Date: Sat, 2 Aug 2003 19:43:01 -0400
From: John Ellison <paradegi@rogers.com>
Subject: The Boys Of Aurora - Chapter 23

Disclaimer: The following is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to persons
alive or dead is coincidental. The venue is fictional and any resemblance
to actual bases, locations, is coincidental.

This story takes place in 1976 Canada and reflects the mores, traditions,
customs, etc., of the times. I urge all of those who read this story to
remember that what is "politically correct" today, was not thought of back
then. If you are Lib-Left, politically correct and have jumped on the
bandwagons of whatever causes are the fads of the month, please do not
continue past this point. This also applies the so-called "Religious" Right
and "Moral" Majority. I respectfully remind you that the "Good Book" also
contains proscriptions, restrictions, do's and don'ts that I don't see or
hear any of you thumping bibles about. Write me, I'll be glad to give you
some excellent web sites. To all the anti-this and anti-that, Bible
Thumpers, Libertarians and the ACLU, the bankrupt and increasingly
irrelevant United Nations, please do not send me e-mails espousing whatever
cause you're touting. I have no time for claptrap.

As this work contains scenes of explicit sexual acts of a homosexual
nature, if such erotica offends you, please move on to a tamer site. If
your mainstay in life is Bible-thumping cant, please move on. If you are
not of legal age to read, possess or download writings of an erotic nature,
or if possession, reading, etc., is illegal where you live, please move on.

This story is written in an age without worry, and as such unprotected sex
is practiced exclusively. I urge all of you to NEVER engage in sexual acts
without proper protection. The life you save will be your own.

I will respond to all e-mails (except flames). Please contact me at my home
address: paradegi@rogers.com


The Boys Of Aurora - Chapter 23


"Do you think I'm sexy?" asked The Phantom, the question seeming to come
out of nowhere.

The Gunner, who was in the process of fitting the furbelows and flub dubs
that would change his green suit into a reasonable facsimile of a uniform,
pierced his thumb with the pin of the anchor he was fitting to the lapel of
the jacket, cursed under his breath and turned. The Phantom was lying on
top of the bed, naked, with his ankles crossed and his head was resting on
his hands. His sleeping genitals, pushed upward, were draped across his
right thigh, the head of his penis still glowing from their lovemaking last
night.

The Gunner sighed, wondering what The Phantom was up to now. Clearing his
throat The Gunner rolled his eyes expressively. "That's hardly a fair
question, Phantom, especially after last night," he said warmly.

The Phantom grinned at the memory of their lovemaking. "It was good, wasn't
it?" he asked.

Resisting the urge to go over to the bed and show The Phantom just how good
it had been, The Gunner smiled and replied, "It was great, so obviously I
think that you are sexy." He began looking for a clean shirt. "Are you
going to tell me what brought that question on, or are you just going to
lie there and smile enigmatically?"

The Phantom reached down and fingered the tip of his penis. "It was just
something that Matt said."

"Matt?" questioned The Gunner.

The Phantom sat up, got on his knees, sat back on his heels and looked
lovingly at The Gunner. "Matt's in love with Todd."

The Gunner thought a moment. A first! The Phantom was telling one of his
secrets. "What has Matt being in love with Todd got to do with you being
sexy?" asked The Gunner, cocking his head. "Or is Matt also in love with
you?"

"Maybe," replied The Phantom truthfully. He flopped back down on the bed
and giggled. "Matt is more in lust with me than in love, I think." He
crossed his arms and sighed wistfully. "Matt and a lot of the other boys."

The Gunner groaned inwardly. Dear God did Phantom look so . . . desirable!
Tossing the clean shirt aside The Gunner sat on the end of the bed and
looked along The Phantom's smooth and all but hairless body. Phantom was
losing his tan; the delicious light brown, almost golden tint that the boy
had acquired on Texada and Harwood Islands, was fading. The Gunner ran his
finger along the inside of The Phantom's ankle. "Did Matt name names?" he
asked, feeling the soft, almost invisible fur, which covered The Phantom's
firm, warm leg.

The Phantom could feel The Gunner's finger slowly caressing its way up his
leg toward his knee. He closed his eyes and a small smile of utter bliss
crossed his lips. "Simon Keppel, for one," he murmured, lowering his arms
and rested his hands on his upper thighs. As The Gunner's finger continued
to move slowly up his leg The Phantom's fingers curled slightly. "According
to Matt there are a lot of guys who would like to get closer to me, " he
continued with a soft chuckle. "And sit on the front steps of the Mess Hall
with their hand down the front of my boxers." The Phantom spread his legs
slightly, giving The Gunner's soft fingers more room for exploration.

"So, the boys know about Todd and Cory sitting on the stoop of the
barracks?" The Gunner leaned down and gently kissed the soft skin of The
Phantom's inner right thigh.

"They know," murmured The Phantom with an imperceptible nod of his head. He
half-opened his eyes and saw The Gunner looking up at him. "You'd better be
careful," The Phantom warned with a salacious grin, "You might wake the
sleeping dragon."

The Gunner laughed quietly and then moved forward. He kissed the tip of The
Phantom's still soft penis, causing The Phantom to suck in his breath and
moan quietly. "Would you prefer I let the little dragon sleep a little
longer?" asked The Gunner, a wicked grin on his face. He kissed The
Phantom's penis again.

At the warm, light touch of his lover's smooth lips on his still sensitive
helmet, The Phantom arched his back, presenting his penis to The Gunner. He
pushed his hands down until they met The Gunner's and their fingers
entwined. The Gunner slowly dragged his tongue and lips across the spongy
head of The Phantom's dick. The Phantom closed his eyes and his body
shivered as The Gunner's mouth slowly engulfed the head and rapidly
hardening shaft of his penis, groaning, "Oh, God, Stevie!" as The Gunner
took every inch of him into his mouth. The Gunner pulled his mouth slowly
back, his tongue a rough carpet of warm wetness as it dragged across the
underside of The Phantom's erection, a silk wrapped pillar of wonderfully
tasting flesh.

As The Gunner sucked slowly The Phantom could barely control himself. He
could feel his lover's mouth moving slowly up and down the length of his
hard cock. He began to moan and thrust gently as wave after wave of
intense, almost overpowering electricity rushed through his body. Releasing
The Gunner's hands, The Phantom clutched savagely at the sheet, low,
guttural growls rising from his throat. A fiery intensity began to build
deep within him, consuming him. He kept his eyes tightly closed and a
blinding hot, intense blaze of pleasure surged through him.

