11
Underway Again
THE NEXT EIGHT DAYS went by in a continuous whirlwind of activity. The oppressive weight of recovering our shipmates was lifted from our thoughts, and by Saturday, October 21, we could finally allow ourselves to look forward. The fallen were on their way home to their families, and the crew now turned fully to the task of getting Cole out of port.
Commander Pat Keenan, the resident technical expert on the ship’s structural integrity, and Commander Bobbie Scholley and her divers expanded their assessment to include the undamaged spaces and the hull, to determine as clearly as possible how the ship would bear up under the load and stress of movement at sea and onto the docking blocks on M/V Blue Marlin. Some of the Norfolk Naval Shipyard workers had returned home, but the remaining workers and the engineers set about determining which areas needed support braces welded into place to ensure the bulkheads did not collapse when the ship was towed out of port.
Their work might have been easier if we had been able to contract to conduct repairs at the nearby Aden Container Terminal, which had two berths that might have accommodated Cole and five forty-ton-capacity gantry cranes. However, when the U.S. Navy approached the Yemeni-owned company that owned it and the Singapore company that was operating it, the request was flatly refused. The growing political tensions, coupled with intelligence indications of an increased threat of a follow-on terrorist attack, were considered too problematic.
The FBI/NCIS evidence collection team, with Cole’s crew still providing help, continued to sift through evidence up on the forecastle, but the piles had been growing smaller every day. The evidence gathered so far had been easily accessible but a follow-on plan was already being formulated at FBI Headquarters and the FBI’s New York Field Office to have another evidence collection team meet the ship when it arrived back in the United States. Already, the FBI/NCIS evidence team anticipated that once the ship was up on M/V Blue Marlin, the area inside the flooded compartments at the center of the explosion needed to be examined in detail for additional evidence that had been blown into the ship by the force of the explosion.
Additionally, many areas of the galley and the spaces surrounding it would remain inaccessible until the folded and mangled metal could be pried or cut away in a safe environment.
In addition to evidence, Don Sachtleben informed me that his FBI team members had spotted pieces of crew remains they could not reach or safely retrieve. Those areas had been identified, and the remains would be removed upon the ship’s arrival in the United States. This news was of particular concern. When Captain Hanna and the Joint Task Force Determined Response staff were briefed on this, they clearly understood. Back in Norfolk and Washington, however, it seemed as if the leadership of the Navy could not grasp what the enormity of the explosion had done to the ship and how that force had physically torn apart some of the sailors nearest the epicenter of the blast. The families of the deceased were not immediately told of this new development.
We wanted to be able to get the ship underway on its own power to leave port, and Debbie and her engineering team determined that the gas turbine modules in main engine room 2 were intact and capable of operating the port shaft. The port reduction gear and its lubrication system would work properly, and there were no obstructions in the engine’s air intakes. Days of checking remained, but the engineers were buoyantly optimistic. By midmorning Sunday, the FBI/NCIS team had completed their external sweeps for evidence, and at last we could hold a freshwater washdown of the exterior of the ship to remove the disfiguring streaks of greasy, black explosive residue left over from the blast.
As the Sunday work day drew to a close, the ship was starting to look shipshape again—until, at 1618, the engineering officer of the watch announced over the partially restored 1MC system, “Fire, fire, fire. Class Charlie fire in number 3 switchboard. This is not a drill.” Number 3 switchboard was in the same engineering space as the crucial gas turbine generator 3, and moments later the high-pitched whine from the generator slowly wound down and stopped, as thick smoke billowed out of the space. A power failure meant that the ship would start sinking again, if more slowly than a week before because of all the repairs and reinforcements that had been made. With the interior of the ship now in darkness, the FBI team prepared to wrap up for the day, and the crew steeled themselves to save the ship once again.
Don would later tell me that when the fire broke out and the crew started reacting to the alarm, he was amazed at how calm they seemed. Normally, a Class Charlie fire in a switchboard is a momentous event on any ship. This battle-hardened crew took it in stride, reacting with a focus that left no doubt that they would handle the situation efficiently and effectively.
