Seawolf Mask of Command (11 page)

As he did so, he noticed Kristen studying a manual. She was wearing gold-rimmed glasses, and her blond hair was twisted into several fine braids as he’d seen them the day before. She wore no makeup and her skin was deeply tanned from nearly a year in Hawaii. Her coveralls were clean and freshly pressed, and the strict expression on her face reminded him of a schoolmarm. But what truly drew his attention was the way she placed her middle and index finger at the top of the page and then drew them down to the bottom in just a few seconds as she stared at the page. Then, as if having read the entire page, she turned to the next. In less time than it took him to fill his coffee mug, she’d gone through three full pages of highly-detailed technical specifications for the sub’s main condenser.

He watched her closely as he returned to his seat. He knew she was intelligent, a bit of an egghead perhaps. But this seemed a little much. “Excuse me, Lieutenant,” he interrupted her.

She looked up at him, her fingers pausing over the page. “Yes, sir?”

“Just what are you doing?”

Her usual expressionless face gave a hint of confusion. “Uh, I’m studying, sir,” she responded, apparently not sure what he was talking about.

He mimicked her motion with his own fingers. “I mean, what’s that thing you’re doing there with the fingers?”

“I’m reading, sir,” she responded curtly, reminding him more of a machine than a human being.

“You’re reading that fast?” he asked in disbelief. “You aren’t spending more than a few seconds on each page.”

Her demeanor changed slightly, as the prim and proper schoolmarm façade slipped and she fidgeted nervously. She was about to respond when the door opened and an exhausted looking captain appeared. He was dressed in the same set of coveralls Graves had last seen him wearing. Graves and their newest lieutenant began to stand but Brodie waved them back down while groaning, “Coffee.”

Zombie-like, he walked to the coffee pot where he poured a mug without further comment and took a sip. Graves watched him with concern. He’d served with Brodie for two years, and had known him as a close friend for the better part of two decades. Brodie pushed himself too hard, forgoing sleep and relying on a seemingly inexhaustible supply of energy and caffeine to keep him going longer than what could possibly be healthy. While at sea, it wasn’t uncommon for Brodie to stay awake for two or three days sometimes before knocking off for a few hours of sleep. But ever since their orders had come down to get ready for sea, he’d been setting new records for stamina.

“Oh, that’s awful,” Brodie groaned and took another sip. “I think Gibbs is washing his socks in there again,” he commented dryly and took yet another sip.

“No,” Graves replied, smiling at his friend. “I think he’s putting his skivvies in there these days.”

Kristen sat silently during the exchange, watching the two men banter back and forth.

“I heard you got the reduction gears aligned last night,” Graves offered, knowing Brodie had let Ski leave early to spend time with his wife. “I don’t imagine you found time to get any sleep?” he asked gently, not wanting to give his friend a hard time in front of the new lieutenant.

Brodie didn’t respond; instead, he refilled his mug and turned back toward the door. “How’s Penny?” he asked referring to Graves’ wife.

“She told me to tell you she expects you for dinner this Friday,” Graves replied. “And if you can’t make it, you’ll have to tell her yourself because I sure as hell won’t.”

Penny had known Brodie as long as Graves, and she considered him part of the family.

Brodie paused behind Graves’ chair and Jason felt a friendly pat on the shoulder. “I’ll see you at zero-eight-thirty, XO,” Brodie said in answer to the question.

“Aye, sir,” Graves replied and watched his friend head for the door only to pause briefly and look back at Jason.

“Oh,” the captain said offhandedly as he motioned with his cup toward Kristen, “I forgot to tell you, she has a photographic memory.” He then continued on his way.

Jason watched Brodie disappear through the doorway leading into the passageway and then looked back at Kristen who was watching him over her glasses perched low on her nose. “A photographic memory?” he asked incredulously. “Is that true?”

She nodded her head but then added, “More precisely, the term is ‘eidetic memory,’ sir.”

Graves knew she was smart, but this was something he hadn’t expected. Curious, he pressed, “What’s the difference?”

Hesitantly, she explained, “People with photographic memories just recall images….”

“And you?” he prodded.

“Everything,” she said almost with embarrassment.

“What do you mean, ‘everything?’”