The Phantom could not control the movements of his body as he slowly thrust
upward, wanting as much of his erection as possible deep within the warm,
sucking mouth. The Phantom was blind to everything but the screaming of his
nerves as . . . Suddenly The Phantom was squirting. His body jerked and his
head slammed back and his fingers curled into tight balls, his nails
digging into his palms. He lost track of time and space as he shot, and
shot. Low, guttural moans rose from his throat.

The Gunner swallowed every drop of The Phantom's warm semen, his eyes
closed, listening to the strained, growling noises of the boy whose penis
pulsed four, five, gushers of his cream. He swallowed the boy's sweet
nectar and continued to suck softly, his throat filled with small pulses of
The Phantom's juices, sucking even as The Phantom's penis began to
soften. A shiver ran through The Phantom's body and he groaned and mewed,
then rolled on his side, withdrawing reluctantly.

As he moved up the bed and lay beside The Phantom, The Gunner ran his hand
along his lover's soft, shrunken organ. The Phantom yipped and pulled back,
unable to endure another second of the fantastic pleasure that had yet to
recede. "Jesus, that was the most incredibly intense, glorious blowjob I
have ever had," he said after his breath returned.

The Gunner enveloped the boy in his arms. "Did I answer your question?" he
asked in a husky whisper.

******

They lay together for what seemed like hours, kissing and cuddling, until
finally, The Gunner rolled away. "We really need to be going, Phantom."

The Phantom shrugged and propped himself on one elbow. He lay watching as
The Gunner began dressing and then murmured, "We have time. Chef told me
not to worry about serving breakfast."

"I still have a parade to help organize," replied The Gunner as he stepped
into his uniform trousers.

"That's not until 0800." The Phantom sat up, arranged the pillows and
gestured for The Gunner to join him. "I really want to talk about
. . . well, Matt and Simon."

The Gunner began to pull on his shirt. "You're going to have to live with
the way they feel about you, Phantom. You've got 'it' and there is nothing
you can do about it."

"I got what 'it'?" The Phantom asked, confused, and wondering if "it" had a
cure.

The Gunner grinned. "That indefinable, inexplicable, illogical thing called
sex appeal." He reached for his tie and draped it around his neck. "Some
got it, some don't."

"And I do?" The Phantom swung his legs over the side of the bed. He cocked
his head and smiled. "So do you."

The Gunner gave him a glare and shook his head. "I doubt that, Phantom. I
haven't noticed too many people falling down in a dead faint when I walk
into the room." He began carefully to tie a knot in his green tie. He
looked over at The Phantom who was smiling at him, grinning his silly
lopsided grin, shaking his head. "What?"

"One day the Twins are going to make you eat those words, you know." The
Phantom laughed. "No pun intended."

"Now just what is that supposed to mean?" asked The Gunner, a cranky,
exasperated tone in his voice.

The Phantom began kicking his heels softly against the box spring of the
bed. "Sooner or later you will end up sleeping with them." He saw that The
Gunner was about to protest and held up his hand. "As far as Cory and Todd
are concerned you have 'it' and they are going to end up in your bed one
night."

"That is the silliest thing I've heard in a long time, Phantom." The Gunner
began rummaging through his socks and underwear drawer. "Why would you even
say such a thing?"

"Because its true. And well you know it."

The Gunner gave The Phantom a disgusted look. He saw the look on The
Phantom's face, grumbled softly, and admitted, "Yes, I know it." He looked
directly at Phantom. "The Twins are two of the most beautiful young men I
have ever laid eyes on. But, Phantom, I am determined that they will not
end up in my bed, ever."

The Phantom rubbed his chin and looked thoughtful. "Maybe." He grinned
slyly. "You do admit that they appeal to you." It was not a question.

The Gunner vaguely remembered a conversation he and The Phantom had after
their first night together and were driving down to Victoria. He screwed up
his face and shook his head. "Do you remember everything I say?"

"Yep." The Phantom flopped back down onto the bed. "You said that in order
for you to sleep with a guy he had to appeal to you." He raised his head
and grinned wickedly. "Even Ordinary Seaman Stud Muffin."

Despite himself The Gunner laughed and sat down on the chair next to the
bed. "You're the one who mentioned Stud Muffin."

After thinking a moment The Phantom said, "So I did." He laid his head back
down. "Is that what it is? Appeal?"

The Gunner thought about that a moment. "I suppose, in a way, yes. But the
whole 'appeal' thing differs with different people. I can't explain it but
you will be walking down a street, and you'll see some guy walking past, or
you'll be sitting in a bar, and some guy will come into the place and BAM,
you look at him and you want to go to bed with him."

"Just like that?" asked The Phantom, a sceptical tone in his voice.

"Just like that," replied The Gunner. "You can't explain why." He shrugged
expressively. "Perhaps it's hormones, or testosterone, or pheromones . . ."

"I think pheromones only apply to bees," interjected The Phantom with a
grin.  The Gunner returned his grin. "You'll never be a bee, Phantom. You
don't have the butt for it."

The Phantom laughed and looked over his shoulder. "Still, it's a nice
butt."

"True," agreed The Gunner. "But, the point, Phantom, is that some people
have this . . . aura about them, this strange appeal. You are drawn to
them, and you do not understand why." He reached out and took The Phantom's
hand. "It's also selective. A person, a guy, who appeals to me might not
appeal to you and you will think, now what in the hell does he see in him?"
The Gunner rubbed his chin and smiled wistfully. "For instance, there is a
guy down in Victoria at this very moment whom I admit I would like to sleep
with. He's nothing special to look at, but there is something about him
that just, well, turns me on."  The Phantom gave his lover a dirty look and
harrumphed loudly.

Smiling at his young lover's obvious suspicions The Gunner shook his head
and added, "Don't worry. Chris - that's his name - is straight and very
happily married, with two kids and one on the way. He's not on the market,
so to speak, and would probably faint if anyone suggested a little
one-on-one in the showers during the Middle Watch."

The Phantom giggled. "I did that once with Tyler, Val, and the Twins." He
sighed theatrically. "All they did was wash me!"

The Gunner thought it best not to go there. The Phantom would, in his own
good time, tell him what really happened the night he'd taken care of
Little Big Man. "Chris, for some reason appeals to me. I can't explain the
attraction; I just know that it's there." The Gunner shrugged. "By the same
token, last year, when I was in STADACONA, there was a kid who was, by
anybody's definition, drop-dead gorgeous. He was one of those anomalies we
find from time to time in our so-called bilingual culture. He had a huge
string of French names, but did not speak a word of French. His people had
been intermarrying with the English oligarchy for two hundred years and all
he had was his French name. The rest was total English." This time The
Gunner sighed theatrically. "He had blond hair, blue eyes and could stop
traffic in the middle of Gottingen Street."

