Seawolf Mask of Command (24 page)

Suddenly, he was real.

He was no longer just some aloof captain; he’d become human; a man.

“I know exactly what you mean,” he agreed.

Kristen turned and looked back out to sea at the magnificent spectacle nature was putting on for her. She was again conscious of a peculiar sensation deep within her. She’d always been proud of her self-discipline. She’d always embraced logic, preferring math and physics to the soft sciences of literature and art. Whimsical flights of fantasy were not what she enjoyed, and she preferred the predictable nature of science to the unpredictability of human emotion. Thus she didn’t quite understand the sudden fluttering in her stomach, or the tingling of her skin.

After riding completely around the mountain, they returned to the base well into the evening. They’d stopped once for a cup of coffee for him and tea for her at an ocean side resort. The temperature, which had been unseasonably warm when they began their ride, had dropped precipitously, and Kristen, despite her thick sweater, leather flight jacket, helmet, scarf, and gloves was nearly trembling by the time they reached her barracks.

He pulled up under the awning, turned off the engine and removed his helmet. Kristen dismounted and removed her own helmet and shook out her hair. Although cold, she couldn’t help feeling a little sad the ride had ended.

“All right, Lieutenant,” he said, “I’m afraid this E-ticket has run out.”

“Thank you, Captain,” Kristen replied, returning his spare helmet. “That was a lot of fun.” Kristen couldn’t recall the last time she’d had any fun at all. The Naval Academy had been work, and her naval experience since just pure hell. She hadn’t realized how oppressive it had all been until—for a brief time—the pressure had been lifted.

“Any time, Lieutenant,” he replied with a crooked smile.

The ride had been exhilarating, relaxing, and—on many levels—revealing for Kristen. All work and no play had come with a hefty price. She’d missed much with her all-encompassing pursuit of her goal. But one thing the ride had failed to do was answer any of the questions surrounding the man before her. He was just as much an enigma as before, perhaps more so. But after her conversation with Penny and the lengthy ride, she no longer believed he hoped to ruin her career. She again thought about her failed attempt at the engineering exam.

“Is everything all right?” he asked as he sat comfortably on the bike.

Kristen realized she’d been staring. Her instinct was to say goodnight and go up to her room. But she caught herself and asked, “I was just wondering…” she said hesitantly, “…why?”

“Why the ride?” Brodie asked as he stretched his stiff muscles a little.

Kristen nodded in reply.

“It sure seemed like a good idea at the time,” he answered. “I can’t recall the last time I went on a little road trip.” He then added, “Besides, you’ve been hitting it pretty hard, and I was becoming a little worried about you. We’ve a long patrol ahead of us, and I can’t have one of my officer’s burning out before we leave pier side, can I?”

“No, I guess not,” Kristen agreed.

“Good night, Lieutenant,” he said with a nod of his head and started to pull his helmet back on.

“Sir?” Kristen again stopped him. She found herself in an unexpected—an unfamiliar—situation. Human interaction had never been her forte.

“Yes?” he replied, setting his helmet back down.

“I was wondering if I might ask you another question?”

“Absolutely.” Brodie cocked a hand on a handlebar.

Kristen hesitated, choosing her words carefully. “When you had me take the engineering exam… you knew I would fail, didn’t you?”

His expression showed a bit of surprise by her audacity to ask such a pointed question. But he answered her truthfully, “I thought you probably would, yes.”

Kristen nodded, having decided as much. During the lengthy ride, she’d come to a startling conclusions as to why he’d done it, and it had nothing to do with wanting her off the submarine. “You knew if I tried and failed, it might cause some of the crew to put aside their apprehension about having me on board and start helping me, didn’t you?”

“Something like that,” Brodie admitted, looking a bit embarrassed or perhaps annoyed—she wasn’t sure which—at her having figured it out so quickly. “Did it work?”

“Yes, sir. It did.”

He righted his bike.