Fortunately, the electrical fire in the casualty power terminal in number 3 switchboard was quickly contained. Many of the electrician’s mates and engineers surmised that water we had used to clean the exterior of the ship after the FBI had finished gathering evidence had seeped into electrical outlets and circuits damaged by the blast, causing the system to ground and short out. Gas turbine generator 3 could not be reconnected to the switchboard, and we began to start generator 2, but did not want to take unnecessary risks by immediately reenergizing the electrical system and put power back to the switchboard. The ship again began to take on water, but reinforcements over the previous week had made the leaks into main engine room 2 and auxiliary machinery room 1 far less dangerous than they had been during the previous bout of flooding. The engineers started generator 2 at 1625 but waited to complete a set of system checks to ascertain that there were no electrical grounds in the system that might further damage the switchboard or the ship before placing the generator online at 1709. As everyone dipped into reserves of physical and mental strength, we again refocused our energies on getting Cole out of port and onto M/V Blue Marlin successfully. We were not about to give in now.
In order to determine if the ship could be safely maneuvered out of port and docked onto M/V Blue Marlin, the engineers at Naval Sea Systems Command back in Washington needed a series of critical measurements taken to determine how much the keel of the ship might have been bent and flexed. Over the weekend, the divers had rigged two ratchet hoists attached by the sonar dome at the bow of the ship and at another point between the two rudders at the stern. A Kevlar mooring line was then attached between the two points and slowly drawn taut. Approximately three tons of pressure created a straight line underwater to measure any deflection in the keel. It was innovative and creative, but it worked. Measurements by the divers were made every twenty feet, and in the end the keel was deemed undamaged.
The divers then carried out a number of surveys to locate every crack in the hull plating emanating from the blast hole. At the end of every crack, they drilled a hole into the hull plating to stop the crack from spreading when the ship twisted and flexed while being towed at sea.
On board M/V Blue Marlin, the calculations of how Cole would fit on the deck mandated that several strict requirements be incorporated into the docking plan. In order to keep the center of gravity low, the normal height of the wooden docking blocks that the ship’s keel would rest on had to be greatly reduced from a normal height of thirty-six to sixty inches, down to a nominal height of fifteen inches. Since the ship would rest low on the blocks, the blades of the propellers would not fit without hitting the deck. Measurements indicated the blades would extend at least 1.65 meters into the deck. Here was the choice: either remove the lower blades on each shaft by unbolting them from the hub or cutting them off, or cut two holes in the deck of M/V Blue Marlin big enough for the blades to slide into as the deck came up and met the keel when the ship was docked. It was determined that two large cutouts into the deck could be made without damaging M/V Blue Marlin. The propellers on Cole, however, had to be centered over the holes with the blades in exactly the right position, or they would not fit. On a 505-foot ship, the margin of error was down to inches on either side of the blades as they slid into the holes during docking.
Another major concern was maintaining the position of the blades on the starboard shaft.
Cole used controllable-reversible pitch propellers. In this arrangement, the shafts always rotated in the same direction, outboard when viewed from the stern. To change the direction of the ship, the propeller blades are hydraulically rotated to either face forward or backward. While the blades on
Cole were in the neutral position now, if they could not be locked into place, there was a possibility that while under tow, the hydraulic force of water flowing over the blades would cause them to rotate out of the neutral position. This in turn might cause the starboard shaft to rotate, prying out the wooden wedges around the shaft seal in the engine room and causing the ship to flood and sink. If the blades did rotate and the ship did not flood, the blades might not fit into the slots cut into the deck of M/V
Blue Marlin. Ultimately, the problem was solved as MDSU-2 divers donned their gear again, went down into the darkened depths of the destroyed and flooded main engine room 1, and located the shaft-locking lever on the reduction gear. With some difficult effort, they were able to shift it into the locked position to prevent rotation of the starboard reduction gear and shaft.
