To Hunt and Protect
Page 42
Brown turns and faces his captain, “Sir?”
“Who is she, Brown?”
“She’s my girlfriend, sir.”
“Jesus Christ, of all the men on my boat, I thought you were immune to feminine wiles. There is no place for a woman in the life of a serious warfighter.”
“Sir, are you requiring the entire crew to remain single? Like Mallory?” He looks over at Laureen and smiles at her.
“You know I can’t. But I can deny promotions to people who do not listen to me.”
“Sir, I’ve already turned down chief. I would prefer to continue as your sonarman.” He pauses, “Most submarine officers know better than to fuck with the eyes and ears of their ship.”
Cumberland stiffens, “Don’t cross me, Brown. Just dump the bitch and get back to work.”
“By your leave, sir.” He salutes and holds it.
“Get out of here.”
Brown doesn’t move, still saluting. Cumberland returns the salute and storms away. Brown picks up his bags and walks out to Laureen.
Laureen, “What an awful man.”
He pulls her into his arms and kisses her. Releasing her, “I’m sorry you had to meet my commanding assifer.”
She pulls down his face and kisses him again, “I love you, Michael Brown. Jean Luc is waiting. Let’s go.”
On the way to the farm, she asks, “Can he order us to part?”
“No, Laureen, he can’t. An officer cannot interfere with a subordinate’s private life. It’s against the law.”
She breathes a deep sigh, relieved, “Are you angry?”
He glances over to her, “I’ve been dealing with him for months. Commander Cumberland is living proof that there are more horse’s ass’s in the world than there are horses.”
She giggles, “I want to improve your mood. Can you stop, please?”
He pulls over and sets the brake. She slides closer to him and pulls him into a deep kiss. She takes his hand and puts it inside her blouse. After several minutes, breathing heavily, they move apart. Brown grins, “You do know how to improve my mood.”
“We should go. Jean Luc is waiting for his sailor.”
As soon as the car stops, Jean Luc rushes out, “Michael! Michael!”
Mike scoops him up and hugs him tightly. The boy quietens and looks up at Mike, his face glowing. Mike kisses him on the forehead. Sheamus walks up, grinning. “Hi, Sheamus. What are you building?”
“A watchtower. Laureen and the wee one stand too much out in the rain watching for their sailor.”
Carrying Jean Luc, Mike walks over to the new foundation. He goes over it slowly, then asks, “What is more affordable, wood or stone?”
“We have no end of stone, but it requires a mason. Wood requires a carpenter and that is more within my skills.”
Mike, “Carpentry is more in keeping with my skills, too. Are you looking at three stories, then?”
“I climbed onto the roof to check, and it’s enough.”
Jean Luc touches Mike’s cheek, “Can you play with me before you work?”
“Mike smiles down at him, “I can.”
USS SAN FRANCISCO
1130, 28 May, 1942
Morrison finally has the time to go to his room with his mail. He has a huge box from Grandma Morrison, a letter from his dad, and a letter from Liz. He opens the box and finds hard candy, fudge, cookies, and beef jerky. A separate box inside has soap, toothpaste, toothbrushes, underwear, shoe strings, shoe polish, and a new wind up watch. There is also a letter:
Dear John,
I guessed at your sizes from what Henry told me. Please send me your measurements so I can keep you in uniform items. I’m glad the two of you have met. To me, that’s very important. By the way, he spoke very highly of you. It warms my heart.
Mitch’s grads have gone up an entire letter grade since he found out about you. I think he’s growing up. I really hope all is well with you.
Another thing that crossed my mind. Are there any sailors on your vessel who have no family? If so, please share their names and addresses with us. I’m starting a letter writing campaign for those sailors adrift with no family. I have thirty-five mothers looking to adopt wayward sons and daughters.
One other thing I must share. You said that in your past there was only Mitch and Gretta. In another seven months, or so, they’ll have a little sister or brother. I’m very much looking forward to changing your future.
Much Love,
G.M. (Granny Morrison)
He smiles and reads it again, “I don’t recall a miscarriage. Well, Grandpa, congratulations are in order.”
He reads his father’s letter:
Hi John,
Thank you so much for writing me and sending the picture. Mom has you on the wall with the family. I decided to run track so I could stay in shape, and I’m getting my grades up. I haven’t told anyone in school except Mrs. Peterson. She’s my favorite. She teaches English and makes it interesting. I tried to get mom to pack a football and basketball and stuff. In 1990 did they still do sports? Was it like with rocket packs in outer space?
It’s so great that dad got to meet you. He was really happy. Anyway, I have to finish my homework.
Sincerely,
Mitch
He writes back to both of them, then picks up the letter from Liz.
Dear John,
God, that is funny, now that I think of it. It’s not at all what I wanted to say. Let me start over.
