Boys of Aurora

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, dos 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 28

"Well, has the 'Dear Abby' of AURORA finished his advice to the lost and lovelorn?" growled Chef as he exited his office. He lumbered to the fridge, took out a beer and sat down beside The Phantom. He gave the boy a steely look. "You'd better be careful, youngster. One day all that advice might come back to haunt you."

The Phantom giggled. "I hope it does. Sean and Cory will make a fine, handsome couple. Once they discover that they were meant for each other."

Chef took a sip of beer and grimaced. "Never mix grape and grain, Phantom."

"If you're referring to Cory and Sean, I'm not. They're like fine champagne. A perfect blend."

Chef snorted. "I always knew that deep down inside you were a romantic!"

"And you are not?" asked The Phantom. "When it comes to your lambs you're as big a softy as I am. And more hard-headed about your opinions of them!"

Chef shot The Phantom a dirty look. The kid was too intuitive for his own good. "Yeah, well, maybe," he admitted grudgingly.

"Come on, Chef, admit it, you're as big a softy as I am."

"All right, I admit it!"

"Good. Now tell me what you and The Gunner were arguing about."

"We weren't arguing about . . . How in hell do you know . . .?" Chef growled a few swear words under his breath. "Never mind, I know. You've been listening to those two loudmouthed brats!"

"If you are referring to my little brothers, Chef, I can only say that they were concerned for your welfare."

"Balls! They were snooping! I had to chase them from the Mess Hall!"

"After you called them some very uncomplimentary names and before The Gunner gave them a fiver!"

"Aha! So, they have been blabbing to you, then!" After more mumbled name-calling, Chef looked at The Phantom. "You should tell Randy and Joey that some things are best kept to themselves."

"They do, actually," replied The Phantom, thinking of the two boys and what they were doing to Simon. "They didn't overhear much, and they only told me that you and The Gunner were having a discussion." He frowned. "And that you had a letter from the Queen."

Chef rolled his eyes. "Faith and is nothing secret around here?"

"No, not in the long run, and well you know it!" replied The Phantom. He cocked his head and raised one eyebrow. "You going to tell me about it, or do I have do drag it out of The Gunner?"

"He knows how to keep a secret, so he does!" snarled Chef. "Unlike some people I can name."

The Phantom laughed at Chef's stubbornness. "Well, if you don't want to tell me, I suppose I should get my ass in gear. Supper is in about half an hour."

"Don't worry about that," ordered Chef. "The wee brats will be back soon enough, so they will. So will Sandro, who had better not be too tired out to work. By the saints, I'm not paying him to shag that Yank!"

Surprised at Chef's remark about Sandro, The Phantom trod carefully. "You're not paying him anything, Chef," he returned. "Sandro works for a stipend and what do you know about Sandro and the Yank?"

"Can I help it if I was standing at the window of me own office and happened to overhear . . ."

"And you nattering about Randy and Joey!"

"And me keeping my ears open to potential trouble!"

The Phantom shook his head. "There will be no trouble. This morning Nathan took Caspar to town in more ways than one. This afternoon it's Sandro. Tonight, who knows," he finished with a shrug. Then he leaned forward. "Nice segue, Chef, but no cigar. The letter from the Queen?"

Chef gave The Phantom a dirty look and then nodded. "The letter was not from Her Majesty - God Bless Her. It was a letter from the Master of the Household, Sir Piers Legh. He was offering me a position as sous-chef at Sandringham."

"Wow! Jesus, Chef, that's a great honour." He grinned. "Boy, could you have fun there!"

"Getting a letter and taking the job are two different things," said Chef. "I just can't up and paddle across the 'Oggy, you know. I do have responsibilities, you know!"

"I'm sure that you can serve the Order just as well in England as you can here," replied The Phantom lightly. "There are gay boys over there, too."

"The Order is the least of my worries, Phantom. You of all people should know that."

"Ray," said The Phantom simply.

Chef nodded. "Phantom, you know that I have a son."

"Yes. You haven't seen him for years."

"I spent a small fortune trying to find him with no luck at all," replied Chef sadly. "I've lost him, and that's fact, not fiction. I've accepted that I'll never see, or hear from him again."

"You can't say that, Chef. You never know what will happen."

"Tis true, Phantom. The lad is gone from my life." Chef pulled a huge handkerchief from his pocket and blew his nose loudly. "Allergies," he explained weakly.

"Yeah, right," returned The Phantom, not at all fooled.

Chef grinned sheepishly. "Well, perhaps not, then." He sighed and his heavy shoulders shook with emotion. "Phantom, Stevie thinks that I'm as crazy as a coot, but no matter. I'll tell you what I told him. I believe that God gave me a son to replace the one I lost. He gave me Ray, and I am never going to be far away from him if I can help it. If he needs me I have to be there for him. I will not lose him, Phantom. I won't lose another son!" He slammed his fist on the table, causing The Phantom to jump.

"Take it easy, Chef." The Phantom gave Chef's hand a pat. "I know how you feel about Ray, but Chef, he has Kevin."

"Bah! Kevin lives three hours away on a good day. Will Ray still have him if something happens? Will he be there for Ray if that horrible family of his finds out that their son is gay?"

"You don't know that will happen, Chef. You can't predict the future and Ray is no dummy. He's not going to do anything that will out him."

Chef fixed The Phantom with a steely gaze. "And what happens if he does? What if he decides to call Kevin and tells the lad how much he loves him, and one of his despicable parents overhears him? Ray is a lad in love, as well I know, and he needs to express it! Love muddles a man's thinking - makes you forget to be careful. No matter how hard he tries, Ray will want to express his love verbally or physically, and in the wrong place or the wrong time, and then God help him! Will you be there for him when he makes that one last misstep? Will you be there to hold him, to help make the hurt go away? Will Kevin? Will Stevie?" He growled low. "No! You'll be out here. Kevin will be in Hamilton, and The Gunner will be in Hull, Hell or Halifax!" He leaned low and his brows furrowed. "I've got one boy on my conscience, Phantom. I won't have another!"

"I . . . don't . . . understand," replied The Phantom softly. He saw the pain in chef's eyes and he wanted to reach out and hold the older man. "Please, Chef . . ." He stood up and walked to Chef's side. He wrapped his arms around the man's shoulders. "Please, Chef, I love you. We all love you. Don't . . ."

"Ah, Phantom, you're a sweet boy," said Chef. "You're much too good for Stevie! He doesn't deserve you, the black-hearted git that he is!"

"You mustn't say that, Chef. He loves you, too. He always has. He just doesn't show it, is all."

"He could at least try to understand how I feel, Phantom." replied Chef. "He knows what it's like to be haunted by the demons! He knows!"

"Are you talking about Hal Simmonds?" asked The Phantom. He released Chef and picked up the towel that Sean had left on the table. He handed the folded linen to Chef. "Please, Chef, stop crying."

The tears continued to pour down Chef's cheeks. "I'm an old fool, Phantom, to be burdening you with something that happened long ago. And I should not have said what I said about Stevie. He's a good man, so he is. We're two of kind, we are. Knights of the Order, important and determined never to let what happened before happen again. We forget that at one time we were frightened boys. We forget that we did nothing when something could have, and should have, been done!"

"Aw, Chef, come on. Stevie could not have prevented Hal from doing what he did. The Gunner didn't even know that Hal was gay!"

"True," admitted Chef. "Go and sit down, Phantom. Finish your beer. I'll be all right."

The Phantom did as Chef asked. He sat down and gave Chef a piercing look. "Ray is not about to kill himself. He's strong, and he has your love. He knows that no matter what happens you'll be there for him. Hal did not have that luxury."

"And that is precisely why Stevie is haunted by the poor boy's memory!"

"Chef, The Gunner did what he could," stated The Phantom emphatically.

Chef nodded his head. "Yes, he did, after the fact!" he hurled back. "Hal's death shook him in a way that nothing ever has. He realized what a coward he'd been and as a sop to his conscience he buried the boy." He held up his hand. "Don't be angry, Phantom, for I did the same, in a way."

"The Gunner is the most honourable man I know, Chef. He's no coward!" The Phantom's face was flushed and his green eyes blazed. "He would never . . ."

It was Chef's turn to reach out and take The Phantom's hands in his. "You only know a part of Hal's story, Phantom," he said quietly. "You don't know what it was like back in the old days. You can't possibly know or fathom how bad things were for gay men. Especially gay men in the military."

"It's bad now!" returned The Phantom angrily.

"Aye, lad, so it is," replied Chef, his voice sad. "But Phantom, lad, it was worse back when I was a mere lad. And when Stevie was a lad. We both saw the hatred, the bigotry, and we both turned our backs on lads in trouble for being gay. Truth is truth and while Stevie might not want to admit it, I will. We both let fear guide our actions, or non-actions. We both turned our backs and walked away."

The Phantom's jaw dropped. "NO!" he bawled when he'd recovered from the shock of Chef's revelations. "The Gunner would never do that!"

Chef nodded sadly. "When Hal was taken away from the ship he was put in the Infirmary. He was a Midshipman you see, almost an officer, and certain proprieties had to be observed." He sniffed loudly. "He was alone, Phantom, all alone. No one came near him. Not his so-called friends, not his mates, and not Stevie Winslow. Stevie stayed away because he knew that he'd be tarred with the same brush. In those days just admitting that you even knew a queer were grounds for suspicion."

"He's changed! He wouldn't do that now," cried The Phantom. "He looks out for gays. He would fight for them!"

"Now, yes. Back then, no." Chef sighed a soft, sad sigh. "But then, I was as bad." He shook himself, as if clearing his head. "No! I was worse, because I was there when something terrible happened and I stood back and did nothing to prevent it from happening. I had the rate, I had the authority, but still I let it happen."

The Phantom relaxed and slumped in his chair. "You were a coward?" he asked in a soft whisper.

"Yes. I was a coward. It was in the old MICMAC. I was a Killick, a Leading Seaman in the days when that meant something. There was a steward, a nice young man he was. He was also gay." He jerked his head up. "Not that anybody knew. He was a smart boy and kept quiet and never bothered anyone."

"Until?"

Chef nodded. "We were in Rosey Roads . . . Roosevelt Roads, painting ship. We'd work in the morning and then have the afternoon off. Everybody would go ashore except for the Duty Watch. This one night I came back aboard and heard yelling and screaming from the paint locker. I went forward and found about a dozen of the hands holding a blanket party. You know what that is, do you?"

"Yes. It's when the hands want to beat the shit out of somebody, and not have him know who did it, they throw a blanket over his head."

"Aye, so it is." Chef sighed at the memory. "The young steward had stayed aboard and he and one of the stokers got into the Captain's liquor. They got drunk, and well, according to the steward the stoker propositioned him. The stoker claimed that he was drunk and passed out and that the steward took advantage of a drunken sailor." Once again Chef shrugged. "The truth? Who knows? What is important is that the Duty Roundsman discovered the pair of them in the Captain's pantry. Instead of reporting them to the Officer of the Watch he scampered down to his mess and told his mates."

"And they beat the steward? Why not the stoker?"

"He was married. He had kids. He was drunk, though not as drunk as some thought, and he knew that by screaming rape he'd get off the hook. As the injured party, so to speak, he was also the innocent party." Chef opened the drawer to the table and pulled out a bottle of rum. He gestured for The Phantom to bring some glasses and then poured both of them a stiff tot. "When I came on board the whole scenario was being played out. I should have stepped in and put a stop to it. I didn't because I knew that if I stood up for that poor steward the other lads would think I was as bad as he was. Guilty by association."

"That's ridiculous!" snapped The Phantom. "You were married, you had a kid, and you are not gay!"

"All true. But that's how people thought back then. Show support for a gay, be friends with a gay, and you were obviously just as gay as he was. There were no mitigating circumstances."

"So you stood by and watched another man get the shit kicked out of him." Chef nodded. "I did. I also never went near the lad after they'd put him in the glasshouse."

"They put him in jail?"

"They did. He walked out of Halifax RCNH and right into George's Island Stockade. He'd been charged with rape, and sodomy, and the Admiral's Cloak. He was an accused criminal and unlike Hal Simmonds he was treated as such. No special privileges for the Lower Deck, Phantom. Protective custody the Master at Arms called it. He said the lad could not be protected in the barracks so into George's Island lockup the lad went. The first night he was in there ten guys raped him. The guards heard his screams but did nothing."

"And then what happened to him? Did he kill himself?"

"No, Phantom, he did not. After he was let loose from the hospital for the second time, cooler heads prevailed. He was quietly and dishonourably discharged. I never knew what happened to him afterward."

The Phantom was devastated. Chef's sad story had left him emotionally drained. "I don't know what to say, Chef," he whispered. "You, and Stevie, you've always been so strong."

"We are only men, Phantom. Weak men. Frightened boys." Chef saw the tortured look on The Phantom's face. "We need your understanding, Phantom. We need your love. That's all we need."

The Phantom nodded slowly. "You've got that Chef. You will always have that. So has Stevie. I love him and I will always love him. I understand why you did what you did. I still love you. I still love my Gunner!"

"Then do you also understand why I can't go to England?"

"But Chef, you have a life. Don't base your actions on what happened twenty years ago. Ray would want you to go. He'd miss you, but damn it, Chef, he loves you too much to let you throw away the chance of a lifetime!"

"And I won't take the risk of losing him!" Chef took a sip of his rum. "I could never live with myself if anything happened to that boy. I won't be three thousand miles away from him. That's a given, and you, and Stevie, had better get used to the idea."

"Ah, hell, Chef, whatever you do is fine by me." The Phantom smiled weakly. "Ray's not to know, though."

"He's not to know," repeated Chef in agreement. He smiled at Phantom's concern. "Not to worry, though, Phantom. If I play my cards right I'll be less than ten minutes away from where Ray lives."

"How will you manage that? You live in Esquimalt and he lives in Ottawa."

Chef grinned. "Never keep all your eggs in one basket, boyo. I have a plan."

"You do?"

"I do. I happen to know that the position of Head Chef at the Ottawa Naval Officers Club is about to become vacant. Not only does the position pay a decent wage, which will supplement my pension, but also it's live in. There's a flat, two bedrooms, separate lounge and dining room, and a good-sized kitchen that comes with the job."

"You're retiring?"

"I am." Chef finished his drink and stood up. "It's time, Phantom. I've got a chance at being a father again. I'm not about to screw it up."

"And what if nothing happens? What if Ray's people never find out about him?"

