by Cliff Happy
Kristen, now in her stocking feet, ran down the steps toward Brodie as Terry leapt on Brodie’s back. But even with this impediment, Brodie only paused for a brief moment, shrugged off the full-grown man as if he were a child, and then resumed pummeling Fitzgerald.
Graves, once more on his feet, hit Brodie hard from the side, tackling him as he’d directed the others to do. The two friends went down briefly as more officers arrived. “Grab him!” Graves shouted to the others as he struggled to hold Brodie down.
Kristen slipped under the railing and ran across the few yards separating them as Ski, Walcott, and Andrew Stahl leapt onto Brodie. But no sooner had Stahl grabbed Brodie’s leg than Brodie kicked him clear as he continued to struggle. Terry joined the fray as the other officers grabbed their captain as he continued to rage, fighting to free himself.
“Captain!” Kristen shouted, trying to get him to hear her and maybe calm him down, but she could see in the moonlight the berserker fury had yet to subside. He was growling like a wild beast, and his eyes were still filled with a burning rage. The men struggling to hold him down seemed to be losing the fight until Andrew Stahl finally managed to pin Brodie’s left arm by flinging his entire weight down on it.
“Hit him with something,” Ski shouted as he struggled to hold Brodie’s right arm.
“Dammit, Sean!” Graves grimaced as he fought to hold onto the angry beast his friend had become. “It’s me, dammit!”
“Captain!” Kristen cried out as she reached the pile of men and got a closer look.
It wasn’t pretty. Brodie was struggling insanely.
“Captain, it’s me!” Kristen shouted at him as he continued to fight. She knelt down and gently placed her hands on each side of his head, looking down into the infuriated eyes. “Captain, please!” Kristen pleaded. “Please stop.”
His face was a mask of fury, and she saw years of pain and suffering expressed there. He roared words she didn’t recognize. She knew she should be afraid, but at the same time knew he would never harm her.
“Sean!” she said again, “It’s me.”
She didn’t think it was working, but then Graves, who was under Brodie and had his arms around the captain’s waist holding him tight, shouted to her, “Keep talking to him.”
“Sean…” she said again, her hands holding his head and looking down into his eyes as she moved her face a couple of inches from his, “It’s okay…calm down now, it’s all right. Fitzgerald is gone. You can relax now.” Kristen then added, “I’m all right. I’m okay.”
Kristen saw the fury fading from his eyes, and his struggling lessened as the enraged beast began to leave him. He had a deep cut on the left side on his head that bled freely, the right sleeve of his dinner jacket was torn off, his shirt was ripped, and she could see his chest heaving with each breath.
“Captain?” Kristen asked, seeing the bare semblance of humanity once more in his eyes, “Captain, can you hear me?” she asked softly. The struggling ended as sanity returned. He looked up at her.
“Someone check that Fitzgerald asshole,” Graves ordered from where he was lying under Brodie, still holding him down. He then asked, “Sean?”
Kristen cared nothing for Fitzgerald. In her heart she didn’t care if he was alive or dead, but she knew if Brodie had killed him—which was certainly a possibility considering the viciousness of Brodie’s attack—then her captain would be in enormous trouble. She looked up, hoping Horner, who was the first to reach Fitzgerald, would find the man alive.
“He’s alive all right,” Horner called out after he briefly checked Fitzgerald’s body lying against the railing. “But he sure isn’t going to like what he sees in the mirror come morning.”
“Thank God,” Kristen whispered and looked down, seeing Brodie had calmed down. His eyes were blinking as if waking up from a trance. Her hair, which had been stylishly held up, was now hanging down loosely and brushed against his cheek.
“Are you all right?” Brodie asked her.
She nodded her head and answered, “Yes, sir.”
Graves cautiously lessened his grip and the others let go. All their faces registered the shock at the fury that had overcome their usually mild-mannered captain.
“Sean, I’m going to let you go,” Graves told him cautiously. “You stay cool, okay?”
“I’m all right,” Brodie replied, still breathing hard.
