Aurora Tapestry

Disclaimer: The following is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to persons alive or dead is coincidental. The venue is fictional and any resemblance to actual bases and/or locations, is coincidental, and needed more for literary license than anything else.

This story takes place in 1976 Canada and reflects the mores, traditions, customs, etc., of the times. I urge all of those who read this story to remember that what is "politically correct" today, was not thought of back then.

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

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

What follows is the prologue and Chapter 1 of the third book in the AURORA trilogy. In order to understand who is who and what is what should read the first two books in the series, "The Phantom of Aurora" and "The Boys of Aurora". There is a cast of characters included in The Boys, and while not all of them are included in this newest book, the main characters are.

I always enjoy hearing from readers, new or old. I will respond to all e-mails (except flames). Please write me at my e-mail address" paradegi@rogers.com

Aurora Tapestry - Chapter 3

With the departure of the cadets a sombre, melancholy aura had seemed to settle over Heron Spit. The laughter, the joking, the yells and ever-present noise were gone, replaced by a disconcerting silence.

Tyler stood at the edge of the deserted parade square, remembering in his mind's eye the parades that had been held there. He saw again the flashing bayonets and glittering swords, heard the brassy, martial music, listened once more to the droning voice of Dirty Dave the Deacon as he fumbled through the Doxology. He sighed heavily and then he felt a presence beside him. He turned and smiled. Val, his wonderful, gloriously handsome, dark-haired, Val.

"There's no advantage in dwelling on what has been, Tyler," said Val as he gently rubbed his lover's back. "It's over."

Tyler nodded silently. Then he sobbed. "I never wanted it to end."

"None of us did," agreed Val. "But it has, and now we have to go on."

"Will we, will we see them again?" asked Tyler, his face stricken. "Will we see our brothers?"

Val nodded. "I think so, Tyler. What we had here guarantees that somewhere, somehow, we will see them again. Remember what Todd said? We are a Band of Brothers. Nothing can separate us, and we will always be joined, somehow, together. We are brothers forever."

"Still, it's hard to say goodbye, even for a little while," replied Tyler. He nodded towards the Staff Barracks. "I don't want them to leave."

Val knew that Tyler was referring to the three American cadets who had become their friends and brothers, confidants and confessors. The ties that bound the Americans to the two Canadian boys had strengthened over time and now, after shared experiences, none of them wanted to part.

"They have to get back to their families, and school," said Val. "Our lives may be intertwined, but we all lead separate lives and we all have to get back to them."

Another heavy sigh escaped Tyler's lips. "I know, dammit! I know!"

While the mood on the parade square was melancholy, the mood in the Chiefs Mess was downright hostile. Nathan was cranky, which both Mark and Tony ascribed to his recent encounter with Fred, a tall, gangly cadet whose expertise in the sack had driven Nathan wild. Fred, while born and educated in England, was now living in Kingston, Ontario. He held true to his English roots and last night he and Nathan had re-fought the Battle of Lake Erie, proving not only that there was something about a sailor, but that Britannia did indeed rule the waves!

"I hope you cleaned the back seat of the car!" declared Mark as Nathan lethargically packed the last of his clothes.

"And left the windows open," put in Tony. "I don't think Andy will appreciate riding all the way to Seattle with the thing smelling of Nathan's spunk!"

"And Fred's," added Mark. "From what I've seen, and heard, old Fred has the equipment to . . ."

A sudden wail rose from Nathan and he sat down abruptly on the deck. "I don't want to go!" he moaned. "Why do we have to go? We can stay!"

Mark and Tony stared at Nathan. They had always thought him to be a shallow, self-serving youth who cared for nothing other than his next piece of ass. "Well, we do have to go home eventually, Nathan," began Mark carefully. Nathan was not the type of boy to be easily upset about anything. "And look at the bright side," he smiled, "Jeremy Cohen is waiting for you to get back."

"And Alex," added Tony, who knew that his older brother and Nathan were having an on-again-off-again fling whenever Nathan wasn't busy with Jeremy.

A look of venomous hatred flashed through Nathan's eyes. "Is that what you think?" he growled, his voice heavy. "Is that what you think?"

"Well, no, but really, Nathan, you have to admit that you've been . . ." began Mark, temporizing, trying to put into words his disappointment with Nathan who had, if the truth were told, spent more time putting the moves on the Canadian cadets that doing anything useful.

Nathan glared at Mark and then shook his head. "You think I'm sorry because . . .Well, fuck you both if that's what you think." He struggled to his feet and clenched his fists. "I can get dick in Seattle, I don't have to come up here for dick!"

The forcefulness of Nathan's words caused both cadets to take a step back. "Take it easy, Nathan," said Tony, his hands extended in peace.

"You think that it's all about sex?" demanded Nathan. His face was flushed and his clenched hands were shaking. "Well it isn't, and if what happened this morning meant nothing to you two, then fuck you for fools and idiots!"

Mark moved forward and put his arm around Nathan's shoulder. "We know what happened, Nathan, and we know what it meant. Now, come and sit down with me."

They settled on Tyler's bunk, Mark on one side of Nathan, Tony on the other. Nathan began to cry softly. "I'm a queer," declared Nathan through his tears. "I know what I am! I'm a cock hound, I love dick and yeah, I made it with Sandro, and Caspar Collins, and Fred. I know I blew it big time with Cory."

"Come on, Nathan, don't put yourself down like that," sympathised Tony. He squeezed Nathan's arm. "You're a still a good head. You piss me off sometimes, but what the hell, everybody pisses off his friends once in a while."

"That's what I'm talking about. We're friends," returned Nathan, raising his hand and pointing toward the door. "Those guys accepted me, us, as their friends! They laughed with us, not at us! When we first came here we were just a bunch of Americans. Now we're their friends, their brothers. I've never felt so . . . warm, so welcome, as I have here! Can you understand that? Can you understand how I felt when Chef patted my butt after I did the flower arrangements for the Mess Dinner?"

"Yes, Nathan, I can," came a voice.

The three Americans turned to see Tyler, with Val behind him, standing in the doorway. Tyler entered the cabin and knelt before Nathan. He took the American boy's hands in his and smiled softly. "Nathan, remember what Todd said when he quoted Shakespeare? Do you remember the lines?"

Nathan nodded and spoke the words, his voice a soft whisper: "From this day to the ending of the world, But we in it shall be remember'd, we few, we happy few, we band of brothers."

Mark took up the words as he looked lovingly first at Tony, then at Nathan, then at Tyler, then at Val. "For he today that sheds his blood with me shall be my brother, be he ne're so vile, this day shall gentle his condition."

"No matter who you are, no matter what you are, you are one of us, as we are as one with you," murmured Val. "You are our brother, Nathan, as Mark and Tony are our brothers."

Nathan wiped the tears from his eyes and smiled sheepishly. "Sorry, but it's just that I never felt this way before. I never felt for other guys what I feel for you guys."

"And we never felt this way before, either," said Mark. "But then, you know that."

Tyler nodded. He remembered the morning of the Mess Dinner, when he had bared his very soul, and Mark had declared his love for Tony, unequivocally and without shame. "You will always be a part of us, always," Tyler said passionately. "And we can't lose touch, because we won't. Next year, we can get together. I'll be at Royal Roads and I can always get down to Seattle for a visit. Or you can come up to Victoria."

Nathan smiled wanly. "You mean that? You'd come to see me?" He laughed mirthlessly. "Even though I'm a big-balled cock hound?"

Tyler broke into hearty laughter. "Well, yes, I would. I want to see all of you again. But Nathan, there is one thing."

"What?"

"Well, I've seen 'em, and I have to tell you that while your dick ain't bad, unless you've had a transplant that I don't know about, your balls leave a little to be desired."

Nathan joined in the general laughter. Val brought out the last of his grappa, and they all had a drink. Nathan apologized for being a jerk and the other boys waved his words away.

"Look, Nathan," Val began seriously. "You are who you are. Nobody cares. The guys you went off with wanted to be with you so don't beat yourself over the head about it. It's not as if you got it on in the middle of the parade square!"

"Or tried to put the moves on somebody at a mess dinner!" rejoined Mark.

Five brows furrowed with displeasure. Sylvain's conduct at the dinner would never be forgotten and would never be forgiven.

"Well, I do have some class," replied Nathan with a grin. "At least I waited until AFTER the dinner."

"Barely," snickered Tony. "But, no matter. You have class, even if it is third!"

"Tony!" exploded Mark. He smacked his lover on the back of his head.

"A joke!" returned Tony. He reached over and planted a large, wet kiss on Nathan's lips. "You're not a jerk, and while you may be a cock hound, you're our cock hound." He laughed uproariously and then hugged Nathan. "Tell ya what. We don't have to leave right away. How about we hang around until after supper."

"You mean that?" asked Nathan anxiously. "You'd do that for me?"

