Seawolf Mask of Command (49 page)

Oh, shit!

Cheng nodded, and Kristen realized the situation was rapidly getting out of hand. She could see nervous sweat on Vance’s forehead, and one of his eyes twitched nervously. He looked to be high on something. A narcotic perhaps, but she could only guess having zero experience with drugs.

“Why don’t you put down the gun, Vance?” Cheng asked, keeping his voice calm and soothing.

Vance’s eyes narrowed slightly as he focused on Kristen. “It was her,” he said accusingly. “Just another bitch out to fuck me over,” he said raising his voice slightly.

Kristen took a step backward, but as she did, Vance’s right hand sprang up, and he leveled a pistol at her. She knew next to nothing about pistols and had no idea what kind it was. It was big, it was pointed at her, and she was terrified.

“Where are you going, you stupid bitch?” Vance demanded. The hand holding the pistol was trembling, and he steadied it by gripping the pistol with both hands.

“Take it easy, Vance,” Cheng said, his voice still steady, but Kristen noticed Cheng’s right hand lower to his side as he adjusted his position, moving slightly in front of Kristen.

“It’s her fault, Brian,” Vance said to Cheng. “It’s her fault, man.”

“I know,” Cheng agreed soothingly. “Just stay frosty, Bro… just talk to me.”

“She’s just like the others,” Vance said. “Just like Erin,” he added.

Kristen saw tears beginning to fall from Vance’s eyes.

“She fucked us!” he snapped bitterly. “It’s her fault.”

“I know,” Cheng said, and motioned Kristen back with a slight movement of his right hand that was now near his own pistol. “Erin was all bad,” Cheng agreed. “She fucked you over for sure,” he added. “But I’m here,” Cheng reminded Vance. “Me and the rest of your brothers are right here with you, man. We still got your back. Just like Afghanistan. Just like Iraq and Pakistan. We’re still with you, Bro.”

Vance seemed to be in pain, and Kristen saw his face twitch. “Fucking bitch,” he growled dangerously. “It’s her fault,” he repeated, his eyes glaring at Kristen wildly.

“What’s her fault Vance?” Cheng continued to talk. His right hand moved ever so slowly toward his weapon.

“I just wanted to stop the drones, man. That’s all,” Vance whispered. His eyes had become filled with desperation, like a wild animal trapped in a corner. “No one was going to get hurt. The op would’ve been scrubbed, and we could’ve all gone back home.”

Cheng nodded in understanding. “Okay, just relax, Vance. We’ll get through this. We’ve been in worse shit than this,” he said easily, inserting himself a little further between Kristen and Vance.

“If she hadn’t poked her fucking nose back into that damn drone, I’d have fixed the other one, too,” Vance explained. “I just needed another ten minutes and then….” he grimaced. His left hand released the pistol and gripped the side of his head tightly. “This bitch had to stick her fucking nose into it!”

Kristen felt her body trembling in sheer terror. She tried to slowly ease back, but the hand holding the pistol suddenly tensed. She grimaced, expecting a bullet. But none came.

“Whoa, buddy,” Cheng said, his own nervousness now showing. “Come on, man, put the pistol down. You and I can sit and talk. No one has to get hurt.”

“No one was gonna get hurt,” Vance snapped loudly. “We would’ve been able to go home no problem. Don’t you see?” he pleaded. Tears were streaming down his cheeks as his left hand gripped the side of his head so tightly he was tearing hair out of his scalp. “No one else was going to have to die on another stupid mission; no one was going to get hurt…”

Then, startling all three of them, Kristen heard one of the sailors from the
Seawolf
call out to them, “Hey, what’s going on over there?”

For a brief instant, Vance’s eyes glanced toward the two
Seawolf
sailors. In that brief instant, Cheng went for his weapon.

“Noooo!” Kristen heard herself shouting to no avail as she tried to prevent the cataclysm she feared if a weapon was discharged inside the torpedo room with so much ordnance lying around, but there was nothing she could do to stop the chain of events that had been set in motion.