"And . . .?" asked The Phantom, a slight edge in his voice.

"And nothing," replied The Gunner. "He was beautiful, he was young, and,
for all I know, he was available. Just not to me."

"He didn't appeal to you?" asked The Phantom, unable to keep the
disbelieving tone from his voice.

The Gunner noted The Phantom's tone of voice and replied, truthfully, "He
simply did not appeal to me. I can't explain that, either." He
shrugged. "There must be some guys here that effect you that way."

A pensive look crossed The Phantom's face. "Harry, I think," he said. Then
he nodded. "Yes, definitely Harry."

"He appeals to you?"

"Not as a sex object." The Phantom sat up and shook his head slightly. "I
love Harry, a lot, but I don't want to sleep with him." He shrugged his
shoulders. "Harry is, to a lot of guys, the ultimate sex object. Stefan
seduced him, remember, and I'm sure that there are other guys who would not
say no if he asked them to take a late night shower with him. I like
looking at him. I like being with him." A strange look came over his face
and he coloured. "Harry doesn't, as you put it, turn me on. Yet Ray did. He
appealed to me, somehow, and I wanted to sleep with him. The Twins as
well."

"Don't be embarrassed, Phantom. I like Ray, as a person. He is a sweet boy
and I can understand your attraction to him. As for the Twins, well, there
are not many who are immune to their charms."

"I can name one," replied The Phantom, a grim look on his face.

The Gunner chuckled wryly. "Paul Greene is blinded by his hatred and
bigotry. He will never see the beauty that exists in other boys, and
men. You see it, and you are attracted to it. So am I and I am enough of a
realist to know that I am attracted to that beauty, and human enough to
admit that I might succumb to temptation." He sighed. "And so will you."

"Me? Other than Ray, and the Twins, and you, I haven't succumbed to
anything!"

The Gunner reached out and took The Phantom's hand. "Phantom, you are a gay
man and, like all gay men, you will be attracted to other men, just as
straight men are attracted to women other than their wives. You will not be
able to help yourself. I will not be able to help myself. It's a part of
who, and what, we are, a part of human sexuality." He gave The Phantom's
hand a squeeze. "We might not act on the 'appeal' we see in other men, but
we sure as hell want to."

The Phantom was forced to agree with The Gunner. "So, while I am in love
with you, I might want to . . . stray?" He smiled wickedly. "I can think at
least one guy I might want to do that with."

The Gunner released The Phantom's hand and scratched his chin. "That
wouldn't be Jeff Jensen, now would it?" He cocked his head and gave The
Phantom a knowing grin.

The Phantom was about to protest his innocence and then stopped. "Yes, I
suppose it would."

"He's physically attractive to you?"

"Yes. He was the first guy I ever fell in love with." The Phantom sat up,
folded his legs and sat back on his heels. "He was the first boy I really
ever want to have sex with." He hung his head a bit. "He's gorgeous,
Gunner."

"I'm sure he is, in your eyes." The Gunner thought a moment. "Never having
seen him, I can't say that I would feel the same way. Perhaps I would,
perhaps I wouldn't. You mentioned Harry. I find him attractive, yes. He's
desirable, yes, but not to me. He doesn't appeal to me in a sexual
way. None of the other boys do."

"Just me, huh?" asked The Phantom, a smile creasing his lips. Then he
frowned. "There's still the Twins."

The Gunner groaned. "Phantom, those two would make half the guys in AURORA
turn gay. I'm already there so yes, I admit they appeal to me. That doesn't
mean that I am going to sleep with them!" He stood up and returned to
searching the bureau drawers. "The point is, Phantom, in answer to your
question, yes, I think you are sexy. Many of the other boys think you are
sexy and want to explore those feelings with you."

"Like Simon . . . and Matt?"

"Simon is 13 or so, and I think he has a crush on you. That is to be
expected. Young boys of that age choose the most unlikely of heroes to fall
in love with."  "That's what Matt called me."

"A hero?"

"Yes. He said that I was a hero to a lot of the boys because I stood up to
Little Big Man. They also know about the time I slept with Randy and Joey."

The Gunner thought carefully before he replied to The Phantom, and chose
his words with care. "Phantom, to many of the boys you are a hero. They
know that you care for them, that you love them, that unlike their parents,
or their instructors, you do not look at them in absolutes. You see things
in them that no one else does, and you understand their differences."

"But, Gunner, they are all different," insisted The Phantom. "They might
all dress alike, from their undies out, but underneath their uniforms they
are as different to one another as night is to day!"

The Gunner nodded his agreement. "Yes, and you know and realize those
differences, and you treat each boy accordingly. You treat them as adults,
as your equal, and you listen to what they have to say. You understand that
just because they are teenage boys they are not children. They are starting
to think for themselves, and you help them to do just that."

"But, damn it, I haven't done anything to make them think that I am some a
sort of hero!" protested The Phantom.

"In their eyes you have," returned The Gunner. "You are always there for
them. You look after them. You say 'no' to them when they need someone to
say 'no'. And you do not compromise your principles."

The Phantom considered this for a moment and then nodded slowly, "I know
right from wrong, and if I see a wrong I want to right it!"

"Which the boys know. They know about you fighting Paul Greene and whuppin'
his ass. They know why you did it, and they know you will do it
again. Perhaps not with him, but with someone equally as bigoted."

The Phantom shook his head. "All I am trying to do is to make them
understand that just because I am gay, or you are gay, or, hell and sheeit,
if they are gay, it's no sin. It's not a bad thing to be. And just because
we are gay we do not have to take shit from trailer trash!"

"You're teaching them that, and more," replied The Gunner with a
grin. "You're a role model. You are upright, honest and unlike their
parents, or again, their instructors, you do not lie to them or fob off
some phoney excuse for not doing something. If you say that you will do
something, you do it, and you do it to win. The boys know it, Phantom, and
they appreciate it and that is why you are the Inspecting Officer this
morning!"

The Gunner paled and sat down abruptly on the bed. "Fucking HELL!" he
cursed silently, appalled that he had let his enthusiasm get the better of
him.

The Phantom gave his lover a long, cold stare. "I am going to be the what?"
he asked through clenched teeth.

Looking sheepish, The Gunner ducked his head. "You're . . . going . . . to
be the Inspecting Officer?" he drawled slowly, fully expecting a massive
explosion. Phantom did not care to be reminded of his exploits.

