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In the 90 seconds since the crash, the water had almost reached the top of Berthing 2. When the water reached their necks, they, too, climbed out the 29-inch-wide escape hatch. Vaughan and Tapia waited until they were alone at the bottom of the ladder. Others disappeared into the darkness of a common bathroom, carried by the force of water rushing to fill every available space. Suddenly, the ship lurched to the right, knocking sailors from their feet. At the top, the men shot out the small opening, as the rising water forced the remaining air from the compartment.

They stationed themselves at the bottom of the ladder, grabbing the sailors and pushing them, one by one, up the steps. Shouting over a crescendo of seawater, Vaughan and his bunkmate, Joshua Tapia, a weapons specialist, worked side by side. Gary Rehm Jr., 37, a petty officer first class, was the oldest sailor in the compartment, a mentor to younger crew members.ДЄs the water rose past their ankles, their waists, their chests, the men fought their way to the port side ladder and waited, shivering in the swirling debris, for their chance to escape. Sonar Technician Rod Felderman, 28, was expecting the birth of his first child. Seaman Dakota Rigsby, 19, was newly engaged. On the Fitzgerald, they worked as gunnersвЂ™ mates, sonar experts, cafeteria workers and administrative assistants. They came from small towns like Palmyra, Virginia, and big cities like Houston. They were enlisted men, most in their 20s and 30s, many new to the Navy. вЂњGet out, get out,вЂќ he shouted as men surged toward him through the rising water.Д«erthing 2, just below the waterline and barely bigger than a 1,200-square-foot apartment, was home to 35 sailors. VaughanвЂ™s leg had been fractured in three places. Tens of thousands of gallons of seawater were flooding into the compartment from a gash that had ripped through the FitzgeraldвЂ™s steel hull like it was wrapping paper.ДЄs a petty officer first class, these were his sailors, and in those first foggy seconds Vaughan realized they were in danger of drowning.ДЄt 6 feet, 1 inch and 230 pounds, Vaughan grabbed a nearby sailor by the T-shirt and hurled him toward the ladder that led to the deck above. Others fought through the flotsam to reach the exit ladder next to VaughanвЂ™s bunk on the port side of the ship. In the dim light of emergency lanterns, Vaughan glimpsed men leaping from their beds. Shoes, clothes, mattresses, even an exercise bicycle careered in the murk, blocking the narrow passageways of the sleeping compartment. Beige metal footlockers bobbed through the water. Cramped bunk beds that sailors called coffin racks tilted at crazy angles. Underneath the surface of the Pacific Ocean, 12 miles off the coast of Japan, the tidy world of Berthing 2 had come undone. Water on deck!вЂќ Vaughan fumbled for his black plastic glasses and strained to see through the darkness of the windowless compartment.

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He struggled to his feet and felt a torrent rushing past his thighs.ДЄround him, sailors were screaming. The shock of cold, salty water snapped him awake.

on June 17, 2017, Alexander Vaughan tumbled from his bunk onto the floor of his sleeping quarters on board the Navy destroyer USS Fitzgerald.

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