Seawolf Mask of Command by Cliff Happy

company. She was a “NUB.” Or “non-useful-body” which applied to all officers who hadn’t earned their qualification badge. Knowing they probably preferred to be alone, she was about to excuse herself.
    “You seem to like being wet, Lieutenant,” Brodie offered after assessing her appearance.
    She glanced down at her soiled coveralls, and saw she was still wet from working in the bilge and crawling around the reduction gear assembly. Was he teasing her? Was this just another game? She responded honestly, not yet willing to let her guard down. “Not really, sir.”
    A crooked smile appeared on his lips. He was apparently in a good mood after the long night’s work. “I was beginning to think you would’ve preferred being in the SEALs,” he teased while O’Rourke and COB watched with minor amusement.
    Kristen hoped this was just good-natured ribbing. She stifled a yawn. “I might have, sir,” she paused and then added with cautious levity, “but women aren’t allowed in the SEALs.”
    “I’ll be buggered,” O’Rourke chuckled with a smile, surprised to find a mere Nub with the backbone to tease the captain.
    Brodie nodded his head and offered a rakish smile. He was as filthy as the rest of them, and looked even more exhausted, but there was an amused look in his eyes. “You don’t strike me as the type of woman to let a little thing like that stand in your way, Lieutenant.”
    Kristen came to attention before departing to leave the three men in privacy. “No sir, I’m not,” she replied and then added, “Good day, gentlemen.” She didn’t salute since they were indoors and uncovered, but Brodie responded with what might have been a half-hearted tip of his hat as if he had been wearing one.
    Kristen felt good about her effort over the previous evening. At times she’d felt almost as if those around her were accepting her being on board. But she couldn’t be sure. As she walked away, she could hear the three men chuckling behind her. A part of her hoped they might be laughing with her, but she’d been through too much to believe it and assumed the worst.
    One night’s work wouldn’t win her acceptance here.

Chapter Six

    Musudan-ri, North Korea
    D octor Dar-Hyun Choi pushed himself away from his desk, removed his glasses and rubbed the sore bridge of his nose and his tired eyes. He allowed himself to close his eyes for a few seconds. He was tired. More tired than he’d been the previous evening, far more so than a year ago.
    How much more tired shall you be tomorrow?
    He considered the hollowness in his chest. The vigor of youth was long gone, and he knew—even with the best medical care available in the People’s Democratic Republic—he wouldn’t last another year. Time was now his most precious commodity, and he was running out of it rapidly. He checked his wristwatch and sighed. His day was done. Doctor’s orders. In his youth, he’d worked twenty hour days, seven days a week and his superiors had supported this. But even the draconian leaders of his government recognized his frailty and no longer pushed him as they once had.
    He considered the program running on his computer screen, saved his latest design ideas, and then powered down. Even here, at his country’s most important rocket testing facility, electricity was a precious commodity. He stood, feeling the weakness in his limbs and the light headedness that came with sudden movements.
    He clicked off his office light as he opened the door to exit.
    Waiting outside the door were his “escorts.” This title was far preferable to the term “handlers” or, perhaps more accurate “jailers.” There’d been a time, during the reign of the first Supreme Leader, that he’d enjoyed relative freedom, and even after the Leader’s death, Dr. Dar-Hyun had enjoyed significant liberty, especially when compared to his fellow countrymen. He’d only been assigned handlers after he’d returned from visits to Russia and Iran. But now,