Date: Tue, 27 May 2003 21:17:00 -0400
From: John Ellison <paradegi@rogers.com>
Subject: The Phantom Of Aurora: Chapter 14

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).


The Phantom of Aurora: Chapter 14


Shortly before 2000 Rob drove the small van he used to fetch stores from
Base up to the Staff Barracks. In the back of the van were the two cases of
booze that Todd had conned out of The Phantom. Todd had not had to rely on
anything but a request because Rob, anxious to distance himself as much as
possible from both Little Big Man, and his past friendship with him, had
readily agreed to make the run into town. He carried the first box into the
Gunroom where Tyler was waiting for him. "You are coming, aren't you?"
Tyler asked Rob.

Rob nodded pleasantly, happy that he had been asked to a Gunroom Party. "I
wouldn't miss it," he exclaimed with a grin.

"Good, because we'd really like to see you," replied Tyler. His face broke
into a wide grin. "And Ryan. That horny Salome routine he put on last night
was so funny!"

"Yeah, well, he was pissed, the little bastard," said Rob, pretending anger
at Ryan's antics.

"I don't know what was funnier, Ryan waving his parts around or the look on
your face!"

"You wouldn't have thought it so funny if he'd been waving that dinky thing
of his at you!" returned Rob. He was not upset at what Ryan had done to him
because it had, after all, led to . . . "There's another case of booze in
the van," he said quickly. There were certain things that a guy did not
even hint at, especially if he lived next door to Paul Greene. As he left
the Gunroom he turned to Tyler. "That's a lot of booze, Tyler," he
said. "Phantom sure is generous with his old man's booze."

Tyler hid a smile, thinking that Rob would be just as generous as Phantom
if Todd had given him one of his patented feels. "Phantom's one of us now
so he doesn't mind."

"Is he coming to the party?"

Tyler shook his head. "Cory asked him but he's busy. He said something
about his folks leaving for Regina tomorrow so he has to stay home." He
lifted the case of liquor from the van. "You and Ryan, and David, come
alongside after Rounds." He snickered as he remembered the state Ryan had
been in. "If worse comes to worst you all can double up."

"If we do I am not sleeping with either of the Twins," retorted Rob. He
knew instinctively that he had to preserve his, and Ryan's, façades of
straightness. "I happen to like my ass the way it is!"

Tyler laughed. "Actually they've been very good boys lately. And you know
they only feel up guys they like."

"I guess that means I'm among the elite then 'cause Todd sure was friendly
when he asked me to drive Phantom into town!"

"The Twins are harmless," replied Tyler as he mounted the stoop. "All the
guys are. None of them would harm a fly!" Little did Tyler know that he
would live to regret his claim of pacific behaviour by his messmates.

******

After stowing the booze in his cabin Tyler had gathered the denizens of the
Gunroom together for a serious talk. As he later told The Phantom, all he
had been trying to do was to impress upon the cadets the importance of
their coming promotions and the responsibilities that came with their new
rank. The Phantom told him that would teach him not to go around giving
Duty, Queen and Country speeches.

Tyler had started out by saying that as Chief Petty Officers the
prospective candidates had a certain image to project. They were, after
all, the lynchpins, the backbones of the Sea Cadets and the men the younger
cadets looked to for guidance and leadership, as had been amply proven
during Operation Warm Fuzzy! As Chiefs they were expected to conduct
themselves in a professional manner at all times, not only on the Parade
Square, but also in their private affairs. Then he looked pointedly at the
Twins. There was every possibility that come Thursday they would be Chiefs
and it was time that they started acting like Chiefs. He insisted
emphatically that professionalism was a paramount requirement when foreign
guests were in the Mess! While he had no desire to impede their having fun,
there were certain things, like decency, that they should remember. They
would all therefore keep their pants on! Fun was fun but there were
limits. For the second time he glared at the Twins. "And wear underwear. I
don't want you two flashing your parts to all and sundry."

Tyler did not see the look that flashed between Cory and Todd, as he was
too busy rounding on the others. "And you clowns as well," he stated
imperiously. "I can't blame the Twins for getting all hot and
bothered. Every time I turn around one of you is either waving your hardon
about or beating off."

"I do not wave my hardon about," said Harry with great dignity. "I display
the Pride of the Fleet, which is a great work of art, to an appreciative
audience."

"Damn it, Harry, that is exactly what I mean. You have no shame," exploded
Tyler, not realizing that dirty looks were flashing back and forth between
the cadets. Val, who was standing in the doorway of the Chiefs' Mess saw
what Tyler could not: while he was castigating Harry the other cadets were
moving in, stalking the Master at Arms. Val very quietly moved back and
shut the door.

Before Tyler could react the cadets fell on him. In a flash his shorts and
briefs were off and his T-shirt pulled over his head. He felt someone
tugging at his shoes and socks. Struggling mightily Tyler was carried out
to the barracks yard and dumped in heap. "You can't do this!" he
bellowed. "I'm the Master at Arms!"

The cadets gave him a loud Bronx cheer, then ran inside the Gunroom and
slammed the door closed.

Tyler stood on the stoop, as naked as the day he was born, pounding on the
tightly shut door. He cursed, he pleaded, and he threatened, to no
avail. "Open this fucking door, you little bastards!" he screamed. There
was no reply. He pounded again.

"Who is it?" came a high-pitched falsetto voice.

"Who the fuck do you think it is? The Easter Bunny?" shouted Tyler.

"Leave a messaaage," lisped the voice.

At that moment Mark, Tony, and Nathan came strolling up the path. They
stopped and watched as Tyler continued to pound the firmly closed
door. Then Mark chuckled. "Well, I am hurt. You could have at least waited
until we got here."  Tyler turned and, seeing the three Americans,
blushed. "This is not what it looks like," he sputtered. "They stripped me
bare and now they won't let me in."  Tony laughed. "It looks fine from
where I'm standing. As fine an example of a young cadet as I've seen in
years."

"Someone should take a picture of you like that," guffawed Mark. "I think
that it would make a great recruiting poster."

"Ha, ha, fucking ha!" Tyler gave Mark the finger and returned to pounding
on the door.

Tony looked at Tyler, then at Nathan. He grinned and became an Italian imp,
bent on adding insult to injury. "Notice, Nathan, that the subject is
perfectly proportioned," intoned Tony pontifically as he pointed at Tyler's
smooth, muscular, body. "Notice too, that he is colour co-ordinated, the
flesh colouring of his body complimenting his hair colouring." Tony walked
around Tyler, pointing out his attributes. "His penis, now, while somewhat
on the small side, hangs in a direct line with his testicles, which are
perfectly oval, with the right hanging slightly lower than the left. His
pubic hair is, while sparse, neatly displayed." Tony was thoroughly
enjoying himself. "His pubic hair is also slightly darker than his body
hair, as is to be expected with redheads."

"I am not some fucking anatomy lesson, you Italian git!" snapped Tyler.

"I shall ignore the obvious slur on my ethnic heritage and continue," said
Tony with great hauteur. "Regard too, the classic curvature of his gluteus
maximus. Michelangelo's David should have such a superb gluteus maximus."

Mark was having a fit, and Nathan could barely control his laughter.

"Note the penis, and the absence of the prepuce," continued
Tony. "Remember, Nathan, that circumcision is as old as man, and not
confined to the Jewish religion." He looked critically at Tyler's
penis. "You should also note that he displays what many consider to be a
perfect circumcision, although I believe that there is one school of
thought that suggests a small portion of the prepuce should be left intact,
no doubt to aid in mastur . . ."

"You leave my circumcision and my prepuce out of this, damn you!" roared
Tyler as he cupped his genitals and clearly not amused.

"But why, my dear boy?" asked Tony, who had been reading a James Bond novel
and remembered the line. "Your penis has been circumcised by an artist, a
veritable Botticelli."

"I hope someone circumcises you with an axe!" Tyler snapped.

"Too late, dear friend, too late. It was done when I was a mere babe." Tony
waved his arm toward the door. "Let us away, dear friends and negotiate
with yon barbarians." He rapped lightly on the door.

The door opened and Cory's head popped out. "Can I help you?" he asked with
exaggerated politeness.

Tony bowed low and wiggled his behind at Tyler, who was standing back, his
arms folded, glowering at Cory, who smiled sweetly at him. "Good evening,
good Sir," said Tony waving his arm with a flourish. "We represent the
Waifs and Strays Society of Comox and The Islands, and bid leave to
negotiate on behalf of yon waif." He indicated Tyler, who made a horrible
face.

"You mean him with the red hair and the small dick?" asked Cory, who made a
face back.

"My dick is not small!" yelped Tyler. He took a step forward, waved his
fist at Cory.

"Testy little thing, isn't he?" asked Cory. He grimaced and waved his fist
back at Tyler.

"Alas, yes. He is a trial at times." Mark grinned. "We wish to know your
terms of entrance for this unfortunate stray that we have found." He bowed
deeply, reached around and pulled down his shorts, mooning Tyler.  Nathan
clutched himself in laughter.

"Well, he has to say he's sorry." Cory assumed a dignified air. "He also
has to withdraw his very unkind remarks directed at Harry. Harry is very
hurt."

