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It was only the beginning of a string of deadly anti-U.S. attacks by Islamist groups. While we had already returned safely home in June, later that year, on October 23, 1983, an organization called Islamic Jihad rolled a Mercedes-Benz truck full of explosives into the U.S. Marine barracks compound at the Beirut airport and killed 241 Marine Corps and Navy personnel. The Marines had been expecting a water truck. Among the dead was a Naval Academy classmate and friend, First Lieutenant David Nairn, USMC. This new form of warfare had now become personal.

Throughout the period I learned about all the systems on the ship, and how each department—Engineering, Operations, Supply, Combat Systems, Deck, and Administration and Navigation—functioned and integrated to make it a combat-effective unit. I spent more time on the bridge, first as a conning officer, learning how to drive, or “conn” the ship, then, with time and growing experience, as officer of the deck (OOD), assuming the responsibilities of being the captain's representative on the bridge in a role that shaped my career. Since a captain cannot always be present on the bridge or in the combat information center, individuals must be qualified to “stand watch” on the captain's behalf for the operation and safety of the ship. Throughout the entire qualification process, an officer learns the accountability and responsibility each watch qualification brings with it, and the personal integrity it requires.

After just over a year and a half on the ship, I would undergo a series of oral examinations by a qualification board, who would then certify my readiness to the commanding officer. In the end, I earned my Surface Warfare pin and had it proudly pinned to my chest during a ceremony in the wardroom with all officers in attendance. Even with this milestone behind me, there was plenty of hard work to come.

In December 1984 I left the
Fairfax County
and in the spring of 1985, after attending Communications Officer School in Newport, I reported to one of the Navy's newest ships, USS
Yorktown
, an Aegis guided-missile cruiser, in Norfolk, Virginia.
Yorktown
was at the leading edge of Navy
technology and shipbuilding prowess. The Aegis combat system, which integrates sophisticated anti-aircraft, surface-to-surface, and anti-submarine weapons, powerful radars, and computer-driven command-and-control complexes, represented an order of magnitude leap in the Navy's ability to protect an aircraft carrier battle group and to project power globally. Two months after I reported aboard, the ship deployed to the Mediterranean for what would prove to be the most exciting deployment of my early career.

At first, we enjoyed routine port visits along the coast of Spain, France, and Italy. We conducted numerous exercises with NATO allies and were occasionally shadowed by spy ships from the Soviet Union. Then, on October 7, 1985, Palestinian terrorists hijacked the Italian cruise ship
Achille Lauro
. During the course of the hijacking, the terrorists took a wheelchair-bound American tourist, Leon Klinghoffer, shot him, and dumped his lifeless body overboard.

Three days later, I was sitting in the combat information center as USS
Yorktown
and USS
Saratoga
raced to the southeast Mediterranean in an attempt to intercept the airplane the hijackers were using to try to escape justice. Early in the morning on October 10, F-14 fighter jets, launched from the
Saratoga
and monitored by the
Yorktown,
intercepted the aircraft and forced it to land at the Naval Air Station at Sigonella, Italy.

Because of the distance from the ships to the F-14s, I could barely make out the pilots' radio conversation as they made the intercept on the hijackers' aircraft. After the plane landed, both Italian and U.S. forces surrounded it and a standoff took place. Following some tense negotiations, the Italian authorities took custody of the hijackers. Unfortunately, the Italian government did not have the stomach to confront this new type of warfare, and after only a short period of imprisonment, freed the terrorists. In fighting terrorism, I learned, politics has too often preempted doing what was right, even when lives were at stake.