"No, for all of us," said Mark simply. "We don't want to go, either, but we have to. We're taking Andy with us and he has to get back to register at the university before Monday."

Nathan shook his head. "Well, a few more hours are better than no more hours."

Tyler grinned. "And I happen to know that a certain long drink of water of a Chief is moping around the Gunroom." He looked pointedly at Nathan's crotch. "The poor guy looks like he's lost his best friend."

Nathan beamed. "Well, perhaps I should go and help Fred find his best friend," he said, rising.

Andy slowly closed his suitcase and sat on the edge of his bed. He looked sadly at Kyle. "It won't be the same without you, Kyle. I don't know if I can stand not waking up with you in the morning."

Kyle reached out and took Andy into his arms. "And I don't know if I can stand not waking up with that little Gyrene dick of yours poking me in the butt."

"I do not," flared Andy. "I like to cuddle, you know that and I can't help it if . . ."

Kyle silenced him with a kiss. "We have time, Andy. Please?"

Andy returned the kiss. "We only have two or three hours," he said waggling his eyebrows.

"More than enough time," replied Kyle as he reached down to fondle the growing bulge in Andy's shorts. He snickered and kissed Andy's lips softly. "And I take it back. It's not so little, that Gyrene dick of yours."

Before Andy could respond there was a soft tapping on the cabin door. "Fuck!" growled Andy under his breath. "Who the hell could that be?"

Kyle snickered. "Perhaps it's Kevin, come back for a goodbye peek."

Andy released Kyle and gave him a dirty look. "You may have noticed that I have my clothes on?"

"Not for long, I hope," returned Kyle.

Andy pulled the door open and saw Greg standing there. "What?" he demanded.

Greg's eyes flickered down Ensign Berg's body, noted the bulge in his shorts, and then went blank. What two officers did in the privacy of their cabin was their business, not his. He tried hard not to smile knowingly. "The Gunner's respects, sir," Greg said formally. "And will you please come to his office?"

"This had better be important, Petty Officer," threatened Andy.

"It is," replied Greg, the laughter dancing in his eyes. He didn't blame Ensign Berg for being pissed off. Nobody liked being interrupted in a bit of afternoon delight. He wondered if Jimmy Collyer was available for a bit of . . . "It's very important," Greg repeated. He looked sadly at Andy. "There's been a death in The Gunner's family."

Andy's anger waned rapidly. "I'll come then."

It had not taken long for word to spread that The Gunner had lost one of the two remaining members of his family. The Phantom, who heard it from Chef, hurried to the Drill Shed where he found The Gunner slumped in his chair, staring at the telephone.

"Stevie, I am so sorry," said The Phantom as he reached out to hug his lover. "I wish I knew what to say."

The Gunner smiled and looked in The Phantom's warm, green eyes. "Just being here is all you have to do, Phantom."

"I am sorry, Stevie. Is there, do you need . . .?"

The Gunner shook his head and pointed to the telephone. "Everything that needs to be done is being done. I just got off the 'phone. My uncle, the cold-hearted, stone-faced bastard, informed me, informed me as if he were announcing a merger, that my aunt will be buried on Saturday. He made it sound as if he was putting down the ship's cat."

The Phantom gently stroked The Gunner's face. "I know you loved her, even if he didn't. And I think she knew as well."

The Gunner nodded. "I did love her. She tried, in her way, to replace my mother. Oh, she wasn't clinging, or anything like that. She just showed me true love."

"And now she's gone and you have . . ." began The Phantom.

"I have you," growled The Gunner. "So don't go doing something stupid by getting yourself killed while I'm gone, you hear?"

The Phantom smiled his warm, boyish smile. "No danger there. I'm a steward. Unless I piss off Chef I'm safe in the arms of Jesus."

Laughing, The Gunner took The Phantom in his arms. "I'm going away for a bit. I'm taking the red eye tonight. It look's like you've got the car again."

The Phantom took in his lover's scent and sighed contentedly. How he wished that they could disappear for a little while, maybe go home for a swim, and then . . . The Phantom pulled away. "Bugger it," he swore loudly.

"What?"

"My mother!" The Phantom slapped his forehead. "My mother is getting set to put on the dog, kill the fatted calf. I better call her!"

The Gunner's eyes widened. "Of course, I'm supposed to have dinner at your place tonight."

"Yes, and if I know my mother she's pulled out all the stops. She'll be polishing the best silver, washing the good china and dusting everything in sight." He reached for the telephone. "I better turn her off."

The Gunner stopped the boy. "I can still have dinner at your house, Phantom. There is plenty of time for that." He squeezed The Phantom's hand. "I would like to eat with you, and your parents."

"But, Stevie, if you have to go to Toronto, you have to pack, and I'm sure you won't want to play happy families, not after what's happened."

The Gunner shook his head. "I want to do it, Phantom. So I shall."

"Okay. But if it gets too much, you tell me, and I'll get you out of there quick like."

"I'll manage," replied The Gunner. "Now, I am sure that you have things to do."

"I do," replied The Phantom morosely. "Chef thinks I should do a complete inventory of the Admiral's dining room! I'd rather stay here with you."

"Well, you can't. I know you and before I knew it you'd be taking advantage of me in my grief. I have things to do as well."

"I would not," growled The Phantom. Then he smiled the smile that drove The Gunner mad with desire. "But maybe, just a little."

Laughing, The Gunner gestured towards the door. "Run along, now. I have to talk to Andy."

"Andy?"

"Yes, Andy." The Gunner reached out and caressed The Phantom's face. "Tell Chef you're leaving early. You can come and help me pack before we go to your house."

"I am going to ask you a personal favour, Andy," The Gunner said as the officer settled himself into the chair. "I'm imposing, I know, but to be blunt, I need you." He looked directly at Andy and said quietly. "My aunt has died, so I must go to Toronto."

Andy, aware of The Gunner's loss, nodded, curious at what The Gunner was up to now. "I'll help, if I can."

"Good." The Gunner looked directly at Andy. "I know that you've made plans for your future, and if I could avoid it, I wouldn't think of imposing. However, the fact of the matter is, we're short three officers."

Andy nodded. With No "H", Dave Eddy and Sub-Lieutenant Ramseur gone, the Wardroom was echoingly bare. Kyle was staying until the end of the summer, as was Wally Higman. There were also the YAG officers. Andy could not quite see The Gunner's point, and said so.

"Andy, I need somebody around who is, every day, in direct contact with our boys. Someone who understands them, understands their foibles, and whom they understand. The YAG officers might know their own crews, they do not know our boys."

Andy was tempted. He noted with some pride The Gunner's references to "our boys". There was, however, the problem of his university enrolment. He also needed to see the Pay Office. He was flat broke, to the extent that he couldn't contribute to the gas money for his ride home. "Gunner, as much as I want to, I can't. If I don't register by Monday I'll have lost a semester. I also need to have my pay records updated."

The Gunner thought a moment. "Well, perhaps I can help."

"I don't see how," returned Andy. "The Registrar was quite emphatic when I spoke to him before I left Seattle."

"Which university?" asked The Gunner as he dialled the telephone.

Perplexed, Andy answered, "The University of Washington at Seattle."

The Gunner held up his hand. "Pax tecum, frater," he said into the handset.

Much to The Gunner's surprise, Michael returned the greeting. "Pax tecum, Stephen. Is there a problem?"

"Michael?"

"Of course, Michael. I do help out every now and then, you know."

The Gunner chuckled. "I didn't know."

"Things are somewhat busy here," replied Michael blandly. "Some loose ends, shall we say, that need tidying. Still, we always have time for you, Chancellor."

The Gunner noted Michael's use of his title and spoke quickly, explaining Andy's predicament.

Michael thought a moment. "It can be arranged." He paused, and then continued. "This young man is one of those Americans you spoke highly of?"

"Yes."

"While we can arrange his registration, perhaps he might consider Seattle University. Never under estimate the Jesuitical influence. They are quite good at what they do and I am sure that they would welcome such a student as your Ensign Berg."

"I could ask," replied The Gunner. "There is also a problem with his pay. I have the impression that he's skint." He smiled at Andy, who blushed.

"We will make an arrangement, Stephen," replied Michael. "Have him contact the Royal Bank in Comox before the close of business. There was a long pause as Michael fingered through the pages of his growing dossier on Andy. Then he asked suddenly, "Stephen, this young man is very special?"

Without realizing it The Gunner nodded as he said, "Very. He's the best of the best, I think."

"In that case, perhaps we should set our sights a little higher."

Andy saw The Gunner's eyebrows rise demonstrably. "What?" he whispered.

The Gunner waved for Andy's silence. "What do you mean, exactly?" he asked slowly.

Michael chuckled. "Why settle for a university so far away from his friend?"

"Well . . . I . . . I hadn't thought along those lines," replied The Gunner, confused.

