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Instantly, my throat tightened as my mind tried to grasp the sight before me. It was hard to believe how huge the hole actually was. I took several steps backwards in an attempt to better absorb the shock to my senses. Water mixed with oily residue continued to drain from inside what was left of the destroyed main engine room 1 and dribble out along the numerous ripped sections under the ship. A rainbow-colored film of oil ran by my feet as it headed over the side. The bilge keel, while still attached at either end, had been ripped away from the ship in a sixty-foot section and was strangely rippled and bent.

All along the edge of the blast area, the metal that had once been the hull was torn and bent inward in bizarre shapes. From just above the fuel tanks at the lowest level in the engine room to the overhead in the remnants of the galley, the inside of the ship was exposed. Wires, cables, mangled pipes, bent structural beams, and crushed equipment was visible at every level. The scope of devastation was staggering.

Yet a feeling of total awe and amazement overtook me. My crew had saved USS
Cole
. Looking up at the deck edge along the side of the ship, several faces peered down at me, probably wondering what I was seeing and thinking. My eyes grew moist and I lowered my head. A tear slowly rolled down my right cheek as I looked back up again at the hole. Though seventeen of my crew were dead and thirty-seven more were wounded and hospitalized, 240 sailors had survived this ordeal. While this crew had accomplished what many deemed impossible in saving their ship, the burden of my responsibility as commanding officer now seemed to weigh even more heavily on me.

Back on board, Chris had already begun to assemble the remaining crew as the landing craft from
Tarawa
made their way toward us. It would be another couple of hours before the last of the crew was loaded onto the boats. As each group prepared to leave, they were given the opportunity to walk up the port side and behold the hole as they, too, gained an appreciation for what they had accomplished together. Many let their emotions openly show as they stood on the deck of M/V
Blue Marlin
and looked up. Like the group that morning, they now faced leaving their
ship for the last time. Through blood, sweat, and tears, they had accomplished history.

An hour past nightfall, Chris, the last of the crew to leave the ship and M/V
Blue Marlin
, was ready to join them on
Tarawa
. “XO, for all intents and purposes, you are the captain of this crew,” I told him. “Take care of them when you get back to Norfolk and I'll see you in six and a half weeks. If anything comes up and you need to reach me, you know where to find me.”

We exchanged a firm handshake. Neither of us was capable of saying any more. I was too overcome by emotions put on the backburner for the past two weeks. We just nodded at each other as he turned and got on the boat. Seconds later, it disappeared into the night seas.

That evening, I moved into a small cabin on M/V
Blue Marlin
and prepared to hunker down for the long transit home. The next day was Halloween and that afternoon I passed out to the caretaker crew some small snack packs of M&Ms that I had received in a care package delivered by mail; they were touched by this reminder of home. An updated set of communications equipment had been installed on
Cole
—a satellite radio that served as our primary link to the outside world, and now a more robust secure telephone unit that allowed us to make calls and send faxes that were of a classified nature.

Later that evening, the satellite radio crackled to life with Commander Scott Jones from
Hawes
requesting to speak with me. “
Cole
, this is
Hawes.
I am going to send my boat over to you to pick you up. The admiral would like to speak with you in person on board
Tarawa
, over,” Scott told me. I was confused by this request.
Tarawa
was already miles away up the coast and the only way to get to her would be a flight in a helicopter. It was already dark, and an over-water night flight was only permitted in time of critical operational necessity. To my knowledge, there was no pressing need for this flight.

“This is
Cole
, roger, over. Request advise [me] why the admiral can't just speak with me via radio? We can go secure if required but a night, over-water flight is not really necessary, is it?” I asked. “This is
Hawes
, roger,
the admiral would like you to pack up your luggage, fly to
Tarawa
, and come home with the crew, over,” he replied.

I shook my head in irritation. I had already had a very detailed and specific conversation with the chief of naval operations himself about the decision to remain with the crew. I just assumed that everyone knew about that discussion. I was not about to leave the ship without his knowledge.

