chief of Mission in Kuwait when Iraq invaded in 1990.

I was not the only one struggling to maintain control of my emotions. Members of the crew were showing signs of strain. Whispers had already started about bodies being visible in the wreckage of the galley and mess line, which had been put generally off-limits. But in reality, there was no practical way to stop the crew from walking through that area. During morning quarters with the crew before the ambassador’s visit, I addressed the issue and told everyone about their shipmates’ remains trapped in the wreckage, saying that they would be extricated with dignity and respect as soon as that became possible. There were some in the crew who did not shave or shower for several days—I think because they were reluctant to go back inside and wanted nothing to do with being in there under the circumstances.

By early afternoon, USS Hawes and USS Donald Cook had arrived off the mouth of the harbor, and each provided us with additional assistance in the form of extra damage control experts. Shortly afterward, Fifth Fleet Commander Vice Admiral Moore, with Captain Hanna in tow, came out to the ship in a Yemeni harbor boat. Our security teams tracked them closely, in spite of the passengers’ rank—for anyone not in an identifiable Navy craft, the crew was not exactly in a trusting mood. As earlier with the ambassador, Hanna had the boat slow and circle off the port side to check out the massive blast hole and the topside damage to the ship.

The admiral crossed the refueling pier, walked up the brow, and was welcomed aboard with only a salute and a greeting from me—there was no way to pipe him aboard as “Fifth Fleet, arriving,” what with our 1MC and onboard communications system still down. We walked directly up the starboard side to the port amidships area directly above the blast, and then I followed the same path through the devastation as I had with every other visitor, showing the damage and explaining what we were doing to keep the ship afloat. Admiral Moore was especially moved by the sight of the sailors crushed in the wreckage of the mess line.

He and Captain Hanna told me that a Department of State Foreign Emergency Support Team (FEST) that included an FBI criminal investigation team would arrive in Aden later in the day, and an FBI Hostage Rescue Team had been sent to Germany in case it was needed. A Marine Fleet Anti-Terrorism Security Team (FAST) platoon would join us to help provide security, and a Joint Task Force would be set up to coordinate the broad interagency government effort that would be necessary to investigate and take care of Cole and the crew. Admiral Moore pulled me aside for a few minutes as we were walking back to the brow, and asked for my honest assessment of how the crew was doing and what we really needed for support and morale. I reiterated my strong feeling that keeping the crew together and on board their ship was the best thing for them.

As commander of the Cole, my perspective was much more focused. My crew’s chain of command had been severely disrupted. For that reason, I planned to run quarters for the next few days. Each day I would present a basic synopsis for the crew: here’s the vision for the day; here is what we are going to do and how we are going to do it; here is what has happened overnight to support us; and here is what we have accomplished to date in restoration efforts. It would be important to keep the crew updated on our progress, so they had some measure of our accomplishments.

Even so, I knew that the process of how we were going to survive this ordeal still had many unanswered questions. What systems did we still need to restore to maintain our ability to stay on the ship as a cohesive crew? How were we going to recover our shipmates from the wreckage? Even though the Fifth Fleet staff’s initial cadre had arrived in Aden and provided us with meals, what was going to be the long-term plan for food? How was I going to get the ship out of port, should it appear that we were going to be under threat of another attack? How was I going to be able to defend the ship? Were the terrorists going to attempt another attack and board the ship using small boats? Every one of these issues could drive our fate. I had hours not only to contemplate where we were right then, but also what the future might bring.

Once again on our own for several hours, we continued to make ourselves busy and keep restoring systems on the ship. The engineers continued to assess the damaged and flooded spaces to determine what equipment could be repaired, which spaces might be able to be emptied of floodwaters. A critical requirement to keep the ship afloat was to thoroughly evaluate the areas surrounding the damaged and flooded areas and slow, if not stop, the steady leak of waters into adjoining critical compartments. These leaks were now down to a few steady but manageable streams of water with fuel mixed in.

As part of the habits everyone was establishing for themselves and the ship following the bombing, I had developed my own routine—and my own headquarters. In an area near the aft vertical guided-missile launchers, and strapped to the ship’s superstructure, we had two large eight-by-four foot rubber fenders we had purchased to keep between the ship and the pier during the deployment. Now, these fenders became my office. Thanks to the overhanging ledge just above them, they were in the shade most of the day and offered a protected area out of the sun. From here, I was right near the quarterdeck where I could observe the watch and know who was coming on and off the ship, and most importantly, I could be available for the crew.