Kristen pulled her hands away from the side of his head, and Graves released him. Brodie rolled off Graves and slowly got to his feet, his uniform jacket and shirt in tatters, his chest still heaving. Brodie offered Kristen a hand, and she took it. He helped her up and then turned toward Jason and the others. Graves had moved, positioning himself between Brodie and Fitzgerald. Brodie looked to have calmed down, but Graves kept one hand up defensively, just in case.
“Sean?” he asked tentatively. “You okay?”
Brodie had blood trickling down from the cut on his left temple where Fitzgerald had landed the first blow, cutting him with a ring on his right hand. In his rage, he’d bitten his own lip, from which he wiped blood with his bandaged left hand. Brodie nodded his head, but his eyes still showed smoldering anger as he looked past Graves toward Fitzgerald, who was groaning in pain. “Yeah,” he answered with the barely contained rage he still felt evident in his voice. “I’m all right.”
Kristen, hearing what sounded almost like a low, guttural growl come from him, gripped his arm tightly as he took a step toward Fitzgerald.
“That’s enough, Sean.” Graves warned as he placed a hand against Brodie’s chest. “You made your point. Let the MPs handle it from here.”
On the patio above, the balance of the remaining officers and party guests stared down at the spectacle as the first of several military police cars arrived. Kristen had no idea what would happen to Brodie. Certainly, Fitzgerald had assaulted her and struck her, but Brodie had come within a hair’s breadth of killing the man.
Two ambulances arrived, and Fitzgerald was placed on a stretcher and carried away. Kristen caught a brief glance of the once beautiful face and knew Horner had been right; Fitzgerald would be beautiful no more. She was just thankful he was still breathing.
Brodie led her across the frosty ground to the sidewalk and helped her back over the railing. Terry, clearly worried about her, brought her the shoes she’d discarded. Brodie leaned against the railing, holding a piece of his tattered shirt against the cut on his temple. Kristen stood beside him, neither saying a word. A corpsman approached and offered her an ice pack for her cheek. She took it thankfully, and then noticed Brodie’s hands. His knuckles were laid open and bleeding, the bandage on his left hand was torn and bloody. Without a word she took the ice pack meant for her cheek and placed it on his lacerated knuckles.
“Jesus, Sean,” Graves whispered as he walked up after speaking to a pair of MPs.
“Sorry, Jason,” Brodie said with a hint of embarrassment. He then glanced at Kristen, “Are you sure you don’t want to go to the hospital, Lieutenant?”
Kristen shook her head. “But you should go, Captain.” She motioned to the cut by his left eye. “That might need a few sutures.”
Brodie didn’t respond but instead motioned toward the duty van that had been brought around and was now waiting for them at the base of the hill. “You’re going to freeze to death out here. Why don’t you wait in the van with the others?” His voice and demeanor had returned to normal, except for the tattered uniform, the gash to the side of his head, and bloody knuckles.
“No, sir,” she insisted. “I want to do something I should have done eighteen months ago.”
Kristen had always regretted never reporting Fitzgerald for having tried to rape her while she’d been at Corpus. Since that night, she’d often wondered how many other women he may have assaulted since he attacked her, and if those assaults might have been prevented had she’d spoken up then.
The Provost Marshall, a full commander, walked up, and Kristen and Graves greeted him polit
ely. But the grumpy commander—recently dragged from a nice warm bed—ignored the others and dealt with Brodie. “Did you have to beat him half to death?” he asked as he looked Brodie over.
Brodie appeared unmoved, and Kristen got the impression this was not his first time speaking to the police. “He assaulted one of my officers.”
“Then you should have called me,” the commander told him. “Bad business, officers fighting officers. We have enough trouble keeping the enlisted men around here in line without this kind of nonsense.” The Provost Marshall was basically the base commander’s chief of police and responsible for good order and discipline on Sasebo.
Kristen could see he was planning on arresting Brodie but saw no hint of concern in her captain’s eyes. “I couldn’t agree more,” Brodie concurred. “Just as long as no one puts a hand on one of my officers.”
The commander nodded and looked at Graves. “Whom did he allegedly assault?”
