Seawolf Mask of Command

by Cliff Happy

  “Thank you, Mister Gibbs,” she replied as he hovered over her for a few seconds. The other officers moved to their seats as if on cue, and then Gibbs stepped over to stand near the head of the table. Kristen took a sip of tea and glanced at the clock again.

  The friendly banter faded.

  The digital clock advanced to 0830.

  The door opened and Brodie stepped in. He was dressed in a fresh set of coveralls with his sleeves rolled up. He’d shaved, and other than the swollen eyes, he looked relatively refreshed. As he entered, everyone came to their feet, but he waved them back down immediately as he was greeted by a chorus of, “Good morning, Captain.”

  “Good morning,” he responded, glancing at Gibbs. “Is there any lifer juice, Mister Gibbs?”

  “Of course, sir,” Gibbs replied and dutifully set a fresh mug of coffee in front of Brodie. “Would you care for anything else, sir?” Gibbs asked. “I noticed you barely touched your breakfast.”

  “That’ll be all, Mister Gibbs,” Brodie said in dismissal as the steward attended him. “Thank you.”

  “You really should eat more, Captain,” Gibbs mumbled under his breath as he stepped off.

  “What was that?” Brodie asked as Gibbs walked back to the galley.

  “Nothing, sir,” the steward replied and disappeared through the swinging door.

  Apparently this was something of a morning ritual because Kristen noticed several officers smiling at the exchange. Brodie meanwhile placed a yellow legal pad on the table along with a couple of pencils. He then took a few minutes to speak with each officer, slowly moving down the length of the table, asking about family and other matters not pertaining to business. Kristen hoped he would skip her and only speak to the more senior officers, but as he moved down the line and reached Martin, he engaged him in conversation as well.

  “How’s the search for an apartment coming, Mister Martin?” Brodie asked. Kristen noticed that he’d called the other officers by their first names, but Martin was addressed differently. She filed this tidbit of information away, wondering if it had any significance.

  “Slow, sir,” Martin reported. “Things are pretty expensive around here.”

  Kristen listened, not daring to interrupt. She had a fairly good idea how much money an ensign drawing submariners pay made. As a junior officer he should be able to afford a nice place, even in the Seattle area.

  Brodie responded by pulling a scrap of paper out of his breast pocket and passing it down to Martin. “You might try giving that number a call. It’s the Base Relocation Assistance Center—”

  “I’ve already tried them, sir,” Martin interrupted.

  The temperature in the wardroom seemed to drop slightly, and Kristen noticed a few junior officers visually stiffen as Martin interrupted Brodie. She saw Graves’ eyes narrow and glare down at Martin. Brodie, however, didn’t react immediately.

  After an uncomfortable pause which witnessed Martin shrink slightly in his seat, Brodie continued. “As I was saying, call that number and ask to speak to Miss Shirley. Tell her you work for me, and I told you to call. Let her know we’re leaving the barn next, and I’d consider it a personal favor if she were to give your case her personal attention.”

  Kristen listened to the exchange in silence. She had no idea who “Miss Shirley” was but assumed she was an acquaintance of the captain’s, perhaps a girlfriend. She glanced at Martin, noticing him fidgeting uncomfortably under the captain’s gaze. Kristen recalled her own discomfort the previous afternoon when she’d experienced the same hard glare from Brodie, and she couldn’t help feeling sorry for the nervous ensign.

  “Thank you, sir,” Martin mumbled. “I’ll give it a try.”

  Kristen waited, knowing she was next in line. She didn’t have to look at Brodie to feel his eyes upon her.

  “Good morning, Lieutenant,” he greeted her politely. “Did you manage to get any sleep this morning?”

  Kristen had never been a good liar, but decided to give it a try. “A little, sir,” she answered and glanced back up the table at him. His eyes were upon her, and, for some reason she still couldn’t explain, they were just as unnerving as the first time she’d felt his gaze.

  “Well,” he replied, clearly realizing she’d just lied to him, “at least you’re dry for once.”

