Seawolf Mask of Command (43 page)

“Sir?” Terry asked.

“Whatcha got, Terry?”

“Well, sir, I know this might sound like a stupid question….”

“There is no such thing as a stupid question. Although I must admit I’ve heard some fairly stupid answers in my time,” Brodie reminded him. Kristen was relieved to see the casual tone had returned to his voice. He was again at ease.

Terry nodded in agreement and then explained, “I can’t figure out just what North Korea hopes to gain by threatening war,” he admitted. “I mean they have to know we could blow them into atoms in thirty seconds. If they go across the DMZ, it means fighting thirty thousand American soldiers stationed there, and that means war!”

Kristen had learned Brodie seldom answered such questions directly. He preferred to let the other officers around the table ponder such questions and develop probable answers.

“Jason, what do you think?”

Graves replied with a hint of matter-of-fact discomfort about the subject. “We’re already at war with the DPRK,” he pointed out.

“What do you mean, sir?” Terry asked.

Ryan Walcott, the tactical systems and navigations officer, explained, “When the Korean War came to an end there was no formal peace treaty signed, just a cease fire. So technically, the war never ended.” He then added, “And when you speak of the DPRK you can’t think of it as a country in the sense that the people there have any real knowledge of what is happening around them. The government runs all media and controls everything the people see or hear. The “Leader” is lionized as perfect and infallible, almost a demigod on earth. The people are taught every day that the rest of the world is decadent and corrupt, whereas they live in a worker’s paradise.”

Brodie nodded approvingly at his navigation officer. “You should have been a political science major, Ryan.”

“I hadn’t thought about it, sir. But given the current situation and where we are at the moment, maybe I should have,” Ryan agreed with an amused smile. “I might see about taking a few courses in global affairs when we get back home.”

“Let’s hope we all get the chance,” Andrew Stahl, the weapons officer offered. “If the North Koreans go south, I don’t see how we stop it from going nuclear.”

“What makes you say that, Weps?” Martin muttered nervously.

Stahl explained, “Because we have maybe thirty thousand troops in South Korea, and the ROK Army has perhaps half a million in uniform, whereas the DPRK has twice that number on active duty, and God only knows how many more in reserve. Not to mention they’ve already tested two nuclear devices, and intelligence suggests they have enough material for several more.”

“I don’t see why we don’t just bomb the piss out of ‘em?” Terry asked, “I mean even without nuclear weapons, a combination of Tomahawk cruise missiles and stealth aircraft strikes oughta be able to take out their command and control centers and air defense grid. Once that’s down, we can let the B-52s loose to carpet bomb their ass.”

Kristen stayed quiet, listening politely as she sipped her tea. Gibbs collected her empty plate, pausing to make certain she needed nothing and mothering her a bit in his sweet but slightly annoying way. The camaraderie she experienced in the wardroom while surrounded by her fellow officers was one of the reasons she’d gone to Annapolis when she could have gone to any number of schools on a swimming scholarship. Several big name schools had offered her a full ride as well as a stipend to attend, but she’d chosen Annapolis for many reasons. Not the least being the sense of family and belonging to something larger than herself. She’d never quite found the sense of family she’d been looking for at Annapolis, and had certainly not found it afterwards. But now, on the
Seawolf,
she was beginning to think of her fellow officers almost as big brothers.

Brodie glanced down at her. “What do you think, Lieutenant?”

She set her teacup down. She’d never been comfortable being placed on the spot, but she had no enemies in this room any longer and was far more comfortable allowing herself to express what she really thought. “I think with eight million civilians living in Seoul, and with a reported ten thousand DPRK artillery pieces in range of the city, the South Korean government would be willing to do almost anything to prevent war. Not to mention, I don’t believe China would be too happy to see a destabilized North Korea on their border and the resulting humanitarian crisis following any collapse of the DPRK’s government.”

Several of the men around the table nodded thoughtfully after her brief words.

“Hell, they can’t feed themselves as it is,” Weps responded. “They use the threat of war to bully the world into giving them food and raw materials because they’re too fucked up to take care of themselves,” he said bluntly. Then, catching Brodie’s raised eyebrow at his outburst of profanity, quickly apologized, “Sorry, sir.”