"Chancellor, it has always been the Order's aim to further the careers of its most promising candidates. I see no reason why young Ensign Berg cannot go to a more prestigious college. Cornell perhaps? It's in Ithaca, New York, which is not all that far from Kingston, Ontario."

The Gunner almost dropped the telephone. "Well, yes, it is, but Michael, the tuition alone would break the bank. Andy is not chock full of cash, if you get my meaning."

"In that case, an arrangement will be made," replied Michael simply.

"It will?"

"Then again," said Michael, his voice distant, as if he were mulling over alternatives. "There is always Annapolis."

"Annapolis?" exploded The Gunner. He stared, wide-eyed at Andy, whose jaw dropped.

"Of course. The boy is hardly an idiot, and he has a very decent war record. Some good medals, including a Purple Heart." He paused and then continued. "The service academies are hurting for enrolments. The war in Vietnam has made a career in arms suspect, and downright unpopular. The naval authorities would welcome young Berg with open arms."

While the idea was intriguing, The Gunner had to think quickly. There were factors against such a scheme. Andy's age, for instance. "He would need an appointment, Michael. He is also 26, which is well past the age limit for Midshipmen. I also believe that plebes report in the first week of July. He'd have missed his Plebe Summer, and you know how traditional the Navy is. Besides, he wants to be a Marine, not a sailor."

"Not a problem," replied Michael blithely. "Wherever do you think the Marines get their officers? As for his age, deferments are made every day for career soldiers and marines. As far as an appointment is concerned, let me just say that I need only to make one telephone call to Washington. We have a senator who will be more than happy to assist us."

The Gunner was smart enough to know that Michael's influence extended to many quarters, and smart enough not to ask just what Michael had on the senator. "And the Plebe Summer?" he asked.

"As a mature student, an experienced veteran, Ensign Berg would have been excused that particular torture."

"I can ask him," replied The Gunner, his voice shaky. Could Michael really . . .?

Michael seemed to know exactly what The Gunner was thinking. "Convince Ensign Berg that it would be in his best interests for him to report to the United States Naval Academy on the first Monday in January next year. I shall watch with interest." With that, Michael broke the connection.

As the telephone buzzed in his ear The Gunner stared into space. Andy? Annapolis? Could Michael, could the Order, do it? So far as The Gunner knew, the United States Navy Academy had one draft a year, with the new class joining as plebes in July. How would the authorities at the Academy react when Andy showed up on their doorstep, appointment in hand, looking to join the Class of 1980, eight months late? Then The Gunner remembered all the stories that Joel, Michael's cousin and The Gunner's onetime lover, had told him. He also remembered the blazing look of determination in Michael's eyes when he had heard of the betrayal by two of the knights, members of the Council who had robbed the coffers of the Order. Somehow, and it was not The Gunner's place to question or doubt how, Andy would be a Midshipman, USNA, come January.

The Gunner glanced quickly at Andy, who had a quizzical, puzzled look on his face. Replacing the handset he smiled weakly at Andy. "Um, Andy, what would you say if I told you that you're not going back to Seattle, that you're going to, um, well, how would you like to see Annapolis?"

Andy gasped, and fell out of his chair.

As Cory splashed in the cooling waters of the lagoon Todd watched, smiling fondly at the golden-haired, vision that was his younger (by seven minutes), twin brother. They had not been together for a while, and he longed to make love to Cory.

As Todd watched Cory splashing he sighed deeply. He was, in many ways, quite content that he and Cory, known to the other cadets as "The Twins", which covered a multitude of collective sins and escapades, was a fraternal, rather than an identical, twin. Cory was brash, outspoken, at times as crazy as a shithouse rat, but one of the most loveable, upright, boys that Todd knew. Cory spoke his mind and, except when provoked, was a pretty nice guy to have around. Cory on a tear, however, was something to be avoided, and while he was quick with his wit and his fists, he always forgave. And forgave so lovingly that Todd more often than not had to take to his bed to recover. Another plus in being fraternal twins was that the bond between them was not as strong as that between identical twins. Which meant that while they could, and did, communicate almost telepathically, they had different outlooks, and unless they were thinking or talking about the same thing, Cory had no idea what Todd was thinking about, or worrying about, unless he told him.

While the Twins had few secrets, what Cory didn't know wouldn't hurt him, and there were some things that Todd would rather be kept from his brother. Todd's true feelings for Harry, and the shallowness of their relationship, were some of the things Cory did not need to know, at least not yet. Still, Cory was very intuitive when he put his mind to it, and Todd realized that he would have to talk to his brother soon.

Todd's train of thought came to an abrupt halt as Cory, laughing, emerged from the waters of the hidden lagoon. "You know, I really like this place," he said as he lay down on the towel that Todd had thoughtfully spread over the sand for him. Cory stretched languidly and shook his body free of salt water, much like a young golden pup, and then looked inquiringly at his brother, raising an inquisitive eyebrow. "This is where you and Phantom had your ARGUMENT?" he asked, trying hard not to snicker. He had a very good idea of just what sort of an 'argument' the two boys had engaged in.

Todd recognized the doubting tone in his twin's voice. While he had told Cory just about everything that had happened on this secluded little beach, he had left out some salient details, just as he had not mentioned what had happened on the barrack stoop last night. There were certain things that it was best Cory did not know about. "Well, yes, we did argue," replied Todd vaguely. "Then we made up and before we knew it Joey, Randy and Simon came out of the underbrush so don't get any ideas."

Cory looked sceptically at Todd but said nothing. Todd didn't need to know what had happened in Cabin 5 after Phantom had belled Little Big Man. "That would put a crimp in any making up you might have had in mind," he said with a snicker.

"Really, Cory, how you do run on. Just because Phantom and I spent some quality time together, it does not follow that we did anything."

"Really," drawled Cory. "This from the man who spent 14 days with Sylvain in the wilderness, supposedly on Venture Training, and still managed to rise to the occasion." He sat up and looked around. "At least this place beats some musty old tent."

"Ah, come on, Cory, you know that Sylvain was just someone to . . ." Todd began in a wheedling tone.

"Fuck," finished Cory icily.

Todd exhaled an exasperated sigh. "You are never going to let me forget that unfortunate incident, are you?"

Cory, who rarely had the opportunity to chuck shit at his brother, nodded firmly and said, "Just as you are never going to let me forget the incident with Blake Putnam Randolph?" he finished sweetly.

"Don't let's fight, Cory," murmured Todd as he reached over and gently rubbed Cory's soft penis. He ran his thumb over and around the crisp, clean, circumcised head of Cory's penis. "I do love you so and I hate it ever so much when we argue."

Cory stretched, arching his body as that special warmth that always rose in him when he was with Todd began to seep through his body. He could feel his penis starting to lengthen and thicken as Todd continued to fondle and stroke him. "And so the truth comes out," he muttered with a sly smile. "You invite me out here for a swim, rip my clothes off and now you want to take advantage of my innocence."

"Your what?" yelped Todd. "And I did not 'rip of your clothes'. You took them off yourself. And as for taking advantage of you, well you knew why I wanted you to come out here with me!" He gave Cory's genitals a soft squeeze and then ran his fingers through the soft, dark blond hair of his brother's pubic bush. "You came out here because you wanted to."

Todd then leaned down and began to gently lick his brother's golden-skinned, silky smooth body. Cory, who had to admit that Todd knew how to please a fella, moaned softly at each gentle touch of Todd's tongue, lips and hands.

Snickering, Todd took Cory's now hard penis into his mouth. He sucked gently as he rolled and pulled on Cory's scrotum. Cory squirmed and whimpered, as he always did when Todd made love to him and as always, the tingling rose in his groin. "Toddy," he said, his voice a whispering moan.

Todd felt Cory's penis pulse and throb and was rewarded with a large, warm, sweet outpouring. He swallowed rapidly, continuing to suck until Cory yelped and pulled away.

Moving upward, Todd cradled his brother in his arms and they cuddled, two warm, loving brothers. "You always do that to me," said Cory with a satisfied smile on his face.

"Of course. I do it because I love you," replied Todd, somewhat smugly, Cory thought. "And I like to make you happy."

"Oh, you have," returned Cory. He reached out and took his brother's hard, six-inches into his hand and gently squeezed. Cory knew what was coming next, which, if the truth were told, he wanted.

"I know you so well, my lovely brother," murmured Todd as he began rimming Cory's ear. He knew that this drove Cory wild. "I know how to please my favourite brother."

"I'm your only brother," replied Cory, groaning loudly. He did so enjoy Todd's lovemaking skills.

Todd moved down to nuzzle and suckle at Cory's engorged nipples. "If I had a dozen brothers, you'd still be my favourite."

Cory snickered, breaking the spell. "Next you'll tell me that you're the best I've ever had."

"Ah, but I am," replied Todd, determined not to let Cory destroy the mood, the ambience, the moment.