As evening came, though I considered getting some sleep, I was still operating on adrenaline and the drive to protect the ship and crew. A little after sunset, Chris approached me and said he had just taken a call from the White House on our borrowed cell phone, telling him that I should expect to hear from the President in about twenty minutes. Chris found the situation almost surreal, but also understood that it was a serious moment. “Well, give me the phone and let’s go have a seat on the fantail and wait for the President to call,” I said.

As we walked back to sit down on a couple of big bitts—two stubby vertical posts welded to the deck and used to secure the thick mooring lines tying the ship to the pier—I checked to make sure the phone’s battery was well charged as we continued to catch up on the events of the day and agree on arrangements for the expected Marine security platoon. About twenty minutes later, the phone rang.

“USS Cole, Commanding Officer speaking, may I help you?” I asked. On the line was an officer from the White House situation room, calling to verify that he was, in fact, speaking with me. After being put on hold for a few minutes, another person came on the phone, again verifying that I was still there and the commanding officer of USS Cole. Chris and I were quietly chuckling at this point. Finally, minutes later, President Bill Clinton came on the line.

“On behalf of the American people, I want you to know that our prayers are with you. Each of us is thinking of you. We’re working very hard to get this situation back in the box in the Middle East to prevent people from doing things like this to you. Again, I want to thank you for the great job you’re doing and let you know that you and your crew are in our prayers. God bless!” said the President.

Looking at Chris, all I could do was take a deep breath and rub my temples. “Grab your pen and copy this down before I forget what he said,” I told him, then slowly recounted the words exactly as I remembered the President speaking them to me. “XO, I want to read this to the crew tomorrow morning at quarters,” I said. “It will be important for them to understand that this is becoming bigger than any of us can imagine.”

The Marine security team arrived a little after 2230. You could almost hear the crew breathe a sigh of relief—the Marines had landed and were here to help us save the ship. Captain Wesley A. Philbeck, the platoon commander, strode up the brow, crisply saluted the national ensign and requested permission to come aboard the ship. A model image of a Marine, he stood well over six feet tall and cast an imposing figure in his camouflage uniform, flak vest, and helmet, with a weapon strapped across his chest. His self-confidence in his abilities was reflected in his demeanor. “Captain, my team is ready to assume responsibility for your ship’s security,” he announced.

While not doubting their ability to do a great job, I calmly looked back at him and responded, “Captain, I don’t want any of your folks to take responsibility for any security stations until they each stand at least two watch rotations with our security teams. It is going to be critical for them to have clear situational awareness and an understanding of how we are operating in this port.” Cole’s security teams had become guardedly familiar with how the port operated. The teams also knew how internal communications worked with the bridge watch teams, as well as how and when small boats approached the ship and the pier area. To prevent any misinterpretation of their movements, I knew the Marines had to gain this valuable insight and experience.

The Marines’ arrival in Aden had not been an easy one. The Yemeni military and police forces at the airport felt threatened by Captain Philbeck and his team, who were bristling with weapons. Almost simultaneously another plane landed carrying the Foreign Emergency Support Team (FEST) that had been deployed from Washington. As the Marines disembarked off their aircraft, armed and ready for any confrontation, it was readily apparent the Yemenis felt inadequate and defensive of their capability, and compensated by brandishing weapons in a misguided attempt to appear helpful. They leveled their own weapons directly at the arriving Americans. Ever since the explosion, the Yemeni government had been denying the presence of terrorists in their country and repeatedly claimed that this incident was an accident connected with the refueling. Given this attitude, reinforced by their military superiors, the personnel at the airport could not understand why the arriving U.S. personnel needed weapons.

Neither American team had diplomatic clearance to enter the country. The Yemeni government’s weekend was Friday and Saturday—this was Friday night, so it had not yet been formally contacted. Finally Lieutenant Colonel Bob Newman, the defense attaché, was able to tell the Yemeni authorities at the airport that the government had given permission to let the Marines go to a staging area from which they could launch inflatable boats and get out to the Cole. The FBI agents and others on the emergency support team could proceed to their hotel—the same one where the German tourists, now perplexed even further, were staying.

As part of the FEST, an FBI team came on the scene as well. The FBI special agent in charge of the civilian team was Don Sachtleben, an FBI veteran since 1983, with a specialty as a bomb technician. He had been involved in investigating the embassy bombings in Kenya and Tanzania two years previously, and before that had been one of the crime scene team leaders at the World Trade Center bombing in 1993 and the Oklahoma City federal building bombing in 1995. He had cleared the explosives-filled Montana cabin of Ted Kaczynski, the Unabomber, after he had been identified and captured in 1996. Now, as a supervisory special agent in the Forensics and Explosives Laboratory at FBI headquarters, he was running the team that would gather evidence and try to determine who was responsible for the plot to attack USS Cole.

