How Navy Prosecutors Tried to Scapegoat a Junior Sailor for a Billion-Dollar Fire

S eaman Recruit Ryan Mays, a junior sailor in the U.S. Navy, has been acquitted for alleged arson that destroyed an amphibious assault ship in the summer of 2020. Good for Seaman Mays and shame on the Navy’s investigators for moving forward with such a highly suspect prosecution.

Two years ago, a fire consumed the innards of the USS Bonhomme Richard (LHD-6), known to most sailors as the “Bonnie Dick.” As soon as news broke, with videos of black smoke pouring out of the craft, I figured some nonsense had taken place. The Richard, in port for an extended maintenance period, had a fire in the well deck. It was later discovered that some rags and hand sanitizer had likely contributed to the fire’s start, and that crew confusion about firefighting in the flammable Navy Working Uniform (NWU Type IIIs) had delayed the suppression response. Hatches inoperable due to miles of cabling passing through them, improperly cared for damage-control equipment, and a Sunday morning skeleton crew made for the absolute worst conditions in which to arrest the ravening conflagration.

If you’ve ever been aboard a vessel that’s in such a state, you know that such a catastrophe could very well happen at any time or place. Electrical and air conduits snake through passageways, scuttles, and the fireman apprentice’s rack. Industrial detritus is everywhere — rags, lubricants, and pallets of material are stacked haphazardly as years’ worth of work is compressed into months. Fire-suppression systems are tagged offline as hot-work takes place. Welding is conducted next to painting next to NKO-learning next to surreptitious cigarette smoking.

Young sailors are tasked with sweeping, needle-gunning, and porthole-licking for ten hours before their NCOs cut them loose for the day, and they spend every moment until that time getting in the way of the contractors who are doing their level best to do the least work in the most amount of time. The senior enlisted attend meetings where they’re told they can’t do anything to speed things up, but also that it’s their fault that things aren’t happening faster. That’s the average week, anyhow.

On a Sunday morning like July 12, 2020, no one is aboard who isn’t in the duty section (a rotating chunk of the crew tasked with 24-hour care of the ship), with the exception of some junior enlisted for whom the ship is their home in and out of port. Sailors who aren’t on watch are going to their shops to watch a movie or get some sleep. Contractors have the day off, as does the remainder of the crew. Those who are on watch are — at best — wandering around in a haze and scratching off something semi-intelligible on the watch logs. At worst, the watchman is next to everyone else in his shop, napping — with plans to gundeck (make up) the logs later and praying the radio doesn’t squawk with a chief petty officer’s boozy demands dribbling from it.

To summarize, the Navy is at its worst on Sundays at 8 a.m. in port during a maintenance period. And it’s then that the Bonnie Dick fire started. The crew failed to save her. A $1.2 billion vessel was lost. Thankfully, no one died, though dozens were injured.

PHOTOS: USS Bonhomme Richard

A head-rolling endeavor necessarily began, with the chain of command losing their jobs. NCIS descended to flush out the truth of the matter, with a headsman in tow. The question remaining was whether the event’s genesis was due to arson or a spontaneous flash. Seen in the vicinity of the fire’s origin, Seaman Mays became the Navy’s backup scapegoat after the most likely suspect escaped its clutches.

Dave Philips reports for the New York Times:

For six months, Navy investigators pursued a sailor other than Seaman Mays, whom a witness said she saw sprinting from the vehicle bay at the time of the fire. A military expert said that sailor’s handwriting was a probable match with a message scrawled in a portable toilet at the base saying: “I did it. I set fire to the ship.” Other evidence from that sailor’s internet searches and personal writings also seemed to suggest possible involvement.

The lead investigator in the case, Special Agent Maya Kamat, testified in Seaman Mays’s trial that she interviewed that sailor four times, and shortly after the fourth interview, the sailor attempted suicide. He was administratively separated from the Navy a few days later. The Navy no longer had jurisdiction over him and stopped pursuing him, focusing instead on Seaman Mays.

It’s an odd thing how the Navy has such absolute authority over a sailor while he’s enlisted, and absolutely none when separated — though I’m personally grateful for this fact, having no interest in a post-service relationship. Also, I’ve never heard of a sailor so quickly being separated from the Navy. My best conjecture, mildly informed, was that the Navy didn’t want another suicide on its books and in the press and expedited the young man’s separation — even if it removed him from further investigation.

So the Navy was left with Seaman Mays as Suspect No. 1, a Navy SEALs training program (referred to as BUD/S) dropout who was vocal about his dislike for the fleet Navy and scraping paint. I wrote a month ago about this BUD/S-drop dynamic and its hazards and wastefulness, and it rankles that the Navy is aware enough of the issue that it’ll use it as probable cause for why a sailor would commit arson but won’t change the BUD/S pipeline to prevent SEAL applicants from ending up in a bilge. It’s a waste of talent, and we shouldn’t be surprised if these guys aren’t in love with the Navy after its flagrant mismanagement of personnel. To be clear, there would be no excuse for criminal action like what Mays was accused of, but neither am I surprised that some would be disenchanted with naval service.

It is a relief that the Navy did not successfully scapegoat Seaman Mays for the USS Bonhomme Richard fire, just as surely as it’s devastating that we lost such a vital piece of war machinery. But throwing a sailor into prison for something it’s unlikely he did will not resurrect the ship, and it would reinforce the feeling among the enlisted that they exist to take the blame for the service’s problems. The Navy is our most important branch, and justice seen out despite the incentives to blame a likely innocent is a highlight amidst the wreckage. Good on Seaman May’s defense and the Navy’s judge for preventing further harm to the service.

Rebuild, retool, and get back to sea.