Cory opened his mouth to retort, and then shut it firmly. Actually, Todd was only marginally better than Phantom, who managed to push all the right buttons, pull the right levers, and generally take a guy to Heaven and back. And, when he threw in taking a guy across the river, a skill that Todd had not mastered, well . . . "Confucius say man who toots own horn ends up with halitosis!" he declared with a giggle.

Todd started, pulled away and glared at Cory. "Where in the hell did that come from? I've never heard of such a saying."

"Of course you haven't," returned Cory with a smile. He quickly kissed his brother and said, "I just made it up." He didn't want to antagonize Todd too much. But he was in a playful mood and they had all afternoon. He rolled away and sat up. "We are going to play, Todd, but not just yet."

Wide-eyed, Todd protested loudly. "Come on, Cory, you know you want me to . . ."

"Yes, I do know," replied Cory, his voice calm. He placed his hands protectively over his softening genitals. "But first you're going to tell me why you really wanted me to come out here with you." Then he waggled his eyebrows. "Aside from the other reason."

Cory had him, and Todd knew it. "I'm confused. I'm a jerk, I love you, I love Phantom, I think I'm falling in love with Matt and I'm sleeping with Harry! Is that enough for you?"

"I wondered what all that nonsense was about last night," said Cory, a thoughtful look on his face. "You coming in and making nice to Matt all of a sudden was a little, surprising?"

"Phantom and I had a long talk about Matt and about the way he feels for me."

Cory's eyebrow went up. "And?"

"And what? Nothing happened," replied Todd, blushing. "You just have a dirty mind, Cory."

"If nothing happened, then why did you scamper like a little bug into the showers right after you came in?"

Todd growled low. He could never keep a secret from Cory for too long. "All right, damn it! Phantom took me to sea! I enjoyed it! Happy?"

"It must have been quite a conversation if he took you to sea," returned Cory with a grin. Then he sobered. "So, what's the problem? You've always loved me. You can't help loving me. You fell in love with Phantom, as I did. Harry, well, Harry rings your bells."

"Yes, he does," admitted Todd. "But as Phantom pointed out, Harry doesn't really love me."

"And knowing Phantom, he also pointed out that you don't love Harry," interjected Cory. "You do like Harry, you like being with him and I haven't heard any complaints about his abilities, if you know what I mean."

"It is much more complicated that that," said Todd. His shoulders slumped as he shook his head. "In truth, I could, I think, spend the rest of my life with Harry, if only . . ."

"If only?" Cory's face softened and he gently stroked his brother's back."

"Harry will never leave the farm," murmured Todd. "He has been very clear in that respect." He looked directly at Cory, his eyes clear. "Harry is essentially bi-sexual. He has also made it very clear that he intends to marry one day."

Cory rubbed his chin contemplatively. "That would certainly muddy the waters. A ménage-a-trois with Harry and his wife certainly doesn't sound appealing." Then he stared out into the silent waters of the lagoon. "Which leads me to wonder what will happen when Stefan is old enough to be a part of Harry's life. You do know that Harry has given his heart to Stefan?"

"I know," replied Todd simply. He glanced at his brother from the corner of his eyes, wondering just how much Cory knew, or was guessing at. "And then there is Matt."

"From what I saw last night, there is no Matt," said Cory, his voice soft, and full of regret. "I know that you were trying to make up, a little, for the hurt you've caused him, but to be honest, I think he's given you up as a lost cause."

Phantom had implied the same thing. Todd shook his head. "You've been talking to Phantom, haven't you?"

"No, Todd, I haven't. But I do have eyes, and ears. And I am not quite the clueless dip you might think I am. Matt is in love with you, but you turned away from him. I think he's just decided to move on with his life." Cory straightened his shoulders. "I also think that Matt and Phantom have been together."

"You mean . . .?" asked Todd, his eyes wide.

Cory shrugged. "I mean what I mean. Phantom loves Matt in the way that only Phantom can love. The way he loves us, and Ray. Like I said, I have eyes, and ears. They were together and Matt is more in love with Phantom now than he was before."

Todd felt like weeping. "It should have been me," he said at last.

"Why?" Cory asked, his voice flinty. "You had your chance. Matt is a beautiful, wonderful boy. Everybody with a brain in his head knew how he felt about you. I don't mean to be hurtful but let's face it, you spurned Matt. You decided that you knew what was best for him and that you weren't it. How else did you expect he would react?"

"You can be a right shit when you want to be," spat Todd in return.

Cory reached out and took his brother's hand in his. His kissed Todd's open palm and his bright, blue eyes blazed with love. "Toddy, I know that you are hurting. I wish I could take away the hurt, but I can't. You have Harry. Be happy with him."

"It's easy for you to say," growled Todd. He pulled his hand away and grasped his knees. "You have someone who adores you." He looked at Cory and smiled. "I am so happy that you found Sean."

"So am I," replied Cory with a grin. "I like him, and I think in a few years, I might fall madly in love with him."

"You mean you haven't already?" asked Todd, surprised. "I thought . . ."

Cory rolled onto his stomach, plucked a strand of sea grass and methodically tore it to shreds. "Toddy, I'll be honest," he began quietly. "I like Sean the way you like Harry. I know that he is so very much in love with me it hurts. I also know that he will never betray me, never leave me, or in any way hurt me. As I told Mummy and Papa, and you, I will be with Sean, for as long as he wants me. He's not clinging, he's honest and straight forward, and yes, he loves me with all his heart."

"All the attributes of a Queen's Scout or a Beagle," returned Todd with a low, grumbling chuckle.

"Well, those tight shorts the Scouts WILL wear do something to a fellow," admitted Cory. "And I always did want a dog."

Todd laughed and hugged Cory. "But the change-bells don't ring? There's no fireworks in the sky, no band playing "Land of Hope and Glory" a la the last night at the Proms?"

Cory squirmed but did not pull away. "Well, I admit he's no great shakes in the sack," said Cory reluctantly. "But he is very, um . . . satisfactory," he hastened to add.

Todd began laughing and then looked directly at Cory. "Well, teach him to be more than satisfactory."

Cory wiggled, and then snuggled close to his brother. "I'd love to, but Sean is so, well so damned conservative! You know how he dresses, always so prim and starched! He even insists on wearing undies, tighty whiteys, actually, under his swimming shorts!" Cory snickered at his little joke and continued. "And to be honest, there's no . . . fire . . . when we're together, if you take my meaning. When Sean makes love, he's ever so careful, and he does all right, but it's so, well, it's not quite mechanical, but he seems so damned worried about doing it right, he forgets about me!" Cory finished on a whining note. Then he grinned and licked Todd's ear. "Sean certainly is not in the same league as you."

"Or Phantom," added Todd with a smile.

"Or Harry," retorted Cory.

"That's because Sean doesn't own the Pride of the Fleet," returned Todd with a complacent, satisfied grin. "But Cory, did you ever think that Sean is the way he is because, well, he's been in the closet for a long time. He hasn't had sex in what, a year, or is it two? I have the impression that he never really learned how to make love."

Cory thought a moment. "Perhaps you're right," he conceded. "Sean did tell me that the first guy he was ever with was really straight and all they did was suck each other. The second boy was a right little slut!" He sniffed disdainfully. "All he was interested in was Sean's dick."

"Must have quite a dick," replied Todd.

"It serves its purpose," growled Cory, his tone indicating that Sean's dick was a closed subject. "All Sean and the second boy did was fuck. Then he left Sean for a football player."

"Let's not go near there, shall we?" warned Todd, all too sensitive that Harry, too, played football.

Giggling, Cory squeezed Todd's perfect set of upper deck fittings. "Sorry. But you do understand what I'm saying."

"I do," replied Todd as he gently hefted Cory's perfect tackle. "Which means that the next time you lure him into your boudoir you set the pace and teach him a few of the basics."

Cory sniffed sadly. "That won't be until Saturday, damn it. He's duty until tomorrow morning, and we go on watch tomorrow afternoon. Greg told me that even with the YAG crews taking up the slack we'd be doing cruiser routine, four on, eight off."

Todd did some quick mental calculations. "Well, assuming that Sean is not off sailing the bounding main, fighting pirates, enforcing the Anti-Slavery Laws, or making the world free for democracy, you should both be free from 2000 Saturday until 0400 Sunday morning."

"So?"

"Well, dummy, you get a sea blanket, you stroll down to the Dockyard and ask if Sean can come out and play and then you . . ."

"I am NOT going back to that pestilential, broken-down, hovel!" bawled Cory. Quite forgetting that Todd and he had been with The Phantom in that same pestilential, broken-down hovel, Cory wailed on. "The stench is enough to kill a rat! And that mattress! There are things LIVING in it." He shuddered theatrically. "Something bit me on the bum when I was in there last!"

Todd had a very good idea just whom Cory had been with. He doubted, however, than anything from the insect world had bitten Cory's bottom. "Don't be silly, Cory. I've seen your bum. There's not a mark on it!"

