Seawolf Mask of Command (19 page)

“See what?”

“They’re scared,” Brodie concluded referring to Schaffer and his superiors back in Washington, “and people seldom make sound decisions when they’re afraid.”

Hayes wished he knew Brodie’s orders. He hated being in the dark. “Are you questioning your orders?”

“You’re damn right I am,” Brodie admitted with his characteristic bluntness. “This mission has desperation written all over it.”

Could this be used as an excuse to relieve Brodie? Hayes didn’t think so. The Navy, at least in principle, wanted officers to have the moral courage to question their superiors. And although Hayes might not like the unconventional captain, there was no denying that Brodie was no yes-man.

Hayes relented. Brodie had less than a week. If he didn’t make it, he would be relieved and his career over. Although Hayes would have liked few things more than being the one to relieve Brodie, he wanted to see the
Seawolf
ready, even if it was simply to prevent any more embarrassment to the squadron. “Very well, Sean. How can I help?”

Brodie was still angry, but kept it in check, “If you want an update on our readiness, I can e-mail you a report as many times a day as you like. But every time I’m dragged up here for another briefing or to provide another update, it’s time I could better spend getting her ready.”

Hayes knew Brodie had a point. There’d been multiple briefings, mostly of a classified nature, that Hayes hadn’t been allowed to attend, which—he had to admit—scared him a bit. Just what was the
Seawolf
heading into? Hayes could only guess.

“All right, Sean. I expect a report by 0800 every morning and another update by 1600. But, I can’t control the CIA wanting to brief you on the latest intelligence regarding your assignment.”

“Thank you, Commodore,” Brodie said in a tone more respectful than he’d used at any time while talking with Schaffer.

They were quiet for a few seconds, each man considering all that had transpired. Hayes then asked, “Is there anything you can tell me about it?”

Brodie shook his head, “Sorry, Commodore. But trust me on this, you’ll sleep better not knowing.”

Wardroom, USS Seawolf

K
risten spent the rest of the day in the diesel room. It was deep in the bowels of the sub, most crewmen never went down there, and she needed to spend more time studying the machinery there anyway. At Gibbs’ urging, she kept ice on her cheek, hoping to prevent too much swelling. Plus, the sub’s Independent Duty Corpsman—the military equivalent to a nurse practitioner—had checked her out and had informed her she’d be all right.

“But you’re gonna have one hell of a black eye,” he concluded.

She managed to go the rest of the day and night without bumping into Brodie. But come morning, when she looked in the mirror, she was loathe to discover that the corpsman had been correct. Her left eye was nearly swollen shut, and the skin from her cheek to her temple was black and blue. Kristen didn’t wear make-up. She never had, even when she’d been a teenager and dealing with an awkward stage that had lasted seemingly forever. So she had nothing with which to cover up the worst of the bruising.

She returned to the
Seawolf
as usual, not sure how she might hide her face from the captain during the regular morning meeting, and she couldn’t just skip it. But she positioned herself in her usual spot early at the wardroom table. From there, only her right side faced the captain, and she hoped she might be able to avoid looking directly at him. It was a long shot, but with all that was going on, she hoped he would be too busy with more important matters and skip the usual morning routine.

The XO arrived at 0730 as was normal. Kristen hoped to test her theory on him. But no sooner had she greeted him, he asked, “How’s the eye?”

“It’s okay, sir,” she replied fearing COB was right. She’d never hide it from the captain.

Graves paused in front of her and winced slightly. “It doesn’t look okay,” he pointed out but said no more on the matter. He filled a coffee mug and took his usual seat and began reading the classified message board. Kristen had already read it and hoped the growing trouble in Korea might help deflect some of the attention away from her black eye.

North Korea had just completed another round of long-range missile tests, much to the chagrin of the United States and the world community. There had been an attempt to impress even stricter economic sanctions on the secretive rogue state, but Russia and China had blocked any serious UN sanctions, and the North Koreans were reportedly preparing another nuclear weapons test.

