Aurora Tapestry

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

My writing reflects the customs, mores, traditions, prejudices and attitudes of the times. The year is 1976 and it was a different world. Some of the attitudes will no doubt offend those who are so determinedly politically correct that they are unable to conceive that others might have a different opinion or outlook. Others are so Liberal in their thinking that they make Hillary Clinton look like Attila the Hen! And then there are those that are into "causes". Please, do not write me hooting and hollering about your cause, prejudices, preferences or whatever. I am not into causes. I AM a grumpy old sailor and I do not suffer fools gladly. Be warned.

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

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

I would like to thank all those who wrote with their ideas and suggestions. I always enjoy hearing from my readers. Please contact me at my home address: paradegi@orgers.com

My thanks to Peter. After 4 drafts (or was it 5) we finally got it right!

On a personal note, I wish to advise all my readers that there may be a delay in posting future chapters. Yesterday, the 24th of February, I began an aggressive and intensive course of radiation therapy. While the prognosis is good, the treatment lasts 5 weeks and the side effects can be brutal. I shall continue writing as much as I can and, hopefully will be able to post in a timely manner.

Aurora Tapestry - Chapter 7

Saturday morning gave promise of a beautiful day. The storm clouds had long since passed to the east and the azure sky was clear, with not a cloud to be seen, and a soft breeze blew from the inland mountains, cooling the air. In the Mess Hall, Chef and the cooks were at their ovens and ranges long before the Duty Quartermaster shuffled sleepily from the Guardhouse to the Ship's Office, rummaged through the pile of papers, empty paper cups and assorted paperclips, found the tape and slid it into the player. At exactly 0600 by the ship's clock he switched on the public address system, cranked up the volume knob of the tape player and pressed the "play" button.

Across the spit the rollicking, slightly off-key, brassy notes of "Reveille" called the cadets of HMCS AURORA awake.

In the Gunroom, The Phantom awoke with a start as the tannoy began blaring the morning wakeup call. Below him Harry rolled in his bunk, setting the whole unit to trembling, swore, rolled again, swore, and then crawled out of his pit. He reached out and smacked The Phantom soundly on his bottom. "Wakey, Wakey, Phantom," he roared. "You wanta hoot with the owls at night, ya gotta soar with the eagles in the morning!"

Yelping, The Phantom turned and glared at Harry. Nobody in the Gunroom had been hooting with anything, least of all owls. In fact everybody had gone to bed at Lights Out! Looking at Harry, The Phantom could not help but notice the head and three inches of the Pride poking above the waistband of Harry's boxers. "Jesus, Harry, does that thing ever go down?"

Roaring with laughter, Harry dropped his shorts and said, "The Pride is omniscient, and never sleeps!" With that he strolled down the length of the Gunroom, the Pride, jutting up at an angle from his crotch, leading the way. As he walked past the other cadets there were the usual catcalls and cries to hide that thing! Harry ignored them all and went into the washplace.

The other cadets began, with the usual teenage reluctance to leave the comfortable womb of their beds, to get up. The Phantom sat up and draped his legs over the edge of his bunk and watched as the others, scratching and yawning, greeted the day.

The Phantom had slept well and, except for Cory's euphoric fit in the middle of the night, nothing had disturbed him. He saw that Nathan and Fred had returned from wherever they had been playing hide the sausage. Down at the far end of the Gunroom Cory and Todd slept on, or at least pretended to be asleep.

As The Phantom lowered himself to the deck, Tyler, dressed only in a pair of sparkling tighty-whiteys, turned the corner of the mess and started bellowing for the cadets to get their collective asses in gear. PT and its attendant tortures waited. Before returning to the Chiefs Mess, Tyler made it a point to strip the covers off of the Twins and order them up. He also told Cory and Todd to wear undies under their gym shorts, as he did not want them flashing the YAG crews, who would be marching up from the Dockyard shortly.

Sighing wistfully at Tyler's well-formed, compact butt, The Phantom reached into his locker and pulled out a clean T-shirt and white socks. He sat on Harry's bunk as he pulled on his socks and looked around. He noticed that the taste in underpants ranged from solid coloured boxers, which Nicholas, Fred and Nathan wore, to white briefs, which Two Strokes, Thumper, Fred, Jon, Chris and Greg slept in. The Twins, ever the odd men out, slept in dark blue gym shorts, which they had to strip off to put on the tighty-whiteys they had been ordered to wear.

Everybody changed into sports gear and then, grumbling, the cadets formed a straggling line and shuffled outside, across the barracks yard, and onto the parade square, where Mike and the Assistant waited. Tyler, as Master at Arms, formed the Staff Cadets into a semblance of a platoon while in the distance they could hear the muted shouts, whistles and yells that signalled that the march of the YAG cadets was about to begin. Presently the rhythmic stomp of marching cadets could be heard.

As the marching column drew closer the latecomers scuttled onto the parade square: Matt, Steve and Stuart from the Petty Officers Mess, and Rob from the Stores building. They took places in the back file of the platoon and hoped that Tyler and Val had not noticed. They had, but this was Saturday, with only a half-day of work to be done, so they pretended not to notice.

Led by their Squadron Commander, Lieutenant Commander Harvordson, the YAG cadets marched onto the parade square in five disciplined, aligned platoons. Every officer and cadet was dressed alike in baggy navy blue gym shorts, white, blue-banded T-shirts, and black and white high-tops. It was the first time that all the YAG crews had been together as a marching unit, aside from the Passing Out Parade, and they were an impressive sight, which brought a contented, approving smile to Val's lips. He made a mental note to pass on his compliments to Sean Anders.

A shuffling of feet broke Val's concentration as Kyle and Wally Higman rushed up to stand behind the Staff platoon. Mike frowned but said nothing. Officers were officers and a necessary evil. He glanced at the assembled cadets, and then at the gaggle of officers. He sniffed disdainfully at Kyle's dark red track pants and Wally's voluminous, oil and grease-stained work shirt and raised his eyes, as if looking to Heaven for guidance, thinking that it would have been more impressive if the two officers had shown up looking like officers and less like two bags of dirty dhobi!

Morning callisthenics went well, in no small part due to Mike, a new Mike, a self-assured, confident and professional Mike. Gone were the fits of frustration and pique, the childish temper tantrums. Mike stood foursquare in front of the parade, exuding confidence. Behind him, and to the right, Phillip, called the Assistant, beamed with pride. God damn was Mike impressive!

Of course, it helped that Harry did not fart, belch, hang a rat or generally disrupt the proceedings. Nor did the Twins ogle the assembled YAG cadets. Stuart and Steve, as behoved senior cadets, behaved professionally. Thumper and Two Strokes, together with Jon and Fred, performed automatically to be sure, but every movement they made was crisp and sure. They were Regulating Petty Officers and expected to set the example.

As the morning exercises were coming to an end the sound of a ship's horn rent the early morning air. Heads turned and looked toward the beach. About a half-mile offshore, plodding along, was a boxlike, grey shape. As the shape made the turn that would take it into the channel leading into Comox harbour the cadets recognized it. The Reserve Navy, in the form of HMCS PORTE DE LE ROI, was coming to call.

As originally conceived, the Porte class vessels were laid down as small, sturdy ships designed to tend the gates in the anti-submarine booms that guarded Canada's major harbours. As the years passed the vessels - there were six of them - with no submarine nets to tend, and other uses, such as minesweeping proven impractical, the ships were designated as Reserve Training Vessels.

As a class the gate vessels looked more or less alike, with a cruiser stern, high forecastle and boxy upper deck structures. They were not designed for grace or speed, but they were good, steady sea boats, handling well in any kind of sea, and as stable a training platform as could be found in the Navy.

Over the years certain refinements had been added to make each vessel unique. A small, oblong cabin, called the Dog House, had been added to the main deck structure, a cramped Gunroom in miniature, designed to house 6 officer cadets (PORTE DE LE ROI had none on board this voyage). Below decks were the berthing areas for the ratings, a huge, multi-bunked Hands Mess, designed to sleep thirty sailors in triple tiered bunks, and a small cabin for the Petty Officers. On the main deck, in the forecastle, were the heads and washplaces, Paint Stores, and in two instances, the anchor gear.

Immediately abaft the berthing area was the main cafeteria, which was actually the hold where the minesweeping and net tending gear had been stored. It was plain and utilitarian, with long, Formica tables and padded benches bolted to the deck. The Officers ate in a tiny wardroom aft, and slept in two miniature cabins astern. The Captain, usually a Lieutenant Commander, had his own cabin abaft and around the funnel.

The Gate vessels spent much of their time at sea and, in the summer, only saw their home ports every fortnight or so, when they would return to store ship, pay off the old crew and sign on a new Ship's Company. The only constants were the Commanding Officer, and 3 Permanent Force petty officers: the Coxswain, the Chief Boatswains Mate (the "Buffer"), and the Chief Engineer. Reserve sailors filled all other billets.

As training vessels the small ships plodded here and there, filling their days with exercises and their evenings with port visits, showing the flag, and hosting visiting small-town dignitaries. The visits all followed a pattern. Upon arrival the Commanding Officer would call on the Mayor, the Bishop (Anglican and Roman Catholic, the only "Established" religions, all others deemed "Fancy Religions" and beyond the pale), and whatever Naval or military authority happened to be lurking in the area. Later that evening, after the awnings had been rigged over the well deck, the forecastle and along the breezeways, the Captain would host a cocktail party, and the dignitaries would return the calls, have a drink or six, and hopefully everybody would piss off early so the lads could go ashore for a bit of rumpy pumpy and a gargle.

As PORTE DE LE ROI was not paying an official visit, there would be no visiting back and forth. Under normal circumstances the ship only called in Comox to pick up stores, personnel, or in a medical emergency. She spent much of her time trundling around Vancouver Island, stopping at the small logging and fishing ports that dotted both coasts. This weekend the ship would be in port to discharge two officers, one of whom had failed his Watchkeeping exam. Both officers had finished their summer commissions and would be returning home. The ship was also losing its "Baby" Buffer, the senior Reserve Boatswain, a short, slim, banty-rooster of a Reservist with flaming red hair and temper to match. His temper, and Oscar the Dummy, had led to his downfall.

Part and parcel of every voyage were the exercises designed to hone the theoretical skills the Reservists learned back home in the Naval Reserve Divisions. These exercises included "Man Overboard", whereby an object was tossed over the side at unexpected and unscheduled moments, and the officers on the bridge would try to manoeuvre the ship and "rescue" the man overboard. While the officers were playing on the bridge the hands would ready and swing out the Zodiac, a small rigid, rubber boat that would be lowered and manned, ready to recover the object thrown overboard.

In most Gate vessels the object was a life buoy. In PORTE DE LE ROI there was Oscar the Dummy, a life size mannequin made of canvas and stuffed with old rags. Oscar was dressed in a set of old pattern work dress, and always wore his life jacket, a red, vest like garment stuffed with kapok. Oscar was a very happy dummy, as evidenced by the smile painted on his face, and never complained about being constantly thrown overboard at inconvenient times, and seemed to enjoy his mess deck, which was an old life raft container lashed to the deck in front of the Dog House. That he shared his mess with extra life vests and tin hats seemed not to bother him at all.

Oscar was the bane of the Baby Buffer's existence as it was his job to toss Oscar overboard whenever the Commanding Officer decided to hold a Man Overboard drill. The problem was that Oscar was never where he was supposed to be, turning up in the most unlikely of places. The Baby Buffer would spend valuable time searching for the damned dummy while the Commanding Officer, the Buffer, the Coxswain and assorted odds, sods, and boffins commented on his lack of ability and intelligence for being unable to keep track one of dummy!

It did not help matters that the rest of the crew considered this Baby Buffer to be an officious little twit, who didn't know his ass from his elbow, and was pussy-whipped to boot. They had no sympathy with a young man who allowed his shrewish wife back home (she wrote him every day, poor lad) to rule his every waking moment. When he was not writing whining letters to his wife, the Baby Buffer was either projecting his stress and incompetence by throwing a fit on the well deck, or in his bunk having a nightmare about Oscar the Dummy.

Ordinarily little quirks of character could be and were, overlooked. The manpower pool was small, and every hand was needed. This time, however, the Baby Buffer had pissed in the pickles big time.

It had started out with Lieutenant Arnott, the Executive Officer, telling the Buffer that immediately the ship cleared Nanaimo (where she had spent the night) they would hold a Man Overboard drill. The Buffer told the Baby Buffer, who grumbled under his breath, muttered a curse, and went to the life raft container to fetch Oscar. Unfortunately, Oscar was not there, having decamped to warmer quarters, as the night had been cool.

The Baby Buffer stood staring into the open container scratching his head. He could not understand where the dummy had got to. He had been on board all night as Duty Chief, and had made it a point to check on Oscar. He had ordered the Duty Quartermaster to keep an eagle eye on Oscar's mess! The Quartermaster swore up and down that nobody had been near Oscar all night. The Baby Buffer called the Duty Quartermaster a very nasty name and went on the hunt.