Brodie contributed nothing to the conversation. Instead, he listened to his officers, his eyes studying all of them as they conversed. Lieutenant Cheng had stayed quiet until Brodie asked him, “What do you think, Lieutenant?”

“The Korean People’s Army—the KPA—as Lieutenant Whitaker said, has a lot of hardware and numbers on their side. But their training is third world at best. Their soldiers seldom train with live ammunition, and if they come across the border they’ll be fighting in some of the most difficult terrain imaginable. Not to mention, a lot of urban combat which always favors the defenders,” he pointed out thoughtfully. “Of course, they have been infiltrating agents into the South for decades via tunnels under the DMZ, plus by submarine as you probably already know. These agents could cause some trouble for our army, as well as the Republic of Korea’s forces trying to hold off the KPA if it attacked.”

Terry was clearly not happy about it, nor was Martin who asked, “I don’t understand why the Chinese don’t pressure the North hard and make them stop this nonsense. The Chinese can’t possibly want war in their backyard.” Martin looked around the table, wanting someone to agree with him.

“For the same reason Kristen said,” Graves replied. “The only way to stop the North is by war or tough economic sanctions which would destabilize the DPRK regime and result in the massive humanitarian crisis China is hoping to avoid. China may not like the DPRK, but they like the devil they know a whole lot more than the devil they don’t.”

“Plus the Chinese have no desire to see a united, pro-American Korean Peninsula on their border either,” Cheng added, giving his unique perspective as a Chinese American.

“But, sir?” Terry asked Brodie. “Can’t the United Nations do something?”

“Only if the Security Council approves it, and China—a permanent Council member—won’t play ball and the Russians—another permanent member—are making too much money exporting military hardware to North Korea to care about a possible war ten thousand miles away from Moscow,” Brodie replied, offering his one comment on the entire affair thus far.

“Then how are we supposed to prevent a war, Captain?” Martin asked nervously.

“We can’t,” he replied. “But we can provide the President and our allies with the information they need to make their decisions based on facts and not conjecture. And, if need be, let the North Koreans know they cannot act recklessly and continue to ignore the international community without some consequences.”

Brodie then looked back at Kristen.

“Which leads us to you, Lieutenant.”

“Sir?” Kristen sat up a little straighter.

“How is the LMRS?”

“Ensign Martin, Senior Chief Miller, and I have run every test in the book. The two drones appear in good shape. Although, I would still like to conduct a test run to make certain before we try them for real. I would hate to endanger the boat or,” she motioned toward Lieutenant Cheng, “any of the SEALs until I am certain everything is operating properly.”

“I’m all for that,” Cheng nodded thankfully.

Kristen then said, “Also, sir, we’ll need the coordinates of the suspected mined waterway to program the search pattern into the drones. I would like to have the coordinates as soon as possible so I can have Ensign Martin input the search parameters.”

Brodie paused thoughtfully for a few moments then asked, doing his best to be polite, “Do you think Mister Fitzgerald can be of any assistance?”

Kristen liked to think she could put her bitterness toward Fitzgerald aside for the sake of the mission. But having worked for him, she knew he’d never shown an interest in learning the LMRS system and how to use the drones. He’d never bothered to come down to the warehouses where Kristen and the other personnel working on the drones were. Instead, he’d spent his time clubbing and, supposedly, having an affair with his secretary.

“No sir, I don’t believe so. At least not at the moment.”

“Are you sure, Lieutenant?” Graves asked her. “He sounds pretty knowledgeable on the system, not to mention mine warfare.”

“Yes, sir, I’m sure he does,” she agreed, her voice steady as she tried not to let her loathing for Fitzgerald show.

Brodie thought it over for a few moments and then, decisive as usual, answered her question about the coordinates for the minefield. “You can pick up the coordinates in my cabin at your convenience, Lieutenant,” he assured her.

“And a test run, sir?” she asked.

“I’ll have to think about it,” he admitted. “NSC reports Chinese and Russian subs in the area, so we need to tread quietly.”

“Aye, sir.”