"Why?" The Phantom's hands shook slightly. "Why would I be singled out for
Inspecting Officer?"

The Gunner saw the colour rising in The Phantom's face, made a small face
himself and once again cursed his big mouth. Treading lightly, he began to
speak. "Weelllll, Todd and Harry, and some of the others thought that it
would be a nice gesture of appreciation for what you did to Little Big Man
if they made you Inspecting Officer today." He held up his hands in a
placating gesture. "Now, please Phantom, do not get angry. They mean well,
and you did a very brave thing and they . . ."

"HELL AND SHEEIT!" yelled The Phantom as he all but leaped off the bed. "I
can't be! Look at me! I don't know what to do and I'll make a fool of
myself!" he yelped. He wheeled and stared into the mirror over the
bureau. "MY HAIR! I need a hair cut and sheeit . . ." He leaned closer to
the mirror and began poking at his chin. "A zit! I can't go with a ZIT! I
. . ." he moaned as he buried his face in his hands. "I won't do it! I
can't. I'll puke! I mean it, I'll puke all over Tyler's boots!"

Laughing, The Gunner stood up and enveloped The Phantom in his arms. "And
thus is the stuff of heroes made!"

"Don't laugh at me, Gunner!" mumbled The Phantom. "It's not you that has to
go out there in front of 300 cadets, all of them waiting for me to fall
flat on my ass!"

"And it was not me who belled Little Big Man." The Gunner slowly pushed The
Phantom away and held him at arm's length. "Now you listen, Phantom. The
boys have gone to a lot of trouble to honour you." He gave The Phantom a
slight shake. "You! You are a certified hero in their eyes." He saw the
fear of discovery written on The Phantom's face and continued. "Not all the
boys know, only a very small handful, the ones who were there
afterward. What you did was very brave, if a little foolish, and you cannot
deprive them of their chance to thank you."

Although breathing heavily, The Phantom had stopped shaking. "I can't
. . ."

"Yes, you can, and you will!" insisted The Gunner. "You can, because you
are my Phantom! You can because you are Philip Andrew Thomas Lascelles;
because you have nerve, grit and balls . . ." He looked down at The
Phantom's crotch. "Amendment to last. You have big balls!"

Despite himself, The Phantom giggled, then laughed heartily. "Ah, shit,
Gunner, trust you to think of something like that!" He tried to wriggle
free but The Gunner held him close.

"Phantom, you can do this," The Gunner said quietly, his tone confident. He
kissed the tip of The Phantom's nose. "All you have to do is look
. . . regal, smile a bit and just act natural. Just be Phantom out there
and you will do just fine."

"You mean look like I know what I am doing even though I don't," returned
The Phantom cynically. "After all, bullshit baffles brains any day of the
week."

Shaking his head, The Gunner laughed then kissed The Phantom gently. "I've
taught you too well, I think." He moved away. "Go and shower and we'll have
something to eat."

The Phantom did as he was told and went into the bathroom. Presently The
Gunner heard the sound of rushing water. He continued his search and
finally found what he was looking for in the drawer of the bedside table,
along with a Gideon's Bible and a folded sheet of paper. He tossed the
bible on the bed along with the piece of paper and held the green,
gold-tooled Morocco leather box in his hand. He opened it and looked at the
deep red stone, the exquisite enamel work and the raised lettering of his
motto. He ran his finger along the bezel of the ruby. His thoughts were
elsewhere and he did not hear The Phantom return from the bathroom.

"What's that?" asked The Phantom as he finished towelling his hair dry. He
draped the towel around his shoulders and looked at the ring in The
Gunner's hand. Then, wordlessly, he took the ring and sat on the edge of
the bed. With conscious, deliberate irony he slipped the bejewelled circle
of gold onto the ring finger of his left hand.

The symbolism was not lost on The Gunner. He sat beside The Phantom and
lifted the boy's hand to his lips. "In a better world, Phantom, I would
give you that ring."

The Phantom shook his head. He removed the ring and slipped it onto the
ring finger of his right hand. "We both know that there is never going to
be a 'better world' for us, Gunner. Maybe for Joey and Randy, but not for
you, or for me." He held out his hand and the ruby sparkled. "This is your
ring, Gunner." He turned his head and looked evenly at the man. "I ask for
your protection as my Liege Knight."

The Gunner gasped. "You . . . you mean that?"

The Phantom nodded his head firmly. He placed his hand over his heart. "I
ask it with humility and courage; I ask it and swear, on my honour, to bear
true allegiance to you, and to the Order."

"You've seen the Proctor!" The Gunner's eyes widened. He had no idea that
the Proctor had contacted Phantom. "When?"

"The morning after you left for Vancouver," replied The Phantom. "I was
feeling bad about what happened. He saw me, he asked me why I was feeling
the way I was feeling. We talked."

"The Proctor was here, in AURORA?"

It was obvious that The Gunner did not know who the Proctor was, or that he
was resident in AURORA. The Phantom nodded. "He talked to me about the
Order, and made me see things in a different light. I ask again for your
protection."

The Gunner held out his hand for his ring, which The Phantom gave him. He
rolled the ring in the palm of his hand, thinking. "You understand the
words, Phantom, but do you understand the meanings behind the words, the
implications?"

"If you accept me, if you take me under your protection, I become a
Candidate Knight." He squirmed a bit. "I could, I suppose, be your Page of
Honour and Profess, but that would mean no sex between us and I do not want
that."

The Gunner looked evenly and carefully at The Phantom. "You understand the
difference, Phantom, between a Knight of Profess and an Ordinary Knight?

"Yes. When, or if, I become a Knight of Profess I acknowledge my
homosexuality. I will not lie and ask to be an Ordinary Knight."

The Gunner nodded his acknowledgement of The Phantom's statement. He stood
up and began to pace slowly. "There is more, Phantom, and as much as I want
to take you, as you put it, under my protection, there are things happening
that neither the Proctor, nor you, could know about." He held up his
jewelled ring. "This is the ring of the Chancellor of the Order. I am the
Chancellor," he finished without side or emphasis.

The Phantom nodded slowly. "The Proctor thought that you might be. He
wanted to be there, to vote for you, but he couldn't. You know the reason
why."

"The identity of the Proctor is known only to a very few. I cannot know who
he is because if I did I might be tempted to influence him. Or so the
reasoning was when the Rule of the Order was written." He smiled
thinly. "And, of course, the candidates he speaks to."

"All of whom are sworn to secrecy."