Oscar, who was enjoying a lie-in with the Special Sea sailors back aft in Tiller Flats, was rudely shoved through the hatch, grabbed by a stoker, and hurried along the port breezeway while the Baby Buffer stormed along the starboard breezeway. Quite truthfully the senior stoker told the Baby Buffer that he did not have Oscar, and to go and peddle his papers elsewhere. As the Baby Buffer charged forward again the stoker muttered into his headset.

As the Baby Buffer undogged the hatch and disappeared into the Foc'sle to search the heads, washplaces, and paint locker, two signalmen peeked their heads around the corner of the open door of the Dog House and, when the coast was clear, pulled Oscar from the bunk he been snoozing in and stuffed him unceremoniously into his life raft container. They then sat nonchalantly on the container until the Baby Buffer, mean spirited after a fruitless search forward, snarled at them to do something useful for a change, like work, and slammed into the Dog House.

While the Baby Buffer searched under mattresses and opened empty lockers, Oscar was spirited across the well deck, down the stairs and into the Chiefs and Petty Officers Mess, where he was put to bed in the Coxswain's bunk.

Defeated in the Dog House, the Baby Buffer scampered down below and into the main cafeteria, where he hooted and hollered at the off watch hands. While the Baby Buffer was slamming and threatening in the Cafeteria, the Chief Engineer pushed Oscar through the emergency hatch in the deckhead. Oscar was grabbed by two Boatswains and returned, as happy as clam, to his own mess in the life buoy container.

The Buffer, who was in on the leg-pull, had heard the Baby Buffer screaming and ranting in the cafeteria, and went in to intervene. The Buffer was an old sailor who had been dealing with panicky Reserves for years and had put up with a lot in his time. He listened patiently as the Baby Buffer ranted and, when the young man finally ran out of breath, took him up top and opened the life raft container. There was Oscar, sleeping peacefully and the sight of the dummy left the Baby Buffer rendered speechless.

All would have been well except that Sub-Lieutenant Menzies, a bespectacled, dark-skinned young man of Goanese extraction, chose this particular moment to be his usual officious self. What, he demanded, was the hold up? Did the Baby Buffer not know what he was doing? Was he so incompetent that he could not find a dummy?

The Baby Buffer, insulted and abused beyond endurance, was fast, but the Buffer was faster. As the Baby Buffer lunged at the officer the Buffer grabbed him, thumped him on the head, and held him fast. He glared at the Sub-Lieutenant and told him in no uncertain terms where to get off and sent him scuttling back to Wardroom Flats.

Unfortunately, the damage had been done. Making a threatening gesture to an officer, no matter how provoked, or how big a pain in the ass the officer happened to be, was a chargeable offence. That the offence had occurred in full view of the bridge staff and the Special Sea Duty cable party compounded the charge. The Baby Buffer was sent below and the Commanding Officer consulted.

Sub-Lieutenant Menzies was told to be more circumspect in his treatment of the junior hands, and the Baby Buffer was informed that he had outlived his usefulness. He would be put ashore at the next port of call, which would now be Comox, instead of Powell River, where it would be easier to arrange transport for him back to Esquimalt.

An early morning telephone call from the Duty Officer had given Father a heads up so he was not at all surprised when the nondescript Ford Fairlane pulled up to the steps of the Headquarters Building and a short, compact Lieutenant Commander hopped out and bounded up the steps to shake Father's outstretched hand.

"Commander Stockman?" asked the Lieutenant Commander.

"Guilty as charged," replied Father, who had taken an immediate liking to the younger officer.

"Barry Edmonds," replied the Lieutenant Commander as he crossed the Quarterdeck and followed Father into his day cabin. "Officially I am told that I am the Commanding Officer of a gate vessel training Naval reserves. Actually I'm the head keeper in a floating insane asylum!"

Laughing, Father gestured for Edmonds to take a seat. While he poured a cup of coffee for both himself and his guest Father said, "I have much the same feeling at times." He placed the cup of coffee on the small table beside the sofa where Edmonds was sitting and chuckled. "At least your lot don't go around shooting artillery at you!" He then told the Lieutenant Commander how the Twins had forgotten to take the tompions out of the field guns and almost assassinated Matron and Dirty Dave the Deacon.

When he stopped laughing Edmonds said, "They sound like just the young people the Navy needs today. They're characters, and they are something we sorely lack! Not like the old days, eh?"

Father nodded his agreement and thrust his thumb toward the open window of his office. "If it's characters you want, you've come to the right place! The Twins aside I have a Chief Cook who is as mad as a hatter, a Chief Drum Major whose main focus in life is advertising and promoting his ownership of the Pride of the Fleet . . ."

"The what?" asked Edmonds, intrigued. He had always thought Sea Cadets to be boring, proper little fellows in funny caps.

Father explained and also told Edmonds about the contests the Sea Puppies and stewards had held to find a worthy successor to the Pride.

"Now that's what I'm talking about!" exclaimed Edmonds. "Characters! They work hard, they play hard, and they do the damnedest things that are so funny that one forgets to be shocked! If any of my crew did something like that, three of the four officers would faint!"

"I have some very good chaps with me," replied Father somewhat patronizingly. He knew what most Permanent Force and Reserve officers thought about Sea Cadet types, and did not very often have an opportunity to put on the dog. "One of them is an American, good chap and rock steady. His roommate, a Subbie, is also coming along." He reached over and poured another cup of coffee. "Mind you, my Chiefs and Petty Officers have been absolute bricks. And of course I had an absolutely cracker gunnery type seconded from the Fleet."

"Leading Seaman Steve Winslow," said Edmonds promptly. "And I shall never forgive you for that!"

"I only asked for a solid, competent, gunnery type," replied Father placatingly. "You really can't hold a chap responsible for asking and getting what he asked for!"

Edmonds had to agree. "Still, I could have used him this trip." He shook his head. "My Number One, Colin Arnott, is a good, solid officer. He lacks imagination, though, and could use a firm hand at times, showing him the ropes, so to speak."

"You have Permanent Force petty officers on board," Father pointed out.

"And so I do," replied Edmonds. "But they're career ratings and not about to take a leadership role if they can help it, or stir up the pot. They have nice, cushy jobs and I think more or less look upon my young Reserves as necessary evils."

"Which Steve would never do!" declared Father loyally. "The lads here adore him, even if he does frighten them half to death with those damned clickers he wears on his boots. He has taught my young cadets more about self-discipline and self-worth than you can ever know. Why he even took a young civilian under his wing and turned the lad into a crackerjack steward! He took a group of senior cadets sailing for a weekend, together with three officers and you would not believe the change in them when they returned! I sent away two whalers filled with boys and got back two whalers filled with men!"

"And that is why I want him back!" exclaimed Edmonds. "Damn it, his talents are, well, not being wasted here, because I do recognize the importance of the Sea Cadets, but I also need his talents training Reservists! I know that if he'd been around one of my Subbies would not have failed his Watchkeeping board and that the other would have been counselled and not spent the entire trip hauling his genitals from port to port, using my ship as transport!"

Father commiserated, and then informed Edmonds that Steve Winslow was not on board AURORA. "His aunt passed over, but then you couldn't know that," Father continued. "And even if he were he's mine until the 27th of August!"

Edmonds saw the determined look on Father's face and nodded slowly. "I did have to try, you know."

Father laughed quietly. "Well, I might have Steve Winslow, but you have something I would give a year's pay to have, if only for a little while."

"What's that?"

"A ship," replied Father wistfully. "A cranky, wallowing, rolling, floating heap of iron, but a ship!" He leaned back in his chair. "I would so like to have one more little voyage under my belt, maybe play at being an admiral - I do have 5 YAGs sitting about doing nothing - and I would like to see how my chaps perform. Most of my senior ratings have never been to sea, or if they have they've always been observers, watching while the crew does the work. My Master at Arms is off to Royal Roads next month, and he has never had an opportunity to con a ship! The Twins, rapscallions though they be, have been pointed in the right direction by Steve Winslow, and I would like to keep them on that course. I also have a Chief Steward who is a natural leader. He's applied for the UNTDs and I would like to see if he performs as well at sea as he does on land."

"Sounds a paragon," replied Edmonds, wondering why his crew was made up of also-rans when the Sea Cadets here at AURORA seemed to be just the type of young men the Navy needed.

"He is not that," replied Father. "Phantom, which is what the boys call him, although his Christian name is Philip, is simply one of those people who project confidence, energy, and determination. He seems to know when to say just the right thing at just the right time to help the boys become better cadets. He started out as a civilian working in the galley and before I knew it I was sitting at a table glittering with silver, crystal and china in the best Edwardian tradition, being served by stewards in crisp, starched jackets! And my Chief Physical Training Instructor, a good lad, but lacking in self-confidence . . ." he shook his head. "I saw Phantom standing at the side of the parade square. All he did was look at young Mike, and the next thing I knew the lad was something he had never been before. He was one of them! He was no longer a stiff-necked, book-driven Muscle Bos'n! He had somehow realized that the lads were taking the mickey off him because he let them. I don't know how Phantom did it, but I swear, one long, searching look and Mike was a changed man!"

"And this one kid did it?" asked Edmonds. He had to meet this cadet! "If he can do that he can light a fire under at least one of my officers, by God!"

"Well, it works here," replied Father enigmatically.

Edmonds made a face, and then smiled. "All right, Commander."

"All right what?" asked Father, his face devoid of expression.

Edmonds stood up and looked around for his cap. "I have some things to do at base today, and my crew need some time ashore. So, sly man that you are, you are going to sea!"

"I am?" asked Father, feigning surprise. He had hoped for a day steam. What Edmonds offered seemed so much more.

"You are. What say you stop by for lunch and a gargle? We'll tell each other lies and then I'll give you the keys to the Ferrari."

When Lieutenant Commander Edmonds left his cabin, Father wasted no time. He summoned his Number One, Lieutenant Commander Hazelton from his home ashore, and Lieutenant Commander Harvordson from the Dockyard. Andy was called from his bed (he'd had the Mids) and Kyle from the Stores where he had been counting sheets. Chef was interrupted in mid-tirade at his so-called trained cooks, and asked to report to the Commanding Officer's cabin, at his convenience, of course. Wally Higman, who was rebuilding an outboard motor, cursed as he wiped the oil and grease from his hands, slapped his battered old cap on his head, and wandered over to the Head Shed.

Father was all business once the officers had gathered. They were, he announced, being given a unique opportunity to show just how good their lads were. The Commanding Officer of HMCS PORTE DE LE ROI had offered his ship for the afternoon, at least. Father was confident that he could talk Edmonds into leaving just a skeleton crew on board and turn the ship over to the cadets. If that happened Father wanted everybody, all the odds, sods, boffins and barracks stanchions, out to sea! They had 5 YAGs and one gate vessel and it was time the lads learned to be real sailors!

The officers exchanged looks. Chef remained sanguine. He knew the worth of the cadets, even if the officers didn't. Besides, he could use a bit of sea time.

"We will conduct Squadron Exercises," declaimed Father. "I shall be in the gate vessel, which will be flag. Charlie . . ." he turned to Number One . . . "You will be in . . ." He stopped speaking abruptly. He had suddenly realized that none of the YAGs had names, only hull numbers. That would never do. They would need names! And he had just the ticket.

Lieutenant Commander Harvordson's jaw dropped when he heard his command YAG being renamed Exeter! His jaw dropped further when he heard the other YAGs being christened Ajax, Achilles, and Devonshire. When he heard the fifth YAG renamed Barham, with the gate vessel renamed Nelson, he realized that Father had recreated the South Atlantic Squadron, which had put paid to the German pocket battleship Graf Spey! Adding the two battleships that were being rushed from Cape Town to Montevideo to lend support to the light cruisers after the Hun had been run to ground in that neutral port was a nice touch. Harvordson did wonder though what his YAG captains would think of it all.

The renaming of Commander Stockman's fleet finished, Father then began assigning hands. "I shall take Nicholas Rodney as my Chief Yeoman. I shall want Stuart MacDuff as my Chief Boatswain's Mate and Chef in the galley, of course."

Chef beamed. It was a unique opportunity to teach his lads what they were up against, to learn how to cook in tight conditions, perhaps with a sea running. "I'll take Ray with me, then. Randy and Joey can go in one of the other vessels. They are capable enough, and should do well." He did not add, if they manage not to find a hidey-hole and pitch woo instead of scramble eggs! "It's too bad Sandro is ashore." Chef continued. "He could use the experience."

Father considered this a moment. Sandro was ashore. As the only Jew in the RCSCC Cookery Branch, Sandro was driven every Friday afternoon to Courtenay (there was no Temple in Comox), where he celebrated Shabbat. Saturday, Sandro spent much of the day with the Rabbi, preparing for his bris. He usually spent the weekend with the Commanding Officer and his wife, returning after lunch on Sunday. Father considered all this, and then gave Number One a look. "I would really like Sandro to be a part of this little exercise," he said. "He would be devastated if we left him behind. He is, after all, one of the Boys of AURORA!"

