Seawolf Mask of Command

by Cliff Happy

  “What happened, Lieutenant?” he asked again. He didn’t open his eyes, nor did his body make so much as a twitch.

  She screwed up her courage, deciding he’d better things to worry about than something long in the past. “It’s nothing sir, really.” She then added, “Good night, Captain.”

  Brodie’s eyes opened and settled on hers. Kristen felt what courage she’d gathered disappear instantly. His eyes were warm and comforting. It didn’t seem possible that these were the same harsh, critical eyes that had greeted her the first time she entered this cabin. Nor did it seem possible this was the same man whom everyone had warned her about. There couldn’t be an angry bone in his body.

  “A captain worries about everything when it comes to his people, Lieutenant.” he reminded her. “You might keep it in mind when you have your own boat someday.” He said this last part as if her ever becoming a submarine captain wasn’t a question, but a certainty. Brodie stood tiredly and stretched, clearly pushing against a wall of exhaustion. He then stepped toward her. Kristen felt a sudden pang of nervousness sweep through her. A part of her recalled the motorcycle weeks earlier when she’d felt a brief connection between them. She was completely alone with him, and she was suddenly terrified what might happen.

  Brodie raised a hand and gently reached for her left forearm where the worst burns were. It’d been the arm she’d used to reach out and pull the Halon activation lever as she passed through the flames in the galley. Kristen felt her skin tingle as she let him examine the burns, thankful his eyes were on her arm and not on her face. There was absolutely nothing suggestive about his touch, but her entire body was tingling with …

  She wasn’t certain just what she was feeling.

  “Doc told me he gave you some antibiotic cream?” he asked, not seeing any sign of it on her arm.

  “I…uh,” she stumbled slightly with her words, feeling her face flush. “I…have it in my quarters, Captain.”

  He nodded thoughtfully and released her forearm. “Does it still hurt much?”

  “A bit,” she replied honestly, knowing if she tried to lie, he would know it.

  He rubbed the bridge of his nose, his eyes bloodshot and swollen with exhaustion. Only here, in the privacy of his cabin, had she ever seen him show real signs of fatigue. “Doc also tells me you’re working too hard and need some rest.”

  Kristen’s cleared her throat and forced aside the ridiculous notions currently occupying her thoughts. “I bet Doc Reed says the same thing about you too, sir.”

  A wan smile crossed his lips as he ran his hand through his mop of hair. “Touché.”

  “Try to get some rest, sir.” Once more she turned to leave, but before she could take a step, she heard his voice again. Just as soft as before, just as gentle. But now, there was a hint of command to it.

  “Not until you tell me what’s the story between you and Fitzgerald.”

  “Sir…” she started to argue that it wasn’t important, but she stopped as his right forefinger waved at her accusingly. He was clearly not going to let her leave until she’d revealed all. She’d never told a living soul about the incident back in Corpus Christi. She’d been too embarrassed. Too ashamed. No one would have believed her anyway. She’d been the “bitch” who was bucking the system and had requested mast to the Chief of Naval Operations. She’d called her Senator, her Congressman. She was a trouble maker. Everyone hated her. Threats had been left under the door to her barracks room almost on a daily basis.

  “Sir… I…” she didn’t know how to say it.

  “He attacked you, didn’t he?” Brodie asked simply. There was no hint of reproach, only a sense of understanding.

  “He was my department head,” she answered, feeling almost as if her vocal chords were working without her conscious effort. It was as if someone else was speaking.

  He said nothing as she searched for the words. Brodie sat back down, his head leaning back until it touched the bulkhead and instantly his eyes were closed. But his calloused fingers were tracing a circle on the table next to him, and she knew he was listening to every word.

