It was almost an hour later that they sat on the edge of the bed, dressing before Linda came home from school.

"The skipper said you and I needed to talk about my being in the SEALs. We did a little before I left, but not much. I need to know exactly how you feel."

Maria kissed him softly on the lips, then leaned back and shrugged into her blouse.

"You are my man. You're the other half of me, and sometimes I think more than that. My life wouldn't be complete without you. I thought that way after the first few dates we had, and I still do. It is a joy being your wife and bearing our child. So, you're in a dangerous profession. What if you were a race car driver? A much higher percentage of those men get killed than do SEALs. You're in the navy. I knew that when I married you. I'm a navy wife and that involves a lot more than being able to go to the commissary to buy our food and supplies. It covers a lot of go-it-alone behavior, a lot of sucking it up and getting the jobs done. A lot of single parenting when you are out of the country. I know all that and revel in it because I know that I'm tough enough to do it.

"So I'll do a lot of things for you. I'll cover for you here with Linda, I'll do the PTA thing, and I'll be the good navy wife. I'll nurse you back to health after you get out of Balboa Naval Hospital. But I absolutely, and with no chance of changing my mind, will never go to your funeral. There I draw the line."

Miguel finished dressing and stared at Maria.

"You're telling me things you never have said in our eight years of marriage. Now you think I need to know all this so I can decide if I should stay in the SEALs?"

"Yes."

He sat down on the bed and hugged her until she gurgled. It was their little signal that the arms were too tight. He let her go and she pulled on her pants and shoes and they went to the living room.

"Right after Linda asked you what your job was, when you were playing with the dominoes before you left for your last mission, you seemed to tighten up. What didn't you tell her your job is in the Navy SEALs?"

"I told myself that, quite plainly, my job is killing people."

Maria looked up. "Well, sure, sometimes. You're not a cold-blooded hit man. You go after the terrorists and the bad guys...Somebody has to do it."

They sat on the couch and he held her hands. "Have I ever told you about a phrase we use when we're in a hot combat situation, called 'making sure'?"

"No, you've never said anything about that."

"Say we're on a quiet mission to penetrate ten miles inland in hostile territory. We must remain quiet and unseen. Whoa, two guards spot us and we get in a small firefight and knock them out. We think. But a man can get shot a number of times and stay alive. So Murdock or the J.G. will say, 'Okay, Fernandez, get up there to their position and make sure.'"

Maria frowned. "You mean, somebody has to go up to the enemy and make sure that they are dead?" Her eyes widened and her mouth came open in surprise.

"That's exactly what it means."

"What if one of the two, say, isn't dead?" she asked.

"Then whoever goes up uses a silenced round or a knife and makes sure that they are all dead. That person executes the wounded man or men."

They were both quiet for a time.

"But if the wounded man had crawled back and notified his officers, the whole regiment could attack you and kill all of the SEALs in the mission," Maria said. Her eyes went wide again and slowly she nodded. "So the wounded ones had to die so they wouldn't give an alarm. It had to be done. You had to make sure."

She stopped. "Oh, G.o.d! That's been your job sometimes during the past six years?"

He nodded slowly.

She grabbed him in a hug so tight that he gurgled, and she relaxed a little but held him.

"I never knew. I knew that you had killed some enemies with your rifle, but that making sure..." She stopped and shivered. Maria leaned back. "Miguel, how many times..." She faded out.

"I don't know. I don't even like to remember, let alone count the times and the wounded. I've never dwelt on it before. It kind of slithered off my back and I forgot it."

"Now, because your little girl asked you what you do for a living, it's all crashing down on you and threatening to bury you."

Neither one spoke for a few moments; they simply sat there holding each other.

"Six years I've been a SEAL. Most men don't last that long. Yeah, some leave because their knees give out or some other injury that makes then unfit for SEAL duty. I've known several guys who got their first gunshot wound and next thing we knew they had transferred back to the black shoe navy. One or two just freaked out after a mission and went back to regular duty. Only four of us are left who were in the platoon when Murdock took over. You know them from our barbecues: Lampedusa, Jaybird, Ching, and me. What a turnover."

She pushed back, kissed his nose, and then stared at him with unblinking brown eyes. "So, sailor, where are we? You haven't even mentioned the great things that the SEALs do. Haven't you rescued some emba.s.sy people, and that senator who got stuck in China, and a ship you freed down in South America. You SEALs do a lot of good things that the public never hears about. Then the Koreans who invaded us and you tracked down a whole batch of them."