Chef started and stared at Commander Stockman. The old boy was not as dotty as he seemed. "Will we be calling the lad back, then?" he asked.

Father nodded. "Number One, ring my wife and have her borrow her sister's car. She is to pick up Sandro and bring him back here. She can tell the rabbi that Sandro needs to be excused due to an operational necessity!" He then clapped his hands with glee. "We are all going to sea, by God!"

And to sea they went. Tyler was seconded to Lieutenant Commander Harvordson in Exeter, with strict instructions that the Master at Arms was to be taught the tricks of the trade, and no argument! Along with Tyler went Calvin Hobbes, who had been bored at home and had come over to AURORA for a visit and a natter with Randy and Joey, who were assigned to Ajax, along with Val and Sandro. The Phantom, the Twins, Chef, Ray, Brian and Nicholas all ended up "drafted" to the flagship while the remaining AURORA cadets were seconded to other vessels. By 1300 a long line of ships, led by the grey-painted gate vessel, renamed Nelson, and flying a Commodore's pennant, put to sea for Squadron Exercises and deeds of derring-do on the high seas.

Father was in heaven! Beneath his feet was the steel deck of a ship. Around him were officers and ratings busily conning the ship. Below, the off watch hands chipped away at rust on the well deck. Dear God, it felt good to be flying one's flag again!

As the elderly Gate Vessel plowed through the calm seas the cadets took turns on the wheel, on the engine room telegraph and standing on the bridge wings as lookouts. On the upper bridge Father sat in the Captain's chair, beaming. God did it feel good to have a steel deck under his feet again. Around him the watchkeeping officers went about the quiet, controlled, professional process of navigating the ship. He sighed nostalgically once, when he saw that all navigation was done either using the radar or by taking frequent sights on known landmarks using the azimuth ring. In his day officers used sextants and the art of using the instrument had not been passed down to the next generation of sailors. Behind him Nicholas, Chief Yeoman of Signals, stood ready to pass on any signals Father might want to make.

To break the monotony of steaming Father decided to call a Fire Drill. He was anxious to see if the lecture on fire fighting the cadets had been given as the ship cleared the Comox channel would bear fruit. One of the most worrisome things on board a ship was the possibility of a fire and fire fighting was always the first drill held on board every ship in the Fleet. Father had carefully watched his young cadets as the Reserve crew laid out the hoses, showed the cadets how to put on a B suit, how to "button up" their uniforms, how to enter a compartment and overhaul a fire site. Father also noted who was paying attention and who was not. When the lecture was over he whispered to Stuart, who smiled and made a note in his field message book.

As the alarm sounded Nicholas scurried to the Flag Locker and ran up the appropriate hoist. Lieutenant Arnott slid down the bridge ladder, into the wheel house and grabbed the State Board, a schematic builder's drawing of the vessel. He hurried to the well deck where he acted as OIC, watching as the cadets, under the direction of Stuart, dressed into B suits and Chemox breathing apparatus, and tin hats. Around him a few Reserve crewmembers added their expertise as hoses were laid out, nozzles fitted, and the emergency pump flashed up in the event the main fire pump failed. Lieutenant Arnott was pleased to note that the cadets seemed to be well trained and had appeared properly dressed to fight a fire. Those not detailed to struggle into the clumsy, fire-retardant B suits and boots had tucked the legs of their trousers into their boots, rolled down the sleeves of their shirts and buttoned up. Each had pulled on anti-flash gear - white hoods that would offer some protection for their faces in the event that this was a real fire. Like the others they wore tin hats, obtained from what seemed to be from an inexhaustible supply stored, with extra life jackets, in the life raft container bolted to the forward bulkhead of the Dog House.

Glancing at his watch Lieutenant Arnott nodded. The kids were making good time were already advancing on the fire properly, with a low-velocity hose man, a high-velocity hose man and the fire leader directing them. As the fire fighting party approached the Forepeak the fire leader advanced and, leaning his full weight on the metal door, undogged the clips. He cracked the door and the low-velocity man thrust the long, swan-neck nozzle into the space. After waiting a bit the fire leader cracked the hatch and, as the two hose men advanced, took his place behind them, his gloved hands grasping the straps of their Chemox units. Carefully, with the low-velocity hose spraying the high-velocity man, they advanced into the enclosed space. Shortly after the cadets entered the space Lieutenant Arnott heard the muffled shout of "Fire's Out!"

After noting the time on the state board Lieutenant Arnott ordered, "Clear and overhaul!" He then turned to Stuart who, as the Buffer, was normally in charge of fire fighting, and tapped his grease pencil against the time written on the board. Stuart looked at the time, and smiled smugly.

Lieutenant Arnott looked at the time and swore quietly, "Bugger me for a heathen!" he exclaimed. "Eight fucking minutes from advance to overhaul!"

"And they were ready to go within four minutes!" returned Stuart, his smile broader.

Lieutenant Arnott began wiping the grease penciled notes from the board and said, "I have a feeling that we'll be doing a lot of fire exercises before we get back to Esquimalt!" Then he looked and saw the fire leader, who was a slim, well built cadet with light brown hair and startling emerald green eyes, stripping off his B suit. The other cadets, laughing and chattering, were slapping the cadet on back and behind. They were all very pleased with themselves, and with their fire leader. Lieutenant Arnott noticed that the fire leader, whom the other cadets called "Phantom" diffidently brushed aside the compliments, although he did allow two of the cadets, tall, slim, blond-haired and damned good looking boys, to give him a quick buss on the cheek when they thought no one from the crew was looking.

As Lieutenant Arnott looked on, the fire leader turned and saw the officer. He smiled shyly and ducked his head, his green eyes dancing with delight on his accomplishment. Lieutenant Arnott returned the nod and walked back aft. He went down below and into his cabin where he sat on the lower bunk, wondering why in hell he was feeling something he had never felt before, and why in hell his dick had plumped up. He ran a shaking hand across his face. He couldn't be feeling what he was feeling and he could not fight the urge to get to know the green-eyed cadet better.

Father was inordinately pleased with what his lads had done and could not help but brag a little as he hosted the officers in the small Captain's cabin. To add a little lustre to the occasion lunch was served by Phantom and young Matt, resplendent in crisp, starched, white stewards' jackets. Father insisted on buying the wine and lunch went on a little longer than normal. This was not at all displeasing to the cadets who took the opportunity to have quick nap before more tortures, such as Man Overboard, or Steering Gear Breakdown, were inflicted on them.

After lunch Father returned to the bridge. He craned over the windscreen and saw the cadets sunning themselves and generally relaxing. He had a thought. The senior cadets, the Twins and The Phantom, had acquitted themselves well as ratings, performing the practical duties of all sailors to almost perfection. He wondered how they would do as officers and recalled Lieutenant-Commander Harvordson training his senior hands in navigation and ship handling. He would do the same and he called for the Twins to present themselves on the bridge, At the Rush. He also called for Stuart and explained what he wanted.

Hurrying to the well deck, Stuart found Oscar the Dummy in his usual hiding place in the life raft canister and then, watched by a gaggle of gimlet-eyed cadets, nonchalantly threw Oscar overboard. Stuart winked and crossed his fingers. If the Lifebuoy Sentry on the Quarterdeck was awake, and not playing with himself, or otherwise not paying attention, right about . . . now.

From back aft came the excited, high-pitched shout of "Man Overboard! Starboardside to!" From above came the distinctive "whirr" of the voice-activated telephone and Stuart smiled. For once the Lifebuoy Sentry (it was Joey) knew what he was about.

On the bridge Cory quickly looked about. The other vessels in the squadron were well off to port so he shouted down the voicepipe, "Starboard thirty! Half-ahead engine! Revolutions one-four-zero!" Cory had read his manuals and was about to execute a "Williamson Turn", which would bring the ship around to follow its original track.

The idea behind the Man Overboard Exercise was to bring the ship around, approach Oscar the Dummy, stop (hopefully beside Oscar), and then pick it up. The exercise seemed simple in principle but what the officer in charge had to remember was that a ship did not stop on a dime, and was affected by the tide, the sea state, and the wind. It was not like driving a car, something that more than one officer had forgotten to his regret.

Ignoring the bustling from the well deck as the cadets manned the falls in preparation to lowering the Zodiac sea boat (which would only be lowered if the cadets in the well deck failed to snag Oscar with their boat hooks as he drifted by) and the roaring from the galley (Chef had a cake in the oven, God Damn It!) Cory continued to monitor the sea and the movement of the ship. As the nose of the ship began its turn to starboard, Cory looked aft, and pinpointed Oscar, bobbing placidly in the slight swell. As the ship approached its wake Cory shouted down to the helmsman, "Midships! Steady!"

Almost immediately the helmsman's voice, tinny sounding as it passed up the voicepipe, repeated the order. "Midships. Wheel's amidships! Steady on course one-six-five, Chief!"

Cory nodded as he shouted down, "Very good."

As good as he was, and Cory was very good, indeed, he left slowing the vessel a bit late, and Oscar bobbed past and was only saved from drowning in the residual prop wash by the Phantom's quick use of the boat hook.

Father was far from being displeased. "Quite good for your first time, Chief. Not to worry, it takes practice. The first time I had the deck I ran over the poor thing!" He grinned and motioned for Todd to take over. Cory was sent to stand beside Lieutenant Arnott and learn how to plot their position on the chart using radar fixes.

Todd, as calm and collected as always, went through the same evolution. Oscar, heavier now from his dip in the sea, was tossed overboard. Joey reacted promptly and Chef just as promptly threatened death and destruction to all those responsible for ruining the finest haute cuisine prepared since the Old King died! Todd, who had practised shipboard evolutions while on his Leadership Course - as had Cory - performed to perfection. He watched the sea state, was mindful that the tide was running against him, and stopped the ship bang on beside Oscar, who was looking a little bedraggled. Once again The Phantom manned the boat hook. He leaned over the rail, snagged Oscar's life belt, and hauled him in.

After congratulating the Twins on their performance, Lieutenant Arnott turned to Father. "I must admit to being impressed," he said sincerely. "I know Regular Force, and Reserve ratings who could not have done better. I also admit that there are more than a few officers who would have done worse!"

Father chuckled and nodded. "They are good, but then the Arundel twins always were. Of course, they have done it before as we emphasize ship handling on their Leadership Courses. They've both conned YAGs and for a moment I had me doubts about letting them loose with your ship. It's bigger, and handles differently." He stood and leaned over the windscreen and saw the Off Watch cadets gathered below, visiting congratulations on the Twins. He noticed The Phantom listening intently as Todd, hands moving in demonstration, explained what had happened.

Lieutenant Arnott saw Father looking intently below. "Something wrong?" he asked.

"No, not at all," replied Father, a slow grin breaking his beard. "It has just occurred to me that perhaps we made it too easy. This time let's use the Kisby ring and have the next one stop so that the ring is directly under the wing of the bridge. Call it a Coming Alongside Exercise."

"Who's your next victim?" asked Lieutenant Arnott.

Father point with him chin. "Him."

Lieutenant Arnott looked down and saw that Father was indicating the handsome young cadet who had done so will in the Fire-ex. He felt a surge of something pass through his body and not quite whispered, "Oh."

"So, you know Steve Winslow," said Lieutenant Arnott as he stood in the well deck. Commander Stockman had asked the young lieutenant to take The Phantom in hand and Lieutenant Arnott thought it might be best to see if the youth had the brains, wit and enterprise to drive the ship.

"Oh, yes," replied The Phantom enthusiastically, his emerald eyes sparkling. "We're great friends and he talked me into joining the Navy!"

"He did?" Lieutenant Arnott was a little surprised. He had known Steve Winslow since coming aboard last winter and the man seemed to have few, if any friends, really, seemed standoffish and was very professional.

The Phantom leaned against the bulwark and nodded. "He even taught me during his spare time." He turned and looked outboard, staring at the deep forests that covered the Eastern coast of Vancouver Island. "He's a great guy. All the cadets lo . . . like him and want to be like him. He's a great teacher!"

Lieutenant Arnott thought that The Phantom's enthusiasm in describing Steve Winslow, whom all the cadets called "The Gunner" in deference to his position in AURORA as Chief Gunnery Instructor, seemed a bit over the mark but let it pass. Steve Winslow was an upright guy and the lieutenant silently chided himself for what he was thinking. Steve would never be interested in a young man. Hell, he was the straightest man Lieutenant Arnott knew. He had also had a girlfriend for while, a Jenny Wren, whom he took to all the dances at the Fleet Club, and even let her drive his battered old Range Rover. Steve and the Wren disappeared every chance they got, to Vancouver, or so the shipboard gossip had it. The girl hadn't been around lately, but then Steve had been seconded to AURORA, so maybe they broke up. It happened. Lieutenant Arnott decided that The Phantom had a bad case of puppy love, which was something he could understand. He'd been a teenager - was it only six years ago - and knew that it was very easy to develop a harmless crush on a favourite teacher or coach.

