Seawolf Mask of Command (38 page)

“Welcome aboard the
Seawolf,
sir,” Kristen managed, but she offered no hand of greeting. Instead, she stood stiffly, keeping her thoughts to herself.

“I hadn’t expected to find you out here, Kristen,” he said. His voice was the same deep baritone she remembered.

She said nothing, but her skin felt like it was crawling off her body. She had the sudden urge to take a hot bath. There was a long pause on the sail as everyone waited for Kristen to say something, but she didn’t utter a word.

Brodie broke the silence after several long uncomfortable moments, “I’m afraid,” he explained, “the two drone operators and the technician Commander Fitzgerald brought with him have been quarantined on board the
Frank Cable
.”

Fitzgerald interjected in explanation, “The three of them came down with flulike symptoms including diarrhea as well as nausea twenty-fours after we boarded the
Cable.
Bad luck really, since I’m told time is of the essence.”

“Indeed it is,” Brodie responded in the darkness and glanced at Kristen. “Is everything all right, Lieutenant?”

“How can I be of assistance, Captain?” Kristen answered, turning her head toward Brodie and speaking to him and not their guest. The sooner she was away from Fitzgerald, the better she would feel.

Again there was a long pause. In the inky blackness, she couldn’t see his eyes, but she could almost feel Brodie studying her, and the strange sensation of being x-rayed came over her. He knew something was wrong. Just how he knew she wasn’t certain, but he knew. But then she realized that, upon hearing Fitzgerald’s name, she’d moved unconsciously closer to Brodie and was literally pressed against his arm behind her.

“I need to know if you can handle the equipment, Lieutenant?” Brodie asked her after a few seconds of reflection. “We can’t risk bringing three men with the flu on board, especially if they are in as bad a shape as Commander Fitzgerald reports.”

Kristen kept her eyes on Brodie. “No sir, not with patrol crud already going around the boat.” After two to three weeks at sea, the various germs each member of the crew brought onboard coalesced into a series of upper respiratory infections that spread throughout the boat. Known by the crew simply as “patrol crud,” Kristen had suffered a minor bout with it herself, and she estimated over half the crew was currently infected, with a dozen on bed rest. The last thing the
Seawolf
needed, with half the crew already sick, was to introduce another strain of flu virus into the hull.

But Kristen knew the real question Brodie was asking. They were bringing LMRS drones on board. These drones were highly sophisticated machines designed to enter enemy minefields and map them. Although she didn’t know their orders, it seemed logical to assume they would need the drones to help penetrate a minefield. Without the assigned equipment operators, Kristen would have to handle the gear herself, relying on the knowledge she’d gained while assigned to the mine warfare command before going to Hawaii. Kristen could not afford to be reckless with her answer. She had to be absolutely certain she could handle it. Otherwise, she would be putting all of their lives in danger.

“Commander Fitzgerald has volunteered to come aboard with us to help handle the gear,” Brodie added.

Kristen resisted the urge to tell the captain that Fitzgerald’s help wasn’t welcome, but she swallowed the comment. Brodie, with his exceptional powers of observation, had already noticed something in her tone of voice, and she couldn’t very well say she didn’t want Fitzgerald on board, even though she would sooner see Fitzgerald dead than talk to him again.

“I’m not sure, sir,” she answered honestly. “It’s been almost a year since I touched any of it, and there might have been some modifications I’m not familiar with,” she answered. “Will I have access to the current operational and technical manuals?”

Brodie glanced at Fitzgerald. “Commander?”

“Of course, everything you need,” Fitzgerald assured them.

Kristen still didn’t look at him. Instead, she continued facing Brodie, waiting for his orders.

“What do you think, Lieutenant?” Brodie asked.

Kristen was running it through her mind. She couldn’t afford to guess. If she screwed up, she would potentially kill everyone. But Kristen also knew Brodie need an answer immediately. “I think I can handle it, sir,” she replied. “But I’ll need some help.”

