Disclaimer: The following is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to persons alive or dead is coincidental. The venue is fictional and any resemblance to actual bases, locations, is coincidental.
This story takes place in 1976 Canada and reflects the mores, traditions, customs, etc., of the times. I urge all of those who read this story to remember that what is "politically correct" today, was not thought of back then. If you are Lib-Left, politically correct and have jumped on the bandwagons of whatever causes are the fads of the month, please do not continue past this point. This also applies the so-called "Religious" Right and "Moral" Majority. I respectfully remind you that the "Good Book" also contains proscriptions, restrictions, do's and don'ts that I don't see or hear any of you thumping bibles about. Write me, I'll be glad to give you some excellent web sites. To all the anti-this and anti-that, Bible Thumpers, Libertarians and the ACLU, the bankrupt and increasingly irrelevant United Nations, please do not send me e-mails espousing whatever cause you're touting. I have no time for claptrap.
As this work contains scenes of explicit sexual acts of a homosexual nature, if such erotica offends you, please move on to a tamer site. If your mainstay in life is Bible-thumping cant, please move on. If you are not of legal age to read, possess or download writings of an erotic nature, or if possession, reading, etc., is illegal where you live, please move on.
This story is written in an age without worry, and as such unprotected sex is practiced exclusively. I urge all of you to NEVER engage in sexual acts without proper protection. The life you save will be your own.
I will respond to all e-mails (except flames). Please contact me at my home address: paradegi@rogers.com
The Boys Of Aurora - Chapter 23
"Do you think I'm sexy?" asked The Phantom, the question seeming to come out of nowhere.
The Gunner, who was in the process of fitting the furbelows and flub dubs that would change his green suit into a reasonable facsimile of a uniform, pierced his thumb with the pin of the anchor he was fitting to the lapel of the jacket, cursed under his breath and turned. The Phantom was lying on top of the bed, naked, with his ankles crossed and his head was resting on his hands. His sleeping genitals, pushed upward, were draped across his right thigh, the head of his penis still glowing from their lovemaking last night.
The Gunner sighed, wondering what The Phantom was up to now. Clearing his throat The Gunner rolled his eyes expressively. "That's hardly a fair question, Phantom, especially after last night," he said warmly.
The Phantom grinned at the memory of their lovemaking. "It was good, wasn't it?" he asked.
Resisting the urge to go over to the bed and show The Phantom just how good it had been, The Gunner smiled and replied, "It was great, so obviously I think that you are sexy." He began looking for a clean shirt. "Are you going to tell me what brought that question on, or are you just going to lie there and smile enigmatically?"
The Phantom reached down and fingered the tip of his penis. "It was just something that Matt said."
"Matt?" questioned The Gunner.
The Phantom sat up, got on his knees, sat back on his heels and looked lovingly at The Gunner. "Matt's in love with Todd."
The Gunner thought a moment. A first! The Phantom was telling one of his secrets. "What has Matt being in love with Todd got to do with you being sexy?" asked The Gunner, cocking his head. "Or is Matt also in love with you?"
"Maybe," replied The Phantom truthfully. He flopped back down on the bed and giggled. "Matt is more in lust with me than in love, I think." He crossed his arms and sighed wistfully. "Matt and a lot of the other boys."
The Gunner groaned inwardly. Dear God did Phantom look so . . . desirable! Tossing the clean shirt aside The Gunner sat on the end of the bed and looked along The Phantom's smooth and all but hairless body. Phantom was losing his tan; the delicious light brown, almost golden tint that the boy had acquired on Texada and Harwood Islands, was fading. The Gunner ran his finger along the inside of The Phantom's ankle. "Did Matt name names?" he asked, feeling the soft, almost invisible fur, which covered The Phantom's firm, warm leg.
The Phantom could feel The Gunner's finger slowly caressing its way up his leg toward his knee. He closed his eyes and a small smile of utter bliss crossed his lips. "Simon Keppel, for one," he murmured, lowering his arms and rested his hands on his upper thighs. As The Gunner's finger continued to move slowly up his leg The Phantom's fingers curled slightly. "According to Matt there are a lot of guys who would like to get closer to me, " he continued with a soft chuckle. "And sit on the front steps of the Mess Hall with their hand down the front of my boxers." The Phantom spread his legs slightly, giving The Gunner's soft fingers more room for exploration.
"So, the boys know about Todd and Cory sitting on the stoop of the barracks?" The Gunner leaned down and gently kissed the soft skin of The Phantom's inner right thigh.
"They know," murmured The Phantom with an imperceptible nod of his head. He half-opened his eyes and saw The Gunner looking up at him. "You'd better be careful," The Phantom warned with a salacious grin, "You might wake the sleeping dragon."
The Gunner laughed quietly and then moved forward. He kissed the tip of The Phantom's still soft penis, causing The Phantom to suck in his breath and moan quietly. "Would you prefer I let the little dragon sleep a little longer?" asked The Gunner, a wicked grin on his face. He kissed The Phantom's penis again.
At the warm, light touch of his lover's smooth lips on his still sensitive helmet, The Phantom arched his back, presenting his penis to The Gunner. He pushed his hands down until they met The Gunner's and their fingers entwined. The Gunner slowly dragged his tongue and lips across the spongy head of The Phantom's dick. The Phantom closed his eyes and his body shivered as The Gunner's mouth slowly engulfed the head and rapidly hardening shaft of his penis, groaning, "Oh, God, Stevie!" as The Gunner took every inch of him into his mouth. The Gunner pulled his mouth slowly back, his tongue a rough carpet of warm wetness as it dragged across the underside of The Phantom's erection, a silk wrapped pillar of wonderfully tasting flesh.
As The Gunner sucked slowly The Phantom could barely control himself. He could feel his lover's mouth moving slowly up and down the length of his hard cock. He began to moan and thrust gently as wave after wave of intense, almost overpowering electricity rushed through his body. Releasing The Gunner's hands, The Phantom clutched savagely at the sheet, low, guttural growls rising from his throat. A fiery intensity began to build deep within him, consuming him. He kept his eyes tightly closed and a blinding hot, intense blaze of pleasure surged through him.