"I hope he taught you well, then," said Lieutenant Arnott, determined to keep his mind on the business at hand. "Your Commanding Officer wants you to drive the ship for a while. He asked me to take you under my wing, so to speak. I guess that makes me your instructor." He smiled. "I hope I live up to Steve Winslow's standards."

The Phantom flashed a smile that sent shivers down Lieutenant Arnott's spine. "I've read the Manual of Seamanship - all 3 volumes - and I think I have the theory down. I don't want to fu . . . um . . . screw up and I would like to be as good as Cory and Todd." He flashed the smile again and Lieutenant Arnott's heart skipped a beat.

Controlling what he could not understand was difficult, but the lieutenant managed it. "Well, let's go up top, then."

The Phantom followed Lieutenant Arnott and as the young lieutenant climbed the ladder leading to the upper bridge The Phantom had a good look at the man's butt, which was somewhat flat, almost as flat as Two Strokes', but nice, and it strained against the tight fabric of his work dress trousers, so much so that The Phantom could see the outline of the lieutenant's underpants - briefs - and probably tighty-whiteys, The Phantom thought, because there seemed to be an unwritten law that if a guy didn't wear boxers, he wore white briefs!

On the bridge Lieutenant Arnott tried to be professional, but friendly. He began pointing out the various tools and aids available for navigation. He placed his hand on the chest high magnetic compass, which was fitted with an azimuth ring. "We normally use the gyro for navigating and course settings," he said. He pointed to an oblong box fitted to the base of the windscreen. There was a glass window and The Phantom could see the ship's heading as the tape inside the box clicked left and right with the movement of the ship through the water. "That is a gyro repeater," explained Lieutenant Arnott. He pointed down to the deck. "Below is the wheelhouse, which you know. There is a repeater there for the helmsman to steer by and there is another repeater in Tiller Flats, although we rarely use it."

"It's there in case of steering gear breakdown," supplied The Phantom, who had read the manuals. The Phantom had also read Lieutenant Arnott, and had a feeling that the young officer just might be thinking that he had found himself Stud Muffin, and perhaps he was arguing with himself over whether or not to find out if he had found a Stud Muffin.

As Lieutenant Arnott explained taking fixes using the radar, The Phantom allowed himself a long look at the man. Lieutenant Arnott was young, in his early twenties, The Phantom thought. He stood 6 feet and 2 inches tall, had a firm, muscular body, strong shoulders and blond hair, not as blond as the Twins' hair, a shade or two darker, which he had cut short except for a miniature, spiky pompadour, which he kept in place with a light application of Vaseline, at the front. The lieutenant's body made The Phantom think that Lieutenant Arnott played sports. He didn't look like a football player, although he had the build for it. The Lieutenant was very good looking, with a square-jawed, square face and arresting, light blue eyes, with a peaches and cream complexion that screamed good health, good living and a proper diet. He did not seem to have much of a basket, for all his tight trousers and The Phantom wondered if Lieutenant Arnott would meet with Cory's approval. Not that The Phantom would ever find out. He was tempted but was not about to put the moves on his new instructor.

" . . . And this is the voicepipe," Lieutenant Arnott was saying when The Phantom finished his survey. "You communicate directly with the helmsman using it." He moved to the port side of the bridge and indicated a small, printed card. "This is the revolution table. When you give an engine room order you always include the number of revolutions you need for the speed you want. Every ship is different and every ship travels at a different speed, which varies according to the number of revolutions her shaft is turning. The only problem is that the table was determined when the ship was in trials, in a smooth sea, and with a clean bottom. In a storm, or rough seas, you have to be very careful because if the ship broaches, or hogs, or the stern comes out of the water - and it happens - you don't want the shaft turning like a mad thing when it comes out of the water."

The Phantom nodded. "The prop could be lost, you could shake the shaft out of its housing or it could be bent out of true," he said knowledgably.

Lieutenant Arnott was impressed. "Steve taught you well," he said with a smile. "So, do you want to try your hand?"

"I would like to try," replied The Phantom firmly.

"Good." Lieutenant Arnott pointed to the surrounding sea. Off in the distance Exeter and Achilles were busy with a Jackstay Transfer. Well to starboard Ajax was exercising the hands in what looked like a Fire Drill. "You have plenty of sea room so there's no danger you'll hit anything. If you keep calm, and think about what you want to do, you should not have a problem."

"There already is a problem," said The Phantom with a grin.

"There is?"

"Yes. You haven't told me what you want me to do. Are we having another Man Overboard?"

In the background Lieutenant Arnott heard Commander Stockdale chuckling and Sub-Lieutenant Menzies snickering as he traced his last plot onto the chart.

Lieutenant Arnott blushed a deep, delicious red, which made him even more handsome that he was and The Phantom wondered if he had found a Stud Muffin! When he finished blushing, and glaring at his cabin mate, Lieutenant Arnott explained what he wanted done. "We're going see how you do bringing the ship alongside. Stuart, or someone, will throw the Kisby ring over the side and you will turn the ship around, and bringer her alongside the ring. The catch is that we would like you to stop with ring directly below the bridge wing."

The Phantom glowered a bit. Hell and sheeit! Talk about getting fucked! He cleared his throat and without a trace of nervousness said, "I'll give it a go, then."

Lieutenant Arnott stood back and gestured to the bridge area. "She's all yours, Snottie."

Quite pleased at his sudden, joking promotion to Midshipman, The Phantom looked around and saw the Duty Quartermaster, Brian, staring out to sea. "Probably mooning over Logan Hartsfield," thought The Phantom unkindly. "I wonder what ever became of him?" He walked to the radarscope and took a look. Nothing was around the ship. From below he could hear Chef threatening Randy with his spoon. On the well deck Cory was chatting away with one of the Reservists, a tall, slim fellow who was not all that bad looking. Todd had decided to stretch out on the life raft canister in front of the Dog House. The Phantom looked over the windscreen and saw Stuart strolling along with a Kisby ring in his hand. "Right," he muttered to himself, "let's get this show on the road." He turned toward Brian and spoke loudly. "Quartermaster, pipe Hands to Station for Entering Harbour, please."

Brian, who had been dreaming about Logan, started, and then acknowledged The Phantom's order. "Aye, aye, Chief." He hurried toward the bridge speaker, digging in his pocket for his Boatswain's call.

As Brian began trilling the pipe throughout the ship, Father leaned forward and whispered to Lieutenant Arnott. "One up for the Snottie." Lieutenant Arnott, who had not bothered to tell The Phantom the whole routine, which he should have done, blushed again. Father winked. "Not to worry. It happens to the best of us."

"Hands to Station for Entering Harbour!" Brian ordered over the PA system. "Special Sea Dutymen and Cable Party - Close up!"

The crew, their naps and the snacks which Chef was always plying them with forgotten, hurried to their stations. Stuart chucked the Kisby ring over the side and then walked purposely toward the Foc'sle where he could keep an eye on the Cable Party Petty Officer.

From the voice pipe came the voice of Rob. "Wheelhouse closed up. Petty Officer Wemyss on the helm."

"Very good," replied The Phantom, acknowledging Rob's report. He looked aft and saw the float bobbing in the ship's wake. "Starboard fifteen," he ordered down the voice pipe.

"Starboard Fifteen. Fifteen of starboard wheel on, sir," returned Rob.

Behind him The Phantom could hear Brian acknowledging the reports from the other parts of the ship, the Engine Room, Tiller Flats, and the Foc'sle. The crew was ready and grumbling for the bridge to get on with it as they'd been promised a swimming-ex.

The Phantom glanced at the sea state, not quite a flat calm but close enough. "Midships, Steady!" he ordered down the voicepipe.

"Midships, Steady!" After a short pause the acknowledgement came. "Wheel's amidships, steady on course one-six-zero, one-four-zero revolutions showing on the counter, sir."

"Very good." The Phantom gauged the distance between the bow of the vessel and the approaching Kisby ring. "Slow ahead engine, revolutions one-zero-zero," he ordered as The Gunner had taught him. "Stand by lines and fenders."

Lieutenant Arnott leaned over the windscreen and repeated the order to the idle slackers in the well deck, the waist, and on the Quarterdeck over the loud speaker.

Ignoring the bustle as the Boatswains and spare hands coiled heaving lines and readying the long, plump rubber fenders for lowering over the bulwarks to protect the ship's sides.

The Phantom paid no attention to what was going on below. He thought that he was approaching the float too quickly. "Port ten, make revolutions eight-five," he ordered.

The ship's head turned slowly to the left and when he judged the angle to be right, The Phantom ordered, "Midships. Revolutions four-zero."

After a short pause came Rob's reply, "Wheel's amidships, four-zero revolutions showing on the counter, sir!"

Both Father and Lieutenant Arnott looked over the side. Sub-Lieutenant Menzies shaded his eyes and looked at the float in the distance. "This kid is good!" he thought.

The Phantom was all business. He could see the distance between the ship and the float lessening. He called down the voicepipe. "Slow astern engine, revolutions two-five." Putting the engine astern would slow the way of the ship and hopefully allow it to drift to a stop at the float. "Stop engine," he ordered down the voicepipe, his voice calm, and confident.

Father left his chair and together with Lieutenant Arnott looked over the starboard wing. The gate vessel lost way and the Kisby ring floated gently in the lee, directly under the bridge wing, exactly where Commander Stockman wanted it to be.

"I saw it, I don't believe it," murmured Lieutenant Arnott. "As slick as shit through a goose!"

"Crudely put, but the lad has the touch," returned Father. He turned his head. "Pilot, find us a safe haven if you please. It's time for the hands to have a little fun."

Sub-Lieutenant Menzies consulted his chart. "Oyster Bay is two miles to port. It's well-sheltered and has a sandy bottom," he advised.

"Oyster Bay it is," replied Father. "Take her in, young Phantom. And we'll see how you do bringing the old girl to anchor."

It was a short steam to Oyster Bay and while the ship plodded along the Foc'sle Party cleared the starboard anchor for letting go. The bottle screw was taken off, the winch turned on and a short length of cable was run out. "Up and Down!" shouted the Foc'sle Petty Officer loud enough to be heard on the bridge.

While coming to anchor was primarily Sub-Lieutenant Menzies' part ship, The Phantom had to get her into the anchorage. As the ship approached the wide mouth of the bay Menzies, consulting his chart, the chronometer, and the patent log that showed the ship's speed, began the warning ritual. "On track, on course, six cables to go."

"Very good," replied The Phantom. He spoke down the voicepipe, "Slow ahead engine. Steady."

"Slow ahead main engine, steady on course two-seven-zero," came the reply.

"Four cables to go," advised Menzies.

"Very good. Make revolutions three-zero," ordered The Phantom. He picked up a small, green flag with a white anchor painted on it (there was a red flag used when the port anchor was being let go). He held his arm straight in the air, the flag clearly visible to the Foc'sle party.

The Phantom continued to watch his speed and when Menzies called out, "Two cables to go!" The Phantom then ordered the engine put slow astern. On the Foc'sle the Petty Officer picked up a large ballpean hammer.

"One cable, stand by!"

"Stop engine," ordered The Phantom.

"Slip!" yelled Menzies.

The Phantom dropped his arm sharply, bringing the flag down to his side. On the Foc'sle the Petty Officer whacked the Blake slip with the hammer. Released from its iron bounds, the anchor fell downward. The Upper Deck Stoker stood ready at the winch, ready to brake the fall of the cable as it paid out from its locker below.

The Petty Officer watched carefully as the first length of cable - marked by one white painted link on either side of the joining shackle - rumbled across the deck and down the hawse pipe. When the second cable was paid out he ordered "Stop cable!" and the stoker quickly turned the braking wheel.

"Anchor's let go, two cables on deck!" the Petty Officer shouted.

The Phantom waved an acknowledgement, then turned to Father and asked, "Secure, please, 'cause I have to piss like a racehorse?"

Colin Arnott sat in the wardroom, his hands gripping tightly the cup of coffee he had poured. He was trying to get a grip on his feelings, trying to understand the fascination he felt for The Phantom. Never before had he felt such feelings, not in grade school, not in high school, not in university. His upbringing, his Anglican religion, his culture told him that he could not have such feelings.

Yet Colin had them, and he could not understand at all. He was not naïve, and realized that what he was feeling was bordering on what queers felt for other males. Colin knew that he was not queer but could not quite explain why his dick started to get hard every time he was near the green-eyed cadet.

Growing up in small-town Ontario, in Collingwood, Colin Arnott was a typical Canadian male. His life revolved around home, school, church, and sports. He lived a very structured existence. When he was in grade school he knew that when he got home from school his mother would have cookies and milk waiting for him and his brothers. After doing his homework, Colin would go out for a pickup game of street hockey in the summer, or ice hockey in the winter, played on an outdoor rink. Life was simple. Colin never thought of his boyhood friends as objects of sexual gratification.