By early morning Saturday, a small but growing advance team from NCIS had linked up with the FBI, and around 0930, Don Sachtleben led the small joint law enforcement contingent off the dock and chugged out to Cole on one of the Yemeni supply boats. Don had thought, seeing CNN’s reports on the attack before he left Washington, “This one can’t be that difficult; it’s a Navy ship. Probably just a puncture.” He had brought a video camera with him, and now, taking pictures of the ship, realized that this deployment would be no cakewalk. The scope of the damage, the dangling piping, the shredded and torn metal, was huge. Making a circle around the ship before docking at the refueling pier, the boat disembarked its passengers, and Don took charge as we started to walk around the ship.

He did not want a repeat of the problems he had experienced at the Khobar Towers, the military housing development in Saudi Arabia where a suicide bomber killed nineteen U.S. servicemen in 1996. In the aftermath of the event, the Saudis had prevented the American evidence collection team from doing its job. In the case of Cole, the entire ship was essentially an evidence scene; fortunately, even though we were in Yemeni waters, naval ships are legally considered sovereign U.S. territory. Don gave his group a quick safety briefing and then asked me if he could film the damaged areas of the ship, emphasizing that he would not be filming the crew. With the XO and Petty Officer Crowe, we started the rounds directly above the epicenter of the blast. From the standpoint of national security, I was concerned about keeping elements hostile to the United States from getting a close enough look to have any understanding about the vulnerability of a U.S. Navy ship to this type of attack, which might enable them to think up ways of producing even more devastating damage in the future. To prevent them and the media from being able to see into the hole and the interior, I had a white tarp tied and lowered from the undamaged deck stanchions above the blast hole to cover the side of the ship from the deck edge to the waterline. Several crew members were rounded up to lift the tarp up and away from the hole, and with Petty Officer Crowe holding his belt, Don leaned over the side to film the blast area, indented metal, and explosive residue spray that covered the side of the ship. Continuing the inspection toward the forecastle, the group saw debris and pieces of all sizes and shapes from the suicide boat still scattered about the deck. Don asked if the ship was normally one color, or painted in different shades. No, it was uniformly gray on the outside; what he was seeing was the residue from the wave of soot and explosive residue that had washed over everything after the blast.

Don said he would propose bringing more investigators out to the ship and, with the help of the crew, sweeping the deck clean, noting where the pieces came from. He thought it would take about an hour. “OK, great!” I said, looking forward to getting the ship back under our complete control and jurisdiction. At this point, Chris and Crowe spoke up and told him about the crew finding shards of bone and flesh on the forecastle and other areas of the ship. Knowing these were key pieces of evidence, they specifically showed the agents where a tooth had been imbedded into one of the mooring lines that tied us to the pier. Crowe also told them about the evidence he had collected and how he had maintained a strict chain of custody with it under guard.

We saw in the starboard passageway outside the combat information center how much progress the crew had managed to make in restoring the overhead lighting and even the 1MC announcing system in this part of the ship. Closer to the center of the damage, we warned the team to be careful about where they stepped and what they grabbed onto. The chiefs’ mess and the port side passageway were untouched and provided Don with his first real view of the damage done to the interior of the ship. Again crossing up by the forward repair locker and down the starboard side, we made our way back to the mess decks and then through the small passageway that led up to what was left of the mess line.

The full scope of the damage was beginning to come into view. Surveying it for the first time, Don told me later, he thought to himself, “This is going to change everything.” He gingerly stepped out to the edge of the blast hole to the same spot I had reached immediately after the attack. As he panned the camera, he asked about where the missing sailors might be. I pointed out that there were up to three bodies trapped further down the passageway where we were standing, and the rest were located in the folds of metal of the galley area and down in what remained of main engine room 1 and the general workshop.

Up to this point, Don figured he and his team would recover parts of a bomb—the wires, batteries and switches, explosive residue, and so on—and be out of there in fairly short order. Looking around now, he knew that was not going to happen. The FBI/NCIS team would have to deal with the recovery of twelve bodies trapped in the wreckage, above and below the waterline. As far as evidence was concerned, parts of the suicide bombers’ bodies had been found outside, with more pieces probably located on the interior of the ship. Coordination between the various support groups would have to be worked out to avoid duplication of effort and confusion. The ship would not truly belong to the crew for much longer than anyone could imagine.

