Seawolf End Game (10 page)

“Oh, sweet Jesus,” Graves whispered and bolted toward the nearest door.

Fitzgerald hit the glass door hard, hard enough to crack the heavy glass. But he wasn’t knocked out by it. Fitzgerald was not a small man, outweighing Brodie by at least thirty pounds, and he was several inches taller than the infuriated submarine captain. Fitzgerald also liked to fight; he’d always enjoyed bullying people and intimidating those smaller than he and had even boxed during his youth. So, fighting was something he was no stranger to.

Hitting the glass staggered him only briefly, and he stayed on his feet, seeing Brodie coming at him. But he didn’t recognize the murderous fury in Brodie’s eyes. If he had, he might have run. Instead, he came off the glass at Brodie and delivered a right hook to Brodie’s head. Fitzgerald felt his iron-like fist connect, taking sadistic pleasure in striking a telling blow. But, to Fitzgerald’s dismay, his “telling blow” didn’t affect the incensed beast who rammed his hands into Fitzgerald’s chest and lifted him up and back against the glass. No sooner did Fitzgerald hit the glass a second time, he felt a monstrous blow to his left lower ribcage.

He gasped as he felt the bones crack in his side and groaned in pain, feeling the air leave his lungs from the powerful blow. This first blow was followed immediately by another to his right side, and Fitzgerald grimaced as more powerful punches began to land. Fitzgerald tried to defend himself, but it was like trying to block a whirling fan blade as Brodie unleashed a flurry of strikes to the body.

Fitzgerald had known fear. He’d seen it in his mother’s face many times when his father had beaten her, and he’d seen it in the faces of those he’d bullied all his life. He’d seen it in Kristen’s face a few moments earlier. But he’d never felt fear like he now did. Despite his own considerable strength and violent past, he felt completely helpless and aware of nothing but a flurry of painful blows striking him mercilessly.

Brodie, or whatever wild animal had possessed him, was in front of Fitzgerald, his legs spread wide to provide balance and more power as he continued pounding the man’s torso. Kristen, her head still not clear after the backhand to her cheek, staggered to her feet seeing Fitzgerald all but defenseless. With each blow, Fitzgerald was lifted off the ground, and she saw the look of pain on his face. But Brodie was oblivious to everything as he hammered Fitzgerald mercilessly. Kristen shouted for help and then stepped toward them, suddenly aware of a sickening cracking noise accompanying each blow struck.

“Captain, stop!” Kristen pleaded as she stumbled toward him. She was reaching for him as a door nearby slid open and the XO, followed by Terry, Ryan Walcott, and the rest of the
Seawolf’s
officers appeared.

“He’s killing him!” she cried out, afraid what might happen if they didn’t manage to pull Brodie off Fitzgerald. Kristen had briefly seen the look of blind rage in Brodie’s eyes. She recalled a similar expression on Hamilton’s face when blood lust had overcome the SEAL while in North Korea. Except this was far worse; Brodie was berserk. Kristen remembered the story Penny Graves had confided about Brodie’s temper. She thought she understood what Penny had meant, but she’d never imagined anything like this.

Brodie grabbed Fitzgerald and, unceremoniously, spun around and flung the bigger man into the patio railing. Fitzgerald hit the railing and fell over it onto the wet grass of the hill. Kristen, just a few feet away, saw Brodie’s face again. For a brief moment, she thought it was over. But one look at the terrible ferociousness in her captain’s face told her differently. She tried to grab him as he charged past her toward Fitzgerald, but she might as well have tried to grasp a flying cannonball.

“Captain, no!” she shouted as he tore through her grasp and vaulted the railing.

“Sean!” Graves shouted as he leapt over the railing, followed by other officers.

Kristen reached the railing in time to see Graves grab one of Brodie’s arms, only to be flung aside like a ragdoll. Brodie then grabbed Fitzgerald and threw him against the metal railing running alongside the steps leading to the base of the hill.

“Tackle him before he kills the son-of-a-bitch!” Graves shouted to the other officers as he rolled and came back up on his feet.

Kristen reached the steps and paused to kick off her heels, which made running impossible. But as she paused, she saw Fitzgerald looking more like a bobblehead doll as Brodie held him against the railing with one hand while striking with the rhythm of a jackhammer to Fitzgerald’s face with his other fist.

“Captain!” Kristen shouted, fearful it was already too late. Blood and teeth exploded from Fitzgerald’s mouth as Brodie pounded him relentlessly.

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 politely. 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.”