1The next issue was how to position the ship on M/V Blue Marlin. The greatest concern by the engineers was the height of the center of gravity of M/V Blue Marlin once an 8,400-ton ship was docked on it. The route planned for the return was still under discussion. M/V Blue Marlin would either transit to the United States via the Suez Canal or, if force protection and security requirements could not be guaranteed, go around the Cape of Good Hope at the southern tip of Africa. In either case, the possibility of running into storms at sea that could cause M/V Blue Marlin to roll excessively from side-to-side was a worry.
The ultimate solution was unique and elegant at once. Two large metal stanchions currently welded to the deck of M/V
Blue Marlin could be moved and reconfigured to serve as alignment towers for
Cole. These towers would hold the ship, canted off-center and docked bow to stern at a 17.5-degree angle. This off-axis alignment was necessary to put the sonar dome hanging over the port aft side. Since the dome was the deepest part of the ship, this would allow for smaller docking blocks of only 0.4 meters high to be used, lowering the center of gravity once the ship was docked. Although the ship would be facing backwards on M/V
Blue Marlin, that would have little to no effect on its seaworthiness or stability.
2The next challenge the engineers faced was how to position
Cole exactly, relative to the propeller holes cut into the deck on M/V
Blue Marlin. Using the original technical drawings from when the ship was constructed at Ingalls Shipbuilding in Pascagoula, Mississippi, precise measurements were calculated to weld a steel beam marker to the port side of the ship back near the flight deck (at frame 338). The marker measured about three feet across and four feet long and was shaped like a steam locomotive cowcatcher. With the pointed end facing toward the bow, as
Cole contacted the alignment towers and slid along them into position, the back, flat side of the cowcatcher would stop movement of the ship at the rear-most post. To account for any slight miscalculations in the measurements, six oneby-six-inch wooden planks were bolted into place and could be removed to ensure precise propeller alignment over the deck holes. If pulled off, this would truly be an engineering feat of incredible proportions. Up to this point, M/V
Blue Marlin had been in port in Dubai, United Arab Emirates, undergoing routine maintenance and contract negotiations with the U.S. Navy. On October 24, all work necessary to dock
Cole was complete and the vessel set sail for Aden.
3The end was in sight at last. The date for leaving port was set for October 29. As the task of collecting evidence and talking with potential perpetrators continued ashore, the level and intensity of credible and specific intelligence warning of a follow-on attack had been building for days. The most detailed information clearly indicated that the Aden Mövenpick and Gold Mohur hotels where the FBI and support forces, such as the MDSU-2 divers and the Norfolk Naval Shipyard workers, were housed had become prime targets for a car bomb, similar to the attack on the U.S. Marine Barracks in Beirut in 1983. Already the Determined Response staff and the Navy divers had moved out to Tarawa and other ships in the ARG as much safer and better protected platforms to operate from. Now, despite protests by Ambassador Bodine that this movement was exactly the wrong signal to send to the Yemeni government, the FBI and NCIS also moved their teams out to ships offshore.
This move infuriated the ambassador. Although she had been pressing for a smaller and more nimble footprint in Aden, now that she was getting her way, she did not want it, and clashed over this and other issues repeatedly with the FBI Supervisory Special Agent, John O’Neill. It was a subdued but heated point of discussion on the ship that the ambassador seemed far more obsessed with representing Yemeni interests to the United States than being the President’s representative as our ambassador to Yemen. The FBI team was as leery of the Yemeni government’s commitment to our safety as the crew and I were. Already incidents involving the ambassador’s handling of evidence and intelligence, as well as her dismissive treatment of not only the FBI but many of the support forces that were helping us, had become common knowledge, even at my level.
Within days after the attack, I was ordered to turn over the husbanding agent’s cell phone. With that turnover, precious evidence was lost that may have given the investigators insight into how far al Qaeda had penetrated local commercial, law enforcement, and military operations. This was one of many frustrating developments that would continue for months, but with my focus on the ship and crew, I was grateful not to be in the middle of those heated discussions and decisions.
