Seawolf Mask of Command

by Cliff Happy

  As he entered the passageway, he saw the smoke emanating from the Wolf’s Den, verifying that this was no drill. He’d just reached the passageway when he nearly stumbled and fell as the Seawolf’s deck pitched violently upward.

  They were now racing for the surface. COB knew this was standard procedure in a fire. Brodie had ordered the Seawolf to the surface where they could ventilate if need be and, if necessary, battle the blaze there.

  COB came upon the rapid-response fire team consisting of three men. Two were already handling a hose and advancing into the Wolf’s Den, and a third man was holding a searchlight shaped device called a NIFTI and directing the other two. The NIFTI was a handheld infrared thermal imaging device that allowed the user to spot hot spots in the smoke as well as casualties.

  COB reached the team of nervous sailors, recognizing the fact that these three had probably never fought a real fire. “Move! Move! Move!” he ordered, driving them forward into the smoke-filled mess deck. “Who do I have on the NIFTI?” he barked to be heard through the OBA hood.

  “Gameroz, COB!” came the muffled reply.

  COB knew Gameroz to be quick with his fists, but a solid sailor and was glad it was him and not one of the new men handling the NIFTI. “What do you got, kid?” he asked.

  The team had entered the aft end of the Wolf’s Den. The two men with the hose were crouched down and stayed in close physical contact with Gameroz so as not to be separated in the thick smoke. The hose was held at the ready, and, at Gameroz’s direction, they would unleash a flood of Aqueous Film-Forming Foam, or AFFF. The foam was standard on all US Navy vessels. It would not only extinguish any hydrocarbon fire such as a grease fire, it would also—at the same time—coat all surfaces with an aqueous film preventing oxygen reaching the hot surfaces and potentially starting the fire up again.

  “The fire’s out, COB!” Gameroz reported. “But the galley is still red hot!”

  “Hose it down anyway!” COB ordered as he advanced with the team. As they moved, they came across someone lying on the floor. Smoke had filled the space, but COB also recognized what looked like a white cloud of thick dust spreading from the galley. Someone had managed to pull the Halon fire suppression system in the galley, explaining why the fire was out.

  COB took a handheld radio from Gameroz, as the capable petty officer directed the hose team who gave the entire galley a liberal dousing with AFFF. “DC Central, this is COB. I’m with the rapid response team, and we’ve reached the galley. The fire is out, but we have at least one casualty, over.”

  COB reached down and recognized Seaman Darby choking and gasping for air. Part of standard shipboard firefighting procedures was to seal every compartment, establishing what was known as Condition Zebra throughout the ship. Additionally, to prevent the air-conditioning system from feeding the flames with fresh oxygen, the ventilation system was also shut down. This would, in effect, seal off every space, and hopefully, any fire would be smothered for lack of oxygen. This was the case in the Wolf’s Den, and now with the Halon cloud spreading and basically absorbing all the oxygen in the air, Darby was in real danger of suffocating to death for a lack of oxygen.

  “Roger, COB.” He recognized the XO’s steady voice. Graves was the submarine’s damage control officer. “The Relief team is formed and moving to support you. I’m dispatching a medical team to your location, over.”

  The Relief Team was a second team of sailors, dressed in fire-retardant suits and with more experience and training in battling fires. They would arrive in a few seconds, but the medical team might take a bit longer. COB grabbed an Emergency Breathing Apparatus from a locker in the Wolf’s Den and pulled it over Darby’s head.

  He was still conscious and immediately began pointing toward the galley. “She’s in there,” Darby gasped as he pointed toward the smoke-filled galley.

  COB turned toward the galley. He could no longer see any of it because of the cloud of smoke and Halon which had reduced visibility to near zero. Realizing they might have another casualty—and just who it might be—COB felt the adrenaline surge he’d experienced when the first alarm had sounded double. He suppressed the urge to panic, and rejoined Gameroz and his team. “Advance!” he ordered. The team stayed tightly packed, with Gameroz holding the NIFTI in front of him. With the NIFTI, the Petty Officer could see right through the thick clouds.

