You can't sail there." These four words changed my life. It was late October 2002, and I had been in command of the U.S. Coast Guard cutter Aquidneck (WPB-1309), a 110-foot patrol boat out of Atlantic Beach, North Carolina, for well over a year. In that time, my crew and I had spent many long hours conducting homeland security operations along the East Coast. Now, we were moored at Group Philadelphia for a short break before escorting a ship to sea. Because this was the first cruise ship to board passengers in Philadelphia, a lot of press coverage was expected, which also raised my concerns that it could be a terrorist target.
With our escort plan in place, there was a calm on board the cutter as we took a break prior to getting under way. A message was handed to me from a Group Philadelphia watchstander—get under way and return to homeport as soon as possible. This is odd, I thought. Who was going to cover our escort? In all my time in the service, I had never been ordered off a case, boarding or escort. Surely there was a miscommunication. I called my operational commander to ensure the orders were correct.
I couldn't tell you who I spoke with, but I remember his words clearly. Because it was an unsecured phone line, he couldn't tell me much. I was told we had to return to homeport ASAP because we had another patrol to do, and "you can't sail there." I needed no explanation. I knew where we were headed. All of us had been watching the news since 9/11, including the escalating tension between President George W. Bush and Saddam Hussein over alleged weapons of mass destruction in Iraq. I knew we were being sent to the Middle East. A firm believer in sharing information with my crew, I mustered them and relayed what little I knew. We then set the special sea detail to get under way.
The next few days were a whirlwind. By the time we reached homeport, it seemed everyone on base knew we were being called up for a special mission. Everyone made the same assumption I had, that we were headed to the Middle East. There was a constant flurry of activity as we offloaded items we did not think we'd need, such as cold-weather mustang suits, and scoured our parts trailer to load all the spares we had. With only a few days to sail the ship to Portsmouth, Virginia, time was of the essence. At times, the crew was literally throwing unneeded gear onto the pier. Several Coast Guard lawyers helped the crew complete powers of attorney and wills. Not knowing when we'd be home again, I emptied my refrigerator, shut off the utilities, and did my best to secure my home in case a hurricane or other storm hit while we were gone.
True Team Effort
Looking back, it's amazing how smoothly things went. Everyone was focused on preparing the ship and wrapping up their personal affairs—and not just the crew. Time and time again I've seen it: In a crisis Coasties pull together to get the job done, no matter what, and this was no exception. It seemed every unit on base put their work priorities on hold. Every time we turned around, someone was asking us how they could help. We had more support than we could use. Even family members got involved. I expected some to express concern about their loved ones deploying overseas, but not one person complained. They were all worried, but understood the importance of what we were about to do and aided their loved ones in their preparations to depart. I will be forever grateful for the selfless attitude of everyone who helped us get ready.
A few days later we arrived at Integrated Support Command Portsmouth, Virginia, and were moored alongside three other 110s: the Adak (WPB-1333) out of Sandy Hook, New Jersey; the Baranof (WPB-1318) of Miami, Florida; and the Wrangell (WPB-1332) from South Portland, Maine. The next morning a group of 100 or so people met with eager anticipation to learn our fate. All were on the edge of their seats as the various speakers addressed the group. The four cutters and a contingent of shore-based support personnel would be sent overseas sometime within the next ten days. Each cutter's crew would be augmented with four law-enforcement personnel from Tactical Law Enforcement Team North. As I looked around the room, I realized I was one of only two women present, and the only one assigned to one of the cutters. In the back of my mind, I wondered what the reaction would be to me being assigned to a unit ordered into a potential combat zone. As far as I was concerned, I was the commanding officer of my ship and was fully prepared to fight to stay with my crew.
After the meeting, while everyone mingled, Commander Vincent Atkins from the Coast Guard Atlantic Area Office of Cutter Forces approached me. Without my saying anything, he told me that regardless of what policies the Department of Defense (the Coast Guard was part of the Department of Transporation) might have regarding women in combat, it was not an issue for the Coast Guard. As Aquidneck's commanding officer, I would be going with my crew. Aside from reporters who would later ask me what it was like to be a woman commanding an all male crew, this was the only mention I heard from the Coast Guard throughout my time in Iraq, and that was exactly how I wanted it.
Hurry Up and Wait
Meanwhile, with initial introductions out of the way, there was a ton of work to do and very little time. Teams of personnel crawled over each cutter from stem to stern fixing every material condition discrepancy and installing new communications equipment, sensors, and weapons. Everyone going overseas received complete physicals, including a series of shots. There was concern that some would refuse to receive anthrax or smallpox shots, but all stepped up without hesitation.
As would become the trend for the next four months, our departure date was delayed a week, then another and so on. With each delay, we sought more training to fully prepare ourselves for whatever we might face, including defensive tactics; chemical, biological, radiological defense; damage control; anti-terrorism/force protection; and familiarization with the Middle East area. As the months dragged on, it was tough to stay focused. Everyone was living out of a hotel near the base. While that may not sound so bad, it got old very fast. Plus, everyone felt like they were in a state of limbo. Are we going or not? If so, when? When was the big question on everyone's mind.
In late January 2003, we got our answer and the pace immediately picked up. Final preparations were made; each cutter was floated aboard a custom-built cradle and then lifted on board a large cargo ship by a massive crane. The cutters would make the voyage to the Arabian Gulf with a contingent of Marines to guard them while the crews finished training, spent a week of leave to visit families, and then met once again at the hotel to board buses for the flight to Bahrain. After more than 24 hours in the air, we landed in Manama, Bahrain, on 23 February.
