Chapter 11 - JUSTICE ON THE QUARTERDECK
Three months later.
The grand auditorium at the Washington Navy Yard was filled to capacity with hundreds of officers in immaculate Service Dress Whites, government officials, and rows of journalists from every major news network in the country.
At the defense table sat Captain Garrett Sterling and former Chief Walker Reed. Both were stripped of their medals, their Tridents, and their rank insignia, wearing plain khaki prison jumpsuits and heavy leg irons.
The military judge, a three-star Marine Corps Lieutenant General, slammed his gavel onto the bench with a crack that silenced the entire hall.
"In the matter of the United States versus Garrett Sterling and Walker Reed," the judge announced, "this tribunal finds both defendants GUILTY on all counts, including Treason, Deprivation of Life, Grand Larceny of Government Munitions, and Conspiracy to Defraud the United States."
The judge looked down at Reed, whose shoulder was permanently braced from the combat injuries that had ended his career forever.
"Walker Reed, you disgraced the brotherhood of Naval Special Warfare. You used the sacred trust of this nation to line your own pockets and brutally assaulted those sworn to uphold the law. You are hereby sentenced to life imprisonment without the possibility of parole at the United States Disciplinary Barracks at Fort Leavenworth."
Reed hung his head, his arrogance completely shattered, as military police officers unlocked the table and hauled him to his feet to begin his lifetime behind bars.
"All rise for the reviewing officer," the bailiff announced.
The heavy oak doors at the back of the auditorium swung open.
I walked down the center aisle, my head held high, my posture straight and flawless.
I was no longer wearing the nondescript grey civilian blouse of an office clerk. I wore the pristine white uniform of a full Commander in the United States Navy, with the gold oak leaves shining on my collar and the ribbon bar of the Distinguished Superior Service Medal pinned above my heart.
Beside me walked the seventy-eight young recruits from the Coronado mess hall—standing tall, proud, and completely inspired—serving as the official honor guard for the proceedings.
As I reached the front of the hall, Admiral Bennett stepped forward at the podium, a broad smile warming his eyes.
"Commander Evelyn Vance," Bennett declared into the microphone. "For exceptional meritorious service, unwavering courage under direct physical assault, and absolute dedication to the integrity of the Armed Forces of the United States, you are hereby appointed as the Chief Inspector General for Naval Special Warfare Command."
The entire room—admirals, generals, recruits, and civilian leaders—erupted into a thunderous standing ovation that shook the rafters of the historic building.
I turned and looked back down the aisle.
I remembered the cold floor of that mess hall, the clatter of my food tray, the sting of blood on my lip, and the red boundary line painted on the tile.
Reed had thought the line was there to keep me out.
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He had never realized that the line was there to protect him from the justice that was waiting on the other side.
I raised my right hand to the brim of my cover and rendered a crisp, perfect salute to the future of the fleet—a fleet that was now cleaner, stronger, and truly free.