  “We got a man in there,” COB shouted to be heard through his mask. “Hose that fucking place down!”

  Immediately, the firefighting team unleashed another barrage of foam, and soon the galley was covered in it. They reached the galley a few seconds later, but through the thick smoke and cloud of Halon dust, COB could barely see the blue coveralls of the men he was holding onto.

  “Man down! Man down!” Gameroz shouted, his voice muffled as it came through the OBA.

  “Advance, dammit!” COB ordered.

  He felt his heart pounding wildly in his chest as they moved forward. Despite his desire to race into the cloud of Halon and smoke, he knew he had to stay calm and think clearly. Only the NIFTI could show if there were still flames in the galley, and the last thing they needed at the moment was another casualty, which would surely happen if he lost his cool.

  “COB!” Gameroz called to him.

  COB moved forward, feeling his way along the galley wall, which was blistering hot to the touch. He then reached Gameroz and the casualty. COB found Kristen in a corner on the floor. She was rolled up in a ball, her bare arms covering her head.

  “Lieutenant!” he shouted as he reached for her, but there was no response.

  “All right, let’s get her the hell out of here!” COB ordered and helped Gameroz pick her up. COB could barely make her slender form out in the smoke, but he knew it was her. He carried her out of the galley as the Relief Team arrived.

  “Corpsman!” he shouted into the smoke that engulfed the Wolf’s Den. He then reached for his radio. “DC Central, we have a medical emergency in the galley,” he reported. “We have a casualty in need of immediate medivac, over.”

  “Roger, COB,” came the curt reply. “The Medical Response team is on its way.”

  “Negative, XO, she needs to go right now. I can carry her, but we need to get her out of here immediately, over,” COB reported urgently. “The fire is out, and both firefighting parties are on station. Request permission to evacuate the casualties now, over.”

  COB knew that until the XO was certain the fire was out, he wouldn’t allow Condition Zebra to be broken by unsealing hatches to allow freedom of movement all the way to sickbay. For all they knew, there were still secondary fires smoldering somewhere in the galley just waiting for a breath of oxygen to reignite. Thus, there was a long pause while the XO checked with the firefighting party. COB waited, anxiously feeling Kristen’s throat for a pulse.

  “COB you’re cleared to break Zebra to evacuate your casualties once the reflash watch is posted, over.” It would be the reflash team’s job to make certain the fire didn’t start back up once fresh oxygen came back into the space.

  COB picked up Kristen, catching a brief glimpse of her face and one arm. She’d been burned, but she was also covered in AFFF, and he couldn’t tell the extent of her injuries. “Gameroz, lead me out of here!” he ordered, grimacing at the thought it might already be too late. The possibility she might be dead, or at the very least badly hurt caused a lump to form in his throat. She was a good officer, young and inexperienced, but she was exactly the kind of officer he liked. She listened to good advice, and was able to recognize bullshit when she saw it. Not to mention, she was one of the hardest workers he’d seen in a long time.

  “She’s not breathing,” COB announced a minute later as he burst into sickbay and laid Kristen on the table. Now out of the smoke, he got a good look at her. Under the copious amounts of AFFF, they could see the burns on the exposed skin of her left arm and what looked like more burns on her face.

  Reed immediately checked her airway and then spoke to an assi
stant. “We need to bag her,” Reed snapped. A second later Reed tore the plastic packaging off a BVM Resuscitator and placed it over her nose and mouth, then directed and assistant to take over while he resumed his assessment. The BVM would allow them to force oxygen into her lungs similar to a machine ventilator in an operating room.

  “How close was she to the Halon canisters when they discharged?” Reed asked as he checked her pulse and glanced toward the Automated External Defibrillator (AED) on the bulkhead.

  “Right under the fuckin’ thing,” COB explained. “The galley was fully involved. It looks like she went in and triggered the Halon suppression system,” COB answered in a clear voice after having removed his OBA.

  Darby was brought in, but other than coughing some, he looked stable and Reed directed him to take a seat.

  “How about the burns, Doc?” COB asked, watching as Reed and his men began clearing away the foam so they could properly assess her.