“Good,” he answered simply. He finished pulling on his helmet and glanced back at her. There was no visor on his helmet and she saw his eyes, warm and penetrating, fix on hers. Then he raised his hand slightly and pointed at her cheek. “How’s the eye?”

“It’s okay, sir. Please don’t worry about it,” Kristen assured him as comforting warmth slowly spread through her.

“It’s my job to worry about all my people, Lieutenant.” Brodie reminded her, his voice betraying nothing about what he might be feeling and his eyes—his warm grey eyes—were equally mute regarding his true thoughts.

“Thank you, Captain,” she said sincerely, a bit ashamed of herself for thinking he had her take the exam and fail simply out of malice.

“No need to thank me, Lieutenant,” Brodie said as he started the bike. “Uncle Sam thanks me twice a month.”

He gunned the engine and pulled away, leaving her under the awning of the barracks to contemplate all that had transpired between them. He’d never said anything, nor made any sort of hint that the day had been anything more than a simple sightseeing ride to release some tension. Perhaps it had been nothing more to him, but Kristen thought something between them had changed.

She felt it so.

USS Seawolf

T
uesday morning dawned frigid. A cold front had moved down from Canada during the evening, dumping snow and ice over the Puget Sound area. Kristen was on deck dressed for the weather with long underwear under her coveralls and a bright orange inclement weather suit consisting of overall trousers, a parka, wool hat and gloves.

The two days following the motorcycle ride with Brodie had gone by in a blur. Sunday, normally a day of rest for naval personnel, was a workday for the crew of the
Seawolf.
Official word arrived Sunday that the
Seawolf
would be departing for a brief shakedown cruise on Tuesday. They were supposed to test out their recent repairs and upgrades plus conduct some anti-submarine training operations. Therefore, Sunday was spent loading hundreds of tons of supplies. It was also a big day for Kristen because her makeshift quarters in the Data Processing Equipment Room were complete, and she was able to move on board. Something she considered a bit of a milestone for herself.

Monday came and went even faster than Sunday. It was filled with inspections, equipment tests, and still more supplies coming on board. Kristen had little time to consider the truckloads of spare parts, medical supplies, food stuffs, and other necessary items that were taking up nearly every square inch of available space. It occurred to her that for a two-week training cruise, they were laying on far more supplies than necessary. But as a Nub, she didn’t see reason to question their orders. Although she did notice that both the captain and the XO spent Monday ashore.

They were now preparing to leave port to visit the Magnetic Silencing Facility at Bangor, followed by a short stop at the arming wharf at Indian Island as part of the
Seawolf’s
preparations for the training exercise. Most of the crew weren’t excited about going back to sea so soon, but simply accepted it and dealt with their orders as best they could, each man somewhat comforted by the announcement in the morning bulletin that they’d be back in time for Christmas.

Kristen was assigned the rather unglamorous duty of safety officer for the line-handling crew, which mostly meant she kept her mouth shut, her eyes open, and trusted the petty officers to handle everything. But she didn’t care. Even some freezing rain was just a minor inconvenience considering she was on board and heading out to sea for the first time.

The
Seawolf
slipped away from the pier without any fanfare. If they’d been going away for a lengthy patrol there’d have been crowds of family members braving the frigid cold to see the crew off, but not this morning. Instead, the
Seawolf
left port with hardly anyone taking notice. Once in the channel, the deck hands went below, but Kristen—despite the cold—wanted to stay out on deck for a little while longer and take in the sights. But she’d been on deck less than ten minutes when a crewmen dressed in a drysuit approached.

“Hey, Lieutenant?” he asked, getting her attention. His name was Hodges, and he was the rescue swimmer assigned to the deck crew. His job was to go in the water and save anyone who slipped into the sea. Besides his drysuit, he wore a thermal parka and carried a pair of fins in one hand.

“Yes, Mister Hodges?” Kristen asked as the wind coming off Puget Sound stung her face.

