The man’s wife had left him, claiming she refused to come in second to a floating hunk of wood, and his children rarely visited, knowing they would be put to work on the boat. Six months ago the admiral had decided to live aboard.

Then, last night, at 9:18, the admiral’s pride and joy had been accidentally blown up by men under Joe’s command. They were lucky the admiral hadn’t been on board at the time.

“Want to tell me what happened?” the captain asked.

Joe shrugged. “The team was celebrating being back,” he said. The Navy SEAL team in question had just returned from six months of hazardous duty out of the country. “They’d all made it out alive. Even Grayson.”

“How’s he doing?” the captain asked.

“Lieutenant Grayson is still in the hospital, sir. He’s recovering from his injuries.”

Grayson had been shot on their last op. His men had brought him back and kept him alive until he’d been evacuated to the hospital ship, then brought back home.

Joe remained perfectly still as he continued. “I spoke with the men on the team yesterday afternoon. They’d had six missions back to back, with minimal downtime in between. I suggested they burn off some steam.”

Phillips nodded. “They decided on boat races.”

“Yes, sir.” Made sense. To a SEAL, the water was a second home. “They used small boats and kept within the marina speed limit.” Sort of. “Unfortunately their racing course took them over a BUDS training exercise.”

The future SEALs had been in their second round of training, learning to dive and work with explosives underwater.

“Last night the explosives were live. Apparently the movement of the boats racing overhead confused a few of the trainees. They’re not allowed to surface to get their bearings. Instead of putting their explosives on the target, they placed them on the admiral’s boat.”