Free Seawolf Mask of Command by Cliff Happy

the barrels, the lubricant would pass through a magnetized wire mesh designed to capture any metal shavings. It was expected there would be some wear, despite the high degree of engineering and metallurgy as well as the high quality of the lubricant used. The basket’s contents would then be inspected by the chief engineer or a senior machinist mate looking for any sign of excessive wear on the gears. By close analysis with a trained eye, the shavings could hint at a problem in the gears’ alignment causing excessive wear.
    This critical step was part of the detailed instructions laid out in the technical manual. Once everything was properly in place, she checked it all again to make certain she hadn’t missed a step before crawling under the housing. She grabbed the large steel wheel that opened the valve to allow the lubricant to drain out and turned.
    Except it wouldn’t move.
    She readjusted her position, braced a boot against a solid anchor, and tried again using the anchor for leverage. But the wheel still wouldn’t budge. She readjusted her position twice more and strained with all of her strength—which for a woman her size was exceptional. But the valve still wouldn’t open. She felt a combination of annoyance and anxiety. The idea of asking Kaczynski or any of the men who’d smirked at her was something she wanted desperately to avoid, even if just for vanity’s sake. She repositioned herself a final time and with both hands on the wheel and both feet braced on a solid anchor, strained with all of her might, but it simply wouldn’t move.
    Kristen recalled one of the arguments used by some of the men who thought it unrealistic for women to serve on submarines: “Women are not physically strong enough to do the work required, and they would be more of a hindrance to the crew than a help.” She closed her eyes, trying to think of how she might avoid asking anyone for help, when she felt someone tap her left shoulder.
    She was lying on her back under the main casing, breathing heavily after several attempts to open the valve, as she looked back behind her and saw the captain kneeling down under the casing. He was dressed in grease-stained coveralls, his sleeves rolled up, and oil and grease stains on his hands and face. He offered her a long pry bar. “The sump valve gets encrusted with grit and solidified lubricants, so it can be pretty tough to bust loose,” he explained. “This oughta help.”
    Kristen nodded, feeling like an idiot for not thinking of using a pry bar for leverage, and blushed slightly in embarrassment as she took it. “Thank you, Captain.”
    “Don’t mention it,” Brodie said as if it was nothing before disappearing as suddenly as he had appeared.
    Kristen placed the metal pry bar into the wheel, appreciating the fact he hadn’t tried to be all macho by sliding under the casing with her to show her how “a real man does it.” But, as he obviously realized, once she had the additional leverage of a six-foot pry bar multiplying her strength, the wheel broke loose with the first push.
    Within fifteen minutes the lubricant had drained, and she removed the inspection basket. As expected, she saw small pieces of metal. But, to her dismay, she also noticed some pieces too large to be a good sign. Kristen returned to the deck above where Kaczynski was supervising the removal of the last of the ancillary equipment connected to the reduction gears.
    “Excuse me, sir,” Kristen said as she came up behind him carrying the basket.
    He turned, a smirk already forming on his face as he readied some nasty quip. She assumed he’d tightened the valve, and the surprised look on his face verified this suspicion as he looked at the basket she was carrying and realized she’d gotten it open despite his sabotage. “What is it now, Lieutenant?” he asked adding emphasis to the last two words.
    “I thought you might want to see this right away, sir,” she replied politely, ignoring his tone and