Seawolf Mask of Command (20 page)

Still inside the wardroom, Graves sat quietly, waiting for his friend to broach the subject that he clearly wanted to talk about. After nearly a minute of silence, Brodie spoke, “Did she really think I wouldn’t find out about this?”

Graves shrugged, seeing the fatigue on his friend’s face. “She’s still got a lot of green in her, Sean. But cut her some slack, she meant well.”

Brodie shook his head. “Randle has been trouble since day one,” he pointed out. “Does she think she can save him?”

“I don’t think she cares one way or the other about Randle,” Graves answered truthfully. “I think she was more interested in sparing you any more trouble.”

“She told you that?” Brodie asked with a hint of surprise.

Jason took another sip of his coffee and shook his head. “Nah,” he admitted. “I spoke to COB about it, that’s what she told him.”

“Is COB handling Randle?”

“Oh, yeah,” Jason assured his friend. “Right now the poor bastard is scrubbing Dempsey Dumpsters on the pier.”

“It’s freezing outside.”

“Yeah,” Graves smiled recalling a thin sheet of ice on the pier left behind from a freezing rain the night before. “It’s a shame, isn’t it?”

Brodie nodded thoughtfully and pointed a finger at the chair normally occupied by Martin. “Do you want me to haul him into my cabin and put the wood to him?”

Graves and Brodie’s command relationship was different than on most submarines. Normally, ship’s captains liked to appear as the “good guy,” whereas the XOs were the “hard ass.” Although Graves wouldn’t hesitate to backhand a locomotive if he thought it necessary, Brodie was definitely the heavy on the
Seawolf.
His reputation was carved in stone. Added to the mix, was COB who handled the crew with a perfect balance of firmness and fairness. Thus far, the three of them had been successful beyond most expectations. For the past three years, the
Seawolf
had enjoyed the highest reenlistment rate of any command in the Navy. In addition, there’d been more sailors sent to officer candidate school from the sub than any two other warships, including aircraft carriers which had nearly five thousand men on board.

“I can handle Martin,” Graves replied confidently. He motioned outside the door. “Besides, the others are giving me a hand.”

Brodie understood. There was nothing better than peer pressure to help get someone in line. Graves watched as Brodie leaned back and stretched, allowing a deep, seemingly endless yawn to emanate from his frame. Only in private did he ever allow his true thoughts and fears to be displayed.

“Why don’t you knock off for a few hours this morning,” Graves suggested.

Brodie shook his head and rubbed his swollen eyes. “Time’s running out, and there’s a lot of work left to do.”

Graves still wasn’t privy to their orders. Whatever they might be, they were classified higher than top secret, and only Brodie had access. But this simple exchange was enough for Brodie to impart to him that their sailing date had been set.

“How much time?” Graves asked in a barely audible voice.

Brodie scratched his chin, his usual strong façade slipping slightly to show a hint of worry. “Tuesday night.”

They had one week.

Graves considered all that was left to do. They needed to load supplies yet, not to mention pay a visit to the arming wharf and take on weapons. Plus, they’d have to spend a few hours in Bangor at the magnetic silencing facility to demagnetize their hull before heading to sea.

“Maybe we should have the crew start pulling double shifts?” he suggested.

Brodie shook his head. “No,” he decided flatly. “The boys are already giving enough. We’ll just have to make do.”

The Yellow Sea

N
orth Korea’s Maritime Special Operations Forces had been involved in multiple incursions into South Korea over the past forty years. In fact they’d become so good at entering the South undetected that it had become almost routine for small teams to come ashore to conduct assassinations or other small raids. But this wasn’t a small force of three or four commandos. Twenty-four of North Korea’s finest warriors crouched low on the sides of their four rubber assault craft. Hand-picked and exquisitely trained, they’d prepared years for war. Their mission, along with nearly seven thousand other members of their brigade, was to infiltrate South Korea on the eve of war and create havoc.

Once ashore the two teams would split up into two twelve-man teams and then move to their own objectives. Neither team knew the other’s job, making it impossible for one compromised team to lead the South Korean authorities to find the other teams. How many other groups were coming ashore this night, none of the twenty-four commandos knew. Was it the entire brigade, or was this night’s incursion just one of many waves of teams coming ashore?

The noise made by the small, outboard motors was drowned out by the surf as they reached the shore, homing in on a pair of vehicle headlights marking their insertion point. They were to be met by several North Korean sleeper agents who’d been living in the South for years. These operatives would provide the transportation to get the commando teams to their hide sites near their objectives where they would wait until the hour to strike.

The rocky shore was well concealed and allowed the four boats to come ashore unmolested, disgorge their troops, and then the coxswains return the four craft back to the sea and the waiting North Korean submarine lying just four miles off the coast. The North Korean sleeper agents had a combination of flatbed trucks and large vans waiting for the twenty-four commandos, who quickly boarded their designated vehicles. This was, potentially, the most dangerous part of the entire operation. The commandos were nearly defenseless while they transitioned from the beach to the vehicles. If they were compromised and a South Korean Army unit was waiting for them, the elite commandos had only pistols to defend themselves and a harsh sea at their back. They would have to fight and die where they stood.

But other than the North Korean sleeper agents, there was no one waiting for them. They slipped ashore, onto their vehicles, and departed for their hide sites near their objectives in complete secrecy.

