Chapter 2: "On the Brink"
31 August 2023
Lucas had never been overly fond of ceremonies. This one in particular felt even more boring than usual, and he desperately wished he could have skipped out of it. Except he had volunteered to be here four months ago, and Admiral Noyce would certainly notice if Lucas was absent from his own graduation and commissioning. The admiral was the guest speaker for the ceremony, after all.
He should pay attention, he knew, but the sun was shining down hot and bright, glaring up off the crisp white uniforms of his classmates in front of him. His own was stiff and scratchy, and his shoes bit at his feet, even sitting down. He fiddled with the heavy silver coin that should have been tucked safely in his pocket for at least another hour until it was his turn to swear the officer's oath and palm it off to Chief Gonzales. The Drill Instructor had spent the last three months making Lucas' life hell, but he had also earned Lucas' respect.
In fact, Lucas respected Gonzales enough that he had asked the Chief to be his "first salute" and receive the traditional silver dollar in exchange. Lucas was not sure where the tradition came from—a search of the Internex revealed at least four different legends concerning it—but he rather liked it. Gonzales was by far the best DI Lucas' class had, even if he was the hardest.
He knew he shouldn't complain. OCS wasn't nearly as bad as boot camp probably was, and Lucas excelled in the classes they were required to take. They were easy, after all, and he'd always enjoyed learning. Overall, he had only received one demerit in his classes, and not because of his performance. But when the instructor had started going on about "Iron Pants" Bridger, Lucas hadn't been able to contain his laughter. And the situation was only made worse when he started wondering if he could teach Darwin to call the captain that. The lieutenant teaching the class didn't have Lucas' sense of humor, though, and had made that fact abundantly clear with the demerit.
Personal jokes aside, the discipline of military life had been a major adjustment for Lucas. And he had never been particularly fit, since his time in the small gym on seaQuest was spent watching Commander Hitchcock sweat rather than breaking any real sweat himself. Taking orders from people he barely knew and the grueling hours of physical training had definitely been the hardest aspect for Lucas, but he'd managed to make it through.
And soon, it would all be real. Lucas would be an ensign, required to wear a uniform for the next four years, to keep his hair cut short, to follow a rigid schedule dictated to him by someone else. He just hoped that Admiral Noyce had come through as promised, and that the someone else would be Captain Bridger. Lucas hadn't ever had a problem taking orders from the captain.
If the captain was willing to have him. Lucas had spent most of his limited free time fretting over what the captain would think of his decision. He knew the captain saw him as a son, just as much as Lucas saw Captain Bridger as a father. And Lucas knew how much the captain still blamed himself for Robert's death. He'd be just as likely to reject Lucas' new career as he would be to approve of it, a prospect that scared Lucas to death.
Worse yet, Lucas didn't know if the captain would even stay on board after the new seaQuest was completed. His guilt over Robert didn't just extend towards an overprotective nature of Lucas; it also fueled the captain's distaste for war. And that was certainly where things with Macronesia were headed. Lucas hadn't told the admiral, but he hoped maybe the captain would decide to stick around, if he knew Lucas would be in the middle of things.
It'll be just my luck that he's already gone by the time I arrive, and he'll be replaced by some hard ass with no sense of humor, Lucas thought. He tried not to think about what would happen in that case. The only reason he had made it through OCS without snapping was because of the promise of seaQuest after, with Captain Bridger.
Don't think about that now, he told himself firmly, and forced his attention back to the ceremony.
Admiral Noyce made some comment about guests being proud of their bright, young ensigns, eliciting a round of applause from the friends and family of his classmates sitting in the crowd. Lucas wasn't quite sure if the admiral was looking at him, or just out over them in general, but he chose to think the former. He didn't have anyone in the crowd, cheering for him, and it was nice to think that Noyce was on his side.
Lucas' father hadn't answered any of his calls when he tried to let his father know about his decision and the commissioning ceremony. And even if Lucas wasn't trying to keep this a secret from Captain Bridger, he hadn't even sent Lucas a message since the last time they spoke in the middle of May.
Typical, really. But now wasn't the time to dwell on that, as the first row of officer candidates stood up to swear their oath. Lucas was in the back row (they seated everyone alphabetically, so of course he was), and he watched as friends and family stepped forward for each of his classmates to pin on their new ranks.