By Christmas 1985, the ship had settled into a seemingly regular routine of at-sea exercises and port visits, but it was only a matter of time until terrorism again reared its ugly head. On December 27, at the international airports in Rome, Italy, and Vienna, Austria, terrorists detonated grenades
and used automatic weapons to slaughter eighteen innocent civilians and wound 138. USS
Yorktown
shortly got underway and over the next three months rigorously practiced combat operations, preparing to hold Libya accountable as one of the chief sponsors of those terrorist attacks. At the same time, in another bellicose act, Libya claimed the Gulf of Sidra as its territorial waters. Drawing a “line of death” at 32°30” north, the Libyan dictator, Colonel Muammar Qaddafi, proclaimed that any “unauthorized” ship below that line would be attacked. This was in clear violation of international law, and the United States refused to recognize the claim. The
Saratoga
battle group, operating with the aircraft carrier USS
Coral Sea
, conducted freedom of navigation operations in the Gulf of Sidra in January and February 1986, specifically to refute it, and again from March 23 to 29, with the carrier USS
America
's battle group now joined. The Libyans, upset by these “unauthorized” incursions into their claimed waters, countered by firing SA-5 anti-aircraft missiles at U.S. jets. Over the next three days, the United States attacked land-based missile sites and missile patrol boats near our ships without the loss of any of our forces or personnel.

On April 5, 1986, as
Yorktown
and the rest of the
Saratoga
battle group were headed home across the Atlantic from deployment, a bomb exploded in a disco in Berlin, Germany. U.S. intelligence quickly found that Qaddafi was responsible, and on April 15, 1986, the United States launched aircraft attacks against Libya with both Air Force and Navy bombers. At last, the United States was finally willing to stand up and fight back against this particular state sponsor of terrorism. Unfortunately, it would also be the last time until 2001 that the United States would draw a line in the sand and send an unmistakable message that it would not tolerate terrorist attacks against our interests.

After leaving
Yorktown
in May 1987, I attended the Naval Post-graduate School in Monterey, California. With a Master of Science degree in Systems Engineering, my technical skills were honed to prepare for my next assignment as the operations officer to the USS
Arleigh Burke,
the Navy's first Aegis guided-missile destroyer. A new class of ship, its construction at the shipyard in Bath, Maine, proved surprisingly challenging. Designed to present a smaller cross section to enemy radar, it minimized the number
of surfaces that met at ninety-degree angles, to decrease the reflected energy from a radar beam. Incorporating many of the lessons learned from Aegis cruisers such as
Yorktown
, the ship was outfitted with the latest Aegis phased-array radar and, for the first time, all the weapons the ship had were truly integrated into one seamless combat system. The Navy had not built a new class of destroyer in over twenty years, the last one being the
Spruance
class destroyer, which did not have an anti-air warfare capability—the ability to shoot down incoming missiles or aircraft.

The leadership of the surface warfare Navy handpicked Commander John G. Morgan, Jr. for this prestigious assignment as the commissioning commanding officer for the
Arleigh Burke
. His choice for executive officer had been a shipmate of mine on
Yorktown
, Lieutenant Commander Roger C. “Rick” Easton. As part of this crew, I knew I was in for a lot of hard work, but the chance to bring this new ship to life for the Navy was irresistible and I jumped at the opportunity.

After six months of learning how to be a department head, once more in Newport, I reported to the precommissioning crew of the ship in Norfolk, Virginia. On July 4, 1991, the Navy commissioned
Arleigh Burke
as the most combat capable ship in the world at the time. Almost two years later, we deployed to the Mediterranean Sea for operations to safeguard those vital sea-lanes of communication for our nation.

Mid-deployment, orders came transferring me from the ship to the flatlands of Kansas to learn how to speak “Army” at the U.S. Army's Command and General Staff College in Fort Leavenworth. An interservice assignment like this allows promising officers to learn in an open but structured educational environment how each service develops the procedures and concepts that guide its operations. More important, it allows some of the best and brightest of them to get to know each other and develop bonds of friendship.

Attendance at one of these schools builds the groundwork for an officer's eventual assignment to a joint staff, critical for a continued career. For me, it was a chance to learn how the Navy's thought process and outlook on problems differed from the Army's. From my perspective, the Army allowed as much initiative as necessary to accomplish a mission,
provided you adhered to its defined doctrine and guidance. In the Navy, however, you can take as much initiative as necessary by following one simple golden rule: if there is no prohibition against something, then you are allowed to do it until told to stop. That concept proved a great source of amusement during tactical and operational discussions in the course and I delighted in challenging my classmates to exercise that same degree of unfettered initiative.