Bremerton, Washington

N
ot far from the base, Jason Graves walked to the front door of his modest home situated on a hill overlooking Puget Sound. It was Saturday, and gathered in his living room for the annual Army-Navy football game were most of the officers of the
Seawolf
. Whenever in port, he and his wife made it a point of having a party during the famous rivalry game pitting Jason’s alma mater against their arch nemesis, the cadets of West Point.

This year he’d considered cancelling. The
Seawolf
was the priority, but during the last few days, the officers and crew, helped by a small army of civilian contractors, had finally completed the upgrades and repairs. They were scheduled for a series of tests Monday, but barring an unforeseen disaster, they should be ready for sea Tuesday. Knowing this, Brodie had insisted the crew take Saturday off for some hard-earned rest and that Jason go ahead with plans for the party.

Jason opened his door and was pleased to see Kristen had come after all. He’d told her he expected her, but had feared she might use the excuse of work to prevent her from coming. Since arriving, she’d shown an unusually strong work ethic. But Graves understood the need for people, even officers, to unwind, and if they were soon to be at sea for an extended period, then this might be her last chance to let her hair down.

Advice she’d apparently taken to heart.

Normally she wore her hair intricately braided and neatly out of the way. But for this occasion, Jason saw she was wearing it loose. It was also the first time he’d seen her in anything but a uniform, and he was taken slightly aback. She wasn’t what some might call a stunner, but she was certainly more attractive than her coveralls had suggested, and her usual frosty, prudish, mother superior demeanor normally portrayed. She wore designer jeans, comfortable shoes, a thick, grey turtle neck sweater, and a leather flight jacket that looked authentic.

“Good afternoon, Kristen,” he greeted her, inviting her in. He’d called her Kris once, but she’d clearly not liked the nickname and he’d reverted to her complete name when addressing her.

“Good afternoon, sir,” she replied and stepped in, her long, sun-drenched blond hair flowing about her shoulders and down her back.

She’d come alone, even though the others had brought wives or girlfriends. Graves glanced out the door, not seeing her car, but his driveway was near full, and he assumed she’d parked on the street. “I’m glad you could make it,” he said honestly. “The rest of the gang is already here.”

“I wouldn’t have missed seeing Navy kick Army’s ass for the world, sir,” she responded, smiling approvingly at Jason’s old football jersey he wore for the game. Jason had been a starting wide receiver for Navy during his four years at the Academy.

“Amen, sister,” he replied as his wife approached.

Kristen was a little uncomfortable out of uniform, having pretty much forsaken civilian clothing and official parties for the past three years. But Graves had thus far proven himself more than willing to treat her fairly, and she’d taken his invitation more as an order. So she’d come, hoping it might be a chance to further bond with her peers. She smiled politely as a strikingly attractive African-American woman with a bright smile approached. Kristen faced her and shook her offered hand.

“I think I know who you are,” the woman said warmly. “I’m Penny, welcome aboard,” she said, clearly a Navy wife through and through. She wore what looked like one of her husband’s old Academy sweatshirts, which fit her small frame like a tent.

“Kristen,” she responded and handed over a bottle of wine. “I hope that’s all right, I don’t have a kitchen to cook anything in.”

Penny accepted the wine with the same engaging smile, slipped her arm through Kristen’s, and led her away from Jason. “Oh, yes, wine is always good. Especially if Navy doesn’t do so well today.”

Kristen glanced around the perfectly appointed home. The floors were hardwood with warm area rugs. The design scheme was a successful mixture of African-American cultural décor and Naval Academy memorabilia. Kristen glanced into the living room and spotted a crowd of her fellow officers gathered around a large flat screen in preparation for kick off. She noticed Terry seated at the end of a leather sofa with a buxom bottle blonde draped all over him. He smiled and gave Kristen a friendly wave. She just rolled her eyes and continued toward the kitchen with Penny.

“I’ve been so looking forward to meeting you,” Penny assured her. “I was following your case on the television and in
Navy Times.
And, of course, Jason has kept me up to speed on how you’ve been getting along since you arrived.”

Penny was the perfect hostess, completely disarming and totally charming.

“Thank you for opening up your home for us,” Kristen offered as they approached the kitchen where she heard women talking.

“Mommy!” a shrill squeal reached their ears and drew their attention away from the kitchen.

Kristen turned and saw a distraught little angel wearing a small Navy cheerleader outfit running toward her mother with her arms outstretched and tears streaming down her cheeks. Kristen watched as the little girl leapt into her mother’s arms. “They took my pom-poms!” she squealed.

Kristen glanced back up the hall and saw two boys, each the spitting image of their father, running to defend themselves. The oldest boy looked to be about twelve, the younger was maybe ten. Like everyone else, they were decked out in Navy attire in honor of the occasion, and both were professing their innocence before they reached their mother. Kristen watched as Penny deftly handled the domestic emergency, dried her daughter’s eyes, and gave her two wayward boys a stern look.

“Sean Allen! Mark Anthony!” she chastised sharply. “Stop torturing your sister or you’ll be scrubbing toilets and cleaning out the trashcans instead of going for a ride later.”

Kristen listened to the brief exchange, enjoying the revealing glance of her XO’s family life. The two boys sulked back to their room. Penny set the little girl back down and tweaked her pigtails. “Now run along Jasmine. Uncle Sean will be here soon, and you can’t go riding dressed like that.”