Date: Fri, 18 Jun 2004 13:59:14 -0400
From: John Ellison <paradegi@rogers.com>
Subject: Aurora Tapestry - Chapter 10

AURORA TAPESTRY is the third book in a series. These books are available on
Nifty in the military section. Book I, "The Phantom of Aurora" is soon to
be published in paperback.

The series chronicles the lives and times of a group of men and teenage
boys living in an age and an environment where being gay was to be
despised, maligned and scorned. It is a work of fiction and any resemblance
to persons, living or dead, or places, is purely coincidental.

My writing reflects the customs, mores, traditions, prejudices and
attitudes of the times. The year is 1976 and it was a different world. Some
of the attitudes will no doubt offend those who are so determinedly
politically correct that they are unable to conceive that others might have
a different opinion or outlook. I do not apologize for those opinions or
outlook. If you do not care for those opinions or outlook, please find a
story that appeals to you, or fulfills your fantasy.

IN 1976 the AIDS pandemic was only just infecting North America. Condoms
were used primarily to prevent pregnancy and gay men never gave a thought
to having sex with a condom. Do not, I beg you, let what was common in 1976
influence your conduct today. Always practice safe sex.

As my writings detail scenarios of gay sex - tastefully, I hope - in
sometimes graphic detail, I must warn that in some states, provinces,
cities and towns reading, possessing, downloading, etc., is illegal, or if
you are not of legal age to read, possess, download, etc., works of
erotica, please move on.

To those who have written offering their prayers, thank you. Sadly, I fear
I shall need them for a little while longer.

Aurora Tapestry


Chapter 10


"Well, at least I won't have to explain to The Gunner about my summer
fling," The Phantom said to Cory as they walked back toward the Staff
Barracks. He giggled. "Which is more that can be said for you?"

"Me?"

"Cory, what are you going to tell Sean? We just made love and he's bound to
ask you where you've been and . . ."

"I shall tell him nothing," replied Cory coolly. "Sean knows about us and
he knows that when I wish to be with you, I will be. And he has a lot to
talk about! You're the one who put a tiger in his tank!"

"Now, Cory . . ."

"Well you did," insisted Cory, smiling. "Not that I'm complaining. If he
keeps going the way he has been, I just might fall in love with him."

"You haven't?" asked The Phantom, surprised. Sean adored Cory, and The
Phantom had thought that Cory felt the same way.

"I like him, I love him, but the jury is still out about my being in love
with him. Until then, I prefer to think of him as a discreet romance."

"He could be much more, Cory," replied The Phantom.

"I know," said Cory with a sigh. "I just don't want to be tied down right
now. Sean is nice, and he is a very good lover . . ." He grinned at The
Phantom. "Now."

"I still think you should give him a chance," returned The Phantom. "He
loves you, he adores you. He'd make a very good partner."

"And you should have given Arnott a chance," replied Cory. "He loves you,
he adores you, and while I don't know about the partner bit, he'd drag his
balls through molten lead if you asked him!"

The Phantom had to laugh. "Come on, Cory."

"It's true," insisted Cory. "I saw the way he looked at you. His is no
falling in lust until midnight thing. I tried to tell you, but you never
listen."

"I do listen, Cory," sighed The Phantom. "He told me how he felt and I
admit that I feel . . . I like him, and I'd be with him. But if I did that
it would only make matters worse. How could I ever explain to The Gunner
that I'd had an affair? How could I explain to him that I want to be with
Colin from time to time."

"He knows about Todd, and Ray, and Matt, and me," replied Cory. His face
softened. "Look. Phantom, life can throw a curve ball at you at any time
that hits you right in the nuts. When the time comes you can be as loyal to
The Gunner as you should be. Until then, live your life and make your own
decisions based on what is good for you, and not what is good for you and
The Gunner!"

The Phantom stared open-mouthed at his friend and sometime lover. "Cory,
you can't mean that!"

Cory's face was hard and cold. "I can, I do! It's time you looked at the
terrain and saw that it's not some field filled with roses! It's filled
with brambles and poison ivy and I know, because I've walked through it!"

It suddenly dawned on The Phantom what Cory was talking about. He looked
with sad eyes at Cory as he said, "You're still in love with Nathan!"

Smiling wanly, Cory nodded slowly. "Figured it out, did you?" He laughed
wistfully. "I still love him."