  Kristen resisted a smile, still uncertain if she could allow herself to relax here. “Yes, sir.”

  Graves watched the usual morning exchange in silence, knowing Brodie liked to keep the atmosphere in the wardroom relaxed and informal. But now that the pleasantries were out of the way, Brodie became all business. He started with the department heads, running down the previous day’s repair-and-refit schedule then discussing the current day’s schedule. When it came to details, Graves knew Brodie was relentless. He asked short, direct questions and expected similar responses. Excuses had no place on board the Seawolf, and most of Brodie’s officers knew this already.

  The last officer to be questioned was Terry Hall, the ship’s infamous playboy and Reactor Division Officer. The reactor was currently dormant, but tests had shown an anomaly in a backup control system that the civilian contractors from Westinghouse—who made the reactor—as well as Navy personnel had been unable to run down. This was a critical repair since the reactor couldn’t be started until every system servicing it was operating at peak efficiency.

  “What’s the status on that Reactor Control panel, Terry?” Brodie asked as expected.

  “No joy so far, Skipper,” Terry replied. “Westinghouse removed it and put it on a test bench. It operated perfectly. But as soon as we reinstalled it late last night, the same anomaly returned,” Terry explained and then offered in assurance, “We’re going to get back on it first thing today.”

  Ski chimed in, “We think there might be a short somewhere else in the system, Captain. I’ll have Chief O’Rourke make it a priority.”

  “There’s a few miles of wiring down there,” Graves pointed out, wanting to get this problem behind them quickly. They could ill afford more delays. “You could spend the next six months chasing down Gremlins. We need to home in on the problem right now.”

  “We’re working on it,” Ski replied hiding his frustration. As Chief Engineer, everything that did or did not happen in the engineering spaces was his responsibility. Graves knew Ski was under a lot of pressure, and this, combined with some marital problems he was experiencing, were taking their toll. But Graves also knew that if Ski ever hoped to have command of his own boat, a successful tour as a chief engineer was a prerequisite.

  Graves wanted to take point on this critical repair and was about to suggest the very thing to Brodie, when he saw his friend sipping his coffee but at the same time staring down the table at someone. The captain’s eyes had narrowed slightly, and Graves thought he recognized Brodie’s thoughtful expression.

  “Skipper?” Graves asked and followed Brodie’s eyes and saw Kristen seated motionless at the far end of the table. Her glasses were still on, and she looked to be attempting to blend into the wall. Graves knew being the only woman on board couldn’t be easy for her. She was currently staring at some speck of dust on the table and not looking up at anyone. He knew she wasn’t nervous. She couldn’t possibly be nervous. Graves was sure of it. She’d stood up to Brodie the previous day, something Graves had never believed he would see a junior officer do. But now she looked almost meek.

  “Lieutenant Whitaker,” Brodie began as he set his mug down and toyed with a pencil. “Might you have any thoughts on this?”

  It was a strange question. She’d been on board less than a day, and as far as Graves knew, she hadn’t even been in the reactor spaces. Everyone around the table turned their attention to her, and Graves now realized why she’d suddenly appeared so timid. She hated attention. She’d told him so. But he saw her back stiffen slightly and she lifted her head, looking back up at the captain, showing a quiet confidence Graves knew Brodie respected.

  “It sounds like a fau
lty controller, sir,” she said simply with her customary controlled tone.

  “Where the hell did you come up with that shit? GE said the controller is perfect. Didn’t you hear Lieutenant Hall?” Ski asked angrily. “They had the damn thing on a test bench yesterday and it was perfect.”

  “Ski,” Brodie said softly in warning.

  Brodie had never been much for foul language of any kind—it was just one of his many quirks. In a profession surrounded by men who used profanity like it was a second language, Brodie didn’t like it. Plus, now that there was a lady in the wardroom, Brodie had told all of the officers he expected them to tone it down even more than usual.

  “Sorry, Skipper,” Ski replied turning his attention back to Brodie. “But she’s just a Nub, what the hell does she know?”