"There is, insisted Cory. He thrust his backside toward his brother. "Look?"

"Cory, your bum is blemish free. There's not a mark on it. Maybe it was Sean what bit your bum!" he finished with a snicker.

"Don't be silly," retorted Cory. "Sean thinks that the only erogenous zone is between his legs." He scowled. "The last creature to bite my bum was Harry, and I wish neither to recall, nor again experience, that particular indignity."

Laughing, Todd pulled Cory to him. "Well, in that case, how about I speak nicely to Harry and get him to give me the keys to the School of Wind? The Unwinding Room is very comfortable, and so long as you and Sean don't break the furniture I'm sure Harry won't mind."

Cory looked at Todd. "You . . . you would do that for Sean and me?"

"Of course, butthead," replied Todd with a smile. "I'd do anything you wanted me to."

"But Harry, he might want to . . ."

"Well, Harry will just have to wait, won't he?"

Cory all but melted in his brother's arms. "Oh, Toddy, I do love you so."

Grinning widely, Todd began to sing quietly in a strong, tenor voice: "Land of Hope and Glory, Mother of the Free, how shall we extol thee, who are born of thee?"

Giggling, Cory snuggled closer to Todd. "You're crazy, you know?"

Todd ignored his brother and continued on: "Wider still and wider shall thy bounds be set . . ."

Cory could feel Todd's hands slowly moving down his body. He raised his face and looked at his brother, his eyes full of love and joined his sweet tenor with Todd's. "God who made thee mighty, make thee mightier yet . . ."

The Twins, giggling so much that they could barely gasp out the last stanza, slowly, ever so slowly, rolled back onto the sand as the gentle wind from the channel carried away the last lines of the hymn: "God who made thee mighty, make thee mightier yet."

On the open bridge of the Command YAG Sean stared at the jetty ahead and then spoke loudly into the voice pipe "Stop Both!" He glanced quickly ahead and then aft. The tide was flooding and he had to be very careful to watch his speed as the long, slim waisted vessel approached the jetty. Behind him, Lieutenant-Commander Harvordson, the YAG Squadron Commander, sat in the Captain's chair, ready to take over if Sean ran into any difficulties. On the starboard side Lieutenant Towsan, the boat's Commanding Officer, and Sub-Lieutenant Olney, the boat's Executive Officer, stood pouting. They did not agree with the YAG Squadron Commander's dictum that it was about time the senior Chiefs learned some practical seamanship. Officers commanded, Chiefs executed orders, even as good a Chief as Sean Anders. So they pouted and planned a run ashore to commiserate and wallow in indignation.

From below Sean heard the answering bells of the Engine Room Telegraph and felt the vessel slowing. He leaned over the bulwark and shouted down to Caspar Collins, who was the Foc'sle Petty Officer. "Stand by lines and fenders!"

Caspar acknowledged the order with a wave of his hand. He stood by the anchor cable, a large, heavy hammer in his hand, ready to slip the Blake Slip and let go the anchor in case it was needed. Johnny Elson and Petey Rice, coiled the heaving lines and stood ready, while Henry Lacombe and Terry Wilcox stood ready with the fenders, huge, cylindrical pneumatic tubes of heavy rubber sausages that they would slip over the side to protect the hull from being damaged as the YAG came alongside. Sean did not have to look to know that along the waist, and on the quarterdeck, other crewmembers stood ready with lines and fenders. The Command YAG was a well founded, well run ship, with a very well trained crew.

Gauging the distance between the bow of the ship and the jetty, Sean shouted down, "Slow astern both!" There were more clangs as the Engine Room Telegraph levers were cranked right, then left to communicate the order to the engine room. The ship slowed and Sean ordered, "Starboard Five!"

In the wheelhouse, which was an enclosed cabin directly below the open bridge, Phil Thornton shouted into voice pipe, repeating the order. He swung the wheel to his right and then acknowledged the order: "Five of starboard wheel on, Chief!"

Phil was secretly very pleased with the new orders about Chiefs conning the ship. He was in a euphoric mood as well, spending much of the morning remembering his night in the Boat Shed with Joey and Randy. God, were they firecrackers! They had found places of pleasure on his body that he never knew existed! Phil had spent much of the time avoiding Sean, believing that the Squadron Chief Petty Officer would never understand why he had a prominent bulge in his bell-bottoms. Phil had also hoped that Joey and Randy might come down for a visit. They wouldn't be able to do anything, of course, not with the hustle and bustle of the morning routine going on all over the jetty and on all five YAGs. Then had come the rescue call, a small sailboat had overturned a mile to the east of the Comox Buoy.

They had picked up the sailors, a teenage boy and girl, who looked more embarrassed than anything else, and more than a little dishevelled, and not from the effects of their boat turning over. This had led to lascivious speculation on the part of the cadets, who snickered and giggled whenever they looked at the two shipwrecked civilians, who sat disconsolately, swaddled in blankets, on the engine room hatch.

After righting the smaller boat, and towing it into the marina, Lieutenant-Commander Harvordson had turned to Sean and grumbled, "Take her in, Chief!"

And that was exactly what Sean was doing. He scanned the jetty, saw that the line handlers were ready, and also noted Randy's red hair. He wondered, briefly, what the two young cooks were doing on the jetty, and then his training and sense of duty took over. "Stop starboard, slow ahead port, midships!"

Phil hurriedly acknowledged the orders as the two other Special Sea Sailors in the wheelhouse, Charlie Smith and Darren Smith (they weren't related, but everybody thought they were anyway and called them the Smith Brothers, after the cough drops), cranked the telegraphs. From above they could hear Sean's shouted order: "Out fenders!"

On the jetty the cadets watched as the heaving lines came hurtling over the YAG's railings and the fenders being dropped over the side and adjusted with the ropes the handlers held firmly. They heard a shouted "Stop port!" and watched as the Command YAG slid gracefully, almost effortlessly, alongside.

In short order the mooring lines were passed, slipped over the heavy iron bollards and with another chorus of telegraph bells, signalling Stand-By to the engine room. The Command YAG was home safely, and in one piece.

On the bridge, Sean smiled and looked at the Squadron Commander. Lieutenant-Commander Harvordson winked at Sean and said, "Well done! We'll make a watch keeper out of you yet!"

Sean smiled wanly and made his way below decks. As he passed along the starboard breezeway he saw Randy and Joey standing on the jetty, chatting with Phil Thornton, and wondered why the tall, dark-haired Chief was blushing, squirming as if he had to pee, and smiling like the proverbial Cheshire Cat!

"Uh, would you guys like to come on board?" Phil asked. He could feel a tingling in his tighty-whiteys and, while surprised that the two cooks had come down to the Dockyard to see him, was very happy that they had. "The mess isn't much, but we have Coke, and ice. You can, I mean, we can sit and have drink?"

Joey hid his laughter well. Poor Phil didn't know if he was punched, reamed, or bored. The guy was either embarrassed, or so lost in lust for Randy and him that Joey was afraid that the Chiefie would faint. "We'll wait until they put the gangway out," he temporized, ignoring Randy's glare.

Coming down to the Dockyard had been Randy's idea. During Stand Easy, instead of sneaking into the lounge for a quick bit of rumpy-pumpy, they had sat on the loading dock, discussing their newfound relationship with Phil, and trying to decided just how far they wanted to pursue that relationship.

"Do you think that he really meant what he said?" Randy had asked. "Do you really think that he likes us for ourselves, and not for what we did to him last night?"

Joey looked out into the harbour and saw the Command YAG slowly making its way back to the Dockyard. He thought seriously and then spoke. "Randy, last night Phil did things with us that I think he never thought possible." He saw Randy about to open his mouth and held up his hand. "Phil may have fooled around before with another guy, but last night was different for him."

"He said that he was queer for us," reminded Randy. "I don't think that he was lying when he said that he wanted to be our friend, and that we didn't have to do anything if we didn't want to."

"Maybe so," agreed Joey reluctantly. "And maybe he was still coming down from his high." He giggled and gave Randy a soft nudge with his elbow. "We did get him off seven times!"

Randy frowned. "So? He liked what we did. He gave as good as he got. I don't think he wants us as fuck buddies!"

"Well, then, what do you want to do?" asked Joey. He loved Randy, and he liked Phil Thornton, now, and he had to admit that Phil was very loving and gentle. Still, he had his doubts.

"We can go down to the Dockyard and ask him," replied Randy. He pointed into the harbour. "His boat is on its way in."

"So you want to go on seeing him, then?" Joey shaded his eyes from the rays of the strong, overhead sun. "We'd better decide now because the boat will be alongside in about ten minutes."

"Do you?" asked Randy. He jumped from loading dock and without thinking rubbed the front of Joey's white trousers. "I love you, Joey, and I want to be with you. I like Phil, and I think that he's fine with us. I want to get to know him better."

