Seawolf Mask of Command

by Cliff Happy

  Kristen reached Hodges barely three seconds after hitting the water and immediately positioned herself under him, supporting his body with her own, and at the same time holding his head up out of the water as she’d been instructed years earlier. She then began swimming, kicking with all the power her years of training in the pool could give. But the heavy parka and overalls were now acting like anchors. Every move was made ten times more difficult as her protective clothing, now water-logged, felt like it weighed a ton.

  Kristen then felt the suction of the pump-jet pulling her and Hodges aft as the sleek hull of the Seawolf struck her foot. She pushed away as best she could, knowing she had seconds before they were sucked in. Kristen struggled, kicking with all her strength against the suction produced by the fifty-two thousand horsepower created by the Seawolf’s steam turbines.

  Despite her years of swimming competitively, there was nothing she could do against the pull of the submarine’s pump-jet. But just as she felt they would be sucked in, the suction stopped, and she moved away from the hull as it silently slipped passed her. Someone had seen her and Hodges, and they’d managed to stop the propeller in time.

  But this was only the first hurdle she had to face.

  The submarine had been moving at ten knots when the pump-jet propulsor stopped. At that speed it would take well over a mile for the Seawolf to stop. By then Kristen would be dead from hypothermia.

  One thing at a time!

  She stopped struggling to swim, inflated their buoyancy compensators and turned on the strobe lights attached to each of their safety harnesses, but Hodge’s marker beacon wasn’t working. She again took note of the frigid temperatures, and she felt her body trembling. Kristen did her best to ignore the impending doom looming large in her near future. She’d been a varsity swimmer in high school, and then at the Naval Academy. She’d swum competitively since the age of nine. Over the years, she’d taken several water survival courses and knew she had just minutes before hypothermia would overwhelm her.

  Hodges’ heart was still beating but he’d stopped breathing. During a lifeguard training course in Southern California, she’d seen a demonstration of open water mouth-to-mouth resuscitation. She’d practiced it a few times, never expecting she might actually need it. Of course, that training had been in an indoor heated pool with instructors, safety swimmers and in the bright light of day, not in frigid water, at night, in high seas, and with a shipmate dying in her arms.

  “Come on, Hodges,” she whispered, fighting the numbing cold rapidly taking control of her body. “Help me out here!” She positioned herself over him and began CPR, only to have him vomit a lungful of seawater in her face.

  Kristen coughed, spitting out seawater as a wave crashed into her. The brutal northern wind whipped up the sea state in the Sound and made it even harder to keep Hodges’ head above water. She estimated she’d already entered stage two of hypothermia, her body core temperature dropping fast. She was shaking uncontrollably, and it was all she could do to keep a grip on Hodges. With his strobe light not working, if they got separated, no rescue team would find him until it was too late.

  He coughed up more water.

  “Come on, Hodges!” she mumbled as she kept working on him, trying to revive him. The bone-numbing cold she’d experienced on the deck of the Seawolf was now just a warm memory as her extremities and torso trembled uncontrollably. She glanced about, hoping to see the rescue craft. A wave crashed into her face, and she gagged on the foul tasting water. She hadn’t realized her hood had come off when she dove into the water, and now the chill wind froze the water clinging to her, creating chunks of ice in her hair. She struggled to resume mouth-to-mouth, her hands resisting her mental commands, and she knew she was running out of time. She cursed her perfect memory that could recall every second of her class on hypothermia, wishing she didn’t know what was soon to befall her.

  Hodges jerked suddenly in her arms and started breathing. Kristen would have cheered, or offered words of encouragement, but she’d passed through stage two of hypothermia and was entering the third and final stage. Her mind was growing cloudy as she fought for consciousness. Hodges should live, she knew. He was breathing and his life vest would keep his head above water. Her strobe would still be working long after she died, and the rescuers would be able to get Hodges if she could just hold onto him.

  Pure and simple logic dictated her last conscious act.

  She forced her numb arms under his life vest, wrapping them around him so they would stay together as another wave washed over her. She coughed up water as her muscles stopped responding to her commands. The shivering became more violent. Every muscle in her body was contracting at an incredible rate, trying to generate heat. Unfortunately, she knew exactly what was happening to her.