“Is there a reason you’re not below yet?” he asked bluntly, clearly not enjoying the view like Kristen was.

“Uh… no, not really,” she admitted.

“Well, ma’am. I can’t go below until the deck is clear of personnel. So, if you wouldn’t mind….” he explained.

“Sorry,” she replied, recognizing her own thoughtlessness. She paused at the forward hatch and glanced enviously up at the sail. The captain and the rest of the bridge crew were on the top of the sail controlling the
Seawolf
as they moved northward up Puget Sound before coming around near Whidbey Island for the run down to Bangor. She’d hoped to be assigned to the bridge crew, but knew this had been unlikely since only handpicked enlisted men, the officer of the deck, and perhaps one or two lookouts were assigned to man the bridge along with the captain.

But, Kristen had several more chances to go on deck during the day. Following the trip to the Magnetic Silencing Facility, the line-handling detail had to report to the deck and help get the
Seawolf
tied up properly in the middle of the horseshoe shaped pier. By this time though, the weather had turned significantly worse with more snow and freezing rain. After this evolution, the allure of being on deck had faded, and Kristen was thankful to be back inside once the degaussing process began.

But just a few hours later, the line-handling detail was again called to the deck when the degaussing process was complete. The
Seawolf
returned to the channel and headed north to the Naval Weapons station on Indian Island to take on her training ammunition. Kristen wasn’t quite as anxious to go back on deck when the 1MC once more called her crew to secure the
Seawolf
to the arming wharf at Indian Island just before dark.

Once on deck, Kristen—like the rest of the line-handling crew—wore a safety harness secured by a lifeline to a cable called a topside runner rigged along the length of the hull from the sail to the aft hatch. With the lifeline in place, it was almost impossible to fall overboard. But in this unlikely event, everyone also wore a life vest with a strobe light attached.

As Kristen prowled the deck trying to do her job and also see what was happening on the pier, she noticed a sailor without his lifeline secured to the runner. The mooring lines were being secured and a tugboat was gently nudging the submarine toward the arming pier.

“You there! Secure your lifeline,” she ordered as she approached.

“Fuck you,” came the gruff reply as the sailor turned. She recognized Randle, the man who’d accidentally struck her. His hood was up and she hadn’t seen his face at first, and, apparently, the hood prevented Randle from realizing who she was. His eyes widened in fright, and he quickly glanced up at the bridge positioned atop the sail.

“Sorry, ma’am,” he replied quickly. “I didn’t recognize you.”

“Just secure the lifeline, Mister Randle,” Kristen ordered again, not interested in dressing him down over something like that. She then turned her attention shoreward as the
Seawolf
was made fast pier side.

It was bitterly cold, and the weather report said it would get worse throughout the night as an Arctic cold front swept through. But she wanted to observe the weapons loading process firsthand. She’d never participated in the intricate operation of bringing torpedoes and other weapons on board but was anxious to learn.

A tractor trailer, loaded with training torpedoes still in their shipping containers, was positioned along the pier. This lent credence to the general belief that they were just going on a short shakedown cruise. Kristen watched curiously as Brodie, the XO, and the Weapons officer—Lieutenant Andrew Stahl—went onto the wharf and talked to the shore personnel.

A few minutes later, one of the transport cases for the training torpedoes was opened to reveal the blue nose of a dummy torpedo. But still, no move was made to load the weapons. She then noticed Andrew Stahl glance at his watch and then look skyward. This single motion caused Kristen to pause and take notice.

You’re missing something.

During their brief stay at Bangor, she recalled that Stahl had been called to the captain’s cabin along with Ski, the operations officer, COB, and the XO. Although there was nothing strange about the captain holding a meeting in his cabin, the mix of officers represented all the senior officers plus COB. Kristen now speculated about just what had been said during that meeting. She looked skyward, wondering what the schedule was for Russian or Chinese spy satellites passing over Puget Sound.