Joey slowly pushed Randy's hand away. He looked into his friend and lover's eyes. "I like Phil, too, Randy. I just don't want him to use you, or me." He slid from the dock and nodded toward the Dockyard. "We'll go down and talk to him."

Once the YAG was secured Joey and Randy went on board and joined Phil in the mess deck where the Chief found glasses, ice, and Cokes. He poured a glass of cola for each of them and then smiled broadly. "Gee, I was hoping you guys would come down." He shrugged and blushed - again - and said, "I really miss you guys."

Joey, who was trying not to look too closely as Petey Rice stripped off, changing from his work dress to his number threes (he was Brow Staff now that the boat was alongside). As Petey dropped his blue denim work dress trousers he revealed a very well packed bump in the front of his tighty-whities.

Phil saw where Joey was looking and wondered if he should tell him that Petey's nickname was "Horse Balls". Phil then wondered if he should also tell Joey that Petey would never be called "Horse Cock", his neat penis being more or less of normal size for a boy of his age and physique. Phil could not blame Joey for looking. Petey, a slim, trim, bespectacled, black-haired boy with high cheekbones and a firm, chiselled jaw, was quite good looking, a clean-cut All Canadian boy who was also as straight as an arrow. At least Phil thought the boy was straight. But then, so was he, until last night.

Randy, who had given Petey a quick, admiring glance, kicked Joey under the table. They were not here to admire the scenery. Randy sipped his drink and looked directly at Phil. "We came down to see you because we wanted to. We also want to know if you meant what you said this morning."

"I meant every word," returned Phil, miffed that the boys would doubt him. Then he thought, well, I have been a dick with them, and a jerk with the other guys, so perhaps they had good reason to doubt him. "Randy, I told you how I feel about you and Joey. If all you want is to be friends, that's what I want."

"And the other?" asked Joey, choosing his words carefully. He had not intention of mentioning their sex acts together, not with Petey still dressing and within earshot.

Phil thought carefully before answering, waiting for Petey to go up top. When Petey's slim behind disappeared up the ladder, Phil looked at Joey. The mess deck was empty except for the three boys, and very quiet, with only the distant hum of a pump breaking the silence. "Joey, I know what you mean and I know what I mean. I won't lie to either of you. What happened last night was, well it was wonderful. I want it to happen again . . ." He smiled and shook his head. "Although maybe not as often!"

Both Joey and Randy had to laugh. "You sure surprised us!" declared Randy. He reached out and gently rubbed Phil's hand. "It was very nice being with you, Chiefie."

Phil bobbed his head and then continued on. "It was very nice being with you and Joey. I've thought about what happened, and maybe I don't understand what happened, at least not everything, but I do want it to happen again." His eyes softened. "I've never felt this way before. I'm feeling things I've never felt before so please, don't just write me off as a guy who's only interested in getting his rocks off with you." His smile faded slightly. "I spent most of today thinking about what happened and, like I said, I've never felt about anybody the way I feel about you two. Last night we did things together, things I never thought I'd do with another boy." His head dropped and he clutched his hands firmly together. "I won't lie to you, ever. I'm terrified. What we did was wonderful, but most people think it was wrong."

"Was it?" asked Randy. He knew exactly how frightened Phil was. He'd gone through the same feelings, the same terrors. Randy knew that if his father ever found out about Joey and him, the old man would kill him. In Randy's family there were no queers, period. He reached out and stroked Phil's arm sympathetically.

Phil smiled his thanks at Randy. "It was so wonderful that I want to be with both of you again, and again, and again."

"You make it sound as if you're falling in love with us," said Joey sceptically. "Or is it lust? We gave you a good time and . . ."

"Please don't," Phil asked gently. "I have never had anyone, hell, I don't know, make love to me before! No one has ever treated me that way." He shook his head firmly. "What I felt, what I feel, is not lust. So it must be love."

Joey stared at Phil, his eyes wide. "You really mean that?"

"I do," replied Phil, returning Joey's look. "I want to be with you and Randy." He tapped his chest. "I know it in here. I know how I feel about you both. I want to be with you here and when we go home, I'm going to try to figure out a way to be with you again."

"Holy shit," gasped Joey, awed that Phil would make such an open declaration. "But Phil that would mean that you're queer!"

Phil shrugged expressively. "So? I told you that I'm queer for you and Randy. There, I've said it again, I've admitted it again." He reached out and touched Joey's arm. "I don't blame you for doubting me, Joey but, please, let me be your friend and your brother. Let me make love to you. Let me hold you, and Randy in my arms. Let me feel you against me again."

"Wow, Joey, I think he means it!" said Randy, his colour rising. "He does love us."

"Fuckin' aye," declared Phil. His eyes lit up as he said it, his every word filled with the emotion he felt. "If I could I'd run away with you two and we'd live together, always. I do love you both and I've told you what I want to do. Whatever happens between us is up to you, Joey, and you, Randy."

Before either Joey or Randy could reply the overhead speaker clicked on and the shrilling pipe of the Duty Quartermaster began calling Hands to Station for Leaving Harbour. The pipe had barely shrilled to a halt when the voice of the Quartermaster blared through the mess. "Special Sea Dutymen, Close Up! At the Rush!"

Phil glared at the speaker and then looked at the two boys. "Sorry, got to go." He grinned sadly. "And here I was thinking that today was going to be quiet!"

The three cadets scrambled up the ladder to the upper deck. Phil was about to turn forward, toward the wheelhouse, when Randy gave him a quick kiss on the cheek. "You take care, hear?" he said with a smile.

Joey also kissed Phil. "Don't go doing anything stupid, Phil," he warned. Ignoring the hustle and bustle as the boat was made ready for sea as the lines were single up and the crew rushed to their stations, Joey continued, "We'll see you later." As he stepped onto the jetty he turned. "And Phil?"

Phil looked at Randy inquisitively. "Yeah?"

"Make sure you have the key to the Boat House!"

Andy knocked warily at the door to Chef's office. It was not that he was afraid of the corpulent old cook, it was just . . . Well, hell, admitted Andy to himself, he was afraid of the old man. Chef barely tolerated officers at the best of times, and had a short fuse when it came to his particular nemeses, Supply Officers. Andy was the Supply Officer, and Chef was watchful.

Chef called for whoever was beating down his door to get in, and be done with it! Could a man not work, at all? Actually, Chef was loafing, and enjoying a little Scottish wine. He rarely drank Scotch whiskey, but today, after the sadness, and the euphoria, and then sadness again over The Gunner's loss, a little of the smoky liquid seemed in order. His eyes lit up when Andy entered. "Ah, young Ensign Berg. Come into me parlour."

As the spider said to the fly, thought Andy as he sat down on the sofa. He gave Chef a quick glance and then grinned slowly. "Chef, I have a small problem, and I need your help."

Chef, who was unaccustomed to officers coming to him for anything other than to complain, raised his eyebrows. "And what would that be?" he asked warily.

Andy noted the tone in Chef's voice. "Chef, I just had a talk with The Gunner." He squirmed a little, and hastened on. "Now, I love Steve." He saw the look on Chef's face and blushed. "Not like that!" he declared. Then he smiled. "Okay, maybe a little like that, but that's not what I want to talk about."

"Good, because I leave advice to the lovelorn to Phantom," replied Chef. He rubbed the side of his nose, a sure sign that he was thinking. "Could it be that you and Kyle are, to put it delicately, special friends and now, as you have come to the parting of the ways, you're undecided if you should make an honest man of him, and remain, or be a cad and flee to Seattle, to leave the wee poor lad to mourn your leaving?"

Andy could never decide when Chef was taking the mock, or being serious. He noted the glass of whiskey on Chef's desk and wondered if the old gentlemen had been sipping again.

Chef saw where Andy was looking and grumbled, "It's the first I've had this day, young man, and I'll have no Presbyterian airs from you!"

Andy snickered. "I'm no Presbyterian." His face sobered and he looked at Chef intensely. "Chef, as I said, I love Steve, and I trust him."

"But?" asked Chef.

That damned raised eyebrow again, thought Andy. "He called me into his office and asked me to stay on because the unit is so short of officers. I told him that I had to get back to register for college, and that I needed to clear up a few other things."

"And," asked Chef, his face blank.

"Chef, the next thing I knew he was making a telephone call and I was getting an appointment to the United States Naval Academy!" Andy's eyes were wide with awe. "Can he do that?"

Chef sat back in his chair, took a sip of whiskey, and gave Andy a conspirator's grin. He pointed to the bottle of whiskey. "Fetch a glass, lad, and we'll talk."

When Andy was settled, a glass of good Scotch whiskey in his hand, Chef cleared his throat. He was all business now. "Stevie has, I understand, spoken to you about the Order?" Andy nodded and Chef returned the nod. "Now then, young Andy, when Stevie says he will do something, it's done, and no argument!" Again Andy nodded. "Good," continued Chef, "because you have, whether you like it or not, been anointed."