  “There was a party—an official function off base we had to attend,” she explained, remembering the night nearly eighteen months earlier. “I’ve never done well with alcohol and had no intention of having any at the function, but Commander Fitzgerald insisted I have one drink and I…”

  “What was the drink?” Brodie interrupted, his voice somehow calming her fractured nerves. At that moment, she could have told him anything. Brodie had affected her, and she couldn’t explain—even to herself—what she was feeling around him. But she knew she felt comfortable and safe with him, something she couldn’t recall feeling with anyone else since she was a small child. She thought about Fitzgerald and the evening back at Corpus. She’d never told a soul, not even Patricia, her best friend in the world. She’d never felt comfortable enough with anyone to reveal what had happened. Yet, in his cabin and alone with him, she felt her inhibitions, her embarrassment, and fear fade.

  This man would not laugh.

  He would not tease.

  He would not judge her unfairly.

  Kristen knew it.

  “He said it was ice tea,” she replied, feeling like an idiot for not having known better.

  “Ice tea?”

  “A Long Island Ice Tea as I soon learned.”

  “That’ll certainly get it done,” Brodie agreed, referring to the strong mixed drink.

  “It certainly did on me. I started to feel bad, and he offered to take me back to base.” Kristen paused, remembering the event like it had just happened. “I might have been drunk, or just stupid. I’m not sure which, but it seemed okay. I mean, he was married. He was my boss. I thought nothing of it.

  “Anyway, I was seated in the front seat of his car, my eyes closed and trying not to throw up when I realized he’d parked the car. He then tells me he can help me get what I want,” she explained. “He said he could help me get into a submarine, and when I didn’t fall for that one, he told me that if I didn’t do what he wanted, he would see to it my next fitness report was bad enough so I would never even see Lieutenant Junior Grade, let alone reach a submarine.” Kristen was no longer really aware she was talking as she remembered the night she’d tried so hard to forget. “Well, I must have been sober enough to tell him no, and that’s when it got rough.”

  She hesitated. The images in her mind were so vivid, so clear. Her incredible memory allowed her to remember every detail with perfect clarity. The brutality of his hands on her leg. His foul breath in her face, the sandpaper like scraping of his five o’clock shadow against her neck as they’d struggled. Whenever she’d recalled them in the past, she’d felt the same visceral fear she’d experienced the night it happened. But now, alone with Brodie, she felt safe and the terror didn’t return.

  “I guess I screamed loud enough, or got in enough good shots that he decided I wasn’t worth it, and he kicked me out of the car.” She exhaled deeply, feeling somewhat relieved at having finally told someone. “I wanted to report him,” she continued. “But…” she let the story fade. No one could possibly understand how hard it had been for her.

  “You didn’t think anyone would believe you,” Brodie replied as if having known the story. “You were in the middle of fighting the entire Navy. Everyone around you was treating you like a leper. You had nowhere to turn.”

  His analysis summed it up better than she could have.

  “Something like that.”

  “And your fitness report?”

  Fitzgerald had written her such a blistering fitness report, she’d been stunned when she was still promoted to Lieutenant Junior Grade. Although, the odds of her ever being promoted again were astronomically bad. “It doesn’t matter anymore. I’m here,” she told him, feeling a smoldering sense of pride deep within her; a sense of pride Fitzgerald could never take away. “I got what I wanted despite him.”

  “Thank you for confiding in me, Lieute
nant.” His eyes opened and he once again was looking at her.

  “Sorry to burden you, sir,” she replied, having felt an almost healing release of pent up tension by confiding in him.

  “Not at all, Lieutenant,” he assured her. “Although I want you to look me in the eye for a moment and promise me something.” He again stood up and faced her.

  Kristen hesitated, almost afraid to look him in the eye. She feared what she was feeling at that moment, knowing he would be able to see it in her eyes. But her eyes move directly to his as if by their own volition. “Yes?” She felt as if his eyes were pulling her in, and she was totally helpless to stop it. But she didn’t have the strength to look away. His eyes were almost hypnotic, and she couldn’t resist.

  “If this…” he paused, searching for the right word to describe Fitzgerald, “… if this piece of shit so much as looks at you the wrong way, or says anything to you … anything making you uncomfortable…” his voice had gained a different tone than she’d ever heard before. It was more measured than usual, and she realized he was forcing calmness into his words.

  Kristen nodded, assuming she understood. “I’ll report it to you.”