Mark looked at Tyler and shrugged. "Well?"

Tyler nodded slowly.

"He has to promise not to hurt us," said Cory. He leaned forward and
whispered, "He can be vicious, you know, especially when naked!"

"I heard that you little . . ." began Tyler, the colour rising in his face.

"And no verbal abuse," returned Cory. He gave Tyler a sly, wicked
smile. "And, he also has to stand naked on the mess table and sing the
Lumberjack Song."

"I will not do any such thing!" roared Tyler. He was all but dancing with
anger.  "When I get my hands on you, you little son of a . . ."

Tyler's tirade was interrupted by a scuffling sound. Cory disappeared
abruptly and the door slammed shut. Mark pressed his ear to the closed
door.

"What in the hell is going on in there?" asked Tony.

"From the sound of it, a palace coup," grinned Mark.

The door opened and Todd's head popped out. He smiled sweetly. "Why, good
evening Mark. So nice to see you again."

Behind Todd the sounds of pandemonium raged. There was an almighty crash
and the cadets in the yard heard Cory yelling. "Je suis trahi!  Traitres!
Traitres!"

"Will somebody shut that fool up!" yelled Todd into the Gunroom. There was
a muffled reply. "Then tell Harry to sit on him!" shouted Todd. "And stick
something in his yap." There was another muffled reply. "I don't care, use
Tyler's briefs. Cory will like that!" He turned and grinned at Tyler.

"Ah, no, come on, Todd, not my underwear," wailed Tyler. "I don't want him
slobbering all over my underwear!"

"My brother does not slobber," replied Todd with exaggerated dignity.

"May we resume negotiations?" inquired Mark archly. "I really would like to
come in, and my special friend is getting warm."

"What special friend?" Todd looked around and saw no one else.

Mark held up his gym bag. "Sark, Cutty Sark. I assumed you knew him."

"Well why didn't you say so?" beamed Todd. "Please come in."

"What about Tyler?" asked Tony. "He's getting goose bumps and his balls are
starting to shrink."

Todd considered this for a moment. "He has to promise to remember that he's
one of us, not some tight-assed Chief with Volume One of Queen's
Regulations and Orders shoved up his ass!"

Tony looked at Tyler, who nodded.

The door opened wide and Todd motioned the Americans through. Tyler
followed, glowering at Todd. Todd reached out and patted Tyler's
behind. "Nice tan there, Chiefie," he said with a lascivious grin.

"Are they always like this?" Nathan asked, a strange look on his face.

"You should see them when they get a few drinks into them," replied Mark,
grinning widely.

******

At the far end of the Gunroom Cory was lying on his stomach on Harry's
bunk. Harry was sitting on him and Cory was hooting loudly, demanding
release. "Let me go, Harry, you big dumb ox. You're crushing my balls,
dammit. Let me up!"

"From what I've seen there's not much to crush," opined Harry with a grin.

Cory growled and struggled, to no avail. "Let me up, you miserable git! "
he shouted. "Todd, get this goof off of me." The other cadets settled
around and watched as Cory tried desperately to wiggle out from under
Harry's bulk. Tyler sat at the end of the mess table sipping on the Cutty
Sark. He had not put his clothes on and was enjoying Cory's
discomfiture. "Tyler, come on, make him let me go," whined Cory.

Tyler had not forgotten the little dick crack. He glared malevolently at
Cory and then gave him a Bronx cheer.

"Will nobody help a poor sailor in distress?" Cory had decided to appeal to
his messmates' sense of honour and decency.

They had none. "No!" they all yelled back.

Cory scowled and raised his eyes to the bulkhead. "Jesus Christ! Harry, let
me up!" Harry pretended not to have heard. "What's the matter with you?"
Cory demanded. "Have you gone deaf? Don't you understand the Queen's
English? Let me up!"

"I speak English as good as you do." Harry assumed a hurt air.

"Not from where I'm sitting, you big ox!"

"You ain't sitting nowhere. You're lying down with me sitting you," Harry
pointed out with a laugh. Then he slapped Cory's well-curved behind.

Cory yelped. He grimaced at Harry. "Descendez de moi de vous grand boeuf!"
he yelled.

"What? What'd he say?" asked Harry.

"He called you a big ox and said to get off of him," replied Todd. "In
French."

Harry smacked Cory's bum again. "Fuck you! In English!"

Cory decided that struggling was getting him nowhere and calmed down. He
also decided to have some fun at Harry's expense. "Erhalten Sie weg von mir
Sie grosses Rind"

"Huh?" Harry gave Todd an uncomprehending look.

Todd sighed. "Same song, German version. You're still a big ox, Harry."

Nathan leaned over and asked Todd, "How many languages does he speak?"

"French, German, English, and Navy. Unfortunately, all of them fluently,"
replied Todd with a sad look. "Pass me the scotch. This could be a long
night."

"For that he doesn't get his bum pinched. Even if it is a nice bum." Harry
stuck his nose in the air. "A drink would be nice."

"I do not want my bum pinched! I want up!" howled Cory.

"You'll get it smacked big time if you don't settle down," growled Harry as
Greg handed him his drink.

Cory, thinking that since Harry as not about to let him up anytime soon,
and assuming that he was as thick as a post, being a football player and
all, decided to take the mock. "Harry?"

"What?"

"Harry, si vous me laissez vers le haut je sucera votre penis dans le
ciel."

Tyler and Todd almost choked on their drinks. "What did he say?" asked
Tony. "What's wrong with Harry's penis?"

"Don't ask." replied Nathan, shaking his head. He could not believe that
Cory had just offered to suck Harry into heaven. In French.

Harry grinned at Cory. He bent and put his lips close to Cory's ears. For a
minute Cory thought that Harry was going to kiss him. "Cory, bin ich zum
Himmel gewesen. Wenn ich wieder gehe, ist et mit dem Jungen, der mich dort
das erste mal nahm."

Cory gasped. "You speak German?"

Harry nodded. "And French, and Ukrainian, smart ass." He stood up and
pulled Cory to his feet. "Thanks for the offer, Cory. But, like I said, the
next time I go to heaven I'll go with the guy who took me there first."

"You are a man of many parts, Harry. I'm sorry for trying to make a fool of
you." Cory's apology was sincere.

"Many have tried All have failed," replied Harry loftily. His ready
acceptance of Cory's apology was a sham. He was in the mood to play, and
Cory was going to be his victim.

Nathan shook his head and watched as Harry gave Cory a huge bear hug. God,
did he want to do the same. He reached over and poured a small drink. Todd
poured a dollop of water into Nathan's scotch. "Stay cool, hang loose," he
said quietly.

"He doesn't even know I'm here," replied Nathan as his eyes slid over to
where Cory was sitting.

"He knows. He never misses a thing. He knows and he hasn't started a riot."

A look of doubt crossed Nathan's handsome features. "That's a good sign?"

Todd nodded. "If you knew Cory better you would know it was a good sign."

Val came out of the Chiefs Mess and sat beside Tyler. "Is it safe to come
out now?" he asked. He stared at his friend. "Uh, Tyler, why are you
sitting there in the nude?"

"They're not pissed off at you so you're safe. Just watch your ass,"
replied Tyler.

"I do. What worry's me is that some of them do as well," returned Val
seriously.  Tyler poured a large drink for his messmate. "As to why I am
not wearing any clothes? It is show and tell day at the AURORA School for
Retards and the Inbred. Also, Cory ate my underpants."

"I did not!" exclaimed Cory hotly. "I never touched them. They're right
here." Cory handed Tyler's neatly folded clothing to Val.

"You had better put something on, Tyler. Andy and Kyle are coming
over. Dave Eddy, too," said Val, handing Tyler his shorts.

Tyler stood up and slipped on his shorts. "Who did we invite?"

"Half the ship. All the guys on the promotion list, a few special
friends. About two hundred, I should think," replied Todd with a grand
gesture.

"We don't have enough booze," protested Val. "And we don't have any mix."

"Phantom did a booze run. There's water, and Coke and, if worse comes to
worst, Chris can always hit the pop machine in the breezeway flats." Todd
looked at Chris and waggled his eyebrows.

"Not a good idea, Toddy," muttered Cory. "If he goes with Jon we might not
see them again."

"Shut up, Cory. You're mind is always in the gutter."

Cory was about to reply when Stuart, a bottle of amber rum in hand, came in
to join the party. Steve was right behind the Buffer, along with Rob and
Ryan. Then Andy and Kyle. Brian and Dylan entered. Dylan was carrying a
huge boom box, which he flashed up and the Gunroom was alive with music.

As the night progressed more cadets showed up, including Ray and the
Makee-Learns. They carried a huge tray of sandwiches. "Chef says you
shouldn't drink on an empty stomach, so he sent over some growlies," said
Ray.

Dave Eddy came in, dressed in a floral-patterned Hawaiian shirt and red
running shorts.

"I'm glad you dressed," laughed Kyle.

Dave grinned and the light danced off his braces. "After all the stories
I've heard about you and the cadets on the sailing trip you're damned lucky
I wore shorts!" He sat down and reached for a glass. "So, is the bar open?"
he asked.  Nicholas took his Hasselbad out of his sea chest and began
snapping pictures and everyone mugged for the camera.