  “Looks like she’s got some first and second degree on her arms and hands,” he replied as he grabbed a pair of bandage scissors. “The same on her neck and face, but I don’t see any third degree yet.”

  “How bad is she?” COB asked.

  “A little bit faster,” Reed ordered his assistant who was handling the Resuscitator before answering COB. “I don’t know yet,” Reed admitted. He was about to cut her coveralls off, when she started coughing under the resuscitator.

  “Oh, thank God,” COB whispered in relief. “Doc?” he asked, wanting to know what he thought.

  “It’s hard to say, COB,” Reed replied. “A lung full of Halon is some nasty shit,” he explained.

  “I’m…” she coughed, clearly having a hard time catching her breath, “I’m okay,” she croaked before going into another coughing fit.

  Reed looked at COB. “I think she’ll be okay. Once I’ve finished my assessment, I’ll let you know.”

  Relieved that she was at least conscious and breathing on her own, COB questioned Darby briefly before heading back to the galley where he found the XO. Once the two of them finished inspecting the damage, they went up to the control room where Brodie was standing on the periscope platform.

  Everyone on board was still wearing EBA or OBAs, their sleeves rolled down, and coveralls buttoned up to the collar. Everyone that is, except for Brodie, who was standing without either an EBA or OBA, his sleeves still rolled up, and looking as focused as COB had ever seen him.

  “What’s the damage?” Brodie asked as they stepped onto the platform with him.

  “The fire was contained in the galley,” Graves explained. “Other than some seared paint and blackened overhead pipes, we’re okay.” He then added, “We got off lucky, Boss.”

  Brodie exhaled in relief and then looked at COB. “Casualties?”

  “Darby was in the galley when the fire started,” COB answered, watching Brodie carefully. Brodie, COB knew from firsthand experience, had a frightening temper.

  “Was he the one who discharged the Halon canisters?” Brodie asked.

  “No, sir,” COB replied doing his best to hide his own anger. “He’s one of the new men, and he panicked and ran.”

  “Okay, give me the rest of it,” Brodie said. He appeared to steel himself for bad news as his left hand gripped a handle on one of the two periscopes.

  COB lowered his voice. “It was Lieutenant Whitaker, Skipper,” COB explained. “She must have been studying in the wardroom and entered the galley from there. She pulled the Halon.” COB had seen Brodie in just about every possible situation, including combat. He’d always been absolutely unflappable in a crisis.

  Until now.

  COB now saw his long-time friend grimace slightly.

  “How bad?” he asked, his face showing a hint of anguish.

  “She ate a lot of Halon, Skipper. Plus to reach the Halon suppression trigger, she had to go into the fire.”

  “How bad?” Brodie asked again, a dangerous edge now evident in his tone. COB noticed the white-knuckle fury as Brodie gripped the periscope handle so hard COB thought it might snap off.

  “She has some first and second degree burns, plus Doc is giving her some oxygen to help her breathe,” COB explained.

  Brodie’s head lowered. He looked to be trying to burn a hole in the deck beneath them with his eyes.

  “Doc Reed says she should be okay, Skipper. There were no third degree burns, and he said something about starting a steroid drip, or some crap like that,” COB explained, not accustomed to seeing Brodie ever show emotion during an emergency.

  “You okay, Captain?” Graves whispered softly in concern.

  Brodie let out a lungful of air and looked up. Whatever emotions he’d been feeling were once more hidden behind the stoic mask of command. “All right, I’ll stay at periscope depth until we have the full DC report, and we know for certain we aren’t beat up too bad. I want a complete check of the electrical wiring and other piping running through the space. We can’t get back underway until we know for certain what damage there is,” Brodie ordered and although he looked calm, COB could see he was still gripping the periscope handle as if intent on crushing it.

  “How did it start?” he asked.

  COB didn’t want to tell him but wasn’t about to lie either. “Darby threw a grease-stained apron onto a hot burner and then panicked,” he explained.

  Brodie nodded in understanding. “All right, I’ll deal with him later. You two see to the repairs.”

