Front Burner (34 page)

The 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.
²

The 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.
³

The 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.