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Human Capital

SWOs Assume Amphibious Command: Why it Matters

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By Captain Kevin Eyer, USN (Ret.)

Amphibious Command Reform

In an April 24, 2026 directive, Chief of Naval Operations Daryl Caudle ordered that, beginning in Fiscal Year 2028, command of all amphibious warships will be assigned exclusively to Surface Warfare Officers (SWOs). This includes Landing Helicopter Assault (LHA), Landing Helicopter Dock (LHD), Amphibious Transport Dock (LPD), and Dock Landing Ship (LSD) classes.

The decision represents a significant institutional realignment in naval command structure, ending a long-standing dual-community model in which both aviators and Surface Warfare Officers (SWOs) were eligible for amphibious command. The CNO’s rationale is grounded in sustained concerns over amphibious readiness, maintenance execution, engineering discipline, and material condition—areas that have remained below Navy standards for an extended period.

As articulated in the directive, effective amphibious command requires “exquisite knowledge of readiness, maintenance procedures, component design and failure modes, damage control, and operational procedures,” as well as the ability to remain in command long enough to impose sustained correction. The conclusion is clear: Surface Warfare Officers are purpose-built for that responsibility. 

Resistance from the Aviation community was immediate and significant, including among senior aviators within U.S. Pacific Fleet and U.S. Fleet Forces Command. While concerns centered publicly on career progression and institutional balance, the debate also reflected disagreement with the premise that aviator command contributed materially to amphibious readiness shortfalls.

Still, beneath the institutional friction lies a broader reality. This is, at least in significant part, a fight over major command billets—assignments understood as essential for any officer hoping to achieve flag rank. The change will unquestionably reduce command and major command opportunities available to aviators. At the same time, the Navy’s inventory of traditional SWO major command ships continues to shrink. As these opportunities contract across the fleet, in both communities, institutional pressure over how remaining billets are allocated was inevitable. Something ultimately had to give.

Yet beyond these parochial issues, the Navy appears to have reached a larger operational conclusion which renders that argument moot: the amphibious force is too important to the Marine Corps’ warfighting capability to continue treating these ships as shared command territory.

The Amphibious Force and Its Operational Role

The U.S. Navy operates approximately 31 amphibious warfare ships, including nine large-deck amphibious assault ships that form the backbone of the Expeditionary Strike Group construct.

These platforms are essential to the Marine Corps’ core mission: the ability to project combat power from the sea. Amphibious ships transport embarked Marines, vehicles, landing craft, and aviation assets into contested environments where shore-based infrastructure is unavailable, degraded, or denied. Additionally, amphibious ships serve as floating expeditionary bases capable of command and control, medical support, logistics sustainment, and crisis-response missions.

Depending upon the class, modern U.S. amphibious warfare ships routinely employ the Landing Craft Air Cushion (LCAC), Ship-to-Shore Connector (SSC), Landing Craft Utility (LCU), Landing Craft Mechanized (LCM-8), and Combat Rubber Raiding Craft (CRRC) to transport Marines, vehicles, equipment, and supplies from ship to shore during amphibious operations. In addition, and especially relevant to this discussion, they also embark MV-22B Ospreys, CH-53K heavy-lift helicopters, AH-1Z/UH-1Y rotary-wing aircraft, and F-35B short takeoff/vertical landing fighters to support expeditionary operations ashore. Together, these systems enable distributed maneuver, vertical assault, close air support, and sustained operations in contested environments.

There are, however, substantial operational differences among amphibious ship classes, particularly with respect to aviation operations. The large-deck LHA and LHD classes conduct highly complex fixed-wing and tiltrotor aviation operations involving F-35Bs and MV-22s, including high-tempo launch and recovery cycles, advanced aviation fueling and weapons handling, and the integration of tactical air operations with expeditionary objectives. As for the LPD, while the class does not currently support F-35Bs, it does carry MV-22s. Amongst the “amphibs,” the single class that embarks only traditional helicopters, whose operation is significantly less complex than sustained fixed-wing and tiltrotor aviation operations, is the LSD class.

This distinction explains why LHA, LHD, and LPD classes are categorized as “major command” ships commanded by Captains on their second at-sea command tour, while LSDs are “Commander command” ships led by Commanders during their first command tour at sea.

These ships are the Navy’s most important fleet assets supporting Marine Corps operations. Consequently, the material readiness of amphibious ships directly affects Marine Corps operational effectiveness. Degraded ship availability constrains embarkation, delays deployment cycles, and reduces the Marine Corps’ ability to execute its expeditionary mission set. Amphibious readiness is therefore not solely a naval concern—it is foundational to the Marine Corps’ warfighting capability.

The Marines’ Perspective

At the 2026 Sea-Air-Space Conference, the Commandant of the Marine Corps, Gen. Eric Smith, indicated that the Navy and Marine Corps were determined to work together with a “unified sense of purpose” to increase the size and availability of the U.S. amphibious fleet:

“We’re in complete agreement that our current inventory of 31 amphibious ships is not sufficient to meet our new presence that our combatant commanders are requesting and requiring.”

In 2025, amphibious ships’ readiness rate dropped to 41 percent, according to Navy Times. This metric is derived from a lack of ships deployable that caused a five-month delay in Marine Expeditionary Unit (MEU) deployments —critically impacting the Marine Corps’ ability to execute its mission. 

To address this, General Smith spoke to optimizing maintenance schedules, as well as investing in service life extensions for a number of ships. Moreover, he stated that the Navy-Marine Corps team is moving forward with the procurement of new and more capable ships. While the form that these new ships takes, beyond perhaps the now-planned Landing Ship Medium (LSM), remains to be seen, what is plain is that the Marines are keenly interested in the sustainability of the amphibious fleet, and specifically, availability of these ships when called upon. 

What is an Air Boss?

Aviation-capable amphibious ships have an Air Department Head or “Air Boss” assigned to them. This officer serves as the Commanding Officer’s principal aviation authority and senior manager of all flight operations.

