The Crucible. Joaquin De Torres
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your lip! If you want to make the next pay grade I suggest you keep your mouth shut unless you’re spoken to!” Becca took an aggressive step forward bringing her full Amazonian height into his personal space.
“And I suppose you have the power to do that, don’t you?”
“Becca, back off. Please,” Kristina said calmly. But it was too late--Becca was pissed.
“You, as a full-bird captain, have more authority than Admiral Armocida? Well, the last time I looked a four-star admiral outranked an O-6!”
“Becca, please!”
“I work for Commander Torres, sir. And I suggest you realize that while we’re on this ship, so do you!”
“GET OUT OF COMBAT, RAVEN! YOU’RE RELIEVED OF DUTY!” he thundered. Kristina took a step in between them.
“No, she’s not.” She turned her back on Wilcox and stepped towards Becca, whose emerald eyes sizzled with rage. With pursed lips, Kristina whispered forcefully.
“Ease it down, Becca. Let me handle this. Just calm down.” Switching into her command voice, she continued. “Lieutenant Commander Raven, go to the bridge and prepare to take sightings. I’ll give you further instructions later.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Becca’s eyes remained locked on Wilcox’s glare. She took a step.
“STAND FAST!” His booming voice quaked the control room, icing the spines of its silent members. The group of about 30 enlisted sailors and officers sat breathless at their consoles. Wilcox snapped his head to Kristina.
“Who the hell do you think you are!?”
Kristina could smell the stale stench of coffee and cigarette smoke on his breath. “This may be your program, but this is MY SHIP! Everything goes through me!”
“Then let this go through you one last time.” Kristina’s voice was a quiet roar. “I don’t care who drives this ship. If the Getty takes a missile hit near engineering or CIC, the power will go down. My system will enable a cold re-start and re-animation within eight minutes. The testing of this is the only mission I care about. When our mission’s done, you will have your ship back and you’ll never see me again. So, whether it’s you, the XO, or Lieutenant Commander Raven--I don’t care, someone has to go up there and do it.”
She stood unnerved, the triton of authority firmly gripped in her hands. His ice-blue eyes narrowed; hers didn’t flinch. Wilcox looked around the room, seeing his crew sitting rigidly in shock. He had to regain their confidence; he could not be bested by this woman on his own ship. He needed to let them know that he was still and always will be, in command. For her part, Kristina felt a measure of shame at what had transpired in front of his crew as she scanned their hesitant expressions. It was totally unprofessional on all their parts as senior officers.
“Captain, please,” she whispered. He looked in her eyes and realized that she was trying to help him. “Let's defuse this. The crew is watching.” He knew she was right and nodded his head approvingly. It was damage control time, officer style.
“Very well, Commander. I’ll go to the bridge. I just wanted you to feel reassured that the Gettysburg could never be in such a situation with this fine crew.” His air of positional supremacy laced his words. “We train for combat everyday; we don’t suppose it, imagine it, or simulate it. My crew is too well-trained and too disciplined.” He tried to save face. Right on cue Kristina played her part to salvage his dignity in front of his people.
“There’s no doubt, Captain. They are the best trained crew I’ve had the pleasure of working with.” She looked around the room and smiled, temporarily teaming up with Wilcox to sever the noose of shame that was slung around his neck.
“Very well. Carry on, Commander Torres.”
“Thank you, sir.” Wilcox stepped toward the hatch and eyed Becca with utter repulsiveness. Becca returned the glare without blinking. When he exited the space, the crew exhaled loudly, shaking their heads. Becca stood in the middle of the room shaking her head as well. Seeing the tension taut on the crew, she thought it best to loosen them up.
“I’ll give you one thing though;” she looked around. “He’s pretty spunky for a little guy!” The crew exploded in laughter.
Back in Kristina’s living room with Becca, the visions of those events began to dissipate from Kristina’s eyes. Becca slipped another spoon of ice cream between her lips.
“You were marvelous commanding that ship. You directed us to a successful testing phase. I gotta hand it to you, you were magnificent.”
“Yeah, whatever.” Kristina waved her hand dismissively.
“And Wilcox, all he could do was keep his mouth shut and follow your instructions. God, his ego hated that. You dismantled him.”
“I don’t take pride in that.” Kristina shot her a hard look. “Especially in front of his people. I was wrong.”
“No. He was wrong. He tried to upstage you and you held your ground. You may not take pride in that, but take no shame in it either. When you’re in charge, sometimes you have to make the harshest decisions and say the harshest things.” She then fell silent, mulling over something that entered her mind. “I still don’t understand what he was saying about the McClusky. Why did he even go there?” Kristina looked away evasively. Becca saw the door closing in Kristina’s eyes and dove for the knob.
“All right, Kristina, what the hell is up? What’s wrong? There is a connection between you and the McClusky isn’t there? Something you haven’t told me. Please, tell me now. Don’t make me Google it!” Kristina nodded her head slowly, realizing that this was something she could no longer hide from her. She suddenly sniffed the air.
“Are you cooking something in the kitchen?” she asked Becca.
“No. We’re just having ice cream.” At that, Kristina looked at the far corner of the couch and saw a young man sitting behind Becca. His entire body was horribly burned; his uniform, skin and hair were gone; wisps of smoke curled off his grotesque body.
“Go on,” the hideous vision said. “Tell her.” She closed her tearing eyes and opened them again. He was gone. But the room closed in around her, transforming. Her living room shifted, then morphed into the dark maze of stacked sleeping bunks. Her walls of framed art and photos blurred into gray bulkheads crawling with piping, air ducks and metal rivets. She was walking through berthing, making her way passed the sleeping bunks with her cleaning crew to the outer passageway locker where buckets and mops were stored. Everyone around her was happy and excited to go home in just two days. But first, the McClusky had to be cleaned before going into port. Kristina was there.
“I had just exited berthing when the missile struck.” Her voice was a numb echo as she recounted. “Eight feet above the waterline it punched through the portside and severed the fire fighting water main. Then it separated into two parts, sending ignited fuel and shrapnel through the berthing area I was just in.”
Becca’s eyes widened. The tears flowed freely now as Kristina's voice began to quake. Becca pulled right up to her and held her hands firmly.
“The warhead detonated just ten feet forward of the first impact point. The solid propellant and fuel ignited, sending liquid fire through the berthing area.”
“Oh my God!”
“Temperatures reached 3,500 degrees. The overhead and adjacent compartments had already begun to melt when the temperature reached 1,500 degrees.” She looked up to Becca. “I watched those sailors burn to death. I froze as some people in the area tried to fight the fire. I sat in a corner unable to move at all. Instead of helping, I just watched them burn. Their bodies burned and I just sat there! They were still alive! They were screaming and crawling, begging for help. Becca, I couldn't move! I COULDN'T MOVE!” Becca pulled her in, cradling her tightly in her arms. Kristina quaked uncontrollably, wailing like a wounded animal.
“Shhh,