Front Burner (26 page)

When this first ceremony ended, the crew stood frozen in the moment. No one moved. Everyone watched as the zodiac plowed effortlessly through the calm waters of the harbor toward shore. Several crew members openly but quietly cried and turned to seek comfort from their friends nearby. A couple of minutes later everyone slowly dispersed and wandered back to work.

Not everyone was comfortable with how we had handled this ceremonial send-off. After the first two sailors were taken ashore, word came to Chris that some of the crew had been unable to get away from their work or had not known that a departure ceremony had taken place. Several were upset and were very outspoken in their criticism. Quickly, we changed our routine. At the next departure ceremony, work would be stopped throughout the ship to allow the entire off-watch crew and any support personnel who wished to participate, assemble and pay their respects.

Less than an hour later, a third body was recovered from the area of the destroyed galley. This recovery proved especially difficult since this sailor had been standing at the epicenter of the explosion and his remains had been rolled up into the twisted and distorted ball of stainless steel that had been the serving line. Despite their misgivings, the workers from Norfolk Naval Shipyard had worked very hard to unravel the metal and allow the FBI to make the extraction. It was an intense undertaking, but they had done it. It had been underneath this same roll of metal that Fireman Stewart had been initially trapped until freed by Petty Officers Foster and McCarter. This time, Chris assembled every crew member not standing watch to come topside to participate in the honors departure ceremony and a short time later, another of our shipmates left
Cole
.

The divers now turned their attention to the destroyed engine room. While they had access through the ventilation duct, they also wanted to inspect it from the hole in the ship's side, despite the sharp jagged metal from the shredded hull plating that protruded into the space. Even getting
a boat close to the hole without damage was a problem. A zodiac-style boat would not work since the inflatable pontoons could be easily punctured. The only metal boat on the ship was the boatswain's mates' aluminum paint punt, fourteen feet long and almost six feet wide, used to paint the waterline while in port and designed to carry up to three people with a capacity of 600 pounds, including gear. The boatswain's mates took
Cole
's paint punt and tied it off next to the ship just aft of the blast hole with a pilot's ladder lowered over the side, and two divers climbed down to the boat, had their gear lowered down to them, and then suited up. They carefully swam over the thick rubber mats they had placed over the jagged metal around the blast hole, but despite all their precautions, their umbilical cords kept tangling every few feet. It was quickly determined that the divers would be unable to safely access the area of the upper level of the engine room this way, and the ventilation shaft now became the primary entry point.

By early afternoon on Monday, the Norfolk Naval Shipyard workers had constructed a simple but sturdy wooden ladder down into main engine room 1, which had three levels. The upper level, on the same plane as the fuel lab and general workshop, was referred to as the first platform, containing ductwork to support the intake and exhaust for fresh air into and out of the engine room itself, as well as air to support the operation of the gas turbine engines. The normal entrance to this level was through the damaged and dished-in watertight door located between the entrances to the fuel lab and general workshop. The second platform, the next level down, contained the fresh water system's reverse-osmosis and water purification units. The lowest level was the bilge, containing the foundations and support structure for the two gas turbine main engines, the modules that enclosed them, the reduction gear that converted the high-speed turbine revolutions into turns of the starboard propeller shaft, and various other equipment.

The divers had reviewed the engineering diagrams to understand what to expect and find there. But when they went in, they found it barely recognizable, except for the large ducts coming from the tops of the engine
modules, which had been dished in and distorted by the force of the blast. And the smell of fuel and lube oil was overpowering. Carefully, they walked around the first platform, testing the strength of the steel deck and gratings to support their weight, until they found several points where they could carefully lower themselves into the floodwaters and dive down farther to search for the missing sailors.

Initially, Commander Scholley and Warrant Officer Perna were very concerned about the quality of the air and asked one of the shipyard workers who was certified to test it to take measurements. Though the air was deemed safe to work in, the support divers who worked in the space for extended periods of time helping out the divers occasionally wore a self-contained breathing apparatus to be on the safe side.

As the divers wriggled down the wooden ladder and ventilation duct into the engine room, they found themselves standing on the starboard side of the first platform. No matter which way they turned, they saw a confusion of shredded steel, twisted beams, bent hull plating, mangled pipes, loose electrical cables, and deformed duct work. Machinery that weighed hundreds or thousands of pounds had been ripped from its foundations and tossed about the space. The water at this level was about eighteen inches deep, and everything below was completely flooded. At the waterline, sunlight flickering off the calm waters of the harbor outside reflected throughout the space through the blast hole, creating spectral shadows that appeared to be moving around.

To prevent accidental cutting and chafing of their umbilical cords, with air, video, and communications feeds, the divers took several fire hoses that were no longer usable, cut off the brass connectors at either end and routed the umbilical cords through the hoses. Once their assessment of work conditions was complete, they began recovering the sailors whose bodies were trapped in the engine room below the waterline.

Within an hour, they had recovered the first one, Don Sachtleben informed me. I went forward to assist in the identification process and Chris quietly prepared the crew for another honors departure ceremony after the FBI team had completed its forensic examination. Thirty minutes later,
we rendered full military honors to the fourth sailor recovered from the wreckage as he left the ship.

By the end of the day Monday, as the sun began to set and the crew finished dinner, there was a growing sense of pride in honoring our fallen friends and shipmates.

