Chapter 2 - The Woman at the End of the Table
My name is Lieutenant Commander Sarah Mitchell.
That information would have solved Jake’s confusion immediately.
It was also information he should not have needed.
My rank insignia was visible.
My specialty patch was visible.
More importantly, basic standards of conduct were not supposed to depend on who someone turned out to be.
Jake had failed before he ever learned my name.
The alarm was part of an installation-wide emergency drill.
My responsibility that morning was evaluating one portion of the response involving damage-control coordination.
That was why I had been eating alone.
I had arrived before the rest of my assessment team.
Jake and Ethan had apparently assumed that made me available for entertainment.
Once the alarm sounded, I did not stop the drill to punish them.
That mattered.
Real commands fail when officers allow personal anger to become operational distraction.
I directed Jake to report to his assigned station.
Ethan received the same instruction.
“Noah, yours?”
“Medical support passageway, ma’am.”
“Go.”
He hesitated.
“Ma’am—”
“Parker. Move.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
They disappeared with the other recruits.
Only after the mess hall cleared did Chief Petty Officer Marcus Hale approach me.
He had seen the end of the incident.
His eyes stopped at my cheek.
“Ma’am, you okay?”
“I’m fine.”
“That didn’t look fine.”
“I said I’m fine physically.”
He understood the distinction.
Hale had been in the Navy for twenty-one years.
He did not need drama explained to him.
“What happened?”
I told him.
Exactly.
No extra adjectives.
No guesses about motive.
Jake touched my food.
I ordered him to stop.
He dropped it.
Ethan grabbed me and struck me.
Jake told me to eat from the floor.
Noah attempted to stop Jake after recognizing my patch.
Hale’s jaw tightened.
“Witnesses?”
“Plenty.”
That would create its own problem.
The mess hall had been crowded.
Some people saw everything.
Some saw pieces.
At least two recruits appeared to have phones in their hands before the alarm.
I did not yet know whether they had recorded anything.
Hale asked the obvious question.
“Want me to pull Thompson and Carter after the drill?”
“No.”
He looked surprised.
“I want the drill completed correctly.”
Then I added, “After that, we handle what happened correctly too.”
Hale nodded.
As he turned away, I noticed the breakfast tray Jake had abandoned.
Beside it was his training notebook.
A folded evaluation sheet protruded from the back.
At the top was a name.
Petty Officer First Class Daniel Reese.
Jake’s division instructor.
I knew Reese.
And suddenly I remembered hearing Jake Thompson’s name before.
May you like
Not because of discipline.
Because he was being considered for an accelerated leadership recommendation.