"And Sean?"

Laughing softly, Cory shook his head. "Sean is a wonderful, loving
person. He'll make me happy. One day I may fall in love with him. Until
then I will not betray him, and I won't hurt him." He sighed heavily. "I am
just not in love with him."

"That seems unfair to Sean," returned The Phantom tightly. "He is in love
with you, desperately so."

"I know that, Phantom," returned Cory hotly. "Don't get on your moral high
horse and start pontificating at me! I know what I'm doing! Nathan is a
cockhound! He'll take after any dick that shows its little head at him! If
I went with him, lived with him, loved him, he'd go from my bed to whatever
sleazoid gave him the eye!"

"Now Cory, he's not that bad," temporized The Phantom.

"As a person, no. He is smart; he's intelligent and funny, and handsome! I
know what he is, Phantom. I also know that he fucked Sandro, and that
Sandro fucked him! He took one look at Fred's dick and they went straight
for the back seat of Mark's car! Every night they sneak away and fuck their
brains out until two or three in the morning! I won't have that, Phantom."

"I don't know what to say," replied The Phantom truthfully.

"You don't have to say anything," said Cory. "I've studied the terrain and
Sean is . . . Sean is good for me. He understands me . . ." He chuckled
ruefully as he continued, "And he won't put up with my bullshit." Cory
reached out and grasped The Phantom's arm. "Sean is conformity,
conservatism; Sean is normalcy and constancy, he is everything Nathan is
not and damn it, Phantom, Sean is what I want. He'll be there for me, he'll
love me, and in the middle of the night I know I will feel his skinny,
scrawny, pimply-assed rump and . . ."

The Phantom put his hand out and pressed his finger's against Cory's
lips. "Arundel, you are so full of shit you stink!" he declared, smiling
broadly.

Cory, his eyes snapping, growled and stepped back. "And you, Lascelles, are
the biggest . . ."

The Phantom suddenly grabbed Cory and hugged him. Then he swung the blond
haired boy around and said, laughing, "Cory, you love Sean! You're in love
with Sean and God love you, you're field is filled with roses!"

******

Cory continued to deny hotly that he was in love Sean while he and The
Phantom showered. He refused to countenance the very idea that he might be
in love with Sean as they changed and ranted his denials all the way to the
Mess Hall where The Phantom, still laughing and still insisting that Cory
was in love with the redheaded Squadron Chief, broke off. He mounted the
steps leading to the Mess Hall while Cory, all but spitting tacks, stomped
off toward the Dockyard, and Sean.

In the Mess Hall, The Phantom did a walkabout. The place was neat, and
tidy, and ready for breakfast in the morning. As he rounded the corner
towards the galley he saw that the lights were still on and that the door
leading to Chef's office was open. The Phantom stuck his head in and saw
Chef sitting behind his desk, staring out the open window at the
guardhouse, or perhaps at the world across the causeway.

Chef heard The Phantom's footsteps and turned his head, smiling. "Ah,
Phantom darlin', and why are you not in your bed of the night?"

For the first time The Phantom noticed that there was no bottle, no glass
of "medicine" sitting on the desk in front of Chef. There was no lingering
odour of rum, or whiskey, or alcohol of any kind. "Are you all right,
Chef?" he asked as he settled himself on the sofa.

Chef smiled wanly. He knew, as The Phantom could not, that events were
about to occur that would alter the lad's life drastically. Chef had been
privy to the Command Chief Gunnery Instructor's plans, had agreed with
them, and encouraged the Chief to act as quickly as possible. The death of
The Gunner's aunt had advanced the Chief's timetable somewhat and Chef was
trying to decide just how to approach The Phantom with the news that his
friend, his lover, his Gunner, would not be returning to Comox. The matter
of Colin Arnott would be allowed to take its course. Arnott would take up
his guardianship soon enough, and Chef felt best if the young Lieutenant
followed his own instincts.

Clearing his throat. Chef began to drum his fingers absently on the
battered surface of his desk. "I am fine, Phantom, and you should be away
in your bed. You've had a nasty crack on the head and . . ."

"Chef," the Phantom drawled slowly, "something's bothering you." The
Phantom knew instinctively that Chef was avoiding talking about whatever it
was that was bothering him. It could not be Ray, for he was off with Kevin
at the pictures in the Drill Shed. Sandro was back again in Courtenay, and
undoubtedly deep in prayer in the synagogue. Randy and Joey were in their
barracks, or at least The Phantom thought they were. With those two one
never knew.