Operating through Primary Flight Control (“PriFly”), the Air Boss oversees launch and recovery operations, flight deck sequencing, aircraft movement, fueling and arming cycles, sortie generation, airspace coordination, and aviation safety enforcement.

The Air Boss integrates continuously with the bridge, Combat Information Center, Marine aviation elements, and embarked air traffic control personnel to ensure safe and efficient aviation operations. He or she translates the Commanding Officer’s intent into executable aviation activity while maintaining strict control of flight deck risk and safety. This structure ensures that aviation expertise remains continuously embedded within the ship’s command organization at the Department Head level.

This is central to the Navy’s revised command logic: aviation execution aboard amphibious ships is already fully professionalized and continuously managed. The Air Boss construct therefore provides the operational depth and specialization required without necessitating an aviator in command.

In practical terms, aviation is not removed from command—it is delegated to a dedicated expert authority within a now SWO-led command structure. For this reason, it is imperative to the success of this new construct that the Aviation community assign only its best and brightest post-command aviators to this billet going forward. To do other is to court failure of the Marine mission.

In short, the Air Boss position effectively obviates the need for a uniquely assigned Aviator as commanding officer of the ship. This is analogous to the Reactor Department Head aboard an aircraft carrier being a nuclear-trained SWO. In that case, the SWO responsible for overseeing the carrier’s immensely complex nuclear propulsion plant eliminates the need for a SWO Commanding Officer solely to provide engineering and reactor expertise. Extending the analogy further, while every CVN Commanding Officer is nuclear-qualified, every SWO Commanding Officer has likewise spent an entire career intimately involved with the operations of helicopters from the decks of surface combatants across the fleet.

How Aviators Got to Amphibs

Over time, aviators were increasingly assigned to amphibious ship command primarily as part of the Aviation community’s officer development pipeline.

As the Navy’s largest unrestricted line community among SWOs, submariners, and aviators, the Aviation community has long relied upon amphibious ship command opportunities—both at the Commander and Captain level—to provide upward career progression for its most promising officers.

Squadron command is the standard Commander-level milestone for Naval Aviators. Officers selected for further operational command may proceed into major aviation leadership billets or into deep-draft command pipelines. aviators — particularly rotary-wing and tiltrotor officers associated with amphibious operations — have commonly served as Executive Officer/Commanding Officer (XO/CO) of LHAs and LHDs via the fleet-up process, while tactical jet aviators have more often followed the aircraft carrier and carrier strike group command track. However, there is considerable overlap and flexibility depending on community, timing, and Navy needs.

At the same time, LHA and LHD ships increasingly evolved toward aviation-centric operations, particularly with the introduction of the F-35B and expanded MV-22 integration. This has, with time, strengthened the Aviation community’s argument for continued command of large-deck amphibious ships.

The bottom line is that amphibious ships became an important career-development mechanism within the Aviation community, while the increasing sophistication of the aircraft embarked on some amphibs justified these assignments.

Still, it is important to distinguish between the aviation complexity of LHA and LHD operations and that of the remainder of the amphibious fleet. Commanding Officers aboard LHAs and LHDs oversee high-tempo fixed-wing and tilt-rotor flight operations in densely congested deck environments, including the integration of F-35B and MV-22 operations into expeditionary combat missions. By contrast, LPDs and LSDs, while fully aviation capable, conduct comparatively limited helicopter operations and do not execute sustained tactical fixed-wing aviation missions.

The Navy now appears to have concluded that while aviation expertise remains indispensable aboard amphibious ships, the commanding officer’s foremost responsibility is the sustained readiness and fighting condition of the ship itself. That responsibility aligns more naturally with the professional orientation and career-long preparation of the Surface Warfare community. As for the increasing complexity of air operations in major command amphibs, high-grade Air Bosses will ensure the safety and effectivity of those.

Carrier Command: A Structural Distinction

This naturally raises the question of why SWOs are not permitted to command aircraft carriers.

Unlike amphibious ships, command of nuclear aircraft carriers is restricted exclusively to Naval Aviators who are also nuclear-qualified. This is not simply a matter of tradition. It reflects the carrier’s unique identity as both a nuclear-powered warship and a floating aviation combat platform. More than that, it is the law.

Since the Act of June 24, 1926, federal law has required that officers commanding U.S. Navy aircraft carriers be qualified naval aviators. The original provision, enacted as part of early naval aviation legislation and formerly codified at 34 U.S.C. § 735, was intended in part to ensure that naval aviators had a viable path to senior operational command within the fleet. Through later recodifications of federal military law, the requirement became 10 U.S.C. § 5942 and is now codified at 10 U.S.C. § 8162. The current statute provides that, to be eligible to command an aircraft carrier, an officer must be “an officer in the line of the Navy who is designated as a naval aviator or naval flight officer and who is otherwise qualified.” As a result, non-aviator Surface Warfare Officers are legally barred from commanding active U.S. aircraft carriers. In the case of nuclear-powered carriers (CVNs), Commanding Officers must additionally meet nuclear propulsion qualification requirements established under Executive Order 12344 and subsequent statutory authorities governing the Naval Reactors program. 

In order to command a carrier, an officer must understand nuclear propulsion operations, ship-wide engineering integration, reactor safety oversight, navigation, combat systems, and full-spectrum warship command responsibilities. Aviators selected for carrier command therefore undergo nuclear power training, complete demanding XO tours aboard carriers, and typically command another ship at sea before assuming CVN command.

Yet the technical explanation alone does not fully answer the question. A Surface Warfare Officer can be trained to understand aviation operations to the level necessary for safe ship command. What a SWO can never fully possess, however, is the lived cockpit perspective that defines naval aviation.