The Phantom could not control the movements of his body as he slowly thrust upward, wanting as much of his erection as possible deep within the warm, sucking mouth. The Phantom was blind to everything but the screaming of his nerves as . . . Suddenly The Phantom was squirting. His body jerked and his head slammed back and his fingers curled into tight balls, his nails digging into his palms. He lost track of time and space as he shot, and shot. Low, guttural moans rose from his throat.
The Gunner swallowed every drop of The Phantom's warm semen, his eyes closed, listening to the strained, growling noises of the boy whose penis pulsed four, five, gushers of his cream. He swallowed the boy's sweet nectar and continued to suck softly, his throat filled with small pulses of The Phantom's juices, sucking even as The Phantom's penis began to soften. A shiver ran through The Phantom's body and he groaned and mewed, then rolled on his side, withdrawing reluctantly.
As he moved up the bed and lay beside The Phantom, The Gunner ran his hand along his lover's soft, shrunken organ. The Phantom yipped and pulled back, unable to endure another second of the fantastic pleasure that had yet to recede. "Jesus, that was the most incredibly intense, glorious blowjob I have ever had," he said after his breath returned.
The Gunner enveloped the boy in his arms. "Did I answer your question?" he asked in a husky whisper.
They lay together for what seemed like hours, kissing and cuddling, until finally, The Gunner rolled away. "We really need to be going, Phantom."
The Phantom shrugged and propped himself on one elbow. He lay watching as The Gunner began dressing and then murmured, "We have time. Chef told me not to worry about serving breakfast."
"I still have a parade to help organize," replied The Gunner as he stepped into his uniform trousers.
"That's not until 0800." The Phantom sat up, arranged the pillows and gestured for The Gunner to join him. "I really want to talk about . . . well, Matt and Simon."
The Gunner began to pull on his shirt. "You're going to have to live with the way they feel about you, Phantom. You've got 'it' and there is nothing you can do about it."
"I got what 'it'?" The Phantom asked, confused, and wondering if "it" had a cure.
The Gunner grinned. "That indefinable, inexplicable, illogical thing called sex appeal." He reached for his tie and draped it around his neck. "Some got it, some don't."
"And I do?" The Phantom swung his legs over the side of the bed. He cocked his head and smiled. "So do you."
The Gunner gave him a glare and shook his head. "I doubt that, Phantom. I haven't noticed too many people falling down in a dead faint when I walk into the room." He began carefully to tie a knot in his green tie. He looked over at The Phantom who was smiling at him, grinning his silly lopsided grin, shaking his head. "What?"
"One day the Twins are going to make you eat those words, you know." The Phantom laughed. "No pun intended."
"Now just what is that supposed to mean?" asked The Gunner, a cranky, exasperated tone in his voice.
The Phantom began kicking his heels softly against the box spring of the bed. "Sooner or later you will end up sleeping with them." He saw that The Gunner was about to protest and held up his hand. "As far as Cory and Todd are concerned you have 'it' and they are going to end up in your bed one night."
"That is the silliest thing I've heard in a long time, Phantom." The Gunner began rummaging through his socks and underwear drawer. "Why would you even say such a thing?"
"Because its true. And well you know it."
The Gunner gave The Phantom a disgusted look. He saw the look on The Phantom's face, grumbled softly, and admitted, "Yes, I know it." He looked directly at Phantom. "The Twins are two of the most beautiful young men I have ever laid eyes on. But, Phantom, I am determined that they will not end up in my bed, ever."
The Phantom rubbed his chin and looked thoughtful. "Maybe." He grinned slyly. "You do admit that they appeal to you." It was not a question.
The Gunner vaguely remembered a conversation he and The Phantom had after their first night together and were driving down to Victoria. He screwed up his face and shook his head. "Do you remember everything I say?"
"Yep." The Phantom flopped back down onto the bed. "You said that in order for you to sleep with a guy he had to appeal to you." He raised his head and grinned wickedly. "Even Ordinary Seaman Stud Muffin."
Despite himself The Gunner laughed and sat down on the chair next to the bed. "You're the one who mentioned Stud Muffin."
After thinking a moment The Phantom said, "So I did." He laid his head back down. "Is that what it is? Appeal?"
The Gunner thought about that a moment. "I suppose, in a way, yes. But the whole 'appeal' thing differs with different people. I can't explain it but you will be walking down a street, and you'll see some guy walking past, or you'll be sitting in a bar, and some guy will come into the place and BAM, you look at him and you want to go to bed with him."
"Just like that?" asked The Phantom, a sceptical tone in his voice.
"Just like that," replied The Gunner. "You can't explain why." He shrugged expressively. "Perhaps it's hormones, or testosterone, or pheromones . . ."
"I think pheromones only apply to bees," interjected The Phantom with a grin. The Gunner returned his grin. "You'll never be a bee, Phantom. You don't have the butt for it."
The Phantom laughed and looked over his shoulder. "Still, it's a nice butt."
"True," agreed The Gunner. "But, the point, Phantom, is that some people have this . . . aura about them, this strange appeal. You are drawn to them, and you do not understand why." He reached out and took The Phantom's hand. "It's also selective. A person, a guy, who appeals to me might not appeal to you and you will think, now what in the hell does he see in him?" The Gunner rubbed his chin and smiled wistfully. "For instance, there is a guy down in Victoria at this very moment whom I admit I would like to sleep with. He's nothing special to look at, but there is something about him that just, well, turns me on." The Phantom gave his lover a dirty look and harrumphed loudly.
Smiling at his young lover's obvious suspicions The Gunner shook his head and added, "Don't worry. Chris - that's his name - is straight and very happily married, with two kids and one on the way. He's not on the market, so to speak, and would probably faint if anyone suggested a little one-on-one in the showers during the Middle Watch."
The Phantom giggled. "I did that once with Tyler, Val, and the Twins." He sighed theatrically. "All they did was wash me!"
The Gunner thought it best not to go there. The Phantom would, in his own good time, tell him what really happened the night he'd taken care of Little Big Man. "Chris, for some reason appeals to me. I can't explain the attraction; I just know that it's there." The Gunner shrugged. "By the same token, last year, when I was in STADACONA, there was a kid who was, by anybody's definition, drop-dead gorgeous. He was one of those anomalies we find from time to time in our so-called bilingual culture. He had a huge string of French names, but did not speak a word of French. His people had been intermarrying with the English oligarchy for two hundred years and all he had was his French name. The rest was total English." This time The Gunner sighed theatrically. "He had blond hair, blue eyes and could stop traffic in the middle of Gottingen Street."