  “Report it, yes,” he agreed. “Because I’m going to want his hide on my bulkhead. But first, make certain you give him a good swift knee in the nuts,” he told her bluntly. “Am I making myself clear?”

  Kristen had been a little uncomfortable telling him the story. But now, as he said the last, the anxiety was gone, and she almost found herself laughing at his suggestion. Except it wasn’t a suggestion, it was an order.

  “Crystal clear, Captain.” She couldn’t resist a smile, feeling more refreshed now than when she’d stepped from the shower.

  He returned to his spot in the corner, sat down, and leaned his head back. His eyes closed almost at once. Kristen responded to this by taking another step toward the door.

  “Lieutenant.”

  “Sir?” She turned and faced him again, and he was looking at her.

  “I want you to know how sorry I am you had to go through all of the hell the last three years simply to serve your country.” His words were filled with sincerity, although his eyes were still filled with exhaustion, “But we’re all so very glad you did.” His eyes became the essence of sincerity, “So very glad.”

  “Thank you, sir,” she replied, her spirits lifted even higher. Praise from Sean Brodie was never given lightly. “Me too,” she admitted, feeling better at the moment than she could remember. “I wouldn’t trade being here for the world.”

  His eyes closed once more, and he suddenly appeared content, the edge she’d seen earlier was gone. “I know exactly what you mean,” he told her with a blissful smile. Here, on a submarine heading into unknown probable dangers was where he was most content.

  “Get some rest, sir.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  Chapter Thirty Seven

  Wardroom, USS Seawolf

  Kristen stood as Brodie entered, waving everyone back down before they finished coming to attention. Gibbs—as usual—was there and anxious to attend to Brodie’s every whim. Kristen had gotten a good eight hours of sleep, and by the looks of the captain, he’d taken her advice and slept as well.

  “Good morning, lady and gentlemen,” he greeted them as Gibbs hovered close at hand.

  Kristen smiled slightly at his “lady” reference. Across from her, a SEAL lieutenant named Brian Cheng was seated in Martin’s usual seat. Cheng was a Chinese American, and she’d been conversing with him in Mandarin prior to Brodie’s arrival. She’d gotten pretty good at the language while at Annapolis, but since graduation, she’d had very few opportunities to practice. Like all the SEALs, Cheng ignored the uniform regulations, and his mustache was thick and bushy as was his hair.

  Fitzgerald was seated near the head of the table next to Graves, but thus far no one had yet spoken to him. Instead, Fitzgerald had simply been listening to the conversations around him, a party to none of them. Then, as if on a prearranged signal that Brodie was ready to get to work, he and Gibbs had a brief—rather humorous—exchange regarding the captain’s poor eating habits.

  “You’re gonna get sick and end up on bed rest if you don’t eat more,” Gibbs whispered forcefully.

  “Give it a rest, Mister Gibbs,” Brodie chided him. “And the coffee tastes like motor oil again,” he added, apparently wounding Gibbs who almost swooned.

  The distraught steward swallowed an angry retort. If anyone could put Brodie in his place, Kristen was willing to bet it was the steward, but instead of a nasty quip, he said, “Will that be all, Captain?”

  “It will, Mister Gibbs” Brodie responded as he struggled not to smile.

  “I don’t know why I even bother,” Gibbs mumbled as he withdrew. He paused by Kristen long enough to check her tea service to make certain she still had a full pot, then continued on to the galley.

  Kristen hid an amused smile behind her teacup as several of her peers chuckled.

  They were currently heading through the Tsushima Straits into the Sea of Japan, and tension on board was running high. Yet Brodie clearly wanted to keep it light and Kristen understood why. He needed his officers relaxed and loose, so they might impart the same confidence to the crew. As usual, Brodie engaged everyone in conversation, although he blatantly skipped Fitzgerald, acting as if the Lieutenant Commander wasn’t even present.

  “Good morning, Lieutenant,” he greeted her as he sampled his food.

  “Good morning, Captain,” she replied, resisting the urge to mention he was looking much better.