"Ah, Phantom, I wish I had the innocence of youth again." He fixed The Phantom with a stony look. "Sadly, dear boy, sooner or later everything is known. All sins and transgressions are revealed."

"That's a pessimistic view, Chef."

"Alas, it is a true view, Phantom." He started to walk away and stopped. "I'm sorry I upset you by telling you the whole story about Hal. I meant no harm." "I know." The Phantom walked up to Chef and once again put his arm around the man's shoulder. "Stevie will never know that you told me. If he wants me to know, he'll tell me. I want you to know that I understand what happened. Both you and Stevie have more than made up for what you did."

"Perhaps," muttered Chef, who was getting weepy again. He shrugged off The Phantom's hand. "Now where the hell is everybody? There's supper to be served and everybody is off skiving. I'll take a switch to those brats! And where's the Litany. Off doing no good, is my guess. Where's Sandro . . . Never mind, I don't want to know. Where are your stewards? Is there no one working today?"

Chef's tantrum drove the melancholy from The Phantom. He laughed and shook his head. "The Litany is ashore. The brats should be back any time." He stopped and looked around. "As for the stewards . . .?"

"What?"

"Matt. He's usually here by now."

"Perhaps he's found a friend and is spending the afternoon with him," suggested Chef lewdly. "Nothing would surprise me this day!"

The Phantom shook his head. The only 'friend' Matt wanted to spend time with was Todd. He hurried into the main dining room and took up a station at the steam tables. He glanced around the cavernous room. There were no stewards lounging about.

"Where," The Phantom thought as the bugle sounded, "is Matt?"

Matt had spent the afternoon alone, lazing the day away. He napped, tried to read, debated on going for a walk, had a pee, and ended up back where he had started: in his bunk.

Barracks 8 was deserted except for Matt. Everybody had gone ashore and he found the quiet disconcerting. He lay in his bunk staring at the springs and mattress on the bunk above and before very long his left hand was behind his head and his right was down the front of his white Jockeys, idly rubbing the warm, velvety crown of his erect penis. With each slow pass of his hand over the head of his erection a shiver of delight rippled through Matt's body.

Matt closed his eyes and before him was the image he wanted to see. He was back in the motel room in Victoria, with Todd and Cory. They were changing into their swimming shorts and the Twins; the beautiful, golden-haired, slim bodied Twins were naked. Todd was naked, his beautiful, pink and gold, flaccid penis bouncing softly as he walked about the room. His testicles, contained in a silken, smooth and hairless pouch, hung deliciously low.

The image caused Matt's penis to twitch and pulse a small dollop of precum onto the palm of his hand. He groaned softly, the fantasy unfolding. Cory, sweet, beautiful Cory was no longer there. Only Todd, only the most wonderful boy in the world was there.

In his dream Matt reached out and stroked Todd's smooth, flawless dick, holding it, feeling it as it thickened and grew into a magnificent, golden hued, flawless shaft of earthly delight, so beautiful that Matt gasped in awed wonder. In his dream Matt leaned forward and his tongue caressed the spongy, warm, wonderfully scented tip of Todd's penis. His tongue traced the outlines of Todd's crisp, curved helmet, his lips slowly moving down, to suck softly on the pale, pale, circumcision ring, down and down until his tongue tasted the thick base of Todd's glory.

In his dream Matt's lips kissed first one, then the other of Todd's perfect, oval testicles and then his mouth encased them. He drank in the clean, crisp, pure smell of Todd and Matt's penis jerked convulsively.

In his dream Matt's lips slowly drew in Todd's warm, pulsing erection until all of it was encased in the wetness of his mouth. In his dream Matt suckled contentedly on the sweet flesh, his nose buried in the soft, golden hair at the base of the most perfect boy's gently pulsing organ. In his dream Matt drank in the taste, the musk, the smell of Todd.

Matt's hand moved faster and faster, savaging his soft-skinned, iron-hard erection. He began gasping as a great tidal wave of pleasure smashed through him and suddenly he was blinded with ecstasy. His body jerked as the most exquisite, unendurable sensations of an incredible, raw, ORGASM assaulted his body. He felt the warm semen spurting in spasmodic gushes, coating his hand, soiling his pubic hair and filling his tight, white briefs.

In his dream Matt lay in Todd's arms, enjoying the euphoric aftermath of the most wonderful orgasm of his life. In his dream he could see Todd looking down at him, his eyes full of love, his lips, his wonderful, warm lips coming closer, closer . . .

Matt was rudely brought back to reality when the overhead speaker sputtered to life and the raucous notes of Hands to Dinner blared loudly throughout the barracks. His eyes flew open, his heart skipped several beats and his body jerked so violently that he fell out of bed, landing on the hard wooden deck with a resounding thud. He lay on the deck, cursing loudly and condemning Young Brown to a fate that only those interrupted in post coital bliss could envision. This, Matt later learned, was unfair. Young Brown was not blowing his bugle. He had gone ashore and Greg, who had been forced to stay aboard because he was inundated with paperwork, was playing a tape of the bugle call. Greg had spent much of the morning mooning over Jimmy Collyer and trying to hide his hardon from Number One, which was why he was still in the Ship's Office, and still inundated with paperwork. With the Ship's Bugler ashore Greg had flashed up the office tape recorder, sending a taped rendition of Hands to Dinner throughout the ship.

Grumbling, Matt struggled erect and galloped down the barracks toward the showers, pushing down his underwear as he ran. He very quickly learned that trying to pull off your underpants and run at the same time was difficult, and resulted in a skinned knee when you fell, as he did, twice.

Matt showered quickly and returned to his locker. He pulled out clean briefs, a clean gunshirt, socks, and reached into the metal cabinet for his bell-bottoms. Phantom would kill him. He just knew that Phantom would wreak havoc on him. He was late and Phantom would want to know why and how could he tell Phantom that he'd spent the afternoon dreaming and jerking off!

He ran from the barracks, heading for the Mess Hall. Phantom would KILL him!

Phantom did not kill Matt. He did put one arm around the boy's shoulder and ask gently if he was all right and if he could do anything to help. Matt, who couldn't very well tell Phantom that he'd spent his afternoon dreaming about Todd and choking his chicken, and relieved that he was not a candidate for the local mortuary, assured The Phantom that he had merely taken advantage of an afternoon off and overslept. Satisfied with Matt's explanation The Phantom breathed a quiet sigh of relief, smiled his forgiveness and set the young steward to working the Chiefs and Petty Officers table.

There were very few cadets dining. Wally Higman, as Officer of the Day, dined in solitary splendour, served with regal grace by Killian. Phil Thornton, Jimmy Collyer and Caspar Collins put in an appearance. The Squadron Duty Cook was notorious for his inability to cook and very much lived down to the accusation that he couldn't parboil shit. There was also the sad but true fact that they had no stewards on board any of the YAGs. They sat at the table usually occupied by Tyler and Val, who were ashore, and Matt put on the dog, showing the Sandy Bottom sailors what a real mess was like.

It was fortunate that there were few diners because there was only The Phantom and Chef to man the steam lines. Chef muttered and threatened mayhem and murder when he got his hands on Randy and Joey. He repeatedly demanded to know where the little bastards were. The Phantom, who knew where they were, wisely did not respond to Chef's increasingly profane demands.

It did no good for The Phantom to insist that they were hardly being worked off their feet. Chef ignored him and grumbled away. Matters were not improved when Chef's ire was momentarily diverted from Randy and Joey to Sandro who appeared, a sparkle in his eye and a spring in his step, twenty minutes into the dinner hour. Since the Russian wasn't walking funny The Phantom wondered just what had transpired between Nathan and Sandro. Then he remembered that Ray had confided that he had seen Sandro aroused, in the showers, and boy had God blessed him! Which led the Phantom to wonder if Nathan was walking funny!

Sandro grinned wickedly as he sidled up to The Phantom, who raised both eyebrows and asked, "Well?"

Grinning, Sandro nodded a slow, a dreamy nod at The Phantom, and said nothing. He was not about to tell his friend that he was no longer a virgin. "Three times!" he thought, a proud gleam setting his eyes to sparkling. "Now Nathan knows what a Russian is capable of! Three times they had fucked!" Today he, Alexandr Effimovitch Signaransky had proven his manhood, twice bringing Nathan to a screaming, spontaneous, massive orgasm as his thick club thrust forcefully into the Amerikansky's tight, clutching hole.

Unconsciously Sandro reached down to gently rub the front of his trousers, comforting his sore, sleeping club. "Fuck your mother!" he blasphemed silently, "Was he sore!" But not as sore as Nathan, he thought. Nathan had freely admitted being with Caspar and from the look on the young YAG crewman's face when Nathan dropped him off earlier Nathan had proved his manhood at least once! Then twice with Sandro!

Not that it mattered to Sandro how many times Nathan had put the bone to Caspar. Nor did it matter to Sandro that what he and Nathan had done was nothing more than the uninhibited coupling of two lusty men. Sandro was fully aware that to Nathan sex was sex. Nathan liked fucking, and being fucked.

Sandro discovered that he, too, despite his initial misgivings, enjoyed fucking. Nathan had been very gentle and there had been little pain. There had been a great deal of pleasure though, because Nathan had managed to find that secret spot deep within Sandro's body, a spot that, whenever Nathan's thrusting club bumped against it, had set fireworks exploding throughout Sandro's body and had caused him to rise off the bed and thrust desperately back. Nathan had brought him to an orgasm so powerful that his club felt as if it had exploded.

What had pleasantly surprised Sandro was that once he had calmed down, Nathan had rolled on his stomach and asked Sandro to fuck him, hard. Sandro had obliged, obviously to Nathan's satisfaction because he'd blown a load without touching himself, soiling the sheets of the bunk they were on. Then Nathan had rolled on his back, pulled his legs back, and offered himself again. Sandro's club refused to soften so he obliged Nathan a second time, once again bringing the American to a mind-shattering orgasm.

Sandro swaggered a bit at the memory of Nathan's writhing body, glorying in the thought of the pleasure he had been able to give Nathan, who would, no doubt, always remember this day.

After leaving the Chiefs Mess they had showered, played just a little - Sandro had insisted on taking Nathan into his mouth - and left. Once again there had been no mention of further meetings. Sandro hoped there would be. Nathan had been a damned good lay, and a better teacher. Nathan had shown him how glorious it was to pleasure another boy, and to be pleasured by another boy. Nathan was a mensch, Sandro decided, with big balls, and a beautiful club. But then, Sandro bragged inwardly, so was he a mensch, with bigger balls and a bigger club.

As he left the dining room Sandro glanced at the clock. He would finish with the cleanup after the cadets ate, have a nap, shower, and then he would walk down to the Dockyard, perhaps to look at the harbour, perhaps to help Caspar stand the lonely watch of a sailor.

Todd and Sean came into the Mess Hall, laughing and chatting animatedly. Todd was beaming and Sean looked like he'd won the blue ribbon at the County Fair. The Phantom breathed a sigh of relief. At least that problem had been solved. He turned the steam line over to Sandro and hurried to the table Todd and Sean had chosen to sit at. He smiled broadly, wondering just how Sean had managed to bring off this little coup.

After leaving the Mess Hall Sean had walked slowly back to the Dockyard. He acknowledged the greeting of the Gate Guard and walked down the long jetty, which was empty of activity. Except for the Guard, everybody was ashore. At the foot of the gangway leading to the deck of the Command YAG, Sean paused and looked toward the harbour, wondering if Cory were still ashore. Following the shoreline as it did, nearly the entire length of the roadway leading from town onto the Spit was visible. Sean's keen eyes saw neither the van Nicholas was driving nor a solitary, blond haired, slim figure returning along the roadway. The roadway was empty. Shaking his head in disappointment Sean walked up the gangway, barely acknowledging the presence of Glenn Beuscher, who was Duty Chief of the Day and little Johnny Elsen, who was Corporal of the Gangway.

In his spartan cabin Sean stripped off his sweat-stained clothing and then sat on his neatly made bunk. Phantom had given him a great deal to think about. Cory had given him a great deal to think about. Thinking about Cory made him run his hand over his smooth, flaccid penis and then cup his large, oval testicles. He sobbed silently, feeling his penis harden. God, he wanted to be Cory's partner, or mate, or husband, or whatever Cory wanted him to be.

He felt a small drop of precum ooze from the slit of his classically curving glans and rubbed the natural lubricant slowly across the warm, smooth skin of his helmet. Sean's fingers found the special knot just at the back of his now hard penis and he rubbed softly, a wave of pleasure surging through his genitals. He began breathing heavily, stifling his moans as he rubbed faster and faster, feeling the sensations growing deep within his testicles and he bit his lips as the fire overwhelmed him. Sean's hips jerked uncontrollably as the first jet of his sperm flew from his penis, splattering across his chest. His face was a rictus of pleasure as his body slumped forward, his shattering orgasm consuming him.

When the last of his semen had been expelled from his red, angry penis, Sean slumped sideways, barely able to get his breathing under control. He lay there until the post orgasmic bliss drained from his body. He looked down and saw that he was covered in cum; pearly streams of ejaculate stretching from his dark red, pubic hair to his nipples. Using his discarded briefs Sean cleaned his chest and pubic area and, still shaky from the force of his orgasm, he gathered up his towel, soap, and a clean pair of underpants. Sean's nose wrinkled slightly. His body reeked of sweat and sex and he needed to shower, badly.

As he walked down the long mess deck Sean passed Caspar Collins, who was lying in his bunk, naked, sleeping. Caspar's legs were spread and his genitals were unabashedly exposed. Caspar's penis hung softly over his small ball sac, the slit in the head red and slightly distended. Sean quickly averted his eyes. Caspar was a handsome, strong and muscular boy and despite himself Sean was tempted.

The warm water of the shower washed away the day's accumulated grit and grime from Sean's body. He soaped himself and felt a stirring in his loins. As much as he hated to admit it to himself, seeing Caspar sprawled naked on his bunk had caused the old feelings that he had kept suppressed for so long to come to the fore, one of the reasons being that Caspar reminded him of his first boyfriend. They had the same colouring, the same body structure, even similar penises, although Caspar's seemed to be marginally thicker than . . .

Eric Brandeis was Sean's next-door neighbour. Eric, the boy next door, Sean's playmate, schoolmate and, ultimately, bedmate. Sean had returned from Kingston angry and frustrated and determined not to make a fool of himself again. He had reckoned without Eric. They seemed to drift together and one night, much to their mutual surprise, a friendly wrestling match between friends had led to grinding of hips and passionate kissing. Before they knew it they ended up in Sean's bed, making out and ultimately sixty-nining.

