Seawolf Mask of Command (7 page)

Kristen had assumed, incorrectly, they would simply be content to shove her in the torpedo room and act like she didn’t exist. However, it appeared these three men had given the situation at least a measure of deliberation.

Brodie nodded thoughtfully. “What about a head facility?” Brodie asked his two senior advisors. “You can forget the enlisted men’s head. That just won’t work.”

“I’m afraid the Goat Locker is out of the question too, Skipper,” COB replied referring to the Chief Petty Officer’s quarters commonly known as the Goat Locker. “Unless you want a fucking mutiny on your hands.”

“Spike,” Brodie chided COB for his language again.

“Sorry, sir,” COB replied easily, apparently accustomed to apologizing for his language around the captain.

It was obvious to her that when it came to using the bathroom, the Goat Locker wouldn’t work. The chief petty officers were the oldest enlisted men on board, and on most submarines they were truly the duty experts on virtually everything. In essence, the officers gave commands and handled some of the administrative details, but the CPOs ran the boat. It didn’t take a genius to know these seasoned veterans would react angrily to losing one of their few perks—having a head all to themselves. It was a small thing, but on submarines privacy was at a premium.

Graves then chimed in, “Hell, sir, let her use the officers’ head like the rest of us.” But from the looks COB and Brodie exchanged that wouldn’t be ideal either. No submarine was yet designed with the modicum of privacy society expected there to be when men and women lived and worked together. These men had been trying to find a solution to this problem for a while now, well before she’d come on board, which meant they had no intention of simply sending her ashore. There were five head/shower facilities available. One for the chief petty officers, an officer head shared by fourteen officers, two enlisted heads that over one hundred men competed for, and finally the captain had a head adjoining his cabin. Someone was going to be inconvenienced.

Brodie nodded toward the XO. “All right, we’ll try that and see how it works out.”

“The babies are going to whine about it,” COB pointed out referring to the junior officers. “Not to mention their wives,” he added.

“They’ll be fine,” Graves countered.

Brodie set his coffee cup down and placed his folded arms on the table as he leaned closer to her. “Are you sure you’re ready for this, Lieutenant?” he asked in a conversational tone, and despite her suspicion, she didn’t get the feeling he was questioning her resolve. “You’ve already been through a lot to get this far, and you should be commended for your perseverance, but this is where the rubber hits the road.”

He leaned back again, and she thought he looked tired.

“This crew has just come off a long and rather difficult patrol only to learn their leave has been cancelled, and we’re going right back out. Right now, every mother’s son of them hates me, the XO, COB, the Navy in general, and they’ll most certainly resent you, and it’s only going to get worse. We’re about to head back out for at least another four months, and if you’ll pardon my crudeness…” he paused briefly “…in another four months we’re gonna have our hands full keeping these boys from freaking out with each other let alone keeping their hands off you.” He was exaggerating for effect, she assumed. But he clearly wanted to impress on her the seriousness of what she was now part of. “In a few weeks we’re going to be at sea, and you’re going to be trapped in this little steel world. Even at the best of times, it’s a difficult affair.”

Kristen had heard similar words spoken to her before by people trying to frighten her off, but his tone was different. He sounded sincere, but she’d been fooled by false sincerity before and wasn’t ready to trust him just yet.

“I intend to see it through, Captain,” she replied flatly.

Brodie took another sip of coffee, his eyes narrowing slightly as he again studied her. Once more Kristen felt herself become uncomfortable under his gaze. She felt he wasn’t so much looking at her as seeing right through her.

“All right, Lieutenant, then if you’re certain, welcome aboard.” He set his cup down and extended his hand.

Kristen shook his offered hand. But as she did, he gripped her hand a little harder than necessary. She could feel the strength in his calloused hands, and she almost recoiled from him. But he held her hand fast.

“But you have to promise me something right here and now,” he said in all seriousness as he stared across the table at her. He was gripping her hand firmly, his eyes boring into her own as if willing her to listen to him and take him seriously.

“Yes, sir?” She cut her eyes away from his stare, unable to hold it.

“When it happens, and notice I said when and not if….” He again paused to let his words sink in. “When someone on this boat does anything that makes you uncomfortable and that falls outside of your professional duties. I don’t care what it is. If they brush up against you, or call you ‘sweetie’ or some other nonsense, you’re to report it at once to your Department Head, and if you don’t feel comfortable talking to him, then you kick down my door if necessary and tell me.”

“Aye-aye, sir,” she responded automatically to the order. But he wasn’t satisfied. He still gripped her hand until she looked back into his eyes.

“I’m serious, Lieutenant. No exceptions. No foolishness or accidents are to be tolerated. Is that clear?”

Kristen nodded, understanding completely now. Not only would he hold the crew accountable for their actions if they acted unprofessionally toward her, he would hold her accountable for her actions as well. The Navy, upon deciding to let her on board, had drafted a series of regulations specifically addressing fraternization between female and male submariners, and the penalties were severe. She would have to be careful never to place herself in a position that might be perceived as encouraging impropriety.

“I understand, Captain,” she answered, holding his stare for a few seconds.

Brodie released her hand and turned his attention back to his paperwork. “All right then, the XO and COB will see to you getting checked in to your department.”

Kristen took this as her dismissal and stood.

“Do you have any questions?” he asked without looking up as he opened a folder on the table.

COB and the XO were already stepping toward the door, apparently assuming she would ask nothing. But Kristen had a question, and instead of bolting for the door after the trauma of her initial interview with Brodie, she held her ground. “There is one question, sir. If you don’t mind?”