As we walked back into the hot sunlight, Don told the group that now that they had an idea of what they were dealing with, they needed to get back to the hotel and brief the rest of the team, as well as the follow-on group that would soon land in Aden. As the group filed off the ship, Don told us to expect another visit that afternoon if we could support them. Of course we could: the work of the criminal investigation took priority over almost everything else.

Two key new members of the next group included Bob Sibert, now the most senior on-scene FBI agent, and Steve Kruger, an FBI chemist. Arriving back at the hotel, Don quickly briefed them and with three to four hours of daylight left, they were soon back on the ship to see what they were dealing with. Sibert then made it clear to everyone that the ship was an explosion crime scene and the explosives experts would have primacy in directing the gathering of evidence. FBI and NCIS would gather and maintain evidence. At the back of the ship, under the flight deck, the ship’s classroom and career counselor’s office were emptied of non-essential gear and equipment to serve as the law-enforcement coordination center on board the ship. The career counselor’s office could be locked and secured, which made it an ideal location to process and store evidence gathered during the course of the investigation.

All evidence gathered on the ship had to stay strictly within U.S. custody. Don also knew he would have to work closely with the Department of State personnel to ensure that FBI members were an integrated part of the Yemeni teams that were expected to gather evidence of the criminal activities of the terrorists who had planned, financed, and carried out the attack from in town, but as much as possible he hoped to minimize the amount of evidence handled by them so as to be able to build the strongest possible case.

Navy divers from Detachment Alpha, Mobile Diving and Salvage Unit Two (MDSU-2) also arrived on Saturday, with repair equipment from the Mediterranean to help assess the damage to the ship. They joined the long list of Americans who had to endure the not-so-helpful hospitality of the Yemenis. Like the FEST, they wasted hours standing with the hot sun burning down on the tarmac, explaining in mind-numbing detail why all the equipment they had brought with them required clearance through customs to be allowed into the country. Eventually, all their equipment was unpacked, physically examined and “x-rayed” by Yemeni customs authorities, and cleared into the country without any further harassment.

Concerned about the security of their equipment, they decided that the only area to stage the Detachment Alpha dive equipment before it could be sent out to the ship was near the security area established by the Marine FAST Platoon, who controlled access to the boats supporting Cole. Soon they arranged to load the dive gear onto trucks and have it driven out there. Detachment Alpha’s officer in charge, Chief Warrant Officer Frank Perna, along with his divers, shortly loaded themselves onto small hot buses, interspersed with armed Yemeni military personnel, and drove to the staging area.

Before they left, however, they were strictly warned to maintain as low a profile as possible—do not lean out of the bus windows, do not take any pictures, avoid eye contact, and be quiet but courteous at the check points. The staging area was in a very good location from a force protection standpoint, but it was a long thirty-minute drive from the airport through three Yemeni checkpoints and a U.S. checkpoint to get there.

Once at the FAST Platoon security site, the divers unloaded their gear and set it up for movement out to Cole. Warrant Officer Perna knew he had to get out to the ship as soon as possible and make that initial assessment on where they could set up dive stations and what the best methods were to access the flooded compartments and dive underneath the ship. It was Saturday night before he and two other senior members of his team, Engineman Senior Chief Lyle Becker and Boatswain’s Mate Chief David Hunter, were able to make their first visit out to us.

A third support plane would arrive Sunday morning, carrying one of the FBI’s most experienced counter-terrorism experts, Supervisory Special Agent John O’Neill, who had been one of the leaders into the investigation of the 1993 World Trade Center bombing, which led to the capture of the al Qaeda terrorist Ramzi Yousef and his subsequent conviction and imprisonment for that crime. (O’Neill later became head of security for the World Trade Center and died heroically there on September 11, 2001.) With his experience as a supervisory agent in the FBI’s New York Field Office, he would now take charge of the investigation.

First to arrive was Hawes, Commander Jeffrey S. “Scott” Jones. Subdued but still upbeat, Scott had brought a thermos of coffee to share with me. Although the coffee pot in the ship’s central control station still worked and I had already gone through several cups, I gladly accepted his kind offer and kept up the intake of caffeine. A few minutes later, Donald Cook, in the person of Commander Matthew E. Sharpe, arrived as well.