Just what the
Seawolf’s
mission might be was still a mystery. Kristen wasn’t privy to their orders, but everyone onboard assumed it had something to do with the growing tension on the Korean Peninsula. Since coming on board, she’d gained some inkling about what they might be getting into. Upon arrival, the forward crew hatch had been covered by a portable work shelter. The entire area around the forward escape trunk had been off limits, but Kristen had learned that engineers had been working around the clock to modify the original ship’s hatch, with a new hatch capable of mating with a Dry Deck Shelter for a SEAL Deliver Vehicle.

The Dry Deck Shelter (DDS) was designed to mate with a mother submarine, connecting to the sub’s own air and power supply. Inside the DDS was a mini submarine called a SEAL Delivery Vehicle, or SDV. These small, stealthy submarines, could deliver a six-man SEAL team places a regular submarine could never go. The fact that the
Seawolf
was having this emergency modification, and that it was being kept secret, couldn’t be coincidental she decided. It had to do with whatever their upcoming mission was. Most of the crew were unaware of the modification, and the only reason Kristen knew about it was because the flying squad had been assigned to handle the routing of new power and duct work to the area to support a DDS if installed.

Her fellow officers arrived and engaged in the usual banter while they sipped coffee, munched on doughnuts, and waited for the captain. Terry saw her first thing and took a seat across from her, studying her face with concern. “That looks ugly,” he admitted.

Kristen was studying one of the dozens of technical manuals from the wardroom bookshelves. She glanced up at him. “You’re a real charmer,” she replied dryly. “Always a kind word for the ladies.”

“Does it hurt bad?”

“Only when I laugh,” she explained and then motioned toward the collar of his coveralls. “You have a bit of lipstick there, Terry.”

As usual, Gibbs delivered her and the XO breakfast. For the rest of the officers present, he delivered coffee. The steward lingered over her more than usual, almost fawning. She appreciated his concern for her, but didn’t want any more attention than her bruised face had already brought.

At precisely half past eight, the captain came in. He carried his usual legal pad, a couple of pencils, and a briefing binder. Kristen stood with the others, but kept her head turned slightly to avoid allowing him a full-face view. He waved them back down, and she resumed her seat. Across from her, Martin’s seat was still empty. The young ensign had been cutting it closer and closer every morning, and Kristen feared he’d finally cut it too close.

Following the usual banter between Gibbs and Brodie, the captain got down to business. He skipped the usual morning rounds of cordial conversation with the assembled officers and went right to his checklists. Kristen said a silent prayer of thanks. There was no reason for him to address her directly now, and with a little luck she might get through the meeting without him noticing her.

Brodie was fifteen minutes into the meeting when the sound of someone forcing his way through the usually crowded passageway disturbed the meeting. A few seconds later, the door opened and a rather ruffled Ensign Martin entered.

Kristen braced slightly, sensing the mood change suddenly in the wardroom. Her fellow officers bristled as well while Martin slipped in behind them and headed for his customary seat. Kristen fixed her eyes on the bulkhead across from her, not wanting to look up at the head of the table and see the cold stare she anticipated Brodie giving Martin.

The tardy ensign sat down and glanced across the table at her, but before Kristen could do or say anything to possibly silence him, he spoke, “What happened to you?”

Kristen cringed, feeling her fingers tighten on the arm of the chair. She kept her eyes fixed straight ahead. Thus far no one had even hinted about what had happened the previous day, but Martin had just opened up the whole can of worms and scattered them on the table.

“Did you get hit yesterday?” Martin asked, his face twisting into an expression of pain.

“Good morning, Mister Martin,” interrupted the captain’s deep voice.

The captain’s tone was anything but friendly toward Martin. She briefly recalled warnings from multiple sources—including Martin— never to make Brodie angry. Martin was late for the meeting. Kristen still didn’t know her captain well, but she thought she knew enough.