Not for the first time, he really wished that he had invited someone. Chief Gonzales had volunteered to pin on Lucas' ensign bars, but it wasn't the same. He was grateful, and had accepted, but he really wished that his dad had been able to come. Or that he'd been brave enough to tell the Captain. Or... someone. But he had made his choice to keep this a secret, so now he had to live with the consequences. He tried to tell himself that this wasn't important, it was just a means to an end, but after three months of indoctrination into the military, Lucas couldn't quite convince himself of that.
Finally, it was his rank's turn, and Lucas stepped forward with his classmates, glancing to his right as Chief Gonzales approached. Someone else, however, intercepted the DI just as he was stepping up to Lucas.
"Mind if I take over here, Chief?" Admiral Noyce asked jovially.
His eyes were twinkling again.
Gonzales stared, and almost seemed to stutter, before the chief got hold of himself. "Of course not, sir," he managed to say in what actually sounded like a natural tone of voice.
"Excellent," the CNO replied with a grin, stepping up in front of Lucas in Gonzales' place. Then his voice turned a bit more serious. "Congratulations, Mr. Wolenczak."
"Thank you, sir." Lucas knew that he wasn't doing a very good job at keeping the surprise off his face. His classmates were fairing even worse than he was, though, and that thought made Lucas grin. "Very touching speech you gave, Admiral. I don't think there was a dry eye in the house." His natural sarcasm got the better of him as his excitement for this moment bubbled over.
"I'm glad you liked it." Yes, that damned twinkle was back, and Lucas was beginning to realize that it was never a good thing. Noyce continued pointedly: "But don't thank me. Thank you, Lucas. The Navy's glad to have you, even if you have presented me with a unique problem."
"What problem, sir?" Lucas asked. He wasn't sure if he should be worried that something had gone wrong, or worried that Admiral Noyce was about to pull one of his infamous tricks on Lucas. He wasn't sure which one would be worse, in the long run.
Noyce chuckled. Yes, this was definitely going to be bad for Lucas.
"You see, I have in my hand orders detailing you to a brand new boat as the Electronic Warfare Officer. However, the EWO billet, especially on new construction, is a department head's billet. You're certainly old enough for the job, and you're clearly qualified, but if I commissioned you as an ensign, there's no way you could fill it."
The Admiral busied himself with pinning Lucas' new ranks on as he spoke, ignoring the confused expression on Lucas' face.
"So does that mean I won't be assigned to se... the brand new boat?" He had almost slipped, the entire situation with the CNO personally pinning rank onto him and his cryptic statements throwing Lucas off balance.
"Nope," was the cheerful answer. "It just means that, by special order of the CNO, you become Lieutenant Junior Grade Wolenczak today. The job ought to go to a full lieutenant, but you'll have to earn that one."
Lucas spluttered, looking down at the silver bar pinned onto his collar, instead of the gold bar of an ensign he had been expecting. His brain caught up to him a moment later. "Thank you, sir. I don't know what else to say."
Noyce's expression grew serious. "Say that you'll earn the next one. And that you'll blow the curve out of all the follow-on schools we're sending you to, of course, but I expect that. When you're done with those, give me a call. I've got a job for you to do before you report to the uh, brand new boat."
Lucas nodded, unable to stop grinning. "Of course, Admiral. Maybe I'll even go through official channels this time."
He couldn't resist adding that last part, knowing the CNO had enough of a sense of humor to not instantly regret the unexpected promotion he had just given Lucas, and he was rewarded by a chuckle.
"Oh, don't bother. My secretaries try to stonewall everyone. Just call the number you have."
"Yes, sir." There really wasn't any other way he could respond to something like that-which Lucas could now view as an order from a superior officer. He'd have to get used to thinking that way. He was officially part of the UEO Navy now.
17 September 2023
Nine months and five days after becoming Oliver Hudson's XO, Katie knew that he was even worse than his reputation made him out to be. Oh, he wasn't as hard to work for as her colleagues had said he would be—he was a perfectionist, true, but Katie was, too, and was rather well satisfied with that portion of his personality—but the man was reckless. He risked his boat as if the UEO had spares lined up waiting for him, and he risked his crew like they were replaceable, as well.