Every day, I was briefed on the evolving intelligence picture. On more than one occasion, I was asked to make a trip up to the bridge to view a ship anchored in the harbor or a house in Aden that might have been used by the terrorists to plan attacks. It was good to know that progress was being made on determining how, where, and by whom the attack against us had been carried out, and I began to hope that soon those responsible would be held to account.
As part of the concern for our safety and in light of the growing threat, the Marines from Tarawa brought sandbags on board, and built up reinforced fighting positions around each of the .50-caliber machine guns to reduce their exposure to potential hostile fire. On the area directly above the bridge the Marines, and the SEAL detachment with them, also had a rotating team of snipers that constantly scanned nearby ships and the shoreline. The tension level on the ship slowly began to rise as the crew observed these actions, and while no specific briefings were held, everybody clearly understood that the danger had not passed and we were far from being out of the woods.
Four Yemeni tugs were contracted to tow Cole out of port, and two of them would continue to escort the ship to the docking point twenty-three miles down the coast. Even at this point and despite the assistance provided by the FBI, NCIS, and the U.S. embassy, frankly no one really trusted the Yemeni government. To highlight this distrust, the Determined Response task force arranged for each tug to have an armed military sentry posted on board ostensibly to provide protection for them while underway. While this statement was true, the other plain fact was that if one of the tugs tried to do anything that would damage the ship or pull it aground, swift and forcible action could be taken to safeguard us.
As our in-port towing and docking preparations continued, a group of thirty engineers and technical experts, half active-duty Navy and half government civilians, flew to Dubai to meet M/V Blue Marlin. Already underway and en route, the group was completing the last-minute preparations and measurements to ensure the vessel was ready to dock our damaged ship.
The Determined Response commander, Admiral Fitzgerald, had paid one last visit to Cole on Monday, October 23. With his operations now completely shifted to Tarawa, he provided Chris and me with one last update on the plan for the ship’s movement, crew transfers to Tarawa, and the closeout of the mission from our end. Initially, the plan called for me to stay with the ship with a handful of key technical experts, all Cole crew member volunteers, who would ride back to the United States with the ship on M/V Blue Marlin.
Chris would remain with the rest of the crew and facilitate their arrival back in Norfolk. Almost as quickly as this plan was formulated, however, the Navy’s leadership changed its mind. With one notable exception, the crew would come home together. Whether I would come home with the ship or stay with the crew was left entirely to me. Surprisingly, the Navy at that point was putting no pressure on me one way or the other. Regardless of what my decision would be, a lot of naval history and tradition would be riding on it, and many in the Navy had already formed their own opinion of the right answer.
The psychiatric support team planned to come out one final time on Tuesday morning, October 24, to give them an opportunity to bid the crew farewell and for us to recognize their hard work. The leadership team of Cole felt it was very important to publicly recognize their contributions, and many of the crew had bonded with the team members. As part of the closeout of their mission, one person had proved particularly important to me and, by extension, to the crew—Dr. John Kennedy. I asked Admiral Fitzgerald if John could stay with the crew until their return to Norfolk. His presence and knowledge of the intimate details of the crew’s mental state would help Chris during the trip, and with any post-arrival care and treatment that may be required. Without a second thought, the admiral agreed to the proposal.
At the farewell ceremony, the team marched up in uniform for the first time in the crew’s experience. Some crew members were amazed to discover that these people who had been so open and sympathetic all this time were all active-duty Navy personnel, including some officers. At the conclusion of my remarks thanking them for their work and the comfort and counsel they had given us, the entire crew applauded, and many went up to individual team members they were close to and shook their hands. Later that afternoon, the constant companion cell phone in my pocket startled me with a sharp ringing and buzzing. On the line was the Chief of Naval Operations in Washington, Admiral Vern Clark. He asked how the crew was doing and if we were getting all the support we needed prior to leaving Aden. I filled him in on the status of the ship, the plans for M/V Blue Marlin, and for the crew’s transportation back home. He probably already knew most of the information, so the details were less important than giving him my perspective on the crew’s performance and morale. Near the end of the conversation, he told me, “Kirk, the decision of whether you stay with the crew or come home with the ship is entirely up to you.”