  “How’re your burns today?” he asked, glancing toward her arms. Several of the other officers turned toward her, curious as well.

  Kristen saw Fitzgerald look her way, but she ignored him. She was still a bit self-conscious of the burns. The skin on her face had peeled nearly completely off, and her face, along with the rest of the areas that had received first degree burns, was feeling much better. The second degree burns on her left arm were still quite painful but not nearly as bad as they’d been a few days earlier.

  “They’re coming along nicely, Captain. Thank you for asking.”

  “How did you get burned, Lieutenant?” Fitzgerald asked, trying to insert himself into the intimate, family-like environment in the wardroom.

  Kristen didn’t respond. But she did notice the smiles around the table fade. Even Lieutenant Cheng was no longer smiling. Fitzgerald looked around the table. But there were no friendly faces to greet him.

  Kristen, sensing the change in everyone’s mood, decided to answer Fitzgerald, even though she still loathed the very sight of him. “It was an accident, sir,” she responded politely, looking down at her food. There was a long and very uncomfortable pause. Kristen looked up and noticed Terry. His expression was callous, and he glared at Fitzgerald as if he might take a swing at him at any moment. Kristen briefly wondered if Brodie had revealed to her fellow officers what she’d confided to him.

  She dismissed the thought a moment later. He would never break a trust. She was certain of it. Then she recalled the incident in the torpedo room. Chief Miller and Martin had been there. They’d seen her reaction to Fitzgerald when he’d taken her by surprise. She’d nearly struck him. They’d seen her cold fury, and she assumed they’d said something to the others.

  “I’m sorry, did I say something wrong?” Fitzgerald asked innocently. He looked around, searching for a friendly face. Finding none, he finally looked at Brodie. “Sir?”

  Brodie set his coffee cup down, and Kristen saw a calm, almost congenial expression appear on his face. But this was the quiet before the storm. She remembered the story Penny Graves had told her about his temper and was thankful the wardroom was filled with men to restrain him if things got out of hand.

  “No, you didn’t say anything wrong,” Brodie replied with an even tone. “And as for Lieutenant Whitaker’s injuries, she received them after a grease fire broke out in the galley. The seaman on duty panicked
and threw water on the fire.” His voice stayed calm and steady, with hardly any change in the tone at all. It was as if he were relating some random, insignificant historical event. But every officer who knew him could hear something else in his voice. Kristen heard it, and she almost felt sorry for Fitzgerald.

  “The flames had spread to the bulkheads and were climbing up to the overhead pipes and wiring when the Lieutenant entered the galley,” he explained. Then his eyes narrowed slightly and his tone changed. He began enunciating his words more carefully. “Then, with complete disregard for her own safety,” Brodie explained stressing the point, “she leapt through the flames and activated the Halon fire suppression system, preventing anything more than superficial damage.”

  Fitzgerald was sitting stiff backed in his chair and watching Brodie barely three feet away. Brodie was staring at him, his eyes almost daring Fitzgerald to look away.

  “That is to say,” Brodie continued, “no serious damage to anything other than the first and second degree burns she suffered on every inch of exposed skin. Not to mention nearly suffocating in a cloud of Halon.”

  Fitzgerald stared dumbly at Brodie while everyone else continued to glare at their guest. Kristen kept her eyes on her food. Gibbs entered and silently stepped over beside her. She glanced up at him and he patted her shoulder affectionately. But then, as the mess steward looked up at Fitzgerald, his face grew dark.

  Lieutenant Cheng, who was hearing the story of the fire for the first time, looked at Kristen with an admiring eye. “What is it they say about keeping your head in an emergency when all of those about you are losing theirs?” Cheng offered her in respect.

  “Indeed,” Brodie replied, his eyes still on Fitzgerald. Then Brodie’s tone changed ever so slightly and became accusatorial. “Not quite what one would call, lacking in personal courage, wouldn’t you agree, Commander Graves?”

  “I couldn’t agree more, Captain,” Graves responded, and stared at Fitzgerald with a hard glare of his own.