Both Scott and Matt were armed and dressed in flak vests and Kevlar helmets. After being dropped off, they both ordered the boats that had brought them to slowly circle off the stern of the ship and provide security to supplement the Yemeni navy boats that were “patrolling” the harbor area. Each of them had also brought in their own shipboard experts to offer any additional expertise and assistance Cole’s teams might need.

It had been with Matt Sharpe that I had quietly exchanged e-mails about the port of Aden before we arrived. He had given me many of the pieces of information describing the port and its facilities that I could otherwise only have learned about upon arrival. Donald Cook had been in the port in August to conduct the same type of short-duration refueling stop as Cole. Like me, Matt had run into the same issues with the pilot being reluctant to turn the ship around and moor starboard side to the pier. He had also experienced the same lack of communication from the U.S. embassy and Fifth Fleet staff.

In this first meeting, under obviously challenging circumstances, I tried to gain insight into their perspectives. While it seemed as if Cole was almost cut off from contact with the outside world, information flow, while as good as the circumstances allowed, came mostly from the excellent updates provided by Captain Hanna and from the few calls I received on the cell phone I was still carrying. It was good to spend some time listening to their views and asking a lot of questions.

Obviously, my first question to them was how they had found out we had been attacked. Each told me that their watch teams had heard some background radio communications that there had been an explosion on a ship in Aden, USS Cole. Not knowing the situation and deciding not to wait for direction from either the Abraham Lincoln battle group staff, Destroyer Squadron 50, or Fifth Fleet, Scott, as the CO of Hawes and the senior officer between the two ships, took tactical command of Donald Cook and ordered both ships to proceed south toward Aden at best speed. During the course of the transit, both ships were updated on Cole’s status, undoubtedly from my voice reports and later from an assessment provided by Captain Hanna.

En route, Scott and Matt discussed how each ship must now be prepared for any situation, including the potential for further hostile action. After several minutes discussing their readiness, I took them privately aside to give them a status brief. I told Chris that he could update the other individual team members from their respective ships but I was going to give the COs a separate and more detailed update and tour.

The three of us had become good friends and squadron mates in the months prior to deployment. I knew that I needed to be candid and up front with them about what had happened to the Cole and her crew. I was also aware, however, that I did not want to paint too grim a picture and risk them misinterpreting the outstanding job the crew had done and how well they had adjusted to their circumstances following the attack. As the commanding officer, I felt obligated to directly share my insight into how the ship and crew had performed throughout the event.

It gave me a sense of confidence that Captain Hanna had done a great job in letting me know what was going on, which I then freely shared with the crew. We discussed my meeting with the ambassador and the Fifth Fleet commander the previous day. They also considered those meetings to be the most important things I had done, since they would directly impact the breadth and depth of support USS Cole could expect in the coming days. I also let them know that the Royal Navy had beaten the United States to the punch in coming to our aid earlier that day.

They were amazed at the amount of debris covering the ship and the conditions the crew were working and living in. They understood why we had to sleep outside of the ship and how important it was for the crew to continue with mechanical and electrical systems restoration efforts. They also completely understood the need to keep the crew on board and not allow them to leave the ship to stay in local hotels, and why this effort would prove critical in the days to come. Also emphasized was the need to avoid disturbing as much of the explosion detritus as possible, since it was considered evidence and the FBI would need it for their criminal investigation.

Finally, we entered the darkness of the ship. Using my flashlight to initially light the way, we slowly made our way into the forward port side passageway near the chiefs’ mess. The up-and-over lights had been strung in the passageways but they only provided a minimum amount of light. I needed flashlights to show them key areas of damage, including the interior of the chiefs’ mess, the entrance to main engine room 1, and the folded-up deck of the port side passageway that backed up to the galley.

We continued up forward and crossed by Repair 2. Standing outside the locker, we paused to discuss in detail the reaction by the crew to the attack and how the damage control organization had been affected by the loss of ship-wide communications. The benchmark of how the U.S. Navy had performed against kamikaze attacks in the Pacific during World War II had quickly become our new operating standard within minutes after being attacked. The crew had fallen back on time-tested methods of communication. As the minutes had progressed, they reestablished not only communication between the repair lockers and the central control station but also between the teams of investigators going out and checking for damage throughout the ship.

Slowly, Scott, Matt, and I made our way down the starboard passageway after stopping into the combat information center. The three of us paused at the access to radio central and auxiliary machinery room 1 and a detailed explanation ensued about how the loss of power in the forward part of the ship had impacted our ability to contact Fifth Fleet. The discussion also naturally led to the decision to rig casualty power cables, how that decision had come about, and the process we had followed to ensure there was some form of power now being supplied in the forward part of the ship.