“Every sight, sound, touch, smell… everything, sir.” While speaking she’d unconsciously stiffened her shoulders and fidgeted slightly before lowering her head a bit, clearly uncomfortable talking about it.

“Well hell, Lieutenant,” he observed, “it’s nothing to be embarrassed about.”

She shrugged a shoulder slightly and explained, “Just the same, sir, I’d appreciate it if you didn’t tell anyone. People tend to treat me as an oddity already, and I’d prefer not attracting more attention than I already do.”

Fat chance.

Graves knew the chance of her just hiding in and among the crew was impossible. She was hardly unattractive, and once at sea, the good looks she hid behind her tightly-bound hair, slightly-baggy overalls, and austere exterior would become more evident with each day they were underway. After three months at sea, she’d look like a goddess to every red-blooded man on board, except for Gibbs. The fact Gibbs was a homosexual wasn’t lost on Graves nor Brodie. But Graves knew the captain had always had a soft spot for those who broke with convention.

Kristen returned to her studies, trying to maintain her concentration as more officers filtered in over the next hour. Other than a few incredulous glances, the reaction by most of her fellow officers upon seeing her seated in the wardroom was to ignore her.

This suited her just fine. She had no time for socializing. She was far behind her peers, and she hoped to take the engineering exam within the first two months of being on board. No small feat, but she felt she could manage it.

At first, none bothered to introduce themselves or welcome her aboard, which she accepted in stoic silence. However, just when she thought they’d never speak to her, a rather handsome Lieutenant Junior Grade paused and studied her a little longer than most. He offered her a jaunty smile and stepped over, leaning across the table.

“Hi there,” he said with a friendly grin. “I’m Terrance Hall. My friends call me Terry,” he offered in introduction, “but you can call me anything you want.”

She hid her thoughts at the glib line, nodded politely and shook his hand.

“Give it a rest will ya, Terry,” another officer grunted as he slipped behind Terry on his way to the coffee pot. “She’s been on board less than a day, and you’re already making an ass of yourself.” The other officer’s name was Massanelli, and he didn’t bother to stop and introduce himself as he made a beeline for the coffee.

Kristen responded with an appropriate, “It is a pleasure to meet you, Terry. I’m Kristen.”

“The pleasure’s all mine, Kristen,” he said with a smile she was certain had wooed more than his fair share of ladies.

She released his hand and attempted to return to her studies as more officers drifted in. Kristen, her concentration broken, sat quietly and observed the various relationships and studied her fellow officers’ personalities. She would spend the next six months with these men, and considering the close confines they would experience, she needed to know just which of them she could trust and who might be a problem. They were all qualified submariners, and from the sound of their light-hearted banter, they’d all spent an entire patrol together so knew one another well. Ski arrived just after 0800 and the chitchat subsided somewhat as he entered, a perpetual scowl on his face. The XO paid no attention to any of his fellow officers as they joked around with one another prior to the morning meeting. Terry was an obvious flirt, and she assumed he was the kind of guy with a girl in every port. But she’d resisted better looking temptations than him while at the Academy, and she knew she could handle him. Most of the others were married and were more interested in getting their specific areas of responsibility ready for sea than toying with her.

Except for Ski.

Kristen knew nothing about him other than he didn’t like having her on board. He’d glanced her way briefly when he entered, and she’d seen a flicker of a scowl forming before he wiped it off. She didn’t like to judge people too quickly, but over the last three-plus years, her circle of friends had faded from many to only one, and she had learned she couldn’t afford to trust anyone too quickly. She would have to be careful around Ski. He wouldn’t miss an opportunity to screw her over.

Daniel Martin, the man who’d met her when she first came aboard, was the last officer to arrive. He came through the doorway at 0820, just ten minutes before the meeting. Kristen noticed how he tried to insert himself in a couple of conversations as he slowly made his way down the table to take a seat across from her. None of the others seemed any more interested in talking to him than they were in speaking to her.

You’re a Nub, remember? What did you expect?

Martin sat down, having failed to find anyone anxious to speak to him. He looked at her as Gibbs appeared and made his rounds filling coffee mugs with a fresh pot. He was greeted with several grunts of disgust at the coffee which was apparently strong enough to wake the dead. But no one gave the steward a hard time.

