Aurora Tapestry

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

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

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

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

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

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

Aurora Tapestry

Chapter 10

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

"Me?"

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

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

"Now, Cory . . ."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"And Sean?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Me?"

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

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

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

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

"Aye, lad, it is."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Joey had asked Randy to explain.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"In love with me?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Sir?"

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

"Oh."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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