“Me, sir,” Kristen interjected, determined to do what she could to keep them from placing handcuffs on Brodie.
The Provost Marshall’s annoyed expression changed dramatically when he looked at her. Kristen didn’t know how bad she looked, but she could taste blood from a cut lip, and her cheek was already swelling. Plus, her normally perfectly coiffured hair looked like a haystack. She then realized, as she saw a flash of anger on the Provost’s face, that two men pounding on each other was one thing and fairly common, but there still existed a bit of a chivalric code enforced in the military. Spousal abuse and physical abuse against women ranked up there with child molestation on the maggot ladder among most in the military, and the Provost Marshall was no different. “Are you okay, Lieutenant?” he asked as his tone of voice changed dramatically upon seeing her. “I can have one of my patrol cars take you to the hospital and have the ER check you out.”
“No thank you, sir. I would like to stay with my captain.”
The Provost nodded thoughtfully and then motioned toward an ambulance where Fitzgerald was being loaded up for transport to the hospital. “And the guy with his face beat in, he assaulted you?”
Kristen nodded and then pulled back some of her thick hair to show the gouge marks where Fitzgerald had dug his fingers into her slender neck. “Yes, sir.”
The Provost Marshall’s tune changed rapidly as he saw the fresh gouge marks on her neck, and his jaw tensed angrily. But just as Kristen thought everything was calming down, she heard a low growl beside her as Brodie moved off the rail. He’d seen the fingernail gouges on her neck and the berserker fury was returning.
“Sean!” Graves warned and grabbed Brodie’s right arm as Kristen gripped his left.
The Provost Marshall stepped in between Brodie and the ambulance and held up a restraining hand. “Hold on there, Galahad,” he cautioned.
Brodie swallowed his rage and stood, a dangerous scowl on his face. He cut his eyes away from the ambulance and now glared at the Provost Marshall. “Well?” Brodie demanded through gritted teeth.
The Provost eyed Brodie cautiously and then looked at Kristen. “Excuse me, Lieutenant, but do you believe there was a chance your attacker may have intended to…” he paused and shot a nervous eye at Brodie who looked about ready to go off again.
“I don’t know for certain if he was intent on raping me,” she admitted, no longer afraid that people wouldn’t believe her or that they might use such an incident against her. Brodie and Graves would stand by her. She was certain of it. “Thankfully, this time there was someone around to make certain it never got that far.”
“This time?” the Provost asked.
Kristen could almost feel the beast just below the surface as she continued to grip Brodie’s arm. Graves apparently noticed it too, because he kept his hands firmly on their captain.
“Lieutenant Commander Fitzgerald tried to rape me eighteen months ago when he was my Officer-in-Charge.”
The Provost rocked back on his heels. For a junior officer to accuse a senior officer was a serious matter. But the Navy was working hard to clean up a tarnished legacy when women were not always treated properly. Any such allegation was no longer quietly swept under the rug, and if she persisted with her charges, there would be a full investigation. “Are there any witnesses to this, Lieutenant?”
Kristen knew without any witnesses there was no chance of Fitzgerald being convicted of anything. “Not eighteen months ago,” she admitted. “We were in his car and alone.” She then added, “But there were others.” Kristen explained how there had been other women in the unit, and she believed she wasn’t the only one accosted by Fitzgerald.
“Would you mind coming down to PMO and filling out a report, Lieutenant,” the commander asked.
Kristen glanced at Brodie who responded with a slight nod, “Whatever you want to do, Lieutenant.”
“Absolutely,” Graves agreed earnestly. “Whatever you need, Kristen.”
Kristen welcomed the support of her two senior officers. It was a far cry from what she’d become accustomed to elsewhere. “Thank you, gentlemen.” They were simple words but were said with heartfelt sincerity.
The three of them went with the Provost Marshall to his office in the same building with the base police. Brodie and Graves stayed with her as she filled out the first report about what happened that evening. Then another, reporting what had occurred eighteen months earlier in Corpus Christi. It soon became clear there would be no charges against Brodie, and Kristen breathed a sigh of relief, having feared they might lock him up. The Provost Marshall explained an investigation would be started in Corpus, and she’d eventually have to testify against Fitzgerald, which she was more than willing to do.
