D. M. Ulmer 01 - Silent Battleground by D. M. Ulmer Page A

his opponent.  His jaw took cover behind a raised left shoulder, while the attempted blow whizzedoverhead.  Woody waited for the expected left to follow and avoided it with ease.  He straightened, anticipating the forward movement the attacker’s effort would give to his head. 
    Snorting like an angry bull, Woody delivered the first of two-planned solid left jabs to his opponent’s face.  Like lightning, snap, the sound of knuckles against skin.  No need for a second blow.  The man’s knees folded inward and he collapsed like a tall building felled by a well-placed demolition charge.
    Unknown to Woody, the young inspector, culpable, but not exposed by Darby Cameron, had received a measure of punishment at the hands of Ensign Parnell.
     
    Beadropped Dan, Woody and Brent off at Denver’s pier where a mass of humanity stirred about like ants making the submarine ready for sea.
    Brent shared a kiss with Bea to whistles and howls from sailors and other passersby. The unmistakable voice of Gary Hansen shouted, “Way to go, Mr. Maddock.”
    Bea admonished Brent, “Don’t do anything stupid out there.”
    “Make book on it, but it’s you I’m worried about.  I’m a lot safer at sea if this Soviet thing blows up.  You listen to what Dave says.  He’ll know what to do.  I care a lot about you, Bea.”
    She took a final look at him, “I will, Brent.  You come back to me.  Hear?”
    “Make book on that too!”
    They released each other and Brent disappeared into the mayhem on the dock.
     
    Captain Bostwick sat in his stateroom and fumed as he read the transcript of Brent’s testimony.  He ignored the issue that confronted young Maddock, the need to state all pertinent facts to assure the defendant got a fair hearing.  The Civil Service Board report cast a shadow over Bostwick, so he would not pass it along to SUBPAC.  Bostwick hoped the findings would set the stage for a career ending, adverse fitness report on young Maddock, but they did not.  Brent’s testimony to the Civil Service Board averted a fatal blow from the captain.
    Bostwick muttered, “So the sneaky bastard wants to play games.  Well I’ll damn well show him he’s playing in the big leagues.”
     

Chapter 4
     
    To the east, a red dawn brightened the ridges of Whidbey Island as Denver sped north through Puget Sound en route to the open sea.   Brent thought, Red sky in the morning, sailor takes warning and anticipated seas would kick up as the day wore on.   He stood the morning watch, 0400-0800 as officer of the deck on the open bridge, his favorite assignment.   Here, the blackness of night yields to the morning glow.
    Brent developed a theory that his sense of elation, inherited from ancestors, dated back to the dawn of civilization.   Early inhabitants of earth hoped each darkness would surely end, but nonetheless felt relief at the actual occurrence.
    To the west, Olympic Mountain peaks caught the first rays of the rising sun and brightening skies diminished a scattering of man-made lights on the land below.  The sea bore few marks of man’s presence on the planet, but on occasion, even the land view presented unspoiled perspectives.  For an instant, Brent beheld Peter Puget’s view of this virgin land as he arrived here over two hundred years ago. 
    Its beauty inspired Brent to think, God, I love this land!
    Brent recalled an evening with Bea and dinner at a restaurant on Lake Union in Seattle.  Patterned after a Pacific Northwest Indian Longhouse, it featured Native-American artifacts.  Its owner dedicated much effort to perpetuate traditions of the people who lived in harmony with the land since the dawn of time.  Native American photographs taken close to the turn of the century adorned the walls.  These depicted early tribesmen who passed their lives here feasting upon endless natural abundance.
    Another time, they visited the Hiram Chittenden canal locks, built for passage of shipping between Lake Washington