My dearest Johnny,
Better. I got your letter, and thank you. I’m putting my address in Bremerton at the end of this letter. Yep. I was transferred off the CV in Norfolk. They gave me a full stripe and put me in command of power school. Not a sexy combat job, but it’s important. My direct supervisor is Klindt, which is interesting in a good way. We’ve three classes working their way through the curriculum: 42-01, 42-02, and 42-03. It’s weird. The CO of the Long Beach was handling it before I got here. We’re also building a mock prototype. It’s kind of a fake S-1. It’s going to take a while. We both know it can’t be rushed.
On to the personal. On my way across the country, I got a chance to visit my grandparents. They were a bit aghast about my career choice. I stayed for a couple of days, and they came around. Mind, my Nana desperately wants to marry me off. I told her about Tim. I hope that will give me at least six months breathing space. I still love them.
I really hope you’re doing well. My thoughts wander to our time together in Sydney. I count you my dearest friend. I admit to worrying about you and the tyrant. Please know my thoughts and prayers are with you.
Liz
He grins and reads it again, then he picks up his pen and starts writing
STEWART FARM
Mike and Laureen are on the sofa after dinner, talking. Jean Luc plays on the floor with blocks Mike made from off falls from the ground floor construction of the tower. Sheamus sits in his chair smiling at his family. “We made some good progress, lad. We got the floor in. I’ll say this, ye know your way around a hammer. On the morrow, we’ll pound up some walls.”
Jean Luc looks up to Mike, “Look Daddy. It’s our house.”
They all look at Jean Luc’s stack of blocks. Sheamus, “It is, wee one. It is.”
Laureen, “Very good, Jean Luc. It is our house.”
“Yeah, and granda, Mummy, and Daddy and me live in it, huh?”
Laureen looks at Mike. He smiles, “We do.”
Sheamus, “My bones are telling me it’s getting late. Come, little one, it’s time for bed.”
“Now?”
Sheamus smiles at Laureen and Mike, “Come on, Jean Luc. It’s time, I think.”
“Yes, Papa.” He picks up his blocks and puts them in his toy box, then goes to the stairs, dragging his feet.
Mike grins and stands up, “I’ll help, Sheamus.” He picks Jean Luc up, and they go up the stairs.
Sheamus walks to his room. When Mike takes Jean Luc into the room he shares with his mother,
Sheamus says, “In here, Michael.”
Jean Luc, “But, Papa, this is my room.”
“Not tonight, wee one. You can sleep with papa.”
They go into Sheamus’ room and Mike puts Jean Luc on the bed. He steps back, “Sheamus, Jean Luc, may I ask you a question?”
Jean Luc’s eyes get big, “Uh huh.”
Mike, “Sir, I would like to ask you for your daughter’s hand in marriage.”
“Aye, lad. Ye’ve got my blessing.” Sheamus pulls Mike into a hug.
Mike kneels down to Jean Luc, “Jean Luc, would it be okay if I married your mommy?”
“Would you be my daddy?”
“I know you have a daddy I can never replace, Jean Luc, but yes, I would be your daddy.”
Jean Luc’s eyes fill with tears; his little body unable to contain his emotions. He jumps into Mike’s arms, “Yes, Daddy.” After a long hug, he leans back and looks at Mike, “Are you still gonna have to leave?”
“I will, Jean Luc. It’s my duty, son. But I will come back.”
Will it be long?”
“I don’t know. It’ll have to be as long as it is, but I will come back.”
“Okay.” He lays his head on Mike’s chest, smiling.
Mike holds him and looks at Sheamus, his own eyes tearing up. “Okay, little one. Can you go to bed now?” He kisses Jean Luc on the forehead, then helps Sheamus collect his things and get him ready for bed. Tucking him in, Jean Luc smiles, “Ni, ni, Daddy”
“Good night, son.” Mike turns to Sheamus, “Thank you, Dad.”
Sheamus wipes his eyes, “Yer welcome, son. Move your stuff to her room. We’ll sort the wee one in the morning.”
“Yes, sir.” Mike goes downstairs, smiling. He takes Laureen’s hand and pulls her up from the sofa, “Come on. Outside.”
They walk out to where they can see the loch. Laureen, “Did he upset you, Michael?”
“No. He misses his father. It’s natural for him to think that way.”
“He loves you, Michael. He loves Da, but Da is Pappa, not Daddy.”
“Its fine, love. Are you okay?”
“It’s been a year. I miss him, but he’s a distant memory. I love you. I do.” She takes his face between her hands and kisses him.
“I love you, too.”
“Michael, do you think I’m made of porcelain? I’m not. I’m a woman, a woman who loves you.”
“I love you, Laureen. When I went upstairs it was to ask a question of the two men in your life.”
“What?”
Mike takes a knee, holding her hands in his, and looks up into her eyes, “Laureen Stewart, will you marry me?”
Her eyes fill with tears and her throat closes. She struggles for a breath, then everything clears, “Oh yes. Yes. Yes. Yes. Yes.” She pulls him up and he wraps her in his arms, putting his head on her shoulder. He lifts his head, tilts her face up and kisses her.
They hear from an open window, “Well then, why don’t you go to bed, so this old fart can get some sleep?”