  Her temperature was spiraling downward. Her body was fighting to conserve heat. Blood vessels were constricting to prevent excessive blood flow to the limbs which were now going limp. Her disciplined mind told her what would soon happen. As her heart beat ever faster, fighting for life, she would experience extreme ventricle tachycardia or atrial fibrillation—a heart attack.

  Kristen looked up at the night sky. She’d made it onto a submarine, only to die a few days later. She might have laughed at the bitter irony if she’d had the conscious capacity left. She couldn’t feel Hodges next to her. Where there had been bone-stabbing cold, now she felt warmth spreading through her.

  Her eyes closed as her thoughts drifted from the present misery, to something pleasant.

  Her next thought was of powerful arms carrying her and lifting her gently into a bunk, then covering her with a blanket. There was something written on one of the arms… something in Latin.

  “Over there!” Graves barked at the coxswain of the small inflatable rubber boat. Graves had been in the control center when he heard the alarm from the bridge and had immediately sent the all-stop order as the Chief of the Watch had sounded the alarm claxon. Graves had then headed aft and joined the small boat crew, deploying the inflatable rubber boat from the forward escape hatch and joining the recue party.

  They could see the flashing strobe in the distance and raced across the waves toward it. He and his men held on tight as the waves crashed over the rubber sides and soaked them in freezing water.

  “XO, this is Brodie,” he heard over his radio.

  “Send it, Skipper!” Graves shouted into his handheld radio.

  “We’ve got two personnel in the water. I’ve a medivac chopper en route, plus the Coast Guard has a Search and Rescue bird spinning up, over.”

  “Roger that. We’ve spotted one strobe but can’t see a second, over.” Graves had to shout to be heard. Plus the hammering waves were threatening to toss him and his men into the sea.

  “Roger, we see only one strobe also, over,” Brodie replied.

  Graves motioned toward one of his men huddled behind the rubber wall of the boat holding a powerful searchlight. “Let’s go, Perkins! Flame on already!” Graves ordered.

  Seconds later, the powerful searchlight illuminated the water ahead of them, and they spotted a fluorescent strip on the arm of a bright orange foul-weather parka.

  “There!” Graves ordered the coxswain, pointing toward where Kristen and Hodges were now illuminated by the searchlight. They came up alongside, slowing the boat down as they did. Graves and one of his men leaned over the side to grab the two motionless bodies.

  “Sweet Jesus,” Graves gasped when he saw Kristen. Her hair was frozen to her head and face. Her lips were blue, and her skin ashen. They had to pry Hodges out of her grip, however, before they could drag them both on board. Hodges was conscious and coughing up water. His drysuit had protected him from the worst of it, but Kristen looked to be gone.

  “Go, go, go!” Graves barked at the coxswain. He checked her pulse, but could detect none.

  The powerful outboard sprang back to life. “The Seawolf or the cutter?!” the coxswain shouted.

  Graves knew it woul
d be easier to get a medivac chopper to the cutter. But the Seawolf had a state of the art sickbay, and Doc Reed, their Independent Duty Corpsman, was almost a real doctor. And Kristen looked to need a doctor now, not twenty minutes from now when a helicopter could reach them.

  “The Seawolf!” Graves ordered, seeing Kristen’s eyes flutter slightly.

  Once alongside the Seawolf, men helped drag her limp form onto a stretcher and strapped her down as Doc Reed, now on deck, began treating her. As soon as she was strapped down, the litter was tilted and lowered feet first through the forward hatch. Graves stayed on deck just long enough to see both casualties sent below before following them down.

  Two minutes later, Graves stepped into the tiny sickbay where Petty Officer 1st Class Brian “Doc” Reed, was cutting away Kristen’s clothing. Now, in the light, she looked worse than she had in the water. Her skin was a deathly grey. “Talk to me, Doc,” he ordered. “What do you need to fix her?!”

  COB arrived a second later. “How is she?” he asked as he came through the hatch. “The skipper has a medivac chopper about five minutes out, and he wants to know right now if we need to send her off.”