"Yes." The Gunner regarded The Phantom and then continued. "For centuries
the Order has existed in the shadows. All of its work was done quietly,
discretely, and sometimes secretly. That could very well change."

The Phantom gave him a quizzical look. "Change? How?"

"Phantom, the new Grand Master has decided to become more active, more
progressive, more forward looking. I am not yet privy to his plans but he
wants me to recruit 1,000 knights, young, vibrant, and courageous men who
will . . ."

" . . . Protect and defend all who are oppressed due to their Membership in
our Brotherhood, even unto the giving of his own life," quoted The
Phantom. "Article 2 of the Rule of the Order."

The Gunner smiled. "The Proctor taught you well, Phantom." His face
hardened. "What he could not teach you is that sooner or later the Order
will emerge from the shadows. I will find the Grand Master his 1,000
Laurences and . . ."

"1,000 what?" asked The Phantom, not understanding what a "Laurence" was.

A small smile creased The Gunner's handsome features. "Sorry, I should have
said knights."

The Phantom gave his lover a withering look. "You're quibbling, Stevie," he
growled in reply.

Recognising the look, The Gunner explained quickly. "When the Grand Master
asked me to begin recruiting he used a newly knighted young man as a point
of reference."

"Sounds to me like the guy is a little more than a 'point of reference',"
returned The Phantom. "He must be pretty good if the Grand Master wants you
to recruit 1,000 of him!" The Phantom reached down and fiddled with the
head of his soft penis. "What's he like, this Laurence, and does he have
appeal?" He grinned nastily at The Gunner. "Is this Laurence any relation
to Ordinary Seaman Stud Muffin?"

Since there was no point in lying The Gunner shrugged. "There is nothing
between Laurence and me," he retorted with a snort. "He is a fine young man
and while he is my Equerry there is no appeal!" He gave The Phantom a hard
look. "He is a Second Lieutenant in the Royal Marines Reserve, he is young
and he had better look out when the Twins set eyes on him because . . ."

The Phantom broke into laughter. "He's that good, then?"

"Better," replied The Gunner. "Which you will no doubt see when you meet
him."

"When will I meet him?" asked The Phantom with silly grin. "I would really
like to meet this paragon!" The Phantom's grin changed and a slow, evil
smile spread across his face. He waggled his eyebrows and slowly ran his
tongue across his lips. "You never know, I might like him," he said, his
voice low and, he thought, sexy.

The Gunner paled slightly. He didn't know if The Phantom was joking or
not. "Well, um, soon," he replied, his voice a low growl.

The Phantom rolled around on the bed, laughing like a mad thing. "Got ya!
Got ya!" he howled, tears of laughter coursing down his cheeks.

"When you are finished!" The Gunner remained stone-faced until The Phantom
recovered his composure.

Aware that he might have gone a bit too far The Phantom tried to mollify
his lover. "That's what you get for not telling me sooner about this
morning," he said sweetly. "Now, come on, tell me, what is going to happen?
Why did the Grand Master ask you to find 1,000 Laurences?"

The Gunner thought a moment. "Phantom, times are changing and more and more
people are beginning to question the rules of the Established Order. People
are asking what right the government, or the Churches, have to interfere in
their lives. And people are beginning to fight back. It will not be an easy
fight, Phantom. You of all people should know that."

A sober, sombre look came over The Phantom's face as he struggled into a
sitting position. His green eyes dimmed slightly at the memory of what he
had done to Little Big Man. "It will be a dirty, ball-grabbing, dick
pulling fight, Gunner," he said quietly. "The people who oppose us won't go
quietly.

The Gunner nodded his agreement. "They will fight us every inch of the
way," he said in agreement. "But we will fight, Phantom, make no mistake on
that point. The days when gay men just walked away or hid themselves are
over! I will find my Laurences and when I do we will begin the battle to
find our rightful place in this world. When that happens, when the
existence of the Order becomes public knowledge, anyone associated with the
Order, or who has dealings with the Order, will be perceived to be gay." He
walked in front of The Phantom, bent down and put his hands on the boy's
shoulders. His eyes bore into the Phantom's sparkling, emerald orbs. "When
that happens, are you prepared to have your name mentioned? To have your
secret revealed to the world? To your parents?"

The Phantom returned The Gunner's stare. "Yes, I am," he replied
simply. "As long as you are with me, I will bear whatever comes."

The Gunner nodded. "On Friday, then." He saw the puzzled look on The
Phantom's face. "You must make your declaration in the presence of two
knights, and witnesses, if available. There is another knight, here, in
AURORA."

"There is?"

"Yes, and your brothers will bear witness to your declaration."

"What brothers?"

The Gunner smiled. "You're sitting on the list of their names. Two of them
will join you on Friday."

The Phantom reached under his butt and pulled out the piece of paper that
he'd been sitting on. Hand-printed with careful, almost architectural
neatness, was a list of names. He noticed that his was the first name on
the list, followed by three names - one, full of de's and la's was
obviously French - which he did not recognize. The rest, a dozen or so, he
knew. Beside each name was a check mark or a question mark, and a cryptic
number. Beside his own name was printed "27/3", and question mark. "What do
the numbers mean? And the question marks?" he asked.

"The question marks indicate possible, or doubtful candidates. The numbers
are a Psalm, and the verse that I have chosen to be the candidate's
recognition signal. The candidate is given a telephone number to use in the
event of trouble, for him, or someone he knows is being discriminated
against because he is gay."

"So, the number '27/3' is Psalm 27, Verse 3?"

"Yes. It seems to best describe you."

The Phantom reached for the Bible and leafed through the pages until he
found the Psalms. He read the third verse of the 27th Psalm aloud. "Though
an host should encamp against me, my heart shall not fear; though war
should rise against me, in this will I be confident." He looked at The
Gunner. "I don't understand. What will I be confident in?"

The Gunner chuckled. "Your indomitable spirit, your refusal to allow others
to dominate you or your life, your total faith in your friends and your
refusal to compromise your beliefs or principles. Your confidence in you,
and your refusal never to do the wrong thing, to hurt people."

The Phantom grinned. "Well, I sure don't like people telling me that I am a
bad person because I am gay. And I will not back down, that's for sure."

The Gunner laughed. "You won't, and that's a fact." He slipped the ring
onto his finger. "And I am so sure that I chose that motto for you. And,
later, I will write out the Latin translation for you."

The Phantom groaned. "It has to be in Latin? Gunner, Latin was my worst
subject."

"So, keep the written phrase in your wallet."

The Phantom made a face. "I suppose you've already got the Latin down pat!"