A strange look came over Chef's face as he slowly turned in his chair and
looked at The Phantom. He decided to admit that he was deeply
disturbed. "Phantom, I must tell a much-beloved son that what he thought
might happen, will not, that his life, as he wishes it to be, will not
be. It is not an easy task."

For several long moments The Phantom looked into Chef's eyes and then
suddenly realized that Chef was talking about him! He thought the worst,
and asked quietly, "It's The Gunner, isn't it?" He dreaded the answer, but
whatever it was, he was determined to hear it. "Please, Chef, tell me
what's happened. If he's dead, I want to know it."

The Phantom's calmness was deceptive. He was seething inside, his heart
pounding, and a sick feeling filled his stomach.  Chef was taken aback by
the young man's demeanour and stared at The Phantom. Then he answered
clearly. "He is not dead. He is in fact, quite well."

"Then what is it," demanded The Phantom, trying to keep the fear and
anxiety from his voice. "If my life is not as I might wish it to be, then
please, tell me!"

Nodding, Chef pretended to be studying the notes written on a piece of
paper on the desk, gathering his thoughts. When he spoke, his voice was
filled with love and compassion. "Sometimes, Phantom, fate determines that
a man must walk a different path. Tonight Steve will be told of certain
things, given certain things, and be asked to make sacrifices. One of those
sacrifices is you."

"Me?"

Chef moved ponderously from behind his desk and sat beside The Phantom. He
hesitated to take the young man in his arms, but decided to do it anyway.
He had, in his long career, had occasion to be the bearer of sad
tidings. One never knew, really, how a man would react when told of the
injury, or death of a loved one. Some had sat stoically, accepting although
not quite believing the news. Others had collapsed, mentally unbalanced,
curling into a foetal ball of despair. Some had wept uncontrollably and, on
one horrible occasion, raged and stormed, smashing whatever came to hand,
unable to accept that his only son was no more.

Sighing, Chef held The Phantom close. "Steve has been named Champion of the
Order," he began. "This means that he will be needed in places of crisis,
such as now. He will not have the luxury of a life, really. He will not,
until times grow better, know a home of his own."

All the words meant nothing to The Phantom. He was thinking more of past
conversations, conversations with The Gunner, with Ray, with Cory, with
Ryan and yes, with Chef. The Gunner had been called to duty, and would do
it. He would not question, he would not doubt. He would slay whatever
dragon was terrorizing the countryside, and then find another.

Turning his head, his emerald eyes clear and free of tears, The Phantom
looked at Chef. "It's the boys, isn't it?" he asked Chef, straightening his
back.

"Aye, lad, it is."

A rueful smile played at the corner of The Phantom's lips. "I suppose I
always knew that it would happen," he said softly. "When The Gunner and I
first started seeing each other he tried to warn me. He told me that he
could be called away at any time, drafted away to the Fleet without
warning. I never expected that it would be the Order."

"I know it hurts," consoled Chef. "But the hurt will pass and he'll be
back. He loves you so very much."

Smiling, The Phantom nodded his head. "I know, Chef. And I love him. The
thing is, though, that the love we have is strong enough to bear the
partings, but it will never be strong enough to make him forget his duty."
He snorted quietly. "Just a little while ago Cory told me that I should
start to think about what was good for me, and not for The Gunner and me."

"Cory is a flibbertigibbet, so he is, at times, but there is truth in what
he says." Chef leaned back and held The Phantom at arm's length. "I know
that you are disappointed, Phantom, but you will always be a part of Steve,
as he is a part of you. That will never change, lad, never."

"I know." The Phantom remained quiet for nearly a minute. Then a lone tear
coursed its way down his cheek. "When Ryan - you remember him - was
hurting, and didn't want to see Doc because he was afraid he'd send him
home, I interfered and The Gunner told me that I was never, ever, to ask
him to compromise his principles, or to be derelict in his duty towards the
cadets, or anyone else. Ryan understood that. At the time I pretended
to. Now I do understand." Impulsively, he leaned forward and kissed Chef on
the cheek. "It is The Gunner's fate to always be willing to do the harder
right than the easier wrong."