Their relationship deepened, at least so far as Sean was concerned, from that night. At every opportunity they made out, fondling, suckling, tasting each other's body. Sean convinced himself that he was in love with Eric, and that he had gotten over Cory. Eric however was not in love with Sean. Their relationship was based solely on S-E-X, and while it lasted for almost a year, it took Sean almost that long to realize that their mutual pleasuring had turned into Sean pleasuring Eric. Eric enjoyed their times together, but finally admitted that he really preferred, as he crudely put it, "a taste of pussy". They drifted apart and while they remained friends, Eric never mentioned the many months that they had been lovers.

Depressed, Sean had closeted himself. He'd been deeply hurt by Eric, and determined never to allow himself to be hurt in that manner again. He thought often of Cory, and of his clumsy attempt to seduce the blond-haired boy in Kingston, and from time to time he would look at the pictures of them together.

Resigned to a life of celibacy, Sean had not actively tried to find a replacement for Eric. He deliberately avoided forming friendships at school and began to develop the persona that would be his hallmark further down the line. He was aloof, standoffish, and somewhat of a prude to his schoolmates. He said little and rarely participated in the extracurricular activities that seemed to consume so much of a schoolboy's time. What he did not know was that the air of mystery he projected was intriguing and beguiling to one Scott Irvine, a tall, slim, blond-haired boy with blue eyes and a winsome smile. Scott, who was gay, set his cap for Sean. They were both members of the school debating team and Scott managed to arrange for them to share a room during an away match in Kamloops. After the debate and obligatory dinner where Sean had taken one over the mark both boys returned to their hotel room. Sean had barely shut the door to the room when Scott, who like Sean had been drinking, was on his knees with Sean's hard penis in his mouth.

Sean's relationship with Scott was quiet, discreet, and the wildest sex Sean had ever experienced. Scott was a passionate and demanding lover. Not that they ever made love. Later, after their relationship had ended Sean realized that they had rutted. They had fucked. But they had never made love.

In the back of his mind Sean vaguely realized that Scott was a pale imitation of the boy he really yearned for and thought he could never have. As his relationship with Scott progressed, Sean found himself wishing that the boy whose body he was thrusting into wildly were named Cory, and not Scott. On more than one occasion he found himself fantasizing that it was Cory he was with and once, in the throes of a gigantic orgasm, he had moaned Cory's name. Scott had not been pleased and before too long developed an interest in the Senior Varsity in general and, or so rumour had it, a viciously hung defensive end who stood six feet four inches tall and weighed two hundred and sixty pounds, all of it hard muscle. For his part Sean, who was fond of Scott, was not disappointed and more than a little relieved when Scott moved on to assumed bigger things.

There were no more boyfriends after Scott. Sean had begun to think of his future and the damage his being gay could do to his plans. He could not, and would not, allow his being homosexual to become known. He would live the lifestyle society demanded he live. It was then that his final retreat into the closet began.

Finished with his shower Sean returned back through the mess deck. Caspar had not moved and Sean noted that the boy had an erection, which he was fisting slowly. Caspar also had a huge smile on his face. Sean's face hardened into a look of disgust and he hurried into his cabin. He failed to see Caspar reach down with his free hand and slowly insert his middle finger into his rectum.

Caspar was only vaguely aware of the soft footsteps shuffling out of the berthing area. He was much too engrossed in feeling himself and fingering his hole to pay any attention to what was going around him. As he slipped his finger deeper into his rectum he smiled happily. Jesus, what a morning he'd had with Nathan!

As a soft sigh escaped his lips Caspar recalled the morning's events. He had been very surprised to see Nathan in the Dockyard, and even more surprised when the handsome - fuck - gorgeous, American cadet smiled at him and asked him to see if the Squadron Chief wanted his white uniform laundered. Caspar had almost tripped over his feet when, as he walked up the gangway, Nathan then asked, in a casual, nonchalant way, if Caspar wanted to come along for the ride.

Trying to keep the eagerness from his voice. Caspar turned and looked into the American's wonderful, dark eyes. He knew what Nathan was up to and Caspar was not about to disappoint him. "I . . . I have to get permission," Caspar said slowly. "But I'll ask."

Nathan smiled a Cheshire cat grin, said nothing, and ran his eyes up and down the Canadian cadet's slim body, pausing to stare pointedly at Caspar's crotch. Caspar swallowed his nervousness and went below to knock on the Chief's door. He heard the muffled reply from within, opened the door and passed on Nathan's offer to the Squadron Chief.

Sean's eyebrows rose imperceptivity. "Nathan is doing a laundry run?" he asked, intrigued.

Bobbing his head Caspar replied, "He said he's doing it for all the Chiefs." His eyes darted nervously around the small cabin. "He, um, he also asked me to go with him, you know, lend a hand." He ran his fingers nervously around the square collar of his gunshirt. "I don't have the duty until 2000 and . . ." Chief Anders' raised hand silenced him.

Sean regarded the handsome young man thoughtfully. "So," he thought, "young Caspar is the next prospective notch on Nathan's belt." He pretended to consult the Duty Watch List, looked at his watch, and then nodded. "One supposes helping with the laundry run is more productive than having you loafing around the boat." He frowned slightly, and pointed to the neat pile of clothing at the foot of his bunk. "My uniform is there. Be back in plenty of time to stand your watch."

Caspar quickly gathered up the folded garments. "Oh, I'll be back long before then," he said hurriedly. "How long does it take to do a load of uniforms?"

Sean did not reply but a twinkle came into his eye as Caspar exited the cabin. "About as long as it takes for Nathan to figure out a way to get you out of your shorts," he thought disgustedly.

Much to Caspar's disappointment, Nathan made no move to seduce him on the drive into town. What Caspar did not know was that while Nathan planned on doing exactly that, he wanted to get the unimportant details out of the way first. They chatted as they drove the few miles into town, exchanging biographies, duty stories, and so on. All quite innocent, the kind of idle chitchat two people exchanged upon first meeting. In town they drove around until they found a laundry that could wash, starch and iron the white uniforms without it costing an arm and a leg and taking three days to do it. They found such an establishment on a side street and Nathan gladly paid the premium for express service.

"So, what do we do now?" asked Caspar as they got back into the car.

"Well, I have all day," returned Nathan. "Do you have to be back any time soon?" Caspar shook his head. "We're all squared away back at the boat. I don't have to be back until 1900, really." He shrugged apologetically. "I have the First Watch and Chief Anders likes his Petty Officers closed up in plenty of time to relieve the Watch."

Nathan steered the behemoth into the line of traffic. "Not a problem. The laundry will be ready around 1500. You hungry? We can grab a bite or just drive around a bit."

"Let's drive," replied Caspar. "I really haven't seen anything of the country around here," he lied. If Nathan was going to put the moves on him Caspar wanted to give him all the leeway he needed.

"Okay," agreed Nathan. He drove out of town and into the countryside, past the aerodrome, taking the road that led into the interior of the island. "This countryside reminds me a little of Seattle," he said presently, pretending to admire the passing scenery. "The outskirts, I mean."

Caspar deliberately reached down and ran his hand over his crotch. "Yeah, I've been there. It's really nice," he said casually.

The gesture was not lost on Nathan. He glanced down and saw that Caspar's pooch had become a pouch. He licked his lips and smile inwardly. "So, did you get any?" he asked, matching Caspar's casual tone.

"Pardon?"

Nathan smiled knowingly. "Come on, half the guys at the Dinner saw Sylvain feeling you up."

A sour look came over Caspar's pink-cheeked face. "The jerk was after my ring!" he complained with a snarl. "Chief Anders didn't half cut me a new asshole!" Caspar shuddered involuntarily as he remembered the cold, arrogant Chief's scathing words of opprobrium. Still, it had not been all that bad. Sean had not punished him, which had surprised Caspar. "He read me chapter and verse on proper conduct. When I told the Chief that I hadn't started anything he told me that he expected one of his Petty Officers to conduct themselves in a proper and seemly manner at all times. Then he told me I was confined to ship until this morning."

"Bummer," replied Nathan. "Would you have gone with Sylvain?"

Caspar thought a moment. "Well, I was a little surprised when I felt his hand on my leg, and even more surprised when he ran his fingers down my crotch, but I didn't mind, so yeah, I suppose I would have." He looked evenly at Nathan. "When a guy is horny I don't suppose that there's all that much difference getting blown by a guy or a girl. A mouth is a mouth."

Nathan raised an eyebrow. "You have gotten a blow job before?"

Squirming, Caspar had to admit that he had not. He'd heard that a blow job was a great thing to get, but no one had offered before.

Laughing softly Nathan reached over and felt Caspar's erection through the fabric of his shorts. "A guy does it much better."

"You've gotten blown" asked Caspar in a high-pitched squeak as Nathan's hand squeezed his hardon.

"Sure." Nathan grinned. "Feels like a nice piece of meat you've got in there."

Caspar didn't know whether to thank Nathan or jump him. "It's . . . it's all right, I guess," he replied with a groan. "You, uh, you keep that up and I'll . . ."

Laughing, Nathan continued his manipulation. "You like that?" Caspar nodded dumbly. "Good." Nathan slipped his hand under the waistband of Caspar's shorts and squeezed the naked, soft, silky skinned, circumcised head of the boy's erect penis. "Pull down your shorts," he growled, a wolf-like gleam in his eyes.

"What?" Caspar's jaw dropped. "You want me to . . . here . . . now?"

Nathan ran his thumb along the curving head of Caspar's erection, wiping away the minute drop of precum that had formed in the pee slit. He brought his thumb up to his lips and with exaggerated slowness ran his tongue slowly across it, tasting the clear liquid. "Come on, Caspar, slip 'em down for me."

Caspar's natural caution gave way to his lust. He had heard rumours about Nathan and was secretly flattered that the American stud would find him attractive. Caspar also knew that what he had between his legs was a handsome piece of meat. He looked around quickly. The highway was clear of traffic so he quickly pushed his underpants and shorts down. Caspar nodded his head toward his crotch. He could play the game as well as Nathan. "Like what you see?" Caspar asked as he ran his thumb up the length of his firm, pink and tan penis.

Nathan gave Caspar's erect penis and tight balls an appraising look and nodded slowly, his lips forming a satisfied smile. "Nice dick. A very nice dick."

"Thanks." Caspar returned Nathan's smile. "Can I see yours?" In reply Nathan raised his hips, allowing Caspar to reach over and pull his shorts down. Nathan wasn't wearing underwear and his hardon flopped out effortlessly. Caspar gave Nathan's organ an equally appraising look. "Yours is nice." He ran his fingers around the mushroom-shaped head of Nathan's penis.

"Long and thin, goes right in," hinted Nathan as Caspar's fingers twiddled the head of his dick.

"Short and thick, does the trick," returned Caspar. He leaned down and licked the head of Nathan's erection. Then he looked up and grinned. "Not too thin," he said, "Not too thin at all."

Smiling in the knowledge that his plans for Caspar were succeeding much more quickly than he had thought they would, Nathan decided to cut to the chase. His eyes quickly scanned the roadway ahead. "We better find a place to pull over," he said, stifling a groan as Caspar began to suck gently on the head of his penis which, while enjoyable, would bring him to squirting, which he didn't want to do just yet. He also had no desire to experience orgasm in the middle of a car wreck, which would happen if Caspar didn't slow down.

While keeping his left hand on the steering wheel, Nathan reached down with his right hand and gently pushed Caspar's head, and mouth, away from his dick, shuddering as Caspar's mouth reluctantly relinquished the treasure of Nathan's hardon. Caspar raised his head and his eyes flashed. "What the . . .?" he snarled.

Nathan covered his erection protectively. "There's no need to hurry, Caspar," he said softly.

Disappointed, but recognizing the promise of better things to come in Nathan's voice, Caspar sat up and looked around. "There's got to be a side road somewhere."

"We'll find it," promised Nathan.

"You going to suck me off?" asked Caspar, unable to keep the anticipation out of his voice.

Nathan's lips formed a sly smile. "That, and maybe a little bit more," he said seductively.

As he dressed in a fresh T-shirt and crisply starched shorts, Sean recalled his conversation with The Phantom. Now that he knew what Cory wanted, he could proceed. As he left his cabin and hurried on deck he knew that the first thing he had to do was to remove, if possible, the main obstacle to his being with Cory. He would confront Todd. He would convince Todd that he was no Nathan, no cock hound, and that he loved Cory for everything he was, that he was ready to sacrifice everything for him.

Leaving the Dockyard Sean again cast a quick glance toward the roadway leading from town onto the Spit. The road was, as Sean half-expected, empty, which meant that Cory was lingering in town. Sean nodded to himself. Good. The longer Cory was ashore the more time he would have with Todd.

Walking down the Spit Sean noticed the almost total absence of people. Almost everybody, except for the Duty Watch, had gone ashore, to enjoy what would be their last afternoon of relative freedom. He frowned at the thought of what would come tomorrow. AURORA en fete was always a crowd pleaser, and the added attraction of the Lieutenant-Governor and, so he had heard, a Kipper admiral, the mayors of Comox and Courtenay, assorted parents and odds, sods and boffins meant only one thing: work, inspections, stress, strain and added responsibility. As Squadron Chief he would have to ensure that every last cadet in the Squadron was scrubbed and polished to perfection, that the decks of the boats were so clean they could be eaten off of, that the brass was polished and the rope work neat and tiddly. Thinking of tiddly rope work made him think of Cory, whose mastery of the decorative arts was legion in the Cadets.

"Damn Cory's eyes," Sean thought angrily. "Why does he have to be so bloody perfect?" And why does he have to have a brother who insists on acting like a Victorian papa?

Sean found Todd sitting on the stoop of the Staff Barracks with a thunderous look on his face. At first Sean thought that Todd's look of disgust was directed at him. He could not have been more wrong for Todd, who had not in truth given the Squadron Chief much thought after The Phantom left, had not seen or heard Sean approach and was surprised at the redheaded boy's sudden appearance.

Todd saw Sean standing a few feet away and a startled look came over his face. "Cory's not here," he said, not thinking that Sean might want to speak to him.

"I know. I left him in town," replied Sean. He gestured toward the stoop. "I came to speak with you, Todd. May I sit down?"

"Sure, if you don't mind the noise," replied Todd with a disgusted look.