The Middle East was a culture shock. Though we had been learning about the area and what to expect, it was fascinating to see it all first hand, but there was little time for sightseeing. We settled into our shore-side quarters, learned the lay of the land, and met our new boss, Commodore John W. Petersen, USN, Commander, Destroyer Squadron 50, for the first in a series of in-briefs. Fortunately, he had been assigned to a Navy hydrofoil earlier in his career and worked with Coast Guard 110s in the Caribbean. His experience and openness to our feedback allowed us to fully use the cutters' capabilities. With our input, he tailored plans for our role during a possible Coalition invasion.
Meanwhile, the cutters had arrived and were offloaded. As soon as they hit the water, the crews set to work onloading fuel, water, and food. All systems were checked and underway sea trials proved everything was fully operational. With that, the Adak and Aquidneck set sail for the first patrol of the Northern Arabian Gulf by Coast Guard 110-foot patrol boats. Ten days later, Operation Iraqi Freedom (OIF) began.
Tiptoeing a Fine Line
During my time there, particularly in the first few months of OIF, we pushed the envelope daily. We were put in many situations none of us had faced before. The first day of the war we were about a mile away when two British helicopters collided and crashed into the sea. We were on the scene within minutes, but with the sea on fire and wreckage everywhere, there were no survivors to recover. Protecting British and U.S. minesweepers and hunters as we made our way up Iraq's Khawr Abd Allah River was nerve wracking. If we had struck a mine, which we could never have seen in the murky waters, it would have been catastrophic. We frequently boarded and cleared derelict wrecks in the river to locate spotters who were tracking the movement of Coalition forces and even cleared a few shore-side bunkers that could not be immediately reached from land. We spent days on end boarding any and everything that moved on the river, guarding the offshore oil terminals, and escorting humanitarian aid ships into Umm Qasar.
Several times we encountered Iranian gunboats in Iraqi waters. It appeared they wanted to play games with us to see how we would react. Assigned to safeguard Iraqi waters and oil platforms, I wanted to react assertively. But how? We had to demonstrate that we were ready and able to defend ourselves without provoking an attack. Setting General Quarters to man our crew-served weapons could be seen as a hostile gesture—and I did not want to trigger an international incident with Iran. We had a special pipe for this situation so the gun crews knew to stand to the side of their guns so Irani gunboat crews could see they were on station and ready to respond, but without pointing the weapons at them.
When the gunboats played cat-and-mouse games darting among the many fishing dhows, we'd match their course and speed—sometimes at up to 30-plus knots—but were careful not to threaten them. Luckily, this usually did not last long, with the Iranians retreating to their territorial water. The gunboats were not our only challenge. I remember several tense moments late at night when fast-moving unlit vessels came at us from up river. With seconds to spare, we identified them as friendly forces. Thank God for those few seconds.
As for life on board the Aquidneck, we had 22 people living on a 110-foot ship with only 18 racks. We installed small cots prior to deploying overseas to give everyone a place to sleep, but between the extra people, cots, battle and CBR gear, and other equipment, there was not much room, especially in the berthing areas. Typically operating for up to a month at a time before returning to Bahrain for a much needed break, we became experts at stretching our capabilities. For example, with no laundry facilities on board and everyone sweating in temperatures at times well over 120 degrees Fahrenheit, the crew improvised using pump cans and makeshift clotheslines to wash clothes. It may not have been pretty, but it worked.
When my tour of duty was over, I was assigned as a law-enforcement instructor and later executive officer at the Coast Guard's new Maritime Law Enforcement Academy in Charleston, South Carolina. This enabled me to share many of the lessons we learned during maritime interdiction boardings of dhows in the Arabian Gulf. Currently assigned as the executive officer on board the cutter Legare (WMEC-912) out of Portsmouth, Virginia, my focus is on what many refer to as traditional Coast Guard missions—law enforcement, search and rescue, and homeland security. Though no longer working for U.S and Coalition forces in Iraq, there are many things I still carry with me from that experience, some small, others more profound.
Success Factors
First, as mentioned earlier, I have frequently been asked what it was like to be a woman commanding an all male crew. The reality is that it simply did not matter. Diversity brings new ideas and perspectives into the mix, and enriches and broadens a crew. But when push comes to shove, regardless of gender, race, or ethnicity, it all distills down to your ability to do the job and back up your team. My crew didn't care that I was a woman; they cared that I was competent, knew my job, and would keep them safe.
Coast Guardsmen have a reputation for being flexible and innovative problem solvers. I believe this is a natural result of our traditional missions. No two search-and-rescue cases or law enforcement boardings I have done have ever been the same. Each required me to adapt to the unique circumstances at hand. The challenges and threats we faced in Iraq—and those serving over there today continue to face—were unending, with new ones every day. We were able to draw on our previous experiences to adapt and succeed.
Another key factor in our success—a lifesaver—was the ability to find reasons to laugh and ways to have fun in the face of adversity, demanding conditions, and unrelenting stress. We shared the same experiences and got each other through them. A little levity could do wonders to alleviate tension, and allowed us to keep a tremendous pace day after day. I doubt I will ever be tighter with a crew than the one with which I served in Iraq. I demanded a lot from them, then asked for even more. From my executive officer to the most junior fireman, everyone gave their all. "Shipmate" will never again be just a word to me.
Simply put, we are at our best when faced with the worst.
When I joined the Coast Guard, I knew I was embarking on an adventure, but never thought it would carry me to a combat zone in the Middle East. Looking back, I am incredibly proud of what my crew and the other members of the original Patrol Forces Southwest Asia accomplished, as well as those who followed. The Coast Guard may be a small service when compared with the other armed forces, but we have a rich history of saving lives and protecting our nation. The Coast Guard and its predecessor, the Revenue Cutter Service, played a part in every conflict the United States has faced since 1790. Since the start of OIF, more than 1,750 Coast Guard men and women have served and continue to serve in Iraq. I am grateful to have been given an opportunity to contribute, in some small way, toward that great legacy.