When Marin first set foot aboard a Navy ship, her eyes still carried the strength of a survivor—there was something more there, something that neither time nor military rigor had managed to erase. She was still the same girl who had learned to walk among waves and rocks, who had known loss far too early and decided to face the world with her chest held high.
Now, years later, she was a Lieutenant.The path to that rank had been neither quick nor easy. She had earned it through sweat and blood—in grueling training, missions under crossfire, and silent battles in the salted dawns of the sea. She had escorted medical convoys under threat, intercepted hostile vessels along coastal routes, and coordinated evacuations in danger zones. She had shown cold blood, tactical reasoning, and a steadiness of command that few could maintain in stormy seas.
Because of that, she had gained the respect of her superiors and the responsibility of leading small operational units. Yet full recognition… still seemed like a battlefield of its own.
She was in her early twenties. Young, intelligent, beautiful. And those three qualities together, at times, were treated as unforgivable in the eyes of many.
The sky was covered in heavy clouds, and the constant sound of waves crashing against the hull set a monotonous backdrop. A thick fog hovered over the ship, as if even the sea could sense the growing tension.
Marin kept her eyes fixed on the electronic strategy board, observing the icons of the ongoing simulation. The command bridge buzzed with orders, hurried footsteps, and flickering monitors.
During the boarding training exercise, she was leading a group of corporals and sergeants. The operation required a swift and coordinated takeover of a vessel—a standard drill, though one demanding precision.
There had been failures. Many.
A miscalculated route, lost response time, and the team splitting during a maneuver that demanded unity.
Marin didn't shout. Still, her voice—firm and projected—cut through the sounds of waves and engines.
"Cabo Helmer, your unit should be in sector Echo. Why are you moving north?"
The man hesitated for a moment.
"We thought there might be an advantage in flanking the enemy…"
"You thought?" she interrupted sharply, stepping forward. "This isn't a game of chance, Corporal. Strategy is built on discipline and situational reading. Every step out of line compromises the exercise—which means compromising lives."
The soldier lowered his gaze at the reprimand. His frustration was clear in the way he stared at his own boots.
Marin turned on her heels and strode to the other side of the deck.
"Sergeant Ramires, why is your group carrying inadequate weaponry for a night exercise? The directives were clear."
The bulky soldier, face set in irritation, gave her a brief glance before shrugging.
"There was a distribution error. It wasn't directly my unit's responsibility."
The Lieutenant narrowed her eyes.
"As team leader, it is your responsibility. You should have checked the equipment before leaving base."
He didn't bother to hide his displeasure.
She noticed—and pressed on:
"That was an unacceptable failure. In a real combat scenario, half of you would be dead by now. Is that what you want? To be dead weight to your own comrades?"
Her gaze swept over each face. Some avoided her eyes, others tried to maintain posture.
No one answered.
"Training demands more than strength. It demands intelligence. Focus. If you can't deliver that, step down now."
Only the sea answered.
"From now on, I want a double check of all protocols before any movement. Anyone unprepared to follow orders can leave my deck. And rest assured, today's failures are going into the report. I expect not to see them again. Understood?"
"Yes, ma'am!" they replied in unison, without enthusiasm.
The simulation continued with fewer mistakes, but the damage was already done. Marin withdrew, descending the metallic steps toward the lower deck. Her posture was steady, yet inside, the weight of exhaustion pressed down.
Hours later, in the mess hall, her words echoed differently.
A group of soldiers had gathered around one of the central tables. The air was thick with bitter laughter and restrained irritation. Ramires scooped himself another serving of beans before spitting out:
"The bitch in command thinks she runs everything…"
Laughter erupted easily.
"Must be sleeping with someone higher up. My bet's on Sullever himself," one of the sergeant's friends said.
"Looking that pretty? She didn't climb by merit, she climbed on her knees," another added.
"Hahahaha!"
The jeers spread to nearby tables.Yet a young man sitting toward the back seemed unsettled. He gripped his spoon tightly, forcing himself to focus on his food.
"Relax, she'll be replaced soon. She's nothing special. Pretty average to me," Helmer said with disdain.
"If she crosses me again, I swear I'll make that bitch regret ever being born," Ramires declared, slamming his fist onto the table.
TUM, TUM, TUM…
The sound of the blow sliced through the room.It was that display of aggression that finally broke the patience of the quiet young man nearby. He stood abruptly, nearly knocking his tray to the floor.
Something inexplicable burned inside him.
"Hey! Show some respect for the Lieutenant. Don't you know you can get yourself in deep trouble for what you're saying? Didn't you swear an oath?"
The mess hall froze for a second.
No one had expected such an outburst from a rookie who rarely spoke.
Surprised like the others, the sergeant fixed his eyes on him in silence.
"Hahaha! What the fuck is this? You seeing this, Ramires?" Helmer mocked. "The chick wants to play hero?"
Ramires rose slowly.
PACK, PACK, PACK…
His steps echoed across the hall.
"Grayson, right?"
The young man didn't answer. His clenched fists trembled.
TUM, TUM, TUM…
"Not answering, rookie?" Ramires goaded, pressing a finger against his forehead.
Joshua brushed the finger away firmly.
"Grayson, yes. Corporal Joshua Grayson."
"Corporal?" Ramires frowned, irritated. "And you still talk like that to a Sergeant? Are you insane, you little fuck?"
"I didn't know Sergeant Ramires was a hypocrite. You demand respect for your rank but act like a pig toward a Lieutenant, who outranks you?"
TUM, TUM, TUM…
"Whooo!" whistles and jeers burst out.
Grayson had hesitated before, whenever he'd overheard others mocking the Lieutenant. She had admirers, but her strict, demanding stance also bred resistance.
Even though he had tried to stay out of it, something inside him stirred. Marin reminded him of his late sister in ways he couldn't quite explain. Maybe it was her tone of voice, maybe the discreet smile she gave the sea. Small details that, for some reason, brought her memory rushing back. He couldn't fully understand why—but the feeling lingered.
Maybe it was coincidence, maybe just a sense of duty toward a remarkable superior. Maybe… even he didn't know.
But now he was in the middle of an argument he had no intention of losing.
"You don't know the Lieutenant. She's here because she works harder than all of us and, above all, because she's our comrade and deserves respect."
"Hahahah! What are you now, her lapdog?" one mocked.
"Defending the Captain's mistress?" another sneered.
The pressure mounted, but Joshua stood tall.
"You know what? Forget it. I won't waste my time with a bunch of incompetents who think they're something just because they've got balls between their legs… In the end, you don't even do half of what she does. Pathetic!"
BACKY!
Ramires snapped.
He shoved Grayson hard against the wall.
"You're crossing the line, rookie!"
ZIMCK!
Chairs screeched as two soldiers rose to back their leader.
"Upset because you heard the truth?" Joshua shot back.
TUM, TUM, TUM…
"You want a beating, bastard?!"
Ramires was about to lunge, but before he could raise his fist, two officers entered the mess hall. Their mere presence was enough to scatter the group like rats under a torchlight.
Growling, Ramires stepped back.
"You better watch your back… Grayson…"
His stare was menacing. He was a violent man who hated being challenged.
TUM, TUM, TUM…
Joshua straightened his uniform.
TUM, TUM, TUM…
His heart thundered in his chest. Yet he felt no regret.
To be continued…