"That was a witness for the defense, I'd guess," Miguel said. "I don't know where I am. Maybe I should talk to our priest. I know, I know, I don't get to church often enough. Still, Murdock said I should have a chat with him. He is in a navy town, that might help. Father MacDouglas. I've got a three-day liberty. I'll call him tomorrow and set up something."

Maria shook her head. "Not a chance, sailor." She handed him a phone. "Call him right now and see him this afternoon."

Father D. MacDouglas was in his office working on his homily for Sunday when the call came. The tension and the tenor of the voice alerted him, and he agreed to see the young sailor in a half hour. They met in his office, where the priest had set out cheese and crackers and two gla.s.ses full of diet, caffeine-free c.o.ke.

"So, you're one of our SEALs, Miguel. I hear a lot of good things about your work. I know most of it you can't talk about, but I hear things. Some excellent undercover jobs you boys do."

"That's what I need to talk to you about, Father."

"Your work. I know a Marine who used to tell me every week at confession that his job was killing people. If he ever had to go to war, he would be killing every enemy that he could see. He asked me if this would be a sin. I told him to ask me that on his first confession after he came back from his war."

"That's the trouble, Father. I've been at war, shooting-and-killing warfare for the past six years."

The priest nodded. "Yes, my son. When I told you that about the Marine, I realized that your missions were not search and rescue, or diplomatic. I've seen your demonstrations in the bay; I know you men are experts at killing the enemy. So I would a.s.sume that you have done that in the past. Is that what is bothering you, taking the life of another human being?"

"Yes, Father. I've been a SEAL for six years. I can't remember how many missions I've been on. Every one has been violent and deadly, and each time we prevailed."

"So you have killed?"

"Yes."

"Several men? A dozen?"

"Many more than that, Father. That's what we do to gain our objective. It's a small war. Our sixteen-man platoon against usually a much larger force, and we must win." Miguel stopped. "Father, whatever I say to you is privileged, right? You can't tell anyone?"

"That is the basis of the confessional."

"We just came back from a mission to recover a nuclear weapon from a terrorist. In the process, in the middle of a Mexican jungle, we killed twenty-nine men. We sacrificed those men so terrorists couldn't explode the bomb on San Diego or Los Angeles, where it would have killed a million human beings. We had a n.o.ble purpose, but we also snuffed out the lives of twenty-nine human beings. Were we justified?"

Father MacDouglas shivered. "They actually had a nuclear weapon that close to us? San Diego could have been vaporized off the map." The priest closed his eyes and said a silent prayer. Then he opened his eyes, dried wetness from their corners with a tissue, and nodded.

"You certainly were justified. No priest on earth would condemn you for what you did. Still there are the feelings of the individual men who were involved, including you. Do you think you did the right thing by killing those men and recovering the nuclear bomb?"

"Absolutely. Somebody had to do it. But if I hadn't been there, the job would have been done. I wasn't vital. I was just one of the incidental killers."

The priest peaked his fingers and stared at Fernandez. "So your moral dilemma is did you do the right thing for the sake of the ma.s.ses of people you saved. You've answered that yourself. Now you have to deal with the aftermath, with the continuance. That's why you are here, isn't it? You need to decide if you want to remain in the SEALs, where you go to a killing war every couple of months, or if you want to go back to the black shoe navy, where war comes every ten to fifteen years."

Murdock nodded. "Father, how did you get so smart?"

"A G.o.d-given talent, Miguel. Then, it doesn't hurt that I was a navy chaplain on active duty for ten years. I was in the Gulf War."

"Yes, the eight-day war."

"No, that was Israel earlier. We worked at it for six weeks before we subdued Iraq." The priest stopped talking and watched Miguel. "My son, have you reached a decision about what you want to do with your life?"

Fernandez sipped at the c.o.ke, then put down the gla.s.s and stood. "Father, that I have. I thank you for your counsel."

"I'm glad. It would be good to see you in church from time to time. And remember, confession is good for the soul."

Fernandez laughed, his tension gone. "I guess I deserved that zinger, Father. I'll really try to get to ma.s.s more often."

Fernandez hurried out of the church and into his car. He drove carefully back to his condo and ran up the steps. Maria saw him coming. She held Linda in her arms as he came in the door. Fernandez grabbed both of them in a bear hug.