"Say, Andy," asked Greg, "what's the word on our pictures?"

Andy had collected what he thought were all the rolls of film the boys had
shot. He rubbed the side of his nose and grinned. "Using guile, charm, my
natural boyish good looks, and bribery, I have made arrangements. The Base
photo recon unit is taking care of us."

"All of the pictures?" asked Todd. Andy had confided that he had seen the
proofs and that there were some very candid shots, which required very
delicate negotiations - and heavy bribes, or so Todd thought - to ensure
their being processed.

Kyle gave Andy a suspicious look. "Why would you have to use guile and
charm to have some harmless snapshots developed?"

Andy laughed and whispered in Kyle's ear. Kyle's eyes grew wider and wider
as Andy told him the details of one of the pictures that required special
negotiations.

"You didn't . . . you wouldn't . . ." sputtered Kyle, not quite believing
what he had just heard. He ignored Todd's snickering. "You actually have a
picture of me . . .?"

Todd broke out laughing. He knew exactly what picture Andy was talking
about because he had taken it. He visualized the print: Kyle, nude, legs
apart, with his pecker in his hand peeing into the scrub of Harwood Island,
a satisfied look on his face. Todd laughed even harder when Kyle glared at
him. "Why would you even want a picture of me . . ." Kyle was too stunned
to even consider that a picture of him performing a most private function
was sitting in the darkroom back in the Base Photo Shop.

Andy replied with a wickedly evil smile and said, "I want it for my
mantelpiece."

Kyle's jaw dropped. "You don't have a mantelpiece!"

"So, I'll build one." Andy patted Kyle's shoulder. "It is a very good
picture."

Kyle snorted. "As good as your drawers flying in the breeze!" His look said
that the picture of him naked, peeing into the underbrush of Harwood Island
would never see the light of day, or a mantelpiece, in his lifetime.

Todd continued to chuckle at Kyle's reaction as his eyes his eyes slid over
to Nicholas, who nodded slightly. Andy did not know that he had not
collected all of the rolls of film and that a very special order was in the
making. Nicholas, anxious to avoid any further discussion of the
photographs, fiddled with the settings on his camera, winked at Todd and
then asked if Mark was ready for his formal portrait.

"I am. Tyler, where's your uniform?"

Tyler stood up and Mark followed him into the Chiefs Mess. "You better be
wearing underwear. I don't want skid marks on my uniform," he grumbled.

"I am wearing underwear," retorted Mark as he followed Tyler down the short
corridor. "Which from what I've seen around here is a first and . . . What
the fuck do you keep in here? Goats?"

Laughing at the exchange between the two Chiefs, Nicholas recruited Todd
and Cory to help set up for Mark's picture. He had decided that the best
backdrop would be the bulkhead separating the Chiefs' Mess from the Gunroom
so the Twins moved Cory's bed away from the wall and pushed Todd's bed
back. Joey and Randy were dispatched to the Wardroom, with instructions to
bring back a chair.

As the others prepared the photo shoot Nathan sat back and watched. He
noticed that two of the cadets, Brian and Dylan, never seemed apart for
very long. He also noticed that two others, Rob and Ryan, were sitting very
close and that from time to time the smaller one, Ryan, would smile shyly
at Rob. Nathan sighed. "If only Cory would smile at me like that," he
thought. "If only."

Todd heard the sigh. He reached over and patted Nathan's hand. "Don't
worry. He'll come around," he said sympathetically.

"When? He sees me, but he doesn't see me. He doesn't speak to me. He acts
like

I'm not even here."

Todd glanced down the Gunroom. Cory was chattering away, in German, with
Harry, who was replying in French. Todd could hear snippets of their
conversation, which seemed to involve a rabbi, a priest, and a
minister. Todd leaned over to Nathan. "Cory's showing off. He knows you're
here, and he's wondering why you're here. He's just too stubborn to
ask. When somebody takes so much trouble to ignore you, you know he knows
you're here."

Cory suddenly yelled, "Harry, that is absolutely the worse joke I have ever
heard. Not to mention that it's anatomically impossible."

Harry roared and slapped the mess table. "How do you know? Have you ever
tried it?"

Cory shook his head. "Harry, you are impossible," he said, reaching for the
bottle of scotch.

Sylvain and Andre came into the Gunroom and greeted the other cadets. "Hey,
Sylvain, I have a present for you," said Greg in greeting. He reached under
his pillow and pulled out a copy of Routine Orders. He handed the paper to
Sylvain. "Here are tomorrow's Routine Orders. Better read them."

Sylvain made a face and started to read. "Tabernac!" he yelped. "Hey,
Andre, you and me, we get promoted."

"We do? Let me see that!" Unlike Sylvain, Andre was from Montreal and
rarely lapsed into the stereotypical French-Canadian idiom. Andre read
Routine Orders, and then kissed Sylvain on both cheeks. Then they headed
for Harry.

"Did you have anything to do with this?" asked Sylvain.

"Tell the truth, Harry," said Andre.

"Well . . . I cannot tell a lie. Shut up Cory!" Harry grinned and nodded
his head. "In the absence of the Band Officer, and since we aren't likely
to see such a critter until the Second Coming, I spoke to the Executive
Officer, who spoke to the Commanding Officer." He grinned and shrugged
expressively. "You guys deserve it."

The two French boys yelled, high-fived and then they embraced Harry and
kissed him on both cheeks.

"You two better be careful," deadpanned Cory. "Harry likes kissing. He'd
even kiss my ass if I'd let him."

Harry ignored Cory, stood up and wandered down to the other end of the
Gunroom where he watched Nicholas set up the photo shoot. Cory did not see
the sly smile on Harry's face or the evil glint in his eyes.

Mark came out of the Chiefs Mess. He looked magnificent, all pink and white
and blonde. His usually styled hair was combed in an appropriate military
manner. He turned slowly around and watched as the cadets nodded their
approval. The white uniform fit him perfectly, as if it had been made for
him. He sat in the chair that the Makee-Learns had purloined from the
Wardroom.

Nicholas studied his seated subject. Then he shook his head. "Something's
missing," he said thoughtfully. Then he turned to Tyler "He needs a
cap. Get him a cap, please."

Tyler disappeared into his room, then reappeared, his cap in his hand. He
handed it to Mark. Nicholas positioned Mark and began taking pictures. When
he was satisfied, he grinned. "I'll make you look so pretty your mother
will be handing out copies of this all over town."

"We're leaving Wednesday at noon . . ." began Mark.

"Not to worry," Nicholas assured him. "I have an in at Base. They let me
use the photo lab. If I speak nice to him just maybe the Supply Officer
will drive me over tomorrow."

"Me?" asked Andy. "Don't you have an examination tomorrow? And why would I
take you to base, you long drink of water."

"Because you're Andy and you're a good guy, and Mark is one of yours so
you'll do it."

"They can read you like a book, Andy," chuckled Kyle. "You're such a
softy."

"That's not what you said last night," replied Andy with a straight face.

The cadets roared. It was something one of them would have said. Andy was
an all right guy.

Andy stood up and gave the high sign to Kyle and Dave. The officers wished
everyone a good night and, after a barrage of disappointed grumbling from
the cadets, left the Gunroom. They waited in the barracks yard for Andy,
who had signalled Tyler to follow him outside. "As much as we would like to
stay, custom dictates that we take our leave." Andy told Tyler.

Tyler nodded his understanding. Tradition held that officers attending a
Junior Rates function only stayed long enough to have two or, at the most,
three drinks.

"Keep an eye on the infants, Tyler," Andy warned kindly. "I've seen the
examinations and believe me, they are a bastard."

Tyler nodded. "I'll have everybody out by 2100. Maybe earlier. Nobody is
boozing it up copious like."

Andy grinned. "Better safe than sorry, old son." He waved toward the
Wardroom and motioned Kyle and Dave to follow him. "Come on you two, one
drink on Dave, and then we have uniforms to press."

******

In the Gunroom Harry had returned to his seat beside Cory and watched out
of the corner of his eye as Cory's gaze followed Mark as he returned to the
Chiefs' Mess. Cory sighed heavily.

"Humph!" snorted Harry.

Cory looked at him. "I beg your pardon?"

"I said nothing." Harry put his nose in the air. "Nothing at all."

"I distinctly heard a 'Humph'. A very Harry 'Humph'," replied Cory. "What's
set you off?"

Harry slowly poured a drink. "Well, it just seems to me that in all the
years we've known each other you've never looked at me like that."

"Like what? What the hell are you talking about?" demanded Cory.

Harry took a delicate sip of his drink and added a little water. "Mark you
look at. Greg you look at. Even Two Strokes, who has the skinniest ass in
town. Him you look at. Me, I'm not good enough."

Cory raised his eyes heavenward. "Harry, that is not true. It's just that,
well, you're not the type."

"Oh, so I am not good enough."

"Damn it, Harry, I didn't say that." protested Cory. Actually, he had
looked at Harry many times and liked what he had seen. He was, however, not
in the mood to pander to Harry's ego. "Harry, I have known you since you
were 13. We met at the Esquimalt Sea Cadet Camp, me and Todd."

"That's true, that's true," agreed Harry solemnly.

