Seawolf End Game

Book 2 in the Seawolf series

Cliff Happy

T
he Seawolf represents over ten years of work, and the number of people who have helped me over the years is legion. First of all, I must thank my bride, Georgia, for nearly twenty-five years of love and support. She has always been there for me through the successes and the failures, always with steadfast confidence and support. I am very appreciative of Donna for her wisdom, editor’s pen and friendship, and Anne for her timely suggestions and humor. Next, I would be remiss if I did not thank my family for their love and good cheer. Lieutenant Commander Stephen Strayer who patiently consented to answer my numerous questions on what it’s like to serve on board a submarine. Finally, I would like to thank you, the reader, who have given me your time and trust.

K-955 Borei

T
he ballistic missile submarine moved slowly through Iranian territorial waters just below the surface in less than two hundred feet of water. It was hardly the type of ocean depths the boat’s designers had in mind. But the submarine was safest in close to the Iranian shore for the moment as, inside, her crew learned their new boat.

The Iranian Navy had yet to rechristen the latest ship to join their fleet, wanting to wait until the new crew of the
Borei
was finished their training. But this fact didn’t stop Captain Param Ahadi from feeling a great sense of pride in his command. Of course, he wasn’t completely in command, yet. His Russian counterpart, Captain Zuyev, still commanded and would do so until Ahadi and his crew were ready to take over from the remaining Russians on board.

But Ahadi let himself revel in his accomplishment. In his twenty-seven years of naval service, he’d never hoped to command such a boat except in his dreams. Previously he’d commanded one of Iran’s aging
Kilo
class submarines, and he’d been totally outclassed by the American submarines routinely entering the Persian Gulf. But not any longer; now he would have the upper hand. How his government had brokered such a deal with the Russians was a mystery, and he really didn’t care. The Iranian Navy now had real teeth and was no longer just a paper tiger.

“Once the reactor is dormant,” Captain Zuyev explained, regaining Ahadi’s attention, “the
Borei
becomes completely undetectable. Even the most advanced submarines in the world will be unable to hear us, especially with all the other manmade noises in the Persian Gulf for you to hide in.”

Ahadi understood the potential of the revolutionary new submarine. Properly handled, the
Borei
would help reshape the political landscape of the globe.

USS Seawolf, Sasebo, Japan

K
risten cursed her perfect memory.

Without it, the last week off the Korean coast might have been something she could forget about, or at least put behind her. Vance’s suicide, the mission into North Korea, Dr. Dar-Hyun Choi’s interrogation, subsequent death, and, finally, the incident between her and Brodie in his cabin all seemed too surreal to be true. Yet, the visceral, gut-twisting emotions she felt every time she closed her eyes and recalled the events told her they had been only too real.

She ran a hand over her winter service uniform, checking her reflection in the mirror. They’d just arrived in Sasebo after their escape from the Korean Peninsula following Dr. Dar-Hyun Choi’s death. She’d slept for much of it after receiving—at Brodie’s insistence—a sedative to help her rest. She’d slept so long in fact, that she’d barely finished her report on everything that had happened in Korea before they arrived at the naval base.

The orders recalling the
Seawolf
to Sasebo had been accompanied with a list of witnesses to be prepared for a board of inquiry regarding Dr. Dar-Hyun’s death, and, from what she gathered, a fact-finding board to determine whether or not Brodie—by initially disregarding the EAM ordering him to prepare for an immediate nuclear strike—had violated protocol regarding nuclear weapons.

The boatswain’s pipes sounded over the 1MC announcing the arrival of COMSUBPAC—her old boss Admiral Beagler—as well as the Commander of Naval Intelligence. They’d barely been tied up in Sasebo thirty minutes, and the admirals were already coming on board, highlighting the fact they wanted answers, and answers quick. Kristen left her cabin and reached the control center as Admiral Beagler was shaking Brodie’s hand.

“Welcome aboard, Admiral,” Brodie said with a hint of a smile.

“Dammit, Sean,” Beagler chastised him. “You could have at least gotten a damn haircut.”

“Yes, sir,” Brodie replied with his smile expanding somewhat. He looked completely unruffled by the fact these men might be on board to relieve him of his command.

Behind Beagler were a handful of unfriendly looking civilians, several of whom studied her with interest. Kristen did her best to ignore them, focusing on Brodie. Kristen was one of the few people who’d been present during Dr. Dar-Hyun’s death, and her testimony could very well be used against him.

“Would you like to continue this in the wardroom, Admiral?” Brodie suggested with a surprisingly confident smile.

Beagler nodded and Kristen watched Brodie lead Beagler, the second admiral, and their entourages down to the wardroom. She paused, taking a few last seconds to once more run a smoothing hand over a few perceived wrinkles in her uniform, wanting to be as presentable as possible before heading to the Wolf’s Den where all the witnesses were gathering.

