Seawolf Mask of Command (6 page)

But the lieutenant was just warming up.

“Do you honestly think I enjoyed being dragged before Congress and publicly humiliated by having to justify myself as a woman before the whole world?” she asked angrily. “Do you truly think anyone would enjoy being vilified, ostracized, and having her reputation and career—a career I’ve worked my entire adult life for —thrown under the bus in front of God and everyone?”

She was literally trembling with rage, and Graves saw her fists clenched tight. For a moment he thought she might swing at Brodie, and he briefly wondered if that was exactly what the captain wanted.

Again, she turned her head to look at Brodie, who was motionless beside her. Her eyes were filled with barely contained rage. “I’m fourth generation Navy, Captain! Do you honestly think for one moment I relished knowing my ancestors were rolling over in their graves when I dared question the almighty men in the admiral’s mess?” Her chin rose slightly, her left hand now pointing toward him. “Can you, for a moment, imagine what it is like to be told you’re incredibly qualified for the job you’ve dreamed of, fought for, and sacrificed for, only to be told in the next breath you aren’t good enough because you had the bad manners to be born the wrong sex?”

Graves took a tentative step forward. Her tone had gone from anger to rage and she was on the verge of becoming disrespectful; he felt he needed to intervene. But Brodie raised a barely noticeable finger and stopped Graves in his tracks.

Her anger and resentment had boiled over, just as Brodie had hoped all along. “Do you have any fucking idea how utterly dehumanizing and humiliating that is?!” she demanded, her voice sharp and irate. “Do you?!”

Brodie shook his head and replied softly, “No, I don’t.”

Brodie glanced toward Graves, a slightly amused look on his face. Brodie had baited her, and she’d taken it. Graves shook his head, not having expected this. No one raised their voice to Sean Brodie. No one.

Yet this mere Lieutenant JG had. She hadn’t folded and wilted before him as most junior officers did. Instead, she’d come out with her guns blazing.

Interesting.

Kristen felt the rage leave her as she realized it had been Brodie’s intent the entire time to provoke her, and she’d allowed it to happen. She couldn’t recall the last time she’d allowed her temper to get the better of her. She’d worked for years to keep her volatile nature under wraps. Over the past three-plus years, no one had managed to get her blood boiling the way her new captain had, and she hated herself for letting him get to her. But the damage was done.

She’d stepped way over the line with him. He hadn’t said or done anything to warrant her outburst. She’d not only raised her voice to him, she’d cursed him. And all of this in front of a witness. He could easily get rid of her now. It would take nothing but a simple phone call, and she would have no defense.

Kristen took a steadying breath and resumed staring at the far bulkhead. “No sir, I don’t imagine you do. Otherwise you could never have asked me such a question,” she finished, knowing she’d gone too far but, for the moment at least, not caring. Her temper had always been her greatest weakness, and even after years of trying to control it, she hadn’t quite mastered it.

Brodie nodded thoughtfully as he stepped in front of her, his eyes settling on her once more. But the hard eyes were gone, as was the smirk. Instead, he looked calm and almost reserved. “Sit down please, Lieutenant,” he told her easily enough. He took his previous seat and motioned for her to sit across from him.

Kristen stood motionless, still reeling from the rollercoaster of emotions she’d experienced during the last few minutes. Brodie looked back up at her and again motioned toward the seat across the small table. “Have a seat, Lieutenant. Please don’t make me have to order it.” Brodie then looked at Graves and nodded, “Spike can come in now.”

“Aye-aye, Captain,” the XO replied smartly, and then the door opened behind her.

Kristen took a tentative step, her legs trembling slightly. She did as ordered and took a seat. She placed her left hand into her right, clenching them together tightly to stop them from shaking. She didn’t dare look across the table. She was still angry and assumed he was about to inform her that her services were no longer required. She’d given him the perfect excuse to be rid of her.

Bastard.

The door opened and the fireplug of a chief petty officer stepped in. He glanced at the XO and his expression seemed to ask, “How bad was it?”

The XO cringed in response.

Kristen didn’t know if these two were in on the game as well, and she no longer cared. As she was considering her fate, the captain slid a folded hand towel across the table to her. He’d retrieved it from a drawer built into the bulkhead.

“Why don’t you dry off some, Lieutenant?”