That distinction matters because, unlike the amphibious ship, the entire purpose of the aircraft carrier is the launch and recovery of aircraft and the projection of aviation combat power. Every major operational function aboard the carrier ultimately serves the air wing. The commanding officer must therefore possess not only technical competence as a warship commander and nuclear operator, but also an instinctive appreciation for what is occurring in the cockpit during launch, recovery, tanker operations, bolters, emergency procedures, and combat tasking.

Carrier aviation involves judgment about risk, weather, fatigue, deck cycles, aircraft performance margins, and human decision-making under extreme operational pressure. Those realities cannot be fully learned from outside the Aviation community.

Accordingly, the Navy’s judgment has long been that while a SWO can learn enough about aviation to safely command a carrier, only an aviator can fully understand the operational and human dimensions of carrier aviation combat operations. For that reason, aircraft carrier command remains restricted to aviators who are also nuclear-qualified through specialized training and career preparation.

The amphibious force is different. Aviation aboard these ships is critically important, but the ship itself exists primarily to deliver and sustain Marine combat power ashore. Aviation supports that mission; it does not wholly define it in the way aviation defines the aircraft carrier.

The Flight III DDG Issue 

Today, with the retirement of the Ticonderoga-class cruisers, there is a sudden shortage of major command opportunities available for SWOs.

While the assignment of major command is being experimented with using Flight III destroyers, significant questions remain regarding whether those ships possess the capability and capacity to meaningfully fill the role once occupied by Aegis cruisers. The cruiser was not only larger and possessed greater magazine depth, but was also specifically designed to support the commanding officer’s duties as Air Warfare Commander (AWC) for a Carrier Strike Group (CSG) or Area Air Defense Commander (AADC) for a joint force. In an era of rapidly evolving air and missile threats, AWC/AADC remains the most critical warfare commander function within the CSG for the Surface Warfare community.

To fulfill those responsibilities, the Ticonderoga-class cruiser was built with an especially large combat information center and extensive command-and-control systems. Flight III DDGs remain highly capable warships, but they do not fully replicate the cruiser’s command-and-control capacity. Compounding the issue, destroyer production rates remain too slow to offset the loss of cruiser major command billets.

Amphibious command under SWO leadership therefore also serves to preserve leadership depth and major command opportunities within the Surface Warfare community. Critics will reasonably argue that this institutional reality influenced the decision. They are likely correct.

Yet this does not invalidate the operational logic behind the reform. If anything, it reinforces a broader truth: these are surface warships, and the Navy increasingly believes they should be commanded by officers whose professional expertise centers on sustaining and fighting surface ships.

Implications for the Aviation Community

For naval aviation, the policy reduces at-sea major command opportunities outside the carrier force.

Rotary-wing, and to a lesser extent Patrol Squadron (MPA) Aviators are most directly affected, as amphibious ships historically represented a key pathway for MPA, helicopter and tiltrotor officers to achieve major command.

The situation for aviators was already worsening prior to the loss of amphibious ship command opportunities for aviators. A major blow came earlier with the Navy’s transfer of its auxiliary fleet—including oilers and replenishment ships—to Military Sealift Command control, a transition completed in 2010. Since then, nearly the entire Combat Logistics Force has been operated by MSC rather than by commissioned Navy crews, eliminating a significant number of traditional command billets for aviators. Today, the only auxiliary-type vessels still under direct Navy Sailor command are a small number of highly specialized ships, such as submarine tenders and command ships.

To offset this, aviators will continue to be assigned to command selected platforms such as Amphibious Command Ships (LCCs), Expeditionary Sea Bases (ESBs), which were shifted from MSC control to Navy commands in 2019, and selected auxiliary ships. These assignments preserve meaningful at-sea command experience, particularly for aviators selected for future carrier command.

The objective is to ensure that aviators selected for carrier command possess not only aviation expertise, but also a comprehensive understanding of ship operations prior to assuming command of a nuclear-powered warship. Having said that, in any decision of this sort, there are winners and losers, and the plain losers in this, in terms of major command billets, are helicopter aviators. 

Conclusion

It is worthy of note that the Navy has tried this before. In the post–Cold War period, particularly during the 1990s and early 2000s, the Navy effectively attempted to phase aviators out of amphibious ship command by increasingly favoring Surface Warfare Officers as amphibious platforms became more maintenance-intensive and aligned with surface warfare competencies. The intent was to concentrate command responsibility with SWOs who were viewed as better suited to long-term material readiness and ship stewardship. However, the effort did not fully take hold because amphibious ships simultaneously evolved into increasingly aviation-centric platforms, especially with the growth of MV-22 and F-35B operations. As a result, the dual-path command structure persisted, and aviators remained integral to amphibious leadership rather than being fully displaced. 

This of course begs the question as to whether this effort will be fully and persistently implemented. Nevertheless, from the perspective of the Navy’s interest in aligning command authority with the primary determinants of amphibious ship readiness and operational availability, it appears to be the right decision for the health of the ships and ability of the Marines to accomplish their mission.

Amphibious ships are to be increasingly treated as surface warfare commands in which long-term material condition, engineering discipline, maintenance execution, and readiness management are the Commanding Officer’s central responsibilities. Aviation remains fully integrated, but is professionally executed through the Air Boss structure, ensuring operational effectiveness without requiring aviator command authority.

The change carries real and acknowledged costs for the Aviation community, particularly among rotary-wing aviators whose command opportunities are reduced. It also reshapes long-standing cross-community pathways at sea.

At the same time, the policy does not diminish the importance of aviation expertise. Rather, it concentrates that expertise where it is operationally most valuable. On aircraft carriers, the Commanding Officer must possess a deep appreciation of what occurs in the cockpit because the carrier exists fundamentally to enable aviation combat power. That is why only aviators command aircraft carriers.