"We have seen each other every summer for five years. Harry, I knew you
when. I knew you when you had exactly two pubic hairs. I know because you
insisted on counting the damn things every night before you crawled into
your bunk. I watched you grow from a skinny lump, into a big lump."

"Oh, so now I'm a lump. I'm not good enough to take a look at, and there's
a lot to look at, all of it nice . . ."

"Harry, I've seen you with your clothes on. I've seen you with your clothes
off. I agree that you look very nice either way and . . ."

"Oh, now you change your tune," scoffed Harry.

"Harry's up to something," singsonged Greg in Todd's ear.

Todd grinned and nodded. "Cory's ass is grass."

"You going to do anything about it?" asked Two Strokes.

"Nope.  Cory's been a little brat lately. Besides, I want to see what's
going to happen."

" . . . So you see, Harry, you're just you. You're just Harry." Cory's
patience was almost exhausted.

"Well, that's a backhanded compliment, I must say!" sniffed Harry.

"Harry, you are the greatest piece of maleness to appear in years. You have
wonderful balls, a superb dick, the muscles of Charles Atlas, you are a
paragon, and you are unique. THERE, ARE YOU SATISFIED?"

"Sarcasm ill becomes you, Cory," replied Harry. "But, enough said, I shall
say no more."

Cory, totally frustrated at Harry's attitude, screamed
softly. "Aaaaaghhhh. Harry, why don't you kiss my ass?"

Harry had just reached the moment he had been waiting for. "Okay," he
grinned, and lunged.

Cory squealed and threw himself backward, landing on Nicholas' bed. "Get
away from me you big lout!" he yelled.

Harry cackled and threw himself at Cory, who leaped onto Two Strokes' bed.

"Hey, I just made that bed!" yelled Two Strokes.

"Well make it again! Heeellllp!" howled Cory. "He's after me. Heeellllp!"
The cadets roared as Harry chased Cory from bed to bed, then down the other
side of the Gunroom. "Get him away from me!" hooted Cory. "He wants to hurt
me. Todd, I'm your brother! Help me!"

"Not after that crack about Mrs. Fist," Todd laughed back.

"He's not going to hurt Cory, is he Todd?" asked Nathan, half rising.

Todd motioned Nathan to sit down. "Harry wouldn't hurt a fly. He's just
getting even. Harry never gets mad. He gets even."

As Cory began his second circuit around the Gunroom a foot flashed out and
Cory tripped, falling on his face.

Tyler smiled. Like Harry, he did not get mad. He got even. Naked or fully
clothed, he got even.

Harry reached down and lifted Cory up. He sat down on Greg's bunk with
Cory, squealing and squirming, draped over his lap. "I believe you asked me
to kiss your ass?" inquired Harry.

Cory, a stricken look on his face, stared at Harry. "You wouldn't dare!"

Harry laughed maniacally. He pulled down the back of Cory's shorts and
briefs and planted the biggest, wettest kiss he could muster, on Cory's
round, tanned butt.

Cory screamed. "He kissed my bum," he howled at the laughing
cadets. "That's gross, Harry, gross!"

"I can do better than that." Harry leaned down and bit Cory, not hard
enough to break the skin, but hard enough for Cory to know that his behind
had been bitten. Then he pushed Cory off his lap.

Cory lay on the deck, speechless. Then he jumped up, and danced around the
Gunroom, holding his bare behind. "He bit me!  You all saw it! You are all
witnesses," he bellowed.

"Not me, I didn't see a thing," said Greg.

"I'm not a witness. I'm drunk," yelled Nicholas.

"Maybe Cory will need emergency surgery." Fred rolled on his bunk, laughing
hard.

"I'll get the tweezers," offered Two Strokes.

Cory, who was not really hurt, jumped up and down. Then he confronted Todd.
"Well, what are you going to do about it?  You're my brother, Todd, and,
stop laughing at me! Dammit, Todd, this is not funny at all!"

"Yes it is!" howled Todd. He laughed so hard he fell off of the bench.

Cory began stuttering in frustration. Then he jumped on top of Todd.

As the Twins rolled around the deck, Tyler looked at Val and nodded. Val
stood up and walked down to the showers where he filled the fire bucket
full of cold water. He calmly re-entered the Gunroom and poured the bucket
of water over the fighting Twins.

Mark grinned at Nathan. "I told you to wait and see them when they had a
few drinks in them."

******

After leaving the Gunner's apartment The Phantom angrily pedalled
home. Fortunately his mother was in bed, and, with his father at work, he
was spared any further indignity by having to explain his agitation and
anger to his parents. His hopes concerning The Gunner shattered, he allowed
his anger full range, and then decided that if The Gunner did not want him
there were boys who did. He showered, changed his clothes, and went to the
shack.

For a long while he lay on the bed in the old shack, thinking. His anger,
he found, had receded, replaced by the bitter knowledge that he had been
betrayed by The Gunner. He had convinced himself that he had been lied to.

Determined not to wallow in self-pity, The Phantom heaved himself off the
bed and opened the door of the shack. It was very late. The moon was hidden
behind the clouds and it was very dark. He looked around and sniffed the
air. Nothing. It was warm, and The Phantom thought it would rain. He could
see the lights of AURORA shining in the distance and smiled thinly. There
were boys there, boys that he would never betray, as he had been
betrayed. Boys who were waiting for him, waiting for him to give them what
he was denied. He closed the door and started walking south, toward Goose
Spit and the boys of AURORA.

******

The Phantom skirted the Mess Hall and entered the Cooks' barracks. He was
very pleased that Ray was being promoted and he decided that tonight he
would take Ray, for the first time, across the river.

At the first touch of The Phantom's warm lips against his Ray opened his
eyes and groaned quietly. He parted his lips and their tongues met and Ray
tasted again the lips he had tasted twice this day. Ray felt the hand slip
under the elastic band of his underpants and embrace his stiffening
penis. He raised his hips as The Phantom's thumb slowly stimulated the
leaking head of his cock.

The Phantom began slowly kissing his way down Ray's heaving chest, finding
his nipples, then his navel. He licked and sucked Ray's treasure trail and
then, as he pushed Ray's briefs down, he buried his nose in the boy's pubic
hair, smelling the uniqueness of Ray, the rough, curly, hairs somehow
stimulating and sensuous.

Ray felt the moist lips slowly suck his throbbing helmet into the
wetness. He bit his lips as an incredible pleasure pulsed down his stone
hard dick, sweeping through his balls, and engulfing his body. His mind
screamed the name he wanted to yell out loud. He felt the small opening in
his mushroom being probed with a hard, pointed tongue, then rimmed and
sucked clean of the clear pre-cum that oozed out. The warm wetness left his
penis and he felt the tongue slowly lick his tightening balls, first one,
and then the other. The lips sucked softly, drawing the wrinkling skin
inside the moistness. Ray arched his body at each pass of the tongue across
his balls. He groaned, using all his willpower not to call out the name of
the boy who gave him such pleasure. The mouth left his testicles. It was
time. Ray shuddered in anticipation.

The Phantom slowly, almost imperceptibly, used his mouth and lips to barely
caress Ray's pulsing thickness. Ray bucked and moaned as the feeling of
wonder began rising; his legs became numb, his dick swelled, and he felt
his orgasm rise up and crash down, sending him to a level of pleasure he
had never felt before. He felt his cum bubble slowly out of his slit. Just
when he felt his first orgasm ebbing, a second seized him. His eyes rolled
back and his body convulsed. He opened his mouth and groaned as more of his
nectar seeped down to coat his throbbing helmet and shaft. Dear God! Dear
God! What was Phantom doing to me?

Another orgasm, more powerful than the other two combined, avalanched
through Ray's body. Exhausted, breathing as if his next breath would be his
last, Ray drew his hands across the back of the boy who had taken him to
heights he had never known before. His body jumped and squirmed as his cock
was licked and sucked clean of his cream. He panted and moaned, begging for
the mouth to leave his dickhead, which was so sensitive that every part of
him seemed to be concentrated there.

Finally, The Phantom withdrew and pulled the coverlet over the naked body
of his friend. He gently squeezed Ray's genitals, which caused to boy to
leap upward. He kissed Ray softly and left him, spent and breathing
harshly, knowing that Ray would never forget this night.

******

The Phantom used the cross-corridor and entered the Storekeepers
Barracks. He stopped and listened. He could hear soft murmuring. As slowly
as he could he peered around the corner of the bulkhead. What he saw made
him stare, smiling slightly.

Rob and Ryan were lying together, in Rob's bunk. They were both
naked. Ryan's leg was draped over Rob's. Their hands explored each other's
body, as they kissed softly. As The Phantom watched their hips began to
grind. There was a slight, faint odour in the warm night air. He smiled in
recognition of the distinctive aroma that drifted into his nostrils. Semen.

The Phantom felt a momentary twinge of jealousy, not so much that Rob - who
was admittedly a desirable and willing partner - had discovered a soul mate
in Ryan, as the knowledge that he would never know the joy that Rob was
feeling now, that Ryan was feeling. Still, The Phantom was happy for the
two boys. It was obvious from their actions that theirs was not some summer
infatuation. With a sigh of regret The Phantom slipped quietly away.

