by Cliff Happy
“On what, Captain?” Hayes demanded, not bothering to hide his annoyance.
“Is this meeting in anyway going to expedite the repairs to my submarine, help train my green crew, or provide any information that I haven’t already received from Naval Intelligence and the CIA with regard to my mission?” Brodie’s other annoying habit was speaking his mind and not taking into account the subtle nuances of the politics necessary to advance to flag rank.
“Actually, Captain Brodie,” Schaffer interjected, “or may I call you Sean?”
“Sure, Craig,” Brodie replied, his voice staying polite, but hardly friendly.
Hayes swallowed an angry retort, wishing he could relieve Brodie and get someone else to take over the Seawolf. Hayes didn’t know the particulars of Brodie’s mission—another point of annoyance—but he was certain he could find someone who would take it more seriously. He interjected, “If you don’t think you’re up to it, Captain, perhaps I could find someone else.” Hayes was determined to make certain Schaffer returned to Washington with at least a comfortable feeling that Hayes was taking it seriously.
Any other commanding officer would have blanched at the suggestion. Instead, Brodie looked at Hayes with a straight face and replied, “That is your prerogative, Commodore.”
“I don’t believe that’s necessary, Commodore Hayes,” Schaffer interjected delicately. “Captain Brodie’s reputation precedes him.”
Hayes nodded in agreement, irritated by the comment. He knew Brodie’s reputation, and felt slightly threatened by it. No commander liked the feeling that a subordinate might be more qualified to replace him.
“Anyway, Sean,” Schaffer explained diplomatically, “it’s about your submarine preparations that brought me here.”
“What about it, Craig?” Brodie asked without any more respect in his voice than he might give a cashier at a supermarket.
“Well,” Schaffer appeared slightly uncomfortable talking to Brodie and fidgeted nervously. Hayes understood. Brodie had the annoying habit of holding eye contact with whomever he was speaking to, and it was a bit unnerving. Schaffer continued, “I was sent to impress upon you the importance of expediting repairs to the Seawolf. The situation on the Korean Peninsula is deteriorating faster every day, and your mission is deemed as a matter of the utmost importance to national and regional security.”
Brodie didn’t immediately respond, although he readjusted his seat so he could lean forward toward Schaffer. “I am aware of the situation and my mission, Mr. Schaffer,” Brodie replied, his tone having changed slightly. It was now low and hinted at the stress he was under. Hayes wished he knew the full extent of Brodie’s orders. “My crew is working around the clock. Every available yard worker is on board expediting repairs. We have cut every corner we can. We have deleted all but the most essential repairs and upgrades. But it is hard to squeeze a six-month refit into two weeks.”
Schaffer nodded dumbly as if he could possibly understand the difficulties of preparing a submarine for war. Brodie had stated his case clearly, but Hayes recognized that politicians operated on their own timeline and expected everyone else to automatically adjust to suit their needs.
“Yes, I am sure you are, Sean,” Schaffer replied, but his tone stated the exact opposite. “Is there anything we might do to help move things along a little faster?”
“Our sailing date is next Tuesday, or has that changed?” Brodie asked.
“No,” Hayes answered, well aware that the Seawolf’s repairs were not moving along as fast as he had hoped. Whether or not Brodie was at fault was not the issue. Everything that happened or failed to happen on his boat was automatically considered his fault. If the Seawolf failed to make it to sea on time, the arrogant captain would find himself relieved of his command and his career ruined. “The sailing date hasn’t changed.”
“We’ll be ready,” Brodie responded flatly as if there could be no doubt.
“I was led to believe you’re behind schedule,” Schaffer explained diplomatically, expressing the displeasure of the highest levels of the chain of command that the Seawolf wasn’t ready to go already.
Hayes had already briefed Schaffer of the current condition of the Seawolf and had planted the seed of blame at Brodie’s feet. Brodie looked at Hayes. If he was angry, it didn’t show. But Hayes could almost sense the growing tension in the room. Brodie looked back at Schaffer and said slowly, in a controlled voice, “Mr. Schaffer, in four years of command, I have never once missed a sailing date. The Seawolf will be at sea as scheduled.”
