Seawolf Mask of Command (42 page)

Fitzgerald had written her such a blistering fitness report, she’d been stunned when she was still promoted to Lieutenant Junior Grade. Although, the odds of her ever being promoted again were astronomically bad. “It doesn’t matter anymore. I’m here,” she told him, feeling a smoldering sense of pride deep within her; a sense of pride Fitzgerald could never take away. “I got what I wanted despite him.”

“Thank you for confiding in me, Lieutenant.” His eyes opened and he once again was looking at her.

“Sorry to burden you, sir,” she replied, having felt an almost healing release of pent up tension by confiding in him.

“Not at all, Lieutenant,” he assured her. “Although I want you to look me in the eye for a moment and promise me something.” He again stood up and faced her.

Kristen hesitated, almost afraid to look him in the eye. She feared what she was feeling at that moment, knowing he would be able to see it in her eyes. But her eyes move directly to his as if by their own volition. “Yes?” She felt as if his eyes were pulling her in, and she was totally helpless to stop it. But she didn’t have the strength to look away. His eyes were almost hypnotic, and she couldn’t resist.

“If this…” he paused, searching for the right word to describe Fitzgerald, “… if this piece of shit so much as looks at you the wrong way, or says anything to you … anything making you uncomfortable…” his voice had gained a different tone than she’d ever heard before. It was more measured than usual, and she realized he was forcing calmness into his words.

Kristen nodded, assuming she understood. “I’ll report it to you.”

“Report it, yes,” he agreed. “Because I’m going to want his hide on my bulkhead. But first, make certain you give him a good swift knee in the nuts,” he told her bluntly. “Am I making myself clear?”

Kristen had been a little uncomfortable telling him the story. But now, as he said the last, the anxiety was gone, and she almost found herself laughing at his suggestion. Except it wasn’t a suggestion, it was an order.

“Crystal clear, Captain.” She couldn’t resist a smile, feeling more refreshed now than when she’d stepped from the shower.

He returned to his spot in the corner, sat down, and leaned his head back. His eyes closed almost at once. Kristen responded to this by taking another step toward the door.

“Lieutenant.”

“Sir?” She turned and faced him again, and he was looking at her.

“I want you to know how sorry I am you had to go through all of the hell the last three years simply to serve your country.” His words were filled with sincerity, although his eyes were still filled with exhaustion, “But we’re all so very glad you did.” His eyes became the essence of sincerity, “So very glad.”

“Thank you, sir,” she replied, her spirits lifted even higher. Praise from Sean Brodie was never given lightly. “Me too,” she admitted, feeling better at the moment than she could remember. “I wouldn’t trade being here for the world.”

His eyes closed once more, and he suddenly appeared content, the edge she’d seen earlier was gone. “I know exactly what you mean,” he told her with a blissful smile. Here, on a submarine heading into unknown probable dangers was where he was most content.

“Get some rest, sir.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Wardroom, USS Seawolf

K
risten stood as Brodie entered, waving everyone back down before they finished coming to attention. Gibbs—as usual—was there and anxious to attend to Brodie’s every whim. Kristen had gotten a good eight hours of sleep, and by the looks of the captain, he’d taken her advice and slept as well.

“Good morning, lady and gentlemen,” he greeted them as Gibbs hovered close at hand.

Kristen smiled slightly at his “lady” reference. Across from her, a SEAL lieutenant named Brian Cheng was seated in Martin’s usual seat. Cheng was a Chinese American, and she’d been conversing with him in Mandarin prior to Brodie’s arrival. She’d gotten pretty good at the language while at Annapolis, but since graduation, she’d had very few opportunities to practice. Like all the SEALs, Cheng ignored the uniform regulations, and his mustache was thick and bushy as was his hair.

Fitzgerald was seated near the head of the table next to Graves, but thus far no one had yet spoken to him. Instead, Fitzgerald had simply been listening to the conversations around him, a party to none of them. Then, as if on a prearranged signal that Brodie was ready to get to work, he and Gibbs had a brief—rather humorous—exchange regarding the captain’s poor eating habits.