He crossed the short alley and entered the Boatswains Barracks where he
found Dylan in his bunk, curled in a tight ball, his coverlet drawn over
his head, snoring quietly. The Phantom slipped his hand under the cover and
felt Dylan's soft cock, the round head under his hand warm, and slightly
sticky. The Phantom chuckled quietly. Dylan had shot his load, and not so
very long ago. He debated giving Dylan a special treat but the boy's
refusal the first time The Phantom had visited him still rankled.

The Phantom moved down to where Brian lay sleeping, spread-eagled on his
bunk, clad only in tight, white briefs, his balls and dick clearly
outlined. The Phantom lowered his head and in the dim light saw three small
stains discolouring the cotton fabric. He touched them.  Still damp.  He
raised his finger and sniffed delicately. Cum. Brian's? Dylan's?

As The Phantom squeezed and fondled his soft penis to thickness, Brian
slowly opened his eyes and smiled broadly as The Phantom's hands pulled
down his briefs. "Jeez, man, I missed that," he whispered.

The Phantom felt Brian's balls, then his love trail. The hair lining
Brian's trail was clotted and damp with boy juice. "You've been busy," he
replied. Then he began slowly pumping Brian's hardon.

Brian chuckled and nodded slowly. "There was a party in the Gunroom, and
. . . oh, Jesus, that feels good, and, uh . . ." he grimaced as the
movement of The Phantom's hand sent a mini-wave of pleasure through his
balls. "Dylan and me, we, uh, well . . ."

The Phantom did not reply. He lowered his head and his mouth engulfed
Brian's iron rod. Brian thrust upward, not hard, but enough to push his
entire hardon deep into The Phantom's mouth. He thrust gently, face fucking
The Phantom.

Using his tongue and lips The Phantom quickly brought Brian to
orgasm. Brian groaned and muttered as his thick cream rocketed down The
Phantom's throat. He whimpered quietly as The Phantom's tongue and lips
licked him clean. "I'm sorry," he apologized when The Phantom moved
away. "I don't usually cum so quickly."

"That's okay. I gave you what you wanted. You gave me what I wanted."
Brian's hand found The Phantom's throbbing hardon under his tight
jeans. "Let me help you with that."

"Ah, it's okay." The effect of Brian's hand rubbing his hardon and the
friction caused by the soft cotton of his underwear on the sensitive
underside of his dick was stunning. The Phantom did not move away and
Brian's hand continued to slowly rub him.

"If you want me to, I'll suck you off," offered Brian.

The Phantom moaned and thrust forward.  "No . . . ah, no . . . just keep
doing that."

Brian continued to rub the front of The Phantom's jeans, slowly bringing
him to the peak. As he crashed over the precipice The Phantom's dick
spurted out a huge load of semen. He groaned and whimpered, pushing his
crotch into Brian's hand.

When his dick gave up the last of his load The Phantom pulled away. The
cotton rubbing against the underside of his glans was so excruciatingly
wonderful that he wanted to scream. He leaned down and kissed
Brian. "Thanks."

"For what you give me?" Brian chuckled. "Anytime, guy, anytime."

******

The Phantom moved silently through the connecting heads and washplace and
into Barracks 7, where the Boatswains slept. He remembered seeing Steve's
slim, handsome form, naked and exposed, during the sailing trip. He also
remembered Steve's small, thick, neatly circumcised dick and well
proportioned balls and had decided to visit him.

Barracks 7 was arranged much the same as all the barracks: a row of double
bunks down each side of the room separated by a long, wooden table. This
barracks, however, seemed cleaner than the others. The Phantom wrinkled his
nose, detecting the slightly acrid odour of some stern antiseptic soap that
the seamen used to scrub the deck, which was disappointing, as he did love
the smells of a roomful of sleeping males.

Since he had never been in this barracks The Phantom moved slowly,
carefully scrutinizing each sleeping form and hoping that Steve would be
sleeping in a lower bunk. Much to his surprise he found that both Stuart
and Steve, as the senior ratings of the Seamanship Branch, had single
bunks, each flush against the outside wall and separated by the doorway
leading to the outside. Steve slept in the starboard side bunk, while
Stuart was stretched out in the portside bed.

Steve was lying on his back, wearing only a pair of dark gym shorts. As the
Phantom stood over him and watched carefully Steve snorted and half-rolled
on his side, the right leg of his shorts gaping open. The Phantom knelt
beside the bunk and gently pushed Steve's legs aside. Then he ran his hand
up the leg of Steve's shorts, feeling first the soft, warm, hair-covered
skin of Steve's leg, then his clean, satin-skinned balls, then the slim,
velvet shaft topped by the silky-smooth mushroom. He squeezed gently and
Steve's dick hardened to four inches of strong, firm flesh.

Unlike many boys of his age, Steve was not a leaker. A small droplet of
precum oozed from his slit and The Phantom used it to lubricate his thumb
as he massaged Steve's helmet. The quiet rhythm of Steve's breathing broke
and he stirred, moved slightly, spreading his legs a bit wider. His arms
reached out and he hugged his pillow, burying his face in it.

The Phantom withdrew his hand and then reached up and unbuttoned Steve's
shorts, drawing down the zipper and pushing the stiff cotton fabric aside,
exposing Steve's four-inch hardon and tight hanging balls, which were
dusted with a light covering of fine, soft hair. He lowered his head and
drew the warm, pink erection into his mouth, sucking slowly, delighting in
the sweet taste, his tongue caressing the thick vein on the underside of
Steve's dick. His hand fondled Steve's retreating balls, feeling the sac
contract into a wrinkled, double-humped mound.

Steve's hard dick fit The Phantom's mouth perfectly and he was able to suck
and tongue Steve's smoothness, enjoying the taste, his nose buried in
Steve's bushy forest of pubic hair. He withdrew and, making a perfect "O"
with his thumb and forefinger, gripped the raw pinkness of Steve's helmet,
forming the slit into a small, gaping circle. His tongue licked and probed
the opening, setting it to twitching. Steve pushed his hips forward and The
Phantom took him into his mouth again.

As he sucked, The Phantom heard Steve's raspy breathing increase. He looked
up and saw Steve's head thrashing back and forth, his tongue rimming his
open mouth. As he watched, Steve's face contorted and he gasped loudly as
his dick thickened and his slit gaped. A sharp-tasting spurt of cum coated
The Phantom's tongue, sliding easily down his throat as he swallowed. Steve
made small, quick movements with his hips, each upward thrust expelling a
decreasing amount of his semen.

When Steve stopped thrusting and lay moaning softly into his pillow, The
Phantom withdrew. He pulled the zipper on Steve's shorts up, closing the
wide V of fabric and hiding Steve's still twitching cock.

Smiling happily, The Phantom left the Barracks and headed for the shack. He
would have liked to have visited Tyler and Val, but decided against it. He
had no idea of the time but his inner being told him that he had done
enough for one night.

The Phantom did not enter the shack. He mounted his bicycle and pedalled
home and went to bed. He did not jack off. He could not sleep, and for most
of the night his mind reeled and the tears coursed down his cheeks as he
remembered . . .

******

The Gunner tossed and turned for most of the night. He cursed himself for
the utter fuck-up he had made of it. Bloody Hell! He should have told
Phantom about Joel. But there was nothing to tell. He and Joel were
finished, and The Gunner now realized that they had been finished for a
long time. Nothing remained but to end it once and for all.

He reached over and picked up the framed photograph that sat on the bedside
table. He smiled at the image of Phantom, proud in his steward's uniform,
grinning back at him. Was the boy truly in love with him, or was he
equating love with sex? The Gunner sighed and returned the photograph to
its place on table. Phantom was, in one way, very correct in what he had
said. He had lied to Phantom. Not about Joel, for he had never mentioned
Joel, had, in fact, never mentioned anything about his past. What The
Gunner had lied about was his fear. His fear of rejection, his fear of the
world he lived in, his fear that once again his love would be thrown back
in his face. Phantom was 17. He was 26. How long would it be before a
younger, handsomer, man came along? Would Phantom still love him?

He had loved once before, only to be beaten and kicked for expressing that
love. Could he dare hope that the God he feared would give him a second
love? He doubted it. God hates queers. Every crackpot southern evangelist
thundered it at his incestuous and inbred congregations. The Pope in Rome,
who wept copious tears at the fate of dying Africans, whose predecessor had
risked life and limb to save hapless Jews, proclaimed it. Every religion on
earth condemned it.

The Gunner had used his so-called code to lie to Phantom. It was not his
personal code of honour that prevented him from returning the boy's
love. It was his irrational fear of discovery, of rejection. From the day
he had first realised that he was gay his whole life had been riven with
fear. In high school he feared being discovered looking at the other
boys. In CORNWALLIS, he had feared making any true friends, but he had and
been spat upon. In Nam it had been anonymous sex, with anonymous
Australians and New Zealanders. Safe, anonymous sex, with no questions
asked, all done out of fear of discovery, fear of losing everything.

Joel had recognised that fear and refused to be intimidated by it while The
Phantom, a boy who knew no fear, because he had never had to live in fear,
refused to understand it.