“I can help,” Fitzgerald said.

Kristen could almost see his arrogant smile. She recalled his bear-like paws, the foul stench of his aftershave, his razor stubble… she shivered at the vivid memory.

Brodie did not address him, instead he spoke to her. “Tell me what you need.”

Kristen thought for a few moments and then answered, “I’ll need Senior Chief Miller and also Ensign Martin.”

Kristen heard the long pause followed by the captain offering a brief question, “Ensign Martin?”

Kristen knew Martin had been on shaky ground the entire patrol and hadn’t impressed the captain or anyone else for that matter. “He has a computer engineering degree from Virginia Tech,” she explained. “I’m going to need someone with those skills to help inspect the gear and troubleshoot any glitches.”

“Done,” he replied, apparently trusting her judgment. His simple answer carried the weight of gold on the
Seawolf
. “What else?”

“I’ll need to get below right now and start checking the equipment. It’s been awhile since I’ve laid my hands on any of it, and if we’re going to need the drones, I want to get re-familiarized with them and run some tests. Maybe even do a few practice runs before I have to do it for real, sir.”

“All right, I’ll see to it you have everything you need. If you have any problems…” he paused for a moment and then stressed again, “any problems at all.” He let the sentence fragment linger in the air as if to drive his meaning home. “I want to know about it at once.”

“Yes, sir,” Kristen responded immediately. “Will there be anything else, sir?”

“That’s it, Lieutenant. Get to work.” In the darkness, she could barely make out his silhouette against the night sky.

“Aye-aye, Captain. I’ll be in the torpedo room.”

It was a bit cramped on the sail and the footing wet and slippery. Brodie adjusted his position and took her hand. “Lend a hand there, Collins,” he ordered. Kristen gripped Brodie’s hand tight for support as she stepped down into the darkness of the bridge and felt a pair of willing hands take her arms. She grimaced slightly as they touched her burns, and she must have tensed noticeably because Brodie, who helped her down reminded the two men, “Watch the burns, boys. Watch the burns.”

“Aye, Captain,” came the reply from the two men who carefully helped Kristen maintain her footing in the darkness. Kristen noticed how gentle they were all trying to be with her. It annoyed her a bit to have the captain, officers, and men treating her as if she were some frail creature, but she knew it was to be expected. Even before the fire, the crew had begun to accept her presence on board. She was still a Nub of course, and when passing others in passageways, she’d often been forced to flatten herself against a bulkhead to allow the others to pass. Crewmen had greeted her with politeness, but there had seldom been any honesty in their required greetings. But since the fire, the crew had been treating her with a much higher level of deference. Men got out of her way and greeted her not just politely but respectfully, tipping caps and giving her reassuring smiles.

On the sail, Brodie watched as Kristen disappeared into the red glow of the open hatch leading down from the sail and to the control room below.

“With your permission, Captain, I’ll collect my gear and go below. I would like to inspect the drones as well,” Fitzgerald offered.

“Just one moment, Lieutenant Commander,” Brodie stopped him briskly. “How do you know Lieutenant Whitaker?”

Brodie had sensed something happen when he’d introduced Kristen to Fitzgerald. For a brief moment, he’d thought she might be scared. Upon hearing the man’s name, she’d moved closer to Brodie, and she’d never once spoken directly to Fitzgerald. He knew he couldn’t be certain, but he’d clearly heard her catch her breath at the mention of Fitzgerald’s name, and she’d stiffened beside him. He’d felt it.

“She worked for me at Corpus awhile, sir.” he offered. “She was competent enough, but a bit of a prude if you know what I mean,” Fitzgerald chuckled softly. “Can I go below, sir?”

A dead silence hung over the sail for several more seconds.