"No matter what the cost," Chef replied with finality. He held The Phantom
close and murmured. "It is that proud of you, I am. You will make a fine
knight, and a better man!"

Wordlessly, The Phantom pulled away. "Thank you, Chef, for being so kind to
me. I know it can't have been easy, telling me that . . ."

"What will you do, Phantom?" interjected Chef, The Phantom's calmness
worrisome.

A slow, low, sad laugh from The Phantom's throat as he said, "If Steve were
here, we'd all be treated to a Gunnerism, or at least some Kipling."

Smiling softly, Chef nodded. "So we would. But I know no Kipling."

"Nor so I," answered The Phantom. "And as to what I'm going to do, well,
'When I was a child, I spake as a child, I understood as a child, I thought
as a child; but when I became a man, I put away childish things'." He
smiled fondly at Chef. "I have put away childish things, and today I am a
man." He reached for the door. "I'd like to be alone for a while, if it's
all right with you."

"Of course, of course," Chef agreed quickly. "Will you go ashore, then?
Perhaps spend the night in your own house, in your own bed? Tomorrow is a
holiday, so it is, and you'll not be needed, so you won't, and Sandro will
be back."

The Phantom smiled at Chef, but shrugged. "I really don't know. I only know
that I would like to be alone for a bit."

Nodding his understanding, Chef slipped a folded slip of paper into The
Phantom's hand. He said nothing, nodded again and returned to his desk.

With that The Phantom left the office, crossed the galley and opened the
door to step into the cool night air.

******


Leaving the Mess Hall, The Phantom debated on just what he was going to do
next. He supposed that he should visit the other cadets, but really did
want to be alone. Besides, Randy, Joey, and Matt no doubt had plenty of
company. Since being released form Sick Bay all three boys had been basking
in the glory of being amongst the honoured wounded.

As he passed the Cooks' Barracks, The Phantom saw that all the lights were
out and assumed that the boys would either be asleep, or at the
movies. They were neither.

******

Joey and Randy were in their bunks, which had been pushed together to form
one bed. They were naked, and between them lay Chief Petty Officer Phillip
Thornton, their lover, their protector, their hero. Phil was also naked. He
was also in agony, and not from the painful burns he had sustained to his
hands.

When Randy and Joey had been discharged from Sick Bay, Chef had taken
command, and directed that the "wounded" survivors of the Great Yochim
Island Fire would lack nothing in care and comfort. Knowing how close the
two boys were, and that they sometimes slept together, he had ordered that
the top bunks over their beds be removed, and consigned to a corner. The
lower bunks were pushed together to form one large bed. The lads, Chef
opined, deserved to be comfortable.

Next Chef had directed that each boy shower - carefully, so as to cause no
further damage to their "fire-ravaged bodies" - under Ray's
supervision. Taking the path of least resistance, and bitching and moaning
every minute of the time, Randy and Joey had showered, less than pleased at
Ray's snickering.

They were, if anything, even less pleased when they returned to their Mess
and found that Chef had rummaged in their lockers. On their new bed were
fresh undies and, of all things, pyjamas, not one, but two pairs of pyjama
bottoms and tops, one pair blue paisley, the other a light tan. Both sets
of pyjamas had been mouldering away at the bottom of Joey's locker, where
he had thrown them the day he arrived. His mother had packed them, refusing
to believe that cadets did not wear such garments at Sea Cadet camp!

When he had seen the two youngsters settled, Chef then waddled off,
returning within the hour with a tray laden with goodies and it seemed that
every time they turned around Chef was hovering over them with yet another
tray or plate of dainties.

As there was really too much food, Randy and Joey shared with their
visitors. Matt had come by, on his way to his own bunk. Nathan and Fred had
dropped in, and Tyler and Val refused to leave them until they were certain
that neither Randy nor Joey suffered any side effects.

Eventually Chef threw everybody out. Everybody that is, except Phil. He had
come into the Mess and sat quietly at the bottom of the bed, his bandaged
hands resting in his lap. He never took his eyes from either Joey or
Randy. He ate nothing, and spoke not a word.

At first, Chef wanted Ray to stay with the boys. Ray made a face. He had a
date with Kevin to go to the pictures and didn't think that Joey and Randy
needed a babysitter! Joey and Randy agreed loudly, and bitched so much that
Chef gave up that particular idea. He was somewhat mollified when Phil
offered to stay.