  Graves was still waiting for an answer from Reed who unceremoniously cut her clothing away as two assistants broke open hot compresses and started packing them around her body. “Doc?!” Graves asked again, more insistently this time.

  “I don’t know yet,” Reed answered.

  “The Blade ain’t gonna wanna hear that shit,” COB informed them as Gibbs appeared at the door carrying an arm full of blankets.

  “Doc, I just pulled these out of the microwave, will they help?” Gibbs asked as he stepped in.

  Reed glanced at Gibbs. “Yes,” he replied and motioned for one of his assistants to take the warm blankets.

  “Doc, what do you need?” Graves asked again, afraid she was already too far gone.

  Reed looked back at Gibbs. “I need you!” he snapped. “Strip down to your skivvies.”

  “What?” Gibbs asked, uncertain he’d heard right.

  “You heard me!” Reed snapped at Gibbs again. “I need to stabilize her body temperature before it falls any lower. Now strip down and get your ass under those blankets with her,” Reed insisted as he prepared a temperature probe.

  “XO, this is Brodie,” Graves heard over his radio. “Status of casualties, over.”

  Graves keyed the radio. “Standby, Skipper. Doc Reed is checking them out now, over.”

  “Standby my ass,” came the unexpected profane reply. “Status! Now!”

  “Doc?” Graves asked Reed who’d clearly heard the captain’s order. “The skipper has a medivac bird in bound. But with the wind now up at forty-five knots over the deck, we don’t want to try a medivac if you don’t think it’s necessary. But I have to know.”

  “Sir,” Reed slipped his hands under the blanket to check her core temperature, “you’ll know as soon as I do.”

  Graves keyed the radio, knowing Brodie wasn’t going to like that answer.

  “All the way?” Gibbs asked as he kicked off his trousers.

  “No,” the heavy-set medical corpsman answered as he looked at the electronic thermometer beside the litter. “Just down to your boxers.” The Corpsman then shook his head. “Shit,” Reed whispered as the temperature continued to drop. “She’s in stage three.”

  “What the fuck does that mean, Doc?” COB demanded as Gibbs climbed onto the table and slipped under the blankets.

  “Eighty-six degrees,” Reed said and then added, “She’s bad, real bad.” He then ordered an aide to grab an IV bag from a warmer.

  “All right, I’m bringing in the medivac,” Graves decided and reached for his microphone.

  “She won’t make it to a hospital,” Reed replied as he prepared an IV needle. “If we don’t get her temperature up in the next few minutes, she’ll experience catastrophic organ damage.”

  “Jesus, Doc!” COB said angrily in reply. “What can we do?”

  “No,” came a weak voice in the middle of the chaos.

  “What?” Graves asked incredulously as he saw her eyes flutter open.

  “She’s awake?” Reed asked in disbelief as he leaned over her.

  The small sickbay was crowded with people, but Graves managed to move closer, wanting to see her as Reed resumed trying to find a vein to insert the needle. Kristen’s eyes were open and moving around the room as she tried to talk. “Lieutenant, just rest,” Graves told her. “We’ve got you back on board and you’re gonna be all right.”

  But she continued struggling to form words.

  “Why can’t she talk, Doc?” COB asked.

  “Once in stage three, everything starts shutting down. She loses control of all coordinated body functions,” he explained as she continued to try to speak.

  “Hod.. Hod….dges,” she managed. “Hodges … the water.” Her voice was barely more than a whisper.

  Graves glanced at Hodges who was sitting up in a chair against a wall, surrounded in blankets and looking fairly pathetic. “He’s okay. He’s right here, and he’s gonna be fine,” Graves assured her.

  “How the hell did she fall in anyway?” COB asked angrily, looking mad enough to spit nails.

  “She didn’t,” came a voice from the doorway.

  Graves turned and saw Gameroz, soaked to the skin, and standing silhouetted in the doorway. He noticed the passageway was filled with the rest of the flying squad.

  “What happened?” COB asked.

  Gameroz pointed toward Hodges who was still a little groggy. “He lost his footing and went down on a patch of ice. He slammed his head pretty hard and went in. She jumped in after him.”

