The morning at the Naval Special Warfare K-9 Training Facility didn’t arrive quietly. It exploded.
Fifty military working dogs erupted at once—a wall of barking so sharp it rattled steel doors and shook concrete. Yet this wasn’t chaos. It was precision. Every growl, every snarl, a single, unified warning.
At the front gate, a woman in faded gray jacket and worn sneakers stood her ground. One hand rested on a cleaning cart, the other gripped a broom. She didn’t flinch, didn’t step back, didn’t hesitate.
Chief Petty Officer Derek Vance stepped forward, snatched the broom, and slammed it onto the concrete. “Pick it up,” he barked.
Her name was Ivory Lawson. Five-foot-three, slight build, no rank, no explanation for why she was here—except for the kennels nobody else dared to touch.
“Alpha Block. Fifty dogs. Start now,” Derek ordered.
The handlers snickered. Alpha Block was no joke—dogs trained for combat, aggression sharpened by years of service. Even veterans handled them carefully.
Ivory walked straight past snarling German Shepherds, Belgian Malinois, and every dog that lunged at the fence. Then she stopped at Rex. The Malinois hit the steel mesh with raw force—and froze. Ears flattened. Tail wagged once. Ivory nodded ever so slightly and moved on.
Continue reading on next page…