“Admiral, thank you very much, but I have to be honest with you, sir; I need some guidance from someone with over thirty years of experience and who has had at least ten commands in the Navy. If you were in my shoes, what would you do?” I asked him. Without any hesitation, he answered, “Kirk, if I was in your position, I would stay with the ship.”
“Then, Admiral,” I answered after a slight pause, “I’ve made my decision. I will stay with the ship and bring it back home.”
“Kirk, I know that’s a tough decision but I think it’s the right decision,” he replied.
It was done. For all intents and purposes, in a few days, Chris would be in command of the crew while I stayed in command of Cole during the transit. It might be difficult for people who have never had the opportunity to be in the Navy and serve on board a ship to understand why: a commanding officer is the ship, and the ship reflects the commanding officer. When coming aboard his or her ship, the commanding officer is announced with a striking of the ship’s bell followed by the pronouncement of the name of the ship, not the individual: “Cole, arriving,” or “Cole, departing” in my case. This has been tradition with the Navy since 1781. I had no intention of breaking with tradition.
I was very concerned about getting the ship into international waters by the most direct route, and as soon as possible. Chris, Derek Trinque, and I spoke at length about how we would implement the emergency destruction plan all Navy ships had been required to have since 1968, when the North Koreans captured USS Pueblo, if the ship began to break up and sink under tow. The first goal was to prioritize the material to be destroyed and then to walk through Derek’s plan step by step and down to the minute. The biggest fear was sinking in Yemeni territorial waters, which extended twelve miles out from shore. If that happened, the Yemeni government could prevent the United States from regaining access to the ship and its contents. In international waters, we would be free from any such restrictions.
By Wednesday, October 25, Derek completed the final reviews and adjustments to the emergency destruct plan and the team was ready to either destroy or lock up everything. Ensign Jason Van Foeken, Cole’s communications officer and communications security material system (CMS) custodian, had successfully accounted for and transferred all cryptographic equipment and material off the ship to the CMS custodian on board Tarawa. All of the excess paper cryptographic material that did not need to be transferred was dumped into a barrel on the flight deck and, with a small team nearby in case of an uncontrollable fire, burned to ashes. I don’t think I had ever seen a happier officer than Jason was after that burden was off his back.
Later that morning, the ship achieved another benchmark with a successful rotation of the port shaft and reduction gear and test of the 2A gas turbine engine in main engine room 2. The sense of satisfaction and confidence that came with knowing USS Cole could get underway from Aden on her own power if need be was almost overwhelming. We had come a long way in the past thirteen days.
That evening, John still had one outstanding point of business that he needed to deal with as leader of the psychiatric intervention team: how to get the crew some convalescent leave upon our return. He asked if he could meet with the department heads and solicit their ideas of how to best deal with the crew once they were back in Norfolk. During the course of the meeting, the department heads wanted to know if convalescent leave could be arranged for the entire crew. Initially it did not seem possible. After a thorough review of Navy instructions and rules, we concluded that only a doctor, after conducting a thorough diagnosis and certifying a medical need, could authorize this type of leave. It only took a few seconds for Debbie, with a big grin, to point out to John that he was a doctor and was, in fact, empowered to grant this type of leave. The next day, with Admiral Fitzgerald’s blessing, John authorized thirty days of leave for the entire crew.
Finally, it was Sunday, October 29, time to get Cole back underway, out of port, and under tow headed down the coast of Yemen toward M/V Blue Marlin. The plan called for Cole to be towed twenty-three miles south, where M/V Blue Marlin would be positioned in a four-anchor moor ready to dock the ship. Why so far? The Navy’s leadership was still concerned about how it would look if anything happened to the ship leaving port or while underway. Should the ship begin to sink, it must not happen in view of Aden or any of the growing and increasingly curious media. Consequently we would dock out of sight of everyone.