Which would explain why she was sitting in a cramped seat on one of the few small subs racing away from the Sierra Colony, just hours after Hudson had gotten Torsk blown out from under them. If it had not been for the fact that the colony's leaders had insisted their launches stop and search the wreck for survivors, they would still be stuck on board, with their air rapidly running out and the cold slowly seeping in.
Keep thinking those happy thoughts, Katie.
It was a good thing that Hudson had gotten off on a different launch; with over half of their crew left dead on the sea floor, she would probably have punched him if she saw him. She'd told him that his so-called battle plan had been a bad idea. In fact, it had been a suicide charge barely disguised by a few decent tactical maneuvers, because there was no way in hell one Walrus-class SSN could stand up against five Macronesian shooter subs. He'd known it, she'd known it, and more importantly, the citizens of the colony they were supposed to protect knew it.
Even the mayor of Sierra Colony had called to tell Hudson that he understood that Torsk needed to run; he only asked that Torsk take off as many of the civilians as she could fit on board before the Macronesians took over the colony and did God-knew-what to the residents. The Sierra Colony was close to the border, and the mayor knew what that meant if the Macronesians crossed the line. Today they had, and he had not sounded surprised over the vidlink.
Hudson knew that too, but of course, he had to play the hero.
And he'd lost the boat doing it, taking on five subs and managing to sink three of them before Torsk took irreparable damage. The bastard would probably get a medal for it, too. Katie could at least admit that they hadn't done too poorly for themselves, all things considered, even if the Macronesians had still taken the colony in the end.
"XO?" Ensign Henderson, Torsk's Auxiliaries Officer, or "Auxo", asked quietly, interrupting her train of thought.
"Yeah?"
"What will happen to those we left behind?" Henderson continued hesitantly.
Katie took a deep breath. "I wish I could say that we'll come back and get them…that we'd be able to bring them home. But now that the Macronesians have the colony, I doubt they'll let us. Even if the UEO just sent an unarmed vessel."
"That's what I was afraid you'd say," the young officer said, her posture resigned and eyes full of loss. Three quarters of the wardroom had not made it off alive, Katie knew—she'd done the final muster herself. Henderson was one of the three junior officers who had, and none of the other engineers had survived.
Both of her roommates had been engineers, too, Katie recalled. The three of them had been good friends, and Henderson looked young and lost without them.
"This isn't over, Lonnie," she promised in a voice that was soft, yet hard with pain and anger. "We can't bring them back, but we can sure as hell make the Macronesians pay for killing them."
And we won't be letting them fire the first shot next time, either. Not if I have anything to say about it, Katie thought furiously. If there was one thing she agreed with Captain Hudson about, it was his frustration with the politicians' way of handling this 'conflict'. Now she'd seen first hand what kind of damage their "non-provocation" policy could do, and she'd be damned if she was going to lose another crew because they had to sit around and be shot at.
She still wanted to punch her CO, but Katie was charitable enough to add some politicians to the list of those who needed hitting.
Ben Krieg was never the type to pass up an opportunity for celebration. This time was just a little unusual in that he actually deserved the celebration, though. And while some people wouldn't consider making the rank of lieutenant commander to be anything extraordinary, Ben knew it was nearly a miracle for him.
Ideally, he would have found the closest bar or nightclub, grabbed a few of his crewmates, and gotten completely drunk while trying to find an attractive female to keep him company. Unfortunately, they were three hundred miles out to sea in a beat up old Ohio class submarine that had been retrofitted as a supply vessel for some of the UEO's underwater outposts.
The most exciting thing on Louisiana's schedule was their upcoming stop at the Sierra Colony, a backwater outpost that the crew didn't even want shore leave at. They'd just be dropping off a load of supplies, foodstuffs and construction equipment in the main, and even Ben wasn't foolish enough to think there'd be any fun to be found there. Besides, he was the Supply Officer on this bucket of rust, which meant he'd be plenty busy and find no time for mischief. That meant he was forced to improvise with some cheap whiskey he had smuggled on board at the last depot they had visited and a holodisk film he'd seen three times already.
"Hello, ladies," he greeted the virtual images with a grin, taking a long pull of the whiskey.
It tasted like crap and burned the whole way down, making his eyes water. He wouldn't have been drinking it, if he hadn't been absolutely desperate for something alcoholic. This wouldn't have felt like a celebration, otherwise. He didn't even like whiskey all that much, but if he had sold this bottle instead of drinking it, he probably could have made thirty bucks, easy, which had been the only reason he'd bought it in the first place.
