Seawolf Mask of Command Read Online Free

and no rain would stop her now. She clipped her security pass back in place, stepped through the checkpoint, went past the vehicle barriers, and onto the pier itself.
    Any thought that her years of struggle weren’t worth it faded as she saw the dark, menacingly beautiful shape of the submarine tied up along the pier. Despite the taciturn demeanor she carefully maintained, she couldn’t resist a shiver of excitement followed by a queer numbness as she looked upon her personal Holy Grail. Mooring lines held the nine-thousand-ton beast fast along the pier. Dockside, there were half a dozen trucks and vans from various contractors who were helping the crew get the submarine ready for sea.
    As if in a dream, Kristen walked down the pier toward another security booth, this one positioned at the top of the gangplank leading to the dark hull of the submarine. As she walked, relishing every moment, her senses struggled to absorb every sight, sound, and smell. Diesel fumes mixed with saltwater and the smell of burning metal as a symphony of power drills, metal grinders, torches, hammer drills, portable generators, and countless other tools roared while men worked feverishly.
    She stopped at the second security checkpoint where two armed crewmen wearing bulletproof vests were on duty, inspecting security badges yet again before allowing anyone onto the submarine. They each eyed her curiously, apparently not expecting her.
    “What can we do for you, ma’am?” a chunky Latino named Ramirez asked from under the protection of the checkpoint roof.
    Kristen knew this would be just the first of many tests she would have to face now that she’d gotten what she wanted. Rear Admiral Beagler had warned her before leaving Pearl about “being careful what you wish for.” He’d been instrumental in helping her achieve her goal of serving aboard a submarine, but even he’d felt it necessary to warn her that the difficulties she’d endured to this point would pale in comparison to actually serving on a real sub. As she stood in the driving rain, she looked at the petty officer, hoping she didn’t appear too bitchy as she replied smoothly, “You can start by snapping out a salute, Petty Officer Ramirez.”
    Although required to salute all officers, it was quite common for sailors in the Navy to conveniently forget this simple protocol, especially when the salute was for junior officers. Properly chastised, Ramirez and his fellow sentry saluted, and Kristen returned it smartly.
    “Sorry ma’am,” Ramirez apologized. “What can we do for you?”
    “I’m checking in,” she replied trying to sound professional and matter of fact at the same time. It was no secret she was coming, but she wasn’t scheduled to arrive for nearly a month, so she wasn’t surprised by their looks of disbelief.
    “No shit?” Ramirez thought out loud.
    “No shit,” she replied as she handed over her security badge.
    Ramirez and the other sailor were momentarily dumbstruck. Neither man seemed to know just how to act, but Kristen had grown accustomed to this reaction over the past few years since she first stunned the Navy by requesting transfer to the submarine forces as something other than a staff officer in headquarters. The men she’d encountered every step of the way were unaccustomed to dealing with women, and instead of just treating her like any other junior officer, they’d always stumbled and fumbled around her.
    These two managed to recover enough to finish signing her in, returned her security badge, and issued her a personal dosimeter she was required to wear at all times while aboard the nuclear-powered submarine. She secured both to her uniform and then looked back up at the two petty officers, giving them a brief, expectant stare—which was enough.
    They offered her a salute in parting, and after returning it, she stepped up onto the gangplank and then down toward the Seawolf.
    If she’d been excited before, Kristen was now nearly