In high school Colin's eyes were opened. He had no interest in football, as all the other boys seemed to have, but he adored hockey. He was good, but knew that he would never be a First Round Draft Pick for the NHL. Still, he played and in the locker rooms he learned that boys sometimes fooled around with other boys. Thinking back, he knew that he had never looked at his teammates in a sexual way. Oh, there was the usual banter, the looking, the comparison of dick sizes and the words "queer" and "faggot" were thrown about indiscriminately. Nobody meant anything by it. It was a guy thing.

Yet . . . Colin seemed to detect a certain nuance, a certain tone, when some of his friends chucked shit at each other. And sometimes there were the looks, looks that spoke of something more that the pure friendship between boys. By this time Colin had learned about "queers", guys who did guys. He knew that there were men in town who were to be avoided and joined in the homophobic banter when his classmates talked about one of the male teachers, joking that you did not want to be caught in the can with Mr. Locksley.

Because he was not naïve, Colin very soon came to suspect that at least some of his friends were, as the saying went, 'fooling around'. At first the very idea of holding another guy's cock was repulsive to him. As for sucking cock, that was not to be thought of at all! But then, sometimes Colin wondered what it would be like to have sex with another boy. He might have wondered, but he never did it.

As Colin grew older and passed through puberty he blossomed. His body grew, his muscles became more defined, his smile brighter. He was not Narcissistic in the least, but he knew that he was one good-looking dude. His good looks, his easy manner, his great body made him attractive to the girls he went to school with. They chased after him and sometimes he let one of them catch him. Some of the girls he dated put out, and Colin had had his first blowjob one Canada Day as he and his date made out at a pool party. He had lost his virginity to another girl who had made no bones about wanting Colin to fuck her. He had been happy to oblige. Then he was accepted at the University of Toronto.

Living in Toronto was, for Colin, a culture shock. Back home in Collingwood the girls, while hardly demure damsels, knew enough not to be too blatant. Here in Toronto, though, if a girl wanted a guy, she came right out and asked him. And it was not only the co-eds. More and more women were becoming liberated in their feelings and outlook. They were modern women and they were all prepared to roar.

Then there were the gays - only Neanderthals called them queers these days. Toronto was rapidly losing its image as a staid, conservative city dominated by the churches, the Masons, and the Orange Lodge. Liquor laws had loosened and you could actually buy a drink on Sunday. More and more "ethnic" restaurants were opening. Barriers were coming down and the city was being flooded with new people, Europeans, Indians, Pakistanis, young men of ethnic diversity and young men tired of life in a small town or on a farm, all people with different outlooks, religions and habits.

While Toronto was hardly wide-open, it was becoming much more liberal, with a live-and-let-live attitude. The old sexual taboos were being swept aside as well. Nobody cared anymore. Who you slept with in the privacy of your bedroom was your business. Life in Toronto was hectic, cosmopolitan and fun. Nobody cared if the man across the street kept a goat for purposes other than milking it, or that the two men in 3c were more than just good friends.

Toronto was a rich city, the financial hub of Canada, and attracted an eclectic mixture to fill the high-paying jobs on offer and many young men, smart, talented, young men, came to Toronto to fill those jobs. Many of them were gay. They were also children of the 60s and they no longer tolerated being oppressed by mainstream society and saw no reason why they should spend their money in shops and restaurants whose owners openly despised them. They also had no intention of being under the thumbs of landlords who could, and would, throw them into the street if their being gay came out. They wanted a place to be themselves, to be among their own, a place that was a haven of peace for them. So they created one.

Church Street, which runs south from Bloor Street to the Lakeshore, became the main drag of what was more and more being called "The Gay Village". Shops were opened by gays; the houses and apartment buildings on the side streets were rented or bought by gay men. At the corner of Church and Wellesley there was a hospital where the staff asked no questions about a man's sex life. Many brilliant young doctors deliberately applied for internships at the hospital because if you were on staff at the Wellesley Hospital nobody raised an eyebrow when your boyfriend picked you up after your shift.

Unlike Yonge Street to the west, with its sleaze and neon, Church Street was gentrified, lined with colourfully painted buildings, pleasant outdoor patio cafés and on a warm, summer day strollers were greeted by warm, friendly faces. In the flower and antique shops, even the Home Hardware Store, the sales assistants seemed genuinely happy to see you, which was a welcome change from the sour-faced clerks with attitude whose eyes said, "I have to serve you, but I don't have to be polite to faggots!" that one found in Eaton's or Simpson's.

Times were changing, and being gay in Toronto was fun. People left you alone and if you didn't score in one of the bars, there were always the baths. Life was good, life was fun, and the sex was great!

Colin never felt the need to taste or test the amenities of the growing Gay Village. He wasn't gay and like any right-thinking frat boy, wouldn't be caught dead having a cup of coffee on the steps of the coffee shop that had become the village pump of the Gay Village. He had no reason to visit the baths for sex. Sex was available right where he was.

Convinced in his mind that he was as straight as an arrow, and a highly desirable commodity so far as the opposite sex was concerned, Colin never had a problem getting laid. He joined a fraternity, which believed in partying hearty. There were toga parties, beach parties, parties with no theme, with kegs of beer and bottles of booze all over the house. There were always girls at the parties, co-eds, and friends of co-eds, hell, hookers from time to time. Getting laid was not a problem, although at times finding a private place to get laid was. Putting on a public display was not in Colin's nature and while he did get lucky almost weekly, he always found someplace where he and the girl of the moment could be alone. He had no desire to have one of his frat brothers walk in on him while he was doing the dirty. Some of the brothers had no such inhibitions, as was demonstrated when Colin walked in on his roommate and a girl screwing like bunny rabbits. Neither his roommate nor the girl was at all embarrassed. His roommate continued his thrusting and the girl, whose legs were draped over the roommate's shoulders at the time, smiled and waved politely with her foot! The frat house was located on St. George Street, a short walk from Varsity Stadium. When there was a football game Colin would walk down to the stadium with some of his buddies, watch the Varsity Blues get their asses tromped by the opposing team, and then stroll along Bloor Street, stopping in one of the trendy bars that were popping up all over. His buddies would make bets as to how long it would take Colin to be propositioned. In almost every instance Colin had hardly parked his butt on a bar stool before a girl came up and put the moves on him.

While Colin had, at first, a very active sex life, he never felt . . . satisfied. Something always seemed to be missing. It was not the fact that all he was doing was coupling, mounting a girl for the sake of sex. Nor were there any feelings of commitment, of real affection. He hardly knew most of the girls he picked up, or that picked him up. In was none of those things and eventually he came to the conclusion that while getting laid might be pleasuresome, it was not satisfying at all. More and more he came to look upon his escapades as an opportunity to get hard, stick his dick in the convenient hole, pump his hips until he shot his load, withdraw, wipe off, and go home to bed. In the end, while he had many offers, Colin accepted few. Besides, he had joined the Naval Reserve and between his navy training, and his college work, he had little time for girls.

Colin had joined the Naval Reserve out of economic necessity. He did not come from a wealthy family - far from it. His father worked in the Collingwood shipyard. His mother was a stay-at-home mom. While money was, at times, tight, there was always food on the table, new clothes when needed, and a little pocket money now and then. Paying for a university education was not on the cards, not with the cost of living rising, inflation inflating, and three other boys in the house. Colin's parents paid his first year's tuition. Beyond that they could not go. Colin would have to find a way to earn his education.

Not at all enamoured with working as a waiter, or cleaning offices at night, Colin had read the recruiting brochures in the Career Counselling Office and joined up. He was basically guaranteed four months training every year - more if he wanted it - all paid for. Colin did not drink or smoke. Rations and quarters were included in his pay, as was a Sea Duty Allowance. He managed to save enough to pay his tuition with ease. An added bonus was that while the work was hard, it was fun, instructive, and he had a sense of accomplishment. He enjoyed the camaraderie of his shipmates, and enjoyed Navy life to the point that he saw no reason to complain about his accommodation, as so many did. So what if the cabins were small and you had to share. What did it matter if you had to sleep in a Gunroom with twenty other Subbies, as he had on board HMCS CAPE SCOTT, an ancient repair ship used to accommodate the officer trainees in Esquimalt? The food was good, the pay was adequate, and he was having a good time. Gunroom life was fun and Colin enjoyed himself immensely.

As he sat in the pokey wardroom, with its battered Formica table and ripped settee, Colin's thoughts returned to the present, and once again castigated himself for what he was feeling. Why now? Why not when he was in CAPE SCOTT? Everybody in the Gunroom had no illusions and nakedness was a way of life. Why now? He shared a cabin with Neal Menzies, who slept in the raw, and almost every night Colin was treated to the sight of Neal's long, thin, uncircumcised penis as it flopped about when he climbed into the upper bunk. Over and over again Colin asked himself why. Why? Why?

The Phantom was sitting on the life raft canister, his back against the Dog House. The metal bulwark felt warm against his back and the sun was warm against his bare legs. He watched as Nicholas took a running jump into the sea and heard the shouting and laughter as the other cadets paddled and rough housed in the cool, still waters of the bay. He heard another shout and watched as Todd cannonballed into the water.

Laughing, The Phantom thought about the sea change the Twins had undergone since he had first met them, a sea change evidenced by the difference in swimming suits between then and now.

Most of the cadets wore tight-fitting swim trunks. Nicholas wore a black Speedo that left nothing to anyone's imagination. At one time, and not that long ago, the Twins would have put Nicholas in the shade. The Phantom recalled the first time he'd seen the two boys, blond, lithe and too handsome for their own good. It had been a year ago and they had been strolling down the path that passed behind the Mess Hall and led to the swimming beach. That afternoon the Twins had been wearing red Speedos, so skimpy and so sheer that anyone who bothered to look could see exactly what the Twins boasted between their legs, even with the suits still dry!

Last year The Phantom had fallen in lust with the Twins. This year, however, his lust had changed to love as he and the Twins became closer. The Twins were warm, caring, handsome, intelligent and both Cory and Todd had returned The Phantom's love. For his part The Phantom had expressed his love in several ways, not the least of which was giving the two boys a right rollicking over their attitude and dress.

Why, The Phantom had asked, did the Twins insist on flouncing around like some queen? They were young men, a point he had emphasized. And why did they insist on wearing the skimpiest bathing suits they could find? He had no objection to them showing of their bodies, which God knew were magnificent, but the line had to be drawn somewhere! And then there were their underpants! The Twins always wore briefs, always a size too small to emphasize their baskets and butts and always in the most nauseating colours they could find, vile greens, vivid yellows, cherry red or a particularly disgusting set of paisley! The Phantom was having none of it and had at the Twins. He wanted to be their friend, and he cared for them. He could just not see their point in emphasizing something that everybody knew. They might think that it was all in fun - ha ha - but sooner or later it would backfire on them. They were young men and damn it, it was time they acted like it!

The Twins thought about The Phantom's words, thought about the effect their conduct was having on their family, and acted. At least The Phantom acted for them and did the shopping. The Twins had been under punishment, confined to barracks for forgetting to remove the tompions from the field guns when they fired the salute for Ceremonial Evening Quarters. The felt and metal plugs had flown high in the air, over the heads of the Band and one had plowed into the grass bare inches from Little Big Man, who went to screaming stations and tried to charge onto the parade square, fully intending to kill the Twins. The other tompion had just missed Matron, the Ship's nurse, and Dirty Dave the Deacon, the Padre (P). The Twins had been called onto the Quarterdeck. The Gunner had lied through his teeth and saved their asses. They had been punished, but not onerously so.

Until this most unfortunate incident the Twins had never felt the need to go into town to shop for clothes and undies. None of the shops in Comox held a candle to the ones in Vancouver, where they lived, and they seriously doubted that any store in the small town had French, silk bikini-style underpants in the vibrant colours that had been their trademark for years, on offer. Besides, their lockers and sea chests were stuffed with such garments. And not a one of them would fit the new Twins' image!

Having decided to slip into the closet (but leave the door ajar just enough to attract attention), the Twins had decided that they needed a complete makeover, which included losing the tight shorts and silk drawers. They might not be "butch", as the saying went, but they could certainly look butch. The high-cut shorts made out of an old pair of blue jeans, which flashed the head of your dick if you sat a certain way, were out. Puke green briefs, yellow Jockeys, orange Harrods Y-fronts - out! The red Speedos would become nothing but a memory. The Twins would become what the world expected them to be: handsome, intelligent young gentlemen who would never think of wearing French anything, let alone undies, or wear shorts that were so tight they let everybody know that, horror of horrors, you were not wearing any underwear! The Twins would at least project a straight image and to do that they needed to go shopping, which the could not do because the Executive Officer would have them on the first transport out of Comox if they so much as put a dickhead past the Gatehouse. They needed a little help, and they knew exactly where to find it. They sought out The Phantom and presented their case.