Within the amphibious force, meanwhile, the Air Boss becomes even more important under this new command structure. Particularly aboard LHA and LHD platforms conducting complex MV-22 and F-35B operations, the Air Boss is not a secondary billet but a central warfighting function. The Aviation community must therefore ensure that only top-tier, post-command aviators are assigned to these positions. They must be fully capable of advising—and when necessary, forcefully challenging—a commanding officer who will not inherently possess cockpit-level understanding of aviation timing, risk, and execution.

The Surface Fleet must help maximize the Marine Corps’ ability to execute its mission from the sea. That mission remains the foundation of the amphibious force, and every institutional decision surrounding amphibious command must be judged—without stint or reference to parochialism—against that standard.

Captain Kevin Eyer is a retired Surface Warfare Officer who served on active duty for 27 years. He deployed in seven cruisers and commanded three Aegis cruisers—the USS Thomas S. Gates (CG-51), Shiloh (CG-67), and Chancellorsville (CG-62). He completed tours on both the Navy Staff and Joint Staff and attained a Master of Arts from the Fletcher School of Law and Diplomacy at Tufts University. He was the U.S. Naval Institute Proceedings Author of the Year in 2017, and three-time winner of the Surface Navy Association’s Literary Award.

Featured image: USS Ashland Returns to Naval Base San Diego,” 01 June 2026. (U.S. Navy photo by Petty Officer 2nd Class Aja Campbell)

Commentary

Enduring the Storm: Reflections on the U.S. Navy’s “Fat Leonard” Scandal

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By Rear Admiral Bruce Loveless, U.S. Navy (Ret.)

Heavy Seas

Heavy seas do calm with time. Yet long after headlines fade and public attention moves on, those who endure them continue to feel their weight—professionally, personally, and often in silence.

The Glenn Defense Marine Asia (GDMA) case—widely known as the “Fat Leonard” scandal and the largest corruption case in U.S. Navy history—led to criminal charges against more than 30 uniformed and civilian officials, with lengthy investigations that disrupted hundreds of careers.¹ During that period, I was serving in key operational intelligence roles across the Indo-Pacific and later in senior positions at the Pentagon, making my own experience inseparable from the broader institutional reckoning that followed.

Now largely remembered as a case study in public corruption and accountability, the ordeal was deeply personal for me—a painful and prolonged period of uncertainty that demanded perseverance and tested character in ways I never expected. With recent decisions by a federal appeals court effectively closing the final chapters of the GDMA case, the legal story has reached its conclusion. The human story has not.²

What follows is not an effort to relitigate the case or revisit legal arguments. Rather, it is a personal reflection on what it means to serve, to be accused, and to endure when trust—personal, professional, and public trust—is strained over time.

The Storm

The storm hit long before my very public arrest.

While serving at the Pentagon in the fall of 2013, I was called into a meeting with Department of Justice (DOJ) attorneys and NCIS agents. They asked about Navy port visits from several years earlier, going back to 2005, when I sailed the Western Pacific with the U.S. Seventh Fleet. Within hours, I was suspended from my duties, stripped of security access, and thrust onto the front pages of the national news. The press seemed to have the story beforehand.³

No charges. No explanation. Just suspicion—and years of painful uncertainty followed.

For three years, I lived in that limbo—still a naval officer, still a Flag Officer, still serving my country, but largely sidelined. In the fall of 2016, believing the ordeal had passed, I retired quietly (and honorably) after more than 30 years in the Navy, living and sailing around the world in warships, along with multiple assignments in what may be the most challenging battlefield of all—Washington, DC.

Then in the spring of 2017, without any warning or follow-up from that initial DOJ meeting, I was arrested. Federal agents with handcuffs knocked on my door very early in the morning—armed, but respectful. In NCIS offices at nearby Naval Base San Diego, I sat in a holding room, waiting—the federal jail downtown wasn’t even open that early.

The agents were professional, offering coffee and water. Strangely, they didn’t ask any questions about the case, as if not interested in me for that purpose. One said quietly, almost apologetically, “This will make more sense when you see the news.” The story had already been written.

Later that day in a federal courtroom, I stood shackled, wearing a prison jumpsuit. Another naval officer—also charged—stood nearby in a business suit and tie, clearly given time to prepare, flying in from Hawaii with his attorney. The contrast seemed deliberate. Perception mattered more than fairness in that moment.

That evening the story played on national TV. No trial. No evidence. No defense. Just narrative.

The Endurance

Back home that night, I sent a short email to Tom O’Brien, my brother’s Naval Academy classmate and former U.S. Attorney: “I think I need your help.” He responded immediately. Acknowledging the legal costs ahead would be overwhelming, he said, “These are accounts you’ve already paid into with your service.”

In the days (and years) that followed, the Navy was silent. No official calls. No offers of assistance. I was retired, after all. But many individuals stepped forward: shipmates, Naval Academy classmates, neighbors, and new friends in San Diego. Unexpected allies reached out with quiet strength.

For five years awaiting trial, I chose purpose over despair, completing a PhD by studying senior leaders across business, nonprofit, and public sectors—many shaped by adversity. Study partners kept me focused. Faculty reassured that perseverance would carry me through. Friends nudged me forward, on nearby hiking trails and running paths. Neighbors kept my spirits alive. And my brother, always a role model, was steady and present when I needed him most.

Through research, interviews, and hard miles on mountain trails, my understanding of leadership was rebuilt. For most of my Navy career, leadership largely meant operational excellence and taking care of sailors. But enduring this storm demanded far more. It would take dignity when humiliation felt certain. Perseverance when anger was easier. Grace, even when bitterness seemed justified.

Nearly every morning during the forthcoming trial, a Naval Academy classmate and running partner sent me a short text message—words of encouragement, reminders to keep going. Framed in familiar language—handing me water when needed, helping me find another mile when my legs and heart were tired. His quiet consistency and the loyalty of others like him made the marathon possible.

The Trial

The trial itself didn’t come quickly. Following my arrest, we waited—year after year—as proceedings were delayed. Some co-defendants eventually pleaded guilty. Then COVID caused further delays.