“But I wouldn’t worry too much about it, Lieutenant,” the Provost informed her as he walked with the three of them out to a MP van waiting to take them back to the Seawolf.
“Why’s that?” Brodie asked.
“I’ve seen pieces of shit like him before,” the Provost explained as he opened the sliding door for Kristen and Graves to get in. “They look tough on the outside, but they’re just bullies. Once we set them down and make them stare at twenty to thirty years in Leavenworth, they usually piss themselves and beg for a plea deal.” He then shook Brodie’s hand, “Just do me a favor next time.”
“What’s that?”
“Try not to leave so many scars on the bastard’s face, would you?”
The van returned them to the Seawolf where they were met by a rather startled pair of sailors on watch. After all, it wasn’t every day the captain of the boat returned after a night of brawling. The three of them came on board and said goodnight. Kristen returned to her cabin and Brodie, after Graves put his foot down, went to sickbay to have a sleepy Doc Reed check the gash on his temple and redress the bandage on his left hand.
“Damn, Sean,” she heard Graves utter as she walked forward toward her cabin, her heels in hand, “for a moment there, I thought you were going to kill the son of a bitch.”
She heard Brodie’s reply as he disappeared down a ladder well, “For a moment there, I was.”
Kristen grabbed a change of clothing and went down for a shower. She showered quickly, not wanting to get distracted from getting in and out before he returned by thinking too much about everything that had happened during the evening. But it was impossible to block out the images of Brodie flinging Fitzgerald off her. His eyes, showing the full fury he was capable of, had been both terrifying to behold as well as—she admitted with some embarrassment to herself—exciting at the same time.
Plus there had been the lengthy conversation with Patricia. It had helped Kristen make sense of exactly what she was feeling. Unfortunately, Patricia’s advice had not solved her problems; it had only made her recognize how impossible the situation was. If she wanted to be around him, even with the limited contact they were currently having, she had to stay on the boat. But Kristen could not stay on the boat and let her feelings for him show. If Brodie, or anyone else, were to learn how she felt, t
hen she’d be unable to function on board. The already awkward relationship between them would grow intolerable.
No, her secret would have to stay locked deep within. Kristen knew it would be hard, perhaps even painful. But any pain was more desirable than being apart from him. She shut off the water, realizing she’d overstayed her usual hasty shower routine. Kristen toweled off quickly and dressed rapidly, leaving her wet hair loose about her shoulders. She wiped everything down hurriedly, hoping to be gone before he returned from sickbay. But then she heard the hatch leading to the passageway open followed by voices.
Shit!
She wasn’t quite ready to see him again. But she couldn’t simply hide in the small bathroom and hope he didn’t notice. She paused for a few more seconds, hearing the XO and Brodie’s muffled voices. Kristen gathered her toiletries, clothing, and towels. Then, summoning up her courage and planning to slip out of the cabin without a word, she opened the door and stepped out.
His back was to her, providing her some comfort except for the fact he was stripped to the waist, his ripped shirt tossed into a trash bin, and his suspender straps hanging loosely about his waist. He was facing the XO who was seated in a chair.
“Good morning, Lieutenant,” Graves said pleasantly. “I hope you’re feeling better.”
“Much better, thank you, sir,” Kristen replied as she took the two steps necessary to reach the door leading into the passageway and be gone before the captain spoke to her.
But she didn’t make it as he turned slightly, his tattooed arm facing her as he looked at her. “Are you sure, Lieutenant?” he asked, concern evident in his voice. “Doc Reed is up and in his office…”
Kristen nodded, giving her best “I’m okay” smile. “No really, sir. I just want to hit the rack,” she explained as she jerked her thumb over her shoulder but stared at the ripped knuckles on his hands. A knock on the door behind her interrupted any more conversation.
“Come in, Spike,” Brodie said showing either omniscience or the ability to see through doors. The hatch opened and COB, a look of anger on his face, came in.