After Kansas came a set of orders to yet another dream assignment—as executive officer (XO) of an Aegis cruiser, USS
Shiloh
, home ported in San Diego, California. Since the ship was on deployment, I was unable to report aboard the day after graduating from the Executive Officer course, again in Newport; however, I did drive cross-country in four days, rested one day, then flew out a day early to meet the ship in Phuket, Thailand, in September 1994, as it returned from a six-month deployment to the Middle East.

Over the next twenty months, I would learn what it meant to be part of the ship's core leadership team, made up of the commanding officer, executive officer, and command master chief. Entrusted with the daily well-being, morale, and welfare of the crew, two very different but excellent commanding officers ran the ship, John Russack and Paul Schultz. To learn from their experiences and actions helped me understand how to succeed as a commanding officer myself.

Supported by a broad depth of talent in the department heads of
Shiloh
, I truly learned how to judge the strengths and weaknesses of officers and chief petty officers and integrate them into a cooperative and effective combat fighting team. This experience was different from my previous Navy jobs, aimed at mastering a single specialty. As an XO, the best lesson one can learn is the art of how to truly lead and manage a crew.

From USS
Shiloh
, it was off to company headquarters in the Pentagon, but even after I transferred off the ship I did not know the exact job I was going to next. In April 1996, the Bureau of Personnel recommended that I, along with several other officers, be interviewed for the position of aide-de-camp to the chief of naval operations. I was also interviewed
for a possible appointment as executive assistant to the chief of legislative affairs, but finally was selected instead by Secretary of the Navy John H. Dalton, to be his administrative aide, and reported to his office for duty in August 1996. Administrative aides are highly visible officers, and the role can make or break careers. The job requires interaction on a daily basis with admirals, generals, assistant secretaries of the Navy, and other high-ranking Department of Defense officials, with all the sensitivity that this demands, but it also requires confidence and competence in keeping on top of myriad files, military programs, and documents. For me, it was the opportunity of a lifetime to see the inner workings of the military and civilian top echelons of the Navy and observe how decisions made at that level trickled down to the ships on the waterfront and affected the daily lives of sailors.

About one year after arriving in the office of the secretary of the Navy, I began to discuss my next assignment with the Bureau of Personnel. I had already screened for command at sea and now it was only a matter of actually being assigned to a ship. As with all my previous assignments, location did not matter as much as getting the best ship possible. For me, that meant an
Arleigh Burke
–class guided-missile destroyer.

I detached from the office of the secretary of the Navy in early February 1999 to begin the pre-command battery of schools required prior to assuming command. After some uncertainty about which ship I was in fact to get—my orders were changed three times—I learned finally that I would be entrusted with command of USS
Cole,
DDG-67, home ported in Norfolk, Virginia.

Launched in 1995,
Cole
was named after a U.S. Marine, Sergeant Darrell S. Cole, who was posthumously awarded the Medal of Honor for his exceptional valor on Iwo Jima in World War II. The ship was state of the art, with an AN/SPY-1D radar and combat system integrator for its surface-to-air and Tomahawk cruise missiles, anti-submarine torpedoes, and close-in defense weapons systems, including a five-inch gun and twenty millimeter close-in weapons system (CIWS), and a helicopter landing deck aft for a variety of helicopters, including those that could be armed with
Hellfire missiles and MK 46/MK 50 torpedoes. The ship was 505 feet long from stem to stern, 66 feet abeam at its widest point, with a displacement of 8,373 tons fully loaded, and carried a crew of around 300 sailors. Its four gas turbine engines, powering two propeller shafts, could move the ship through the water at more than 31 knots, more than 35 m.p.h. At the time,
Cole
was one of the most sophisticated and best armed ships in the U.S. Navy, capable of projecting power at sea and ashore to support our national interests.