When we finally went to trial in 2022—nearly nine years after that initial DOJ meeting—the federal courtroom in San Diego looked like a different world. We were five defendants on trial together, all naval officers who served in the Seventh Fleet around the same time, and more attorneys than one could count, on both sides of the aisle. Masks covered our faces. Plexiglass divided us. Jurors couldn’t see our facial expressions, nor our humanity.

Why the trial was in a federal court—rather than a military courtroom—was a frequent question. To my understanding, DOJ took jurisdiction because the broader case involved a civilian contractor and alleged violations of federal bribery laws. However, with full respect for civil authority, explaining years of operational context—overseas, over decades, involving port visit interactions with a foreign husbanding agent hired by our Navy—to a civilian jury, understandably unfamiliar with forward-deployed naval operations, proved challenging for all defendants. Even federal prosecutors struggled to present that complexity clearly.

In the middle of what would become a grueling four-month trial, the Judge suspended proceedings to hold a separate evidentiary hearing away from the jury. In a surprising turn, prosecutors took the witness stand and were questioned by defense counsel. The courtroom was packed—with attorneys, observers, even other judges—watching a rare public reckoning unfold. During that hearing, serious flaws in the prosecution’s case—withholding evidence, misrepresenting facts, deceiving the public, and even attempting to bribe witnesses—came to light. Behavior by government prosecutors and investigators that the Judge characterized as “outrageous” and “flagrant misconduct.”⁴

While that moment felt like a turning point in the case, the Judge denied several motions for a mistrial. So, after months of testimony and weeks of deliberation, the jury ultimately returned mixed verdicts. For me, the jury could not reach a decision—a hung jury—while the other four defendants were convicted on all charges (felony convictions later reduced to misdemeanors). Soon after the trial, the DOJ prosecutors themselves requested that all charges against me be dismissed (with prejudice), and the Judge agreed, bringing my legal ordeal to an end, nearly a decade after the investigation began.⁵

But that didn’t end the scrutiny, for the scars—personal, professional, and reputational—remain. And the cloud of distrust lingers.

Hard Truths

The Fat Leonard scandal was built on a story—partly true, often exaggerated—driven by a con man and too readily accepted by government prosecutors and a press eager for headlines. In my view, major media outlets, especially The Washington Post, relied too heavily on the prosecution-provided narrative, repeating sensationalized claims without nuance.6 Some even suggested I had traded military secrets—yet no charge ever alleged such a thing. Complexity rarely fits into headlines.

The Navy, bound by lawful authority, largely remained silent. In many ways, I understood that—for I was one of them, and they were me. With a major federal investigation and heavy public scrutiny, there was little space for Navy leadership to act differently. In the face of prosecutorial overreach and intense media coverage, the narrative became one-sided, and sometimes deeply misleading.

Even now, I struggle to believe that most of those in uniform who were charged truly understood that Francis was defrauding the government. In hindsight, it seems unlikely he would have wanted them to know—exposure would have jeopardized his scheme. Indeed, trial evidence showed he deliberately concealed his fraudulent actions, especially from senior officers. As the Judge pointedly told the lead prosecutor during the trial (though away from the jury): “I’m not buying it…to be part of a conspiracy, you have to know what’s going on.” Yes, there were serious lapses in judgment and troubling ethical failings, for sure. But whether those amounted to felony-level crimes is, in many cases, a far more complex legal question.

In the end, all of my charges (bribery, conspiracy, and fraud) were dismissed at DOJ’s request after years of investigation, months of trial, and a hung jury—where I was the only defendant the jury refused to convict. My charges were not dismissed because of prosecutorial misconduct, nor did it end on a technicality, as some still mistakenly believe. It ended because the prosecution failed to prove its claims against me before a jury at trial. Unlike all others charged, I was not accused of direct criminal wrongdoing, but of failing to report the alleged misconduct of others. In essence, I was accused of looking the other way. That allegation collapsed under scrutiny because the evidence was insufficient to convince the jury—and it simply wasn’t true.

Still, deeper reflection includes what I could have done differently. I wish I had kept greater distance from Francis—of course I do in hindsight—and I know many others feel the same. As the U.S. Navy’s primary husbanding agent in the Western Pacific for decades, his company (GDMA) was not viewed with enough suspicion by us, at least not back then. Naively, we placed a great deal of trust in the people and systems around us, assuming the processes responsible for vetting and hiring Navy contractors would shield us from bad actors, especially those we relied on so directly to meet critical operational needs.

Likewise, through this unfamiliar legal journey, I mistakenly believed that government prosecutors and agents would uphold the highest standards of justice and professional conduct—at least I did before this horrific experience. Those assumptions, as it turned out, were dangerously misplaced.

Even without criminal guilt, some regret remains, for not recognizing the criminality of the situation—with Francis or anyone else for that matter. And a sense of responsibility lingers, believing that if I had known, I would have spoken up, somehow, someway. Silence, even unknowing, contributes to failure.

Hard truths are never easy, but they teach.

Enduring Trust

The Navy remains an institution I love. Its ideals—honor, courage, commitment—still mean as much to me today as they did when I first took the Oath during Plebe Summer in 1982. Enduring the Fat Leonard scandal tested those ideals beyond anything I ever imagined. It also made them more real.

Character isn’t forged in calm seas; it’s revealed in crisis—we know that. Even more so when everything falls apart, when your professional life ends abruptly, when your personal life is shattered, when you’re afraid. Enduring this storm was made possible because others stood beside me—shipmates, friends, family—who refused to walk away.

I am better because I endured—because I came to understand the deeper strength that comes when character is tested. Under great strain, I chose dignity over anger, perseverance over bitterness, grace over grievance. And in the end, I chose resilience over defeat. Growth is a choice.

The foundation of character—and leadership—is trust. Trust is fragile and must be earned—every day, in every challenge, through every trial—seen and unseen. My greatest hope remains, not only to be trusted, but to continue to live and lead in a trustworthy way.

