Early that morning, a heavy storm rolled off the Atlantic, turning the coastal roads into rushing streams. Lieutenant Victoria Bennett stood by the window of her small apartment, watching the rain hammer against the glass. Through the gray curtain of the downpour, she could just make out the silhouette of Naval Station South, where her new assignment began in less than an hour. She took a slow breath and finished her lukewarm coffee from an old mug that read “World’s Best Dad”—a keepsake from her father, a career Marine.
At five-foot-four and 115 pounds, Victoria didn’t look like someone who could neutralize an armed threat in seconds. With her brown hair pulled into a sensible ponytail and her plain, brown eyes, she looked entirely ordinary. But that was her greatest asset. In her line of work, being forgettable made her the perfect operative. She could disappear into a crowd and strike before anyone realized she was there.
Over nine years of service, Victoria Bennett had become one of the most effective combatants in the fleet. She was an officer in an elite Naval Special Warfare unit—a tight-knit, highly classified group with very few active operators. Reaching the rank of Lieutenant in such a unit was a feat in itself, especially as one of the few women to ever earn the right to wear the insignia. The selection process was designed to break most humans, and the daily training was nothing short of brutal.
Her past missions were the stuff of classified briefings, far from the public eye. She had fast-roped from helicopters into hostile territory and conducted underwater sabotage in the freezing waters of the North Sea. Her record included dismantling terror cells and rescuing hostages in dense jungle terrain. But today’s mission didn’t involve explosives or night-vision goggles. It was something much more subtle.
Instead of a direct engagement, she was tasked with a quiet observation of the new recruits. Naval Command had sent her to Naval Station South for a covert audit of the current training program. Reports had been filtering up about serious disciplinary issues, systemic hazing, and an alarming dropout rate. A high number of promising recruits were quitting before finishing basic training, and no one could explain why.
Victoria’s goal was to blend in, listen to the chatter, and find the rot in the system. The irony wasn’t lost on her. An elite operator was going to play the role of a “paper-pushing” staff officer, watching a bunch of kids stumble through their first weeks of military life.