  Graves watched the exchange and saw that Brodie’s eyes were still on Kristen. He was studying her, watching her like he did every new officer. Graves knew Brodie was a master at reading people, and the captain knew every man on board better than they knew themselves. He did exhaustive research on every officer who came on board and was never satisfied until he felt he had learned everything about them.

  “Lieutenant,” Brodie asked simply, “would you care to enlighten us?”

  Graves realized Brodie knew something about her that no one else did. Kristen’s face was completely expressionless. For all intents and purposes she was a mannequin. Graves could read nothing from her bearing. He recalled a television clip he’d seen of her testifying before Congress during her lengthy petition to serve on a submarine. She had been just as distant, just as cold and professional. He would hate to play poker with her.

  “The controller,” she began with a voice more suited for a classroom or a laboratory, “while on the test bench, isn’t hardwired or bolted in place,” she explained. “But when it is installed in the reactor space and bolted in place, the rear of the controller tends to press up against the exterior wall of the reactor vessel. This can cause pressure and chafing on the wiring trunk creating a short that doesn’t show up on a test bench.”

  Graves realized his jaw was hanging slightly open, a look he saw on several faces, including Ski’s. If she were correct, and Graves didn’t see how she could be, then it would explain the problem perfectly. Graves glanced at Brodie and saw the captain hiding a slight, satisfied smile behind his mug.

  “Chief Engineer?” Brodie asked, still hiding his smile.

  Ski had been caught as dumbfounded by her revelation as the rest of them. “I’ll have an electrician inspect the panel first thing, Skipper,” Ski offered.

  “How did you know that?” Terry Hall asked Kristen the question everyone wanted to.

  Her immediate reaction was to push her glasses a little further up on her nose as if to hide behind them. Other than this nervous tick, the stone mask stayed firmly in place. “After Reactor Prototype training, the Navy didn’t know what to do with me, so they kept me on at Charleston for almost a year as an instructor. I taught the S6W reactor and experienced a similar glitch. It took us nearly three weeks to discover the problem,” she explained in the same controlled, professional tone she normally used—except when angry. Graves briefly recalled her the day before in Brodie’s cabin when her true colors had been briefly exposed. Beneath her carefully controlled exterior, he knew there was a fighter lurking. Brodie clearly saw it, too. Graves wondered if anyone else had picked up on it.

  “Why haven’t we seen anything in the message traffic about that?” Terry asked, looking back up the table toward Graves, Brodie, and Ski. “I would think DNR would send out a message on this defect.” DNR stood for Director of Naval Reactors, and they were responsible for the training of all reactor personnel, as well as the safe operation of all the Navy’s nuclear power plants.

  Again Graves saw Brodie take a sip of coffee, his eyes still smiling down the table as he watched Kristen. Her face remained unreadable.

  “Lieutenant?” Brodie asked her expectantly.

  “It is in the manual, sir,” she responded mechanically. “It was sent as an addendum to the manual twenty-one months ago by NNPTC.” NNPTC was the Navy Nuclear Power Training Command, where Kristen had taught as an instructor.

  “You’re kidding,” Terry replied, a bit embarrassed that he didn’t remember seeing it. Of course, there were thousands of such addendums and messages swamping the engineering department. Most related to obscure systems and were seldom critical, but this one—if she were correct—would save them potentially weeks of refit time.

  “Might you recall the addendum number and particular page, Lieutenant?” Brodie asked, keeping his eyes on her. She cleared her throat uncomfortably, clearly not liking the attention everyone was giving her, which only verified her comment that she hadn’t fought so hard to reach a submarine simply to get her face plastered on the cover of Navy Times.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “And it is?” Brodie asked with an amused expression.

  Graves was now watching Brodie, wondering why he was pushing this. She was clearly uncomfortable, and he’d already made his point. But Brodie wouldn’t let it go.

  “Addendum 2-10, page 437, sir,” she replied calmly without a hint of pride in her voice. In fact, Graves could discern nothing from her. Her face was a blank mask. Outwardly at least, she appeared in perfect control. No emotion. No feeling at all.