As soon as the door slammed, announcing Chef's departure, Joey and Randy
grinned at each other and threw back their covers. Standing on the bed they
stripped off the pyjamas, and then pushed down their tighty-whiteys.

At the bottom of the bed, Phil's eyes grew wide. "Oh, shit!" he moaned as
the two Makee-Learns slowly made their way toward him.

******

Had The Phantom passed by the Cooks Barracks scant minutes before, he would
have heard a bellow quite like the sound made by a bull sea lion on
heat. The roar that had filled the barracks when Phil ejaculated for the
fourth time was awe-inspiring.

Poor Phil! Randy and Joey had started out by kissing him gently. He had
tried to apologize for not taking them ashore as he had promised he
would. They shushed the tall, muscular Chief and began to strip him of his
clothing. They knew what he had tried to do for them on Yochim Island, knew
that he had burned his hands trying to lift the smouldering remains of the
tree from their bodies, and in their eyes he was a hero, and tonight he
would receive a hero's reward.

Phil sat, stunned, and not a little dumbfounded, as Joey and Randy kissed
him and fondled him. His penis responded to their stimulation and he
groaned as Randy slowly, methodically, and very gently masturbated him
while at the same time Joey fondled, pulled and rolled his testicles. It
had not taken Phil long to explode for he'd done nothing since being with
the two cooks in the boathouse. Then, as he lay back on the bed, gasping
and enjoying the afterglow, he had felt their tongues cleaning him. He had
thought that he would be allowed to rest - he knew Randy and Joey and if
their night together in the boathouse had been any indication, once was
definitely not enough - and was not surprised when he felt two pairs of
warm, moist lips slowly teasing his soft penis into hardness.

Biting his lips, Phil had given himself over to the Makee-Learns. They
could do whatever they wanted and he would make no objections. The second
time had taken Phil a little longer, and once again he had thought that he
would be allowed to rest. Not so. Joey and Randy had clambered onto him and
began humping his stomach and crotch. They needed relief and thought this a
very pleasant way to achieve it. They kissed and fondled Phil until they
both shuddered, squealed, and squirted. When they were finished the two
boys rolled away, giggled, and then padded into the washplace, returning
with warm cloths. They gently cleaned a thankful Phil's body of their
ejaculate - and his, for he had exploded again - and then snuggled against
him.

Thank God! Phil thought as he breathed a sigh of relief. Three times was a
bit much, even for him. He had no idea that the boys had one more
experience for him.

Earlier in the day, off watch and with nothing to do, both boys had been
idling away the hours on the quarterdeck of the gate vessel, discussing
Phil Thornton and their relationship with him. They discussed at length
what they had done to Phil, and what they could do to make his time with
them even more pleasurable. Randy told Joey about the time he had peeked in
on his older brother, who had been lying on his bed, naked,
masturbating. Joey had not been at all impressed. He had older brothers and
they jerked off all the time. Ah, but Randy had asked, did they rub their
nipples while they did it?

Joey had asked Randy to explain.

As Randy told it, his brother beat his meat with his right hand while at
the same time massaging his nipples with his left, first one, and then the
other. From Randy's perspective it had been a turn on for his brother
because the more he rubbed, the more he groaned and squeaked and the more
he ran his tongue around and around his gaping mouth. It had all seemed a
very interesting thing to do and they had tried it on each other, to mixed
results. They then decided it was an age thing and agreed that the next
time they managed to be alone with Phil that they would try it on him.

Phil was very surprised when he felt two sets of warm lips, one set on each
of his nipples, and two warm hands rubbing his stomach. What surprised him
even more was his penis, which seemed to be directly connected to his
nipples, and which rose tall and proud. As the boys suckled, nibbled, and
rubbed Phil felt his organ getting thicker, and his testicles beginning to
tighten.  Glorious, wonderful feelings began radiating from his crotch, and
he raised his hips to welcome what was coming. Subconsciously Phil could
not believe what was happening, but it was, and he began growling and
snorting.

No one touched his penis, no one fondled his balls, no one rubbed his happy
trail or stroked his rosebud, but Phil Thornton began to buck and thrust
his dick into the air. He was about to have . . . no he was having a most
glorious orgasm.