"And . . .?" asked The Phantom, a slight edge in his voice.
"And nothing," replied The Gunner. "He was beautiful, he was young, and, for all I know, he was available. Just not to me."
"He didn't appeal to you?" asked The Phantom, unable to keep the disbelieving tone from his voice.
The Gunner noted The Phantom's tone of voice and replied, truthfully, "He simply did not appeal to me. I can't explain that, either." He shrugged. "There must be some guys here that effect you that way."
A pensive look crossed The Phantom's face. "Harry, I think," he said. Then he nodded. "Yes, definitely Harry."
"He appeals to you?"
"Not as a sex object." The Phantom sat up and shook his head slightly. "I love Harry, a lot, but I don't want to sleep with him." He shrugged his shoulders. "Harry is, to a lot of guys, the ultimate sex object. Stefan seduced him, remember, and I'm sure that there are other guys who would not say no if he asked them to take a late night shower with him. I like looking at him. I like being with him." A strange look came over his face and he coloured. "Harry doesn't, as you put it, turn me on. Yet Ray did. He appealed to me, somehow, and I wanted to sleep with him. The Twins as well."
"Don't be embarrassed, Phantom. I like Ray, as a person. He is a sweet boy and I can understand your attraction to him. As for the Twins, well, there are not many who are immune to their charms."
"I can name one," replied The Phantom, a grim look on his face.
The Gunner chuckled wryly. "Paul Greene is blinded by his hatred and bigotry. He will never see the beauty that exists in other boys, and men. You see it, and you are attracted to it. So am I and I am enough of a realist to know that I am attracted to that beauty, and human enough to admit that I might succumb to temptation." He sighed. "And so will you."
"Me? Other than Ray, and the Twins, and you, I haven't succumbed to anything!"
The Gunner reached out and took The Phantom's hand. "Phantom, you are a gay man and, like all gay men, you will be attracted to other men, just as straight men are attracted to women other than their wives. You will not be able to help yourself. I will not be able to help myself. It's a part of who, and what, we are, a part of human sexuality." He gave The Phantom's hand a squeeze. "We might not act on the 'appeal' we see in other men, but we sure as hell want to."
The Phantom was forced to agree with The Gunner. "So, while I am in love with you, I might want to . . . stray?" He smiled wickedly. "I can think at least one guy I might want to do that with."
The Gunner released The Phantom's hand and scratched his chin. "That wouldn't be Jeff Jensen, now would it?" He cocked his head and gave The Phantom a knowing grin.
The Phantom was about to protest his innocence and then stopped. "Yes, I suppose it would."
"He's physically attractive to you?"
"Yes. He was the first guy I ever fell in love with." The Phantom sat up, folded his legs and sat back on his heels. "He was the first boy I really ever want to have sex with." He hung his head a bit. "He's gorgeous, Gunner."
"I'm sure he is, in your eyes." The Gunner thought a moment. "Never having seen him, I can't say that I would feel the same way. Perhaps I would, perhaps I wouldn't. You mentioned Harry. I find him attractive, yes. He's desirable, yes, but not to me. He doesn't appeal to me in a sexual way. None of the other boys do."
"Just me, huh?" asked The Phantom, a smile creasing his lips. Then he frowned. "There's still the Twins."
The Gunner groaned. "Phantom, those two would make half the guys in AURORA turn gay. I'm already there so yes, I admit they appeal to me. That doesn't mean that I am going to sleep with them!" He stood up and returned to searching the bureau drawers. "The point is, Phantom, in answer to your question, yes, I think you are sexy. Many of the other boys think you are sexy and want to explore those feelings with you."
"Like Simon . . . and Matt?"
"Simon is 13 or so, and I think he has a crush on you. That is to be expected. Young boys of that age choose the most unlikely of heroes to fall in love with." "That's what Matt called me."
"A hero?"
"Yes. He said that I was a hero to a lot of the boys because I stood up to Little Big Man. They also know about the time I slept with Randy and Joey."
The Gunner thought carefully before he replied to The Phantom, and chose his words with care. "Phantom, to many of the boys you are a hero. They know that you care for them, that you love them, that unlike their parents, or their instructors, you do not look at them in absolutes. You see things in them that no one else does, and you understand their differences."
"But, Gunner, they are all different," insisted The Phantom. "They might all dress alike, from their undies out, but underneath their uniforms they are as different to one another as night is to day!"
The Gunner nodded his agreement. "Yes, and you know and realize those differences, and you treat each boy accordingly. You treat them as adults, as your equal, and you listen to what they have to say. You understand that just because they are teenage boys they are not children. They are starting to think for themselves, and you help them to do just that."
"But, damn it, I haven't done anything to make them think that I am some a sort of hero!" protested The Phantom.
"In their eyes you have," returned The Gunner. "You are always there for them. You look after them. You say 'no' to them when they need someone to say 'no'. And you do not compromise your principles."
The Phantom considered this for a moment and then nodded slowly, "I know right from wrong, and if I see a wrong I want to right it!"
"Which the boys know. They know about you fighting Paul Greene and whuppin' his ass. They know why you did it, and they know you will do it again. Perhaps not with him, but with someone equally as bigoted."
The Phantom shook his head. "All I am trying to do is to make them understand that just because I am gay, or you are gay, or, hell and sheeit, if they are gay, it's no sin. It's not a bad thing to be. And just because we are gay we do not have to take shit from trailer trash!"
"You're teaching them that, and more," replied The Gunner with a grin. "You're a role model. You are upright, honest and unlike their parents, or again, their instructors, you do not lie to them or fob off some phoney excuse for not doing something. If you say that you will do something, you do it, and you do it to win. The boys know it, Phantom, and they appreciate it and that is why you are the Inspecting Officer this morning!"
The Gunner paled and sat down abruptly on the bed. "Fucking HELL!" he cursed silently, appalled that he had let his enthusiasm get the better of him.
The Phantom gave his lover a long, cold stare. "I am going to be the what?" he asked through clenched teeth.
Looking sheepish, The Gunner ducked his head. "You're . . . going . . . to be the Inspecting Officer?" he drawled slowly, fully expecting a massive explosion. Phantom did not care to be reminded of his exploits.
"Why?" The Phantom's hands shook slightly. "Why would I be singled out for Inspecting Officer?"