He kept glancing away from the holographic girls, down towards the rank patches sitting on his desk that he hadn't yet sewn onto his coveralls. The two gold stars and gold stripe stood out in bright contrast against the red background. He considered the idea of calling Katie to brag, but he hadn't talked to her in almost a year-not since he had told her that he had re-commissioned as well. And calling Captain Ford to gloat probably would have been considered insubordinate. They would find out, eventually, and Ben just hoped he would be there to see their faces.
Just as he took another long pull from the bottle, the klaxons started blaring. He spilled the amber liquid down the front of his shirt in surprise.
"GENERAL QUARTERS, GENERAL QUARTERS, GENERAL QUARTERS. ALL HANDS MAN YOUR BATTLE STATIONS. TRAFFIC FOR GENERAL QUARTERS IS UP AND FORWARD TO STARBOARD, DOWN AND AFT TO PORT. GENERAL QUARTERS, GENERAL QUARTERS."
He swore, loudly and colorfully. Six months on board the Louisiana and never once had they gone to general quarters outside of a drill. Ben hesitated only a moment, ripping off his favorite Florida State t-shirt and pulling on one of his old seaQuest shirts. He'd have to hope the boat's captain, Commander Clancy, wouldn't get close enough to smell the liquor on his breath. She already had it in for Ben for reasons unknown, and this could end up being the last nail in his proverbial coffin.
"Knew it had to be too good to be true," he grumbled, throwing himself down the corridors towards his station. He was almost there, the hatch to the bridge in sight, when he was suddenly tripping over another person, someone who had just come out of the stateroom on his left, the captain's stateroom, and Ben felt his stomach sink as Commander Clancy picked herself up off the grating to fix him with a stern look.
Ben might have been almost a foot taller than the captain, but even his ex-wife had nothing on her glare. "Late as usual, Mr. Krieg."
"Yes sir. I mean ma'am. It won't happen again, ma'am," he stammered, trying his infamous Krieg smile on her, but she didn't soften at all.
Suddenly, the floor shifted out from under him, making Ben's equilibrium go haywire. That whiskey must have been stronger than I thought! But then he realized the captain was stumbling forward, and suddenly she was in his arms as shouts from the bridge were coming in about countermeasures and incoming torpedoes.
He smiled again nervously, realizing his mistake a moment too late as the captain sniffed, arching an eyebrow. "Were you drinking, Mr. Krieg?"
Lying would only lead to a harsher punishment. He was already looking at time in the brig for this, and if the captain had her way, he could kiss his new rank goodbye. She had said during the ceremony earlier that promoting him was against her better judgment, and Ben knew he should have treaded carefully, at least for the first few days. But then again, he hadn't expected their boat to get attacked.
He sighed. "Yes, ma'am, I was," he admitted.
"Confine yourself to quarters. I'll deal with you once this mess is taken care of."
She didn't wait for him to acknowledge her orders, heading towards the bridge. Ben swallowed the bile rising up in his throat that had nothing to do with the alcohol or the boat being tossed around by external forces.
He made his way back down to his stateroom, slamming the hatch shut with a loud but satisfying clanging noise. "Way to go, Krieg," he berated himself, dropping down onto his rack. "At least I didn't call Katie."
The thought offered thin comfort. At least this time, he hadn't embarrassed himself in front of her, or the other officers from seaQuest he considered his friends—and those, like Ford, who was closer to a friendly adversary than a true friend. Ford would probably be laughing at Ben right about now, if he knew.
The boat rocked again, and Ben closed his eyes, resisting the urge to hope they might get blown out of the water so no one would ever have to know about this particular screw up. But that hope was dashed an hour later when the boat secured from general quarters. Now he just had to wait for the captain.
There won't be any getting out of this one, he thought morosely.
21 September 2023
They were running.
Every instinct Jonathan owned screamed at him to turn his boat around and get into the fight, but professional training overrode those instincts yet again. Yes, he wanted to turn Atlantis around and get some revenge for what had happened to SeaWolf almost a year previously (One year in just a month and ten days, his mind helpfully reminded him), but he knew that doing so would be suicide. He wouldn't be able to save the people living at Rochefort Station no matter what he did…but abandoning them burned.