Walking on, we came to the most challenging part of their briefing, the mess line and mess decks. In greater detail and at a much slower pace, Scott and Matt learned about the heroism of the crew and what they had done in those first few dramatic minutes. Damage control, lifesaving measures, rescue efforts, evacuation of wounded, and communications were all covered and discussed. Lastly, I pointed out the challenge that we faced in how the crew was going to have to find a way to locate, recover, identify, and transfer the remains of the twelve sailors missing in the ship.

Walking the exact same route that I had traced the day of the attack, we made our way through the main medical treatment area, across the debris-littered mess decks, and into the port side passageway just aft of the blast area. As Ambassador Bodine and Admiral Moore had been, Scott and Matt were taken aback by the sight of the bodies in the wreckage. As we stood at the edge of the blast area itself, the briefing continued, but they had grown silent, each deep in thought about what the crew must have experienced and still had to face.

Since each had already discussed their respective ship’s contributions, the first order of business was to get food prepared by Hawes to Cole’s crew. We had had our fill of food from Yemen’s Aden Mövenpick Hotel. Of course, we appreciated that they had been kind enough to prepare healthy meals for us, but everyone looked forward to an American-made meal. Both COs knew this would be an important morale booster. They also started preparations for a rotation of watch standers to supplement our damage control and engineering watch teams. Together, the coordination between us was unsaid but clearly understood.

Early in the afternoon, the Yemeni port authority notified Cole that a large barge with two tugs maneuvering it would be crossing the harbor and coming out to the refueling pier where the ship was docked. Captain Jim Hanna had made arrangements to deliver a 250-kilowatt diesel generator to the pier as an emergency backup to our only operating gas turbine generator. With our gas turbine generator 3 still running, but slowly deteriorating internally, and gas turbine generator 2 not yet operating, this diesel generator would become a critical backup should we lose power.

Gently and ever so slowly, the tug maneuvered around the mooring lines to dock along the eastern edge of the refueling pier off Cole’s stern. Lifting cables were hastily attached to the generator. Carefully, they lifted the generator from the barge and swung it onto the pier near the middle of the ship. In the event we would need to operate it, this location was the shortest run for the cables to provide power to us.

With the generator in place, the ship’s engineers worked with the Yemeni company’s operators to get it running. Despite language difficulties, they were able to understand how to start and safely operate the generator. With the universal language of mechanics, they showed the engineers how to connect and energize the cables that would provide electricity to the switchboards and equipment. Jim was on board to oversee the entire operation and once complete, he again went back ashore to continue coordination work for the myriad groups that had started to arrive in support of Cole.

Later that afternoon, Hawes informed us that the U.S. ships had worked out an arrangement to start sending in replacement damage control team members as soon as we were ready to take them on board. That was an easy decision and within an hour, the first teams arrived. These sailors would provide a welcome relief to some of the crew, many of whom were exhausted from the stress and tension that still gripped the ship.

That evening, when dinner arrived, I don’t think I had ever seen the crew look as relieved and hungry since the beginning of this whole ordeal. Hawes had prepared a standard Navy meal that many sailors consider the ultimate in shipboard comfort food—chili mac. Cole’s crew dived into this concoction of elbow macaroni, hamburger, tomato sauce, and spices as if they hadn’t eaten in days. Some of them in fact had probably only eaten enough Yemeni-prepared food to keep themselves from starving. This chili mac was real food, cooked by real sailors, and served up in familiar big stainless steel chafing pans. Watching them, it was clear to everyone that this one meal did more to boost morale on the ship than anything else over the past two days.

All had seemed to be going well, until about 2100 Saturday night when a new emergency brought all of our considerable progress to a screeching halt. The ship’s engineers had managed to restore the main drainage system, capable of pumping out up to 1,200 gallons of floodwater per minute. The biggest leak that they still faced was the damaged seal that surrounded the starboard propeller shaft, where it passed through the bulkhead between the main engine room 2 and the flooded auxiliary machinery room 2. That leak had so far been staunched the way sailors have dealt with battle damage since time immemorial—with wooden wedges and a tar-soaked rope fiber called oakum, forcefully pounded into place around the shaft by the damage control teams. There was also the threat that the pressure of the floodwater on the bulkhead could cause it to buckle and collapse, flooding still other compartments, and so all the bulkheads around the flooded spaces were braced with wooden four-by-four beams, and later with steel ones.