The Gunner saw the colour rising in The Phantom's face, made a small face himself and once again cursed his big mouth. Treading lightly, he began to speak. "Weelllll, Todd and Harry, and some of the others thought that it would be a nice gesture of appreciation for what you did to Little Big Man if they made you Inspecting Officer today." He held up his hands in a placating gesture. "Now, please Phantom, do not get angry. They mean well, and you did a very brave thing and they . . ."
"HELL AND SHEEIT!" yelled The Phantom as he all but leaped off the bed. "I can't be! Look at me! I don't know what to do and I'll make a fool of myself!" he yelped. He wheeled and stared into the mirror over the bureau. "MY HAIR! I need a hair cut and sheeit . . ." He leaned closer to the mirror and began poking at his chin. "A zit! I can't go with a ZIT! I . . ." he moaned as he buried his face in his hands. "I won't do it! I can't. I'll puke! I mean it, I'll puke all over Tyler's boots!"
Laughing, The Gunner stood up and enveloped The Phantom in his arms. "And thus is the stuff of heroes made!"
"Don't laugh at me, Gunner!" mumbled The Phantom. "It's not you that has to go out there in front of 300 cadets, all of them waiting for me to fall flat on my ass!"
"And it was not me who belled Little Big Man." The Gunner slowly pushed The Phantom away and held him at arm's length. "Now you listen, Phantom. The boys have gone to a lot of trouble to honour you." He gave The Phantom a slight shake. "You! You are a certified hero in their eyes." He saw the fear of discovery written on The Phantom's face and continued. "Not all the boys know, only a very small handful, the ones who were there afterward. What you did was very brave, if a little foolish, and you cannot deprive them of their chance to thank you."
Although breathing heavily, The Phantom had stopped shaking. "I can't . . ."
"Yes, you can, and you will!" insisted The Gunner. "You can, because you are my Phantom! You can because you are Philip Andrew Thomas Lascelles; because you have nerve, grit and balls . . ." He looked down at The Phantom's crotch. "Amendment to last. You have big balls!"
Despite himself, The Phantom giggled, then laughed heartily. "Ah, shit, Gunner, trust you to think of something like that!" He tried to wriggle free but The Gunner held him close.
"Phantom, you can do this," The Gunner said quietly, his tone confident. He kissed the tip of The Phantom's nose. "All you have to do is look . . . regal, smile a bit and just act natural. Just be Phantom out there and you will do just fine."
"You mean look like I know what I am doing even though I don't," returned The Phantom cynically. "After all, bullshit baffles brains any day of the week."
Shaking his head, The Gunner laughed then kissed The Phantom gently. "I've taught you too well, I think." He moved away. "Go and shower and we'll have something to eat."
The Phantom did as he was told and went into the bathroom. Presently The Gunner heard the sound of rushing water. He continued his search and finally found what he was looking for in the drawer of the bedside table, along with a Gideon's Bible and a folded sheet of paper. He tossed the bible on the bed along with the piece of paper and held the green, gold-tooled Morocco leather box in his hand. He opened it and looked at the deep red stone, the exquisite enamel work and the raised lettering of his motto. He ran his finger along the bezel of the ruby. His thoughts were elsewhere and he did not hear The Phantom return from the bathroom.
"What's that?" asked The Phantom as he finished towelling his hair dry. He draped the towel around his shoulders and looked at the ring in The Gunner's hand. Then, wordlessly, he took the ring and sat on the edge of the bed. With conscious, deliberate irony he slipped the bejewelled circle of gold onto the ring finger of his left hand.
The symbolism was not lost on The Gunner. He sat beside The Phantom and lifted the boy's hand to his lips. "In a better world, Phantom, I would give you that ring."
The Phantom shook his head. He removed the ring and slipped it onto the ring finger of his right hand. "We both know that there is never going to be a 'better world' for us, Gunner. Maybe for Joey and Randy, but not for you, or for me." He held out his hand and the ruby sparkled. "This is your ring, Gunner." He turned his head and looked evenly at the man. "I ask for your protection as my Liege Knight."
The Gunner gasped. "You . . . you mean that?"
The Phantom nodded his head firmly. He placed his hand over his heart. "I ask it with humility and courage; I ask it and swear, on my honour, to bear true allegiance to you, and to the Order."
"You've seen the Proctor!" The Gunner's eyes widened. He had no idea that the Proctor had contacted Phantom. "When?"
"The morning after you left for Vancouver," replied The Phantom. "I was feeling bad about what happened. He saw me, he asked me why I was feeling the way I was feeling. We talked."
"The Proctor was here, in AURORA?"
It was obvious that The Gunner did not know who the Proctor was, or that he was resident in AURORA. The Phantom nodded. "He talked to me about the Order, and made me see things in a different light. I ask again for your protection."
The Gunner held out his hand for his ring, which The Phantom gave him. He rolled the ring in the palm of his hand, thinking. "You understand the words, Phantom, but do you understand the meanings behind the words, the implications?"
"If you accept me, if you take me under your protection, I become a Candidate Knight." He squirmed a bit. "I could, I suppose, be your Page of Honour and Profess, but that would mean no sex between us and I do not want that."
The Gunner looked evenly and carefully at The Phantom. "You understand the difference, Phantom, between a Knight of Profess and an Ordinary Knight?
"Yes. When, or if, I become a Knight of Profess I acknowledge my homosexuality. I will not lie and ask to be an Ordinary Knight."
The Gunner nodded his acknowledgement of The Phantom's statement. He stood up and began to pace slowly. "There is more, Phantom, and as much as I want to take you, as you put it, under my protection, there are things happening that neither the Proctor, nor you, could know about." He held up his jewelled ring. "This is the ring of the Chancellor of the Order. I am the Chancellor," he finished without side or emphasis.
The Phantom nodded slowly. "The Proctor thought that you might be. He wanted to be there, to vote for you, but he couldn't. You know the reason why."
"The identity of the Proctor is known only to a very few. I cannot know who he is because if I did I might be tempted to influence him. Or so the reasoning was when the Rule of the Order was written." He smiled thinly. "And, of course, the candidates he speaks to."
"All of whom are sworn to secrecy."
"Yes." The Gunner regarded The Phantom and then continued. "For centuries the Order has existed in the shadows. All of its work was done quietly, discretely, and sometimes secretly. That could very well change."