Bruce Loveless is a retired U.S. Navy Rear Admiral who served more than 30 years as a naval intelligence officer. He is a graduate of the U.S. Naval Academy and holds a PhD in Leadership Studies from the University of San Diego.

References

  1. S. Department of Justice, press releases and case summaries concerning the Glenn Defense Marine Asia corruption investigation, 2013–2024. See, for example: https://www.justice.gov/criminal-fraud/glenn-defense-marine-asia
  2. Greg Moran, “After more than a decade, the Fat Leonard scandal may finally be over — but not for everyone,” inewsource, December 29, 2025, https://inewsource.org/2025/12/29/fat-leonard-navy-case-san-diego-questions/.
  3. National media reporting on the “Fat Leonard” scandal, 2013–2024. Representative coverage in The New York Times: https://www.nytimes.com/2013/11/09/us/bribery-case-implicates-2-admirals.html
  4. Federal court proceedings and related public reporting addressing prosecutorial misconduct and evidentiary issues in GDMA-related cases, 2020–2023. See, for example: https://www.sandiegouniontribune.com/2023/09/06/felony-convictions-vacated-for-4-former-navy-officers-in-sprawling-fat-leonard-bribery-scandal/
  5. United States v. Loveless, U.S. District Court for the Southern District of California, case filings and dismissal order. Public docket available via PACER: https://pacer.uscourts.gov and also at: https://news.usni.org/2022/09/15/charges-dropped-against-retired-rear-adm-bruce-loveless-in-fat-leonard-case
  6. National media reporting on the “Fat Leonard” scandal, 2013–2024. Representative coverage in The Washington Post: https://www.washingtonpost.com/investigations/leaks-feasts-and-sex-parties-how-fat-leonard-infiltrated-the-navys-floating-headquarters-in-asia/2018/01/23/4d31555c-efdd-11e7-97bf-bba379b809ab_story.html

Featured image: Statue of lady justice holding scales indoors. (Open source photo by Albert Stoynov)

History

What We Can Learn from the Rickover Papers

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By Claude Berube, PhD

With nearly a dozen biographies, countless articles, and word-of-mouth stories, Admiral Hyman G. Rickover may be the most written- or talked-about flag officer in US naval history. Can we still learn anything about the man, what he did, or why he did it? Beginning in the 1950s, many authors and publishers approached Rickover about a biography or autobiography – Simon & Schuster, Harper & Row, Naval Institute Press, etc. He rejected them all, wryly noting that “autobiography is only to be trusted when it reveals something disgraceful. A man who gives a good account of himself is probably lying, since life when viewed from the inside is simply a series of defeats.” Dr. Francis Duncan, a historian working for Atomic Energy Commission, eventually wrote two authorized biographies based on more than a decade with Rickover, as recorded in copious notes. Duncan also had the advantage of having access to the most substantive collection of Rickover papers. Rickover was a master of shaping his image; consequently, an authorized, contracted biography with Duncan offered the best opportunity for him to manage that story.

Historian Barbara Tuchman wrote that historians should use primary sources only because secondary sources have already been pre-selected and that one should read two or three versions of any episode to account for bias. Such is the case with every Rickover biography. When in 1983 a columnist from The Washington Post asked Rickover to write a biography, the Admiral explained that he had already compiled volumes of his thoughts and reflections on various subjects over the years and that he did not want to condense them into a book. However, he did allow that perhaps someone else may decide to do that someday. That was what Duncan had access to and is now finally available to researchers.

Retained in Rickover’s Arlington condominium until his second wife Eleonore’s passing in 2021, the collection was bequeathed by her to the US Naval Academy. They were then catalogued and made available in the Nimitz Library’s Special Collections and Archives. Rickover’s papers include personal correspondence, memoranda from meetings with journalists, congressmen, admirals, and presidents, as well as transcripts of telephone conversations and the famed interviews with applicants of the nuclear program. This totals approximately 250 archival boxes, arguably one of the largest collections of any U.S. naval officer.

Perhaps the most insightful and significant papers are the daily letters to and from his first wife Ruth in the decade leading up to the Second World War. This is the real education of Hyman G. Rickover – researchers will learn how he shaped himself and, more importantly, how he was influenced by Ruth.

Researchers will find plenty on the recommendations and behind-the-scenes decision-making of major programs throughout the Cold War, all thanks to Rickover who left such incredibly detailed records. The papers will confirm the mythology and stories about Rickover all these years; but it will also surprise many people. There are other aspects to the man and the officer.

He received thousands of fan mail letters from home and abroad. He was as likely to get a note of thanks from a teacher in Chicago, a student in San Francisco, or a young adult in Ghana, as he would from a member of the Senate Armed Services Committee or president of a major corporation. He was recognizable – he was, for example, one of the few Navy admirals to grace the cover of Time magazine after World War Two and television talk shows sought him out because of his outspokenness and appeal to the broader public.

Rickover’s wide-ranging contacts and interests are reflected in his Rolodex. Contact cards for influential economists John Galbraith (top left) and Milton Friedman (top right) are shown with an entry for the 1981 film Das Boot (bottom).

Rickover succeeded by his intellect. He was driven by curiosity and learning what he did not know. He was a voracious reader even on his early ships and submarines trying to understand the world around him. Among those literally thousands of works were Michael Ossorgin’s Quiet Street, Captain Robert Scott’s letters on his voyage of discovery to the South Pole, Boris Pilnyak’s The Volga Falls to the Caspian Sea, Karl Marx’s Das Capital, and Adolph Hitler’s Mein Kampf. Readers may be surprised that Rickover, a Polish-Jewish emigre, would read this notorious work, however the answer may lie in the fact that Rickover read articles and books not to agree with them but to understand the ideas shaping the world both negatively and positively. Another factor may have been understanding his first wife Ruth’s country of origin better and communicating with her as he saw her as not an intellectual equal but his intellectual superior. Rickover, never one to do anything by halves, taught himself German in order to translate a book on U-Boat tactics.