Silence again descended about the room as the Hayes and Schaffer studied Brodie carefully while the captain waited. Schaffer pursed his lips thoughtfully. He was a political animal, and Hayes knew what the man was considering. Was Brodie the right man for this? Hayes felt he knew the answer, but didn’t have the clout to dismiss him.
“Do you have any questions before I head back to Washington?” Schaffer finally asked.
“No, sir.”
Schaffer stood, ending the brief meeting. Hayes was broiling, quite certain Brodie’s recalcitrance and mannerisms would be reported back to Washington. “I’m afraid I have a plane to catch, gentlemen,” Schaffer concluded and offered Brodie his hand. “It was a pleasure meeting you, Captain.”
“Have a safe flight, Mr. Schaffer,” Brodie allowed.
Hayes walked with Schaffer into the outer office where, once again alone, the President’s advisor looked back at Hayes, his eyes now cold as he whispered, “It will be unacceptable for the Seawolf not to make her sailing date, Commodore.”
“I understand, Mr. Schaffer,” Hayes assured him with complete understanding. If the Seawolf wasn’t ready, not only would Brodie be relieved, but Hayes would find himself riding a desk on some admiral’s staff for the remainder of his career.
Once Schaffer departed, Hayes returned to his office to find Brodie standing by a window staring out at the inlet just off shore. Hayes managed to close the door before turning on Brodie. But, just as Hayes was about to express his displeasure in the harshest way at what he felt was a lack of urgency on Brodie’s part, he saw that Brodie had turned to face him. There was nothing in the captain’s posture that was threatening, but his eyes were now cold… uncomfortably so. Hayes hesitated, recalling a few rumors about Brodie. He swallowed his initial stinging comment and said, “Sean, this is serious.”
Brodie took a step forward and paused by Hayes’ desk. He placed a hand on the desk and said in a voice struggling to keep his anger in check. “Do you think for one second, I don’t realize how serious this is, Commodore?” The strain he normally hid so well was now evident in his face. Brodie’s youthful face had aged ten years in a second.
“The Seawolf has to be ready,” Hayes said flatly.
Brodie’s left hand trembled slightly. Hayes noted the tremor. He briefly wondered if this was simply a sign of anger, or was it an indication that Brodie had reached the limit of endurance? Four years of command was a tremendously long time.
“It will be ready,” Brodie insisted curtly. “But, I can hardly help her get that way if I’m called up here every other day to remind you of that, Commodore.”
“I don’t care for your tone, Captain.”
Brodie exhaled tiredly and said with as much respect as he could muster, which wasn’t much, “My tone, Commodore, should be the least of our worries,” he replied. Brodie then pointed at the door where Schaffer had disappeared. “Don’t you see?”
“See what?”
“They’re scared,” Brodie concluded referring to Schaffer and his superiors back in Washington, “and people seldom make sound decisions when they’re afraid.”
Hayes wished he knew Brodie’s orders. He hated being in the dark. “Are you questioning your orders?”
“You’re damn right I am,” Brodie admitted with his characteristic bluntness. “This mission has desperation written all over it.”
Could this be used as an excuse to relieve Brodie? Hayes didn’t think s
o. The Navy, at least in principle, wanted officers to have the moral courage to question their superiors. And although Hayes might not like the unconventional captain, there was no denying that Brodie was no yes-man.
Hayes relented. Brodie had less than a week. If he didn’t make it, he would be relieved and his career over. Although Hayes would have liked few things more than being the one to relieve Brodie, he wanted to see the Seawolf ready, even if it was simply to prevent any more embarrassment to the squadron. “Very well, Sean. How can I help?”
Brodie was still angry, but kept it in check, “If you want an update on our readiness, I can e-mail you a report as many times a day as you like. But every time I’m dragged up here for another briefing or to provide another update, it’s time I could better spend getting her ready.”