The Phantom gave him a quizzical look. "Change? How?"
"Phantom, the new Grand Master has decided to become more active, more progressive, more forward looking. I am not yet privy to his plans but he wants me to recruit 1,000 knights, young, vibrant, and courageous men who will . . ."
" . . . Protect and defend all who are oppressed due to their Membership in our Brotherhood, even unto the giving of his own life," quoted The Phantom. "Article 2 of the Rule of the Order."
The Gunner smiled. "The Proctor taught you well, Phantom." His face hardened. "What he could not teach you is that sooner or later the Order will emerge from the shadows. I will find the Grand Master his 1,000 Laurences and . . ."
"1,000 what?" asked The Phantom, not understanding what a "Laurence" was.
A small smile creased The Gunner's handsome features. "Sorry, I should have said knights."
The Phantom gave his lover a withering look. "You're quibbling, Stevie," he growled in reply.
Recognising the look, The Gunner explained quickly. "When the Grand Master asked me to begin recruiting he used a newly knighted young man as a point of reference."
"Sounds to me like the guy is a little more than a 'point of reference'," returned The Phantom. "He must be pretty good if the Grand Master wants you to recruit 1,000 of him!" The Phantom reached down and fiddled with the head of his soft penis. "What's he like, this Laurence, and does he have appeal?" He grinned nastily at The Gunner. "Is this Laurence any relation to Ordinary Seaman Stud Muffin?"
Since there was no point in lying The Gunner shrugged. "There is nothing between Laurence and me," he retorted with a snort. "He is a fine young man and while he is my Equerry there is no appeal!" He gave The Phantom a hard look. "He is a Second Lieutenant in the Royal Marines Reserve, he is young and he had better look out when the Twins set eyes on him because . . ."
The Phantom broke into laughter. "He's that good, then?"
"Better," replied The Gunner. "Which you will no doubt see when you meet him."
"When will I meet him?" asked The Phantom with silly grin. "I would really like to meet this paragon!" The Phantom's grin changed and a slow, evil smile spread across his face. He waggled his eyebrows and slowly ran his tongue across his lips. "You never know, I might like him," he said, his voice low and, he thought, sexy.
The Gunner paled slightly. He didn't know if The Phantom was joking or not. "Well, um, soon," he replied, his voice a low growl.
The Phantom rolled around on the bed, laughing like a mad thing. "Got ya! Got ya!" he howled, tears of laughter coursing down his cheeks.
"When you are finished!" The Gunner remained stone-faced until The Phantom recovered his composure.
Aware that he might have gone a bit too far The Phantom tried to mollify his lover. "That's what you get for not telling me sooner about this morning," he said sweetly. "Now, come on, tell me, what is going to happen? Why did the Grand Master ask you to find 1,000 Laurences?"
The Gunner thought a moment. "Phantom, times are changing and more and more people are beginning to question the rules of the Established Order. People are asking what right the government, or the Churches, have to interfere in their lives. And people are beginning to fight back. It will not be an easy fight, Phantom. You of all people should know that."
A sober, sombre look came over The Phantom's face as he struggled into a sitting position. His green eyes dimmed slightly at the memory of what he had done to Little Big Man. "It will be a dirty, ball-grabbing, dick pulling fight, Gunner," he said quietly. "The people who oppose us won't go quietly.
The Gunner nodded his agreement. "They will fight us every inch of the way," he said in agreement. "But we will fight, Phantom, make no mistake on that point. The days when gay men just walked away or hid themselves are over! I will find my Laurences and when I do we will begin the battle to find our rightful place in this world. When that happens, when the existence of the Order becomes public knowledge, anyone associated with the Order, or who has dealings with the Order, will be perceived to be gay." He walked in front of The Phantom, bent down and put his hands on the boy's shoulders. His eyes bore into the Phantom's sparkling, emerald orbs. "When that happens, are you prepared to have your name mentioned? To have your secret revealed to the world? To your parents?"
The Phantom returned The Gunner's stare. "Yes, I am," he replied simply. "As long as you are with me, I will bear whatever comes."
The Gunner nodded. "On Friday, then." He saw the puzzled look on The Phantom's face. "You must make your declaration in the presence of two knights, and witnesses, if available. There is another knight, here, in AURORA."
"There is?"
"Yes, and your brothers will bear witness to your declaration."
"What brothers?"
The Gunner smiled. "You're sitting on the list of their names. Two of them will join you on Friday."
The Phantom reached under his butt and pulled out the piece of paper that he'd been sitting on. Hand-printed with careful, almost architectural neatness, was a list of names. He noticed that his was the first name on the list, followed by three names - one, full of de's and la's was obviously French - which he did not recognize. The rest, a dozen or so, he knew. Beside each name was a check mark or a question mark, and a cryptic number. Beside his own name was printed "27/3", and question mark. "What do the numbers mean? And the question marks?" he asked.
"The question marks indicate possible, or doubtful candidates. The numbers are a Psalm, and the verse that I have chosen to be the candidate's recognition signal. The candidate is given a telephone number to use in the event of trouble, for him, or someone he knows is being discriminated against because he is gay."
"So, the number '27/3' is Psalm 27, Verse 3?"
"Yes. It seems to best describe you."
The Phantom reached for the Bible and leafed through the pages until he found the Psalms. He read the third verse of the 27th Psalm aloud. "Though an host should encamp against me, my heart shall not fear; though war should rise against me, in this will I be confident." He looked at The Gunner. "I don't understand. What will I be confident in?"
The Gunner chuckled. "Your indomitable spirit, your refusal to allow others to dominate you or your life, your total faith in your friends and your refusal to compromise your beliefs or principles. Your confidence in you, and your refusal never to do the wrong thing, to hurt people."
The Phantom grinned. "Well, I sure don't like people telling me that I am a bad person because I am gay. And I will not back down, that's for sure."
The Gunner laughed. "You won't, and that's a fact." He slipped the ring onto his finger. "And I am so sure that I chose that motto for you. And, later, I will write out the Latin translation for you."
The Phantom groaned. "It has to be in Latin? Gunner, Latin was my worst subject."
"So, keep the written phrase in your wallet."
The Phantom made a face. "I suppose you've already got the Latin down pat!"