  COB glanced at Hodges. For a moment, Graves thought COB might take a swing at him. “COB?” Graves warned, not needing another casualty.

  “XO, this is Brodie. The medivac chopper is on station, but the conditions up here are getting worse. What’s your status?” Everyone heard the radio transmission.

  Graves looked at Kristen. Her eyes had closed again, her skin was still ashen and a little swollen. None of which gave Graves reason for optimism. “Doc?”

  “No,” Reed replied. “She can’t go until we get her temperature stabilized otherwise she’ll never make it.”

  “No,” Kristen’s eyes fluttered open again. “No,” she repeated.

  Graves radioed Reed’s report to Brodie.

  “Please, no,” she whispered, and Graves saw her eyes trying to focus on him.

  “Just rest, Lieutenant,” he advised.

  “Don’t…” she struggled with her words, mumbling incoherently. “Don’t…”

  Graves felt totally helpless as Reed and his aides worked to bring her temperature back up.

  “What’s she trying to say?” COB asked.

  “I’m not sure,” Graves replied. He leaned down closer to her. His hand touched her forehead, and he was shocked at how cold her skin was. He cocked an ear toward her lips.

  “Don’t put me off the boat,” she whispered.

  Chapter Twenty

  Sickbay, USS Seawolf

  Kristen opened her eyes and heard people talking. At first she wasn’t certain where she was but soon recognized the Seawolf’s sickbay. She then heard Brodie’s familiar voice. “I don’t care about that right now, Doc. It isn’t too late to get a medivac chopper out to us,” she heard him say softly to Doc Reed.

  “Captain?” Kristen called out, wondering why it was so hard to talk. She tried to move, but her entire body felt overly fatigued, and the slightest movement was painful. But before she’d managed to move, she saw his face appear before her, looking quite concerned.

  “Glad to have you back with the living, Lieutenant,” he offered with a strained smile. His usual stern countenance was gone.

  “I’m okay, Captain,” she assured him, trying to sound as convincing as she could. The thought he might send her ashore was almost too terrible to consider.

  “You just rest, Lieutenant,” he ord
ered softly as Reed stepped up beside him.

  “Hodges?” she asked. “Did you find Hodges?”

  Brodie nodded his head. “Hodges is just fine. We got him out when we got you. Now just lay back and rest. That’s an order.”

  Kristen reached up as she tried to sit up, but it was like trying to lift a mountain. Brodie reached down and gently took her hand. As he did, he shot Reed a sharp look. “Her hands are like ice, Doc!” he snapped.

  “Her core temperature is still not quite high enough, but it’s coming back up steadily, Skipper. She should be okay,” Reed assured Brodie. “It just takes a while for the blood flow in the extremities to return to normal.”

  Brodie nodded his head, accepting Reed’s diagnosis. He looked back at her and carefully put her hand back under the blanket. “I don’t seem able to keep you dry, Lieutenant,” he teased her gently.

  “I guess I’m just hard headed, sir,” she replied, trying to sound stronger than she felt.

  He gave her a final smile. “Just rest now. Let us carry the load for a few days until you get back on your feet.” With that, the stern mask of command returned and his smile faded. He turned his attention back to Reed. “Keep me posted,” he ordered softly. “I want to know the second her condition shows any sign of getting worse.”

  Kristen tried to sit up again, but the effort was catastrophic. She got light headed instantly and a wave of nausea struck. Her head collapsed back on her pillow. Brodie again tucked her back in. “That’s what you get for disobeying an order, Lieutenant,” he chided gently. “Now, stay put.” He then spoke to Doc. “If she tries to get up again, I want you to strap her down, Doc.”

  “Aye, sir,” Reed replied easily.

  Kristen woke up hours later feeling somewhat better. She opened her eyes and saw, seated on a stool, Gibbs playing cards with Reed. The lights were down low, and they were whispering. She took a moment to take stock of how she felt. She was sore all over and felt very weak, but more importantly at that moment, she realized she needed to go to the bathroom. She tried to ignore the discomfort, but as she looked up and saw an IV bag steadily dripping fluids into her arm, the pressure on her bladder grew exponentially.