Brodie thought for a moment. Kristen was no coward. She’d proven herself already more than once to have steady nerves under pressure. But she’d been uncomfortable around this man for some reason. Brodie’s instincts were telling him to tell Fitzgerald to get off the
Seawolf,
but he had to consider his mission first. The mine reconnaissance drones were absolutely essential. Without them, the
Seawolf
might as well go home. Fitzgerald was, by all accounts, a competent officer and a duty expert in mine warfare; Brodie would be a fool to tell him his services weren’t needed.

“Report to the executive officer in the control room,” Brodie ordered. “He’ll see to your billeting and other arrangements, Mister Fitzgerald,” he added, subtly and unconsciously changing the way he addressed the officer from referring to his rank to simply, “Mister.”

Torpedo Handling Room, USS Seawolf

T
he torpedo handling room was a cavernous space when empty. But with fifty torpedoes, missiles, decoys, and now two LMRS drones, the vast space had become a bit overcrowded. Adding to the already cramped space, the SEALs were moving in, making it almost claustrophobic.

Kristen climbed down into the controlled chaos as the SEALs were storing their gear and setting up hammocks. She knew next to nothing about the SEALs, except for the fact she wanted nothing to do with their line of work. But as she moved through the crowded torpedo room to where the drones were, she got a close look at the commandos and figured by their appearance that they could probably take care of just about any problem that came their way.

Kristen reached the drones and saw the small mountain of grey equipment boxes that had come with them. Not waiting for Miller or Martin, she began her inventory, wanting to make certain everything was accounted for before she began operation checks. Martin arrived five minutes later, followed by Chief Miller, and the three of them were soon going through checklists as they inventoried boxes of equipment to make certain they had everything.

Before they got started, Martin pulled her aside, “Are you sure you want me for this?” he asked, accustomed to getting the least desirable jobs possible for an officer on board.

Kristen knew Martin’s self-confidence was shot and that she was taking a chance on him. But she also knew he’d somehow gotten through all of the training to be on board, and so he had to have been able to function under pressure at one time. Kristen realized leaving his new wife behind had been eating at him terribly, and it didn’t sound like Rebecca, his bride, would cut it as a Navy wife. But with all that being considered, Kristen wasn’t quite ready to quit on him just yet.

“Listen, Danny,” she said softly so no one else would hear. “I know you’ve got a lot on your mind and right now it feels like everyone is against you,” she began. “Trust me, I know how it feels.” She recalled the years of banging her head against the wall as she tried to make the Navy see reason regarding her petition to serve. She’d been a pariah; her peers had deserted her, and she’d become an outcast. She then added, “But it isn’t so.”

Martin nodded, a bit numbly. “What do you need me to do? I don’t know anything about this LMRS stuff.”

She pointed to the computer interface box. “The techs who were supposed to handle the drones are in quarantine on the
Frank Cable.
So, if we’re going to get this thing running, I need someone who knows computers a whole lot better than I do.” She could see Martin wasn’t completely convinced, and she decided being nice wasn’t getting her anywhere with him. So she tried a different tact and grabbed his arm, squeezing it tight. “Danny, I need to know your head is in the game,” she told him bluntly. “Because if we screw this up, everyone on board this boat is toast, and you can forget all about your poor little wife and all of your problems because we’ll all be dead.”

This registered. Perhaps it had escaped Martin’s notice, but it hadn’t escaped Kristen’s that they were armed to the teeth with everything from nuclear weapons to the pistols the SEALs were each carrying. The
Seawolf
was heading into harm’s way for certain. She just wasn’t sure where.

“I’m with you,” Martin responded showing a brief flash of confidence.

Kristen didn’t let go of his arm immediately. “Are you sure? Because if you aren’t, let me know, and I’ll find someone else who won’t be as good but will at least do their best.”

“I can handle it,” Martin responded, stiffening his back slightly. “I can handle it,” he repeated, as if trying to convince himself of it. She released his arm and got back to work. They went through everything, setting aside each box as it was inventoried to make absolutely certain everything was accounted for.