"Si consistent adversus me castra non timebit cor meum si exsurgat adversus me proelium in hoc ego sperabo," The Gunner replied with a smug grin. "The Douay/Rheims version. The translation is not exact, but close enough."
"And you have to do that for everybody on the list?"
"I do have help, but yes, every candidate has an identifying phrase."
"Better you than me," grumbled The Phantom in reply. He returned to reading the list and he read he realized that almost all of the boys he knew to be gay were on the list, and at least one whom he did not think was gay. "Tyler?" he questioned.
"Tyler has always been sympathetic and understanding. He was the first cadet I approached. Yesterday morning I spoke with him and Harry . . ."
The Phantom's left eyebrow arched. "Harry and Stefan?" The Phantom knew that the Order took a dim view of pedophilia in all its forms.
"A foolish, youthful indiscretion. Harry is not a pedophile," returned The Gunner forcefully. His tone brooked no argument and needed no reply.
The Phantom nodded and read down the list of names. As expected, the Twins were listed, as was Ray. Val's name was listed, marked with a question mark. He read Andy's name, and Kyle's, and smiled when he saw Randy and Joey's names listed.
The Gunner saw the smile. "Randy and Joey?"
The Phantom nodded. "You've been talking to Chef."
"Chef is a smart old bird," replied The Gunner. "He knows what they get up to when his back is turned." He sighed heavily. "They'll need someone to keep an eye on them when they return home."
"Do you have a pen?" asked The Phantom quietly. The Gunner found a pen and handed it to The Phantom, who began writing in smooth, large letters additional names to The Gunner's list. "You might want talk to these boys," was all he said by way of explanation when he handed the list back to The Gunner, thinking that Chef was going to be very busy in the coming months.
The Gunner scanned the additional names. "Nicholas, Andre, Chris and Jon?" he questioned.
"Nicholas and Andre have been lovers since Victoria," explained The Phantom. "Chris and Jon have been lovers from the first or second week of training."
Looking at the next name that The Phantom had written down, The Gunner raised an eyebrow, but said nothing. Brian? The Gunner secretly marvelled at The Phantom's perspicacity. The boy could not possibly know that Brian had already been brought to the Order's attention, yet Phantom had obviously seen something in Brian, and was willing to put his name forward.
The Phantom shrugged. "Brian is a fighter. He is also gay, though you wouldn't know it. But Brian knows it and he accepts that he is." He pointed with the tip of the pen at the other names he had added to The Gunner's list. "I added Kevin to the list because he is in love with Ray. Mark and Tony might be interested. The same for Rob and Ryan."
"Matt?" asked The Gunner, somewhat surprised. Matt was, after all, Little Big Man's brother, and while stranger things had happened, The Gunner could not conceive of young Matt being gay or, for all his sweet nature and gentleness, wanting to be a part of the Order.
"Matt," replied The Phantom succinctly. He would say no more. When Matt was ready to declare his true self, he would do so. Until then, The Phantom would remain silent. He had also promised to help Matt, and including his name was the first small step to providing that help.
"Simon Keppel?"
"If what Matt said about him is true, then he is going to need someone to help him understand how he feels, and why he feels the things he feels." The Phantom stood up and held out his arms. The Gunner held him close. "I know how it feels, Gunner, to know that you are gay, and to have no one to talk to. I know how afraid I was when I first admitted to myself that I was gay. If Simon is gay, then I want to know that I did everything I could to make him understand that it is not a bad thing to be."
The Gunner's lips brushed the top of his lover's head. "Then you will speak to him, and let him know that he is not alone." It was not a question, but a command.
The Phantom buried his head in The Gunner's shoulder. "He's got to know, they've all got to know that no matter how bad it seems, that they are not alone, that there are others out there who will be there for them, who will help them no matter what. They have got to know that there are people just like them who refuse to be anything but who they are; who will stand their ground and fight back!" He took a deep breath. "There cannot be another Hal Simmons, Gunner. There have been too many, we have lost so many . . ."
The Gunner nodded slowly and rubbed The Phantom's bare back, remembering a sad, lonely boy sitting in the back seat of a dark, nondescript car as it drove him away from the only life that he had ever wanted, along a road that led from the Dockyard to, ultimately, a lonely grave in a Halifax cemetery.
The bugle blew Reveille and Harry opened one eye, yawned, scratched his morning woody, marvelling that after last night he even had a morning woody, and waited for the morning pandemonium to erupt. He waited and when nothing happened, opened both eyes and sat up. All around him his messmates began to crawl out of their pits. The first out was Nicholas who seemed to be still asleep, with his eyes half closed and a silly grin on his face. Nicholas rummaged in his locker then lay back on his bunk where, oblivious to those around him, he stroked his morning boner hidden under his briefs and began to hum tunelessly.
Greg was next to stir and as he turned his back Harry did a double take. Holy Jesus! Greg's back looked as if he had just returned from being Flogged 'Round the Fleet, and there was a red something on his neck. Harry shuddered wondering where in the hell Greg had managed to come across a Lamprey eel!
Harry sat on the edge of his bunk, wondering what in hell was going on. They were too quiet. As he watched, Chris and Jon threw back their covers, facing each other as they lay in their bunks; making eyes at each other, with their morning woodies prominent under the cotton briefs they both wore. "Well, that's one way of saying good morning," thought Harry as he rolled his eyes. Then he thought, "Being in love was one thing, but this was too much."
Two Strokes farted and stuck his head out from under his bedclothes. He saw Harry glaring at him and smiled impishly. Then he leaned over and gave Thumper's round bottom a resounding smack. Thumper yelped and growled and then, hearing Fred snickering, got out of bed, pulled back Fred's covers, and flicked the end of Fred's morning woody, which was sticking out of the fly of his boxers. Fred roared in protest and the war was on. Harry smiled. Things were back to normal. As Fred, Thumper and Two Strokes bickered and snarled at each other, Harry looked down the Gunroom and what he saw made his blood run cold. Cory might have a smile on his face but the look of doom was in his eyes.