"Si consistent adversus me castra non timebit cor meum si exsurgat adversus
me proelium in hoc ego sperabo," The Gunner replied with a smug grin. "The
Douay/Rheims version. The translation is not exact, but close enough."

"And you have to do that for everybody on the list?"

"I do have help, but yes, every candidate has an identifying phrase."

"Better you than me," grumbled The Phantom in reply. He returned to reading
the list and he read he realized that almost all of the boys he knew to be
gay were on the list, and at least one whom he did not think was
gay. "Tyler?" he questioned.

"Tyler has always been sympathetic and understanding. He was the first
cadet I approached. Yesterday morning I spoke with him and Harry . . ."

The Phantom's left eyebrow arched. "Harry and Stefan?" The Phantom knew
that the Order took a dim view of pedophilia in all its forms.

"A foolish, youthful indiscretion. Harry is not a pedophile," returned The
Gunner forcefully. His tone brooked no argument and needed no reply.

The Phantom nodded and read down the list of names. As expected, the Twins
were listed, as was Ray. Val's name was listed, marked with a question
mark. He read Andy's name, and Kyle's, and smiled when he saw Randy and
Joey's names listed.

The Gunner saw the smile. "Randy and Joey?"

The Phantom nodded. "You've been talking to Chef."

"Chef is a smart old bird," replied The Gunner. "He knows what they get up
to when his back is turned." He sighed heavily. "They'll need someone to
keep an eye on them when they return home."

"Do you have a pen?" asked The Phantom quietly. The Gunner found a pen and
handed it to The Phantom, who began writing in smooth, large letters
additional names to The Gunner's list. "You might want talk to these boys,"
was all he said by way of explanation when he handed the list back to The
Gunner, thinking that Chef was going to be very busy in the coming months.

The Gunner scanned the additional names. "Nicholas, Andre, Chris and Jon?"
he questioned.

"Nicholas and Andre have been lovers since Victoria," explained The
Phantom. "Chris and Jon have been lovers from the first or second week of
training."

Looking at the next name that The Phantom had written down, The Gunner
raised an eyebrow, but said nothing. Brian? The Gunner secretly marvelled
at The Phantom's perspicacity. The boy could not possibly know that Brian
had already been brought to the Order's attention, yet Phantom had
obviously seen something in Brian, and was willing to put his name forward.

The Phantom shrugged. "Brian is a fighter. He is also gay, though you
wouldn't know it. But Brian knows it and he accepts that he is." He pointed
with the tip of the pen at the other names he had added to The Gunner's
list. "I added Kevin to the list because he is in love with Ray. Mark and
Tony might be interested. The same for Rob and Ryan."

"Matt?" asked The Gunner, somewhat surprised. Matt was, after all, Little
Big Man's brother, and while stranger things had happened, The Gunner could
not conceive of young Matt being gay or, for all his sweet nature and
gentleness, wanting to be a part of the Order.

"Matt," replied The Phantom succinctly. He would say no more. When Matt was
ready to declare his true self, he would do so. Until then, The Phantom
would remain silent. He had also promised to help Matt, and including his
name was the first small step to providing that help.

"Simon Keppel?"

"If what Matt said about him is true, then he is going to need someone to
help him understand how he feels, and why he feels the things he feels."
The Phantom stood up and held out his arms. The Gunner held him close. "I
know how it feels, Gunner, to know that you are gay, and to have no one to
talk to. I know how afraid I was when I first admitted to myself that I was
gay. If Simon is gay, then I want to know that I did everything I could to
make him understand that it is not a bad thing to be."

The Gunner's lips brushed the top of his lover's head. "Then you will speak
to him, and let him know that he is not alone." It was not a question, but
a command.

The Phantom buried his head in The Gunner's shoulder. "He's got to know,
they've all got to know that no matter how bad it seems, that they are not
alone, that there are others out there who will be there for them, who will
help them no matter what. They have got to know that there are people just
like them who refuse to be anything but who they are; who will stand their
ground and fight back!" He took a deep breath. "There cannot be another Hal
Simmons, Gunner. There have been too many, we have lost so many . . ."

The Gunner nodded slowly and rubbed The Phantom's bare back, remembering a
sad, lonely boy sitting in the back seat of a dark, nondescript car as it
drove him away from the only life that he had ever wanted, along a road
that led from the Dockyard to, ultimately, a lonely grave in a Halifax
cemetery.

******

The bugle blew Reveille and Harry opened one eye, yawned, scratched his
morning woody, marvelling that after last night he even had a morning
woody, and waited for the morning pandemonium to erupt. He waited and when
nothing happened, opened both eyes and sat up. All around him his messmates
began to crawl out of their pits. The first out was Nicholas who seemed to
be still asleep, with his eyes half closed and a silly grin on his
face. Nicholas rummaged in his locker then lay back on his bunk where,
oblivious to those around him, he stroked his morning boner hidden under
his briefs and began to hum tunelessly.

Greg was next to stir and as he turned his back Harry did a double
take. Holy Jesus! Greg's back looked as if he had just returned from being
Flogged 'Round the Fleet, and there was a red something on his neck. Harry
shuddered wondering where in the hell Greg had managed to come across a
Lamprey eel!

Harry sat on the edge of his bunk, wondering what in hell was going
on. They were too quiet. As he watched, Chris and Jon threw back their
covers, facing each other as they lay in their bunks; making eyes at each
other, with their morning woodies prominent under the cotton briefs they
both wore. "Well, that's one way of saying good morning," thought Harry as
he rolled his eyes. Then he thought, "Being in love was one thing, but this
was too much."

Two Strokes farted and stuck his head out from under his bedclothes. He saw
Harry glaring at him and smiled impishly. Then he leaned over and gave
Thumper's round bottom a resounding smack. Thumper yelped and growled and
then, hearing Fred snickering, got out of bed, pulled back Fred's covers,
and flicked the end of Fred's morning woody, which was sticking out of the
fly of his boxers. Fred roared in protest and the war was on. Harry
smiled. Things were back to normal. As Fred, Thumper and Two Strokes
bickered and snarled at each other, Harry looked down the Gunroom and what
he saw made his blood run cold. Cory might have a smile on his face but the
look of doom was in his eyes.