But now, for reasons we did not yet know, the water level had started to rise again. Bringing on one and then two extra pumps did not succeed in bringing it down. To some extent, we were the victims of our own success. Decreasing the flow of water coming through the propeller shaft seal and the cracks in the bulkhead had reduced the pressure on the wooden wedges and oakum, and they had loosened. Now that the machinery room was filling with water again, however, they were being forced out of position, and main engine room 2 also began filling with water at a much faster rate than before. After midnight, around 0130 Sunday, the situation had grown so serious that Chris and Debbie had gone down to the mess decks and the emergency escape trunk to auxiliary machinery room 2, to personally monitor the status of the pumps and the floodwater. As they were standing there, something in the machinery room gave way. There was a loud whoosh of air from inside the space, and suddenly, the floodwaters began rising rapidly. Nobody knew if a bulkhead had collapsed, a pipe had ruptured, or something even worse had happened.

With the waters slowly rising in main engine room 2, the engineers started another pump to help stem the flow of water, but with little effect. Around 0230, Chris briefed me that the machinery room had been lost to the floodwaters. He had ordered the emergency escape trunk door from it to be shut, dogged closed, and not opened again. In the engine room, water was now flowing in at a very worrisome rate—over twenty gallons per minute, by his estimate.

Sensing disaster, I ordered Chris to immediately wake the crew, man the repair lockers, and put the ship back on emergency footing. Everyone sprang into action, but suddenly the ship was thrust into darkness when gas turbine generator 3, the only source of the electric power we had, tripped offline. It was 0305 and main engine room 2 was flooding. In darkness, USS Cole started to sink next to the pier.

The generator had been running since our arrival in Aden. There was no way to get fuel to the tanks of gas turbine generator 1 up forward in auxiliary machinery room 1, and the engineers were still trying to figure out why number 2, in main engine room 2, would not run. But the number 3 generator’s inner workings had not been left undamaged by the explosion. Metal particles and shavings found in its lubricating oil showed that, while the generator had kept running so far, it was only a matter of time before it would seize up. Now we thought that moment had come. The failure left the main drainage system incapable of pumping out floodwater, and if main engine room 2 flooded, as main engine room 1 and the other spaces had earlier, the ship was going to go down to the bottom of the harbor.

The damage control teams rushed into action with an alternative: P-100 diesel-operated portable pumps, rigged up to pump water out of the lower level of the engine room up to the first discharge port in the side of the ship that a hose could reach. Failure again. The pump, set up in the starboard passageway, was not powerful enough to lift water from the lower flooded levels to the passageway. As the leading uninjured damage control expert on the ship, Damage Controlman First Class Robert Morger thought the engineers could overcome that shortcoming by connecting two P-100 pumps in series, one from the bilges to the engine room’s midlevel and the second from there to the discharge port. Yet again, failure. Our $1 billion ship was in mortal peril for the lack of a spare part that probably would have cost only a few dollars—a coupling adapter to connect the three-inch discharge pipe from one pump to the two-and-a-half-inch suction pipe of the second pump. The Navy had not foreseen that P-100 pumps would ever have to be connected in series; no such part was carried on board Cole or any other ship. The general workshop, with welding equipment that might have been used to make one, had been completely destroyed.

Even so, there was one more chance to restart the generator with high-pressure air. The engineers suspected that trapped air in the fuel system was the root problem. With only a limited number of access points, the engineers picked the highest and most accessible fuel piping coupling to the generator, disconnected the fittings, and slowly bled what they hoped was all the entrapped air out of the system. At around 0600 Sunday morning, Debbie and her engineering team gathered in the control station for the last and final attempt. With the push of a button, high-pressure air was applied to the starter, and the generator rapidly wound up almost to the point where it should have ignited the fuel, fell 50 rpm short, and slowly wound back to a stop.

I saw Debbie standing alone near the starboard topside shelter with no one around. “How are you doing?” I asked. Utter disappointment was written across her face. “Captain, I just don’t know what to do. We’ve tried everything and I can’t get anything to run.” I told her I had every confidence in her and walked away to give her the time and space she needed to pull herself together and get back to fighting to save the ship.

At about 0730 Sunday, after several hours of poring over technical specifications and architectural drawings of the ship, Chris and Debbie came to me with a new idea. A P-100 pump operating on the second level of the flooded engine room could pump water from the bottom and over the side at that level—if we cut a hole in the side of the ship, that is, because there were no discharge ports that low in the hull. They thought we could do that with our portable exothermic cutting unit, a device the Navy had adopted as a replacement for heavier and bulker oxy-acetylene cutting torches. The portable unit could be set up rapidly and cut metal at temperatures well over 2,500 degrees Fahrenheit.