“This is
Cole
, roger. Please inform the admiral that the CNO and I discussed this issue and based on his recommendation, I am staying with the ship. Over,” I replied with just a hint of annoyance.

Scott now clearly understood my reluctance to go, “This is
Hawes
, roger. Ummm, I was unaware of that conversation and will let the admiral know about your decision. Over.”

“This is
Cole
. Roger, out,” I replied.

Scott would be back in touch a few minutes later. Since their arrival, the caretaker crew established a radio watch to continuously monitor communications. Knowing this might be a drawn-out process, I plopped myself down into one of the chairs brought out from inside
Cole
. Less than five minutes later, the radio popped back to life.

“
Cole
, this is JTF Determined Response, over,” came the voice from
Tarawa
that I recognized immediately as the admiral himself.

“This is
Cole
. Roger, over,” I replied, sitting up.

“Kirk, this is Admiral Fitzgerald. Scott is going to send one of his boats over to you and pick you up. We're closing your position now and are going to fly you on board so you can come home with the crew. Over,” he told me.

Smiling slightly, I quickly replied, “This is
Cole
, roger, break, Admiral, I had a very specific conversation with Admiral Clark a couple of days ago and we discussed my decision to either stay with the ship or come home with the crew. He and I agreed that I should stay with the ship and that was my decision. Over.”

After only a slight hesitation, he replied, “This is Determined Response. Roger, I was unaware of that conversation. I'll get back in touch with you shortly. Over.”

“This is
Cole
. Roger, out,” I replied.

This situation was about to get real interesting. I leaned back in the chair and tried to contemplate what was going on and what had caused this sudden interest in getting me off M/V
Blue Marlin
to join the crew headed home. Something was up and no one seemed anxious to explain what was going on. Once again, about five minutes later, the radio crackled to life.

“
Cole
, this is Fifth Fleet, over,” came the call for me. “This is
Cole
. Roger, over,” I replied.

“Kirk, this is Admiral Moore. I want you to get on the boat from
Hawes
and fly out to
Tarawa
. You are going home with the crew. Over,” he said in a manner that clearly implied this was not a request.

I took a deep breath and replied, “This is
Cole
, roger, break, Admiral, I understand what you are asking me to do but I had a very specific conversation with Admiral Clark a couple of days ago and we discussed my decision to either stay with the ship or come home with the crew. He and I agreed that I should stay with the ship and that was my decision. I am concerned that the CNO is expecting me to stay with the ship and now I'm being told to come home with the crew. Over.”

The curt reply clearly belied a bit of irritation with my response, “Kirk, I wish you had told me about that conversation. Over,” replied the admiral.

“Yes, sir. I apologize for not telling you. I have had a number of conversations with people in my chain of command over the past few days and I just assumed you were aware of my discussion with the CNO. Over,” I told him with the heartfelt humility of a commander who had just been chastised by a senior three-star admiral.

“I'll get hold of the CNO and talk to him about this situation and will be back in touch shortly. Fifth Fleet, out,” he answered and with that the conversation abruptly ended.

How was I supposed to know Admiral Moore was out of the loop on the discussion and my decision? I had taken everyone in the chain of command at face value when they told me it was my decision to make whether
to stay with the ship or come home with the crew. This was all the more reinforced after my conversation with the CNO. Something was up; and clearly, I did not have all the pieces to completely understand what was happening. It was about thirty minutes before the radio snapped back to life again.

“
Cole
, this is Fifth Fleet, over.” Admiral Moore, sounding calmer this time. Still, I steeled myself for an awkward conversation, “This is
Cole
. Roger, over.” The admiral sounded genuine and sincere in what he said next.

“Kirk, this is Admiral Moore again. The CNO is on travel, which is why it took me so long to get back with you. He and I talked about this situation and he now thinks it would be best for you to come home with the crew instead of staying with the ship. Over.”