Five against one were odds that any CO should run away from, especially when the Macronesians had already taken the colony before Jonathan's arrival, too late to respond to the distress signal they had sent out hours earlier. Yet he still felt dirty, and he knew that the rest of his crew did, too. Jonathan had been in his second command for all of ten months, but he had been able to bring a solid core of his old crew with him to Atlantis. No one had to tell the captain that they felt like cowards for running away, even though their duty was to tell the UEO that Rochefort Station had been lost and the Macronesians had gained still more territory.
And then they'd torpedoed the residents as they left. The bastards. Three hours later, Jonathan was still shaking in fury. Atlantis had been creeping up on the Macronesians when that had happened, hoping to at least rescue the civilians who used to live on the station and had run as enemy attack subs approached, ordering them to evacuate the colony or be fired upon.
The residents had obeyed, of course. And then the Macronesians had killed them anyway.
If he'd been in weapons range, Jonathan would not have been able to stop himself from firing. But he hadn't…and by then he had seen the other three attack subs, and he had known that the Macronesians were just waiting for some hotshot UEO skipper to open fire on them. If he did that, he'd be playing right into their hands and giving them a public relations coup that the UEO's government might not be able to withstand.
Instead, he would have to face people accusing him of running away because he was gun-shy and didn't want to lose another boat, but Jonathan wouldn't put Atlantis or her crew into unnecessary danger. There was a reason that the saying was Live to fight another day instead of Die today and let your enemy mock you for your stupidity.
Besides, torpedoing the Macronesian boats would not bring back the people of Rochefort Station, no matter how much better it would have made him feel. Now his duty was to bring back the sensor recordings Atlantis had taken, so that maybe the UEO could show the world what the Macronesians were doing. In fact—
A knock sounded on his stateroom hatch, interrupting his thoughts.
"Come!" he called.
Miguel Ortiz, recently promoted to Chief Warrant Officer Ortiz and Jonathan's Sensor Officer on both of his last two boats came in, looking a bit uneasy. "Do you have a minute, sir?"
"Come on in, Miguel. What can I do for you?" Had it been anyone else, Jonathan wouldn't have let the weariness creep into his voice. But he and Miguel had known each other for far too long to stand on any sort of ceremony while in private, even if a vast gulf of seniority separated them.
"I got my orders, sir," Miguel replied, closing the hatch behind himself. "I guess my request for an extension was refused."
Jonathan clamped down on his frustration. It wasn't Miguel's fault, and the sensors expert didn't deserve Jonathan's anger. "When do you leave?"
"As soon as we make port."
"So soon? This day just keeps getting better and better..." Jonathan grumbled. He sighed. "Where are they sending you?"
"Honestly, I have no idea," Miguel replied with a frown. "The orders just say to report to Project Anzio no later than…well, they have today on them, but I don't think that they'll hold being late against me since we're still underway. At least I hope not."
"Have them call me, if they try to," Jonathan said. "Project Anzio... I haven't heard of it."
"Me neither. I hope it's not one of UEO Command's crackpot ideas about using sonar as an offensive weapon. I think they stopped those experiments, but I might be wrong." His old seaQuest shipmate grimaced slightly. "And thanks, sir. It's nice to have someone high ranking in my corner."
Jonathan managed a grin. "What's the point of rank if I can't throw it around sometimes for an old friend? We'll miss you here, Miguel. I've gotten used to having you at sonar. It's been, what, seven years since our first tour together on seaQuest?"
There had been some great years in there, although the first one, with both of them serving under Marilyn Stark, had been a bit rocky at times. And then there had been the entire refit and the mess that followed it—but that had been followed by a fabulous tour and the promise of another after that. Jonathan tried not to think about what might have happened if the second seaQuest had never been destroyed—he had a darn good career now, even if he did miss the camaraderie of that old seaQuest crew. Miguel had been the only officer he had managed to hang on to, and watching him go was hard.
"Yeah, something like that." From the other man's wistful smile, Jonathan could tell he was thinking the same thing. "I'll miss it here, too—Atlantis is a great boat, sir. And you've been good to all of us."
"You know, I think it's a little late to try and butter me up for a good recommendation," Jonathan joked. He stood from his seat, offering a hand out to Miguel. "It's been a pleasure having you as part of my crew, Miguel. I wish you the best of luck. And of course, you're always welcome back if you decide this new project isn't worth your skills."