  “Maybe you should let me handle Darby, Skipper,” COB offered.

  Brodie shook his head, his jaw muscles twitching slightly. “Not this time, Spike,” he told his old friend. “She’s already taken one for the team. Not again. Darby’s all mine.”

  COB nodded in reply and stepped back, thankful Darby was not within eyesight of Brodie at the moment, thinking the captain mad enough to kill the fool.

  Chapter Twenty Nine

  Sickbay, USS Seawolf

  Kristen was feeling light headed. Doc Reed had given her a shot of something for the pain, and since she seldom used medication, she was struggling to make sense of what was happening around her. She was back in the same bunk she’d spent several days in following the overboard experience. Above her, an IV was hanging, and she had oxygen flowing through a tube beneath her nose.

  The pain medication had hit her so hard, she was only vaguely aware of COB, the XO, Chiefs O’Rourke and Miller, plus a few men from her division coming in to visit her. She was struggling to clear her head when she heard Reed speaking to someone and recognized the captain’s voice. But they were speaking too softly for her to make out what they were saying. She closed her eyes and shook her head, trying to clear it.

  Kristen opened her eyes to see the captain stepping up alongside her bunk. Reed was with him and explaining the extent of her injuries. She’d received minor burns to her arms, neck, and side of her face.

  “More like a bad sunburn, sir,” Reed assured the captain. “Except on her left arm where she has some second degree burns.”

  “Captain?” she asked feebly. She had a hard time concentrating. “I’m all right.”

  “What about the smoke inhalation?” Brodie asked Reed, ignoring her for the moment.

  Kristen shook her head again, trying to get rid of the cobwebs. But the world around her was dreamlike. Nothing was real, everything was out of focus, and the voices were strangely different.

  “I’m not sure what really got her worse, the smoke or the concentrated Halon,” Reed admitted. “I think she sucked in a lung full of the crap.” Reed then glanced down at her. “I gave her a shot of Demerol for the pain, so she should be able to rest well enough.”

  Brodie patted Reed’s shoulder. “Good job, Doc.” He then turned his attention to her. “How’re you feeling, Lieutenant?”

  “Well done,” she admitted. She was having a hard time focusing on him. He looked bigger than she remembered. The sleeves of his overalls were rolled up, and she noticed his bare arms. Feebly, she r
eached for his left arm, wanting to see his tattoo again.

  “I bet,” Brodie replied as she shook her head again to clear it. He gently put her arm back at her side.

  “I’m okay, sir, really,” she tried to assure him, afraid he would medevac her off the boat, but her tongue didn’t work right and her words were slurred. He studied her for several seconds but didn’t respond. “Sir?”

  Brodie exhaled deeply, betraying no hint of what he was thinking behind the smoldering grey eyes. “I should’ve had your cabin prepared here in sickbay,” he told her as he finally spoke. “It certainly would’ve been more convenient.”

  Kristen smiled slightly and responded to his attempt at humor with a bit of her own, “You aren’t allowed to tease me,” she said. The Demerol had removed her usual inhibitions entirely, and once more, her hand reached for his left bicep, determined to see the tattoo again. “Visitors to grievously wounded patients are supposed to be kind, sympathetic, and supportive.”

  Brodie gave her a soft, warm smile and she felt her skin tingle.

  “And is that sarcasm I hear in your voice, Lieutenant?”

  “Who me?” she asked, her head spinning. “Never.”

  There was a long, expectant pause, and Kristen felt a bit uncomfortable with the way he was looking at her, as if studying her and trying to decide what to do with her. “You aren’t going to put me off, are you?” she asked, nervously. Despite the fog she was laboring under, she was determined to let him know she was okay.

  “I thought you said you’re grievously wounded?” he asked gently.

  “I lied.”

  “You’re not supposed to lie to your captain.”

  Kristen searched his face, wishing she could clear her head so she might know what he was thinking. He was still studying her, but his eyes seemed softer than she remembered. “Captain, please…” she pleaded, hoping not to be sent ashore.

  “You look tired, Lieutenant. Try to get some sleep.”