She entered the crowded mess deck and saw, besides a covey of witnesses at the far end by the passageway leading to the wardroom, every officer, chief petty officer, and nearly half the crew squeezed in to the space, apparently hoping to lend moral support to their shipmates. She was about to begin squeezing her way through the sea of humanity when she heard COB’s gravelly voice. “Make way!” he barked from where he stood near the passageway to the wardroom. At COB’s order, the men parted at once and made a clear path for her.

Kristen felt a bit embarrassed as she walked through the narrow lane, receiving a combination of polite nods and kind words from most of the crew. She thanked them as she moved across the mess deck, uncomfortable with the attention she was garnering from everyone on board ever since returning from Korea. She reached the small group of officers and nodded courteously in response to their greeting.

“Good morning, gentlemen.”

She then noticed the table where the SEALs, Hamilton and Hoover, were hunkered down, looking as prickly as ever. But although they glowered at any other crewmen who approached them, they gave Kristen a friendly nod of greeting, and she responded with a slight wave of her hand. She then saw the XO, dressed in his own Class-A uniform, with three neat rows of ribbons, the gold dolphins, and SEAL trident proudly displayed. “How’s it going in there, sir?” Kristen asked as she looked toward the wardroom door not far up the passageway.

“The skipper’s been in there for about twenty minutes,” he whispered. “But just how it’s going, I don’t know.” Graves then patted her shoulder. “Don’t worry, Lieutenant. You’ve got nothing to worry about.”

“It’s not me I’m worried about,” she told him honestly. Kristen felt anger welling up inside of her as she thought about Brodie’s career being ruined because of what had happened. He’d done what he had to do. It hadn’t been pretty, and Dar-Hyun had died. But nuclear war had been averted. “What are they going to do to him?”

“I don’t know,” Graves replied honestly.

“This is bullshit, XO,” Doc Reed muttered.

“Shh!” Graves warned.

However Hamilton, who had overheard, agreed with Reed. “You got that right, Doc. This is bullshit.”

Kristen glanced at the commando as he sat cockily, calmly chewing on a piece of gum. His left arm was in a sling, but this impediment in no way diminished his intimidating appearance. Most of the crew gave him a wide berth, but Kristen no longer saw him as some mindless killing machine. After being ashore with him and getting a brief glimpse of the world Hamilton lived in, she felt she understood him better. Hamilton thrived where most people could never survive. So it wasn’t so much what Hamilton did that caused people to fear him, it was what those people who couldn’t imagine being in his shoes knew about themselves that caused their apprehension. “And don’t tell me to keep it down, sir,” Hamilton said bluntly to Graves. “Because they can all line up and kiss my ass.”

“Cool it, Trip,” Hoover advised.

Kristen waited, wishing they would get on with it. Soft murmurs and whispered conversation continued for the next hour before the door finally opened and Beagler’s aide appeared. The young officer summoned Graves, who stepped forward and then, a few steps later, disappeared into the wardroom.

“This could take hours,” Kristen whispered as she removed her glasses and wiped them off. Brodie’s interrogation had lasted over an hour, and if everyone spent as much time being grilled as the captain, they’d be there all day.

A few minutes later, Gibbs approached with a cup of tea. “Here you go, Miss,” he offered. “Earl Grey. I just made a fresh pot.”

She was about to accept when the wardroom door opened and Graves appeared after only fifteen minutes of questioning. He looked solemn and walked aft toward where the witnesses were waiting anxiously. “Lieutenant,” Graves called to her, “you’re up.”

Kristen thanked Gibbs for the tea and then unconsciously ran her hands over her uniform, not noticing her right hand shaking again. She took a deep breath and stepped forward.

“Miss,” Hoover offered as she stepped past the SEALs.

“Yes, Mr. Hoover?”

“If it gets ugly in there, just give a shout,” he offered with a playful grin, but was only half joking. “We’ll be right here.”

“Fuckin-A,” Hamilton grinned with some enthusiasm at the possibility.

“Thanks, guys,” Kristen replied and stepped into the passageway leading to the wardroom and the marine sentry standing at the door.

Rear Admiral Beagler was seated next to a slender, bookish looking man she didn’t recognize wearing the rank of a Vice Admiral. A small group of civilians was seated along the far side of the wardroom table. She assumed the other admiral was the head of Naval Intelligence. She didn’t recognize any of the civilians, but as she looked down the long row of stern faces staring at her, she saw Brodie seated at the end of the table, unflappable as ever.

“Lieutenant J.G. Whitaker reporting as ordered, Admiral,” she said formally as she came to attention.

“Please be seated, Lieutenant,” the vice admiral ordered with equal formality.

Kristen took a seat across from the two admirals and the civilians. She shot a nervous glance at Brodie.

“It’s good to see you again, Lieutenant,” Beagler began with a pleasant smile.

“Thank you, Admiral. It is good to see you, too,” she replied automatically. Beagler was a no-nonsense commander and an uncompromising taskmaster. When she’d first arrived at his command over a year earlier, she’d assumed he would treat her as poorly as her previous commanders had. He’d surprised her with his kindness and fairness. “Although I wish it were under better circumstances.”