Seawolf Mask of Command (10 page)

“As soon as possible. This must be your priority. Nothing else matters.”

Choi considered the possible reason for such a rash order. There were currently four rockets available for further tests, and there would be no more anytime soon. To waste even one was unthinkable. Their latest rocket tests had helped ratchet up tension on the peninsula, and Choi was well aware that war was a real possibility. Further tests might push the Americans, the Japanese or the South Koreans to launch a preemptive strike. Choi no longer feared death for himself, but he knew war would lead to even greater misery for his people. The illusion he had lived under about the North’s invulnerability had been dispelled years earlier, and he was only too aware of his nation’s backwardness.

“It will be difficult to prepare another rocket without American surveillance detecting our activities,” Choi pointed out. Such concerns had always been taken into account in the past. The Americans maintained dedicated spy satellites in geosynchronous orbit above North Korea and would see every move made at Musudan-ri.

“That is no longer a concern. In fact, quite the opposite.”

Choi continued walking but turned his significant intellect to the general’s comment. He considered many possible explanations for such recklessness. Certainly there’d been many occasions when the regime had thumbed its nose at the world community, but to tempt the wrath of the western powers was—at the very least—foolish. Choi wondered what his nation might possibly gain by such a move.

“Doctor?” the general asked after several seconds of silence.

“Are you sure this is wise?” He quickly added, “The rockets are in no condition to be used against our enemies.”

“You have your orders, Comrade Doctor.”

It made no sense. To antagonize the Americans was foolish. They’d shown their willingness to unleash their military on Iraq and Afghanistan. Choi felt he understood the power arrayed against his tiny nation better than most. Despite his leader’s bluster, the United States could destroy his tiny country easily. Certainly he never expected the regime to simply comply with the West’s desires, but to provoke an attack seemed the height of irrationality. He was a scientist. An engineer. His world was a precisely ordered place of precise angles and clear answers to complex problems. But there was no simple explanation for what the general was suggesting.

“Why?” he asked, doing something he knew he wasn’t supposed to do. “What can we gain by wasting our rockets in a futile display of our incapability?”

The general looked back over his shoulder, making certain the two handlers were out of earshot. “Your lack of faith in the Leader is disturbing, my old friend,” the general admitted softly. They had never been friends, but Choi didn’t point this out; instead, he listened. “We must maintain the illusion of progress here,” the general confided in a soft whisper.

This only added to the confusion Choi felt. “But surely you understand, our rockets are not yet capable of offensive use. The nose cone is ballistic, but unless there has been some breakthrough by our nuclear engineers, we couldn’t hope to deploy a warhead. Our guidance system is severely flawed and…”

The general patted him comfortingly on the shoulder. “Trust in the Leader, Comrade. The Americans are fools.”

“But none of it makes any sense,” Choi finally said in frustration, afraid for his country. “The Americans will not just sit idly by while we make overt preparations for war.”

To his surprise, the general’s expression changed to one of satisfaction. They reached the end of the road Choi walked along each night, and the general again patted Choi’s shoulder reassuringly. “Precisely.”

Wardroom, USS Seawolf

K
risten knew she would regret not taking at least a short power nap before returning to the submarine for the customary morning officers’ meeting. The meeting was held in the wardroom, which served as a combination dining hall, conference room, and recreation center for the officers on board. Rectangular in shape, a large table was the centerpiece with enough chairs for the
Seawolf’s
fifteen assigned officers plus a few guests. The bulkheads were covered in fake wood paneling and the floor in blue tile. In one corner was a credenza packed with assorted junk food, a microwave, and a coffee pot. Another wall was covered in bookshelves filled with manuals she could use to help study for her exams. Near the head of the table, where the captain’s chair was waiting empty, was a pair of ship’s phones, a 1MC speaker, and microphone. Plus there was an Integrated Augmentation Display (IAD) that, when active, displayed important ship’s information such as course, depth, and speed. A television and DVD combination was mounted in a corner just below the perfunctory pipes, wiring, and duct work that were visible everywhere on board. On the remaining wall was an interactive SMART Board connected to a computer that could be used for briefings.

Kristen arrived for the meeting early, having showered and changed at her barracks before rushing back to the submarine to begin studying for her qualifications. She took a seat away from where the captain would sit, assuming the officers would be seated by seniority, leaving her at the far end of the table. The wardroom was empty, and she hoped to have an hour of uninterrupted study time.

After thirty minutes however, she was interrupted as Gibbs, the mess steward, stepped through a swinging door that led to the galley. She looked up as he entered.

“Good morning, ma’am,” he greeted her with a cheerful expression and rubbed his hands together in a hint of excitement. “I didn’t expect anyone in this early; can I get you anything?”

Kristen was starving, having missed dinner the previous evening. She’d been tempted by the candy bars in the credenza but had resisted in hopes of something more substantial. “What’s for breakfast, Mister Gibbs?” she asked recalling how the captain used “mister” whenever he spoke to any enlisted man except COB, whom he called “Spike.” However, she noticed no one else on board dared refer to COB by the nickname.

“We have eggs to order, pancakes, waffles, assorted cereals, juices, pastries, fruit… whatever you want, ma’am,” he said, clearly anxious to please.

It all sounded good at the moment, and Kristen considered a chocolate covered doughnut, but fought off her chocolate craving and answered, “How about some scrambled eggs, toast, and juice.”

“Coming right up,” he responded excitedly.

She watched as the overanxious steward nearly pirouetted before returning to the galley. Kristen pondered the slightly eccentric petty officer, wondering if anyone on board besides her realized he was gay. She didn’t believe most men noticed such things, not that Kristen could care less herself, but she knew some might hold the man’s sexual preference against him. She briefly considered the captain.