Brodie looked up from the report. “Not at all, my door is always open to my officers.”

“Sir….” Kristen wasn’t certain how best to phrase her question but then simply asked, “Why did you choose that particular question to ask me?” She’d never told any living soul why being on a submarine was so important to her. Yet, unerringly he homed in on her secret.

Brodie set the report aside, and a crooked smile appeared on his face as once more his eyes narrowed curiously. Again she felt him studying her, as if she were something he wasn’t certain he wanted to buy just yet. Graves and COB paused. They were watching her as well.

“Close the hatch, Spike,” Brodie ordered as he considered her. Once the door was closed, he addressed her, “No, Lieutenant, I don’t mind answering your question.” He then proceeded to explain, “I need to know what kind of officers I have working for me. Once we’re at sea, I can’t just kick some malcontent or misfit off the boat when they crack up. I have to be certain everyone on board is up to it, especially my officers.”

She nodded thoughtfully.

“You see, it occurred to me when I saw you on television several months ago that you had to be one of two types of people. The first type, the one most of us assumed you were, was some uptight Fem-Nazi who wanted to simply stir up trouble. Maybe get your face plastered on the cover of some supermarket checkout rag like those idiots who go on those reality television shows so they can get their fifteen minutes of fame while the rest of the country laughs at them.”

He was right; he’d assessed the problem perfectly. She’d experienced virtually the same problem from all corners. Admirals had even assumed she was simply doing it all because she wanted a cushy job somewhere. She’d been bounced around from command to command for over three years hoping they’d find some place she might like well enough to simply drop her request for transfer and serve out her time quietly. It was part of the reason they’d sent her to Hawaii.

“And the other person, sir?” Kristen asked, hoping he realized she wasn’t the former.

Brodie leaned back in his seat as his fingers resumed their gentle tapping on the surface of the table. “The other person you could have been would have to be someone special indeed to put up with all of the vile crap you had to go through.” He paused for a moment, still scrutinizing her. He then lowered his eyes to the table top as if to examine his fingers. “And if, by chance, you turned out to be the latter, you would be someone I’d rather like to have in my crew.”

It was a concise, logical argument. Something she understood. But was it sincere? She couldn’t be certain. She was still stinging from their first encounter, and the anger she’d felt toward him had yet to fade. Had he just been taking her measure? If so, then none of what had transpired in this cabin had been a game. He was not some sick sadist who enjoyed toying with people’s emotions. Brodie had been assessing her character and determining how best to use her for the benefit of all on board. He’d done what she herself would have done in his place. Kristen nodded her thanks and came to attention.

“That’ll be all, Lieutenant. Dismissed,” he said, having already returned his attention back to the report.

“Aye-aye, sir. Have a good day, sir.” She responded as she’d been taught to do years earlier as a Plebe in the Naval Academy.

“You too, Lieutenant,” he answered without looking up.

As she stepped toward the door, she heard him offer a final word, “And get some dry clothes on before you catch your death.”

“Aye, sir.”

The Wolf’s Den, USS Seawolf

K
risten waited impatiently by the rear entrance to the crew’s mess deck. Meanwhile, work continued throughout the submarine, the men seemingly unimpressed by her being on board. Those who saw her ignored her or—in most cases—were simply too tired to take notice. Since leaving the captain’s cabin, she’d been driven back to her barracks on base to change into a working uniform and was now waiting for her department head to arrive.

As a new officer on board, she was automatically assigned to the engineering department in order to begin preparing her for the infamous engineering watch officer exam. It was just the first of many tests she would be subjected to over potentially years before she earned the coveted gold dolphin pin. Most officers arrived on board as ensigns after completing months of training on nuclear reactors followed by the submarine officer course. Although Kristen had finished both of these courses at the top of her class, she’d been bounced around the Navy for another two years pending a decision on her petition to serve on a submarine. Thus, she was checking aboard as a senior lieutenant junior grade and was nearly three years behind where she should be in earning her qualification badge.

A thunderclap-like sound startled her, and she turned abruptly to see a gruff, broad-shouldered lieutenant commander glaring at her with a look that could blister paint. He’d just dropped a three-inch thick binder on a mess table, and he was looking at her as if she were something stuck to the bottom of his shoe.

“Good afternoon, sir,” she said politely, drawing her five-foot, ten-inch frame to attention. She was slightly taller than he, something she knew men tended to detest. His uniform was covered in grime and grease stains, and she knew intuitively that he was the chief engineer. Her new boss. She saw the name stitched on his coveralls: Kaczynski.

He responded by dropping a custody receipt and ink pen on top of the binder. “That’s your qual binder. Lose it, and I’ll have your ass. Got it?” he grumbled.

Kristen knew what the qualification binder was. It was a book filled with checklists for every system and compartment she’d have to become certified on before earning her dolphins. It was also classified and couldn’t leave the skin of the ship. In fact, when not in her immediate possession, she needed to find a place to keep it where it wouldn’t get lost.

She signed for the book, not bothering to try and make small talk with the man. She’d already pegged him as a chauvinist pig. She’d dealt with his kind enough over the last three years to know the best way to deal with him was to kill him with professionalism and resolve. Kristen knew she would never change his mind, and he would go to his grave believing she had no business on a sub. He wasn’t the first, and she knew he wouldn’t be the last. The problem was that she would be assigned to the engineering department for the foreseeable future and would have to deal with whatever he dished out.

“I’ll get right on it, sir,” she assured him as she tucked the binder under her arm.