  Apparently satisfied, Brodie finally let her off the hook and turned to Ski. “Check it out first thing, Ski.”

  “Aye, Skipper,” Ski replied looking a little taken aback by what he’d heard. Graves knew Ski was a proud man, and of all the officers on board, he’d been the most critical about her coming on board. Graves wasn’t certain Brodie was doing the right thing by highlighting her expertise and possibly embarrassing Ski. But he also knew Brodie always had a reason for everything he did. Unfortunately, he seldom shared his deepest thoughts.

  The meeting ended, and the junior officers raced out of the wardroom with Terry Hall leading the way. Graves knew they were anxious to get back to the reactor control room and see if she was right. Graves was just as curious but waited, intent on speaking with Brodie in private. But Brodie motioned for Ski to stick around. Graves expected Brodie to reprimand Ski for the hard time the chief engineer was already giving their newest officer. But as usual, Brodie was full of surprises.

  “What is it, Skipper?” Ski asked.

  “I want you to test Lieutenant Whitaker for her engineering qualifications within the next few days,” he said casually. Graves thought his friend might be joking. She wouldn’t be ready for months at the earliest.

  Ski was equally dumbfounded. “Sir?”

  “You heard me,” Brodie repeated.

  “Sir, that’s impossible,” Ski replied. “She’s just a Nub; she won’t be ready for months.”

  “I know,” Brodie responded. “Test her just the same,” he insisted. “I’ve already made arrangements with the squadron and there are three engineering officers available whenever you’re ready to administer the test.”

  “Skipper, why the rush?” Graves asked, knowing there was no chance she could possibly pass. “I mean, it took me six months before I was ready.”

  Brodie nodded, but had clearly made up his mind. “Any questions, Ski?”

  Graves saw a devilish grin breakout across Ski’s face, and it occurred to Graves that Brodie might intentionally be trying to sabotage her. But this made no sense. If he hadn’t wanted her on board, his reputation with the Brass was such that he could have simply said “no,” and she would have been assigned to another boat.

  “No questions, Skipper,” Ski responded, looking quite pleased with the idea of testing—and failing—her. He departed to return to engineering, leaving Graves alone with Brodie.

  “What the hell is that all about, Sean?” Graves asked, using Brodie’s first name now that they were alone.

  “Trust me on this one, okay?” Brodie replied with an expression that made Graves think he might be
missing something.

  “You know I trust you,” he pointed out. “But I don’t see how setting her up for failure is helping her any.”

  “Who said anything about setting her up for failure?”

  Graves considered Kristen for a moment and then concluded, “I guess with an incredible gift like hers, maybe she can pass it.”

  “Gift?” Brodie asked.

  “Her memory,” Graves explained. “A blessing like that sure would’ve come in handy back at Annapolis.”

  “A blessing?” Brodie asked again, and then said, “I’d say it’s more like a curse. In fact, I’m surprised she passed her psyche eval.”

  Graves was caught off guard by his friend’s statement, however Brodie understood people better than most and the XO reconsidered his thoughts on the matter. But after several seconds, he couldn’t think of a photographic memory being anything but a wonderful ability. “How so?”

  Brodie shrugged and asked, “What’s the worst experience you ever went through?”

  It was an easy answer. “My dad,” he said, recalling his father’s unsuccessful battle with diabetes. Graves had watched helpless as, over a period of two years, the doctors had removed first toes and fingers, then hands, feet and finally limbs as the terrible disease ate his father one piece at a time.

  “Bad times,” Brodie agreed in understanding. Graves knew his friend understood, since Brodie had been by his side the entire time and had helped Graves through it. But then he asked, “Has the pain faded over the last five years since your father passed?”

  It had, of course, and Graves nodded. “Yeah, I still miss him though.”

  Brodie sat quietly for a few seconds out of respect for Grave’s loss. “He was a good man, and shouldn’t have gone like that.”