They smile at each other and she takes his hand, leading him into the house and up the stairs. When they get to her room, she leads him in, “Too much clothes.” She unbuttons his shirt and slides it off. Holding his gaze, she undresses him. He follows her lead, unbuttoning and removing her dress. When the rough skin of his hands touches her, she gasps.
Mike, “God, you’re beautiful.”
She grins, “You’re lovely, mon amour.” He picks her up and puts her on the bed.
USS BEAVER
0810, 1 June, 1942
Vice Admiral Craig Klindt, “Commander Cumberland, I’ve a dozen reports attesting to you being a grade A, number one, one hundred percent, pure asshole. You seem to have an issue with authority, an issue with women, an issue with following orders, and an issue with respecting your men. In short, you’ve made a right ass of yourself. Why the fuck did you deviate from your orders on your last mission?”
“The submarines were quieter than before. I had to assume they had improved their sonar as well. When we cycled the air lock to let out the SEALs, they might have heard it. An exchange of torpedoes while divers are in the water would be a dangerous thing for the swimmers. I elected to engage the subs first.”
“Why did you tell Issa you were sending his men out after the destroyers were pinging?”
“That was a simple misunderstanding. I had no intention of sending them out. I only meant to remind him I was in command. I felt he was infringing on my authority.”
Holtz, “Why did you disrespect my chief of staff?”
Cumberland swallows, “Did she say that? She…um…I was just, well, animated. In no way did I intend my comments as disrespectful.”
“Hunt has an eidetic memory.” Holtz pull out a piece of paper, “Your words were ‘Jesus Christ. They send a fucking chick airdale to teach me my job.’ Now, Commander, please explain to me how that was not disrespectful?”
“Um. Sir. It was merely animated conversation. It wasn’t intended as disrespectful.”
Klindt snorts, “Commander, put in context with your previous behavior toward Commander Hunt, and your behavior toward other female officers, it can be taken no other way but disrespectful. Hunt rightly pointed out that disrespecting her was disrespecting your entire chain of command. It’s disrespecting the Commodore. It’s disrespecting me. I have an entire dossier on you, Commander. I know every unprofessional or disrespectful thing you’ve done.
“The issue is our schedule. You’re getting underway on a critical mission. You will re-embark the SEALs and deliver them to Kaafjord in Norway. They will plant explosives on the battleship Tirpitz and sink her. You are not to engage any enemy units whatsoever until the SEALs have completed their mission and are safely back aboard.”
Cumberland, “But, sir, the U-boats are out there. The Tirpitz is just taking up space in a fjord.”
“Every convoy to Russia has to pass by that fjord. It forces the Royal Navy to dedicate forces that would be better used elsewhere. That battleship sank a cruiser and badly damaged an aircraft carrier. It’s hit convoys, or forced them to scatter and be picked off by subs. It’s a real and immediate threat. This time, to make certain the mission goes down correctly, Commodore Holtz will accompany you.”
“Sir, shouldn’t he be focused on the air war?”
“Were it not for how little I trust you, yes. Commodore Holtz, you have my full trust in this matter.” He stands and Holtz and Cumberland stand as well.
“Yes, sir.”
Klindt walks out.
Holtz turns to Cumberland, “I’ll be on board in about thirty minutes and I’ll need quarters. My apologies for kicking you out of yours.”
Cumberland takes a deep breath, letting it out slowly, “Yes, sir.”
Cumberland invades his boat. He sees Morrison helping the SEALs mount a contraption over the forward escape trunk. “XO, my stateroom.”
They climb down the engine room escape hatch. Cumberland puts his head around the hatch into maneuvering, “Miller, where are we on start up?”
“Heating the plant, sir.”
“How long?”
“Two more hours, sir.”
“Carry on.”
Morrison silently follows him through the tunnel forward to the captain’s stateroom. When Morrison shuts the door behind him, Cumberland turns on him, “WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING GOING BEHIND MY BACK TO THE BRASS! I GOT MY ASS CHEWED OUT BY FUCKING ADMIRAL KLINDT! A FUCKING VICE ADMIRAL!”
“Sir?”
“SHUT THE FUCK UP! SHUT THE FUCK UP! I’M NOT DONE!” Cumberland takes another deep breath, “I expect loyalty from my officers.”
Morrison holds up his right index finger and waits.
Cumberland, “I expect loyalty. Legacy, or no, you have ended your career in this Navy. What you’ve done was inexcusable. What do you have to say for yourself?”
“Sir, you lost my loyalty when you recommended I be sent to a Utah gulag. Loy…”
“T
HAT’S THE FUCKING LAW, MORRISON. WE ARE FUCKING FIGHT…”
“SIR, SHUT THE FUCK UP. IT’S MY TURN.” Morrison holds Cumberland’s gaze, “Loyalty is a two-way street, sir. You threw mine away. You’ve been a tyrant to our crew and reduced our combat effectiveness with your behavior. It’s your career on the line, not mine. No doubt, they said as much.”