As Randy and Joey watched out of the corner of their eyes, Phil's penis
thickened, twitched, and a huge geyser of semen flew into the air, falling
to spatter across their backs and his chest. Another, and another
monumental fountain flew outward. Phil's eyes were rolled back in his
head. He felt no pain, only great pleasure and he let out a bellow of
ecstasy that so startled the two Makee Learns that Joey rolled off of the
bunk and Randy nipped Phil's nipple.

"No more!" groaned Phil as his orgasm subsided. "Dear God, no more!"

******


In the Gunners Barracks, Matt had been fussed over to the point of
irascibility. Chef had come in, Brian had danced attendance, Val, as Cadet
Chief Gunnery Instructor and Matt's friend, had insisted on staying. Tyler
had been by, twice. Ray, excused nursing duty, and on his way to the
pictures with Kevin, stopped in. Todd, quiet, diffident and not at all sure
how he would be received, came by. Matt was gracious, but made it plain
that nothing was going to happen between them.

Matt was pleased when the last of his visitors drifted away. Except for the
bruise on his hip, he wasn't hurt, and felt no pain at all. He had suffered
much worse at the hands of father. He was just settling down to sleep when
he heard the door opening. He looked over and saw Nicholas standing there.

"Hi," Nicholas whispered as he approached Matt's bunk. "I . . . how are you
feeling?"

Throwing aside the coverlet that covered his body Matt flung his legs over
the side of his bunk. "I'm feeling fine," he replied with a smile. He
patted the mattress beside him. "Come, take a pew."

Somewhat nervously, Nicholas sat beside Matt. At first he said nothing, and
then blurted out, "I love André." His eyes took in Matt's muscular, firm
chest and darted lower to take in the mound in Matt's white briefs. He
swallowed, and then repeated, "I love André."

Chuckling, Matt slid his hand up the leg of Nicholas' shorts. Nicholas was
not wearing underwear. "Just two guys helping each other out," murmured
Matt, smiling. "No big deal."

Nicholas moaned as Matt's thumb traced the outline of his spongy
glans. "Where?"

"The armoury office," replied Matt as he reached for his shorts.

******


Avoiding the Gunroom, The Phantom walked down to the Dockyard, which was
very quiet, with only the duty watches on board the tethered YAGs that
lined both sides of the long wooden jetty. As he walked by YAG 330, the
Squadron Flagship, he greeted Jeremy Lafontaine, whom everybody called
Jeremy Cher, the Duty Quartermaster.

Jeremy, a short, dark-haired, slim, sloe-eyed French Canadian cadet, was
the Flag pet and mascot, beloved by all the cadets who sailed the YAG. He
was the sweetest, most affable young man anyone had ever met, always
smiled, and always had a kind word for everyone. What Ryan had been to the
Boys of Aurora, Jeremy Cher was to the cadets of YAG 330. They cosseted
him, spoiled him, loved him and protected him. He also possessed the
Squadron's answer to the Pride of the Fleet and, as Jeremy Cher was only 15
and still growing, gave promise of leaving the Pride in its wake. He had
four solid inches of thick penis hanging between his legs, and while
purists amongst the several crews maintained that because he had not been
circumcised Jeremy Cher was not a contender; others dismissed the little
extra bit of skin as superfluous to requirements, and of little consequence
while still other's hinted that a refit, such as Sandro was about to
undergo, would be in order.

Jeremy Cher took it all is stride, dismissed all thoughts of a refit, and
basked in the envious glow of his mates.

As The Phantom passed the gangway leading to the deck of the Squadron
Flagship he noticed that Jeremy Cher was industriously polishing what
looked like a new name board. At his feet lay another board, as highly
polished and varnished as the board Jeremy Cher was working on. Looking at
the five-inch aluminium letters affixed to the board The Phantom
chuckled. "Essex", he read. "When is the christening?" he asked, pointing
at the board.

Jeremy Cher giggled. "No christening, Phantom. The Commanding Officer got
tired of just being known as a number, so he had the Chippies make up the
name boards."

"They look nice," replied The Phantom. "I suppose the other boats will be
following the Flag's lead?"

"Already have!" replied Jeremy Cher. He hefted the board and hung it gently
on the starboard bulkhead, just below the wheelhouse window. "We get our
new life rings tomorrow."

Laughing, The Phantom shook his head. He knew that Jeremy Cher was
referring to the ceremonial rings that were placed at the bottom of the
gangway to announce to visitors the boat's name. It was always highly
decorated with fancy ropework and, if the ship was entitled to it, a small
decal or painted representation of its crest.