He faced personal challenges. He was self-aware enough as a junior officer that he could admit to his young wife Ruth his sudden fits of depression and despair and being tormented by the “slough of despond.” He later admitted to his official biographer that he suffered from an inferiority complex. Perhaps these were simply part of what drove him to succeed and surpass his peers in some ways.

Admiral Rickover meets with President Kennedy. (Photo via JFK presidential library and museum)

Rickover held integrity as one of the highest character traits. He could not be compromised. During a meeting with his friend the British Lord Mountbatten, Rickover was offered a knighthood in exchange for an agreement on submarine information, resulting in Rickover returning to the dining room his face “pale with anger.” On their way home, he told his second wife Eleanore the story and concluded with, “Can you believe he didn’t know me any better than this – that I would fall for a knighthood?” True to Eleonore’s nature, she responded, “But I’ll always be a Lady.”

He challenged elitism everywhere – the Navy, large defense contractors, economic classes – likely because he had risen from a childhood of such poverty that his mother could only afford an orange once a year in Poland. He was acutely aware of his role and his destiny in the Navy, not simply as Hyman Rickover, but as someone who had arrived in the United States with nothing and whose religious background might have been an impediment at the time. As he told his biographer and preserved in countless notes made by Duncan, “My job, as I saw it, was to struggle through to the greatest accomplishment of which I was capable, ignoring, as far as possible, my Jewishness. This is not to say that I denied it. What I denied was the power it had to limit self-development, to force me to act humbly, rather than arrogantly, to suffer.”

No factor contributed more to enabling Rickover’s successful career than Congress. A student of history, he realized that the Royal Navy’s Admiral Sir Jackie Fisher made political connections as a young officer and, consequently, it was easier for him to make reforms, a discussion that occurred between Rickover and his friend Lord Mountbatten. He knew how to cultivate support among members – by giving them the information they asked for and having a reputation for efficiency. He was idolized and befriended by members of Congress. Over the course of four decades, he testified before congressional committees more than two hundred times – a record likely unsurpassed by any military officer or civilian.

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Rickover spoke to them in hearings, and in personal conversations, in ways no other military officer could or would dare. He was honest, direct, and, yes, he could entertain them with his sharp wit even in a hearing that would never occur in the 21st century. They loved him for it. They respected his technical expertise, but they also expected and valued his candor. For some, he became their friend “Rick.” Rickover notes attending DC plays with Senator Scoop Jackson and their wives or dining at the home of House Appropriations Chairman Clarence Cannon who played the piano for him. Rickover’s influence, reputation, and relationships with senior congressional leaders was such that he would be called to answer off the record questions or when some members needed help. In one case, Congressman Charles Price wanted to see House Appropriations Chairman Cannon who was not seeing anyone. Price appealed to Rickover to intervene. Cannon, upon Rickover’s request, acceded and met with Price. And it was an intervention by Congress, not the Navy, which would promote him to flag rank.

In his early years as an admiral, the Navy brass and a Secretary of Defense tried to temper Rickover’s influence with Congress to no avail. As one admiral noted after a conference in Monterey of flag officers on the Rickover problem, “there isn’t a damn thing we can do to him or about him, because he’s got the Congress on his side, and we’d just better live with it.”

Most in the U.S. Navy’s submarine community have heard the stories of the famous Rickover interviews, where he would place the midshipmen in uncomfortable situations or berate them to determine how they could respond to adversity, but now aside from the experiences of those young midshipmen, we now have concrete evidence. Actual transcripts of many of those interviews exist in this collection. His reputation was cemented by the famed “interviews” of midshipmen applying – or in many cases told to apply – to the nuclear reactor program. Rickover required some candidates to have their parents or fiancées write letters on their behalf understanding why the midshipman would have to sacrifice time away from them (again, the letters of which are in this collection). Perhaps it was because the Navy had refused Rickover’s own request as a junior officer for a specific billet to accommodate Ruth in her career.

A partial transcript of an interview between Rickover and a nuclear power program candidate.

The interviews, as well as his speeches and memos, make it clear that though he was involved with and promoted technology, he placed a higher value on the humanities. As he questioned the midshipmen, he would discuss history, philosophy, religion, and management and not their technical skills. He writes that he can train anyone for the nuclear program but they had to be able to think and the humanities offered the best grounding for those future officers.

Rickover gave and wrote hundreds of speeches. His first known speech was in 1931 on the topic of the World Court to the Portsmouth, New Hampshire Kiwanis Club. Later that decade he spoke to technical organizations. His speech to a wider audience, “The Importance of Education in the Advancement of our National Resources,” occurred in 1953. Soon after, he was frequently invited to speak to a variety of organizations domestically and internationally. Rickover’s speeches were a breadth of practical, philosophical, and governmental issues: “Thoughts on Man’s Purpose in Life,” “Competency Based Education,” “The Decline of the Individual,” “An Effective National Defense,” “The Meaning of a University,” “Liberty, Science & the Law,” and “A Humanistic Technology” are just a few. On average, he gave at least one speech monthly. Education would be his obsession – in addition to the nuclear navy which he saw as inextricably intertwined.

Retired Vice Admiral Hyman G. Rickover prepares to enter the nuclear-powered attack submarine USS Hyman G. Rickover (SSN 709) for a tour at the conclusion of the ship’s commissioning ceremony. (Photo via U.S. National Archives)

He could be curt, rude, and abusive to officer candidates for the nuclear power program, to the point where the Chief of Naval Operations gently asked him to reconsider his methods. On the other hand, the papers show he could engender such loyalty from his technical and administrative staff that many stayed with him throughout his tenure as he fathered the nuclear navy for three decades. The internal office memos written by Rickover to his staff or his sharp wit to Senators and Members of Congress during congressional hearings are insightful.