The Phantom had listened to the Twins and while he privately thought that their exercise in conservatism and gentility was a fiddle, had gone shopping for them. He had bought them new under things; good quality, conservative undies that any mother would be proud to have her sons wear. He was more or less stuck with white Fruit of the Looms, because they were what proper young men wore. He stretched the limits a bit and bought the Twins solid, conservatively coloured boxers, except for a pair of pin stripes for Cory, in the unlikely event that he might want to go to church. Thereafter the Twins dressed either in their uniform kit or, when they went swimming, like seminarians on an outing.

Laughing, The Phantom saw that Todd was wearing wide-legged, dark blue shorts, over tighty-whiteys, which had flashed when he jumped into the sea. The Phantom also noticed that Todd seemed to be growing up physically. Always a handsome youth, Todd had filled out over the summer, the muscles on his chest more clearly defined, and his thighs and calves seemed thicker, stronger. A glorious, teenage male, Todd gave promise of being a magnificently handsome man.

Matt followed Todd. "Matt Greene," The Phantom thought. "Sweet, adorable, Matt." Matt was as dear to The Phantom's heart as Todd, or Cory, or Ray. Matt was the quintessential little brother, warm, caring, in love with life and desperately in love with Todd. Matt was also deeply in love with The Phantom but both boys realized that while they could and would love each other, they were destined to travel different paths. Like Todd, Matt was wearing his blue uniform shorts. Unlike Todd he had left off his underpants and The Phantom hoped that his friend took care when diving.

All around him The Phantom could hear the sounds of a ship at anchor, the laughing, shouting boys swimming, the faint growl of the Zodee-boat's outboard motor as it circuited the ship, the silence of the shutdown engine, the low-pitched thumping of a pump somewhere forward, the shout of the sentry on the Foc'sle as he called out the anchor state to the bridge. From back aft came the clatter and noise of Chef and Ray making dinner. It was all so peaceful and The Phantom felt his eyes closing when the sun was blocked out. He opened his eyes to see Lieutenant Arnott settling himself on the canister.

Colin Arnott had decided to confront his demon. The young, green-eyed youth he now sat beside had filled his thoughts. He did not know just how he would react if The Phantom showed an interest in being with him. All Colin knew was that he wanted to be with the boy, if only to sit beside him and feel his warmth.

From up forward, on the Foc'sle, the Anchor Sentry shouted up to the bridge, "Long Stay Forward!"

From above their heads The Phantom and Colin heard Sub-Lieutenant Menzies' muffled acknowledgement, "Very good."

"Do you know what that was about?" asked Colin, using the standard procedure of any ship when at anchor as an opening.

"Oh, yes," replied The Phantom with a firm nod of his head. He stuck his arm out and then angled it down. "The anchor cable is pointing down from the hawse pipe at angle, say 20 degrees, forward of the bows, and with lots of cable out of the water. If the sentry had called 'Short Stay Forward' the anchor would be angled steeper, with little cable showing. Of course, the ship could be pushed forward by the tide, say, and drag the cable so that it was hanging aft of the bows, and then it would be Short Stay, or Long Stay, aft."

"Do you know what Neal, I mean Sub-Lieutenant Menzies does then?"

"Sure. He checks the ship's position by taking either a radar fix or a compass fix on three points that are charted. There aren't any transit markers so he probably would take a fix on either headland, and maybe that tall hill about 2 miles inland." He nodded with his head toward the shore. "If the fix is the same as the one he took fifteen minutes ago, the ship is on station, and isn't dragging the anchor."

"And you got all that just from the manuals?" asked Colin, his very real surprise causing his eyes to open wide and his wheat-blond eyebrows to rise.

"Yep. And, as I said, I had a good instructor."

"Obviously," muttered Colin.

The sat in silence for a while and then Colin asked. "You're not swimming?"

"No," replied The Phantom with a shake of his head. "I didn't bring a suit."

"You could always swim in your shorts, or your underwear," suggested Colin, suppressing a shudder. He felt a tightness in his groin and it was all he could do not to reach down and rearrange his parts, which were beginning to fill the front of his underpants. The thought of The Phantom wearing nothing but underpants, wet, clinging underpants, was almost intoxicating.

The Phantom glanced sideways and down. His eyes sparkled at what he saw. The lieutenant might not have had much of a basket when he sat down, but he sure as hell had one now. Smiling inwardly, The Phantom said, "The thought of chugging all the way back to AURORA wearing wet shorts, or worse, wet boxers, isn't all that appealing." Then he began to laugh.

Colin was taken aback. He'd had no idea what sort of reaction his suggestion would receive. The kid was no dummy, after all, and might have taken the suggestion as a come on, or a perfectly innocent remark. Colin could think of several reactions from The Phantom, but this was not one of them. "What's so funny?" he asked tightly.

The Phantom wondered why the lieutenant was so up tight all of a sudden, but answered the question. "I was just thinking about the last time I went swimming in my underwear. It was during the Passing Out Parade exercises and the Sea Puppies were demonstrating Man Overboard Drill. One of them, his name was Simon, he was frightened and I suppose it was frightening, as the jetty at AURORA is high. Anyway, I stripped down to my boxers, put on a life jacket, and jumped with him." He began laughing again. "The damn things came off and I ended up flashing the Second Sea Lord, an RN Captain, the Commanding Officer, the Executive Officer, two mayors and their wives, the presidents of three Legions and their wives, assorted guests and most of the ship's company of HMCS AURORA!"

Colin had to smile. "I can see where that would be embarrassing." He joined in The Phantom's laughter. "I wouldn't want the world to see my naked butt!" Then he added. "Such as it is."

"It's not so bad," replied The Phantom in as off hand a manner as he could manage. "Anyway, that's what happened to me."

The Phantom's remark did not go unnoticed. "So," Colin thought, "he noticed my bum!" He said aloud, "Still, it's a hot day." He stood up and said, "I'm off watch so I think I just might have a swim." Then, as if it was a sudden thought, he added, "Say, I have an extra suit. You can borrow it if you like." He gave The Phantom a quick, appraising glance. "You're a but thinner than I am, but the suit has drawstrings. It's yours, if you want it."

The Phantom returned Colin's look. "Sounds like a plan," he replied with a grin.

Cory was lolling about in the bows of the Zodiac as it slowly circuited the anchored ship. He was supposed to be keeping an eye out for sharks. He'd seen nothing of interest except just before they shoved off. One of the Reservists was sitting on the well deck bulwark with his legs spread wide, and treated Cory to a horny bird's eye view of some delicious looking tackle. Cory was wondering if Sean would understand if he . . . he noticed a movement in the starboard breezeway of the ship and saw The Phantom following Lieutenant Arnott aft. When they disappeared through the doorway leading to the wardroom, and the galley, Cory thought that they were going for a drink. Then he remembered that directly beside the galley door was the a short set of stairs leading below to the Spirit Locker, Dry Stores, Wardroom Flats, and the officers' cabins.

His eyes widening, Cory muttered under his breath, "No. Phantom, you wouldn't!" Then he grinned lasciviously. Phantom, you dirty dog, you, you would!

The naval architects who had designed the gate vessels had never dreamed that their heavy, sturdy, almost indestructible creations would be used for anything other than what they were designed to do: tend the anti-submarine nets at the entry to a major harbour for a limited time, and then return to the jetty to refuel, store ship and afford the crew some time for recreation ashore. Crew accommodation was designed accordingly.

The normal compliment of officers in a gate vessel was five. The Commanding Officer had his own cabin and bathroom on the "Flag Deck" abaft the Wheelhouse and Comm shack. The Executive Officer, or First Lieutenant, and the Watchkeeping officers were housed in minimal quarters one deck below the galley, space shared with Dry Stores and the Spirit Locker. The two small cabins were located on the port side of the vessel, immediately abaft, and separated by a cofferdam from, the engine room. They were built for neither comfort, convenience nor ease.

Lieutenant Arnott's cabin, which he shared with Sub-Lieutenant Menzies, was identical in layout to its twin next door. It was barely ten feet long by six feet wide. Built into the portside bulkhead were twin bunks, one above the other, and two wooden, varnished lockers. Fixed to the after bulkhead was a fold-down table, which the offices used as a desk. Against the forward bulkhead was fixed a sink. There was also a rickety metal chair that had seen better days.

The Phantom sat on the lower bunk and looked around. "All the comforts of home, I see," he said with snicker.

Colin smiled. "It's not too bad," he said, "although it can be a bitch when the two of us are trying to get dressed in the morning. But hey, we have air conditioning." He laughed and pointed to the large, open scuttle fitted to the port bulkhead above the middle of the upper bunk. "Of course, it can be a bit damp if we have a quarterly sea running and Menzies forgets to close the damned thing." He turned and began to rummage in his locker for the bathing suit he had promised The Phantom.

"I suppose I could get used to it," replied The Phantom. When Colin turned and handed him a pair of black and yellow swimming shorts he smiled his thanks and continued. "I want to thank you for helping me on the bridge." He did not mean to be trite, or sycophantic. The Phantom knew that training bare-assed, unwashed Sea Cadets was not in Lieutenant Arnott's job description.

Feeling embarrassed, Colin grinned sheepishly. "I rather enjoyed it. There are some Subbies who would have screwed everything up. You didn't, and I hope you continue with your plans. You'll make a good officer, I think."

The Phantom grinned at the compliment. As he slipped his T-shirt over his head he said, "The Gunner, I mean Leading Seaman Winslow, he says I have a Seaman's Eye."

"You do," confirmed Colin as he handed the swimming shorts to The Phantom. He saw The Phantom about to push down his shorts and boxers and added hurriedly, "I'll leave you to change."

"Please stay," replied The Phantom. "I don't get to talk to sea-going officers at all and while the books and manuals are okay, you have actual experience." He pushed down his shorts and stepped out of them. "I think that learning now, from a practical seaman, will help me when I actually start my training."

Colin's heart skipped a beat as his eyes took in The Phantom's naked body. He had seen naked boys and men before, but not one of them had ever affected him as The Phantom affected him now. His pale blue eyes were inexorably drawn to The Phantom's pubic area and he all but moaned as his eyes devoured The Phantom's slim, beautiful, perfectly formed, circumcised penis, which was a shade or two darker-skinned than the rest of his body and The Phantom's low hanging, oval testicles contained in a smooth, hairless sac. Colin had seen dicks and balls before, but this dick before him, those balls, left him breathless. He turned quickly and began looking into his locker. "I won't be a sea-going anything after mid-September," he said, trying to get his emotions under control.

"Oh? Are you taking a shore posting?" The Phantom had seen the look on Lieutenant Arnott's face when confronted with his nakedness and, wondering just how far Arnott was prepared to go, deliberately delayed putting on the swimming shorts.

"Uh, no. I have to go back to school. I'll be starting my third year at the University of Toronto."

"Really," replied The Phantom casually. "I go back the Monday after Labour Day." He pretended to grimace. "Grade 13."

Colin instinctively drew back. The kid was still in high school! "Um, Grade 13?"

"Yup."

"How old are you?" Colin asked, fearful of the answer.

"Seventeen. I'll be eighteen in November," replied The Phantom easily. "How old are you?"

Breathing a touch easier, Colin replied, "Twenty-two."

"You look younger," said The Phantom. "I figured you for nineteen, twenty tops."

"Twenty-two," repeated Colin. He looked at The Phantom. "Aren't you getting changed?"

"Aren't you?" asked The Phantom deliberately. He looked levelly at Lieutenant Arnott. Ordinarily The Phantom was not aggressive but he had seen the look in the lieutenant's eye, seen the bulge in his tight trousers grow bigger and felt the desire swelling in his loins. The Phantom knew that it would be an easy thing to whisper in Cory's ear, or Todd's or Matt's and they would find a quiet place. But The Phantom did not want any of his friends. He wanted this wonderfully handsome young officer who stood before him, gulping air, shuffling his feet and staring wide-eyed at him. The Phantom wanted a man! And because he wanted a man The Phantom leaned forward slowly, asking, "Or maybe there was another reason for inviting me down to your cabin."

Colin felt the warm lips caress his, felt the firm, strong hand squeeze his genitals and before he knew it he melted, his arms reaching out and pulling The Phantom close, holding him tightly. A long, low moan escaped his throat as he felt The Phantom's warm, wet tongue probing gently. Colin opened his lips and they began the longest, deepest, most passionate kiss of Colin's life.

Nipping, licking, The Phantom's lips and tongue probed every inch of Colin's mouth. Colin responded in kind and a shiver of desire passed through The Phantom's body.

Moaning, Colin pulled The Phantom onto the lower bunk. He reached down and felt the strong, straight, firm, soft-skinned erection jutting upward from The Phantom's crotch. He squeezed gently and then pulled away. The realization of what he was doing, what he wanted to do, had finally sunk in.

"I . . . I've never felt another guy's dick," he whispered. "I've never been with another guy," Colin whispered, a haunted look coming into his eyes. "I'm not sure that I can . . . that I want . . . that I can do this."

