by Cliff Happy
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.”
Kristen had assumed, incorrectly, they
would simply be content to shove her in the torpedo room and act like she didn’t exist. However, it appeared these three men had given the situation at least a measure of deliberation.
Brodie nodded thoughtfully. “What about a head facility?” Brodie asked his two senior advisors. “You can forget the enlisted men’s head. That just won’t work.”
“I’m afraid the Goat Locker is out of the question too, Skipper,” COB replied referring to the Chief Petty Officer’s quarters commonly known as the Goat Locker. “Unless you want a fucking mutiny on your hands.”
“Spike,” Brodie chided COB for his language again.
“Sorry, sir,” COB replied easily, apparently accustomed to apologizing for his language around the captain.
It was obvious to her that when it came to using the bathroom, the Goat Locker wouldn’t work. The chief petty officers were the oldest enlisted men on board, and on most submarines they were truly the duty experts on virtually everything. In essence, the officers gave commands and handled some of the administrative details, but the CPOs ran the boat. It didn’t take a genius to know these seasoned veterans would react angrily to losing one of their few perks—having a head all to themselves. It was a small thing, but on submarines privacy was at a premium.
Graves then chimed in, “Hell, sir, let her use the officers’ head like the rest of us.” But from the looks COB and Brodie exchanged that wouldn’t be ideal either. No submarine was yet designed with the modicum of privacy society expected there to be when men and women lived and worked together. These men had been trying to find a solution to this problem for a while now, well before she’d come on board, which meant they had no intention of simply sending her ashore. There were five head/shower facilities available. One for the chief petty officers, an officer head shared by fourteen officers, two enlisted heads that over one hundred men competed for, and finally the captain had a head adjoining his cabin. Someone was going to be inconvenienced.
Brodie nodded toward the XO. “All right, we’ll try that and see how it works out.”
“The babies are going to whine about it,” COB pointed out referring to the junior officers. “Not to mention their wives,” he added.
“They’ll be fine,” Graves countered.
Brodie set his coffee cup down and placed his folded arms on the table as he leaned closer to her. “Are you sure you’re ready for this, Lieutenant?” he asked in a conversational tone, and despite her suspicion, she didn’t get the feeling he was questioning her resolve. “You’ve already been through a lot to get this far, and you should be commended for your perseverance, but this is where the rubber hits the road.”
He leaned back again, and she thought he looked tired.
“This crew has just come off a long and rather difficult patrol only to learn their leave has been cancelled, and we’re going right back out. Right now, every mother’s son of them hates me, the XO, COB, the Navy in general, and they’ll most certainly resent you, and it’s only going to get worse. We’re about to head back out for at least another four months, and if you’ll pardon my crudeness…” he paused briefly “…in another four months we’re gonna have our hands full keeping these boys from freaking out with each other let alone keeping their hands off you.” He was exaggerating for effect, she assumed. But he clearly wanted to impress on her the seriousness of what she was now part of. “In a few weeks we’re going to be at sea, and you’re going to be trapped in this little steel world. Even at the best of times, it’s a difficult affair.”
Kristen had heard similar words spoken to her before by people trying to frighten her off, but his tone was different. He sounded sincere, but she’d been fooled by false sincerity before and wasn’t ready to trust him just yet.
“I intend to see it through, Captain,” she replied flatly.
Brodie took another sip of coffee, his eyes narrowing slightly as he again studied her. Once more Kristen felt herself become uncomfortable under his gaze. She felt he wasn’t so much looking at her as seeing right through her.
“All right, Lieutenant, then if you’re certain, welcome aboard.” He set his cup down and extended his hand.
Kristen shook his offered hand. But as she did, he gripped her hand a little harder than necessary. She could feel the strength in his calloused hands, and she almost recoiled from him. But he held her hand fast.
“But you have to promise me something right here and now,” he said in all seriousness as he stared across the table at her. He was gripping her hand firmly, his eyes boring into her own as if willing her to listen to him and take him seriously.
“Yes, sir?” She cut her eyes away from his stare, unable to hold it.
“When it happens, and notice I said when and not if….” He again paused to let his words sink in. “When someone on this boat does anything that makes you uncomfortable and that falls outside of your professional duties. I don’t care what it is. If they brush up against you, or call you ‘sweetie’ or some other nonsense, you’re to report it at once to your Department Head, and if you don’t feel comfortable talking to him, then you kick down my door if necessary and tell me.”