The sea and anchor detail was stationed at 0815. Although we had no way to determine our position with absolute accuracy, Lieutenant Ann Chamberlain had laid out the navigation charts for the transit and manned a navigation watch to at least monitor our progress. While many of the normal checklist items could not be completed, it was important for the crew to go through the routine of following all the standard procedures. On a very good note, the engineers had managed to shift fuel and water around within their tanks and now, the list on the ship’s inclinometer registered only a two-degree list to port. On the other hand, even despite a tremendous effort by the engineering and combat system personnel, many systems still did not work; the alarm system for the ship, including the general quarters alarm, was still not working, only 70 percent of the 1MC announcing system worked, and the ship’s whistle could not be operated because of a lack of low-pressure air in the superstructure. Getting underway was shaping up to be a strangely quiet affair.
At 0843, four Yemeni tugs, Almahrah, Dhu-Hirab, Mayoon, and 26 September, approached the ship and began to pass their towing lines up to the crew on deck. The Aden harbor pilot, who had come aboard at 0825, spoke quietly into his walkie-talkie with the tug masters and within a few minutes, he informed me they were ready to work and start to move us away from the pier and out of port. At 0848, Derek, as the Officer of the Deck, ordered all lines singled up. Cautiously we took our time, and minutes later he ordered all lines to be cast off from the pier. One by one the crew retrieved the mooring lines from the U.S. Navy sailors on the pier who had been specifically brought in from Tarawa to see us off.
At 0915, USS Cole was underway again. The ship’s large battle ensign waved proudly in the breeze, sending an unmistakable signal: we had not been defeated.
Slowly, almost imperceptibly, the ship moved away from the pier. For those standing on the bridge, in complete silence, the tension was thick, hanging in the air like a dense fog. This was the moment of truth about the structural integrity of the ship. The crew was manned in a modified general quarters posture with the two functional repair lockers, Repair 2 led by Ensign Greg McDearmon and Repair 3 led by Ensign Robert Overturf, fully manned and ready to respond to the first indication of flooding or damage. The crew would be able to hear the ship breaking up or flooding long before they might be able to see it. Every engineering space below the waterline was manned, and extra watches were posted to check on other spaces to ensure they were not flooding or experiencing damage from the movement.
The ship held together, rock solid. Within minutes, Cole was in the middle of the harbor basin as the Yemeni tugs swung around to the bow and began to tow us down the channel out of port. There was not even the slightest indication of expanding damage or flooding. The quiet tension on the bridge began to subside as Chris, Derek, Ann, and I looked at each other and collectively breathed a sigh of guarded relief. At that point, it was time to send a signal.
Looking around the bridge and at last letting out a deep breath, I smiled at Chris and said, “XO, play the first song.”
Grinning back in his subdued way, Chris acknowledged with a clipped, “Aye, aye, sir,” as he quickly spoke into his walkie-talkie and gave the order.
Prearranged between a group of crew members back on the flight deck and the two of us on the bridge, the ship’s stereo system for picnics was set up to play songs during the initial phase of the transit. It was directly connected to the 1MC announcing system and within seconds of the stereo operators being notified, the first strains of “The Star Spangled Banner” boomed out from the speakers and echoed across the harbor.
With our national anthem playing loudly, we were leaving Aden with our heads held high despite what had happened to us. USS Cole was now a symbol of American might and resolve.
Now only one tug steadily pulled on the towline at the bow as we left the harbor. The other tugs had retrieved their lines and were chugging alongside as escorts in the event of an emergency. As the national anthem finished playing, we noticed to our left there were two Yemeni Navy patrol craft moored to a pier jutting out into the harbor. Wearing their dress uniforms, the crews from both ships had assembled on the pier to see us off. Just before the bow of the ship came even with the pier and the patrol boats, their commanding officers called them to attention and as we slowly and quietly glided by them, they saluted us and rendered full military honors.
With pride, the crew came to attention and returned the honors.
The governments of Yemen and the United States still had differences on how the attack occurred and why terrorists had been able to conduct such a brazen operation without any reaction from the Yemeni government, but that was beyond our control. All we knew was that as fellow sailors, those exchanged salutes signified the bond that had been passed between navies for centuries.