“You’re gonna get sick and end up on bed rest if you don’t eat more,” Gibbs whispered forcefully.

“Give it a rest, Mister Gibbs,” Brodie chided him. “And the coffee tastes like motor oil again,” he added, apparently wounding Gibbs who almost swooned.

The distraught steward swallowed an angry retort. If anyone could put Brodie in his place, Kristen was willing to bet it was the steward, but instead of a nasty quip, he said, “Will that be all, Captain?”

“It will, Mister Gibbs” Brodie responded as he struggled not to smile.

“I don’t know why I even bother,” Gibbs mumbled as he withdrew. He paused by Kristen long enough to check her tea service to make certain she still had a full pot, then continued on to the galley.

Kristen hid an amused smile behind her teacup as several of her peers chuckled.

They were currently heading through the Tsushima Straits into the Sea of Japan, and tension on board was running high. Yet Brodie clearly wanted to keep it light and Kristen understood why. He needed his officers relaxed and loose, so they might impart the same confidence to the crew. As usual, Brodie engaged everyone in conversation, although he blatantly skipped Fitzgerald, acting as if the Lieutenant Commander wasn’t even present.

“Good morning, Lieutenant,” he greeted her as he sampled his food.

“Good morning, Captain,” she replied, resisting the urge to mention he was looking much better.

“How’re your burns today?” he asked, glancing toward her arms. Several of the other officers turned toward her, curious as well.

Kristen saw Fitzgerald look her way, but she ignored him. She was still a bit self-conscious of the burns. The skin on her face had peeled nearly completely off, and her face, along with the rest of the areas that had received first degree burns, was feeling much better. The second degree burns on her left arm were still quite painful but not nearly as bad as they’d been a few days earlier.

“They’re coming along nicely, Captain. Thank you for asking.”

“How did you get burned, Lieutenant?” Fitzgerald asked, trying to insert himself into the intimate, family-like environment in the wardroom.

Kristen didn’t respond. But she did notice the smiles around the table fade. Even Lieutenant Cheng was no longer smiling. Fitzgerald looked around the table. But there were no friendly faces to greet him.

Kristen, sensing the change in everyone’s mood, decided to answer Fitzgerald, even though she still loathed the very sight of him. “It was an accident, sir,” she responded politely, looking down at her food. There was a long and very uncomfortable pause. Kristen looked up and noticed Terry. His expression was callous, and he glared at Fitzgerald as if he might take a swing at him at any moment. Kristen briefly wondered if Brodie had revealed to her fellow officers what she’d confided to him.

She dismissed the thought a moment later. He would never break a trust. She was certain of it. Then she recalled the incident in the torpedo room. Chief Miller and Martin had been there. They’d seen her reaction to Fitzgerald when he’d taken her by surprise. She’d nearly struck him. They’d seen her cold fury, and she assumed they’d said something to the others.

“I’m sorry, did I say something wrong?” Fitzgerald asked innocently. He looked around, searching for a friendly face. Finding none, he finally looked at Brodie. “Sir?”

Brodie set his coffee cup down, and Kristen saw a calm, almost congenial expression appear on his face. But this was the quiet before the storm. She remembered the story Penny Graves had told her about his temper and was thankful the wardroom was filled with men to restrain him if things got out of hand.

“No, you didn’t say anything wrong,” Brodie replied with an even tone. “And as for Lieutenant Whitaker’s injuries, she received them after a grease fire broke out in the galley. The seaman on duty panicked and threw water on the fire.” His voice stayed calm and steady, with hardly any change in the tone at all. It was as if he were relating some random, insignificant historical event. But every officer who knew him could hear something else in his voice. Kristen heard it, and she almost felt sorry for Fitzgerald.