"Commander Harvordson went into town this afternoon and found a shop that
has all the ships' crests. He gave them the ring and told them to make it
so!" Jeremy Cher gave the name board a final wipe and smiled at The
Phantom. "We don't see you down here too often, Phantom," he said.

"No, but I didn't feel like sitting in the Gunroom and the movie tonight is
some ancient oater. I decided to go for a walk."

"I wish I could," said Jeremy Cher. "Everybody is at the movie." Then he
smirked. "Except for Chief Anders. He's below, with Chief Arundel." He
raised his eyebrows. "They're very quiet!"

The Phantom, who knew whereof he spoke, snickered. If either Cory or Sean
were doing anything the noise would drive the critters from the bilges.
"In that case, Jeremy Cher, you have nothing to worry about!"

******


Cory and Sean were quiet. They were also fully clothed and sitting on
Sean's bunk, holding each other and staring into each other's eyes. From
time to time Cory would stroke Sean's smooth face. From time to time Sean
would stroke Cory's smooth face. Neither young man had any goal of sex in
his mind. They were content to simply sit together, holding each other and,
more importantly, loving each other.

Which was a far cry from less than two hours before when Cory had come
storming aboard, cursing Phantom Lascelles to the heavens and acting as if
Cromwell himself and his Roundheads were at the city gates. Sean was about
to rally the Apprentice Boys (or at least douse Cory with a bucket of cold
water) when Cory had sat on his bunk, pounded the neatly made bed, and
glared at Sean. "It's all your fault, damn your eyes," he accused sharply.

"What?" Taken aback, Sean sat abruptly in the chair that flanked his
bed. "What's my fault?"

"You had to go and do it!" returned Cory, his words almost a snarl. "I was
perfectly happy the way I was and then you had to go and do it!"

"Do what?" demanded Sean. "If you're referring to me being with Phantom,
well, it happened, and it was for your own good! I didn't hear any
complaints coming out of you!"

Cory gawped and then spat, "Don't mention him to me!" Then he set about
mentioning The Phantom to Sean. "Do you know what he did? Do you know what
he had the gall to say to me! The nerve of that son of a bitch!"

Sighing, Sean folded his hands in his lap. "Cory, I've been here since we
secured after the fire. I have no idea what you're talking about. And why
is Phantom a son of a bitch?"

"Because he told me that I'm in love with you! How the hell would he know?
He sleeps with you once! Once! And all of a sudden he's an expert on how I
feel about you! He has some nerve. I would never presume to . . ."

Sean interrupted Cory in mid-tirade. "Are you?" he asked quietly.

Cory shut up and stared at Sean. "Are I what?"

"In love with me?"

Knowing exactly what Sean meant, Cory's eyes widened. Denials flashed
through his mind, and his face grew stony because he knew deep down The
Phantom was right. He looked at Sean and nodded. "Yes, I am."

Sean all but leaped from the chair. "You are? You mean it? You're not, I
mean . . ." he babbled as he sat beside Cory.

Reaching up, Cory placed his hand against Sean's lips. "I am in love with
you," he said simply.

******


The Phantom sat on a bollard at the end of the jetty and looked out into
the brightly lit waters of Comox Harbour. It was Saturday night and on
board every boat moored out in the calm waters a party seemed to be in
progress. There were loud shouts, louder laughter, and the sound of music,
the tinkling of glasses. People were living, enjoying life.

As he watched, The Phantom's eyes lowered, and he closed his ears to the
sound of merriment. He felt . . . strange. He was not angry. He thought he
should be, but he was not, for he had been warned, all too many times, what
could happen. Now that it had happened, he felt strangely at peace. For the
time being, Steve Winslow, his Gunner, his lover, in many ways, his heart,
would be away from him, out of his life. For a month? For a year? Who knew?

Cory had said it. A curve ball had appeared out of nowhere and hit The
Phantom right in the nuts. He should have been doubled over with pain, but
he was not. He was sad, desperately so, but there was no pain. Life had to
go on. The Gunner was walking a dangerous path, a path that he had chosen
to walk.  The question is, The Phantom asked himself, what path will I
walk?