It was only than that Sean became aware of the muffled yelps, moans, groans, squeals and squeaks (in Russian and American) emanating from behind the closed window in the bulkhead to their right. He listened a few moments and then his eyes widened. "Dear God, what is that?"

"That is Nathan and, I think Sandro," returned Todd. He stood up abruptly. "That has been going on for an hour, and just what they are doing to each other I do not want to even contemplate!" He cast a vile glance at the window and the bruise under his eye throbbed with his indignation. "Come on," he said. "I expect you want to talk about Cory." He began to briskly walk away.

Sean stood up and hurried after Todd. "Yes, I do," he said quickly. "I want to talk to you about him, and me, and what he means to me."

"You love him, and you want to be with him," replied Todd with a shrug. "What is there to talk about?"

"Your rotten attitude for one," Sean retorted hotly. "Your selfishness in refusing to believe that someone could actually love your brother, for another!" Todd pulled up short, amazed at the anger in Sean's voice. "I beg your pardon?" "You heard me," snapped Sean. "I resent having to fucking drag my ass halfway across this sand lot, practically on my hands and knees, to ask your fucking permission to be with your brother!"

Todd tried to hide a smile. "Sean, you do realize that you just swore, don't you?"

"Perhaps I should have done that a long time ago," growled Sean. "I know a lot of swear words and I'll use every one if it gets your attention!"

By this time they had reached the breezeway flats. Todd sat down on the bench." "Well, you've got my attention. Pull up a pew." He patted the seat beside him.

Sean, almost beside himself with anger, sat down and began to breathe deeply, attempting to get his emotions under control. Finally, and with effort, he managed to speak. "I meant every word, Todd. I love Cory and no matter what you say or do, I plan on seeing him."

"All right," replied Todd calmly, a slight note of amusement in his voice.

"What?"

Todd began to tick off on his fingers all the accusations made against him this day. "So far I've been told that I am a snob, a bigot, judgmental, and selfish. Not to mention a few unrepeatable things Cory called me this morning. I think it's time I woke up and smelled the coffee."

"Which means?"

Todd leaned forward and hugged his knees. He looked at Sean. "Which means that in a misguided effort to make sure that my brother wasn't being hurt, by you, I made an error in judgement. I said some unkind and obviously untrue statements about you, and your intentions."

Sean did not answer immediately. "Can I ask you a question?" he said presently.

"A question? What question?"

"You want to know about my intentions. I can answer your question with a question of my own."

Todd straightened. "All right then, ask away."

"Todd, have you ever, in your entire life, been totally, completely, madly in love? Have you ever been unable to function because all you can think about is the boy you love? Have you spent three years looking for that boy in everyone you meet and everything you say or do? Are you willing to accept any risk, perhaps throw away all your dreams, just to be able, at the end of the day, to hold that boy in your arms and know that he loves you as much as you love him?"

Todd thought about Sean's words and about his relationship with Harry. He loved Harry, yes. He wanted Harry, it was true. But he was not about to give up his hopes and dreams for Harry. He shook his head slowly. "No, Sean, that boy hasn't come along yet," he said reluctantly.

"Well, when he does I hope to hell that he doesn't have an overprotective brother!" Sean reached out and took Todd's hand. "I love him, Todd. I want to be with him. I would never betray him the way . . ."

"Nathan did?" finished Todd. He squeezed Sean's hand. "I know. I was wrong, I'm sorry, and frankly I want you to make Cory happy. I really do. I let him down once, a long time ago, and I don't ever want to do that again."

Sean had no idea what Todd was talking about. He knew so very little of the Twins' past. Not that it mattered to him, although whatever had happened had stayed with Todd. "I won't hurt him, Todd, ever. You don't have to worry about that." He chuckled softly. "If I did anything to hurt Cory I'd have you, and Philip to contend with and . . ."

"Phillip?" asked Todd, confused. The Assistant . . .? Then he remembered. "Oh, you mean Phantom."

"Yes, 'Phantom'," replied Sean. "I have the impression that he is very close to Cory, and I suspect, to you."

"He's our best friend, Sean."

"And hopefully he will be my best friend."

"You've spoken with him?"

"Yes. He gave me some very good advice. And a beer!"

Todd laughed and shook his head. "The mark of the anointed for sure!" He sniggered heartily. "One thing you can always count on is Phantom's advice, and a drink if you need it!"

Sean joined Todd's laughter. "Philip is a very nice young man. I wish I'd known him sooner. Perhaps then all this nonsense might have been avoided."

"Yes, perhaps," agreed Todd. He regarded Sean a moment and then said, "Sean, whatever happens between you and Cory is what happens. I won't interfere. I'll stand aside and let you both make your own mistakes." He leaned close to Sean. "I will say, though, that now, after speaking with you, I think I'd like to have you as my brother-in-law."

"The mark of the anointed?" asked Sean.

Before Todd could reply the bugle began calling the hands to dinner. Todd stood up and bowed low. "Would you care to dine with me, Chief Anders? I cannot offer you a beer, although if I snivel in the right quarters a glass of wine might be smuggled to our table."

Sean laughed. "You're as crazy as your brother, you know?"

"Of course I am," agreed Todd easily. "I taught him everything he knows. Now, come along, let's go terrorize Phantom and get to know each other better." "I do love Cory, Todd," said Sean as the approached the Mess Hall.

"Oh, I don't doubt that, Sean. I just want to be around in a year or two after you've lived with him!" Todd shuddered theatrically and grinned. "You'll be singing a different song if I know Cory at all!"

As the supper hour progressed Chef's lost lambs began returning. The first to return were Joey and Randy, with Simon in tow. All three boys were laughing and giggling, their faces flushed and hot, and not, The Phantom opined mentally, from the effects of the sun. Since the boys were still dressed in their swimming shorts Chef set them to work washing the dishes. Simon volunteered to help and Chef wondered aloud what had gotten into the boy. Nothing, The Phantom hoped.

The Litany straggled in, hungry, broke and in foul moods. They had spent the afternoon, and all their money, trying to attract the attention of four lovelies they had met in town. The girls had simpered and preened. The four boys had strutted and bragged. The girls opined that a cherry Coke would be nice. The boys obliged. The boys had suggested a walk along the sea front. The girls demurred. JAWS, they announced with much wiggling and mock-squeamish squeals, was playing at the local cinema and they would dearly love to attend the matinee. The boys, being gentlemen Sea Cadets, felt duty-bound to escort the young ladies to the pictures, although Matthew felt that springing for popcorn with double butter and large colas was asking a bit much. None of the boys got so much as a quick dry rub. They were, the girls proclaimed archly, young ladies and would you mind keeping your hand on your own knee? When the movie ended the four boys were left broke and frustrated in front of the movie house. It was suppertime and the girls just HAD to hurry home.

The Litany got short shrift from The Phantom and less sympathy from Chef who said that it was a good thing for the boys to learn early on why women were glad sheep couldn't cook. Trying to figure out that particular sally the Litany went off to scrub the galley heads and washplace.

Just as the Duty Quartermaster was striking eight bells of the First Dog Watch, Nicholas, Andre, and Cory came into the dining room. Nicholas immediately bearded The Phantom, reminding him sotto voce of what would be happening later on. Andre, still hungry even though they had eaten supper in town, sought out the duff table. Cory, seeing Todd with Sean, hung back, not really sure what sort of a welcome he would receive from either boy.

Todd, who had been regaling Sean with carefully expurgated stories of his and Cory's childhood, looked up and saw his brother standing in the doorway. He broke off in mid-sentence, stood up and walked slowly and purposefully to where Cory was standing. He stopped scant inches from his brother. They stared at each other for a long time and then a slow, quiet smile formed on Todd's lips. He lifted his hand and slowly traced Cory's profile with his fingers. "Your face!" he whispered softly.

Cory slowly smiled and repeated Todd's gesture. "Your face," he repeated. His voice was whisper soft.

Todd's eyes filled with tears and he embraced his brother. "Please forgive me, Cory. I am so sorry for everything."

"There is nothing to forgive, Todd," replied Cory, weeping quietly. He wrapped his arms around his brother and held him close.

"God, I love you," said Todd. He buried his face Cory's neck. "If I should ever lose you, if something were ever to happen to you . . ."

Cory reached up and stroked the back of Todd's head. "You won't lose me, and nothing is going to happen to me," he continued in a whisper. "You are my brother, my lover, my life."

The Phantom, seeing Sean start to rise, moved quickly to his side. He placed his hand on Sean's shoulder and slowly eased him back into his seat. "Leave them be, Sean," he said quietly. "Remember what I told you."

Sean allowed himself to be seated and nodded slowly. "I remember. It's their way."

Cory and Todd continued to hold each other close, not caring what the other cadets thought or did until Chef, who had retreated into the galley, began honking loudly into his well-used handkerchief, and broke the spell.

Cory giggled at the sound of Chef's braying. Todd snickered and pulled away from his brother. "Phantom's shown me a wonderful place, Cory. Later we'll go there, if you like."

Cory nodded. "Why later. I want to be with you now. I need you, now."

"And I need you and I want to be with you," replied Todd. "But we can't right now."

"We have to see The Gunner," said Cory flatly.

Todd nodded. "We owe him an apology, Cory."

Cory grimaced. "I just hope he doesn't start quoting Kipling like he did the last time."

The Gunner was staring morosely at the small pile of Course Reports on his desk and mentally cursing Chef's iron-like stubbornness when he heard a soft tap at his door. He raised his head and scowled. "Come!"

The door opened slowly and first one, then another, blond head appeared. The Twins had come calling.

The Gunner motioned the two boys into the room and was surprised to see that both of them were formally attired in their Number One Blues. He was even more surprised when they stepped into the room and braced, staring straight ahead and waiting for his reaction. He looked at them and nodded. "Carry, On, Chief," he said, looking at Todd.

"Off, Caps!" ordered Todd. In two sharp, fluid motions The Twins removed their round caps and stood motionless, rocklike, their caps flush against their legs. "Permission to speak, please," said Todd his voice firm, calm and devoid of fear.

Wondering what all the formality was about The Gunner nodded.

"Gunnery Chief Arundel, T., and Gunnery Chief Arundel C., wish to apologize for their conduct of this morning . . ."

The Gunner flashed a look at Cory. Usually when the Twins were together they started their Frick and Frack routine. Quite uncharacteristically Cory remained silent, staring at a spot on the bulkhead directly over The Gunner's head.

" . . . Which was unconscionable, unprofessional and a gross dereliction of duty," Todd finished.

The Gunner looked at Cory, who continued to stare at the bulkhead. "Does Gunnery Chief Petty Officer Arundel, C., have anything to add?" asked The Gunner, wondering just what the Twins were up to now.

Cory nodded. "We know that we promised on Texada Island to behave. We also know that you are disappointed with us. Frankly, we have decided that an apology is not enough."

"Oh, you have, have you?" asked The Gunner dryly.

Todd reached into the inside of his jumper and took out a piece of light green coloured paper. He placed if squarely on The Gunner's desk.

As if confronted by some strange and exotic lab specimen, The Gunner looked at the piece of paper. "And this is?"

"A 'Green Sheet', our official request to be returned to Unit," replied Todd. "For cause, namely, fighting, conduct unbecoming a Senior Non-Commissioned Officer, and Conduct Prejudicial to Good Order and Discipline."

The Gunner cocked an eyebrow and stood up. He walked around his desk and then sat on it, facing the Twins. "Rather drastic, don't you think?" he asked softly. Todd did not lose his stony face. "Please, Gunner, Cory and I, we've talked about what we did. We were childish, and we did not set a good example for the other boys, especially the Sea Puppies. We aren't worthy to enter a world of men, not after this morning."

The Gunner shook his head and then patted the desk. "Sit, and don't argue."

The boys sat on the desk on either side of The Gunner. Todd continued to stare straight ahead. Cory hung his head and kept shooting glances at The Gunner out of the corner of his eyes. The Gunner put his arms around each of the boy's shoulders and snickered.

"What am I going to do with you two?" he asked rhetorically. "We all of us know that this is not the last time that you will come mooching in after doing something you should not have done." He gave both boys a slight squeeze. "However, I suppose you're right."

Cory's head jerked up and Todd's jaw dropped. "What . . .?" asked Todd slowly.

"Got your bags packed?" asked The Gunner, a twinkle in his eyes.

"No, uh, not yet," replied Cory.

"Well, be outside the Staff Barracks at 0600 tomorrow. I'll drive you down to Esquimalt and you can take the ferry across to Vancouver."

"You're going to Esquimalt?" Todd shot Cory a questioning look.

Cory shrugged and looked at The Gunner. "Don't you have to be here for the Passing Out Parade?"

"Someone who is no longer a member of the Staff isn't required for the parade," replied The Gunner, almost choking on his words from trying hard not to laugh. "I went to see Number One earlier and I sent in my papers."

Cory almost fell off the desk. "You what? " he shouted. "Of all the bone-headed moves that takes the cake!"

"You can't do that!" yelped Todd. "What about the other boys? What about Phantom? They want you here. WE want you here!"

The Gunner shrugged, a slight smile playing at the corner of his lips. "Boys, I hit you! Remember? While you both are rat bags and guilty of fighting, which is an offence that merits being sent home, I am equally guilty and should be returned to my unit. I can think of at least three charges, not including assault and child abuse that I am guilty of. By hitting you I lost my professionalism."

Cory puffed up like an adder. "How dare you think that?" he demanded loudly. "We were the ones making fools of ourselves."

"Yeah, and we deserved a good smack! I've been wanting to belt Cory for a long time!" agreed Todd with a mischievous grin.

"Drop dead, Todd," snarled Cory. He returned to castigating The Gunner. "Now see here, Gunner, enough is enough. You lost your temper. Fine. I lost my temper. So did Todd. It happens and as you said we'll be on the carpet for it again."

Ignoring Cory's demand for his imminent demise, Todd took up the cudgel. "Cory's right! You're not some machine, and I know how principled you are. That does not mean that you have to be more Catholic than the Pope! Everybody thinks that you did the right thing. Chief Anders would have thrown the book at us. Phantom would have helped him! They both think we got off light and should have been Flogged 'Round The Fleet!"

"That's outlawed, Todd," replied The Gunner, "not that Number One didn't think of it."

"Well, he can think again about letting you go back to the Fleet," growled Cory.

"If I have to I'll go to Number One! I'll . . ."

"We'll both go," said Todd quickly, not wanting Cory to make matters worse. "We'll talk to him, tell him that you hitting us was just a one off."

