Front Burner (35 page)

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.

A
S THE FINAL LANDING CRAFT PULLED AWAY, two of the Yemeni tugs maneuvered into position alongside us, and a pilot/docking officer from M/V
Blue Marlin
was escorted to the bridge. It was a few minutes until sunrise, and the clear sky was alight with the glow of the morning. The sea was calm, almost as flat as glass. Only an occasional gently rolling swell drifted by the ships. M/V
Blue Marlin
was ballasted and sunk down almost sixty feet, as far as it could go. Even from the height of the bridge wings, the deck where
Cole
would dock was invisible beneath the water.

Mooring lines from the M/V
Blue Marlin
were placed onto our bitts, the Yemeni tugs cast off their lines, and the ship was steadily pulled into position. With a slight clang, the port side made contact with the two large towers, and we slowly slid backwards towards the bow. Inch by inch, the cowcatcher moved towards the aft-most pole, and at last it made contact. Navy and Marine divers then jumped into the water to verify the position of the ship as the M/V
Blue Marlin
started to deballast and rise up toward
Cole
's keel. There was a short-lived problem when the blades on the starboard propeller made contact with the forward edge of the pit they were supposed to fit in, and the removable planks on the cowcatcher turned
out to be permanently installed, but we hoisted several members of the crew over the side with an axe to chop them away. At one point, someone asked over the radio whether there was concern whether the docking process might scratch the hull. We all looked at each other and pointed out that we already had a huge hole in the port side, and had cut a small hole into the starboard side ourselves; a few scratches at this point would not make a difference in the repair bill.

Slowly, in position, the ship rose out of the water, and by late afternoon, with the sun just above the horizon, the docking was complete. As the water spilled off the flat deck, the Master of M/V
Blue Marlin
invited me over to meet him. After exchanging greetings and meeting some of the caretaker crew that would board
Cole
for the long voyage home, the Master offered to put me in a basket attached to one of the two yellow cranes and lower me to the deck to walk out and see my ship resting on the keel blocks. I gladly accepted his offer.

Minutes later, I walked across the deck of M/V
Blue Marlin
. Water still swirled about the deck as it chased low points to drain off the sides of the vessel. Having been in ship dry docks before, I found the sight familiar, remembering seeing the underside of
Arleigh Burke
as part of the commissioning crew that built that first ship in the class.
Cole
's hull was no different; it was only lightly coated with a routine buildup of marine life and moss after sitting essentially still for two and a half weeks alongside the pier in Aden.

Carefully, I made my way between the two rudders and twin propeller blades. The shadow cast by the hull made me feel as if the ship was pressing down on me. The blade pits were still full of water and the blades from each shaft were at slightly different angles as they dipped into the dark waters. Walking steadily forward and not knowing exactly what my reaction was going to be when I saw the full extent of the damage, I came out into the sunlight and strode up the port side. I wanted to look up but was also anxious. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see I had reached the point near the center of the blast hole. I slowly turned and stared up at the opening in the side.