“You Lost, Little Girl?” — They Mocked, Not Seeing the SEAL Trident Under Her Jacket
She walked into the naval training facility wearing civilian clothes and a worn leather jacket. The instructor smirked and asked if she was lost. When she reached for her authorization papers, her jacket shifted just enough—just enough for someone in the back to see the gold Trident pinned inside. And then the room went silent.
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The California coastline was wrapped in morning fog when Luella Sullivan pulled her beaten Honda Civic through the gates of Naval Base Coronado. Salt hung thick in the air, mixing with the smell of jet fuel and ocean spray. The rhythmic crash of waves against the shore provided a constant backdrop to the mechanical hum of helicopters running pre-flight checks. A formation of young sailors jogged past in perfect cadence, their boots hitting pavement in synchronized thuds that echoed off the concrete buildings.