As the first thin rays of the rising sun entered his bedroom, creating deep
shadows as it brightened the darkness of the room, The Gunner reached again
for the picture of Phantom. He held it close to his broad chest, weeping a
little. He would settle with Joel. It was over between them, and it must be
ended. On Saturday he would go to Vancouver. He would find out where Joel
was, and end it.  Phantom remained. The Gunner was determined to find a way
to reach the boy. He would find a way to explain. He had to.

******

On Tuesday morning the cadets prepared for their examinations. Tyler
pointed out that they would have to know a little bit about everything. If,
and he insisted it was a big if, they managed to pass the exams, and the
Selection Boards, they would not just be a Band Chief, or a Gunnery Chief,
but a Chief who would be expected to know how to handle just about any
branch or trade.

Dave Eddy and Kyle gathered the candidates in the Gunroom after
PT. "Remember, guys, you are the elite," began Dave. "You will be expected
to be the best of the best, as the Gunner would say. Which means, from now
on, everything has got to be absolutely perfect. Boots, bells, jumpers,
even your lanyards."

"Don't tell us they plan on inspecting us every time," moaned Two Strokes.

"They will," said Kyle firmly. He remembered his own Chiefs Board. "I've
been there. There's a lot The Gunner will put up with but I can tell you
from experience that when it comes to dress and deportment he'll expect the
very best. He looks at it this way: As Chiefs you set the example. If the
troops see you trucking around in dirty boots and un-ironed pants, what
will they think? How will they act?"

"You have to earn the respect of each and every junior cadet," continued
Dave who, like Kyle, had been through the ordeal of a Chiefs Selection
Board. "If you go around looking like five pounds of shit in a one pound
bag, you'll soon learn what they think of you." He reached out and made a
minute adjustment to Two Strokes' lanyard. "Look your best, look
sharp. That's the first thing."

"And know your stuff." Kyle pointed at each of the candidates in
turn. "There's nothing worse than having a junior cadet ask you how to do
something and you can't do it. As a Chief you'll be expected to know what
you're about. The kids will look up to you. If the troops think that you're
just another bit of window dressing, they'll treat you accordingly."

"And you might as well pack your bags and go home," finished Dave.

Fred groaned. "In other words, when we're not teaching or drilling, or on
duty, we'll be doing laundry and polishing boots and trying to absorb the
Sea Cadet Manual."

"And don't presume on your friendship with The Gunner," warned Dave. "You
may have spent a weekend playing with him in the sun but he's all Pusser
when it comes to doing his duty. He won't cut you any slack. I know, I've
seen him in action."

"You have?" asked Todd.

Dave nodded. "In Halifax, at the School of Gunnery. He was teaching there
when I went on a course. He was the Command Chief's pet."

Cory perked up. "Did the Command Chief stroke The Gunner?"

"Cory!" Dave was aghast that Cory could even suggest such a thing! "No, the
Command Chief most certainly did not!" he snapped indignantly.

Todd slapped Cory's behind. "You are such a git!" He turned to Dave. "Don't
pay any attention to him."

Dave chuckled and continued. "Anyway, The Gunner was put in charge of
training a 100-man Guard. The Queen was coming over and Halifax was the
first place she was visiting. He worked with the guys for three months,
lived with them, and drank with them. They were all friends. Hell, half of
them were at the Gunnery School with him. On the night before the Parade
they were all told by the Chief, and by The Gunner, to stay in, do up their
kits, and no nonsense."

"From the sound of it the other boot is about to drop," said Two Strokes
glumly.

Dave nodded. "Three of the guys, they were real buddies with The
Gunner. They were in his term at CORNWALLIS, been to Gunnery School with
him, sailed in the same ship, and they figured that it would be okay to
spend some time in town. Which they did."

"And?" asked Jon.

"The morning of the Parade they showed up in full kit. They looked good, I
mean really good. Boots shined, gaiters blancoed, uniforms pressed, and
caps just so. The only problem was they were half in the bag. One of them
hadn't bothered to shave. The other two were red-eyed. The Gunner took one
look and walked up to each one in turn. He never said a word. He just
reached out and unbuckled their web belts and let them drop to the
deck. They were out of the Guard, for which they had spent three months
training, and they were no longer The Gunner's mates."

Tyler held up his hand. "You don't have to worry on that score. Everybody
was in bed before Last Post, even the Twins."

"And nobody got pissed. I only had three drinks all night long," put in
Harry righteously, an almost angelic look on his face.

"Good, because, gentlemen," drawled Kyle, "if you want to be Chiefs, you
had better be on your toes. If you all want to put on a Chief's badge for
Divisions on Friday, then from now on you had better be like Caesar's
wife. No nonsense, uniforms whiter than white, and your boots so shiny I
can shave in them." There was a collective groan. "The Gunner will not
compromise, guys, so be prepared," he said with heavy emphasis as he stood
up. He waved at the boys. "I can't help you. Dave will. Good luck to all."

Dave checked his clipboard and consulted the schedule for the day. "You
guys are to be at the high school at 0930. There's a bus laid on. Andy, No
H, The Gunner, and me, will be there. Cory, Todd, Brian, Dylan, you're
Gunnery types so be ready for a Gunner Special exam." Dave grinned. "He was
in the Ship's Office this morning at 0600, photocopying, and then he went
to Stores and drew some parade manuals."

"Oy vey!" groaned Cory. "Parade State. He's going to make us do up a Parade
State. What a bugger!"

Todd and Brian exchanged glances. "I'm dead," muttered Brian.

"No, you're not." replied Todd. "Dave, you know this stuff. So does
Cory. You two help Brian and Dylan. I'll do up their uniforms." He began
issuing orders. Two Strokes, who was the best boot polisher, got busy on
the boots that needed polishing. Harry, who was almost as good tailor as
Cory, set to work examining jumpers and bell-bottoms for Irish
pennants. Chris and Jon were dispatched to the laundry with the collected
gunshirts. Sylvain helped Harry, and then the pair of them went outside
where Harry began showing Sylvain the finer points of Mace Drill. Before he
went outside with Sylvain, Harry set Andre to writing out the all the tunes
he could remember that would be suitable for a parade. By 0700 everyone was
busy, so busy that breakfast was forgotten.

At 0900, showered, shaved, booted and pressed, the candidates boarded the
bus outside of the Headquarters Building. Rather than take the chance of
creasing their uniforms, they stood all the way to the high school. When
the bus stopped outside the school they all piled off and formed up. No one
told them to, it was a disciplined reaction. The Gunner, clipboard in hand,
his clickers waking the echoes, marched up and crashed to a halt in front
of the assembled cadets. He smiled grimly. "Well then, gentlemen, shall we
begin?"

******

When The Phantom arrived at work he immediately felt the tension. Chef was
sitting at his desk alternately smoking cigarettes and looking at his
watch. Sandro and the Makee-Learns were on automatic, alternately chopping,
peeling or loading the ovens, and looking at the galley clock. The Phantom
went to Chef's desk and placed the box of boot polish his father had gotten
for him in front of Chef.

"What's this?" Chef asked, looking at his watch and lighting another
cigarette.

"Boot polish. My Dad got it for the guys. And Chef, you've already got six
cigarettes burning in the ashtray."

Chef smiled thinly. "Nerves. I know Ray is going to do okay. Still, I
worry."

The Phantom grinned. "My guess is that Ray is a hell of a lot calmer than
you are."

Chef smiled his thanks. He looked at Phantom and a worried expression
crossed his face. Phantom was pale, and there were dark circles under his
eyes.

"Are you all right, boy?" he asked. "You look decidedly unwell."

"I'm okay, Chef, honest. It's just that I couldn't sleep last night." It
was not quite a lie.

Chef looked at his watch again. "When I was your age I could sleep like a
log, any time, any place. Damn, when will they be finished?"

"Chef, they will be finished when they are finished and Ray will be all
right."  Chef nodded. "Yes, he's a smart lad. Go on now, Phantom, start the
fish for lunch."

The Phantom kept himself as busy as he could, not wanting to think about
anything. He prepared the fish for baking, and then helped Sandro. At 1130
he went out to the steam line and served the Afternoon Watchmen, then he
began cleaning the metal trays in preparation for the main lunch hour
crowd.

Promptly at 1200 the Young Brown blew Hands to Dinner. Phantom, with
Sandro, stood at the ready. Chef wandered out, as he always did, to make
sure that everything was in order. The door flew open and one of Harry's
Sea Puppies ran in. "Hey, you guys, you should see what's going on out in
the middle of the Parade Square." He waved his arm. "Some American Cadet is
stripping naked!"

Chef, followed by The Phantom and Sandro rushed out. They saw a small group
of cadets clustered in the middle of the dusty parade square. In the middle
of the group was a naked cadet.

Nathan had, as instructed by Todd, marched out to the middle of the Parade
Square and, just as the bugle started sounding, begun to remove his
clothes. When Chef and the others arrived, he was slowly pushing down his
tighty-whiteys. He stepped out of them, folded them neatly, and placed them
on the small pile of uniform clothing at his feet. He removed his soft cap
and assumed the position of attention.

"Just what in the bloody hell do you think you're doing?" roared Chef.

"Standing in the middle of the parade square, naked, at high noon," replied
Nathan calmly.

