The funeral party began to break up. Some passed close to the casket, others didn’t. Those in uniform who did came to attention and saluted. Finally, Jackie stepped to the head of the casket for one last moment with her husband. She touched the wood. Julia Nolan had handed her a single rose, which she laid atop the sea of gold Trident pins. Another quiet moment, then she allowed Admiral O’Connor to escort her back to the staff car. It was over — the service, but not the grieving.
As the crowd began to thin, Chief Dave Nolan asked his wife to wheel him closer to the casket so he could be alone with his officer. She knew her husband well enough to understand that he needed time alone with the man he so greatly admired. She took their two oldest children, the two old enough to attend the service, off to another section of the hillside.
After several moments of silence, he began in a quiet voice. “Boss, you know I wanted to take that grenade instead of you.nst width=" How did you get there so quickly? You always did run my ass because I was so damn slow, and now it played out in the worst possible way. But then again, you always were a step ahead of all of us; that’s what made you the best officer, the best man, I’ve ever known. As long as I live, I’ll never be able to get over feeling that I let you down. All I can do now is to try and make up for it. I’ll do what I can for Jackie and James. I’ll take care of our men — our brothers by different mothers. You have my word on it. And I’ll think of you every day of my life.”
He wiped away a tear with his one good hand. Dave Nolan, the doctors at Balboa Naval Hospital all agreed, was something of a living medical miracle. In addition to a load of shrapnel from the grenade, he had taken twenty-seven bullets. Luckily, none to the head, and those to his torso, the ones that would have been kill shots, had been absorbed by his body armor. But he had still taken a lot of bullets.
“Safe journey my friend.” Nolan paused, then continued in a softer voice. “Before you died, you gave me this reading by Tecumseh for your kid — just in case. At the time I told you that I’d make it into a paper airplane, that you’d be there to say these words yourself.” Nolan then chuckled to himself as he recalled their talking about it, even though it hurt to do so. “That’s not all I said I’d do with it, but that was then. Now I’ll complete the mission and do as you asked. I’ll give it to Jackie, but I’m going to keep a copy. In a few years, James and I will sit down and read it together. We’ll have a talk about old Tecumseh, and we’ll have a talk about you as well.”
The last of the mourners drifted away. Most sensed that Dave Nolan and Roark Engel needed to be alone and gave them a wide berth. Yet one man walked quietly up to the casket and the man in the wheelchair.
“Admiral,” Nolan said, as Admiral Burt Jackson approached. Jackson had been their operational commander and had sent the Bandito Platoon into action. There is a special sense of loss known only to those who must give the orders that send other men off to die. Unfortunately, Jackson was no stranger to this sense of loss and grief.
“Chief. We lost a true hero, and I know you lost a friend. Thank you for all you did for him, and all you’ve done for the Teams. I understand you want to return to duty as soon as you’re fit. We’ll be blessed to have you back.”
“Thank you, Admiral.”
They were silent for several minutes until Jackson again spoke. “Tell me something, Chief. He had an honored place waiting for him in Arlington. Why here?”
“He wanted to be near Jackie and the Teams.”
Jackson nodded, and the two waited in silence for a few moments longer. Then the admiral moved down the hill, leaving Nolan alone with his SEAL brother.
Ten months after Roark’s death, Jackie was having a light breakfast while Jimmy was scattering his Cheerios about his high chair and onto the kitchen o te="floor. It had soon become clear to everyone that James was much too confining for this boy; he was now called Jimmy. She was thinking about making a change, perhaps a move to a bigger city where there was a demand for her professional skills. Maybe to New York or L.A. She wondered what it might be like to be just another single mother. But at the end of the day, she knew she would do none of those things. For now, she knew she would stay here, to be near Roark and those who had been a part of their lives back when he was alive. The SEALs, the SEAL wives, and the command had all been so good to her. Yet she often wondered what it would be like to be away from it all and to not be a SEAL widow — one of the SEAL widows.
She stood up, hesitated, then walked into their small living room. There she reached up to their fireplace mantel and unfolded the last letter Roark had written, the one to his unborn son. It was the letter Dave Nolan had folded into the shape of a paper airplane almost a year ago. She unfolded it gingerly, carefully, just as she had so many times before. And each time she unfolded it, she read it to Jimmy. Each time she did, she somehow sensed that he understood the words. At least she wanted to think he did. She cleared her throat, looked into his blue eyes, and read what Tecumseh had said over two centuries ago and what Jimmy’s father had written to him — to the both of them.
Live your life that the fear of death never enters your heart. Trouble no one about his religion. Respect others in their views and demand they respect yours. Love your life, perfect your life, and beautify all things in your life. Seek to make your life long and of service to your people. When your time comes to die, be not like those whose hearts are filled with fear of death, so that when their time comes they weep and pray for a little more time to live their lives over again in a different way. Sing your death song, and die like a hero going home.
Jackie paused a moment and looked at Jimmy. He smiled, spit up a few Cheerios, and smiled again. And she knew that Roark’s words were reaching his son.
Jackie Engel carefully folded the letter and returned it to the mantel. There she placed it atop a folded American flag. The flag was flanked by a shadow box displaying Roark’s military medals and decorations. There on the other side of the flag was a similar display of his grandfather’s military achievements. Somehow she knew that the warrior legacy would not skip a generation this time.
ABOUT THE AUTHORS
DICK COUCH served as a surface warfare officer aboard a Navy destroyer and as a platoon officer with Underwater Demolition Team 22 and SEAL Team One. While with Team One, he led one of the only successful POW rescue operations of the Vietnam War. He has served as a maritime case officer with the CIA, has been an adjunct professor of ethics at the U.S. Naval Academy, and has been an ethics advisor with U.S. Special Operations Command. Dick began his professional writing career in 1990. His novels include SEAL Team One, Pressure Point, Silent Descent, Rising Wind, The Mercenary Option, and Covert Action. His nonfiction works include The Warrior Elite, The Finishing School, Down Range, Chosen Soldier, The Sheriff of Ramadi, and A Tactical Ethic. Scheduled for release in June 2012 is his latest work of nonfiction: Sua Sponte: The Forging of a Modern American Ranger. Dick and his wife, Julia, live in Central Idaho.
CAPTAIN GEORGE GALDORISI, U.S. NAVY (RETIRED)