As the other boys began their day they were unaware that the Twins had embarked on a coldly formal, very gentlemanly, but extremely deadly war. When they were showering Cory complained that he was out of shampoo and Todd offered his in saccharine, oozingly polite tones underlined with a coldness that suggested a deft insertion of the shampoo bottle into his brother's anal orifice was really what he had in mind. As they were dressing for PT Todd complained that his Number 11 uniform was creased and needed ironing. Cory, coldly correct and impeccably polite, offered to iron Todd's uniform, the look of doom in his eyes making it clear that in reality he would like nothing better than to shove the creased uniform down Todd's throat and beat him over the head with the hot iron. Harry wisely decided to give both boys as wide a berth as possible. He was not about to be dragged into one of their spats, no matter how much he loved them. That he secretly agreed with Cory he kept very much to himself.
After PT, Harry went about his business. He dressed and went off for breakfast. On the way to the Mess Hall Harry passed Stuart and Steve, who were bickering. Stuart had detailed Steve off to drive the Commanding Officer and Phantom from the Mess Hall to the Reviewing Stand and Steve was protesting loudly. As Harry passed by the arguing boys he saw Stuart raise his hand and gently stroke Steve's face. Steve immediately shut up and Harry snickered inwardly. He did not know what the two Boatswains had been up to after the Dinner but obviously it had been more than a game of Snakes and Ladders in the barracks.
In the Mess Hall the usual pandemonium prevailed. The Brats and the Litany seemed unaffected by their hard work of the night before and, with the resilience of youth, were bickering happily. As he passed down the steam line Harry saw the shit-eating grin on Sandro's face and knew that Nathan had made one Russian very happy, indeed. Harry sat with Rob and Ryan, both of whom were grumpy. Ryan's little operation had put a definite dent in their sex lives and both boys were feeling the effect.
As he sat and ate his bacon and eggs Harry watched as the other cadets came in for breakfast. Jimmy Collyer all but bounced in and Harry now knew where the scratches on Greg's back had come from. Andre hurried in and found Nicholas. For the next half hour they sat across the table from each other, picking at their food and making what Harry called goo-goo eyes at each other. The Twins came in and each politely offered to let the other precede him, in the process annoying Ray, who was trying serve everybody and get the hell out of the galley so that he could change. Chef was adamant that all of the galley staff would form a division in the morning's parade and, as Ray was the Chief Cook, he would be on parade. The Twins, excruciatingly polite, apologized to Ray and then went off to sit at separate tables.
Rolling his eyes and muttering his disgust at the Twins, Harry then went off to gather the Band. He was not at all pleased with Fozzy, who could not seem to get the timing down for the drum intro to "The Garb of Old Gaul." Harry was also tired of training new Band Officers.
The new Band Officer, Sub-Lieutenant Ramseur, while he was a nice young man, was unsure of himself, was feeling his way, and only just beginning to realize that his knowledge of classical piano, which he played well, did little good when up against the horn blowers and drum beaters of the Band. He very quickly realized that military marches were to classical piano what bagpipes were to music. Harry was barely mollified that the young officer tended to take the path of least resistance and defer to him in all things concerning the Band.
After routing the Bandsmen out of barracks, dining hall and heads, Harry formed them up. They were not amused. Harry glared. The Band glared back. Harry waved his Mace. The Band waved its instruments. Harry threatened. The Band shrugged. The Bandsmen knew what they had to do and they were just mean enough to do it, if only to prove Harry wrong. Sub-Lieutenant Ramseur wondered why he hadn't just stayed in bed.
About the only person who wasn't mooning, moaning, complaining or giving his impression of the village idiot was Andre. He had appeared on parade with his drum, snow-white gauntlets, sling and sticks, ready to play. He was dressed in a freshly pressed white uniform. His white cap had been freshly blancoed and his cap tally tied with a smart butterfly bow. His boots had been spit shined to perfection. That Andre also had a small, satisfied smile on his face did not go unnoticed by Harry.
"You look pleased with yourself," declared Harry, irked that everybody else around him seemed to have taken a stupid pill and Andre was smiling away happily.
"It is a very nice morning, Chief. A good day for a parade," replied Andre, not at all impressed or affected by Harry's bluster.
Harry cast his glaring gaze over the Band. "Everybody else looks like they've been smacked with a stick but you stand there looking like the world is your oyster." He shook his head. "If I didn't know better I'd think that you got laid last night."
Andre gave Harry a seraphic smile. "Mais, Chef, j'ai fait!" he announced triumphantly.
Harry was so shocked at Andre's announcement that he had indeed gotten laid, that his jaw fell and he dropped the Mace.
Finally, the little bugger was ready. A complaining, moaning, doubtful little bugger to be sure, but ready! The Phantom was showered, shaved, powdered and splashed with cologne. His Number 11 uniform, thanks to Mr. Leung and his assistants, fit him perfectly. His hat, which Tyler had nicked from The Gunner's locker, had been wiped clean of salt and the top given a fresh coat of blanco. His gold buttons had been polished, and his crowns set in place. He was as ready as he ever would be. In the galley lounge The Gunner, with Chef, both men chuckling at the boy's discomfiture, did a slow walk around him. "He'll do," said Chef presently.
"And thank you for that ringing endorsement," muttered The Phantom as Chef waddled to the washplace door and bellowed at Randy and Joey, who were showering.
"Chop, chop!" Chef roared at the boys. "There's a parade that needs doing! The Cookery Branch will be on parade today!" With that he grinned at The Gunner and stomped away.
"For somebody who hasn't been on parade since he was an apprentice cook in HYACINTHE he sure has a lot to say," complained The Phantom.
"Oh, he's going on parade," said Joey as he exited the washplace. Right behind him was Randy. Both boys had their towels firmly tied around their waists. Being naked in front of The Phantom was one thing. Being "nekkid" in front of The Gunner was something entirely different. "You look nice, Phantom," continued Joey, his shy smile genuine.
Both boys sat on the bench, waiting patiently for The Gunner to leave. "Chef was here real early," advised Randy. "He was here when we came on duty."
"He was polishing his medals and sword when we got here," reported Joey.
"What sword?" asked The Gunner, wondering not only where Chef had gotten a sword, but also what he planned on doing with it.
Joey shrugged. "The sword he has in his office. He said that if the Canadian Armed Forces was stupid enough to call him a Chief Warrant Officer he was going to wear a sword." He reached down and scratched his leg. "Everybody's wearing a sword."
The Gunner thought carefully. He could understand the officers wearing swords. Today's parade was Ceremonial and therefore they were supposed to carry swords. But Chef? Then he remembered an obscure regulation that authorized Chief Warrant Officers, which technically Chef was, to carry swords. He looked at The Phantom.
