The old man trotted immediately toward Condley, balancing a tray full of duck eggs on a strap that went over one shoulder. Condley waved him on, turning back toward the bar.

“This way!”

The four young SEALs had not moved from their seats. Their bottles of San Miguel sat empty before them as they awaited Condley’s free round. They peered curiously at the balut vendor, who smilingly urged each of them to take one of the eggs.

“What the fuck, over?” No Neck fingered his egg, mimicking an old military phrase for confusion in combat.

“You never had a balut?” Condley cracked the top of his eggshell, holding the rest of the egg like a shot glass, just below his chin. “Gentlemen”—he raised the egg, as if offering a toast—“to your success in combat.”

They followed Condley’s lead, cracking the top of the egg. Then all four froze, peering inside the shell. Plato looked back up at Condley, his eyes gone hollow. He swallowed hard and licked around the edges of his lips.

“There’s a baby duck in there.”

“Well, not quite. Another three or four days it would have been. Cheers, guys.” Condley downed the balut. The placenta squirted inside his mouth as he chewed the full-grown embryo. Finally he swallowed and raised the eggshell in another mock toast.

“Good protein. Kind of like oysters, huh? Go ahead. This is a Navy tradition! I made a toast to your future. So, down the hatch. What’s the matter, you need some salt?”

The four young men looked at one another again, sharing a secret dread. Statue went first, tipping his balut into his mouth and then delicately mulling it around with his tongue, as if he had just inserted a hot rock. Black Goliath followed suit, followed by No Neck.

Plato stared at the other three, then ran toward the head. Condley heard him retching as he reached the toilet. Black Goliath walked quickly to the front door. In the shaft of bright light that followed the opening of the door, Condley saw Black Goliath spit his balut into the street and then stand at the curb, spitting and spitting. Statue attempted to swallow, and then puked onto the floor.

No Neck, the little bastard, was smiling comfortably as he finished chewing the balut. He swallowed with satisfaction.

“Not bad,” said No Neck.

“The perfect warm-up for a pro-life rally,” answered Condley, warming to No Neck.

“I think it would go on a pizza,” said No Neck.

“Shut up, man,” said Statue. He was on his knees now. Maria had begun screaming and clucking her tongue as she trotted toward him with a bucket and a mop. “Just shut the hell up.”

“Pepperoni, unborn baby duck, and provolone,” said No Neck, who now waved toward the balut vendor. “I’ll take another one.”