Don’t make any excuses! Just apologize and promise to fix it! No excuses!

Despite her thoughts to the contrary, Martin looked back up the table with a sheepish expression. “Good morning, sir,” he offered. “My apologies for being late; the traffic was terrible this morning.”

Kristen closed her eyes and stiffened slightly as if expecting a bomb to go off. She’d been on board less than two weeks but knew Brodie didn’t accept excuses.

“Traffic?” There was a distinct edge in the captain’s voice. Sharp. Cutting.

She recalled hearing that edge before and didn’t relish hearing it again.

“Traffic?” the captain asked again, the edge in his voice becoming crisper, and Kristen felt him building up to a crescendo.

“Yes sir, there was an accident—”

“Sir,” Graves cut Martin off before he offered another lame excuses. “I’ll see to it that Mister Martin is warmly reminded of the importance of punctuality.”

Kristen had reopened her eyes, half expecting to see Martin burnt to a crisp by the captain’s glare. She wondered if Brodie might let the matter drop and allow the XO to handle it. For Martin’s sake she hoped he might.

“Very well, XO,” Brodie agreed, but she could still hear the tension in his voice, and he sounded to be approaching a meltdown. “Please see to it.”

Kristen almost breathed a sigh of relief.

“Lieutenant Whitaker?” Brodie addressed her.

Her sigh of relief nearly turned into a groan. She couldn’t very well ignore him. She turned her head slightly to face Brodie, hoping to hide the worst from him. The other officers were still sitting stiff backed and no one moved.

“Yes, Captain?”

She didn’t look directly at him, not wanting to see the look in his eyes. It was too intimidating. Too unsettling. There was a long silence. She cut her eyes briefly toward his and for a brief moment their eyes met, and she saw what could only be described as cold fury burning there. She then heard the pencil in his left hand snap in two.

Graves leaned closer to Brodie and spoke softly, trying to calm the captain’s clear rage at seeing her battered face. “She’s already been to see Doc Reed. He assured me she’ll be fine. It isn’t nearly as bad as it appears, sir.”

Kristen appreciated the XO intervening on her behalf, but she wondered if it would be enough. There was another long pause. She waited, expecting the captain to fly into a rage. But instead, he suppressed his anger and forced calmness into his voice. “Our Mister Martin is curious about what happened, Lieutenant Whitaker,” he said slowly, pronouncing each word with care. “Perhaps you would be kind enough to indulge us and explain what happened?”

Kristen could have strangled Martin at the moment. But she kept her eyes focused on a spot just beyond the captain, no longer watching him. “It’s nothing, sir. I assure you. It was just an accident.”

“An accident?” he asked her with the same hard edge in his voice that he’d used on Martin.

“Yes, sir. I’m fine. It won’t affect my work.”

Kristen wasn’t sure how he would respond. He obviously knew what had happened. She now realized how naïve she’d been for thinking she might be able to conceal it from him. A submarine was too small to keep anything secret for long. Everyone on board knew about it. Everyone except for Martin.

Dumbass!

“Very well then,” Brodie said finally. “Just see to it that there aren’t any more ‘accidents,’ Lieutenant.”

“Yes, sir,” she responded and turned her head back to the front. “Thank you, sir.”

The meeting ended and Kristen slipped out without further mention of the incident. But once in the passageway, Lieutenant Walcott, the operations officer, smacked Martin on the back of the head. All of the officers except for the XO and the captain were gathered in the narrow passageway, with Kristen right in the middle of them.

“What was that for?” Martin protested as he winced.

“For being late, you asshole!” Walcott whispered harshly. “Don’t let it happen again!”

Terry then reached up and gave another smack to the back of Martin’s head. The ensign rubbed the back of his head, accepting the judgment of his peers with a hurt look. “And that’s for being a dumbshit,” Terry informed him. “We were trying to keep the captain from noticing her shiner, and then you had to open your big damn mouth.”