“Good morning, Lieutenant,” Martin offered, hoping to engage her in conversation.

“Good morning, Ensign,” she responded politely, noticing that Gibbs lingered over the XO a few seconds longer, asking if he needed anything. Gibbs all but ignored Ski, but greeted a few of the other officers politely.

Gibbs stopped by her last. “Is there anything else I can get you, Lieutenant?” he asked. “The skipper will be here in seven minutes.”

Seven minutes? Not five or ten?

She glanced at the clock on the wall and saw that it was 0823.

“Might I have another cup of tea, Mister Gibbs?” she asked politely.

“With pleasure, ma’am,” he answered with a smile and stepped back into the galley to see to it. She noticed that Gibbs hadn’t said a word to Martin, and she briefly wondered why. Her usual—and at times annoying—attention to detail was allowing her to quickly compile a large amount of information on everyone in the room. The steward returned a moment later with a fresh pot of tea and set it down on the service tray beside her. He also brought a fresh creamer of milk.

“Thank you, Mister Gibbs,” she replied as he hovered over her for a few seconds. The other officers moved to their seats as if on cue, and then Gibbs stepped over to stand near the head of the table. Kristen took a sip of tea and glanced at the clock again.

The friendly banter faded.

The digital clock advanced to 0830.

The door opened and Brodie stepped in. He was dressed in a fresh set of coveralls with his sleeves rolled up. He’d shaved, and other than the swollen eyes, he looked relatively refreshed. As he entered, everyone came to their feet, but he waved them back down immediately as he was greeted by a chorus of, “Good morning, Captain.”

“Good morning,” he responded, glancing at Gibbs. “Is there any lifer juice, Mister Gibbs?”

“Of course, sir,” Gibbs replied and dutifully set a fresh mug of coffee in front of Brodie. “Would you care for anything else, sir?” Gibbs asked. “I noticed you barely touched your breakfast.”

“That’ll be all, Mister Gibbs,” Brodie said in dismissal as the steward attended him. “Thank you.”

“You really should eat more, Captain,” Gibbs mumbled under his breath as he stepped off.

“What was that?” Brodie asked as Gibbs walked back to the galley.

“Nothing, sir,” the steward replied and disappeared through the swinging door.

Apparently this was something of a morning ritual because Kristen noticed several officers smiling at the exchange. Brodie meanwhile placed a yellow legal pad on the table along with a couple of pencils. He then took a few minutes to speak with each officer, slowly moving down the length of the table, asking about family and other matters not pertaining to business. Kristen hoped he would skip her and only speak to the more senior officers, but as he moved down the line and reached Martin, he engaged him in conversation as well.

“How’s the search for an apartment coming, Mister Martin?” Brodie asked. Kristen noticed that he’d called the other officers by their first names, but Martin was addressed differently. She filed this tidbit of information away, wondering if it had any significance.

“Slow, sir,” Martin reported. “Things are pretty expensive around here.”

Kristen listened, not daring to interrupt. She had a fairly good idea how much money an ensign drawing submariners pay made. As a junior officer he should be able to afford a nice place, even in the Seattle area.

Brodie responded by pulling a scrap of paper out of his breast pocket and passing it down to Martin. “You might try giving that number a call. It’s the Base Relocation Assistance Center—”

“I’ve already tried them, sir,” Martin interrupted.

The temperature in the wardroom seemed to drop slightly, and Kristen noticed a few junior officers visually stiffen as Martin interrupted Brodie. She saw Graves’ eyes narrow and glare down at Martin. Brodie, however, didn’t react immediately.

After an uncomfortable pause which witnessed Martin shrink slightly in his seat, Brodie continued. “As I was saying, call that number and ask to speak to Miss Shirley. Tell her you work for me, and I told you to call. Let her know we’re leaving the barn next, and I’d consider it a personal favor if she were to give your case her personal attention.”

Kristen listened to the exchange in silence. She had no idea who “Miss Shirley” was but assumed she was an acquaintance of the captain’s, perhaps a girlfriend. She glanced at Martin, noticing him fidgeting uncomfortably under the captain’s gaze. Kristen recalled her own discomfort the previous afternoon when she’d experienced the same hard glare from Brodie, and she couldn’t help feeling sorry for the nervous ensign.