“Ski,” Brodie said softly in warning.
Brodie had never been much for foul language of any kind — it was just one of his many quirks. In a profession surrounded by men who used profanity like it was a second language, Brodie didn’t like it. Plus, now that there was a lady in the wardroom, Brodie had told all of the officers he expected them to tone it down even more than usual.
“Sorry, Skipper,” Ski replied turning his attention back to Brodie. “But she’s just a Nub, what the hell does she know?”
Graves watched the exchange and saw that Brodie’s eyes were still on Kristen. He was studying her, watching her like he did every new officer. Graves knew Brodie was a master at reading people, and the captain knew every man on board better than they knew themselves. He did exhaustive research on every officer who came on board and was never satisfied until he felt he had learned everything about them.
“Lieutenant,” Brodie asked simply, “would you care to enlighten us?”
Graves realized Brodie knew something about her that no one else did. Kristen’s face was completely expressionless. For all intents and purposes she was a mannequin. Graves could read nothing from her bearing. He recalled a television clip he’d seen of her testifying before Congress during her lengthy petition to serve on a submarine. She had been just as distant, just as cold and professional. He would hate to play poker with her.
“The controller,” she began with a voice more suited for a classroom or a laboratory, “while on the test bench, isn’t hardwired or bolted in place,” she explained. “But when it is installed in the reactor space and bolted in place, the rear of the controller tends to press up against the exterior wall of the reactor vessel. This can cause pressure and chafing on the wiring trunk creating a short that doesn’t show up on a test bench.”
Graves realized his jaw was hanging slightly open, a look he saw on several faces, including Ski’s. If she were correct, and Graves didn’t see how she could be, then it would explain the problem perfectly. Graves glanced at Brodie and saw the captain hiding a slight, satisfied smile behind his mug.
“Chief Engineer?” Brodie asked, still hiding his smile.
Ski had been caught as dumbfounded by her revelation as the rest of them. “I’ll have an electrician inspect the panel first thing, Skipper,” Ski offered.
“How did you know that?” Terry Hall asked Kristen the question everyone wanted to.
Her immediate reaction was to push her glasses a little further up on her nose as if to hide behind them. Other than this nervous tick, the stone mask stayed firmly in place. “After Reactor Prototype training, the Navy didn’t know what to do with me, so they kept me on at Charleston for almost a year as an instructor. I taught the S6W reactor and experienced a similar glitch. It took us nearly three weeks to discover the problem,” she explained in the same controlled, professional tone she normally used — except when angry. Graves briefly recalled her the day before in Brodie’s cabin when her true colors had been briefly exposed. Beneath her carefully controlled exterior, he knew there was a fighter lurking. Brodie clearly saw it, too. Graves wondered if anyone else had picked up on it.
“Why haven’t we seen anything in the message traffic about that?” Terry asked, looking back up the table toward Graves, Brodie, and Ski. “I would think DNR would send out a message on this defect.” DNR stood for Director of Naval Reactors, and they were responsible for the training of all reactor personnel, as well as the safe operation of all the Navy’s nuclear power plants.
Again Graves saw Brodie take a sip of coffee, his eyes still smiling down the table as he watched Kristen. Her face remained unreadable.
“Lieutenant?” Brodie asked her expectantly.
“It is in the manual, sir,” she responded mechanically. “It was sent as an addendum to the manual twenty-one months ago by NNPTC.” NNPTC was the Navy Nuclear Power Training Command, where Kristen had taught as an instructor.
“You’re kidding,” Terry replied, a bit embarrassed that he didn’t remember seeing it. Of course, there were thousands of such addendums and messages swamping the engineering department. Most related to obscure systems and were seldom critical, but this one — if she were correct — would save them potentially weeks of refit time.
“Might you recall the addendum number and particular page, Lieutenant?” Brodie asked, keeping his eyes on her. She cleared her throat uncomfortably, clearly not liking the attention everyone was giving her, which only verified her comment that she hadn’t fought so hard to reach a submarine simply to get her face plastered on the cover of Navy Times.
“Yes, sir.”
“And it is?” Brodie asked with an amused expression.
Graves was now watching Brodie, wondering why he was pushing this. She was clearly uncomfortable, and he’d already made his point. But Brodie wouldn’t let it go.
“Addendum 2-10, page 437, sir,” she replied calmly without a hint of pride in her voice. In fact, Graves could discern nothing from her. Her face was a blank mask. Outwardly at least, she appeared in perfect control. No emotion. No feeling at all.
Apparently satisfied, Brodie finally let her off the hook and turned to Ski. “Check it out first thing, Ski.”
“Aye, Skipper,” Ski replied looking a little taken aback by what he’d heard. Graves knew Ski was a proud man, and of all the officers on board, he’d been the most critical about her coming on board. Graves wasn’t certain Brodie was doing the right thing by highlighting her expertise and possibly embarrassing Ski. But he also knew Brodie always had a reason for everything he did. Unfortunately, he seldom shared his deepest thoughts.
The meeting ended, and the junior officers raced out of the wardroom with Terry Hall leading the way. Graves knew they were anxious to get back to the reactor control room and see if she was right. Graves was just as curious but waited, intent on speaking with Brodie in private. But Brodie motioned for Ski to stick around. Graves expected Brodie to reprimand Ski for the hard time the chief engineer was already giving their newest officer. But as usual, Brodie was full of surprises.
“What is it, Skipper?” Ski asked.
“I want you to test Lieutenant Whitaker for her engineering qualifications within the next few days,” he said casually. Graves thought his friend might be joking. She wouldn’t be ready for months at the earliest.
Ski was equally dumbfounded. “Sir?”
“You heard me,” Brodie repeated.
“Sir, that’s impossible,” Ski replied. “She’s just a Nub; she won’t be ready for months.”
“I know,” Brodie responded. “Test her just the same,” he insisted. “I’ve already made arrangements with the squadron and there are three engineering officers available whenever you’re ready to administer the test.”
“Skipper, why the rush?” Graves asked, knowing there was no chance she could possibly pass. “I mean, it took me six months before I was ready.”
Brodie nodded, but had clearly made up his mind. “Any questions, Ski?”
Graves saw a devilish grin breakout across Ski’s face, and it occurred to Graves that Brodie might intentionally be trying to sabotage her. But this made no sense. If he hadn’t wanted her on board, his reputation with the Brass was such that he could have simply said “no,” and she would have been assigned to another boat.
“No questions, Skipper,” Ski responded, looking quite pleased with the idea of testing — and failing — her. He departed to return to engineering, leaving Graves alone with Brodie.