Kristen looked at the towel and then glanced up at him. He was again leaning back in his seat, looking quite comfortable, his right forearm resting on the table and his fingers tapping gently on the surface. Kristen took the towel with a trembling hand and dried the rainwater from her face. The XO straddled a chair facing her as COB leaned against the bulkhead with a satisfied expression, his powerful arms folded across his barrel chest.

Kristen took a few breaths, still feeling the after-effects of the adrenaline coursing through her veins. It had taken all of her control not to strike the stupid smirk off her captain’s face. She sat up, putting the towel back on the table between them, cursing herself for allowing him, or anyone, to make her lose control

She looked around the small cabin. Behind the door, folded up and out of the way, was a
Versaclimber
workout machine. She hadn’t noticed it when she’d first come in because it was stored against the wall behind the door. Otherwise, the cabin was, as she’d first observed, devoid of any other memorabilia or personal effects.

She forced calmness back into her voice as she spoke, knowing she had to apologize. “Sir,” Kristen said as she glanced back up at her captain, “please allow me to apologize for my outburst. It was uncalled for and disrespectful.”

Brodie glanced down at his fingernails, studying them for a moment. Kristen noticed there was some dirt under them. “I certainly wouldn’t make a habit of it, Lieutenant,” he replied almost casually.

“No, sir,” she managed. She had never been good at reading people’s expressions, and his was even more of a mystery. He didn’t look angry, nor did he look offended by her outburst. What game he was playing she could only guess, for surely this was a game.

“Spike,” Brodie said as he looked over at COB, “please have Gibbs come here.”

Kristen had no idea who “Gibbs” was. In fact, she was still a little uncertain just what was going on. COB opened the door, and a slightly built steward appeared. Kristen saw he was a qualified submariner by the embroidered dolphins on his smartly pressed coveralls and he was carrying a serving tray. Apparently, the steward had expected his captain’s summons.

“Timely as ever, Mister Gibbs,” Brodie greeted the steward.

“I noticed the Lieutenant forgot her umbrella and thought hot coffee would be just the thing, sir,” the steward said as he set the tray down and began pouring.

Kristen had been confused and then angry. Now, she was completely disarmed. The steward gave her a warm, welcoming smile as he served her, offering her cream or sugar. Kristen didn’t drink coffee and accepted the cup simply out of politeness.

“Thank you, Mister….”

The captain had used “Mister” when addressing the enlisted man. Normally a rank and last name was used, and she briefly wondered why Brodie added the superfluous “Mister.”

“Gibbs, ma’am.” The steward offered a hand. “Welcome aboard the
Seawolf,
Lieutenant,” he added as he shook her hand. “If you need anything, anything at all, you just let me know and I’ll—”

“Thank you, Mister Gibbs,” Brodie cut him off.

Gibbs left the serving tray and excused himself. Kristen sat motionless, savoring the warmth of the coffee cup in her hand. Her guard was up once more as she waited for the next surprise. The captain had gotten under her skin with unexpected ease, and she was determined not to let it happen again.

“Is the coffee not to your liking, Lieutenant?” he asked as he set his half-empty cup down.

“I don’t drink coffee, sir,” she replied honestly, although not very tactfully she realized too late.

He nodded thoughtfully and glanced at COB. Kristen followed his gaze and saw COB offer her a look as if she’d just spat on the Virgin Mary.

“I can get Gibbs back in here,” Brodie offered. “We have juice, water…whatever you like.”

Kristen suspected he was toying with her again, but she wasn’t going to play his game. “Some hot tea would be nice, Captain,” she replied.

Brodie glanced up at COB who shrugged his shoulders. “I doubt he’s got anything like that, Skipper.”

“Would you please check before the Lieutenant catches pneumonia?” Brodie asked easily enough. The tone of voice being used between the three men was conversational, as if they were close friends and not separated by the rigid lines of convention expected of rank. They were almost casual with one another.

COB stepped out, leaving Brodie and the XO alone with her. Kristen sat still, saying nothing, unsure what was about to happen. Her initial thoughts about her captain were that he was a jerk, and nothing had happened to change her mind. So she was keeping her thoughts to herself. She hated him for having caused her to lose her composure, and she was angry at herself for having let him get to her. She looked at Graves, whose facial expression was noncommittal.

