"What exactly is going on here?" "Just some entertainment colonel," Hendrickx said smoothly. "Maintenance worker here was showing off some skills." Davidson's eyes swept the scene with the practiced assessment of a career officer. He saw the wet floor, the kicked bucket, the circle of smirking senior officers around one small woman.
His lips thinned. "And this seemed like appropriate use of command time?" "With respect, sir, we were simply—" "I didn't ask for your justification, Admiral. I asked what was going on." Davidson's attention fixed on the woman.
"Your name and position." She met his eyes calmly. "Sarah Chen, maintenance crew, 6 months on base." "And you have weapons-handling certification?"
"Because of previous employment, sir." "What previous employment?" "I'd prefer not to say, sir." Rodriguez stepped forward smelling blood.
"Colonel, I think we should verify her credentials. This is starting to smell like stolen valor. Some people like to play dress up with skills they don't actually have." Sarah's expression didn't change, but Walsh saw her shoulders shift almost imperceptibly into a more balanced stance. Combat ready.
She didn't even know she was doing it. "Fine," Davidson said. "Someone call security. Let's verify these credentials she's so reluctant to discuss." While they waited, Hayes circled closer, her instinct for social dominance kicking in.
"You know what? I think—I think you're one of those groupies who hangs around bases trying to get attention from real operators. Maybe you dated some enlisted guy who taught you a few tricks and now you think you're special." Petty Officer Jake Morrison, a fresh SEAL graduate who'd been watching in uncomfortable silence, noticed something the senior officers had missed. The woman's breathing pattern hadn't changed once during the entire confrontation.
Box breathing. Four-count in, four-count hold, four-count out, four-count hold—the stress-management technique they'd spent weeks learning in BUD/S. She was doing it automatically. Security arrived with her full personnel file. The officer in charge, a senior chief named Williams, looked confused as he read it.
"Ma'am, your file shows all certifications current: advanced weapons handling, tactical medical, combat driving, close-quarters combat, survival, evasion, resistance, escape." "This is an operator's qualification sheet, not maintenance." "All legitimate?" Davidson pressed.
"Yes, sir. All verified through proper channels. Background check cleared by naval intelligence. No flags, no issues."
"But her employment record only goes back 6 months," Rodriguez protested. "What was she doing before that?" Williams flipped through pages. "File doesn't say, Chief, just shows she was cleared for employment after standard background investigation."
"That's not standard," Hayes said. "You don't get level five clearance in this qualification list without a service record. Where's her service record?" "Not in the file, ma'am." Hendrickx saw his opportunity to regain control of the situation.
"Then I propose a practical test. We've got the combat simulation range available right now. If Miss Chen here is really qualified for all these certifications, she should be able to demonstrate competency. And if she can't, we file a report for falsifying credentials." Brooks stepped forward.
"Admiral, I'm not sure that's—" "Are you questioning my judgment, Commander?" Brooks met his superior's eyes, calculating risk. Finally, "no, sir." "Good. Miss Chen, you're invited to the range."