The SEAL tossed a playful “So what’s your rank?” across the table — but her calm reply stunned the entire cafeteria and revealed a truth none of them saw coming
The relentless sun hammered down upon the dusty expanse of Forward Operating Base Rhino, shimmering in waves of heat as Lieutenant Commander Sarah Glenn navigated the compound. She had been deployed with Naval Intelligence in Afghanistan for three months now, a duration long enough to make the heavy weight of the sidearm at her hip feel like a natural extension of her body. Even here, within the fenced perimeter of the base, she maintained a state of constant alertness.
As she walked, the voice of her father echoed in her thoughts, clear and resonant. «Going to space was the easy part, Sarah,» he had told her once. «The real challenge is dealing with people.»
Being the daughter of Colonel John Glenn had never been an uncomplicated existence. As the offspring of the first American to orbit the Earth, the world expected nothing short of brilliance from her. Sarah had met those expectations head-on, graduating at the very top of her class at MIT. However, she had stunned the public and her family alike by bypassing a career at NASA in favor of Naval Intelligence. «Having one Glenn in space is quite enough,» she would tell the inquisitive press, flashing a rehearsed, polite smile.
She never voiced the truth: that she hungered for a frontier that was gritty and real, not empty and silent. Today, she blended in with the non-combat personnel, dressed in civilian attire consisting of durable khaki trousers and a modest blue button-down shirt. Her blonde hair was swept back into a utilitarian ponytail, keeping it off her neck in the stifling heat.
Clutched in her hand was an intelligence dossier classified far above the pay grade of nearly everyone on the base, including the elite SEAL team that had touched down the previous day. Her analysis indicated that Taliban insurgents were amassing in the northern mountain ranges, likely shielding a high-value target. The SEALs would require her data to survive, but military protocol dictated she brief their commanding officer before sharing anything with the squad.
Stepping into the cafeteria, she was greeted by the blessed, cool hum of air conditioning. The room was packed, but the SEALs were impossible to miss. They dominated the space with their bearded faces and the unmistakable, relaxed arrogance of men who knew exactly how dangerous they were.
Sarah grabbed a plastic tray, opting for a simple lunch of an apple and a bottle of water. She navigated toward a secluded table in the corner, intending to review her notes one last time before the high-stakes meeting.
«Looks like quite the welcome committee, doesn’t it, boys?» A deep, booming voice cut through the chatter. A tall lieutenant with broad shoulders strode into the room, clearly the last straggler of the SEAL unit. «Did any of you ladies save a seat for me?»
His teammates erupted in laughter, shifting to create space as he slammed down a tray piled high with enough calories to feed a small family. Sarah kept her gaze fixed on the papers before her, but her training took over, and she tuned her hearing to their frequency. Information gathering had become as automatic as breathing.
«The rumor mill says we’re pushing into the mountains,» the loud lieutenant said between large mouthfuls of food. «Apparently, some spook has intel on a gathering of tangos up north.»
That spook would be me, Sarah thought, hiding a smirk behind her hand. She had spent the last three weeks tirelessly coordinating with local Afghan assets and scouring satellite feeds to triangulate that location. Before that, she had personally led a kinetic night operation to pull a burned informant out of a hostile village.
That particular extraction had forced her to use her M4 carbine with lethal accuracy when their convoy was hit. The SEALs continued to banter, their conversation shifting to grievances about working with desk-bound intelligence officers who had never fired a shot in anger. Sarah felt their gazes flick toward her occasionally: the solitary woman in civilian clothes, sitting in the corner, looking like she belonged in a suburban office rather than a war zone.
«Hey, Harvard,» the lieutenant shouted suddenly, prompting Sarah to lift her head. He was looking right at her. «Are you with the State Department or something? You look a little lost over there.»
Sarah held his gaze with a steady, unblinking stare. «I am just finishing some work before a meeting.»
«What is your rank, if you don’t mind me asking?» His tone was thick with mockery, clearly assuming she was a civilian contractor or perhaps a junior officer fresh out of the academy.
Sarah paused, weighing her response. In less than an hour, she would be briefing this man’s commander on a mission where a single mistake could result in all their deaths. The intelligence she had collected, often at great personal risk, would dictate their tactical approach. These men needed to trust her implicitly, and the hierarchy established in this room would matter.
The lieutenant had no idea that his casual, condescending question was about to shift the entire atmosphere of the mess hall. Sarah snapped her folder shut and prepared to speak, knowing her answer would silence the room.
«I am Lieutenant Commander Sarah Glenn, Naval Intelligence,» she stated, her voice calm but projecting clearly over the din of the cafeteria. She slid her military credentials across the table toward him. «And I will be briefing your team in thirty minutes on Operation Shadowhawk.»
The lieutenant’s cocky grin faltered instantly. «Glenn? As in…?»
«Yes, Colonel Glenn’s daughter,» Sarah confirmed, having accepted long ago that this would always be the follow-up question. «But what is more relevant to you is that I am the intelligence officer who has spent the last three months mapping every Taliban movement in the Korengal Valley.»