As the other boys began their day they were unaware that the Twins had
embarked on a coldly formal, very gentlemanly, but extremely deadly
war. When they were showering Cory complained that he was out of shampoo
and Todd offered his in saccharine, oozingly polite tones underlined with a
coldness that suggested a deft insertion of the shampoo bottle into his
brother's anal orifice was really what he had in mind. As they were
dressing for PT Todd complained that his Number 11 uniform was creased and
needed ironing. Cory, coldly correct and impeccably polite, offered to iron
Todd's uniform, the look of doom in his eyes making it clear that in
reality he would like nothing better than to shove the creased uniform down
Todd's throat and beat him over the head with the hot iron. Harry wisely
decided to give both boys as wide a berth as possible. He was not about to
be dragged into one of their spats, no matter how much he loved them. That
he secretly agreed with Cory he kept very much to himself.

After PT, Harry went about his business. He dressed and went off for
breakfast. On the way to the Mess Hall Harry passed Stuart and Steve, who
were bickering. Stuart had detailed Steve off to drive the Commanding
Officer and Phantom from the Mess Hall to the Reviewing Stand and Steve was
protesting loudly. As Harry passed by the arguing boys he saw Stuart raise
his hand and gently stroke Steve's face. Steve immediately shut up and
Harry snickered inwardly. He did not know what the two Boatswains had been
up to after the Dinner but obviously it had been more than a game of Snakes
and Ladders in the barracks.

In the Mess Hall the usual pandemonium prevailed. The Brats and the Litany
seemed unaffected by their hard work of the night before and, with the
resilience of youth, were bickering happily. As he passed down the steam
line Harry saw the shit-eating grin on Sandro's face and knew that Nathan
had made one Russian very happy, indeed. Harry sat with Rob and Ryan, both
of whom were grumpy. Ryan's little operation had put a definite dent in
their sex lives and both boys were feeling the effect.

As he sat and ate his bacon and eggs Harry watched as the other cadets came
in for breakfast. Jimmy Collyer all but bounced in and Harry now knew where
the scratches on Greg's back had come from. Andre hurried in and found
Nicholas. For the next half hour they sat across the table from each other,
picking at their food and making what Harry called goo-goo eyes at each
other. The Twins came in and each politely offered to let the other precede
him, in the process annoying Ray, who was trying serve everybody and get
the hell out of the galley so that he could change. Chef was adamant that
all of the galley staff would form a division in the morning's parade and,
as Ray was the Chief Cook, he would be on parade. The Twins, excruciatingly
polite, apologized to Ray and then went off to sit at separate tables.

Rolling his eyes and muttering his disgust at the Twins, Harry then went
off to gather the Band. He was not at all pleased with Fozzy, who could not
seem to get the timing down for the drum intro to "The Garb of Old Gaul."
Harry was also tired of training new Band Officers.

The new Band Officer, Sub-Lieutenant Ramseur, while he was a nice young
man, was unsure of himself, was feeling his way, and only just beginning to
realize that his knowledge of classical piano, which he played well, did
little good when up against the horn blowers and drum beaters of the
Band. He very quickly realized that military marches were to classical
piano what bagpipes were to music. Harry was barely mollified that the
young officer tended to take the path of least resistance and defer to him
in all things concerning the Band.

After routing the Bandsmen out of barracks, dining hall and heads, Harry
formed them up. They were not amused. Harry glared. The Band glared
back. Harry waved his Mace. The Band waved its instruments. Harry
threatened. The Band shrugged. The Bandsmen knew what they had to do and
they were just mean enough to do it, if only to prove Harry
wrong. Sub-Lieutenant Ramseur wondered why he hadn't just stayed in bed.

About the only person who wasn't mooning, moaning, complaining or giving
his impression of the village idiot was Andre. He had appeared on parade
with his drum, snow-white gauntlets, sling and sticks, ready to play. He
was dressed in a freshly pressed white uniform. His white cap had been
freshly blancoed and his cap tally tied with a smart butterfly bow. His
boots had been spit shined to perfection. That Andre also had a small,
satisfied smile on his face did not go unnoticed by Harry.

"You look pleased with yourself," declared Harry, irked that everybody else
around him seemed to have taken a stupid pill and Andre was smiling away
happily.

"It is a very nice morning, Chief. A good day for a parade," replied Andre,
not at all impressed or affected by Harry's bluster.

Harry cast his glaring gaze over the Band. "Everybody else looks like
they've been smacked with a stick but you stand there looking like the
world is your oyster." He shook his head. "If I didn't know better I'd
think that you got laid last night."

Andre gave Harry a seraphic smile. "Mais, Chef, j'ai fait!" he announced
triumphantly.

Harry was so shocked at Andre's announcement that he had indeed gotten
laid, that his jaw fell and he dropped the Mace.

******

Finally, the little bugger was ready. A complaining, moaning, doubtful
little bugger to be sure, but ready! The Phantom was showered, shaved,
powdered and splashed with cologne. His Number 11 uniform, thanks to
Mr. Leung and his assistants, fit him perfectly. His hat, which Tyler had
nicked from The Gunner's locker, had been wiped clean of salt and the top
given a fresh coat of blanco. His gold buttons had been polished, and his
crowns set in place. He was as ready as he ever would be. In the galley
lounge The Gunner, with Chef, both men chuckling at the boy's discomfiture,
did a slow walk around him. "He'll do," said Chef presently.

"And thank you for that ringing endorsement," muttered The Phantom as Chef
waddled to the washplace door and bellowed at Randy and Joey, who were
showering.

"Chop, chop!" Chef roared at the boys. "There's a parade that needs doing!
The Cookery Branch will be on parade today!" With that he grinned at The
Gunner and stomped away.

"For somebody who hasn't been on parade since he was an apprentice cook in
HYACINTHE he sure has a lot to say," complained The Phantom.

"Oh, he's going on parade," said Joey as he exited the washplace. Right
behind him was Randy. Both boys had their towels firmly tied around their
waists. Being naked in front of The Phantom was one thing. Being "nekkid"
in front of The Gunner was something entirely different. "You look nice,
Phantom," continued Joey, his shy smile genuine.

Both boys sat on the bench, waiting patiently for The Gunner to
leave. "Chef was here real early," advised Randy. "He was here when we came
on duty."

"He was polishing his medals and sword when we got here," reported Joey.

"What sword?" asked The Gunner, wondering not only where Chef had gotten a
sword, but also what he planned on doing with it.

Joey shrugged. "The sword he has in his office. He said that if the
Canadian Armed Forces was stupid enough to call him a Chief Warrant Officer
he was going to wear a sword." He reached down and scratched his
leg. "Everybody's wearing a sword."

The Gunner thought carefully. He could understand the officers wearing
swords. Today's parade was Ceremonial and therefore they were supposed to
carry swords. But Chef? Then he remembered an obscure regulation that
authorized Chief Warrant Officers, which technically Chef was, to carry
swords. He looked at The Phantom.