“The flames had spread to the bulkheads and were climbing up to the overhead pipes and wiring when the Lieutenant entered the galley,” he explained. Then his eyes narrowed slightly and his tone changed. He began enunciating his words more carefully. “Then, with complete disregard for her own safety,” Brodie explained stressing the point, “she leapt through the flames and activated the Halon fire suppression system, preventing anything more than superficial damage.”

Fitzgerald was sitting stiff backed in his chair and watching Brodie barely three feet away. Brodie was staring at him, his eyes almost daring Fitzgerald to look away.

“That is to say,” Brodie continued, “no serious damage to anything other than the first and second degree burns she suffered on every inch of exposed skin. Not to mention nearly suffocating in a cloud of Halon.”

Fitzgerald stared dumbly at Brodie while everyone else continued to glare at their guest. Kristen kept her eyes on her food. Gibbs entered and silently stepped over beside her. She glanced up at him and he patted her shoulder affectionately. But then, as the mess steward looked up at Fitzgerald, his face grew dark.

Lieutenant Cheng, who was hearing the story of the fire for the first time, looked at Kristen with an admiring eye. “What is it they say about keeping your head in an emergency when all of those about you are losing theirs?” Cheng offered her in respect.

“Indeed,” Brodie replied, his eyes still on Fitzgerald. Then Brodie’s tone changed ever so slightly and became accusatorial. “Not quite what one would call,
lacking in personal courage,
wouldn’t you agree, Commander Graves?”

“I couldn’t agree more, Captain,” Graves responded, and stared at Fitzgerald with a hard glare of his own.

“Or,” Brodie continued, his tone now becoming whip like as he used the exact phrases Kristen recalled Fitzgerald had used to describe her when he gave her a sub-standard fitness report. “Does such action sound like someone who is
selfish
and
unable to
handle pressure situations,
Commander?” Brodie asked Graves again, still watching Fitzgerald whose face had turned ashen.

“No, it does not, Captain,” Graves replied with an edge in his own voice as he continued to stare at Fitzgerald.

Kristen realized Brodie had, since their last meeting, pulled her fitness reports from her official record and read them. He was now using Fitzgerald’s own words against him. The fact that he was raking Fitzgerald over the coals was both uncomfortable to witness, and, on a far more personal level, caused her to feel a comforting sense of warmth within her. He was defending her, something she had never expected.

Fitzgerald looked toward Kristen, and she saw the same animal stare in his eyes she’d seen the night he’d tried to rape her.

“What do you say, Mister Fitzgerald?” Brodie asked him, getting Fitzgerald’s undivided attention again. “Does running into a galley filled with flames to save your shipmates and your ship sound like the actions of someone with
low moral standards?
”

Fitzgerald swallowed hard, and placed his hands on the table as if preparing to leave. “No, sir.”

Kristen had heard many tongue lashings in her career, but she’d never seen one like this. Brodie had never raised his voice. But Fitzgerald now looked ready to bolt for the door given half a chance.

“No,” Brodie concluded and set his linen napkin down on the table. “No, it does not,” he concluded slowly, and she thought she saw a flash of anger in his eyes. The she saw the veins in his neck bulging. His hands were flat on the table, but she could see the rage barely concealed beneath the skin. She recalled Penny’s warning.

Following another lengthy pause, Fitzgerald pushed himself away from the table and stood up slowly. “If you will excuse me, Captain. I think I may be coming down with whatever affected my men on the
Frank Cable.
I would like to return to my quarters.” Fitzgerald was an arrogant man, but he looked suddenly very humble as he slunk out of the wardroom.

The silence lingered after he departed, and Kristen, not sure how to react to Brodie verbally slapping Fitzgerald down, sat motionless.

“Damn, Skipper,” Terry offered, breaking the silence with a typical comment. “I sure as hell hope you don’t ever get pissed off at me.”

His comment helped thaw the ice that had formed over the pleasant conversation they’d been enjoying. Gibbs cleared away the dishes, and Brodie relaxed somewhat.

“All right, back to business,” Brodie said, setting the tone for the rest of the conversation.