It was time to see what these “tough guys” were actually made of. Victoria crossed the hall with a steady, unhurried pace. She didn’t look angry; she looked bored. Years of undercover work had taught her how to keep her emotions behind a wall of ice. Rule number one: never show your hand until you’re ready to play it.
Tank reached the table first, his shadow falling over the recruits’ lunch. “Well, look at this,” he boomed, his voice carrying over the noise of the mess hall. “The three little kittens having a tea party. Isn’t that sweet?”
A recruit named Miller, who wore glasses and looked like he’d rather be anywhere else, swallowed hard. “We’re just eating, Tank. We’re not bothering anyone,” he said, trying to keep his voice steady. Spider leaned over the table, his face inches from Miller’s.
“That’s the problem, kid,” Spider hissed. “You’re taking up space. You’re breathing air that belongs to real sailors. You and your little friends are a waste of Navy resources.”
Diesel let out a loud, barking laugh, causing the nearby tables to go silent. “You three should just pack your bags and go home to your moms,” he growled. “Eat your lunch in the barracks, under your bunks, where garbage belongs.”
Victoria was close enough now to hear every word. She slowed her pace, calculating the room. The three recruits were paralyzed, but Miller tried one last time to stand his ground. He straightened his back slightly. “We have as much right to be here as you do,” he said, though his voice wavered. “We’re all in the same program.” Rock stepped forward, cracking his knuckles. “Same program? You think we’re the same?” he spat.
“We’re the future of this fleet. You three will be crying for a discharge by next week.” Snake, who had been quiet, finally spoke up. His voice was calm, which made it more menacing. “I have an idea. These boys need a lesson in manners.”