Andy took a deep drink of his whiskey. "I don't understand, Chef."

"The Order is growing, and needs good men." Chef pointed his plump finger at Andy. "And you, along with Kyle, and a few others I am not at liberty to mention, have been chosen to be a part of the great things that are to come." He cocked his head and asked, "You've heard that the Navy looks after its own?"

"It's and old saying. I just wish it were true," replied Andy.

"Well it is true so far as the Order is concerned," declared Chef. "What Stevie is offering is a future, and he is offering it because he sees something in you, something valuable. You have the option to say no, of course. Nothing more will be said about it, and you will always have Stevie's friendship, and mine."

"Now it's my turn to ask. But?"

Chef waved his hand. "There are no buts at all. You will live your life, as you would wish, with Kyle, or without him. You are your own man, after all."

"And if I accept?"

"All the Order will ask in return is that you treat your fellow man as an equal, that you work for the good of the Order, and that you are ever mindful of the problems of what it means to be gay."

Andy blushed deeply. He had admitted his homosexuality to only two men, The Gunner and Kyle, and he doubted that either would have betrayed his confidence. "It shows, then?"

Chuckling, Chef poured the other half. "Not so one would notice. Mind, you and Kyle are closer than most, and I might be in me dotage but I can see the look in your eyes whenever the lad's name is mentioned. You're in love with him, and he with you."

Sighing, Andy nodded his acknowledgement. "I am in love with Kyle, and we do want to be together. I wish we could, but you know, Chef, that in today's culture . . ."

"Which you will help change, with God's, and the Order's help," affirmed Chef. Again his pudgy digit split the air. "The Order does not take every gay lad who comes tripping down the path. We make very sure that any man or boy we think worthy of the Order is well looked at. Membership is not offered lightly."

Andy digested Chef's words and then asked, "If I can, I'd like to learn more about the Order."

"And you shall," replied Chef. "Once you're settled in at Annapolis, I'll come down for a visit." He grinned. "A pretty little town, don't you know? I have very pleasant memories of the place."

Andy wasn't about to ask just what Chef had been doing in Annapolis and wondered if there was a farmers market in the pretty town that was still suffering the quakes and tremors of a visit from Chef. "What I don't understand is why they are doing this, for me. I've only known The Gunner for a short while, yet he . . ."

"Now listen, lad, and listen well," interrupted Chef. "Stevie is the Chancellor of the Order of Saint John of the Cross of Acre. It is his job, so it is, to find good men of honour who will do their duty, to God, man, and the Order. Stevie sees something in you. He sees a man, Andy, a man who will do well with himself, his brothers, and with the Order." Chef scratched his chin and then spoke again. "Now then, obviously others agree with him. They are after trusting Stevie, as he is after trusting you. You are being offered an opportunity, Andy, because of who you are, what you are, and what you will become." He fixed a gimlet eye on the young American officer. "You are a man of honour who will do his duty. And be warned, it is often the case that an opportunity refused is never offered again."

Andy swallowed the remainder of his drink in one gulp. He hacked and coughed as the Scotch burned its way down his throat and then nodded slowly.

For the first time since the training year had started in July the connecting door between the Gunroom and the Petty Officers Mess was open, an indication to each member of the two messes that they were now one mess. There was no line of demarcation, no door closed to anyone.

An impromptu party was in progress. The Twins had returned to hear the news of Andy's pending appointment to Annapolis and had dredged up their hidden stash of vodka for the obligatory round of celebratory drinks. Stuart had a jug, as did Fred and the air was filled with laughter and camaraderie. Of course the additional news of The Gunner's loss tempered the festivities somewhat, but The Gunner, when he heard of the party, had stopped by for a drink, told the young gentlemen to carry on, and then went off to collect The Phantom. He was careful to let the boys know that he was dining at The Phantom's house and that he would be gone for a few days.

That The Phantom and The Gunner were more than just good friends was hardly a state secret amongst the cadets. They knew that Phantom was in love with The Gunner, as the man was in love with The Phantom and unless and until the two lovers declared themselves publicly, the boys would respect their privacy, and help maintain the fiction of close friendship, and nothing else.

With The Gunner's departure there began a spirited discussion regarding accommodations. Mark, Tony, and Nathan had decided that if Andy was staying, so would they. They might have to borrow some clothing, as none had come prepared for a long stay. Harry immediately offered some undies, guaranteed clean and unsullied. The Twins, pragmatic as always, opined that Harry's undies were much too large for any of the American cadets to wear, and besides, only God and Harry knew where his undies had been of late. Harry threatened a round of bum biting. Fred assumed the role of peacemaker (having Nathan stay an extra two weeks was very good news as far as he was concerned), poured drinks and suggested that the bunks in the Chiefs Mess be doubled up, as Mark and Tony were Chief Petty Officers, after all. An extra bunk could be fitted over his own bunk, for Nathan.

Harry thought that putting Nathan in a bed over Fred was like giving Dracula the keys to the blood bank, but merely grinned evilly. He pronounced Fred's idea capital, and called for another drink.

Ray and Kevin came into the Gunroom and announced that supper would be late, as Chef had decided to let Sandro do the cooking. The boys groaned and Cory ostentatiously rummaged around in his sea chest for the Pepto-Bismol. Kevin mentioned in passing that as his new Duty Station was in the galley, he was moving into the Cooks Barracks. The Twins smiled knowingly and winked lasciviously at Ray, who blushed and called them dirty-minded. The Twins agreed with a laugh and then everybody settled in to telling sea stories.

As night fell over the Spit, Sandro entered the Gunroom, enduring the almost obligatory and ritualistic shit-chucking over the quality of the food served at supper until Joey and Randy, accompanied by Phil Thornton, came to visit. Phil's presence raised a few eyebrows, eyebrows raised even higher when the others saw the usually abrasive, self-serving, arrogant Chief replaced by a diffident, caring teenager. What had caused this sea change was apparent to the Twins, if to no one else. Cory was surprised at the change in Phil, and remarked on it to Todd, who nodded. "It would seem that someone has fallen in love," said Todd with a wry smile. His eyes flickered over to where Matt was sitting and a heavy sigh escaped his lips. Without waiting for a reply from his brother, Todd went and sat down beside Harry, who was waxing philosophical, opining that it was good to see all the guys together.

Sean came into the Gunroom and gave Cory's arm a gentle squeeze. Cory, wondering what was going on as Sean - and Phil, for that matter - were supposed to be on duty.

"We've been stood down," Sean said with a resigned shrug. "We'll be on Stand By until tomorrow morning, but I don't expect we'll be called out. We're mere Sea Cadets, after all, and not allowed out after dark."

Cory nodded his understanding. The cadets could be trusted out in the daylight, but at night, they were required to be safely ashore. He nodded toward Phil. "What's up with him?"

Sean quickly looked around and then murmured, "He and the Brats are having a fling. He's been, oh, I don't know, quiet, reflective, and actually very kind and considerate all day."

"Randy and Joey are awfully young," observed Cory.

"Perhaps," agreed Sean reluctantly. "I must, however, point out that when I first fell in love with you I was barely older than they are."

"Still . . ." said Cory, a tinge of doubt in his voice.

"They aren't flaunting it, and you wouldn't know, really, that they were together," replied Sean with a smile.

Cory looked at Phil and the two Brats. Sean was correct, as always. It was not what the three young men were doing, but rather what they were not doing. There was no overt display of affection but, as Cory observed closely, their body language, the softness of their voices when they spoke each other's names, spoke volumes. "Well, it certainly is a turn for the better," said Cory. "Phil actually spoke nicely to me and said that he hoped we could be friends."

Sean chuckled. "Falling in love changes one, Cory." Much to Cory's surprise Sean's hand snaked around Cory's back and then down to softly rub his bottom.

"Sean!"

"Falling in love changes one," murmured Sean as his eyes darted about the Gunroom. He really did not want anyone seeing him feeling Cory's bum. "Even a well bred robot!"

Cory laughed softly. "You keep that up and we might have to take a walk in the moonlight."

Frowning, Sean said, "I wish we could. Unfortunately I have to stay within earshot of the siren, in the increasingly obscure chance that we'll be called out."

Cory grimaced, and then indicated two empty places at the mess table. "Sit with me, and later, when the crowd thins out, we can sit on the stoop."

Sean's eyes widened slightly. "No Todd?"

"Todd had his day in the sun," replied Cory flatly, his tone not inviting further inquiry as to what Todd was doing in the sun."

As Cory and Sean sat down Harry waved his glass of vodka about, emphasizing a point. "We should have all been together sooner," he opined loudly. "And that damned door should have been open all the time."

"You kept it closed because you said you didn't want Little Big Man sneaking in and sniffing the sheets!" Two Strokes pointed out. "Or was it the toilet seats?"

"The sheets," Thumper observed with a snicker.

"Well, it's no matter," returned Harry with a wide grin. "What matters is that we're all here. Messmates, and shipmates!"