"Let's go."

"Where?"

"To my office to get you a sword. Tyler as well. You're both Chiefs so you
both get to wear swords."

The Phantom rolled his eyes. "Hell and sheeit! I don't know how to carry a
sword! I'll trip over it."

"Well, you can do that while you're farting, or puking," returned The
Gunner.

The Phantom gave his lover a sour look and turned to the two boys. "You
guys better get dressed. Chef will be roaring if you're late. You sure that
you have everything?"

Joey nodded. "Yup. Clean uniform in our lockers. Our boots are shined and
everything."

"Clean undies?"

Randy grimaced. "Of course, clean undies! We're not pigs, you know!"

The Phantom chuckled and then bent down and kissed both boys on their
foreheads.  "But you are brats and both of you have been known to forget
that cleanliness is next to Godliness."

"Don't you worry, Phantom, we'll smell like roses and we promise to
behave," said Joey. Then he giggled and looked at Randy. "I guess he
doesn't know about the Twins."

The Phantom looked at the two boys and made a face. "The Twins?"

"They're fighting," supplied Randy. "We don't know why."

Joey gave The Phantom the eye. He wanted to get changed! "All we know is
that they didn't sit together at breakfast."

"They haven't been beating each other up, have they?" asked The Gunner with
a silent groan. All he needed was the Twins on the warpath.

Joey shook his head. "Not that we know of. They just growled and grumbled
and made faces at each other."

The rest of the cooks, uniforms in hand, began drifting into the change
room, grumbling and complaining about Chef's latest assault on their
dignity. From somewhere deep within the galley they could hear Chef
bellowing and rampaging about.

Not wanting to become involved in Chef's latest outrage against his staff,
The Phantom turned to The Gunner. "We'd better go and get that silly
sword." He turned to the boys. "I'll see you guys later."

******

"I don't suppose you have any idea what in hell the Twins are fighting
about?" asked The Gunner as they walked toward the Drill Shed.

"Not a clue," replied The Phantom. "I saw them last night in the Gunroom
and they seemed all right then."

The Gunner did not pursue the matter. The Twins were notorious for their
feuds and while they fought like demons when they wanted to, they did love
each other and usually the storm was over in a matter of hours. "Well, so
long as they behave until after the parade, and do not cause too much
damage, I'll be happy."

The Phantom agreed. "You know them. They blow off steam and then they are
all lovey-dovey. I am sure it's nothing earth shaking."

"Let's hope so," replied The Gunner, a doubtful note in his voice as they
entered the Drill Shed. In his office The Gunner opened the special locker
where he stored his loot from Victoria. "One sword," he said, handing the
long gold and black leather sheathed sword to The Phantom. "And one belt,
complete with slings."

After showing The Phantom how to carry the sword, they selected a second
sword and sought out Tyler, giving him his sword (which he accepted after
muted complaining) and then went for a stroll about the camp. The morning's
ceremonies were divided into three parts. First the parade from outside the
Mess Hall to the parade square, then Ceremonial Divisions, followed by the
Inspection. The Phantom, as Inspecting Officer, would be driven down to the
parade square and was not, as The Gunner pointed out, needed until 0830.

As they walked around the Upper Camp the cadets greeted them as they
hurried to their muster point. All were dressed in their freshly pressed
white uniforms. The members of the Guard carried rifles and slings, and
hanging down their butts were patent leather scabbards containing the
chromed bayonets that they would fix to their rifles.

The Phantom and The Gunner stopped in front of the Headquarters Building
and watched the cadets hurrying to and fro. The Phantom rested the tip his
sword on top of an irregular ball of stone. He looked down and saw that
there was an inscription was carved into the weather worn surface of the
stone. "HMS . . . Scu . . ." He bent closer and could just make out a
date. "1864". "What's this?" he asked.

The Gunner looked at the stone. "It's a ballast stone from HMS
SCUTARI. There's another one from HMS EGERIA in front of the Mess Hall."

"Ballast stones?"

"A memento of when the sailing ships came here for refit and bottom
cleaning. It was the custom of the time to leave a ballast stone, with the
ship's name, and the date of her visit, as a remembrance of the
visit. There are still a few stones scattered around," replied The Gunner.

"Not much to remember them by," said The Phantom, looking at the carved
letters all but obliterated by years of wind and rain.

"It doesn't matter, Phantom," replied The Gunner softly. "They left
something else behind." He reached out and placed his hand on The Phantom's
shoulder. "They left their spirit, their traditions. Sometimes I think they
come back."

"Like ghosts?"

The Gunner laughed softly. "In a way. I've often thought where I would like
to return to when I've crossed over the river. I think I would like to come
back here, and join the others, keeping an eye on things and complaining
that things were much better done in my day."

The Phantom gave the man a strange look. "You believe in ghosts?"

The Gunner saw the boy's look and laughed aloud. "The Indians believe in
spirits, in those who have gone before coming back. So do I. I believe that
the old gunners are out there, the boys who have gone before."

"That is all I need, thank you," returned The Phantom with a sniff. "Todd
has half the Ship's Company convinced that there's some sort of mythical
spirit running around at night looking to suck their essences . . ."

"I wonder where that came from," retorted The Gunner dryly.

The Phantom ignored him. "And now you've got every old Chief Gunner from
Whale Island to Cape Scott lurking in the shadows!" He began to walk back
to the Mess Hall. "It's bad enough that I've got 300-odd beady-eyed cadets
just waiting for me to trip over this fucking knife! Now I've got five
generations of dead Navy Chiefs on my ass!"

"Phantom, it was just a thought," said The Gunner patiently. To get The
Phantom back on track he pointed to Mark's land yacht sitting in front of
the Mess Hall.

"The car's waiting for you. Steve's just brought it 'round."

"Steve? What has he got to do with the car?"

"He's driving," replied The Gunner.

"Steve!" squalled The Phantom. "Steve! He'll hit something. He'd fuck up a
wet dream! I'll go smashing through the windshield and end up splattered
all over the deck!"

"No, you won't," replied The Gunner calmly, mentally calling upon God to
give him strength. "He's a very careful driver. You will sit in the back
seat with Father and Steve will drive you down to the Reviewing Stand nice
and easy."

"HA! What then? I'll trip over my sword. I'll puke. No, I'll pee
myself. That's what I'll do!"

The Phantom, one hand holding his sword in a death grip, the other
gesticulating wildly, continued to rant all the way to the Mess Hall.