People are often more complex than perceptions. The papers clearly demonstrate that Rickover had an unexpected compassionate streak. He helped his staff when they needed to move to a new assignment and would loan them money to purchase a new home; he voraciously wrote get well notes to people he knew, especially if they were children of friends. All the money he made from speeches, articles and books was donated to charities such as orphanages, disabled children societies, CARE, etc. In Shanghai as the Japanese invade China, Rickover stopped to tend to the poor and dying on the streets. One letter is from a young boy named Hyman from California taunted at school for his name and was told by his mother that there was an admiral with the same name. Rickover responded to him, explained to him the history of the name, and gave him advice. In all of this collection, Rickover only signed “H.G. Rickover,” except in this case where his empathy led him to sign his name, “Hyman Rickover.”

These papers represent a new era for understanding Rickover, the Navy, and the nation. These papers should eventually be made public so that Rickover might be known on his own terms and uncensored, even decades after his death. There is more work to be done, and I hope some historians will explore those papers. There are dozens of books to be written and, perhaps someday, a full transcription of all these papers will be completed.

Claude Berube, PhD, is a history professor at the US Naval Academy and former director of the Naval Academy Museum. He and archivist Samuel Limneos edited a volume of a portion of the Rickover papers, Rickover Uncensored, published in October 2023.

Featured Image: Admiral Hyman Rickover. (Photo via Naval History and Heritage Command)

Book Review

The Secret Ingredients of “Collaborative Leadership”

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Weisbrode, Kenneth. Eisenhower and the Art of Collaborative Leadership. New York City, St. Martin’s Press, 2018, 110 pp. $79.955.

Weisbrode – The Art of Collaborative Leadership

By Erik Sand

When Dwight Eisenhower assumed command of Allied forces in Europe in early 1943, he faced a daunting task. Not only did he need to prepare to assault the vaunted Germany army, but he faced a complicated set of command relationships. His three subordinates, Harold Alexander, Arthur Tedder, and Andrew Cunningham, were all British officers. Two of the three were from different services. Moreover, they all outranked him! Later in his life, Eisenhower would define leadership as “the art of getting someone else to do something that you want done because he wants to do it, not because your position of power can compel him to do it, or your position of authority.” Eisenhower’s allied command would test, if not forge, this philosophy. In Eisenhower and the Art of Collaborative Leadership, author Kenneth Weisbrode describes Eisenhower’s leadership style both as an Army officer, and later as president.

Two traits stand out in supporting Ike’s “Collaborative Leadership” – his capacity for empathy and his self-discipline. As a middle child in a large family, Eisenhower grew up needing to recognize, adapt to, and shape the feelings of others. In command, he applied these skills. He sometimes reworded messages to subordinates to ensure they had generous interpretations. He spent time in informal conversations with his subordinates outside of meetings to better understand their perspective. As Weisbrode notes, empathy is “not easy in asymmetrical relationships: for the senior there is every incentive to dismiss the views of the less powerful and to get on with things; for the junior there is often thus every incentive to feel undervalued to begrudge this.” The difficulty of displaying empathy highlights the second theme: the importance of personal discipline to Eisenhower’s leadership.

Ike’s particular forte was leading, and keeping together, alliances. Yet, he often complained about exactly that process. In 1942 he wrote in his journal, “My God, how I hate to work by any method that forces me to depend on someone else.” Later he wrote, “What a headache this combined stuff is. We spend our time figuring out how to keep from getting in each other’s way rather than in how to fight the war.” Historians have called Ike’s leadership as president “the hidden hand.” He carefully chose his moments of intervention in discussions so as not to influence them too early, even though he had frequently already thought through the issue at hand. Even his apparently offhand remarks often were not. To so carefully control his own behavior, as well as to excel in work he found frustrating, required immense self-discipline. Perhaps this combination helps explain why, when it flared, his temper was so famous.

While Eisenhower’s understanding of leadership is simple to state, implementing it is less straightforward. The naval service could gain by discussing both of empathy and self-discipline more explicitly in discussions of leadership. We speak of “knowing our people,” but rarely of having empathy for them. The two are similar, but not the same. Empathy requires sensing and understanding the emotions of the other party. Perhaps our general discomfort with emotions explains why we avoid a term that highlights them.

Discipline forms the foundation of any naval organization, but we do not often explicitly acknowledge the challenge of self-discipline. Even Weisbrode does not explicitly speak to the issue despite its frequent appearance in his descriptions. Few people will point out their leader’s failings directly until it is too late. Often, the discipline required is not to restrain oneself from misconduct, but from excessive intervention in the affairs of subordinates. The challenge becomes greater as leaders rise in the ranks, the temptations of authority grow stronger, and they become more confident in their own opinions. A leader’s discipline must be self-discipline.

In summary, while occasionally difficult to follow as it shifts between Eisenhower’s experiences and actions and the philosophy of friendship and leadership, Weisbrode’s short 93-page text provides a leadership study that focuses on less-commonly discussed leadership traits as displayed by one of America’s greatest leaders.

Erik Sand is a Lieutenant Commander in the Navy Reserve and a PhD candidate in the MIT Security Studies Program. The views expressed here do not represent those of U.S. Government, the Department of Defense, or the U.S. Navy.

Featured Image: 01/10/1944-Algiers: Prime Minister Winston Churchill,shown here w/ some of the ‘boys’, is smiling for the camera for the first time since his recent illness and donned his famous siren suit and a colorful dressing gown for the occasion. From left to right: General J.F.M. Whitely Air Marshal Sir Arthur W.Tedder, Deputy Commander of the Allied Forces in the European Theater; Admiral Cunningham; Gen.Dwight D.Eisenhower; Gen. Harold Alexander; Prime Minister Churchill; Lt.Gen.Sir Humprey Gale, Gen. Sir Henry Wilson and Gen. Smith.