Chef sputtered a bit. Phantom grinned. Sandro closed his eyes and shook his
head. "And just why are you standing in the middle of the parade square
naked?" demanded Chef.

Joey and Randy, who had followed Chef out of the Mess Hall, giggled, and
punched each other in the ribs. While they were no strangers to nakedness
in the barracks, public nudity was a novelty to them.

"I lost a bet." Nathan could not very well tell Chef the real reason he was
standing out here, not with 50 cadets checking him out. "I have to stand
here naked." He cocked his head and grinned shyly. "A guy's gotta pay off
on a bet, right, Chef?"

Before Chef could reply one of the cadets yelled out. "Hey, the buses are
back."  Nathan forgotten, Chef turned and hurried toward the Headquarters
Building, where the bus containing the candidates had just pulled to a
stop. Phantom, Sandro and the Makee-Learns returned to the Mess Hall. The
guys would be hungry and they would learn how well, or badly, the
examinations had gone, soon enough.  "Jeez, did you see that guy's dick?"
asked Randy.

Joey nodded. "I hope my dick gets that big."

"It will if you keep pulling on it every night!"

******

Chef greeted the cadets who had gathered around the Coke machine in the
breezeway flats and immediately wanted to know how the examinations had
gone.

"Good, Chef, really good," Ray assured him. He was positively
glowing. "What's been happening around here?"

"Except for some Yank standing in the middle of the parade square, buck
naked, not much. Now, come and tell me exactly what happened. I made a
Sacher Torte and . . ."

Todd looked at Chris and grinned. Cory, who had not been paying all that
much attention to them, was standing at the Coke machine, feeding money
into it. "Oh, Cory?" Todd winked at Chris who gave him a thumb's up.

"What?"

"Are you terribly interested in the fact that Nathan is standing out there
naked?"

"Uh . . . Nathan?" Cory shaded his eyes and looked toward the parade
square.  "What the fuck is he doing out there without any clothes on?" He
began walking toward the parade square.

"Now how would I know that?" asked Todd, following his brother. "Oh, look,
there goes Dave Eddy."

They saw Dave hurry from the Headquarters Building and head on over to
where Nathan was standing. "You had better have a damn good explanation for
this, Berman!" exclaimed Dave.

Nathan shrugged. "I lost a bet." He could see Cory, Todd and Chris hurrying
over. "I can put my clothes on, now."

Todd grinned as Cory rushed up to Nathan. "Just what the hell is this in
aid of?" demanded Cory. "What the hell are you doing stripping off like
that?"

"Calm down, Cory," soothed Dave, wondering what was really going on. "He
lost a bet, is all."

Cory glowered as Nathan slipped on his briefs, then the rest of his
uniform. Dave told them all to go about their business and headed off to
the Mess Hall for lunch. Todd grinned at Nathan and winked. Cory, who was
much too pissed off at Nathan for exposing himself, failed to notice the
wink. "I don't know what it's like down in Seattle, but I'm here to tell
you that guys do not go around taking off their clothes like that!"
complained Cory.

"Why? I have nothing to be ashamed of, Cory." replied Nathan, walking
beside him as they headed for the Mess Hall. "Can I sit with you at lunch,
please?"

"No. I have a class to prepare for this afternoon." Cory was determined not
to let Nathan get to him. "Damn," he thought, "why does he have to look so
good?"

"You can sit with Chris and me," said Todd. "We don't have any
classes. Just parade rehearsal."

Cory, speechless, stamped his foot. "Now wait a minute, Todd . . ."

"No, Cory, you wait a minute. Just because you've got a pickle up your ass
about Nathan it doesn't mean that I have. Or Chris."

"Yeah, come on Cory, Nathan's a nice guy. In more ways than one." Chris
grinned appreciatively. "And I do mean in more ways then one."

"Will you three shut up?" demanded Nathan. He turned to Cory. "Cory, I know
you're mad at me. Please do not take it out on Todd. Or Chris."

Cory did not reply. He stuck out his chin and waited.

"I want you to be my friend. I want to make up for what I said."

"That's all?" snapped Cory. "Well you'll wait a long time. I wouldn't be
your friend if you . . ." He was about to say something about Nathan
jumping off a bridge when he remembered having said something about Nathan
standing naked on the Parade Square at high noon. "Never mind. I'm not
ready to be your friend." He stomped off in the general direction of the
Gunroom.

"It's working." Todd put his arm around Nathan's shoulder. "He's blowing
smoke out of his ass."

"How do you know that?" Nathan was downcast. "He just said he wouldn't be
my friend."

Todd laughed. "No, he said he wasn't ready to be your friend. Did you not
notice how he carried on about you being naked?"

Nathan nodded. "So, what happens now?"

"We have lunch. Then we talk about Plan B."

******

With the lunch crowd fed The Phantom set about cleaning up the steam tables
and loading up the massive dishwashers. He spoke briefly to Ray, who smiled
warmly, and asked him to make sure that all the candidates received a can
of the boot polish. "It works, Ray. I used it on my shoes."

"Don't worry, Phantom, I'll make sure they all get a can." Ray put his arm
around The Phantom's waist. "Are you all right? You look like hell." There
was genuine concern in his voice.

"Aw, come on Ray, I'm okay. Hell and sheeit, you're as bad as Chef. A guy
has a bad night and everybody thinks he's at death's door."

"Anything I can do to help?" asked Ray as the door leading from the Mess
Hall opened.

The Phantom saw The Gunner enter the galley. He smiled at Ray and looked
daggers at The Gunner. "Thanks, Ray, but, no, there's nothing you can do."
He walked away and tried to look busy.

The Gunner sat down at Chef's desk and nodded slowly.

"He did all right, then?" asked Chef, smiling and nodding in Ray's
direction.

"Yes. More than all right, actually. He's a smart kid." The Gunner stole a
cigarette from Chef. "They all passed. Next stop, Drill Practicals." He lit
the cigarette and took a drag.

Chef beamed. "Well, that deserves a beer. Phantom! Two beers, if you
please."

The Phantom brought the beers and two glasses. As he set the bottles on
table The Gunner looked at him. "How are you, Phantom?" he asked gently.

"Me? I'm fine, thank you, sir," replied The Phantom, formally.

The Gunner winced slightly. "I'm sorry I missed your lesson earlier. I can
make it up this afternoon, if you like." His hooded eyes stared pleadingly
at The Phantom.

The Phantom shook his head. "That's not necessary, but thank you, sir." He
placed the glasses on the desk and was about to turn away when he looked
directly at the Gunner. "I appreciate all that you've done, but I've
decided not to join the Navy. I won't be needing any more lessons." He
walked briskly away.  The Gunner nodded silently, then looked at Chef, who
was glowering at him. "What have you done, Stevie?" Chef hissed.

"I've done what you said I should have done a long time ago. Now drink your
beer and mind your own business."

Chef was not a man to mince words. "If you've hurt that kid, so help me,
Stevie, you'll regret it. He's one of my lambs. You hurt one my lambs
. . ."

"I haven't hurt him," interrupted The Gunner. "All you need to know is that
what was once between us is over.  Finished, finito, kaput."

Chef took a huge swallow of beer. "You're a fool, Stevie."

******

The Twins spent much of the afternoon bickering, mostly over Nathan and
Cory's treatment of him. After Secure they changed, and went in search of
Phantom. Todd needed him to take the artwork for the course T-shirts into
town and to arrange for the printing of the shirts.

They found The Phantom sitting in his usual place on the galley steps,
enjoying the afternoon sun. He looked up as he saw the Twins ambling down
the path, and noticed that Todd was carrying a small roll of paper. He also
noticed that Cory looked like a thundercloud. He chuckled when he saw that
the Twins were in their Seminarian mode: navy blue shorts, regulation white
T-shirts with blue piping, all in all very conservative. They were not
wearing anything on their feet. "Hey, Todd. Hey, Cory," he greeted them.

Todd sat down on the step below The Phantom and looked at him with
disgust. "I see you're still smoking those damn things," he snorted.

The Phantom nodded. "Yes, Todd, I am. And before you start, yes, cigarettes
are a filthy habit. Yes, they will stunt my growth. Yes, they will smell up
my body. They will make my dick shrink, and my balls shrivel up into two
little peas." He took a deep drag on his cigarette. "I love 'em."

"Leave Phantom alone, Todd," said Cory. "It's his body."

"Yes, it is," agreed The Phantom.  "And what's up with you, Cory? The
ship's cat die?"

Todd sighed theatrically. "Nathan."

The Phantom snickered. "So Nathan's still after your ring?" He winked at
Todd.

"I would have thought that after he bared his soul . . ."

"And his balls," interrupted Todd.

"Those too."

Cory glared angrily at them. "Phantom, I like you. I like you a lot. Don't
make me hurt you."

The Phantom held up his hand. "Cory, I'm only pulling your pisser."

"That's what Nathan wants to do!" laughed Todd.

"I know what Nathan wants!" snapped Cory firmly. "I also know he is not
getting it from me." He sat down and glared at Todd. "Can't we just drop
the subject?"

"Sure," agreed Todd. "Besides, we didn't come here to talk about Nathan's
love life, or his lack of it."