Really smiling now for the first time in what seemed like weeks, I turned again to Chris as I said, “XO, let’s play the second song.”
With the same swift precision, Chris called back to the flight deck and within seconds the next song boomed across the waterways. Once again, we played “The Star Spangled Banner”—only this time, the Jimi Hendrix version. It was somehow a fitting transition for what came next. As Hendrix finished ripping, I turned to Chris and told him, “XO, the crew has earned it. Let them play whatever songs they want to.”
Chris looked a bit surprised, but within seconds he told the flight deck crew to cue and play their next song.
The screeching noise that then began emanating from the buzzing and vibrating speakers on the bridge and out on the bridge wings—at the loudest possible volume, so the Yemenis watching us leave would be sure to hear it—made me think I had made a huge mistake.
“XO, what the fuck is that noise?” I was beside myself. “That’s not music. I don’t know what it is, but it’s not what I wanted for music. Get it stopped right now,” I thundered out. It was the first time since the attack that I had used foul language, and as soon as I said the words, I regretted it, but it was too late to take it back now.
Chris was shocked at my reaction, but when he yelled into his walkie-talkie, the music was so loud the flight deck crew couldn’t hear him telling them to turn it off. I gestured toward the back of the ship and said, “Get back to the flight deck right now and get that noise shut down!”
Within seconds, Chris hustled out the port side watertight door and headed down the ladders on the exterior of the ship. By this point, Derek and Ann were too surprised to do anything but get away from me as fast as possible. They found some safety on the starboard bridge wing and pretended to scan the harbor for unseen dangers.
Within less than a minute, Chris was on the walkie-talkie for me. “Captain, the song is almost over, do you still want me to shut it down? They’re playing Kid Rock, ‘American Bad Ass.’”
Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Derek and Ann, who had overheard the conversation on their own walkie-talkies, working hard to suppress laughter. Shaking my head, I finally understood the amusement of the moment in the calm part of my brain as I responded to Chris, “No, just let it go, XO. Just tell them that a better selection of music would be appreciated in the future.” While I may have wanted to send a signal by playing the national anthem on behalf of the American people, the crew wanted to send their own signal in a way that only a sailor could appreciate—up yours, Yemen!
Minutes later, the bow of the ship slowly swung left as we headed down the channel to the open sea. About three miles offshore, the Yemeni tugs cast off their lines as USNS Catawba, a U.S. Navy ocean-going tug, maneuvered into position just off our bow. With the disciplined effectiveness of a well-trained crew, a new towline was passed up to the boatswain’s mates and by 1154 we were under tow again and headed down the coastline.
Off in the distance, Commander Matt Sharpe on USS Donald Cook hoisted a clear message on her signal flags—EN10-17, meaning “the enemy is in retreat.”
So far, so good, despite a surprising amount of drag created by the large hole in the port side. It took thirty degrees of right full rudder just to keep the ship on a straight course. On several occasions, probably because of the wind and current, the Cole would slowly drift off to the left of Catawba. The only way to very slowly recenter it at the end of the towline was to order thirty-five degrees of hard right rudder. Since we had no idea of the complete dimensions of the hole at this point, it was difficult to comprehend why so much drag was being created on the port side of the ship.
Starting around 0300 the next morning, October 30, Catawba began the long process of slowing Cole as we approached M/V Blue Marlin. By 0415 the ship was dead in the water, the rudder was ordered to amidships, and preparations for the crew to disembark began. Landing craft sent over from Tarawa, who had shadowed us as we came down the coastline, temporarily tied up alongside the stern and, with the exception of a small number of crew left on board for the docking or an emergency, everyone else mustered on the flight deck to leave. Each crew member was allowed to take one duffel bag on the trip home. The rest of their personal gear was left on board to be retrieved and shipped to Norfolk once the ship returned to the United States.
Emotions ran the gamut as, one by one, Cole’s crew left their ship. They had lost their friends, saved their ship, and stayed the course through an unbelievable tragedy; all in the finest traditions of the United States Navy. Most would never set foot on the ship again.