"Won't do you any good," replied The Gunner. He reached back and picked up the Twins' request to be RTU-ed. "Number One has made his decision and you both know how stubborn he can be. Once his mind is made up, it's made up." He shook his head sadly. "He was very upset, you know. Fighting cannot be condoned." Then he grinned. "Of course he also said that had it been him he would have walloped your butts until they turned as red as a baboon's. He recommended that the next time you two act up I take a razor strop to you."

"I knew there was a sadist lurking under all that gold braid," sniffed Todd. "A razor strop!"

"If it's any consolation, we don't have such an animal anywhere in the ship." He pretended to think a moment. "However, I suppose that Stuart could whip up a rope's end if I asked him."

"Better that than the noose he's always threatening us with," replied Cory with a scowl.

"I am sure that Stuart means nothing by it. He is actually very fond of you. As is Number One."

"He is?" asked Todd, a disbelieving look on his face.

The Gunner nodded. "In the end, after I talked to him, Number One talked to me. Then he did this . . ." The Gunner tore the request form in two and tossed in on his desk. "Nobody's going home, at least not yet."

"You mean you're staying?"

"Yes, and so are you two skates. You've been remitted."

Cory thought a moment. He'd done a lot of things he was not all that proud of, but he was sure that he had never been "remitted." He had his standards, after all. "That doesn't sound . . ."

Todd slapped the back of his brother's head. "Goof!" he snapped. Really, Cory could be most obtuse when he wanted to be. "It means that our sentence has been cancelled. We're no longer on the Defaulters List."

The Gunner frowned. "Little Big Man as well," he said, a hard and disgusted tone in his voice. "He also got his rate back."

"Son-of-a-bitch!" swore Cory.

"But his Course Report stands and he is still out of the Band," qualified The Gunner. He looked at the Twins. "Father has pardoned everybody. No crimes or misdemeanours, no Defaulters to report to the Inspecting Officer tomorrow." He sighed. "It's an old custom to remit the sentences of felons when Royalty comes to call. Father thinks that with the Lieutenant Governor coming tomorrow he had a valid excuse to wipe all the slates clean. You're off the hook, guys."

"You, too?" asked Todd.

"Yes."

Cory whooped and hugged The Gunner. "That's great! Now you can meet Mummy and Papa and . . ." He drew back and gave The Gunner a stern look. "Wait a minute! All this happened when you saw Number One?"

The Gunner nodded.

"And you knew about the remissions?" asked Todd, a dangerous look coming into his eye.

"I did, yes."

"You knew about it when we walked into this office?" continued Cory.

"Ah, well, yes," replied The Gunner warily. There was a look in Cory's eyes that boded ill. "I though that I'd have a little fun, you see and . . ."

"GUNNER!" both boys yelled. Then they leaped on him, pulling him to the deck.

"You are the biggest rat bag I know!" laughed Cory as he pummelled The Gunner's chest.

"You had us halfway to Victoria, Gunner!" Todd punched The Gunner's shoulder. "Hell, I thought the Band was all ready to play the 'Rogue's March' and drum us out." He began laughing and fell on The Gunner. "You are a mean man, Gunner Winslow!" He wrapped his arms around The Gunner's neck and hugged him.

The Gunner tried to stop the Twins, but it was no use. They rolled around, hugging him. "Now guys, come on. You'll get your uniforms all dirty."

"Bugger the uniforms!" grinned Todd. "Just tell us that you're not mad at us."

"I am not mad at you. All is forgiven."

"And we are still your sons?" asked Cory.

"Until the day I really lose my temper and kill the both of you," returned The Gunner, laughing. "You will always be my sons."

They had not heard the door open, and did not see The Phantom standing in the doorway. He turned to Brian, who was behind him. "Looks like the old saying that 'incest is best' is alive and well," he said with a snicker.

"And living in AURORA," added Brian, chuckling deeply.

Embarrassed at being caught playing on the floor like an errant schoolboy, The Gunner quickly leaped to his feet and began brushing the dust from his uniform. "Why Phantom, whatever brings you here?" he asked, trying to keep his tone light.

"I did not come here to roll in the muck with the Twins," replied The Phantom briskly as he entered the office. Then he leered at the Twins. "At least not with their clothes on!" He gestured toward Brian. "You know Petty Officer Venables?"

The Gunner looked at Brian, who was hovering in the doorway. He motioned for the boy to enter. "Of course. Petty Officer of the Guard, which, as of tomorrow, will be called The Queen's Company."

The Phantom, Cory, and Todd stared first at The Gunner, then at Brian, who was beaming with pride, and then back at The Gunner, who nodded. "It's true," he said. "The Lieutenant Governor will make the announcement tomorrow at the parade." He held out his hand. "Congratulations, Brian. It's a great honour and you have only yourself to blame."

Brian shook The Gunner's hand and blushed. "I don't know what to say, I mean, wow!"

"Wow, indeed. Just keep it under your hats, guys," replied The Gunner as he returned to his seat behind the desk. He fixed his gaze on The Phantom. "Now then, Phantom, are you here on a social visit or is there something I should know about?" he asked, all business.

The Phantom nodded. "Brian was in town today and learned something you should hear." He looked at Brian, who shot a glance at the Twins. The Phantom saw his look. "Brian, the Twins are all right. I think they should hear what you have to say."

"We can go," said Todd, moving toward the door.

"No," Brian's voice stopped the Twins. "Maybe you can help. You know this place better than I do, and almost as well as Phantom does."

"Okay, then. We all stay," said The Gunner. Rocking his chair casually onto its back legs The Gunner gestured and continued, "Brian, sit in the chair. The rest, stand or sit, at your pleasure."

Brian sat in the only other chair in the office. The Twins resumed their places at either end of the Gunner's desk while The Phantom chose to remain standing. Brian looked nervously around at the puzzled faces looking at him. He cleared his throat and then spoke. "You guys remember when I was in Comox and had that fight with one of the townies?"

The Twins nodded. They remembered the incident quite well. "Yeah, the jerk called you a faggot," said Todd.

Brian nodded. "Well, I just happened to meet him again in town today. He was pulling up stakes but before he left he told me something very interesting. His name is Logan Hartsfield, by the way, and he lost his jerk status this afternoon."

"Did he now?" asked The Gunner tonelessly. "High praise from the Petty Officer of the Queen's Company, Brian."

"Logan is just a lost soul, Gunner," replied Brian, noting the doubting look in The Gunner's eyes. "He told me a few things about himself and about something that happened here. I believe him."

"And I believe Brian," interjected The Phantom earnestly. "If what Logan told Brian is true, well, a guy would not lie about such things."

"Such things as what?" asked Todd. He carefully straightened his uniform. "Remember, Phantom, we were there when Logan insulted Brian."

"Please, Gunner, guys, hear me out," said Brian. "Nobody is denying that Logan is a street punk, and because he is I can tell you that Logan would only lie if it was to his advantage, if he was going to gain something out of his lying." Brian looked at the Twins. "Why would Logan lie? There would be no reason for him to lie." He shrugged a take it or leave it shrug. "Just listen to what he told me and then make a judgement."

"Seems fair," opined The Gunner judicially. "Go ahead, Brian."

"Well," began Brian, "Logan's car broke down right in front of the cafe where I was sitting. I was having a beer and . . ." The Gunner raised an eyebrow. Cadets were not allowed to drink alcohol, at least not in public. He said nothing however, and motioned for Brian to continue. " . . . I tried to help, but the car was dead so I asked him to have a beer with me," continued Brian. "We got to talking and he kind of lost it. He told me about something that happened here, in AURORA, I think on Monday. He was so upset about what happened that he spewed his guts." Brian grimaced. "Literally!" Shaking his head slightly he continued, his voice low. "Then Logan told me a few things about himself that I wouldn't admit to in a million years."

"It sounds as if you have a very serious affair on your hands," said Cory. "But what has Logan, and his troubles, got to do with us?"

"Because Logan was caught stealing in one of the barracks. A cadet caught him!" Brian sat back and crossed his arms. "A cadet who threatened him with the MPs and then forced him into having sex!"

The Gunner's chair slammed forward, a look of utter disbelief crossing his face. "What did you say?"

"Logan had anal sex with a cadet," replied Brian firmly and with conviction. "I thought about what he told me all the way back to ship. At first I didn't know if I should tell anybody, and then I decided to talk to Phantom about it. He believes Logan."

The Gunner shook his head in disbelief. "This Logan . . . Hearts . . . Hearts-whatever, someone we do not know, someone I have never heard of, told you that he had sex, anal sex, with a cadet?"

Brian stuck out his chin stubbornly. "I know it's hard to believe, but that's what he said. He was in one of messes, trying to steal something, when a short, blond-haired kid discovered him. Logan did not go into detail, but from what he told me I managed to piece together a picture."

"Which is?" asked Todd. He did not want to believe that one of the cadets, many of whom he had known and liked for years, would do such a thing."

"Logan was in a mess. A kid found him, felt him up and got him hard. I asked him if it had been an instructor, or an officer. Logan was real emphatic. He said it was a kid! Not an adult. He got upset and pretty mad, and said that the kid was sitting on his dick, and bouncing up and down!"

"Sounds like a good old fashioned fuck to me," offered Cory, trying to be helpful. This earned him an angry glare from Brian. "Well, it does," Cory insisted. "And I for one can't see it. It's just too far-fetched if you ask me."

"It's too far-fetched not to believe," replied The Phantom. He placed his hand on Brian's shoulder. "Brian has no reason to make up such a tale, and I believe that Logan would gain nothing by spinning such a dip to Brian." He looked at The Gunner. "I believe Logan fucked a cadet and I also believe I know who that cadet was!"

"The evidence all fits, Gunner," interjected Brian. "The time frame, the place. It all fits."

The Gunner rubbed his chin reflectively. "All right, let's have it."

Brian glanced briefly at The Phantom, who nodded slightly, encouraging the young gunner to go on. Brian squared his shoulders and looked evenly at The Gunner as he said, "Logan told me that he was in one of the barracks, rummaging through the lockers. When I asked when this was, and where, he told me that the other cadets were marching around and firing off cannons."

"We did that this morning," supplied Todd. "We fired a salute for Phantom."

"True, but Logan was not here this morning," Brian pointed out. "He was fired from his job this morning when he refused to return to work in AURORA."

"Then that leaves . . . yesterday!" Cory looked at Todd. "We practiced for this morning's parade yesterday morning."

"It was yesterday morning," said The Phantom. "No doubt about it."

"All right, Logan was here Monday morning, and was in one of the barracks, looking to steal something," said The Gunner. "The question is, which barracks?" "Logan said that there were only ten lockers. There are only two barracks that house ten cadets, the Gunroom, and the Petty Officers Mess."

"All right, which one of the two?" asked Todd. "If we are going to accuse someone of a sex crime, we have to be sure of what we are doing."

"Do you wear a spangled jock strap?" asked Brian as he looked directly at Todd. "Does Cory, or Tyler, Val, or Harry?"

"I most certainly do not!" snapped Todd. Then a look of revelation came over his face. "Jesus! But I know who does!" He looked at Cory. "You remember the night of our Wet Down and Chef had Matt fetch Mike from his mess. Do you remember what Mike was wearing?"

Cory thought and then nodded. "It wasn't a jock strap, it was a posing strap. Chef almost had a baby when he saw it."

Todd turned to Brian. "Mike wore all sorts of strange posing straps. Logan found one of his posing straps!"

"Which is exactly what Phantom thought," replied Brian. "Logan found it in a footlocker in the barracks he was trying to loot."

"The Petty Officers Mess!" gasped Cory. "Logan was in the Petty Officers Mess!"

The Phantom nodded. "And so was someone else." He looked pointedly at the Twins. "Would either of you care to guess just who that someone else might be?"

"No!" the Twins said in unison. "It couldn't be."

"Phantom thinks it was Paul Greene," replied Brian. "So do I."

Cory nodded. "I can believe it was him. He's done nothing but hide out in the Dockyard since we sent him to Coventry."

"As Brian says, all the evidence points to Paul Greene," began The Phantom. "Logan's description of the cadet was that he was short, had blond hair and steely eyes, a description that coincidentally just happens to fit Little Big Man, who wasn't on parade, and he wasn't in the Dockyard. When Paul reported for work Sean Anders told him to bugger off and go on parade. I know because I asked Sean." He turned to Cory. "He'll be dropping by later tonight, Cory, after he's set the Duty Watch."

Cory nodded and looked at Todd, who grinned. Cory gave him a look, then turned back to the conversation at hand. "We suspected that Paul was gay, Brian. We did not suspect that he would do anything such as you describe."

"Nor are we sure that it was Paul Greene," said The Gunner. He looked at the stunned faces of the cadets and continued. "Paul Greene is not the only blond-haired cadet on board. Hell, sometimes it seems that half the cadets are skinny, short and blond-haired." Before the boys could start yelling their protests he held up both hands. "We must also remember that we are hearing a very serious accusation second hand. Before we accuse anyone of sexual assault let's make sure that we have the right . . . kid." He reached behind him and found a thick file folder of Routine Orders. He began leafing through the papers. "Now then, on Monday morning, only the Duty watch was excused drill and parade training." "Sub-Lieutenant Eddy was the Duty Officer. He's out because he's an officer," supplied Todd. He looked at Brian. "Logan was sure that the person who did him was not an officer or an instructor?"

Brian nodded. "He was sure. He said that he was not an 'old dude'." He looked at The Gunner. "No offence, Gunner."

"None taken," replied The Gunner with a slight smile. He seemed to think awhile. "Dave is only nineteen, and while to me he's a 'kid' to Logan he would be an adult, an 'old dude'."

"Dave also has light BROWN hair, and he wears braces on his teeth," supplied The Phantom. "The first thing that you notice when he opens his mouth is his railroad tracks!"

"Kyle also has dark hair. He was also in front of the Guard," said Brian.

"No "H" was in front of the Boatswains Platoon and Wally Higman had the Sea Puppies," The Gunner answered absently. He glanced at Brian. "This Logan person was adamant that whoever molested him was young?"

Brian nodded. "He kept calling him a kid. Logan might be street punk but he knows the difference between an adult and a kid!"

"Which leaves out the Commanding Officer and the Executive Officer."

"It wasn't an officer," said The Phantom firmly. "As much as we all hate the thought, it was a cadet."

"All right, an officer was not involved." The Gunner returned to reading the Duty Rosters. "So, let's see who was doing what." His eyes ran down the typed page. "Thumper was the Duty Chief," said The Gunner. "Hardly short, thin and blond. And . . ." he consulted the file folder. "Ordinary Cadet Evan Courcy was Duty Quartermaster."