Cory's face grew flushed. "All but one," he murmured, his eyes teary.

"All but one," repeated Sean. He knew exactly whom Cory was missing. "Perhaps one day, Cory."

"Perhaps," agreed Cory, a gleam suddenly entering his eyes. "But then, times, like people, change."

Sean knew better than to question Cory's words. He did know, however, that Cory was up to something. He shook his head. "I think I need a short snort," was all he said.

After dropping Calvin Hobbes off at his house (Mikey had never shown up), The Gunner and The Phantom went to The Gunner's apartment where they made slow, passionate love and then, after showering, The Phantom helped The Gunner to pack. It was then time to leave for dinner at The Phantom's house.

Dinner was sombre without being funereal. The Phantom had quietly informed his mother of the death of The Gunner's aunt. Mrs. Lascelles, like many people at such a time, hardly knew what to say. She had not known The Gunner long, did not really know him at all, and had not known the man's aunt. She fell back on the meaningless words of sympathy and consolation expressed superfluously and offered The Gunner a drink. Shortly after six, Chief Lascelles came in, washed up and then led the way into the dining room where, The Phantom noted, the table had been laid with the second best china. This was, as his mother told him later, a "family" dinner, and no need to put on the dog, thank you. The Phantom wondered then why his mother had put on a feast: prime rib of beef, oven roasted potatoes, green beans and butter squash, a mixed salad, and, for dessert, strawberry shortcake. He knew that she was planning on raising the subject of her son going camping with The Gunner, and expected that she thought Stevie would be more amenable with a good meal under his belt.

As they ate the conversation turned to The Gunner's trip to Toronto, and his return. "I expect you'll want some quiet time when you get back," said Chief Lascelles as he helped himself to a third heaping portion of beef.

The Gunner smiled enigmatically. Mrs. Lascelles, and he suspected, Chief Lascelles, were setting him up and he had decided to play a little. "It will be good to get away," he replied as he picked at his food. "I have an idea to go hiking, but not until the ship closes for the summer."

"There are some very good trails around Mount Washington," observed Mrs. Lascelles. "Of course, if you've never been there you might find your way difficult."

The Gunner waved away the offer of more potatoes and looked slyly at The Phantom, who was bursting with impatience. "Oh, I expect that the trails are marked. They usually are."

"The best ones aren't," exclaimed The Phantom. He saw his parents and The Gunner looking at him. "I mean the good trails, the really best places, aren't marked." He softened his tone. "You don't want to do the tourist thing, do you?" he asked darkly, daring The Gunner to reply that he did indeed want to do the tourist thing.

The Gunner's lips curled into a small smile. "Well, I suppose that is exactly what I want," he replied playfully. He saw the fire rising in The Phantom's green eyes. "I am, after all, a novice, and I don't know the area." He took a small bite of beef and then shrugged. "I have no desire to spend my days lost in the woods around Comox." He looked thoughtful, and then said, "Perhaps I might hire a guide, if there were one available."

Mrs. Lascelles, seeing her son's opportunity to do something he loved doing about to slip away - or so she thought - quickly said, "Well, yes, there are guides, but then they only know certain trails. You should go with someone who knows all the trails," she finished with emphasis.

The Gunner glanced at The Phantom, who was squirming with frustration. Mrs. Lascelles had opened the door and The Gunner, feigning innocence, asked carefully. "Perhaps you could recommend someone, then."

Mrs. Lascelles smiled coyly. Her trap, or so she thought, had been sprung. "Well, yes, as a matter of fact I do." She smiled at The Phantom and then at The Gunner. "You could go with Phantom. He's been all over that mountain and knows every trail." She could not help getting in a dig. "And of course, you could pay him."

"Mother!" exclaimed The Phantom. "Steve, I mean The Gunner, is a friend."

"And friends do not charge friends," offered Chief Lascelles. He knew what his wife was up to, and what his wife wanted, he wanted. "I'm sure that Phantom will be more than happy to spend a few days in the woods. He's a natural outdoorsman, and he and his friend, Sam, have been camping out for years. You could do worse, you know."

"I can show him a few places no one else ever goes to," said The Phantom quickly. "Some really neat spots."

The Gunner pretended to hesitate. "Well, perhaps it might work," he said presently. "I don't want to impose and frankly, I would have thought that Phantom would prefer to be with his friends. After all, he has been working all summer and . . ."

A look flashed between Mrs. Lascelles and her husband. "Actually, I would be very happy if I knew that Phantom was in good hands." She coloured slightly and dabbed her lips with her napkin. She was very embarrassed, apparently.

"In good hands?" asked The Gunner. He looked at Chief Lascelles, who had a face on him like a thundercloud.

Chief Lascelles rose from the table and gestured toward the outdoors. "Would you join me for drink?" he asked. He carefully folded his napkin and led the way outside. The Phantom, much to his displeasure, was detailed to help with the dishes.

Once they had settled in their chairs Chief Lascelles turned to The Gunner. He gripped the glass he was holding tightly. "I don't know just how much Phantom has told you about our family," the Chief said slowly, "but there is a certain matter that has come to a head. A most inconvenient matter."

The Gunner, wondered what was going on. "Phantom says very little about family business, Chief."

Chief Lascelles grunted. "He always was a close-mouthed little brat. I never know from one day to the next what he's up to."

The Gunner laughed quietly. "Not much, I can assure you."

"Thank heaven one of my sons has the sense God gave a goose!" Chief Lascelles took a hefty swallow of his drink and looked evenly at The Gunner. "You know that Phantom has a brother? An older brother?"

Nodding, The Gunner replied, "Brendan? Yes, he's mentioned him."

"Brendan," growled Chief Lascelles. "I take it that Phantom has not mentioned that Brendan is about to be married?"

"If he did, I don't recall him saying a word," replied The Gunner truthfully.

"Well, he is," growled Chief Lascelles in reply. His demeanour changed and what looked like a mask of pain came over his face. "I'm not one to tell tales out of school, but . . ."

The Gunner realized that the subject of Brendan's marriage was one of great distaste and pain for Chief Lascelles. He sensed that all was not well, and that the Chief did not approve of the pending nuptials. He considered the reasons behind the Chief's disapproval and then his eyes widened. Of course, it was a shotgun wedding. As Chief of Patrol, and Deputy Chief designate, Chief Lascelles would not want his family's good name, and his own reputation as an honourable and upright man, sullied by having one of his sons being forced to marry.

The Gunner well understood that there would be a stigma attached to Brendan's marriage. While times were changing, tongues still wagged when a couple married in haste, and fingers were counting the months. As the saying went, the first baby could come anytime. All others took nine months.

The Gunner coughed delicately. "It happens in the best of families, you know."

Chief Lascelles glowered. "Not in my family. I have a reputation to think of, and so does Brendan. He's been posted to a small town in northern Ontario. People will talk."

The Gunner thought the Chief's statement very selfish, but did not think it wise to mention it. "They will in any event," he temporized. "Just as they will forget, over time."

"Perhaps," replied Chief Lascelles doubtfully. "In the mean time, I would take it as a personal favour if you could keep an eye on Phantom while we're gone."

The Gunner's surprise registered on his face. "You're going somewhere?"

Chief Lascelles nodded. "I am on night duty until Wednesday next. Then I fly out to Ottawa for a conference on forensic sciences. My wife leaves tomorrow for Regina. We will both be gone for upwards of ten days or so."

"The wedding?"

Chief Lascelles nodded. "I will not attend," he growled. "My son has booked the Registry Office for Monday. My wife, as Brendan's mother, will attend the wedding. Wild horses couldn't keep her away and if she insists on attending an ill-fated ceremony, so be it."

The Gunner had no desire to become involved in what was promising to become a family feud. "Phantom is not going?" he asked carefully.

"Phantom is not invited," returned Chief Lascelles. "His brother wants the wedding to be as low-key as possible, with as few witnesses as possible." He looked sadly at The Gunner. "Phantom and Brendan have never gotten along. Brendan asked specifically that the boy not know when the ceremony takes place. In any event, Phantom knows that his brother is to be married. He does not know when."

"He won't hear it from me," The Gunner assured Chief Lascelles. "And I'll keep an eye on him for you."

Chief Lascelles nodded his thanks. "I appreciate your understanding. Phantom can be, well, a right brat at times, but I do love him and I want him to be happy. I also want to spare him some of life's meaner moments, if you know what I mean."

The Gunner, who did not think that Brendan's getting a girl pregnant, and then doing the so-called honourable thing, was all that earth shaking. Still, some people thought differently. Different ships, different cap tallies. "I'll look out for him."

Chief Lascelles stood up and held out his hand. "I know you have a flight to catch, and I am sorry for your loss." He shook Gunner's hand warmly. "Thank you for your kindness towards my son. I know that no harm will come to him when you're around."

To be continued in Chapter 3