Did he know?

Kristen dismissed the useless speculation and forced discipline back into her thoughts as she continued studying. But within a minute, Gibbs returned carrying, of all things, a tea service. He set it down and immediately began pouring tea. Kristen was taken slightly aback. She’d just mentioned that she preferred tea to the captain the previous afternoon, and now Gibbs was standing beside her asking if she liked milk in her tea.

“I know some people take it that way,” he explained.

“Yes,” she replied feeling a little punchy. “Just a splash.”

“I hope Earl Grey is okay,” he said to her as he poured. “I also have herbal tea, Darjeeling, three different pekoes, green tea, black—”

Kristen put a hand on his arm to stop him. “I get it, Mister Gibbs,” she told him. Then, realizing she might have found a friend among the crew, she let her cold veneer slip and allowed a smile of gratitude to cross her face. “You have a plethora of tea. Thank you, Earl Grey will be just wonderful.”

“I’ll leave the pot, Miss. You look like you could use a little pick me up.”

“That bad?” she asked, hoping her exhaustion wasn’t showing yet.

He cringed and screwed up his face slightly as if to apologize. “Sorry ma’am, but you need to learn that around here sleep is a valuable commodity. You should never miss a chance to get some.”

“I’ll keep it in mind.” She took a sip of tea. It was like sweet nectar. “Aaahhh,” she let out a sigh of approval, much to Gibbs’ pleasure. He departed to finish preparing her breakfast.

Kristen pondered the meaning of her mentioning she preferred tea, and Gibbs suddenly having a complete tea service plus a variety of teas. Obviously the captain had ordered him to get it after their conversation, and she wondered if he was as thoughtful for all of his officers or was just trying to make her feel as welcome as possible. She considered other motives, each more sinister, but she finally dismissed the useless speculation and returned to her studies.

Gibbs returned five minutes later with a plate filled with eggs, three strips of bacon, and toast. Plus he brought an assortment of jellies, peanut butter, salt, pepper, and Tabasco sauce. “The captain pours Tabasco on everything, even his eggs,” Gibbs explained as he set everything on the table before her. His face showed his disapproval, as he continued talking while he laid out her silverware. “Disgusting I know, but I gave up trying to fix him years ago.”

“How long have you been with the captain?”

“Three years and nine months,” he answered with a hint of pride. “I came on as his steward when he first took command.”

“And do you always make certain his officers have their particular favorites?” she asked as she raised her teacup.

Gibbs nodded as he stepped back from her, wiping his hands on a dish rag. “Oh, yes,” he explained, his mannerisms slightly animated. “The XO has to have his chocolate covered doughnuts with sprinkles every morning, the chief engineer likes grapefruit juice… although these days he needs some prune juice I suspect….”

Kristen cut him off before he said more. “I get the picture, Mister Gibbs,” she said, thankful for the tea. “Everything looks perfect, thank you.”

“If you need anything, I’ll be in the galley. Just give a shout,” he offered earnestly.

Kristen ate as she studied, drinking several cups of tea before being disturbed again as the XO appeared, entering through the only other door to the wardroom. Kristen had a mouthful of toast and jelly, but came to her feet, trying to swallow so she might greet him properly. But the tall, slender African American raised a hand to stop her.

“At ease, Lieutenant,” he told her. “We aren’t so formal here in the wardroom. Sit down and finish your breakfast.”

Kristen choked down her food as she resumed her seat. “Good morning, sir,” she managed before washing the rest of her food down with another mouthful of tea.

He nodded in reply as he stepped past her toward the coffee pot. “How was your evening?”

“Fine, sir. And yours?”

He poured some coffee into a mug and then grimaced as he took a sip. It had come out of the pot thick as hot tar. “Not bad,” he answered. “I won twenty bucks on the Lakers.” He then took a seat near the head of the table next to where the captain would eventually sit.

Kristen had no intention of disturbing him further as he opened up a metal clipboard containing the evening’s communications. It was called the “read board” and there were several varieties depending on the level of classification. By the warning on the cover of the clipboard she could see that he was reading the Top Secret message traffic.

Gibbs swept in a moment later with two plates of food for the XO, including one with three doughnuts.

“Good morning, Commander,” he greeted with a perky grin. “I hope you’re hungry this morning, sir.”

“Good morning, Mister Gibbs,” Graves replied without looking up. “Anything happen last night?”

Kristen listened as Gibbs recited nearly verbatim the handful of incidents reported in the ship’s log. Two sailors had been returned to the
Seawolf
after having gotten into an altercation at the enlisted club. Another seaman had cut himself in the torpedo room and had received eleven stitches. Once this morning ritual was over, Gibbs returned to the galley where Kristen noticed him peeking into the wardroom through a small, circular window in the door every few minutes.

She resumed reading as she finished her breakfast, still a little hungry and occasionally glancing over at the XO’s plate where he still had a single doughnut waiting that seemed to be calling to her. Or, more specifically, calling to her hips where she was certain the doughnut would end up if she ate it. She summoned her will power as Gibbs returned and cleared away her dishes.

“Is there anything else I can get you, ma’am?” he asked, a hint of knowing in his voice.

She glanced up at him innocently, but he responded with a wink. “Coming right up,” he confided conspiratorially and left, only to return a minute later with a chocolate covered doughnut with sprinkles.

Kristen finished her meal, and with her hunger now satiated, and her chocolate craving once more under control, she focused her energy on her manuals.

Jason Graves looked up from the classified read board, not pleased with what was happening in North Korea. It seemed that just when he thought everything was okay with the world, North Korea, Iran, Pakistan or some other place began stirring up trouble and causing a panic in Washington. He closed the read board and got up to refill his coffee cup.