Hayes knew Brodie had a point. There’d been multiple briefings, mostly of a classified nature, that Hayes hadn’t been allowed to attend, which—he had to admit—scared him a bit. Just what was the Seawolf heading into? Hayes could only guess.
“All right, Sean. I expect a report by 0800 every morning and another update by 1600. But, I can’t control the CIA wanting to brief you on the latest intelligence regarding your assignment.”
“Thank you, Commodore,” Brodie said in a tone more respectful than he’d used at any time while talking with Schaffer.
They were quiet for a few seconds, each man considering all that had transpired. Hayes then asked, “Is there anything you can tell me about it?”
Brodie shook his head, “Sorry, Commodore. But trust me on this, you’ll sleep better not knowing.”
Chapter Fourteen
Wardroom, USS Seawolf
Kristen spent the rest of the day in the diesel room. It was deep in the bowels of the sub, most crewmen never went down there, and she needed to spend more time studying the machinery there anyway. At Gibbs’ urging, she kept ice on her cheek, hoping to prevent too much swelling. Plus, the sub’s Independent Duty Corpsman—the military equivalent to a nurse practitioner—had checked her out and had informed her she’d be all right.
“But you’re gonna have one hell of a black eye,” he concluded.
She managed to go the rest of the day and night without bumping into Brodie. But come morning, when she looked in the mirror, she was loathe to discover that the corpsman had been correct. Her left eye was nearly swollen shut, and the skin from her cheek to her temple was black and blue. Kristen didn’t wear make-up. She never had, even when she’d been a teenager and dealing with an awkward stage that had lasted seemingly forever. So she had nothing with which to cover up the worst of the bruising.
She returned to the Seawolf as usual, not sure how she might hide her face from the captain during the regular morning meeting, and she couldn’t just skip it. But she positioned herself in her usual spot early at the wardroom table. From there, only her right side faced the captain, and she hoped she might be able to avoid looking directly at him. It was a long shot, but with all that was going on, she hoped he would be too busy with more important matters and skip the usual morning routine.
The XO arrived at 0730 as was normal. Kristen hoped to test her theory on him. But no sooner had she greeted him, he asked, “How’s the eye?”
“It’s okay, sir,” she replied fearing COB was right. She’d never hide it from the captain.
Graves paused in front of her and winced slightly. “It doesn’t look okay,” he pointed out but said no more on the matter. He filled a coffee mug and took his usual seat and began reading the classified message board. Kristen had already read it and hoped the growing trouble in Korea might help deflect some of the attention away from her black eye.
North Korea had just completed another round of long-range missile tests, much to the chagrin of the United States and the world community. There had been an attempt to impress even stricter economic sanctions on the secretive rogue state, but Russia and China had blocked any serious UN sanctions, and the North Koreans were reportedly preparing another nuclear weapons test.
Just what the Seawolf’s mission might be was still a mystery. Kristen wasn’t privy to their orders, but everyone onboard assumed it had something to do with the growing tension on the Korean Peninsula. Since coming on board, she’d gained some inkling about what they might be getting into. Upon arrival, the forward crew hatch had been covered by a portable work shelter. The entire area around the forward escape trunk had been off limits, but Kristen had learned that engineers had been working around the clock to modify the original ship’s hatch, with a new hatch capable of mating with a Dry Deck Shelter for a SEAL Deliver Vehicle.
The Dry Deck Shelter (DDS) was designed to mate with a mother submarine, connecting to the sub’s own air and power supply. Inside the DDS was a mini submarine called a SEAL Delivery Vehicle, or SDV. These small, stealthy submarines, could deliver a six-man SEAL team places a regular submarine could never go. The fact that the Seawolf was having this emergency modification, and that it was being kept secret, couldn’t be coincidental she decided. It had to do with whatever their upcoming mission was. Most of the crew were unaware of the modification, and the only reason Kristen knew about it was because the flying squad had been assigned to handle the routing of new power and duct work to the area to support a DDS if installed.