The Phantom felt his penis begin to deflate. His green-eyes flashed momentarily and then he nodded. "I'm sure," he said quietly. "But I wouldn't want you to do anything you don't feel comfortable doing." He rolled from the bunk and stood beside it, his eyes gentle as he regarded the red-faced officer. "I better go back up top."

As The Phantom turned to find his shorts and underwear Colin cried out weakly. "No, please, don't go. Please." He reached out his hand and begged, "Please?"

"Lieutenant . . ." began The Phantom quietly.

"Colin," interrupted Colin quickly. "My name is Colin."

The Phantom smiled. "All right, Colin," he said as he sat in the rickety chair. He draped his clothing over his crotch and continued. "I never expected you to be a virgin, but you are, so there you have it. I won't lie to you. You're probably the handsomest man I've seen ever. I want to be with you but I'm not going to force you into anything. I understand the way you feel. I felt the same way, once."

"I'm not a virgin!" declared Colin, and immediately felt stupid for saying it. He swallowed hard and continued on. "I've had women. I've fucked women. I've never been with another man." He shook his head. "I don't understand why I want you, I just know I do. I'm also afraid that I won't know what to do!"

"Whatever feels natural, whatever feels right, whatever gives you pleasure," replied The Phantom, rising. He held out his arms. "Get up."

You'll stay?" asked Colin as he left the bunk.

"I'll stay," replied The Phantom. He reached out and slowly unbuttoned Colin's short-sleeved shirt, at the same time pulling the white garment from Colin's trousers. He pushed the shirt apart, revealing Colin's broad, firmly muscled chest and warm brown coloured nipples. Except for a faint line of blond hair, pale as pale, bisecting his chest, Colin was hairless. Just above the buckle of Colin's belt was his navel, perfectly round and resembling a round, smooth button.

The Phantom's fingertips found Colin's nipples and slowly caressed them into hard, rubbery nubs. "You are beautiful, Colin," The Phantom whispered as his hands slid slowly down Colin's sides. "Oh, so beautiful."

Colin stood stock still as The Phantom unbuckled his belt, unzipped his trousers and slowly pushed them down, revealing his tighty-whiteys. His dick was iron hard, harder than he could remember it ever being and it pushed impatiently against the tight, constricting cotton fabric.

Before he fully realized it Colin was naked, lying in his bunk, his whole being consumed by an unquenchable fire. A seventeen-year-old boy was making love to him and he wanted it to never stop.

The Phantom knelt between Colin's outstretched legs and settled back on his heels. Before him lay one of the most beautiful males he had ever seen. Colin's body projected perfect health, firm muscles, with thick thighs that ached to be wrapped around the back of another man. Colin was, by any definition, a magnificent example of what a young male should be: strong, powerful and oh so, so desirable. The Phantom had no doubt that Colin had starred in more than one boy's masturbatory fantasies.

Glancing down, The Phantom saw that Colin's genitals were just as beautiful as the rest of him, rising as they did from a thick bush of silky, dark blond, pubic hair. Colin's penis was every bit as sleek and smooth as his body, perhaps six-and-a-half inches long, five inches thick, and rising in a gentle curve to rest the flared, clean lined glans against his stomach. The bottom half of Colin's penis was a dark, pleasant shade of pink while the top half, separated by a thin, irregular, barely hinted, light tan circumcision ring, was a delicious, excited red. Colin's penis throbbed and as The Phantom watched a bead of pre-cum leaked from the perfectly placed pee slit.

The Phantom reached out and ran his fingers along the bottom of Colin's scrotum, which rose and fell with Colin's shallow breathing, and caressed his testicles, which were in perfect proportion to Colin's penis. His balls were oval, neither too small, nor too large. They were, so far as The Phantom was concerned, just right. Colin's testicles had drawn upward in excitement and anticipation and the sac was a little wrinkled but The Phantom shivered as his fingers felt the soft, almost silk-like skin.

At first The Phantom thought to take Colin Arnott across the river. Taking a boy - or man - across the river was all but guaranteed to drive the recipient into a frenzy of delight, so frenzied that he was almost consumed in exquisite, mind-numbing pleasure.

The Phantom knew what taking another man across the river would do him. Todd and Cory had yipped, yelped, bucked, thrashed and howled when successive orgasms ravaged their bodies. Ray's eyes had rolled back in his head and his body became so stiffly arched he looked as if he'd had a sudden attack of rigor mortis! Matt had jumped and bucked like a fish, gasping and growling like an animal gnawing a bone. He had also ripped the sheets of the bed they were on to shreds. As for Gunner, well, he was older, and had emerged from his ecstasy flushed, exhausted and drained to the point that he was of no use to man or beast for an hour!

While he wanted to give Colin the ultimate pleasures, The Phantom had to consider that they were in a small cabin, in a ship, with a crew swimming only a few yards away. Directly above them Chef and Ray were preparing dinner in the galley. If Colin went crazy with lust someone would hear, and Chef had the hearing of a fox. There was also the time. Taking Colin across the river properly, which The Phantom most definitely wanted to do, took time. Which he judged they did not have. The afternoon was passing quickly and "Hands to Dinner" would be piped soon and the ship would be swarming with half-naked, curious cadets.

Still . . . The Phantom looked at Colin, who lay with his eyes closed, breathing in long, slow breaths. His hands gripped the blue and white checked counterpane tightly. Colin might not have ever experienced what was about to happen to him before, but he wanted it to happen.

Colin felt The Phantom's warm lips against his, felt The Phantom nip and bite playfully as he moved down his body, licking his nipples, tonguing his navel. He felt the warm breath of the young man as it ruffled his pubic hair, felt a moist warm tongue follow the curves of his balls. He groaned and raised his hips, offering, begging, demanding to be sucked.

Opening his mouth wide The Phantom encased the smooth, curving glans of Colin's penis. Then he moved down the shaft of Colin's erection, sucking slowly until his nose was buried in the patch of dark brown hair at the base of Colin's dick. Colin groaned and moaned out a long, low, "Fuuuuccccckkkkk!" He began thrusting in and out of the warm cavity that was driving him crazy with pleasure.

The Phantom assumed - rightly - that Colin had been the recipient of a blowjob from one of the girls he'd picked up or dated. The Phantom had heard his friends bragging in the locker room and knew that half the girls in town had no objections to going down on her date. Sucking your date's cock and getting him off that way certainly beat letting him fuck you and ending up with a bun in the oven. The Phantom also knew that there was never a girl born who could give a guy the kind of blowjob that would cause him to rise to levels of bliss that he never knew existed.

Only a guy could truly please another guy. Only a guy knew the secret, special places on another guy's cock that would drive him into a frenzy, the secret knot of scar tissue left over from his circumcision, the head, spongy hard and so sensitive that when he came he could not bear to be touched, his balls that when sucked or licked sent him thrusting upward. To a girl, giving a blowjob was a mechanical, necessary act. But to a guy, giving another guy a blowjob was an act of worship. Taking another boy's cock in your mouth, laving it with your tongue, feeling it throb with desire, that was a rite, a service of love and The Phantom knew that as sure as the sun would set tonight and rise again in the morning, Colin Arnott would receive a blowjob that would set him to gasping at the very remembrance of it.

The Phantom knew from personal experience that the most sensitive part of a circumcised male's cock was the head, and the skin of the shaft above his circumcision line. He knew how to give such pleasure to those areas that his lover would wail with excruciating desire, demanding that he suck, demanding that he make him cum, demanding that he never stop!

Drawing back, The Phantom began to suck ever so gently on Colin's dick. His tongue traced a slow, deliberate course over the head of Colin's penis, and then followed the ridgeline of his glans. He sucked gently, slowly, wanting this to last, wanting Colin to know what it was to be pleasured by another man.

Colin could hear himself groaning, but the groans seemed so far away, as if muffled, muted by a thick fog of indescribable ecstacy that surrounded his body and filled the cabin. Between his legs his cock throbbed as feelings so intense as to be almost unbelievable coursed through him. His balls were drawn up tight against the base of his dick and seemed about to explode. "Oh Shit!" he moaned. He could not believe what was happening, he could not believe the feelings that engulfed him. "Ah . . .. Fuck!" he growled as he tried to thrust deeper into the warm depths that were giving him such pleasure. A restraining hand, tightly gripping the base of his cock, held him back but the tongue, the mouth the lips continued their pleasuring.

Colin had no reasoning left. Every sense, every feeling, was confined to the all-consuming, mind-devouring FEELING that was building deep within his groin. "I'm close . . . I'm going to . . ." he warned breathlessly. "Don't stop . . . DON'T . . ." Colin could not finish. He could not warn The Phantom. He arched his back, low, animal growls hurling from his throat as his cock spasmed and throbbed, his orgasm finally HERE!

The Phantom felt Colin's dick thicken and drew back even more. Suddenly the head of Colin's dick seemed to throb and his mouth was filled with sweet-tasting, thick, semen. He swallowed each thick jet that filled his mouth, moaning his own pleasure.

Colin's dick continued to pump until there was nothing left to pump. He wanted to continue. He wanted more, but his dick was so sensitive, overcome with screaming pleasure, he could not stand it. "Please, no more," he gasped as his hands slowly pushed The Phantom's head away. He lay gasping; feeling his dick deflating and then opened his eyes. "I . . . I don't . . . I've . . . never . . ." he managed between rasping breaths.

"I know how you feel," replied The Phantom. He leaned down and kissed Colin gently. "Just so long as you enjoyed it."

A strange taste was on The Phantom's lips and Colin wrinkled his nose. Not much, but enough for The Phantom to notice. "Is that . . . taste . . . what I think it is?" Colin asked.

"Sorry," replied The Phantom as he moved away from the bed. "I thought I swallowed it all, but I guess some of it leaked out."

"My . . . cum?" Colin's question was a whisper. "You swallowed my cum?"

The Phantom knew that with some boys sucking dick was one thing, swallowing cum quite another. He nodded slowly and then smiled. "You've had a blowjob before and she never swallowed?"

"You just gave me my first blowjob," replied Colin with heavy emphasis.

The Phantom heard the meaning in Colin's words. His smile turned warm and genuine. "Colin, I enjoyed what I did to you. Thanks." He turned and began dressing.

"Don't get dressed," whispered Colin. "You didn't . . . you haven't . . ."

The Phantom's eyes sparkled. "Colin, I told you. I enjoyed giving you an experience that few guys ever have. I wanted you to feel the pleasure that only a guy can give a guy. Giving you that pleasure gave me pleasure. You don't owe me anything." He pulled his T-shirt over his head. "I'd better get going. People might wonder where the two of us disappeared to." He turned to leave but Colin's voice called him back.

"Wait! Please, Phantom," Colin said as he struggled to sit on the edge of the bunk. He ran his fingers through his sweat-drenched hair. He looked up and his face mirrored his feelings. "I want to see you again," he whispered. "Please, don't just walk away! I need to be with you, if only for a little while." He reached out his hand. "Please?"

The Phantom shook his head. "As much as I would like to, Colin, you know seeing you again just isn't possible. I live in the Staff Barracks back in AURORA. You live here, in this ship. There are too many eyes, too many ears, and too many people around to ask probing questions. And then there's the little fact that you're sailing tomorrow."

"But you would see me again, if you could?" asked Colin, smiling.

"Colin, you are a nice guy. You're damned good-looking and yes, I would."

Colin knew that what The Phantom was saying was true. They would leave each other. And all he would have would be a memory. "I guess I'll just have to settle for that," he murmured, shaking his head. He buried his face in his hands. "And that is one thing I do not want to do!" he added mentally.

He never heard The Phantom leave the cabin and slowly close the door.

As The Phantom walked forward along the starboard side of the ship he heard the shouting and tumult that seemed to accompany any Naval exercise as the Zodiac was hauled inboard. Up forward the last of the swimmers was clambering up the Jacob's ladder and scampering down the hatch leading to the Ratings' Mess Deck to change. The swim-ex was over and very soon would come the pipe to get underway for Comox, and home.

As he turned the corner of the Dog House the Twins, who were sitting on the life buoy canister, confronted The Phantom. Their faces were pictures of innocence but there was deviltry in their eyes. As The Phantom approached they shuffled over and gave him room to sit with them. As The Phantom sat down beside Cory, Todd snickered evilly. Cory glared at his brother and gave him a vicious jab with his elbow. The Phantom saw Cory's glare and the jab, but said nothing. He was not about to encourage the Twins in whatever they were up to.

Cory held it as long as he could, and then, laughing softly, asked, "Well, Phantom, did you enjoy your tour of Wardroom Flats?" he asked with a straight face.

"And did you find your tour of the officers' accommodation to your liking?" asked Todd, trying to be as stoic as Cory.

The Phantom had hoped that his little foray down below had gone unnoticed. Obviously the Twins were about to tell him that it had not. "I, um, what are you two on about?" he asked, blushing despite himself. The Twins knew what he'd been up and were going to wheedle every detail out of him if they could, no matter how hard he tried to bluff his way through.