Vance’s pistol fired as Cheng managed to draw his own. At the same time, Cheng finished stepping between her and Vance.

The sound of the pistol shot was instantly followed by Cheng slamming back into Kristen as he was hit by the first shot. But, as he fell back into her, she heard a second deafening roar as Cheng fired.

Kristen went down with Cheng on top of her. His pistol fell from his hand as they crashed to the deck in a heap. Vance—still on his feet—turned toward the two
Seawolf
crewmen, his pistol still in his hand. He moved gracefully, handling the weapon like a surgeon might handle a scalpel. He fired several quick shots that once more reverberated around the torpedo room like someone beating on the inside of a steel pipe with a sledgehammer.

As he fired at the two
Seawolf
sailors, she saw something ricochet off the bulkhead directly behind Vance. But, a moment later, he’d apparently dealt with both of the seamen and turned back toward her.

“Stop firing for God’s sake!” Kristen realized she was shouting at them all. “We’re in a torpedo room!”

Vance had crouched down, his left hand on his hip trying to stop the flow of blood from where Cheng’s bullet had hit him. He half crawled over to Kristen, keeping low and using the torpedoes as cover.

“What the fuck’s going on?” a SEAL shouted from somewhere in the torpedo room. There could be no doubt that every SEAL was now awake and moving for his weapons. But they had no idea what was happening.

“Boss? Talk to us!” another SEAL shouted from a different direction.

She looked down at Cheng and saw a blood stain growing ever larger on his chest. He was draped across her legs. She recalled from her basic first aid something about applying pressure to stop the bleeding, so she pressed a hand down on the wound and immediately felt the familiar warm, sticky blood between her fingers.

Vance knelt down directly in front of her and Cheng, looking down at his lieutenant in apparent shock. But the smoking pistol was still in his hand. Kristen could see brief flashes of movement between the torpedoes and missiles as the other SEALs were now moving, clearing the torpedo room.

“Your lieutenant is down,” she called out.

Vance looked up at her and raised the pistol. “Tell them to stay back,” he ordered. He then looked down at Cheng. “Sorry, Ell-Tee. It’s not my fault,” he whispered in a strange, distant voice. “It’s all her fault. She left me. She left me,” he whispered.

“Who’s shooting?” one of the SEALs asked from one direction as she saw movement from another direction. She couldn’t see exactly what they were doing, but it seemed they were moving to take Vance down from multiple directions at once.

She then heard another voice report, “We’ve got two friendlies down, both KIA.”

Vance was almost hyperventilating as he struggled with whatever demons had taken possession of his tortured soul. He turned on her, the business end of the pistol just inches from her face; so close she could smell the burnt powder residue. His eyes looked back frantically, “Tell them to stay back….” he told her, not wanting his buddies to see him like this.

“He wants you to stay back,” she heard a terrified voice call out and then realized it was hers.

“Boss?” Vance spoke to Cheng who’d passed out and would bleed to death soon if she didn’t get him aid. “What do I do now, Boss?” he cried out.

“Vance, is that you buddy?” a voice called out.

“Stay back, Doc!” Vance responded in warning. The pistol moved toward where Kristen saw movement behind several torpedoes.

“Whatever you say, man,” came the reply. “Just tell us what’s going on, so we can help.”

Vance’s eyes barely seemed human now, they were frantically looking everywhere like a caged animal. He turned sharply, raising the pistol at another flash of movement.

“Stay back, Trip!” he warned frantically to another SEAL moving behind a rack of cruise missiles.

“I didn’t want this,” he whispered as he turned back to her, his eyes registering horrors that Kristen could only imagine. He was as close to going over the edge as anyone could possibly be.

“Your lieutenant needs a corpsman,” she whispered to Vance.

“What?” he snapped and directed the pistol back at her.

Kristen looked down the barrel of the pistol. She could clearly see the lands and grooves inside the barrel and a few flecks of powder residue on the muzzle. At that moment it looked to be the size of a cannon. For a brief moment she thought she’d never been more terrified, but then remembered another memory. A distant, painful memory she’d struggled to suppress all her life. She felt herself losing her own grip on reality as the closely guarded memories from her past were unleashed and a flood of unwelcome images hit her like an avalanche.

