Four days into her assignment, Victoria wasn’t impressed. The current crop of recruits seemed overconfident, lacked basic respect for the chain of command, and believed that “toughness” meant being a bully. She had already witnessed several scenes that crossed the line from “character building” to flat-out harassment. It was all being excused as “separating the wheat from the chaff.”
The instructors seemed to be looking the other way, which, in Victoria’s book, was just as bad as participating. She came from a long line of service members—her father was a Marine, her brother flew A-10s, and her uncle had been a Navy pilot. She understood the need for discipline and a thick skin, but what she saw at Naval Station South had nothing to do with making better sailors.
It was a classic case of a few bad actors getting a tiny bit of power and using it to break everyone around them. As she walked toward the mess hall, Victoria thought about the group she’d been tracking. Five recruits, aged 19 to 23, were the primary source of the toxicity. They acted more like a street gang than a squad of future sailors.
They went by nicknames: Tank, Spider, Diesel, Rock, and Snake. They had appointed themselves the “kings” of the barracks, ruling through intimidation. Tank was the muscle—six-foot-four, 250 pounds of gym-grown bulk. Spider was tall and wiry, with a twitchy energy and a permanent, cruel smirk. Diesel was all shoulders and loud talk. Rock was shorter but built like a brick wall. And then there was Snake.
Snake was the dangerous one. He was the strategist, the one who knew exactly how far he could push the rules without getting a formal reprimand. Earlier that morning, Victoria had watched them corner a skinny twenty-year-old named Davis in an empty hallway. They’d circled him, mocking his low PT scores and laughing as his voice cracked. They only stopped when an instructor walked by, but the damage was done. Victoria knew this kind of cancer had to be cut out before it spread.
When she entered the massive mess hall, the room was a cacophony of voices and clattering trays. The air smelled of industrial-grade Salisbury steak and floor wax. Victoria grabbed a tray, moved through the line, and picked out some chicken, rice, and a side salad. She chose a table in the far corner, giving her a clear view of the entire room. To anyone else, she was just a tired staffer looking for a quiet lunch. She didn’t have to wait long for the show to start.
The “Fab Five” strolled in, acting like they owned the place. After grabbing their food, they began scanning the room for a target. Victoria watched their eyes. They weren’t looking for a fight; they were looking for someone who wouldn’t fight back. They settled on a table where three quiet recruits were eating by themselves. Victoria recognized them—they were hardworking, disciplined kids who kept their heads down and did their jobs. In other words, perfect victims for bullies.
Tank said something to his crew, they all laughed, and they headed straight for the trio. Victoria saw the three recruits stiffen, their shoulders hunching as they tried to become invisible. That was the moment Victoria decided to break protocol. She was sent here to observe, but she was still a combat officer. And in her world, you don’t stand by while the pack tears into the weak. She finished her chicken, wiped her mouth, and stood up.