"I'll keep that in mind, sir," was the grinning response. "Though I suppose I could be wrong—it might be something really interesting. I'll keep telling myself that, anyway."
"You do that. Maybe it will even wind up being true," Jonathan said. "And keep in touch, Miguel."
"I will, sir," Miguel promised. "You, too."
Miguel left shortly after that, leaving Jonathan to stare at the bulkhead and frown. Today really couldn't get any better, could it? His next task was to call his squadron commander and pass along the news about Rochefort Station, too, which only promised to make him more gloomy. Twenty-nine more days and he'd be back at Pearl Harbor. Atlantis could make over 50 knots, but it was almost fourteen hundred miles back to Pearl, and no captain would run his boat full out the entire way. That meant his crew would spend the next month wondering what they might have done differently.
So would Jonathan, of course, but there was no preventing that.
19 October 2023
Ben lay on the hard cot, hands twined behind his head as he stared up at the ceiling. He wasn't really looking at the ceiling, having already memorized the pattern of stains, lines, and cracks that marred it. He'd complained the first day, of course-he was an officer in the UEO Navy and deserving of better treatment than this. But the sergeants tasked with security duty had only ignored him.
He should have been worried about his own fate right now. Captain Clancy had made the report sound like Ben had been falling down drunk, unable to perform his duties during a crisis situation, which was why she had sent him to his quarters. With an already spotty record, including leaving the Navy and coming back again, Ben would be lucky to get out of this without getting discharged.
Instead, all he could think of was Sierra Colony. He'd seen the news reports from after, once he was on land and in the custody of the MPs. Macronesia had swept in to take the colony, and Torsk had been sunk.
Katie's boat.
Not that he needed to be reminded that she was—had been—Torsk's XO. His stomach twisted painfully every time he thought about how scared she must have been, trying to get everyone out safely. How much she must be hurting right now, because she didn't. He'd tried calling her, with one of the phone calls he was allowed, but he hadn't gotten through, and he hadn't much felt like leaving her a message telling her he was in jail. Again. She had more than enough on her plate right now without her screw up ex-husband making things worse.
But worrying about Katie was easier, and possibly more productive, than worrying about himself. His lawyer was young and green; in truth, he probably could have done better representing himself, but that just 'wasn't done'. And Ben knew he wasn't the best officer the Navy had ever seen, either. He would never be a Katie Hitchcock or a Jonathan Ford, never would fit the mold that the Navy wanted him to shoehorn his way into. But being in the Navy was the one thing he had always wanted to do with his life. To have command of his own boat….
"Well, you can kiss that dream goodbye for real this time, Krieg," he muttered angrily. "Back to flipping artificial meat patties at the local fast food joint for you."
Sitting up, he tried to pull himself out of his downward emotional spiral. The Navy was his life; he'd learned that after resigning his commission. But nothing had quite been the same since he'd come back. Nothing had been quite the same since they had abandoned ship four years ago and Captain Bridger had driven seaQuest into the giant underwater lava bed.
seaQuest was gone, and so was her replacement. The UEO had already publically declared they wouldn't build a third of the highly expensive submarine. seaQuest was out of second chances, just like Ben. He could only hope maybe this time he could find a job on the outside that didn't involve minimum wage and acne-spotted teenagers.
There just wasn't a lot of demand in the civilian world for Ben's specialized set of skills. He knew how to work the UEO system. His supply binder was almost legendary among the supply corps officers. And while he had a handful of civilian contacts, none of them would be useful in civilian business transactions, or at least not legal ones.
And no matter how shady Ben Krieg could be, he really had no desire to turn criminal. Work the system, sure. Play fast and loose with the rules, any time. But he really didn't want to wander onto the wrong side of the law, even if the alternative was managing a fast food chain. Again.
He sighed, burying his face in his hands, not even paying attention to the footsteps echoing down the corridor towards him. It was probably just one of the MPs making their rounds, anyway.
The unexpected voice made his head snap up.
"Wallowing in your misery, Lieutenant?"
His brain took a moment to catch up with his body, which had jumped to his feet reflexively. "Captain Bridger…I wasn't expecting you."