“I…I…if he doesn’t get help soon, he’ll die.” she whispered with a hoarse, dry voice.

“It’s not my fault,” he whispered in reply.

Kristen saw the short, stocky SEAL she’d seen before appear at the far end of the rack of torpedoes. He held his own pistol in his hands and looked even more menacing than Vance, who had lowered his pistol and was looking at it with a strange, distant glare.

She raised a hand toward the SEAL as he advanced slowly, his weapon at the ready. She wanted to avoid any more gunfire. “Please… no more shooting,” she whispered as calmly as she could.

Vance glanced around and saw his teammate.

“Trip?”

“Drop the pistol, Vance,” the short, powerfully built SEAL warned as he continued to close the distance between them, his pistol aimed at Vance. Off to her right, Kristen saw a second SEAL appear, his own weapon up and at the ready. If Vance raised his pistol, they would surely fire.

“Trip?!” Vance pleaded. “I shot the Ell-Tee!” he cried and slumped back against the bulkhead. “Doc!” Vance called out to the second SEAL.

Then, in a flash of desperation, he turned the pistol toward himself.

“NO!” Kristen screamed. Her shout was echoed by both SEALs as they closed in at a rush, trying to prevent their friend from killing himself.

Kristen heard the roar of the pistol a final time, then felt the spray of blood, brains, and bone as the back of Vance’s head erupted in gore.

Control Room, USS Seawolf

“T
ransients! Transients! Torpedo in the water. Bearing two-seven-five!”
Brodie heard Senior Chief Miller report excitedly from the sonar shack.

“All ahead, full!” Brodie ordered briskly, not waiting for the order to be repeated before he issued his next one. “Sound general quarters!” he barked to the Chief of the Watch who pulled the alarm claxon.

Just what had happened in the torpedo room, Brodie dared not guess and didn’t want to think about at the moment. But whatever had happened to cause the shooting, the sound of the multiple gunshots had reverberated out through the hull and had created the sonar equivalent of shooting off a flare to mark one’s position.

Prior to the shooting, the
Tral
had been moving steadily away from the
Seawolf.
But following the barrage of pistol fire, the corvette
had turned sharply toward the submarine. The North Korean corvette was now coming directly at the
Seawolf.
And to the north, a
Whiskey
class attack submarine had turned to investigate as well.

“Sonar, what is the range to the torpedo?” Brodie asked as the
Seawolf
accelerated.

In his mind he saw the dilemma his submarine was in. They were dangerously close to the minefield they were planning to reconnoiter, and their current course would carry them directly into it if he didn’t turn soon. The
Tral
was to the south and the
Whiskey
boat was off to their north.

“Five thousand yards, Captain,”
Miller responded over the speaker
. “The bastard went active as soon as it entered the water.”

“Helm,” Brodie snapped as he motioned to the Chief of the Watch to turn off the alarm. “New course, one-eight-zero!”

Beside him, Jason Graves, his oldest friend in the world, raised an eyebrow. “That’s heading right at the torpedo,” his XO pointed out.

“Trust me,” Brodie replied and turned toward Andrew Stahl.

“Load tubes five and eight with Aselsan. Standby to fire countermeasures.”

Stahl, the weapons officer, echoed his orders.

“Jason,” Brodie ordered. “Go forward and find out what the hell happened in the torpedo room!” He then reached up and pulled down the microphone linking him to a squawk box in the sonar shack. “Sonar, Brodie,” he said, forcing calmness he didn’t feel into his voice. “Where is that
Whiskey
boat?”

“We lost him in our baffles as soon as we turned to the south, Skipper,”
Miller replied
. “But the bitch was charging right at us before we lost her.”

“Range to the
Whiskey?”
Brodie asked, seeing the anxiety on the faces of every man in the control room.

“Six thousand yards. She’s making revolutions for thirteen knots.”