"Blond, but tall. He and Thumper would have been at the Gatehouse. They had the First Watch," put in Cory. "Dave's a nice guy and he takes his duties seriously. He would have made sure that the Watch on Deck was where it was supposed to be." "All right, no one from the Duty Watch." The Gunner looked at Todd. "A gunner?" Todd shook his head. "No. They were all on parade, manning the guns. No one was missing."

"And nobody was missing from the galley," said The Phantom. "I was there setting up for the Dinner. Joey and Randy were there all morning. So was Sandro, who is stocky and has dark hair. He's also not circumcised."

The Gunner's eyebrows arched. "I beg your pardon?"

Brian coloured slightly. "Logan specifically mentioned that the kid had what he described as a 'cut' dick," he said. He looked at the Twins for confirmation.

"A most distasteful term," sniffed Cory with a sneer. "Paul is circumcised."

"And a detail Logan would hardly miss if he was having sex with Sandro," observed Todd. He raised an eyebrow and looked at The Gunner. "No matter how you slice it, more and more the finger of fate is pointing at a cadet."

"The Litany?" asked The Gunner.

"Helping with the prep for the dinner. They were all laughing and giggling because they'd gotten out of the parade practice. They were right under Chef's nose all morning."

The Gunner scratched his head, thinking, trying to be as fair and analytical as possible. "Doc and I were at the side of the parade, on the roadway. I don't recall any strangers skulking about, and I know that there was no one from Base, or civilian contractors around . . . but I did see the gash truck."

"That was Logan," provided Brian.

The Gunner nodded and glanced at Todd again. "The Dockyard people?"

"None of them get further south than the parade square," said Todd. "I doubt it was any of them."

"So do I," agreed The Gunner. "There looked to be five full crews on parade, with their officers."

"And if you knew Iron Ass Anders as I do you'd know that his people would be where they were supposed to be," advised Cory. "The only people from the YAGs not on parade would have been the Dockyard Guard - one Petty Officer and two ratings. Eion Reilly was Petty Officer of the Guard. He's short and has dark hair. He is also very responsible. I can find out who else was duty that day, if you wish, but . . ." Cory shook his head. "I think we can eliminate the Sandy Bottom sailors."

Suddenly Brian sat up and interjected, "Oh, and one more thing: Logan said that the kid was wearing only tighty-whiteys. The kid was coming from the heads in his undies and there are two messes with their own heads and washplaces, two messes with direct access to the heads."

The Phantom nodded. "The Gunroom, and the Petty Officers Mess. We know that the Gunroom was empty so that means that the incident took place in . . ."

The Gunner's upraised hand stifled further speculation. He rubbed his face in his hands and then looked up at the cadets, a pained expression in his eyes. "As much as I hate to agree with you two, I must. The only cadet who cannot be accounted for, and who cannot be definitely placed on the parade square yesterday morning is Paul Greene. He is well known for shirking and he was, by Chief Anders' own words, sent out of the Dockyard and told to go on parade. The description that Logan gave of the mess, coupled with his discovery of the posing strap means that the crime, if that is what it was, was committed in the Petty Officers Mess, where Paul just happens to live. It all makes sense."

The Phantom's look matched The Gunner's. "We have to think it's all true, Gunner. It was Paul."

The Twins nodded in agreement. "It was Paul," said Todd.

They all lapsed into silence, the shock finally taking its toll. They all knew that Paul Greene was evil but none of them wanted to believe that he was as low as they had always contended him to be.

"There is also this," said Brian presently. He reached into the pocket of the shorts he was wearing and pulled out his wallet. "Just before he got on the bus for Victoria, Logan threw this away." He pulled out the banknote that he'd found in the garbage can and showed it to the others.

The Gunner reached out his hand and Brian gave him the note. "This has some significance, I take it?" The Gunner asked as he studied the note.

"It must have, at least to Logan." Brian shook his head. "Before we went to the bus terminal he said that the town folks considered him to be trailer trash, somebody to be used, and then tossed aside, after they threw a twenty at him to keep his mouth shut."

"He's burned his boats," said The Phantom quietly. He reached out and took the $20 bill from The Gunner. As he handed the note back to Brian he said, "This was his last boat. He's cut his ties with Comox. He won't be back."

"Did you know him?" asked Cory. "You are from the same town . . ."

"I know of him," replied The Phantom. "He was a year ahead of me in school and I didn't know him very well. He was from the trailer park at the north end of town. It's a pretty grim place."

"He gave me the impression that people have been down on him all his life," put in Brian. "He didn't seem to have had a happy life."

"He didn't," said The Phantom. "His father is a lush and Logan more or less raised himself. His mother ran off when he was just a kid. He was always a wild one. Running with the wrong crowd, always in trouble with the cops."

"He mentioned a cop," said Brian. "A guy named Jensen. Logan said that the cop hated him."

The Phantom snorted. "Harry Jensen hates everybody. He's quick with his fists when he thinks he can get away with it. Logan and him had a couple of run-ins."

The Gunner remained quiet, listening to the two boys. The twenty-dollar bill bothered him. He thought and then looked at the cadets. "Paul Greene forced Logan to have sex with him, used him and then threw a twenty at him. He treated the boy as if he was some whore!"

The Phantom knew that few of the cadets paid any attention to the restriction on the amount of pocket money they could have. He also knew that they all had stashes squirreled away somewhere in their lockers or down their undies. Paul Greene was no exception. "Paul has money, all the cadets do," he said, and then gestured firmly. "Little Big Man paid him off. Logan threw away the money because it reminded him of what had happened to him."

"Twenty bucks is a lot of money," said Todd. "If he was leaving town he'd need every penny he had. A guy just doesn't throw away money unless . . ."

"Jesus!" Cory turned to Brian. "Logan wasn't planning on doing anything was he?" he asked, a worried look on his face. "He was all right when he got on the bus?"

Brian nodded. "He was fine and no, I don't think he was planning on doing anything to himself." He coloured and looked embarrassed.

"What?" asked The Phantom.

"Logan mentioned Harkness Bay," Brian replied, looking directly at The Phantom.

The Phantom's eyes narrowed. He knew about Harkness Bay. He thought a moment. "Logan went to Harkness Bay and was paid for his services. He was paid by Little Big Man as well but there was a difference." He looked around the circle of faces. "The men at Harkness Bay did not treat him as a whore. Paul Greene did. That's why Logan threw away the money."

Brian nodded his understanding. "Well, that's one less worry, then." He saw the questioning looks on the faces of the other boys. "Logan won't be selling his body down in Victoria. I don't know what he'll do, but he won't be peddling his dick." He grinned slightly. "Maybe he'll join up!"

"The Navy?" asked Todd, wondering just what was going on. Brian was not gay, at least so far as Todd knew, and he wondered just what this sudden infatuation with Logan was all about.

Cory knew. He smiled at Brian because he knew that the boy was in love. He saw the way Brian's eyes glittered and the way he smiled that special smile every time Logan's name was mentioned. Suddenly, Cory stiffened as he realized that he had seen that look before. He had seen that look in Sean's eyes and he knew that tonight he would speak with Sean.

The Phantom also knew. Brian's face took on a brilliance that brooked no denial. The young gunner was infatuated with Logan!

Brian was speaking again. " . . . So after I mentioned that I was thinking about joining the Army, Logan said that his dad had left recruiting brochures all over the place and maybe it was not a bad idea. I think he just might join the Army."

The Gunner was secretly chuckling, for he recognized what was really motivating Brian's concern for this stranger from Comox. For whatever reason Brian had been gob smacked, or bitten on the ass by the love bug - The Gunner wasn't sure which phrase was appropriate - and had obviously fallen hard. He cast searching glances at Phantom, whose face was a picture of studied innocence but whose green eyes sparkled with hidden laughter, and at Cory, who was smirking knowingly. Then The Gunner glanced at Todd, who suddenly started and gave Brian a searching look. "Ah," thought The Gunner, "Todd has twigged. So now we all know, except Brian." He cleared his throat. "Brian, the information you gave me is very important. In the right hands, it can be most helpful."

"The right hands?" Brian, who knew nothing of the investigation of the Greenes by Special Branch, or of the Twins and The Phantom's part in exposing Little Big Man, was puzzled. "What hands? You're not going to call in the MPs, are you?" His face grew hard. "I don't want Logan to get into trouble!"

Cory smirked at The Phantom, who smirked back. Yeppers, Brian was in love.

"Brian, there is an organization, of which I am a part," began The Gunner carefully, "and of which Phantom will soon be a part . . ." Cory stared at The Phantom, puzzled. Todd, who was aware of The Phantom's coming involvement with the Order, remained stoical. The Gunner ignored their stares and continued. "We will be able to use this information in a most, shall we say, constructive way. I assure you that Logan will not be harmed in any way. He will not be contacted unless it is necessary. All of what you have told me will be filed away for future reference."

"I don't understand," replied Brian. "And what about Little Big Man? I don't really care what happens to him, but he can't go around raping people!"

"I think it was a case more of extortion than rape," said The Gunner smoothly. "Paul wanted Logan's, um, services."

"Paul Greene is an evil little toad!" retorted Brian fiercely. "If it's the last thing I do I'll make him . . . I'll make him suck his own dick! I swear it, Gunner, that little bastard ran around here calling Todd and Cory the vilest names he could think of. He called Phantom a faggot! He said that Tyler and Val were molesting the little ones! I heard him, I heard every name he's called every cadet! He's a son of a bitch that needs to be stopped!" Brian's face was suffused with anger. "God damn, God damn, Gunner, he said that the only reason you agreed to be posted here was because you're . . ."

"Gay?" supplied The Gunner.

Brian nodded. "He said that, and I wish I'd punched his lights out for it! He even called his brother a queer!"

"Queer bait, actually," corrected The Gunner softly. "I am aware of young Mister Greene's accusations." He shrugged. "Let me just say that for the time being . . ." he shot at glance at The Phantom. " . . . that Paul will not be bothering anybody." He rubbed his chin and continued. "As I see it, Paul Greene will need to be reminded from time to time of his, shall we say, adventures here in AURORA and, if necessary he will be reminded that there are people who know his dirty little secret."

Somewhat mollified, Brian nodded. "I don't care what happens to Paul. Fuck him, big time!" He looked pleadingly at The Gunner. "I just don't want Logan hurt. He's had enough hurt in his life!"

The Gunner nodded and reached for the telephone. "Well, Brian, I cannot guarantee that Logan will never be hurt again. That's not my part ship." He began to dial a number. "I can, however, say that I have the means to ensure that his path is made a little smoother. We owe him for telling you about what happened."

He held the receiver to his ear and heard the distinctive double ring of the telephone at the other end of the wire. "Pax tecum, frater," he said when the connection was made.

Major Meinertzhagen stretched and took a deep puff of his Upmann cigar. He expelled a long, swirling cloud of fragrant white smoke and sighed contentedly. There was no better way to end a long day of troubles and woes than with a good cigar, a snifter of Comet Year brandy and a dab or two of Beluga. From the wireless the notes of a Chopin Etude soared majestically, filling the small room with the Maestro's glorious music. The Major sighed happily and lifted the snifter of brandy to his nose, enjoying the aroma of the liqueur, an aroma that came only with age.

It had been a taxing, stressful day. The depredations of Hunter, Simpson and Willoughby were just being revealed to Michael. Louis Arundel, a fine man for all that he was uncle to the obnoxious Twins, had delved deep into the mess and used all of his forensic skill, and not a few favours, to discover just how much of the Order's funds was missing. After more than four months of intensive investigation Louis had unearthed a veritable cesspool of malfeasance and theft. Michael, his face darkening with every word of Louis's report, was livid. Not that it showed, of course. Michael never showed emotion of any kind. But the Major knew. It was in Michael's eyes. The windows of Michael's soul were awash with the fires of unquenchable rage.

The Major shuddered at the thought of Michael's eyes. Messrs Hunter and Co. would pay dearly for their looting of the Order's treasury. How dearly did not bear thinking about.

Pushing aside all thoughts of the day the Major settled back. He would have his cigar, sip his brandy and enjoy the music. Nothing could break . . . The telephone jingled and the Major glared at the black instrument. Damnation! Could a man have no peace? And who would call him on this line? Only the most trusted members of the Order knew the number. The telephone jingled again, the double, sharp rings demanding attention. With a growl the Major picked up the receiver. "Pax tecum, frater," said the voice the Major recognized so well.

"Et cum spiritu tuo," replied the Major automatically. "You are well Sir Stephen?"

"I am well," replied The Gunner. "And I apologize for disturbing you."

"Not at all," said the Major, not meaning a word of it.

The Gunner could hear the edge in the Major's voice and tried to smooth the waters as much as he could. "No, I am sorry for disturbing you, Major, but I have received some information and I want you to do me a favour."

The Major made a face. A favour for the Chancellor, indeed. The Chancellor did not ask favours. He made requests and it was the Major's job to make bloody sure that the requests were fulfilled. "What is it?"

"I will send you a report about a mutual interest to the Order and Rick Maslen. The report is to be sent to Rick by the most secure method we have. He will know what to do."

"Very good."

"I also want you to send Laurence, or Noel, to the bus terminal . . ."

"Laurence is not here, nor is Noel," interrupted the Major. "Michael has them meeting some very important guests at the airport."

"Damn."

"Perhaps if you told me what is needed I might assign the right person to the job."

The Gunner frowned slightly, feeling somewhat stupid. The Major was right, of course, and would need as much information as could be given him to perform the task The Gunner asked of him. He cleared his throat and began to speak clearly and carefully. "On the bus from Comox, which left at . . ." He looked inquiringly at Brian who supplied the departure time of the bus. "The bus left at 1630. It should be arriving in Victoria in about half an hour, perhaps three-quarters of an hour. On it there is a young man named Logan Hartsfield. I want him to be, shall we say, assisted?"

The Major was about to ask if the young man should be "assisted" into the bay, but thought better of it. "In what way, if one is permitted to ask?"

The Gunner smiled at the Major's droll question. "Perhaps assisted is not exactly correct. I would like it if he were merely observed. Nothing is to be done to Logan and no harm is to come to him. He is a country boy and I know the types that hang around bus terminals."

"Unsavoury characters," agreed the Major. "They prey on unsuspecting young men. It shall be done."

"Good. If the young man is approached by any of those 'unsavoury characters' they are to be persuaded that it is in their best interest to leave him alone."