"You can keep my black shoes in the closet, Maria. There's a lot more work I need to do with Third Platoon, Seal Team Seven."

SEAL TALK.

MILITARY GLOSSARY.

Aalvin: Small U.S. two-man submarine.

Admin: Short for administration.

Aegis: Advanced Naval air defense radar system.

AH-1W Super Cobra: Has M179 undernose turret with 20mm Gatling gun.

AK-47: 7.64-round Russian Kalashnikov automatic rifle. Most widely used a.s.sault rifle in the world.

AK-74: New, improved version of the Kalashnikov. Fires the 5.45mm round. Has 30-round magazine. Rate of fire: 600 rounds per minute. Many slight variations made for many different nations.

AN/PRC-117D: Radio, also called SATCOM. Works with Milstar satellite in 22,300-mile equatorial orbit for instant worldwide radio, voice, or video communications. Size: 15 inches high, 3 inches wide, 3 inches deep. Weighs 15 pounds. Microphone and voice output. Has encrypter, capable of burst transmissions of less than a second.

AN/PUS-7: Night-vision goggles. Weighs 1.5 pounds.

ANVIS-6: Night-vision goggles on air crewmen's helmets.

APC: Armored Personnel Carrier.

ASROC: Nuclear-tipped antisubmarine rocket torpedoes launched by Navy ships.

a.s.sault Vest: Combat vest with full loadouts of ammo, gear.

ASW: Anti-Submarine Warfare.

Attack Board: Molded plastic with two handgrips with bubble compa.s.s on it. Also depth gauge and Cyalume chemical lights with twist k.n.o.b to regulate amount of light. Used for underwater guidance on long swim.

Aurora: Air Force recon plane. Can circle at 90,000 feet. Can't be seen or heard from ground. Used for thermal imaging.

AWACS: Airborne Warning And Control System. Radar units in high-flying aircraft to scan for planes at any alt.i.tude out 200 miles. Controls air-to-air engagements with enemy forces. Planes have a ma.s.s of communication and electronic equipment.

Balaclavas: Headgear worn by some SEALs.

Bent Spear: Less serious nuclear violation of safety.

BKA, Bundeskriminant: Germany's federal investigation unit.

Black Talon: Lethal hollow-point ammunition made by Winchester. Outlawed some places.

Blivet: A collapsible fuel container. SEALs sometimes use it.

BLU-43B: Antipersonnel mine used by SEALs.

BLU-96: A fuel-air explosive bomb. It disperses a fuel oil into the air, then explodes the cloud. Many times more powerful than conventional bombs because it doesn't carry its own chemical oxidizers.

BMP-1: Soviet armored fighting vehicle (AFV), low, boxy, crew of 3 and 8 combat troops. Has tracks and a 73mm cannon. Also an AT-3 Sagger ant.i.tank missile and coaxial machine gun.

Body Armor: Far too heavy for SEAL use in the water.

Bogey: Pilots' word for an unidentified aircraft.

Boghammar Boat: Long, narrow, low dagger boat; highspeed patrol craft. Swedish make. Iran had 40 of them in 1993.

Boomer: A nuclear-powered missile submarine.

Bought It: A man has been killed. Also "bought the farm."

Bow Cat: The bow catapult on a carrier to launch jets.

Broken Arrow: Any accident with nuclear weapons, or any incident of nuclear material lost, shot down, crashed, stolen, hijacked.

Browning 9mm High Power: A Belgian 9mm pistol, 13 rounds in magazine. First made 1935.

Buddy Line: 6 feet long, ties 2 SEALs together in the water for control and help if needed.

BUD/S: Coronado, California, nickname for SEAL training facility for six months' course.

Bull Pup: Still in testing; new soldier's rifle. SEALs have a dozen of them for regular use. Army gets them in 2005. Has a 5.56 kinetic round, 30-shot clip. Also 20mm high-explosive round and 5-shot magazine. Twenties can be fused for proximity airbursts with use of video camera, laser range finder, and laser targeting. Fuses by number of turns the round needs to reach laser spot. Max range: 1200 yards. Twenty round can also detonate on contact, and has delay fuse. Weapon weighs 14 pounds. SEALs love it. Can in effect "shoot around corners" with the airburst feature.

BUPERS: BUreau of PERSonnel.