"Let's go."
"Where?"
"To my office to get you a sword. Tyler as well. You're both Chiefs so you both get to wear swords."
The Phantom rolled his eyes. "Hell and sheeit! I don't know how to carry a sword! I'll trip over it."
"Well, you can do that while you're farting, or puking," returned The Gunner.
The Phantom gave his lover a sour look and turned to the two boys. "You guys better get dressed. Chef will be roaring if you're late. You sure that you have everything?"
Joey nodded. "Yup. Clean uniform in our lockers. Our boots are shined and everything."
"Clean undies?"
Randy grimaced. "Of course, clean undies! We're not pigs, you know!"
The Phantom chuckled and then bent down and kissed both boys on their foreheads. "But you are brats and both of you have been known to forget that cleanliness is next to Godliness."
"Don't you worry, Phantom, we'll smell like roses and we promise to behave," said Joey. Then he giggled and looked at Randy. "I guess he doesn't know about the Twins."
The Phantom looked at the two boys and made a face. "The Twins?"
"They're fighting," supplied Randy. "We don't know why."
Joey gave The Phantom the eye. He wanted to get changed! "All we know is that they didn't sit together at breakfast."
"They haven't been beating each other up, have they?" asked The Gunner with a silent groan. All he needed was the Twins on the warpath.
Joey shook his head. "Not that we know of. They just growled and grumbled and made faces at each other."
The rest of the cooks, uniforms in hand, began drifting into the change room, grumbling and complaining about Chef's latest assault on their dignity. From somewhere deep within the galley they could hear Chef bellowing and rampaging about.
Not wanting to become involved in Chef's latest outrage against his staff, The Phantom turned to The Gunner. "We'd better go and get that silly sword." He turned to the boys. "I'll see you guys later."
"I don't suppose you have any idea what in hell the Twins are fighting about?" asked The Gunner as they walked toward the Drill Shed.
"Not a clue," replied The Phantom. "I saw them last night in the Gunroom and they seemed all right then."
The Gunner did not pursue the matter. The Twins were notorious for their feuds and while they fought like demons when they wanted to, they did love each other and usually the storm was over in a matter of hours. "Well, so long as they behave until after the parade, and do not cause too much damage, I'll be happy."
The Phantom agreed. "You know them. They blow off steam and then they are all lovey-dovey. I am sure it's nothing earth shaking."
"Let's hope so," replied The Gunner, a doubtful note in his voice as they entered the Drill Shed. In his office The Gunner opened the special locker where he stored his loot from Victoria. "One sword," he said, handing the long gold and black leather sheathed sword to The Phantom. "And one belt, complete with slings."
After showing The Phantom how to carry the sword, they selected a second sword and sought out Tyler, giving him his sword (which he accepted after muted complaining) and then went for a stroll about the camp. The morning's ceremonies were divided into three parts. First the parade from outside the Mess Hall to the parade square, then Ceremonial Divisions, followed by the Inspection. The Phantom, as Inspecting Officer, would be driven down to the parade square and was not, as The Gunner pointed out, needed until 0830.
As they walked around the Upper Camp the cadets greeted them as they hurried to their muster point. All were dressed in their freshly pressed white uniforms. The members of the Guard carried rifles and slings, and hanging down their butts were patent leather scabbards containing the chromed bayonets that they would fix to their rifles.
The Phantom and The Gunner stopped in front of the Headquarters Building and watched the cadets hurrying to and fro. The Phantom rested the tip his sword on top of an irregular ball of stone. He looked down and saw that there was an inscription was carved into the weather worn surface of the stone. "HMS . . . Scu . . ." He bent closer and could just make out a date. "1864". "What's this?" he asked.
The Gunner looked at the stone. "It's a ballast stone from HMS SCUTARI. There's another one from HMS EGERIA in front of the Mess Hall."
"Ballast stones?"
"A memento of when the sailing ships came here for refit and bottom cleaning. It was the custom of the time to leave a ballast stone, with the ship's name, and the date of her visit, as a remembrance of the visit. There are still a few stones scattered around," replied The Gunner.
"Not much to remember them by," said The Phantom, looking at the carved letters all but obliterated by years of wind and rain.
"It doesn't matter, Phantom," replied The Gunner softly. "They left something else behind." He reached out and placed his hand on The Phantom's shoulder. "They left their spirit, their traditions. Sometimes I think they come back."
"Like ghosts?"
The Gunner laughed softly. "In a way. I've often thought where I would like to return to when I've crossed over the river. I think I would like to come back here, and join the others, keeping an eye on things and complaining that things were much better done in my day."
The Phantom gave the man a strange look. "You believe in ghosts?"
The Gunner saw the boy's look and laughed aloud. "The Indians believe in spirits, in those who have gone before coming back. So do I. I believe that the old gunners are out there, the boys who have gone before."
"That is all I need, thank you," returned The Phantom with a sniff. "Todd has half the Ship's Company convinced that there's some sort of mythical spirit running around at night looking to suck their essences . . ."
"I wonder where that came from," retorted The Gunner dryly.
The Phantom ignored him. "And now you've got every old Chief Gunner from Whale Island to Cape Scott lurking in the shadows!" He began to walk back to the Mess Hall. "It's bad enough that I've got 300-odd beady-eyed cadets just waiting for me to trip over this fucking knife! Now I've got five generations of dead Navy Chiefs on my ass!"
"Phantom, it was just a thought," said The Gunner patiently. To get The Phantom back on track he pointed to Mark's land yacht sitting in front of the Mess Hall.
"The car's waiting for you. Steve's just brought it 'round."
"Steve? What has he got to do with the car?"
"He's driving," replied The Gunner.
"Steve!" squalled The Phantom. "Steve! He'll hit something. He'd fuck up a wet dream! I'll go smashing through the windshield and end up splattered all over the deck!"
"No, you won't," replied The Gunner calmly, mentally calling upon God to give him strength. "He's a very careful driver. You will sit in the back seat with Father and Steve will drive you down to the Reviewing Stand nice and easy."
"HA! What then? I'll trip over my sword. I'll puke. No, I'll pee myself. That's what I'll do!"
The Phantom, one hand holding his sword in a death grip, the other gesticulating wildly, continued to rant all the way to the Mess Hall.