“I imagine she’ll finally get a good night sleep,” COB added, hoping to provoke Brodie to respond more than with a brief nod or a short quip. “But I think this might take more than just a one night’s drunk.” There was still no response from Brodie, and COB watched him for a few more seconds, not even certain his long-time friend was listening. “She hides it well, but I think she’s still pretty shaky.”
“Wouldn’t you be?” Brodie asked pointedly.
“Maybe,” COB admitted. “But I think this might be a little more than some combat fatigue.”
“What’re you talking about?”
COB didn’t immediately answer, not certain if Kristen would appreciate him saying anything.
But Brodie insisted. “Spike?”
COB wished he’d kept his mouth shut. He shook his head in anger with himself. “Her father,” he said simply, “I knew him.”
“So?” Brodie asked. “What’s her father got to do with what she’s been through?”
“Maybe you should ask her.” COB felt like he was betraying an unspoken trust.
“I’m asking you.” An edge had returned to Brodie’s voice, something COB had heard a thousand times but never directed toward him. Brodie clearly didn’t understand what COB was driving at.
COB hesitated, cursing himself for not keeping his mouth shut. But he’d never held anything from Brodie before, even though he hated revealing what he knew of Kristen’s past. She was one of the two finest Nubs he’d ever seen. Brodie had been the other.
“Spike?” Brodie pressed in the direct and special way only he could.
COB lowered his voice and then said softly, “Her father and I served together on the Memphis nearly twenty years ago.”
COB saw that Brodie, who’d been preoccupied all morning, was now listening intently. COB again glanced about the sail to make certain he wasn’t being overheard by someone who’d climbed up without his knowledge. “I didn’t know him well. I was a junior petty officer in engineering, and he was the Sonar Chief.” COB hesitated again, feeling he’d already said too much. “Sir, maybe you should talk to her about this.”
“Dammit, Spike,” Brodie demanded harshly, “what happened?”
COB looked at Brodie with a hint of surprise, not accustomed to Brodie displaying such emotion. “All right,” COB relented. “We were in New London, just back from a patrol. One morning her father wasn’t in formation,” he explained uncomfortably. “Well, like I said, I didn’t know him too well. I’d seen him around the boat, but we didn’t know one another…”
“What happened?” Brodie asked with a growing seriousness in his voice.
“The Chief of The Boat and a couple of petty officers from the sonar shack drove out to the apartment he had off base.” COB lowered his voice even more and leaned closer to Brodie and whispered, “They found him lying in his bathtub, still in uniform, with his brains splattered all over the fucking place.”
“He killed himself?” Brodie asked, the shock clear in his voice.
“Used an old twelve-gauge shotgun,” COB explained. “A sonar operator who was there described the scene. Blood was everywhere, like one of those Hollywood slasher films. But that’s not the worst of it…”
“Damn, Spike,” Brodie asked incredulously, “how the hell can it get any worse?”
COB pointed down into the hull of the Seawolf. “She was there with him,” he whispered. “She was only seven fucking years old and had spent the entire night trying to figure out how to put her father’s damn head back together.”
COB saw the realization on Brodie’s face. Kristen had seen a repeat of her own father’s death in the torpedo room when Vance had killed himself. Then, if that hadn’t been enough, she’d been involved in what had been a harrowing experience during the incursion into North Korea.
“That explains it,” he whispered.
But COB wasn’t certain they were thinking exactly the same thing. “That’s what I mean when I say I think you might want to talk to her,” he suggested. “You know… do that thing you do.” COB had seen Brodie help hundreds of troubled seamen get over things from bad childhood experiences to messy divorces. He knew that among Brodie’s many talents, his ability to handle his men and take care of them was his greatest strength.
“I’m not a psychiatrist, Spike,” Brodie told him abruptly.
“No shit,” COB replied. “But you’re the captain and…”
“I’ll have Jason talk to her,” he said flatly, his eyes turning back toward the sea.
“What?” COB asked incredulously, not quite sure he heard correctly. “I didn’t tell you this so you could hand it off to the fucking XO like some damn report to finish up,” COB said, growing angry with Brodie, something that seldom happened and always behind closed doors. “I told you this so you would help her.”
“The XO can handle it,” Brodie snapped curtly. “I’ve got a boat to run.”
“Since when do you turn your back on one of your people?” COB asked, hardly believing he was speaking to the man he’d served with for the better part of two decades.
“Listen,” Brodie said showing rare frustration, “I’m sorry she’s got problems. But everyone on this boat’s got problems. If she didn’t want to swim with the big boys she should have kept her ass in the shallow end of the pool, shouldn’t she?”
COB blinked his eyes as if he’d been struck deaf and dumb. He shook his head as he slipped off the sail and stood on the bridge. “Someone fucking pinch me,” COB swore to the air in disbelief. He looked up at Brodie incredulously. “What the hell has gotten into you?” COB asked, forgetting about Kristen. He’d known something was eating at Brodie for several weeks but had assumed it was world events. Now he was having second thoughts.
“I’m fine,” Brodie snapped, his fingers white knuckling the edge of the sail.
“The hell you are,” COB said as he pointed an accusing finger at his captain’s chest. “You ain’t sleeping. Gibbs says you ain’t eating. You work out on that fucking machine in your cabin like you’re trying to torture yourself. Now, what the hell is going on?” COB had never spoken to him like this before, never imagining he would have to, but he was beginning to fear that after four years in command of the Seawolf, Brodie was finally succumbing to the pressure. It couldn’t be easy commanding a submarine with one hundred and forty men at the best of times. And this was hardly the best of times. Not to mention because of his reputation, the Navy had been feeding the hairiest, most sensitive and critical jobs to the Seawolf for several years now — jobs that had kept Brodie on the ragged edge for a very long time. Perhaps too long.
“Just worry about the crew, Master Chief,” Brodie said, not looking at his friend.
COB again blinked his eyes, not recalling Brodie ever calling him anything other than Spike. It was like an invisible wall had descended around Brodie. COB could see Brodie’s powerful forearms tense. He looked angry and he appeared to be literally fighting to control himself. “I am worrying about the crew, Captain!” COB said more formally than he could recall ever having spoken to Brodie when they were alone together. “But I don’t understand you anymore,” COB told him bluntly, trying to jar some sense back into his friend. “Three days ago you tell me and the XO to lookout for her, maybe get her off the boat and let her blow off some steam. Now you’re going to sit there like a fucking statue and tell me you don’t give a shit?” COB again jabbed an angry finger at Brodie. “Well, I ain’t buying it.”