“I must confess,” Brodie began, “we hadn’t expected you so soon, and we still aren’t really sure just what we’re going to do with you.”

At least he’s being honest
.

“Sir, I’m not looking for any special consideration. I just want to be treated like any other officer on board. ” It was the same prepared answer she’d used a thousand times before. Fortunately, it was the truth.

Brodie chuckled slightly and glanced at Graves. Graves smiled with a bit of sympathy for her. The captain exhaled deeply as he readjusted his position and faced her. “I don’t think you understand, Lieutenant,” he explained. “It’s not going to be that simple.”

Kristen had expected this argument and was ready for it. “Sir, I can sleep on a hammock in the torpedo handling room. That’s where the SEALs sleep when onboard most submarines, and as far as head facilities are concerned, whatever arrangements you decide I will accept without complaint, I swear.” Because of the limited space on all submarines yet designed, there were no separate facilities on board for females.

His response was to chuckle to himself again, clearly finding her words amusing. The fact he was finding her plight humorous irritated her. In fact, thus far, there was nothing about him that didn’t vex her. The door opened and COB returned.

“Sorry, Skipper,” he explained, “No joy on the tea.” COB, after retrieving his coffee cup from the table, resumed his position against the bulkhead. “What’ve I missed?” he asked the XO with a hushed whisper.

Graves nodded toward Kristen with a slightly sympathetic look on his face. “The Lieutenant was just explaining how she’d be willing to sleep in the torpedo room.”

COB shook his head and gave her an amused look. “That’ll never do, Missy.”

Missy?

Kristen let it go and looked back at her captain. “Sir?”

Brodie rubbed his swollen eyes with his left hand, and she noticed the absence of a wedding band on his ring finger. But this wasn’t unusual for submarine captains. Submariners, as a rule, had a tremendously high divorce rate, so she assumed he was divorced. She pushed the meaningless observation aside, suppressing her eye for detail, and focused on the exchange going on between the three men. They clearly were amused by her offer.

“You really don’t get it, do you?” Brodie’s tone was not harsh; instead, it was annoyingly matter of fact, and she felt he was treating her like a child.

“Get what, sir?” she asked him and then looked at COB and Graves, both of whom were siding with the captain. It was to be expected, of course, for them to support him. Their loyalty would be to their captain and certainly not to her.

Brodie explained, “In one sentence you say you want to be treated like any other officer on board, but in the next sentence you offer to sleep in the torpedo room.” He shook his head, “Do you honestly think I’d let any of my officers—or crew, for that matter—live like that?”

Kristen now understood his point. All she cared about was staying on board and would accept any deprivation to achieve that goal. “Oh,” she replied simply.

Brodie chuckled again. “Oh, is putting it mildly, Lieutenant.” He then spoke to COB, “Have you any suggestions, Spike?”

COB scratched his razor stubble. His face, although pale like all submariners, looked as tough as leather. “I’d thought we might be able to rig some sort of cabin in the sonar cabinet room, but even with the latest adjustments from the tech boys at Lockheed there isn’t going to be enough room.”

“What about the Deeper?” Brodie asked Graves.

Kristen had no idea what he was talking about, but Graves nodded slightly and glanced at COB. “What do you think, COB?”

COB again thoughtfully scratched and then muttered, “It’ll be a little tight. And damn cold too,” he added. “Those techies keep it colder than a fucking meat locker in there.”

“Spike,” Brodie said easily, apparently not liking the foul language, which Kristen thought would make him an oddity in the Navy where profanity was as much a staple of the service as grey paint.

“Sorry, Skipper,” COB apologized.

Kristen could care less if COB swore; it meant nothing to her. Instead she asked, “Excuse me, gentlemen. But what is the Deeper?”

Graves answered, “It’s the Data Processing Equipment Room.” He then added, “D-P-E-R, we just call it Deeper for short. When the
Seawolf
was designed, computers were considerably larger than they are now, and every few years we receive routine upgrades to our electronics and computer processing capacity. The newest upgrade was supposed to occur while we were undergoing refit over the next few months, and we’re now putting the spurs to Raytheon and two other contractors to expedite the modifications. We think once they remove the old equipment and bring in the new stuff, there’ll be room in there to rig a coffin rack and maybe a small space similar to what you’d have if we had a cabin for you in officer country.”