"I'm sure the tour was very informative," said Cory, his sky-blue eyes dancing and sparkling with glee.

"And entertaining," added Todd as he glanced out of the corner of his eyes, past his brother and at the Phantom, who was squirming with embarrassment.

"I'm sure I have no idea what you are talking about," growled The Phantom.

The Twins couldn't keep up the charade and collapsed in giggles. While Phantom shot daggers at them they laughed and clutched their sides. Finally Todd, always the more levelheaded of the Twins, gained control. "Oh, Phantom, if you could only see the look on your face!"

The Phantom began muttering about certain Twins minding their own business and then gave up. "Lieutenant Arnott is a very nice guy. He offered to lend me a bathing suit so . . ."

Cory, his smooth, peaches and cream face broken by a salacious smile, shook his head. "It won't work, Phantom." He gently nudged his friend with his elbow. "So, sailor, find something new in town?"

The Phantom was about to flare and then started laughing. "Let's just say that I never expected to find a commissioned Stud Muffin!" He hoped the Twins would not ask for too many details but as they already knew what he'd been up to there was no point in lying about it.

Cory pretended annoyance. "And here I thought I was the punkin' on this cruise! All I managed was a Leading Stoker!"

"Cory!" The Phantom choked back a gasp. "You didn't!"

Shaking his head sadly, Cory said, "No, but I might have done. You never know when you take a cruise, the sea air, and the moonlight. Anything might happen."

"I thought the only cruising in the moonlight you did was with Sean," returned Todd sharply. "And just so you know, I saw your Leading Stoker when he changed into his swimming outfit. You won't be cruising with him, brother dear."

Cory sighed in mock disappointment. "And he had so much potential."

Laughing, Todd said, "His potential was as long as a parson's nose, as Chef would say, and quite wrinkled. He reminded me of Sylvain."

"Let's not go there," said The Phantom hurriedly. Sylvain and Todd had shared a tent on the Venture Training part of their Senior Leadership Course and Cory, who would not have touched Sylvain if he were dead and needed to be carted off to the bone yard, knew exactly what sort of "wilderness" training Todd and Sylvain had got up to. Mentioning Todd's SLC - and Sylvain - was guaranteed to set loose the dogs of war.

"There's no accounting for some people's taste!" sniffed Cory with all the disdain he could manage. He glanced slyly at The Phantom. "I do hope your taste is much better than my disgusting brother's and that Lieutenant Stud Muffin was in all respects ready for sea."

The Phantom broke into a wide grin. He held up his had and formed an "O" with his thumb and forefinger. "In all respects, brother! In all respects!"

As it was late in the afternoon Father decided that it was time to head home. The crew would eat during the passage back to Comox and clean ship afterward. It was a maxim in the Sea Cadets, and the Navy, that you always left a ship or barracks cleaner than it was when you went on board.

They were steaming south and east, with Texada Island fair on the horizon. Father was chatting with Lieutenant Arnott, who was Officer of the Watch. Sub-Lieutenant Menzies was at the chart table, carefully plotting the ship's course and heading. Below the bridge the two officers could hear the helmsman chatting with the Port Lookout. There were no other vessels anywhere about, other than the five YAGs that steamed in line astern behind the gate vessel, and Father saw no harm in a bit of skiving.

From below the wheelhouse came deep tenor laughter and Father knew that Phantom was playing silly beggers with the Twins again. He assumed that Matt Greene would be somewhere about. All four boys were closer than brothers and where one went, sure as fate, the others would soon appear.

Thinking of The Phantom, Father remembered that the boy was to apply, or already had applied, for the UNTD. He would need a recommendation and after today's performance it would be glowing. Father also decided to have a long chat with The Gunner about the Twins. The Navy would not be ill served if those two rat bags took the Queen's Shilling. The Navy needed characters, and if it were one thing the Twins were . . .

A shout broke Father's train of thought. "Smoke, bearing Green Two-Five. Smoke, bearing Green Two-Five," shouted the Starboard Lookout.

The three officers raised their binoculars to their eyes and scanned the small, low-lying island perhaps a mile off to starboard. A thickening plume of smoke rose above the dark green trees that covered much of the island. "Pilot, correct me if I'm wrong," said Father, who had been sailing these waters for years, "but isn't that Yochim Island?"

Sub-Lieutenant Menzies looked at the chart. "Aye, sir. Yochim Island. Uninhabited, but a marine and wildlife preserve. Apparently the sea lions use it for courting."

Father took another look at the plume of smoke. "It would seem that the Sea Lions are hosting a barbecue," he said wryly. He thought a moment and then called, "Chief Yeoman?"

Nicholas, who was never far away, stepped forward. "Sir?"

"Make to Exeter: Investigate smoke to starboard," ordered Father, almost casually. Then he said, almost as an afterthought, "Append: Exodus 3 Verse 2."

"Aye, aye, sir."

Within seconds there was the clattering of the signal lamp as Nicholas flashed the message to the Command YAG two cables astern. Almost immediately there was a series of flashes from the starboard wing of the YAG's bridge. "Exeter acknowledges, sir," shouted Nicholas. Then a puzzled look crossed his face. "And appends: King James or Douay?"

Chuckling, Father raised his binoculars to his eyes. "Trust Harvordson to ask!" He turned in his seat and watched as Exeter pulled out of line to starboard. Father saw the bone rising in her teeth and commented, "Harvordson has cracked on some knots."

Lieutenant Arnott nodded as he watched the faster YAG steam past. "I expect he'll find that some damned fool tourist left a campfire burning."

"Probably," agreed Father. He turned back to look at the island. "Mind, it seems a deal of smoke for a campfire."

Presently they saw the flashing signal from Exeter's bridge. Nicholas read and simultaneously translated the Morse code. "Exeter signals: Grass Fire . . . Burning Merrily . . . Shall I land . . . Fire Fighting . . . Party?"

Father did not hesitate. "That damned fire is too large for them." He began snapping orders. "Chief Yeoman, Flag Hoist: Fire on Yochim Island. All ships prepare to land Fire Fighting Parties."

"Aye, aye, sir!"

"Pilot, what's the bottom like?"

There was a short pause as Sub-Lieutenant Menzies consulted his chart. "On the near side sand, sloping beach, depth four fathoms down to ten. Sandy bottom. No wrecks, no rocks, no shoals showing on the chart."

"Very good. Starboard fifteen, steer two-two-zero. Make engine revolutions one-four-zero."

The helmsman acknowledged the order and the gate vessel turned ponderously to starboard. Father turned to Lieutenant Arnott. "Sound Action Stations. Clear away starboard anchor for lowering. Break out blankets, fire extinguishers and hoses. Lower the Zodiac and stand by to ferry the lads ashore. Buffer to form Fire Fighting Parties. Lascelles to take charge of one, with young Greene. Give 'em Lowndes and Pelham. They're farm boys and should know how to use a shovel! Chief Arundel, T. for one party, Chief Arundel, C. for the other. You'll go ashore as Beach Master and OIC Fire Parties."

Brian's trilling on his Boatswain's Call was echoed from astern as the other vessels acknowledged the flag hoists and then all but drowned out as the Action Alarm clanged loudly throughout each ship. Lieutenant Arnott slid down the port ladder and hurried to the well deck where the hands were breaking out hoses, axes, and blankets. The stokers, under the direction of the Chief engineer manhandled the portable emergency pump from its home on the quarterdeck and placed it in position for loading into the Zodiac. Then they hurried aft to bring forward the "Horse Cock", a length of flexible hose with a large, pierced filter fitted to it. This would be dropped over the side of the Zodiac to provide water for the pump.

Lieutenant Arnott, while busy as he and Stuart organized the Fire Fighting Parties, saw that half of the cadets were only wearing shorts and T-shirts, hardly the rig for fighting a grass fire. "Break out extra trousers and shirts!" he shouted to the Reservists. "Anybody not buttoned up will remain on board."

Colin then hurried aft and rummaged through the two lockers and quickly reappeared with an armload of long sleeve shirts and long trousers. He made sure that The Phantom had a set of his own clothing.

Back aft, Chef and Ray secured the food under preparation, cleared the wardroom table and began setting up a Sick Bay, which was traditional whenever a ship of war went to Action Stations. As there was no Tiffy, Chef broke out the Field Medical Kit and he and Ray began to lay out bandages, saline solution, and anti-burn creams. Both Chef and Ray said silent prayers that no one would be hurt. If there were injuries, though, they were ready.

In a long, thin line, the cadets, armed with shovels, blankets and brooms, and whatever portable fire extinguishers they could find on board the 6 ships, advanced on the blazing brush fire. Behind them the stokers manhandled the portable pumps ashore and the bow of Exeter was nudged onto the sandy beach. Very soon fire hoses were being passed ashore under the direction of Steve, the Baby Buffer. Small boats began to ply back and forth, bringing additional cadets ashore.

As Beach Master, Lieutenant Arnott arranged the groups of cadets into line, always making sure that there was a senior cadet in charge of each group. He also tried to keep an eye on The Phantom, who was leading his group of cadets carefully toward the small amenities hut that stood on the edge of the forest about sixty yards in.

The amenities hut, which was quite apparently built of fireproof concrete blocks, with a tin roof, had been constructed as a comfort station for visiting tourists and such. While empty except for toilets and sinks, it was the only building on the island and while the grass fire was southward, a change in the wind would bring it right up to the building, and the stand of fir trees behind the building. The Phantom, along with Matt, Randy and Joey, were to run a length of hose from the beached Exeter and spray water on the area surrounding the hut and the small building itself.

The Phantom and Matt, who had been outfitted with B suits, helped Joey and Randy, who were buttoned up and wearing anti-flash gear and tin hats, to unroll a coil of 2-inch hose which was attached to a portable pump situated about 20 yards from the beach. In turn a length of hose had been run from the pump to the length of hose draped over the bow of the beached YAG. The engineers insisted that they could pump seawater from the YAG's fire main to the pump, which in turn would pump water to wherever the land crews set up their fire boundary. At least that was the theory.

The Phantom was too busy to worry about theories. He was also sweating like the proverbial pig. The B suit, in addition to being cumbersome, was hot! Matt was complaining about the same thing while behind them Randy and Joey kept losing their tin hats and bitching that the anti-flash gloves were too big. None of the boys noticed that a line of fire was advancing steadily toward the amenities building.

Attached to the rear of the amenities building and hidden from the beach was a flimsy wooden shed. Here were stored various gardening utensils, rakes and such, a lawn mower and, illegally, two tanks of gasoline used to refuel the mower and the outboards on the small boat the park rangers used when the came to patrol the island. On a shelf above the gasoline tanks were a dozen or more cans of outboard motor oil.

The flames advanced stealthily along a small gully that ran behind the building and as the line of cadets advanced began to lick hungrily at the wood of the storage shed. A finger of flame darted under the door and found food: a spilled line of gasoline-soaked earth. The finger became a river as the flames roared forward and found the full containers of gasoline. The force of the ensuing explosion shattered the wooden shed and sent debris, coated with flaming gasoline and motor oil, flying everywhere. It also slammed into a huge fir that was standing directly beside the shed. The tree was very old and while it had withstood countless storms and buffeting from the wind, it could not withstand a power lawn mower crashing into an extensively rotted section of its old trunk. The old fir began to sway as it burst into flames and then, with loud cracking and splintering, began to fall forward, directly toward where The Phantom and his crew were stopped.

Although the concrete block structure blocked some of the blast and debris, The Phantom was knocked onto his back by the force of the explosion. He looked up to see a huge ball of orange and red, black-tinged fire exploding outward and upward behind the amenities building. Matt too was down and he placed his hands over his head as small bits and pieces of wood and concrete from the now shattered hut began falling around them. Randy and Joey scrambled to put on their tin hats and stared, wide-eyed at the rolling ball of fire.

All along the beach and on board the assembled boats heads turned and mouths opened in shock as the fireball roared upward. A huge plume of smoke began rising and billowing outward to hide not only the building but also The Phantom and his crew. Then, as the others watched, the huge fir beside the building began to fall. With gathering speed it fell forward, directly to where The Phantom and his crew were sprawled.

The Phantom looked up to see a mass of burning fir tree coming at him. He scrambled to his feet and as he grabbed Matt by the hood of his B suit, shouted, "Run!" Half dragging Matt along The Phantom struggled to run toward Joey and Randy.

Matt looked back and saw the tree falling. It all seemed to be in slow motion. His heart was racing as he bumped into Joey. The Phantom saw the same thing and knew that they could never outrun the falling tree and its branches. "The kids!" The Phantom screamed at Matt as he lunged forward toward Randy, pulling Matt forward to cover Joey's body with his own.

The words had barely come out of The Phantom's mouth when the wide, flaming branches of the tree enveloped the four boys and the world went dark.

To be continued in Chapter 8