Of course, he hadn't really been expecting anyone, least of all his former captain. Ben would have ranked him lowest on the list of people he wanted to see him like this, even after Katie or Jonathan Ford.
"I wasn't exactly expecting to find you here, either, Ben," Bridger replied with a slight smile. He was even wearing his khakis, which was probably why the MP standing behind him was so stiff and at attention, glaring at Ben as if it was his fault this senior captain had wandered by the Pearl Harbor Military Detention Area for an evening's entertainment.
"I'd offer you some refreshments, but, ah..." He stuttered to a stop, then offered the captain Charming Smile Number 3, glancing towards the MP. "I don't suppose you could fetch the captain a drink, could you, Sergeant?"
All he got in response was an even sharper glare, but Bridger stifled a laugh with a cough.
"I'm fine, Ben, thanks," his old Captain grinned.
There were very few people who could make Ben nervous the way Captain Bridger did, but he did his best to hide it behind wit and charm. "What brings you here on this fine night, sir?"
"You do. Obviously." Bridger gave him a hard look, and now the captain looked anything but amused. "Drinking on duty, was it?"
"Ah, technically I wasn't on duty while I was drinking, sir. I wasn't anticipating the boat coming under attack," he replied. He knew he shouldn't be arguing semantics, but he didn't want Captain Bridger thinking worse of him than he probably already did.
Bridger arched an eyebrow. "I seem to remember there being something in the regulations about a submariner always being on duty while underway. But I could be mistaken, of course."
Ben might not defend himself against the rest of the world, but the captain was one of the few people who had ever looked past his more reckless personality traits and given him a fair chance. Looks like you blew it there, too, Ben.
"Yes, sir. You're probably right."
A moment of silence passed, during which Bridger studied him with an intensity that made Ben want to wiggle. Finally, the captain asked: "Did you actually learn anything from this little adventure, Mr. Krieg?"
"I learned that cheap whiskey tastes like crap, sir," he joked nervously. Bridger's hard glare was enough to make him snap to full attention, fixing his eyesight just above the captain's head. He felt like a plebe getting called in front of the commandant, expulsion lingering over his head. "I learned I shouldn't drink on board, because I will get caught. Sir."
"That's putting it mildly," Bridger muttered, and then turned to the MP. "You can let him out now, Sergeant."
"Yes, sir," Ben's guard replied promptly, clearly not surprised by the order at all. Moments later, he was punching the code into the panel next to the cell door, which slid open as Ben blinked confusedly.
He stared at the open door. "Sir?" So maybe the captain hadn't come here just to rub Ben's failure in his face...
"Unless you want me to leave you in here?"
He was through the door in an instant, not needing further prompting. "No, sir. I mean, the accommodations were stellar, and all. Prime rib every night, and lobster for lunch."
Bridger snorted. "I bet they were. But let's make this clear, Lieutenant—if you even think about drinking anywhere near on duty again, I'll personally keelhaul your reckless behind, and no one will be dismissing the charges a second time."
"Dismissing the charges? How...? I mean, yes sir, I understand sir, but..." Ben knew the captain was probably influential enough to pull something like that off, he just didn't know why Bridger would bother wasting his time with someone like him. "Why are you helping me, sir? You don't have any obligation."
"I had a few words with Commander Clancy. She was willing to drop all charges provided you received orders taking you far away from her and her boat," Bridger answered, neatly sidestepping Ben's second question. "And I happen to be working on a project that needs a…creative Supply Officer. Interested?"
"Let me get this straight...you really want me to work for you again?" Ben asked incredulously.
The captain shrugged. "It didn't go so badly the first time. Besides, this project will be right up your alley, self-heating thermal underwear, and all."
"You have to admit, Captain, that underwear ended up being an essential piece of gear," Ben said.
"That was rather my point, Ben," was the dry response.
"Oh. Right. I knew that." The sergeant looked like he was smothering a smile. "I knew that."
Bridger led the way though the building's double doors, and out into the warm fall evening. There was a car waiting, and the captain gestured Ben into the back as he went around to open the back door on the other side.
Apparently Bridger rated a driver these days, because there was an enlisted man in the front seat.
He turned to Ben with a slight smile. "Have you ever heard of Project Anzio?"
A/N: Thanks for reading, and please let us know what you think! This story is shaping up to be a long one (we're working on chapter 9 already!), and feedback will only make us post faster.