For a second, I had to ponder my situation. On one hand, to leave the ship was to break with longstanding Navy tradition; on the other hand, the crew really was the heart and soul of
Cole
and my loyalty to them was now an unbreakable bond for life. If the CNO wanted me to change my mind, it must be for a good reason. Clearly the time to make a different decision was upon me. While a decision either way would be lauded by some and criticized by others, there was no more time to question why the senior leadership of the Navy wanted me to come home; I just had to trust in their judgment.

What I did not know at the time, but found out years later, was that at the highest levels of the Navy, there was a growing twofold anxiety about how they would look if I remained behind. First was the concern that as commanding officer, I would appear to be “conveniently” unavailable to the media during the course of an ongoing investigation into my actions and the actions of the crew leading up to the attack; and second, the unknown status (to them) of my mental stability. Apparently, there was concern that, essentially alone for six weeks during the transit stateside with
Cole
on M/V
Blue Marlin
, left to contemplate my role as commanding officer in the fate of my ship and crew, I might succumb to depression. With the Navy's leadership unwilling to risk the public scrutiny that would surely follow if I did something like commit suicide, the CNO then
recommended that regardless of historical precedent or my feelings in the matter, I should come home with the crew.

I could certainly understand the first concern, but doing harm to myself was the furthest thing from my mind. Despite what had happened, I was confident of my actions and those of my crew.
Cole
had suffered a brutal suicide terrorist attack of a type that the Navy of no other country had ever experienced. Even with training, intelligence, and forewarning, no nation had yet effectively been able to stop suicide bombings anywhere in the world. Surely, I would not be made a scapegoat for what had happened to us.

“This is
Cole
. Roger, sir. In that case, I've changed my mind and I'll get my things packed and head over to
Hawes
. Over,” I replied with just a hint of humored resignation.

Thirty minutes later, a boat from
Hawes
pulled alongside M/V
Blue Marlin
and shortly afterwards I found myself strapped into an SH-60 helicopter thundering toward
Tarawa
. All of a sudden, strapped tightly into a seat in the back of a warm helicopter that was vibrating and shaking in a manner that only an aviator can love, I found myself drifting off to sleep. The next thing I knew, we were in a hover over the flight deck of
Tarawa,
and seconds later we jostled to a solid landing on the deck.

Within minutes of my arrival, Admiral Fitzgerald and his staff sat me down to brief me on the plan for a change of command. In coordination between Admiral Moore and Admiral Fitzgerald, the lawyers at Fifth Fleet had found that Navy Regulations authorized a temporary change of command in these unique circumstances. Within less than an hour, the paperwork was prepared and with two signatures, I turned command of USS
Cole
over to Commander Richard J. Abresch, who would ride the ship back to the United States. Somewhat tongue in cheek, both of us kidded each other that when the ship finally arrived, I really did expect him to give it back to me.

Now I was without a ship. But I was still with my crew of heroes.

The plan called for
Tarawa
to transit up the coast of Yemen and Oman for the next two days. The crew would fly into Thumrait Air Base, a joint
U.S. Air Force and Omani facility, where a chartered DC-10 would pick us up and fly to Germany for a brief layover before continuing the next day to Norfolk for the crew to be reunited with their families.

Our routine on
Tarawa
was in many ways similar to what we had established the past week on
Cole
. Chris held Officers' Call with the chiefs and officers, who would then meet by department with the crew. We then convened an XO/Department Head meeting to go over the plan for our return to Norfolk and for the crew's care once home.

On November 1, the second day of the transit,
Tarawa
held a “steel beach” picnic for the crew. It was a great event, especially since a special dispensation had been authorized for each of
Cole
's crew to consume two beers. Ever since July 1, 1914, when Secretary of the Navy Josephus Daniels outlawed the consumption of alcohol on ships, the fleet made only a few exceptions to this policy and the crew now thoroughly enjoyed one of those exceptions.