Her fellow officers arrived and engaged in the usual banter while they sipped coffee, munched on doughnuts, and waited for the captain. Terry saw her first thing and took a seat across from her, studying her face with concern. “That looks ugly,” he admitted.
Kristen was studying one of the dozens of technical manuals from the wardroom bookshelves. She glanced up at him. “You’re a real charmer,” she replied dryly. “Always a kind word for the ladies.”
“Does it hurt bad?”
“Only when I laugh,” she explained and then motioned toward the collar of his coveralls. “You have a bit of lipstick there, Terry.”
As usual, Gibbs delivered her and the XO breakfast. For the rest of the officers present, he delivered coffee. The steward lingered over her more than usual, almost fawning. She appreciated his concern for her, but didn’t want any more attention than her bruised face had already brought.
At precisely half past eight, the captain came in. He carried his usual legal pad, a couple of pencils, and a briefing binder. Kristen stood with the others, but kept her head turned slightly to avoid allowing him a full-face view. He waved them back down, and she resumed her seat. Across from her, Martin’s seat was still empty. The young ensign had been cutting it closer and closer every morning, and Kristen feared he’d finally cut it too close.
Following the usual banter between Gibbs and Brodie, the captain got down to business. He skipped the usual morning rounds of cordial conversation with the assembled officers and went right to his checklists. Kristen said a silent prayer of thanks. There was no reason for him to address her directly now, and with a little luck she might get through the meeting without him noticing her.
Brodie was fifteen minutes into the meeting when the sound of someone forcing his way through the usually crowded passageway disturbed the meeting. A few seconds later, the door opened and a rather ruffled Ensign Martin entered.
Kristen braced slightly, sensing the mood change suddenly in the wardroom. Her fellow officers bristled as well while Martin slipped in behind them and headed for his customary seat. Kristen fixed her eyes on the bulkhead across from her, not wanting to look up at the head of the table and see the cold stare she anticipated Brodie giving Martin.
The tardy ensign sat down and glanced across the table at her, but before Kristen could do or say anything to possibly silence him, he spoke, “What happened to you?”
Kristen cringed, feeling her fingers tighten on the arm of the chair. She kept her eyes fixed straight ahead. Thus far no one had even hinted about what had happened the previous day, but Martin had just opened up the whole can of worms and scattered them on the table.
“Did you get hit yesterday?
” Martin asked, his face twisting into an expression of pain.
“Good morning, Mister Martin,” interrupted the captain’s deep voice.
The captain’s tone was anything but friendly toward Martin. She briefly recalled warnings from multiple sources—including Martin— never to make Brodie angry. Martin was late for the meeting. Kristen still didn’t know her captain well, but she thought she knew enough.
Don’t make any excuses! Just apologize and promise to fix it! No excuses!
Despite her thoughts to the contrary, Martin looked back up the table with a sheepish expression. “Good morning, sir,” he offered. “My apologies for being late; the traffic was terrible this morning.”
Kristen closed her eyes and stiffened slightly as if expecting a bomb to go off. She’d been on board less than two weeks but knew Brodie didn’t accept excuses.
“Traffic?” There was a distinct edge in the captain’s voice. Sharp. Cutting.
She recalled hearing that edge before and didn’t relish hearing it again.
“Traffic?” the captain asked again, the edge in his voice becoming crisper, and Kristen felt him building up to a crescendo.
“Yes sir, there was an accident—”
“Sir,” Graves cut Martin off before he offered another lame excuses. “I’ll see to it that Mister Martin is warmly reminded of the importance of punctuality.”
Kristen had reopened her eyes, half expecting to see Martin burnt to a crisp by the captain’s glare. She wondered if Brodie might let the matter drop and allow the XO to handle it. For Martin’s sake she hoped he might.
“Very well, XO,” Brodie agreed, but she could still hear the tension in his voice, and he sounded to be approaching a meltdown. “Please see to it.”
Kristen almost breathed a sigh of relief.