“Aye-aye, sir,” she responded automatically to the order. But he wasn’t satisfied. He still gripped her hand until she looked back into his eyes.
“I’m serious, Lieutenant. No exceptions. No foolishness or accidents are to be tolerated. Is that clear?”
Kristen nodded, understanding completely now. Not only would he hold the crew accountable for their actions if they acted unprofessionally toward her, he would hold her accountable for her actions as well. The Navy, upon deciding to let her on board, had drafted a series of regulations specifically addressing fraternization between female and male submariners, and the penalties were severe. She would have to be careful never to place herself in a position that might be perceived as encouraging impropriety.
“I understand, Captain,” she answered, holding his stare for a few seconds.
Brodie released her hand and turned his attention back to his paperwork. “All right then, the XO and COB will see to you getting checked in to your department.”
Kristen took this as her dismissal and stood.
“Do you have any questions?” he asked without looking up as he opened a folder on the table.
COB and the XO were already stepping toward the door, apparently assuming she would ask nothing. But Kristen had a question, and instead of bolting for the door after the trauma of her initial interview with Brodie, she held her ground. “There is one question, sir. If you don’t mind?”
Brodie looked up from the report. “Not at all, my door is always open to my officers.”
“Sir….” Kristen wasn’t certain how best to phrase her question but then simply asked, “Why did you choose that particular question to ask me?” She’d never told any living soul why being on a submarine was so important to her. Yet, unerringly he homed in on her secret.
Brodie set the report aside, and a crooked smile appeared on his face as once more his eyes narrowed curiously. Again she felt him studying her, as if she were something he wasn’t certain he wanted to buy just yet. Graves and COB paused. They were watching her as well.
“Close the hatch, Spike,” Brodie ordered as he considered her. Once the door was closed, he addressed her, “No, Lieutenant, I don’t mind answering your question.” He then proceeded to explain, “I need to know what kind of officers I have working for me. Once we’re at sea, I can’t just kick some malcontent or misfit off the boat when they crack up. I have to be certain everyone on board is up to it, especially my officers.”
She nodded thoughtfully.
“You see, it occurred to me when I saw you on television several months ago that you had to be one of two types of people. The first type, the one most of us assumed you were, was some uptight Fem-Nazi who wanted to simply stir up trouble. Maybe get your face plastered on the cover of some supermarket checkout rag like those idiots who go on those reality television shows so they can
get their fifteen minutes of fame while the rest of the country laughs at them.”
He was right; he’d assessed the problem perfectly. She’d experienced virtually the same problem from all corners. Admirals had even assumed she was simply doing it all because she wanted a cushy job somewhere. She’d been bounced around from command to command for over three years hoping they’d find some place she might like well enough to simply drop her request for transfer and serve out her time quietly. It was part of the reason they’d sent her to Hawaii.
“And the other person, sir?” Kristen asked, hoping he realized she wasn’t the former.
Brodie leaned back in his seat as his fingers resumed their gentle tapping on the surface of the table. “The other person you could have been would have to be someone special indeed to put up with all of the vile crap you had to go through.” He paused for a moment, still scrutinizing her. He then lowered his eyes to the table top as if to examine his fingers. “And if, by chance, you turned out to be the latter, you would be someone I’d rather like to have in my crew.”
It was a concise, logical argument. Something she understood. But was it sincere? She couldn’t be certain. She was still stinging from their first encounter, and the anger she’d felt toward him had yet to fade. Had he just been taking her measure? If so, then none of what had transpired in this cabin had been a game. He was not some sick sadist who enjoyed toying with people’s emotions. Brodie had been assessing her character and determining how best to use her for the benefit of all on board. He’d done what she herself would have done in his place. Kristen nodded her thanks and came to attention.
“That’ll be all, Lieutenant. Dismissed,” he said, having already returned his attention back to the report.
“Aye-aye, sir. Have a good day, sir.” She responded as she’d been taught to do years earlier as a Plebe in the Naval Academy.
“You too, Lieutenant,” he answered without looking up.
As she stepped toward the door, she heard him offer a final word, “And get some dry clothes on before you catch your death.”
“Aye, sir.”