The Phantom's eyes drifted toward the Government Jetty at the far end of
town. He could make out the stubby-hulled, boxy shape of the gate vessel,
her lights, evenly spaced around the quarterdeck and along the waist, mere
pinpricks of light that pierced the ebony darkness and shimmered across the
waters. As he watched, some lights winked out, and then winked on again. He
puzzled for a moment, and then realized that somewhat was walking the upper
deck of the vessel. Probably the Duty Hand on rounds. Or was Colin awake
still? Was he awake and aware of his surroundings, or was he walking about,
wondering what had happened to him, wondering what would become of his
feelings, wondering what path he would walk come the dawn?

******

Colin was awake, and working away at the Personnel Efficiency Reports that
were due at the end of the cruise. The Petty Officers had evaluated each
crewmember and it was Colin's job to endorse their remarks and opinions.

He was engrossed in the Baby Buffer's remarks concerning one of the
boatswains when he heard a light tapping at the frame of the open door of
his cabin. He looked up to see Commander Edmonds, wearing colourful
Hawaiian shorts and an open neck shirt, standing there. "May I enter?" the
Commander asked.

Smiling, Colin indicated the rickety chair. "Always welcome, sir."

"Not after tonight," replied Edmonds as he sat on the bunk. He knew the
chair that Colin had offered him and had no intention of trusting his plump
rump to it.

"Sir?"

Commander Edmonds waved some papers at his senior Lieutenant and acting
Executive Officer. "PER time, Colin."

"Oh."

Laughing, Commander Edmonds shook his head. "You're safe."

"Even after this afternoon?" asked Colin, referring to the fire on Yochim
Island.

"You kept your head, you did what I pay you to do," returned Edmonds. "You
were the Beach Master. Your job was to stand fast, direct traffic, and not
panic. From all reports you did so . . ." he shrugged expressively and
handed Colin a piece of paper. "Here."

Colin's eyes widened as he read what was written on the certificate. He
smiled widely. "My Watchkeeping ticket!"

Edmonds nodded. "You're qualified and that says that from now on you own
the boat when you're on watch." He held up a multi-paged document. Colin
recognized it as his Fitness Report. "This recommends you for advanced
Command training. You've already written two of the six papers, so you're
ahead of the game. There is no reason that I can see to prevent you from
getting your half-stripe and your own command within two years."

Beaming, Colin nodded. Then he looked at Edmonds. "And Neal?"

Commander Edmonds pursed his lips and exhaled loudly. "While you are here,
in your cabin, doing the paperwork that plagues us all, he is at the brow,
chatting up two dollies who look to be no better than they should be." He
looked around ostentatiously. "You have anything to drink?"

Colin reached into the deep drawer of his desk and brought out a bottle of
J & B. "Scotch?"

After pouring each of them a drink, Colin asked quietly. "What are you
going to do about him?"

"Colin, if I could just get rid of this nagging opinion that the only
purpose Neal Menzies has for this ship is to haul is genitals from port to
port, I might try to do something." He took a deep drink of the smoky
liquor and grimaced. "When Menzies failed his watchkeeping paper, and I
told him to stay on board and study for a makeup exam, what did he do?"

Colin looked into the Commanding Officer's eyes. "He went ashore and got
drunk."

"Precisely. He's no more interested in becoming a competent officer than I
am of dressing in a tutu! He's in love with the uniform, the cachet of
being an officer." Commander Edmonds stood up and placed the empty glass on
Colin's desk. "Which is why you will one day command, and he will one day
end up with a dead end job, a nagging wife and ten kids." He smiled
grimly. "Right now he's about to get a rocket." He moved to the door and
then turned. "After I take care of Don Juan, I'm going ashore to meet
AURORA and his Number One. Don't wait up." Then he smiled. "And if you get
the chance, go ashore. Stretch your legs, get laid!"

Colin laughed softly and pointed at the papers on his desk. "Duty is the
most sublime word in the English language."

Laughing, Commander Edmonds tossed back, "Robert E. Lee would pat you on
the bum for that!"

******

As he sat on the bollard, The Phantom began to cry softly. He had been so
bloody macho in Chef's presence, he ran around being such a mensch, a man,
and here he was, blubbering. He had told Chef that he had put away childish
things, and that today he was a man. Was he really?

He raised his eyes toward the star-studded, black sky and begged an answer
from . . . Was he a man now? Was he truly a man now?