Cory grimaced. "As far as I'm concerned Phantom has a better chance than
Nathan."

"Well, thanks a lot!" The Phantom winked at Todd. "I really appreciate
that. After all we've been through, after you invite me to share your bed,
that's how I get treated."

"Oh, Phantom, shut up! You sound like Harry."

"I don't bite bums, Cory," returned The Phantom with a grin. "Mind you, I
do agree with Harry's assessment of your bum."

"I should hope that you don't bite bums!" Cory looked directly at The
Phantom. "It's gross." He gave The Phantom an appraising look. "So, Phantom
liked his bum, did he?" He smiled warmly. "If you want to know the truth,
you do have a much better chance than Nathan. Much better than you know."

"I do?" The Phantom wondered where this was leading.  Cory smiled and ran
his hand up The Phantom's leg. "I'm not coming on to you, so don't get all
huffy."

"I'm not." The Phantom swallowed. "Christ, Cory," he thought, "You keep
that up and . . ." His body trembled slightly. He quickly tried to defuse a
potentially, for him, embarrassing situation.  "Uh, Cory, you're supposed
to be straight, and I . . ."

Cory withdrew his hand. "I know what I'm supposed to be. I also know what I
really am, so why should I pretend?" He gave The Phantom's knee a soft
caress. "You're a good looking guy, Phantom, and to be honest, I wouldn't
say no."

"Cory . . ." warned Todd.

"Todd, I am not going to pretend to be something I'm not. I'm sick of
pretending." His blue eyes sparkled as he looked directly at The
Phantom. "If you gave me the slightest encouragement, I'd sleep with
you. Todd would too, if he wasn't such a hypocrite!"

The Phantom blushed furiously. "Cory, I appreciate, the . . . um
. . . invitation.  I'm more than flattered . . ."

"But you're not interested." Todd made a statement of fact.

The Phantom said nothing. He was stunned that the Twins would even consider
him for such a thing. "It's just that . . ." The Phantom began with some
hesitation, "It's just that you guys are so, well, handsome and you could
have your pick of guys. Me?  I'm not all that good looking, and I sure
don't have a big dick, and . . ."

"Fuck, Phantom, who said you had to have a big dick?" demanded
Cory. "Remember, we spent two days together, naked. We also undressed you
before we went sailing. Todd likes you, and I like you. You have a handsome
set of parts." He sighed and smiled at the memory. "You've got a nice set
of balls, and a very nice dick."

The Phantom looked down at his crotch. "Yeah, I do, don't I?" He grinned
and waggled his eyebrows.

The Twins laughed and clapped him on his shoulder. "Phantom, any time you
want, you just give me the high sign." Todd told him. "I mean any time."

The Phantom cocked his head and grinned at Todd. "Did you two wander over
here just to put the moves on me, or did you want something?"

Todd grinned back. "Well, we actually wanted to ask you a favour."

"It isn't illegal, is it?"

"Of course it is. Would you have it any other way?" Todd smiled. Cory was
right; Phantom was not a bad piece of work.

"No."

"Good. So, my young friend who won't sleep with us, and who should be very
flattered that we asked him, this is what we want." Todd held out the roll
of paper. "We need some T-shirts printed. This is the artwork we want on
the shirts, plus a list of the sizes we think we'll need."

The Phantom unrolled the paper and saw the logo that Todd had drawn,
redrawn, and drawn again. The finished drawing was a work of art. He
whistled in admiration. "Todd, this is good. I mean that, this is really
good," he said, admiring the drawing.

"I have a talent," replied Todd without a trace of modesty. "Can you take
it to the print shop in town? They already have the artwork for the Ship's
Crest, so they shouldn't have too much trouble with the new stuff."

"Consider it done."

"Thanks, Phantom, we appreciate it." Todd stood up and motioned for Cory to
follow him. "Well, we'd better head off. We have to hide somewhere. Nathan
on heat is not a pretty sight."

"Nathan is not on heat!" growled Cory with clenched fists.

Todd gave his brother a withering look. "I wish you'd make up that little
mind of yours, Cory. One minute you curse the poor guy up hill and down
dale. The next minute you get all pouty if I so much as suggest that he's
after you, or say anything against him."

Cory grunted but said nothing.

"I really don't understand you, Cory. It's not like he raped you or
anything." Todd looked at Cory with disdain. "He's not that bad to look at
and he wants to apologize to you. Why not let him? You don't even have to
sleep with him."

"I don't plan to." Cory gave Todd a malicious look. "If you're so
interested, you sleep with him.  Just don't be disappointed when you find
out that he's not all that good of a fuck and . . ."

"Stop it!" The Phantom stood up, a stricken look on his face. "Stop it,
Cory, stop it now." Cory and Todd stared at The Phantom. "Stop it the pair
of you!" He waved his arm, an angry gesture that brooked no argument. "Stop
demeaning yourselves and stop acting like a couple of underage queens."

"Holy shi . .  . I mean okay, calm down, Phantom." Cory put his arm around
The Phantom's shoulder. "I, we, well, we talk like that all the time and
. . ."

"Well, don't!" snapped The Phantom, sitting down again. "You guys piss me
right off. I know you think you're just being yourselves, being honest, but
it pisses me off when you talk like that. You are not queers. You are not
fags. You're two guys who happen to like other guys, which has nothing to
do with who you are or what you do. Who you sleep with is your
business. You don't hear straight people going around discussing their sex
life."

"Well, some guys, when they score with a girl . . ." began Todd.

"Does that mean you have to? Does that mean you have to go around screaming
that you're gay? What does it gain you?" The Phantom was very angry with
them. "You two mean the world to me, but I'm warning you, stop it. You
don't have to pretend to be straight. You also don't have to broadcast that
you're gay."

Todd hung his head. "The Gunner told us the same thing, only he put it
differently."

"He's right, Todd," said Cory softly. "I'm sorry, Phantom, truly, it's just
that, well, usually straight guys expect us to talk that way. I guess it
makes their balls grow bigger, makes them feel more hetero."

"I am not other guys," replied The Phantom firmly. "And I am also not
straight."  The Twins stared at the Phantom. "What . . .?" gasped Todd.

"I am not straight." The Phantom repeated calmly. Then he realized what he
had just said and turned beet red. "I can't be. I love a man. I love The
Gunner."

It took the dumbstruck Twins a moment to recover. "Well, we love him too,"
said Cory, "maybe not the way you love him, but . . ."

The Phantom could not lie his way out of his gaffe. "Cory, I love him
exactly the way you do. I love him and I want to sleep with him. I mean
really sleep with him. I want to taste every part of him. I want him to
love me the way you, Todd, love Cory. The way Cory loves you, Todd." He
smiled shyly at the Twins. "When we slept together, on the trip?" The Twins
nodded. "I felt his balls and dick. I felt him because I wanted to see him
hard, to feel him hard. I did it because I wanted him." There, it was
out. "I guess that makes me as gay as you two are."

"Phantom, I can't believe you're gay." Cory was flabbergasted. "I knew that
you had a crush on The Gunner, but that doesn't mean anything. Hell, guys
experiment all the time. I bet that The Gunner did it, when he was our
age."

"Cory, it's more than a crush. I slept beside him, hoping that we would do
things together. I felt his balls and dick. I tried to get him hard."

Todd shook his head. "And he won't let you love him?"

"No. It's over, anyway. He says he can't love me that way."

"Tell me about it." Todd gave The Phantom a squeeze. "He told us the same
thing. He quoted Kipling, England's Answer, actually. He knows that both
Cory and I would sleep with him. But, he won't let us. He won't let himself
even consider sleeping with us."

The Phantom nodded sadly, then reached up and ruffled Cory's hair. "It
doesn't matter anymore. We had words last night. He can get on with
whatever he wants. I won't be bothering him again. He doesn't want me, so
it's over and done with." He gave the Twins a leering smile. "But, cheer
up, if all else fails, there is always you two."

Todd looked at The Phantom. He hoped that he would not have to go through
with The Phantom what he had gone through with Harry.

"And I know how Nathan feels." The Phantom sighed and smiled wanly. "It
would seem that we are both in the same boat."

"I warned you about him, Phantom . . ." growled Cory.

"Sorry, Cory. It just slipped out."

"Well, slip it back in."

They sat together in silence, deep in thought, The Phantom hoping that the
Twins would forget he had ever said anything, the Twins not quite ready to
accept that Phantom was a part of their brotherhood. "You want us to do
anything about it?" asked Todd presently. "The Gunner likes us and we could
talk to him."

"No.  Please, Todd, Cory, let it be. I've accepted it."

Todd stood up and motioned to Cory. "If we can do anything, you tell us,
hear?"  The Phantom nodded.

Todd nodded toward the Mess Hall. "You better get back. Chef will think
you've deserted."

"Phantom, can I ask you a question?" Cory put his hand on The Phantom's
shoulder.

"Sure."

"What did it feel like, when you . . ."

The Phantom blushed fiercely. "Cory, it was . . ." he crooned, his eyes
half closed and a look of bliss on his face. Then he grinned.

"Never mind, I get the picture," said Cory grinning back. "So, did you wash
your hand? Can I smell it?"

"Cory!" The Phantom and Todd shouted at him.