Tuesday started out hot and humid and immediately got even hotter. By midmorning, the recovery and collection teams were well into the second day of recovery operations. Just as the FBI was about to start their work for the day, the group working in the area of the galley and mess decks approached Don with a potential problem, and when he told me what it was I went down to the galley area with him to see it firsthand. Standing at the entrance to the destroyed galley, what I saw made almost every piece of metal in the surrounding area appear to be slowly moving. The surface of the metal was crawling with the larvae of thousands of flies. The now-decayed residue of the chicken fajitas had been blown everywhere by the blast, and the flies had feasted on it. Chief Moser sprayed down the entire area with pesticide and repeated the process every three days thereafter to prevent another infestation.

Don Sachtleben and I continued the routine we had developed for the recovery of remains. When the FBI had completed the forensic analysis work, Don would come get me for the identification phase behind the white tarps. While the crew was curious, they stayed away from the area, respecting that this difficult work required privacy. As I was soon to learn, not everyone shared this sensitivity.

By midmorning, the divers had recovered a second sailor from the engine room, but just before the FBI started the forensic examination, Don approached me, agitated and upset. “We have a big problem,” he told me. “Is there any way you can tell someone not to be involved in our work?” I shrugged and said, “Absolutely. Why? What's the problem?”

“Well, it's the Fifth Fleet Surgeon, Captain something or another, I forget his name,” Don told me. “He has been with us during each of the recoveries but he is now interfering with our work and potentially impacting our ability to gather evidence. I didn't mind it yesterday when he
wanted to poke his nose into every body recovery we did. We just kind of ignored him as long as he stayed out of the way. He seemed a bit too curious in some ways and kept asking too many questions that we just didn't bother to answer. Today, though, he went too far. He just asked me if he could bring some of his technicians from ashore to watch and help. He thinks this would be a great training opportunity for them. This is not a training opportunity! I don't know what he thinks this is but I just can't have that going on. Is there anything you can do?”

I was mortified. Then, pure anger set in. With barely controlled fury I said to Don, “I'll take care of it. Go back down to the mess decks and tell him I want to see him up here now.” Don, clearly surprised by the intensity of my reaction, said, “I'll go get him now.”

I grabbed the clip-on microphone to my wireless walkie-talkie and, looking up the starboard bridge wing, called out, “Ops, Captain.”

Derek was on the bridge standing watch and keeping an eye on the communications with all the support ships offshore. The inflatable boat from
Hawes
that was supplementing the Yemeni force protection around
Cole
and making the occasional shuttle run ashore was tied up and refueling at the backside of the pier. A second or two after my call, he walked out onto the bridge wing and answered, “Ops.”

“Ops, do we have a small boat available to take someone ashore?” I asked.

“Yes, sir.
Hawes
's RHIB [rigid hull inflatable boat] is on the backside of the pier refueling,” he said.

“Tell them to stop refueling and get the boat to the loading area to take someone ashore, now.”

“Roger, sir,” he replied.

I could see Derek shift channels on his walkie-talkie and contact the boat crew. The boat captain looked up at the bridge and acknowledged the order but nothing happened. He and the crew just went back to sitting around as they continued to refuel the boat. This was not a time for delay and the boat was needed in position immediately.

With a very controlled and staccato voice I called back up to the bridge, “Ops, Captain. Tell that boat crew to stop refueling! I don't care what they are doing, I want that boat at the loading area, right now!”

Derek knew from the tone coming through the radio that he needed to get the boat crew in motion, and quickly. Again, he contacted the boat crew on their separate channel. Derek never told me what he said but the reaction was swift and instantaneous. The boat crew sprang to their feet, stopped refueling, and scrambled to jump into the boat. The engine roared to life as they cast off the lines and raced around the corner to the landing area at the back of the pier.

There was no time to tell Chris, who was standing beside me, what was going on; the surgeon had come up from down below and was headed towards me. Chris walked away as the surgeon came up.

“Captain, I understand you wanted to see me,” he said.

Working hard to project a calm demeanor, I looked at him and said, “Captain, I have been informed by the lead FBI agent that you are interfering with the investigation. I cannot have that happen. I have made arrangements for a small boat to take you ashore. You will not be allowed back on the ship.”

He started to stammer out a reply, “I—I don't understand. I just . . .”

Turning and indicating with my arm that I wished him to walk with me toward the brow, I continued, “Sir, please, this way. The boat is waiting to take you ashore and I do not want you back aboard. Please leave the ship, now.”

Clearly confused, he did not argue or question my request. He just started to walk toward the brow saying, “Yes, sir, Captain, but I just don't understand.”

In my mind there was nothing to explain. In many ways, the FBI/NCIS team was the most important organization on the ship. They would gather the evidence necessary to capture and hold accountable the terrorists who had attacked the ship and killed seventeen of my crew. They had also done the crew and me a huge service by taking on the unenviable task of removing the dead sailors from the wreckage of the ship. This was my ship and no one was going to interfere with the FBI's operations, period.

As we reached the brow, the captain saluted and requested permission to go ashore. As he walked down toward the pier, he kept glancing back at me with a look of disbelief at what was happening. Thankfully, he
continued to cross the pier, got into the boat, and headed towards shore. That was the last time we had to deal with him on the ship.

It was at times like this that it felt supremely good to be the ship's captain. It was my ship and my crew and nothing was going to prevent or interfere with my doing what was in their best interests. Hopping back up onto my fender office, I got back to work, but it took me several hours before I could bring myself to discuss the incident with Chris. When he was filled in on the details, he was as shocked as I had been.

The process of recoveries continued, and later that day the divers brought up two more sailors from the engine room. Trained to deal with these recoveries in a sensitive and respectful manner, they worked very carefully in extracting each one from the wreckage. The effects of salt-water immersion for so long were appalling, but as each sailor was recovered, the divers placed the remains in a body bag before having them lifted gently out of the engine room through the narrow ventilation shaft and taken into the draped-off area for the FBI to do their work.