"And afterward?"

"He has little money so he will more than likely find a room at the Y. I would like a watching brief, Major. No extraordinary measures are required."

"You merely wish us to, as the Americans say, keep tabs on him?"

"Yes," replied The Gunner. He looked at Brian who was eying him warily, no doubt wondering just what was going on. He smiled thinly and continued with his instructions. "There is a chance, perhaps remote, that the boy will visit the local recruiting office. If that happens notify Rick at once."

The Major, who had been making notes, nodded. "This boy is important to you, Chancellor?"

"Let us just say that he is important to a Well Beloved Cousin." In the language of the Order this told the Major that a friend was involved. He might be gay, or he might not be. It did not matter.

"Is the Proctor to be notified?"

The Gunner thought before he answered. Brian, while on his list of candidates, was still far too young to be visited by the Proctor. Logan, if he were gay, or at least sympathetic to gays, could be approached. If he were at all interested he would be a useful, and welcome, addition to the ranks of the Knights. However, there was the little matter of the Proctor, who was planning on either doing a bunk to England, or not doing a bunk. "Let me think on that a few days. There is a small problem with the Proctor."

The Phantom raised an eyebrow but said nothing. He did not have to. The look on his face and the cocked eyebrow told The Gunner everything he needed to know.

" . . . We will keep a watching brief, then," the Major was saying. "We also have a small problem."

"What is that?"

"Chancellor, I have no way to recognise the subject! A description might prove helpful, don't you think?" replied the Major in a dry, almost mocking tone.

The Gunner chuckled at his stupidity. "I'll let you speak to Brian Venables. He is the one who first brought the information to me." He handed the receiver to Brian. "Tell the gentleman at the other end of the line what Logan looks like. Every detail will help us find him."

Looking somewhat lost, Brian took the telephone receiver and held it up to his ear. "Hello?" he all but whispered.

"Don't be shy, lad," boomed the Major. "Speak up."

Brian gulped and all but sat to attention. "Yes, sir. Well, his name is Logan Hartsfield. He's from Comox and he's . . ."

"I am aware of that! His description, boy! His description!" growled the Major in exasperation. Really, he must make a point of discussing with the Chancellor the fine points of delivering an intelligence report!

Brian winced at the Major's abrasive tone. "Sorry, sir. Sir, Logan is about six feet tall. He has a slim build and black hair, which he keeps slicked back on the sides but it's curly on top. He has brown eyes, and . . ." Brian had to stop because behind him the Twins were trying hard not to laugh. He realized that he was breathing heavily and almost gushing. He cleared his throat. "Logan has a tattoo, on his right chest, of a Spanish galleon."

The Major, for once momentarily speechless, did not ask how Brian happened to know about tattoos. "Best not to go there," he thought as he recovered quickly. "And he was wearing?" He prodded.

Brian thought a moment, and then remembered. "He was wearing a white T-shirt, tight, with the sleeves rolled up, a pair of black jeans, low on the waist, and shit-kicker boots."

"I beg your pardon"

"Oh, sorry, sir. Square-toed boots, motorcycle boots, I think, with a strap across the instep."

"Good lad. We'll find him for you. And young man?"

"Sir?"

"Try not to wear your heart on your sleeve. It would never do in the Airborne Regiment, you know."

Brian's jaw dropped. Now how in the hell did this guy know that he wanted to join the Airborne? "Uh, I'll try not to, sir. Thank you, sir. And sir, please find him." He quickly handed the receiver back to The Gunner, an awed look on his face.

"The lad is infatuated, Sir Stephen. We'll do our best and if I might make yet another suggestion, have the Proctor speak to the boy. He sounds promising."

"I will speak to him first, I think," replied The Gunner. "Thank you, Major. I appreciate your help. Vade in pacem, et Dominus sit tecum, frater." He hung up the telephone and looked at Brian, then at the Twins. "Make yourselves comfortable, gentlemen."

When the three cadets, their minds whirling with what The Gunner had told them, left the office, The Phantom turned to his lover and grinned. "Are you sure that the Order is ready for the Twins? And isn't Brian a touch too young?"

"The Order has managed to survive quite well, and against more formidable friends than Todd and Cory. As for Brian, he's been given something to think about. He's safe for another two years or so." He yawned and stretched. "Damn, I'm tired. I'd like nothing more than to go home, have a good hot bath and snuggle up to a certain . . ."

"Nope," said The Phantom shaking his head.

"Nope? What do you mean, 'Nope'?"

"You, my dear, sweet, loveable man, are going to spend the night with Chef." He leaned against the seated Gunner and then bent down. He kissed his lover. "I am spending the night here and you are going to kiss and make up with Chef."

The Gunner gave The Phantom a dirty look. "What are you talking about, as if I didn't know?"

The Phantom snickered. "Chef needs a shoulder to cry on. Well, not cry on, but you're his best friend. He's going to do something and he needs you to say that you understand and that you're with him all the way."

"Damn it, Phantom, Chef is throwing away something that comes to few people. He's devoted his entire life to the Navy, to the Order, and now to the cadets. He needs a rest from it all! The Order can get along without him for a few years. And so can Ray."

The Phantom slumped in the other chair and shook his head. "That may be true, Gunner. But Chef cannot get along without Ray. Chef is a lonely man who has suddenly discovered what it's like to love someone. Not the love that you and I have, but the true love a father has for a son. Ray is his spiritual son, just as the Twins are your spiritual sons."

"Are you seventeen or seventy?" asked The Gunner with a wry face.

"You know what I'm talking about, Stevie," replied The Phantom, rising. "Chef is not going to England and he needs someone to talk to. An adult, not a kid." He fixed his gaze on The Gunner. "Have you ever just sat down and let Chef talk? Not just spinning a dip, but really talking?"

No, I never have," said The Gunner, a thoughtful look on his face. "He never seemed to be the type to want to talk."

"Well, he is. He needs you, Stevie. Be the friend that I know you are. Listen to him."

"What about you?"

"Oh, I'll stay here. The galley needs a good scrub out and I can find things to keep me busy." The Phantom grinned again and then leaned forward. "You behave yourself, hear?"

The Gunner laughed until his sides ached. "Dear God, Phantom . . ." was all he managed to say.

The Twins returned to the Gunroom, uncharacteristically quiet. They changed into night clothing and straightened their lockers. They were so quiet that Harry thought that they were ill.

At 2030 Dave Eddy, with Tyler and Val in tow, came through on Rounds, did a quick inspection and carried on into the Petty Officers Mess. Harry offered to buy Cokes in the canteen but the Twins refused politely, although Cory did think that it was good of Harry to make the offer, seeing as how what little money the big moose had he had borrowed from them in the first place! Harry shrugged and went off to the canteen to wreak havoc on the Sea Puppies.

The Twins sat on their bunks, enjoying the quiet of the Gunroom. Both Todd and Cory had a lot to think about. Cory's sense of honour would not allow him to accept gracefully a remission of his punishment. What made Cory feel even guiltier was The Gunner's sending in his papers, and while Number One had refused to send the man down, and The Gunner had torn up their Green Sheets, Cory's soul was troubled.

For Todd, the startling revelation about Little Big Man raping Logan had been more and more disturbing to him. In a strange way, Todd felt guilty. What would have happened, he wondered, if Cory and he had managed to talk Phantom out of going to the Petty Officers Mess, of doing . . .? Todd asked himself if what The Phantom had done, and what they had colluded in, had caused the embers that smouldered deep within Little Big Man's soul to grow into an unquenchable fire of lust. He also asked himself if they had managed to stop Phantom, would they have only delayed the inevitable, would those fires have exploded eventually? He could not help thinking that . . . "I can't help wondering how much we contributed to Paul doing what he did," Todd said suddenly, verbalizing his doubts.

"We had nothing to do with it," replied Cory sharply. "Paul is a queer as a nine bob note. We didn't make him that way and there was no way that we could have known that he has a streak of sadism in him."

"That's true. But, Cory we did talk Phantom into . . ."

"We talked Phantom into nothing. He did what he did to prove a point, namely, that Paul Greene was gay, wanted to be gay, and enjoyed being gay. By molesting Logan, Paul has only proven further that what we thought of him was true. Now that we know his true nature, we can defend ourselves and our friends against him." He gave Todd a steely look. "Paul Greene is the type of person who will use anything he can use against us. What he did to Logan proves to me that we have a very formidable enemy against us, and our brothers."

"He has some very glaring chinks in his armour," Todd pointed out.

"Which can be used against him." Cory returned maliciously. "If not by us, certainly by Special Branch, and more than likely, the Order."

Todd lay back on his elbows. He nodded his understanding. "What better way to infiltrate an organization that to gain an edge with one of its members. Hell, played the right way, Special Branch or the Order would know every move those Nazi wannabes made!"

"Precisely! Paul Greene has nothing except that bunch of nuts his father and he belong to. He is not about to jeopardize his position, or his future in the so-called Aryan Brotherhood. If he's confronted with the information Brian gave us, he'll play ball."

"Blackmailed, you mean," said Todd flatly.

Cory shrugged. "It works. We blackmailed Paul. Why wouldn't the Order, or Special Branch? We blackmailed him and he backed off. If the Order is as prescient as I think it is, they will take steps. Paul Greene could be the vehicle that brings the Aryan Brotherhood crashing down."

"Infiltrate, learn, then destroy," summed up Todd, feeling marginally better.

"Yes."

"What did you think about the Order?"

Cory scratched his ear and nodded. "I think we should ask to join. Let's be honest, Todd. We're gay. We've got one strike against us so far as the rest of the world is concerned. We have hopes, and dreams, and the world will try to deny us those hopes and dreams. The Gunner's possible hyperbole aside, I think that the Order will help us, and other gays, to fight for our hopes, to gain our dreams."

"Do you think we should talk to Papa about it?" asked Todd. "He's a member, you know."

Cory nodded. "I've seen his ring. Until today I didn't know what the ring represented. I think that we should get his perspective on the Order."

Todd nodded. "Tomorrow. We'll bring him back here and ask him to tell us what he thinks."

Cory agreed. "Tomorrow, then." He cocked his head and gave Todd a quizzical look. "There's something else, though, that's been bothering me. I know you'll think me foolish, but Todd, I don't feel right about this remission thing. Not that I'm sorry we're no longer confined to barracks, but well, it just doesn't seem right. We fucked up."

"It doesn't seem . . . honourable, does it? We fight, we cause all sorts of trouble, and we get off." Todd shrugged. "I don't see what we can do about it. The Gunner would not appreciate sack cloth and ashes."

"Well, there's the banyan tomorrow night. We could stay here," suggested Cory.

"We would have been confined here anyway, Cory. That hardly makes up for a punishment." He went to his locker and pulled out the small, three-ringed binder he used as his accounts ledger. He opened the book and, paying little attention to what Cory was doing, began to balance the accounts.

Cory glanced at Todd and smiled fondly at his brother. Todd and his accounts! Todd knew to the penny just how much money they had squirreled away. As Cory watched, Todd ran his finger down a row of columns, adding them in his head. Once again Cory smiled. Unlike so many of their friends Todd did not have to strip naked to count to twenty-one. "How are we doing?" he asked.

Todd looked up. "Well, once all the money is in from Stuart and Steve, and after paying for the T-shirts, and repaying Phantom what we owe him, we have exactly $456.23 in the kitty." He grinned. "Enough for a car!"

"I owe Phantom fifty bucks," said Cory. "He loaned me the money when I went into town today."

Todd shrugged the money away. He had loaned Harry the last of their cash reserves so there was not much he could say about his brother borrowing money from The Phantom. "We still have enough for a car. I am so tired of riding that bloody bus to school every day."

"We'll have to get it by Papa," reminded Cory. He stood up and walked toward the corridor. "It can't be anything fancy."

Todd nodded and returned to his accounts. "As long as it runs and gets us where we want to go," he said absently, not paying attention to what his brother was doing. He became vaguely aware of a loud clattering and looked up. Cory was pulling a scrubbing bucket into the Gunroom. "What are you doing?" he asked, astonished.

"I'm going to scrub this place out."

"Why? It's clean, and Night Rounds are over."

"The deck needs doing. I'm going to do it."

"Cory, that's for people under punishment. We're . . ." He realized why Cory was busily pushing aside Fred's bunk. He also realised that they would not be going to the banyan tomorrow night. He closed his ledger and stood up, stripping off his gunshirt as he did so. "We'll both do it," he said quietly.

****** Stripped down to their white boxers the Twins set to work. They moved all of the bunks to the far end of the Gunroom and prepared to scrub and wax the deck. They were debating moving the lockers when Chris and Jon came in.

"What the . . .? Chris looked at the Twins and then at Jon. "Are we interrupting something?" he asked. "And why are you wearing only your underpants?"

"We're cleaning, what else?" replied Cory.

"Why?" asked Jon.

"Because we want to!" replied the Twins in unison.

Jon shrugged and reached for the waistband of his bells. He slipped them down, revealing his white briefs. "Come on, Chris," he said. "They're right. This place is a mess."

"Hey, no," said Todd. "We're under punishment, not you guys."

"Shut up, Todd," said Chris as he stripped down to his dark blue boxers. "We live here, too. And you're not under punishment. Father forgave you all your sins."

"It's a matter of honour, Chris," said Todd.

"You mean it's the honourable thing to do, to clean this place?" Jon shook his head. The Twins!

"Yes. We're supposed to be under punishment. It would not be honourable to just sit back and accept remission. We deserve a punishment." Todd waved his arm around the Gunroom. "Cleaning this place is our punishment."

"And not going to the banyan tomorrow night," supplied Cory.

Chris rolled his eyes. He would have accepted the situation and enjoyed himself. But not the Twins. He gave Jon a glance, who nodded. "We'll help, then," said Chris.

The Twins grinned at their friends and all four boys began moving lockers. When that was done they scrubbed the deck and sat at the mess table, waiting for the deck to dry. Tyler came in, took one look at the organized shambles and retreated to his mess.

Cory saw Tyler sidle into his cabin and cocked his head. "You know, this place is not all that bad. What is bad is the Chiefs' Mess."

"I'm not surprised," replied Todd enigmatically. "Not after what went on in there earlier, he added mentally."

"You want to clean the Chiefs' Mess?" asked Jon. He reached down and adjusted his package. "Jesus, we stink."

"So shower." Chris repeated Jon's gesture. "Mind, you do have a point. We really worked up a sweat!"

"We'll all shower once we've finished," ordered Todd. He stood up. "Do we have any gas masks?"