Kristen went directly to Brodie’s cabin following the morning meal and received the coordinates. They were locked in the Captain’s office safe in a folder marked for his eyes only. He flipped through the folder and then handed Kristen a message printed on flash paper so as to be easily destroyed.

“Musudan-ri,” he told her simply. “You can get all of the charts you might need from the control room.”

Kristen took the paper and memorized the information in a few seconds. She then handed the paper to Martin as Brodie gave her an appreciative glance.

“Can I hold onto this for a little while, sir?” Martin asked, not able to memorize information like she could with just a glance. “I’m afraid I’m not quite as gifted as Kristen,” he said with a bit of embarrassment.

Brodie nodded in understanding as he returned the file to his safe and locked it. “That’s quite all right, Ensign,” he assured Martin. “None of us are.”

Kristen vacated the cabin and after giving a few instructions to Martin, went forward to her own cabin. After reapplying some more ointment to her burns, she stepped from the DPER and turned to head down to the torpedo room to begin programming the drones. But, as she turned from her cabin, a shadow crossed over her. She was startled as Fitzgerald stepped out from where he’d been waiting for her. Kristen took a tentative step away, but her back struck an electrical panel mounted on the bulkhead behind her.

“Lieutenant,” he said simply.

“Yes, sir?” she asked, not afraid of him but uncomfortable being alone with him. He would do nothing to her here, she was certain of it. Not here on the
Seawolf!
One shout from her would have men running to her aid.

He held up his hands innocently. “Listen, I just wanna ask you a couple of questions. That’s all.”

He stepped closer, and she felt herself pressing back up against the electrical panel harder, trying to become one with the paint. “I’m sorry, sir,” she replied. “But your questions will have to wait. I have to report for duty.”

Fitzgerald’s eyes narrowed, and she saw the same beastly look in his eyes she’d first seen back in Corpus Christi. In a flash, his hand snaked out and grabbed her left forearm. She felt instant pain as he intentionally dug a thumbnail directly into one of her burns.

She grimaced, but didn’t cry out.

“Not so fast, you little bitch,” he snarled. His normally pleasant appearance had disappeared, and now he looked like the monster he truly was.

Kristen felt the pain shoot up through her arm as his nails dug into her wounds, but she refused to give him the satisfaction of showing any pain. “Let go of me,” she said in a bare whisper.

“Not until you tell me what the fuck is going on around here,” he insisted as he squeezed her arm harder.

She winced, but couldn’t free her arm from his grip.

“What did you tell that Brodie asshole anyway?”

“Let go of my arm, or else,” Kristen warned him. She felt fear, but she was also angry. This bastard had no business on the
Seawolf
, let alone in the Navy.

“Or else, what?” he asked mockingly. “What’re you gonna do about it, bitch? Go cry to your captain?” he asked as if the thought was ridiculous. “Like anyone would listen to you.” He then asked, “Or are you screwing Brodie now?”

Kristen brought her knee up as hard as she could and drove it right into his groin. He grimaced in pain as he fell back, striking the opposite bulkhead and collapsing. “Oh, Jesus,” he gasped as he slumped to the deck holding his groin.

Kristen turned away from him and then saw, standing in the passageway ten paces away, Seaman Randle, the man who’d accidentally decked her with an errant elbow while fighting on the mess decks back in Bremerton. Behind Randle, and holding a hatch dogging wrench, was Gameroz. They both had odd, slightly dangerous looks in their eyes. Kristen hadn’t seen much of Randle since he struck her, and on the occasion she’d pass him in a passageway, he’d been polite but never friendly. But now, as he stepped forward, he spoke to her softly, his voice barely above a whisper, “Is everything okay, Miss Whitaker?”

It represented the most words he’d ever said to her. He took a few steps closer and looked at Fitzgerald. It wasn’t hard to figure out what had happened.

“Maybe you should let me and some of the boys take care of this for you,” he offered and then stepped closer. He looked down at Fitzgerald as the prostrate officer began to get to his feet.

“Help me up,” Fitzgerald whined. “That’s assault! You saw it.”

Gameroz stepped between Kristen and the prostrate Fitzgerald and said in his thick East L.A. slang, “I din’ see nothing, did you, homie?”

“Nope,” Randle responded in his mid-western drawl.