Hull Technician Second Class Chris Regal, whom Fireman Jeremy Stewart had implored to “save the ship” after he was rescued from the galley, was the most experienced welder in the crew, and volunteered to do the job. With other members of his division, he set up a portable exothermic cutting torch near the exposed hull and marked the section to cut. Donning his protective gear, Regal picked up the torch and tried to strike a spark. Nothing happened. The batteries were dead. Once again, it seemed that if anything could go wrong it would. We were apparently out of options again. USS Cole continued to sink next to the pier.

“Captain, I’m not sure what else we can do at this point,” the XO told me after reporting this latest setback to me on the quarterdeck. Looking him squarely in the eye, I told him, “XO, we have over two hundred able-bodied sailors on this ship. I want every one of them to find a bucket. Line them up going down into main two and if we have to use a bucket brigade for the next two hours until I can get a portable torch from Hawes or Donald Cook and we can make those cuts, that’s what we’ll do. We are not going to lose this ship.”

By word of mouth, the order energized the crew. Everyone swung into motion and the ship seemed to come to life as sailors rushed about the ship gathering buckets and staging them near the entrance to the engine room. By now the floodwaters were four feet over the deck plates in the lower level, and vital equipment needed to get the generator running again was partially or completely submerged. After taking about fifteen minutes to get organized, the crew had established a line that ran from the flight deck, into the starboard side passageway, and down the ladders to the lower level of the engine room. Soon bucket after bucket of water was being handed up and dumped over the side. We were saving our ship.

Floodwaters from the engine room began flowing out the discharge port. Within minutes, the engineers were able to report to me in the central control station that the water level was holding steady but had already flooded to four feet over the deckplates in the lower level of the space. While the level was not going down, it was no longer rising and covering any more equipment. To my enormous relief, it also meant the ship was no longer sinking.

I was sitting at the damage control console, across from the ship diagrams where we had plotted the initial explosion and aftermath of the attack, and I was alone. The space was dark and empty except for the morning sunlight shining hotly through the open watertight scuttle that was right above me. It was about 0830 Sunday morning. Sitting there, I suddenly found myself unable to move. My head drifted closer to my chest. Everything went dark.

The bucket brigade and temporary pumps had held the floodwaters at bay. Debbie and her engineers were still racking their brains to find a way to restart the ship’s working gas-turbine generator with high-pressure air and reactivate the main drainage system, so that we could fully pump out the flooded engine and machinery rooms. At 1000, the engineers told me that they had put their heads together with the crack Navy divers of Detachment Alpha who had flown in the day before, and come up with an imaginative way to produce a new supply of high-pressure air. By jury-rigging fittings from their diving gear, they could take our two shipboard self-contained breathing apparatus chargers, useful in an emergency to refill firefighting breathing bottles, to get air from the two compressors they had set up on the flight deck to the ship’s high-pressure air system and the air flasks that could restart the generator. Could something designed to supply emergency air for shipboard firefighting equipment be effective in restarting a powerful turbine generator supplying electricity to an entire ship?

The engineers and the divers said it could. The portable pumps could produce pressure of 5,000 psi. After spending over an hour tracing system lines, the engineers and Warrant Officer Perna and his divers found a gauge line that, with the jury-rigged fittings, could be hooked up to the air hoses running down through a watertight hatch on the flight deck into the generator room. If they could refill one of the flasks, they estimated that they could try again to restart the generator in about twelve hours.

Around 1030, the compressors started and HP air slowly started to fill the flasks. A bit longer than twelve hours later, at five minutes after midnight Monday morning, the engineers shot compressor starter air from the recharged air flask into the generator. As if there had never been a problem, gas turbine generator 3 smoothly restarted, electrical power was applied to the switchboard, and one by one, pumps and equipment came online and, within minutes, pumped main engine room 2 dry.

It had been a long and tense twenty-one hours. The crew had performed flawlessly under trying and unnerving conditions. They had weathered poor sanitation, an absence of operable toilets on the ship, and no ventilation. There had been an outbreak of abdominal cramps and diarrhea. Several crew members had become dehydrated. In response, Chief Moser instructed the crew to use bottled water to wash their hands and faces before handling or eating food. Those measures, plus Imodium and Ciprofloxacin, brought things under control before we had a crisis on our hands. Illness still affected a number of the crew, but they had persevered. They had kept the ship from sinking.