Laughing, the boys moved the bunks in the Gunroom back, straightened the lockers and scrubbed the mess table. Then, en masse, they headed for the Chiefs' Mess.

Tyler was lying on his bunk, wearing only his tighty-whiteys, and had one arm draped across his eyes. Today had been a bitch. Not only were there Year End Reports to be finished, but also the Course Reports had to be examined and signed off. There were also the seemingly endless details connected with tomorrow's parade that had to be attended to. He was knackered and wanted nothing more than to hold Val in his arms and sleep. He heard the door open and thought that Val had returned. A smile broke his face and he lowered his arm. His smile turned to a frown when he saw the four boys, all in their underpants, staring back at him. "Don't you clowns ever knock?" he snarled.

"No," replied Todd. "Get up."

"What?"

"Get up. We're going to get the stink out." He walked to the window and opened it. "This place is rank!"

Tyler sniffed tentatively, then his nose wrinkled at the stench that permeated the small cabin. Jesus, this place was bad. He knew that he and Val had gone at it hot and heavy, but that was last night and the smell didn't linger that long, did it? He had little chance to linger on his thoughts for Todd was issuing orders. "Jon, you and Chris carry the bunks out and put the mattresses in the yard. They could use a good airing. Cory, get the scrubbing brushes and the bucket. Use plenty of Lysol. Tyler, would you please get your ass up and go get some clean sheets?" Using just his fingers Todd began to strip Val's bunk. He could see the stains on the sheets and wondered briefly if Val knew what had been going on in his bed a few hours ago.

Tyler, laughing quietly, allowed Todd to command. He went off to get the linen and the others began clearing out the small cabin. As they were working The Phantom, with Matt, came into the barracks. After listening to a brief explanation as to why they were scrubbing the deck in the Chiefs' Mess, The Phantom followed the lead of the Twins and stripped down to his white boxers. Not to be outdone, Matt dropped his shorts and set to work cleaning the window, scrubbing industriously and giving anyone who happened to wander into the barracks yard a fine view of his small basket hidden under his tighty-whiteys. When the window was as clean as he could make it he turned to, helping the other cadets empty the Chiefs Mess completely of everything but the lockers, which were bolted to the deck and could not be moved.

The work proceeded quickly with all seven boys working up a sweat. Matt could not help but notice the odd bits and pieces of flesh that were exposed as the other boys moved beds, scrubbed the deck, folded dirty linen and began to make the Chiefs Mess presentable again.

It took them the better part of two hours but they did it and when the mess was back to normal, and cleaner than it had been in years, they returned to the Gunroom.

They were a smelly, sweating, and dirt-streaked group assembled around the Gunroom table. Matt's white underpants had turned grey and were soaked through, as were Tyler's, revealing his bright red pubic bush and long, neatly formed penis. Jon's briefs were sagging and one testicle, lightly furred and very pink, hung down from the leg band of his briefs. The Twins sat facing outward with their legs spread, the heads of two identical, smooth penises peeking out from under the legs of their boxers.

The Phantom had lain back on the bench, one leg draped over the edge of it, causing the leg of his boxers to ride up. His genitals were fully exposed and Matt felt a twinge in his lower regions. Jesus, was Phantom a handsome guy! And his parts . . .

"I could use a beer," said The Phantom to no one in particular. "A cold, icy cold beer."

"We don't have any beer," replied Cory regretfully. "Cold or otherwise."

The Phantom grinned. "But I know who does!" He sat up. "Todd, hand me my pants, will you? They're right there beside your bunk. Matty, put on your drawers. We're going shopping."

"Don't you want to shower first?" asked Matt as he looked around for his shorts.

"Beer first, shower later," replied The Phantom. He motioned for Matt to hurry up and left the Gunroom.

Ten minutes later The Phantom was back, with a case of beer, plastic glasses, and clean underwear, which he had grabbed from his locker. Matt was right behind him with another case, and clean underwear, which he had snatched in passing from his own locker. The Phantom placed the cases of beer on the mess table and gestured for the other boys to help themselves. He grinned. "Took 'em right out of Cold Stores."

"Does Chef know you've raided his stash?" asked Tyler mildly as he helped himself to a beer.

"He's gone ashore with The Gunner. He won't notice because the caterer is dropping off cases for the mucky-mucks to drink at the garden party." He uncapped a beer, drank deeply, burped loudly and smiled contentedly. "Now that, my friends, is the pause that refreshes."

Harry, with Mark and Tony, came into the mess to see their mates, dressed in their underwear, laughing and drinking beer. Harry looked around. "Jesus, what you guys get up to when I'm not around!"

Tyler laughed and waved a beer at Harry. "Take off your clothes and have a beer," he offered. "Mark, Tony, you too."

Matt, his shorts gone, and feeling not embarrassed being only a thin pair of tighty-whiteys away from being naked, sat as close as he could to Todd who, while he was not ignoring the boy, was paying more attention to what Harry was doing than he was to Matt. Matt looked at The Phantom and saw the sympathy in his friend's green eyes. He squared his shoulders and gave an imperceptible nod of his head. He would not allow Todd's indifference to him to ruin the evening. They sat laughing, joking, and listening to Harry spinning a dip and when the bugle blew First Post they all groaned. Tyler, as Master at Arms, invoked his rank and allowed that an hour or so more would not hurt them. But first they had to shower. He was, he declared, decidedly funky.

The boys trooped into the showers, even Mark and Tony, who hadn't done a lick of work all day, and could have waited for their showers until the morning. Harry, who never let an opportunity to display the Pride slip past, also showered. Matt, who had never seen the Pride, was properly impressed although secretly he thought that The Phantom's jewels were just as handsome as Harry's, only smaller.

When they returned to the Gunroom they found that Nathan had returned, with Sandro, and Greg was with Jimmy Collyer. The Phantom was sent for more beer and, as he was leaving the Mess Hall, he ran into Sean, who had set the Duty Watch down in the Dockyard and was on his way to see Cory. The Phantom handed him the case of beer that he'd been carrying and got another.

Sean's face was a picture when he saw the Gunroom denizens, all but naked, sitting around the mess table. He quickly recovered, though, and sat beside Cory, who smiled at him and gave him a nudge in the ribs.

As midnight approached the other boys who lived in the Gunroom drifted in. Two Strokes had spent the day in town with Thumper and both boys were tired. They stripped to their underpants, had a beer, and then went to bed. Nicholas had spent the evening in the Flag Locker with Andre and, like Two Strokes and Thumper, only wanted to go to bed. He politely refused a beer, showered, and crawled under his covers.

"Say, Phantom, thanks for the use of Cabin 5," said Mark. "I really appreciate it."

"I'm glad you did because I want the key back. I am not sleeping on the deck."

"You're staying aboard?" asked Matt, not looking at The Phantom. He was looking at Todd and Harry. Harry was whispering something to Todd, who was smiling his agreement.

"Yes. I'm not driving home tonight."

"Poor, poor Phantom," crooned Tony. "Sleeping in a cold, virginal bed, I'll be bound."

The Phantom was tempted to make a smart ass crack about neither Tony or Mark having been in anything 'virginal' in years, but did not. Instead he walked over to Nicholas and asked him to give him a shake in the morning. Then he bade everyone goodnight.

Matt sat quietly, watching as Harry and Todd drifted out. Tyler, Mark and Tony retired to the Chiefs Mess, to await Val's arrival. Val had the First Watch and was late. Jon and Chris went to bed, and Cory and Sean seemed eager for the mess to clear. Matt took the hint and as he walked back to his barracks decided that if he had anything to say or do about it, The Phantom's bed would be neither cold, nor virginal.

There was a pleasant breeze and, as the moon had not yet set, the barracks yard was bathed in a soft, mellow glow of moonlight. Sean and Cory sat on the stoop, listening to the night sounds. Cory fumbled a bit, found Sean's hand, and squeezed it.

Sean, somewhat taken aback, returned the squeeze. "Are you all right?" he asked hesitatingly.

Cory nodded. "I was just thinking about somebody who has become very special to me," he said gently.

Sean wanted to ask just who the special person was, but did not. He wanted Cory to make the first move. For a long while he looked with fondness on Cory's serene face. He smiled as an errant wisp of wind teased Cory's golden hair. He sighed inwardly, waiting patiently.

Cory released Sean's hand and turned his head. "I'm sorry about this afternoon Sean, but it was the only way I could think of to get you to admit what you are. If you're angry with me, so be it."

Sean shook his head. He looked straight ahead into the darkness. "I understand why you did it. I was angry, but after speaking with Philip, well, I understand totally."

"Why do you call Phantom by his given name? Everybody calls him 'Phantom', including his mother."

"Really?" Sean squirmed a bit. "I don't care for nicknames. I feel that they are demeaning, and show a basic lack of respect for the individual."

"You don't like being called 'Iron Ass'," said Cory, snickering.

"No, I don't," replied Sean, stiffening at the epithet.

"Then you don't understand at all what nicknames in the Navy are all about," returned Cory. "We call Phantom, Phantom, because that is what he is. For a long time we all didn't even notice him. But he was there. He was always there, in the background, in the shadows. A phantom. When there was trouble, he was there to help. When there was sorrow, he was there to help. He would listen, and always he would help. He would do anything to help us solve our problems, to help us, the people he calls 'his cadets'. And when the crisis was over, or the problem solved, he would disappear back into the shadows."

"But, 'Iron Ass', Cory . . ."

"Is a pejorative, denoting grudging respect," replied Cory with a firm squeeze of Sean's hand. "The cadets might not like you as a person, and you have no one to blame for that but yourself, but they do respect you. You have your standards and you have never wavered. Never! You have never compromised your standards, or let down the side."

Sean thought a moment. "And here I was thinking it was because I was slapped on the buttocks by a rope's end."

"Well, that may have some validity, for some people," returned Cory with a smile. "But, not now. It might have held true two years ago, but think on, Sean. You sustained a serious injury, yet you got up, had your butt sewn up, and went on with your duties. You didn't let a lacerated ass stand in your way. You had a job to do and you did it. Later you developed your persona as a hard assed, no nonsense Chief. You did it without being all Gate and Gaiters. All you hear is 'Iron Ass'. You don't hear how it's used, or how it is said."

"I never thought of it that way."

"Well you should," said Cory. "Because it denotes something special. To those cadets you are someone special. Someone to look up to." He released Sean's hand. "We call Tom Jackson, Thumper. Not because he's continually beating his meat, which he does, but because we like him. Roger Home is Two Strokes, not because he has a hair trigger and cums in two strokes but because he, like Thumper, is one of us. Our calling them by their nicknames has nothing to do with how they got them. I admit that at first, when we first started calling Tom and Roger by those names, it was malicious, and funny, but not now. Now we call them by their nicknames because, Sean, they, like you, share a special intimacy among the brotherhood of cadets. In a way we celebrate that intimacy by continuing to use, without malice, and with a whole lot of love, the nicknames we so casually gave them last year."

"A special intimacy," repeated Sean. He considered everything Cory had said and smiled. "Well, better 'Iron Ass' than 'Thumper' or 'Two Strokes'!"

Cory chuckled and without preamble slipped his right hand down the front of Sean's shorts, frowning at the knowledge that Sean, true to form, was wearing tighty-whiteys. He removed his hand and then slipped it under the elastic band of Sean's underpants to lightly grasp Sean's plump, circumcised penis.

Sean gasped at the intimacy. "Cory . . ." he mumbled, totally at a loss. He could not understand what Cory was up to.

With his free hand Cory reached over and took Sean's left hand. He pushed it down the front of his own shorts and Sean's fingers instinctively wrapped themselves around Cory's slim, smooth organ.

"I'm trying to decide what to do with you, Sean," said Cory quietly. "I'm trying to decide what to do about us."

Sean realised that what Cory had done was not sexual. Cory was not making a move on him and slipping his hands absently down the front of his undies was a mark of special trust.

Cory sensed Sean's unease. "This isn't sex," he warned Sean. "I have a lot to think about and this helps me to think so don't get any ideas."

Sean, who had heard about the Twins sitting on the stoop of the barracks, replied quietly. "I know, and I have no intention of getting anything!"

"Good." Cory gave Sean's penis a slight squeeze. "I like you, Sean. All my instincts tell me that your intentions are good. They also tell me that I am not going to be a notch on your belt."

"They would be correct, because when I make a commitment I stick by it." Cory's genitals felt warm and soft in his hand. He ran his thumb across the elegantly curving head of Cory's penis. "I love you, and I want to be with you. When the time is right, I want to live with you, to share your life."

"In an open relationship?" questioned Cory. He had all but made his decision, but was still doubtful.

Sean nodded firmly. "In an open relationship. If narrow-minded bigots want to talk, let them. We'll be together, and that's all that really matters." He bent forward and kissed Cory's smooth, pink cheek. "I know that I am not much of a catch. But I do love you."

Cory smiled. "I know." Then he frowned. "I won't hide our relationship, and I won't pretend that we're just good friends. Eventually, when I wake up in the middle of the night I want to be able to reach around and feel you." He squeezed Sean's penis, which was starting to harden. "When I introduce you to my parents tomorrow I want to be able to tell them that you're the man I plan on spending my life with."

"All right. But please understand, I can't tell my parents. Not yet," pleaded Sean.

"I understand," replied Cory. "They would not approve, I take it?"

"They will never approve or understand, Cory. We'll have to be discreet for a while. When the time is right, I'll tell them. What they may think after I've told them will be of little consequence."

"It would mean giving everything up, Sean. I'm not sure that I can live with that."

Sean snorted, "You can, and you will. As will I. If they find out about us, well, we'll get through it together." He pulled his hand from Cory's shorts and wrapped his arms around him. "I want to be your lover, and your partner."

Cory's hand slipped away from Sean's hard, throbbing erection. He pulled Sean close to him and for a long time they shared deep, passionate kisses.

"I'd better be going back," said Sean breathlessly when they finally pulled apart. "I wouldn't want to compromise you."

Cory giggled and stood up. "Wait here," he said and hurried into the Barracks. When he returned he had a blanket draped over his arm. He reached out his hand. "We're sneaking ashore."

Sean took Cory's hand. "We are?"

Cory began walking, pulling Sean along with him. "There's a place I know. It's just across the road from the swimming beach."

"And just what do you plan on doing there?" asked Sean, intrigued.

Cory laughed a low, sexy laugh. "Well, maybe I just might be in the mood to be compromised," he said with a leer. Then he added, "Tiger."