Boys of Aurora

Open house at AURORA was always a popular event and always well attended by the townies from Comox. Not only did they have the opportunity to see how their sons (all the Comox Sea Cadets trained in AURORA) were being treated, they could also see how their tax dollars were being spent, with a slap up luncheon thrown in.

The cadets would put on their best uniforms, the bands would play and each Division would have static displays to demonstrate that their time at AURORA had been well spent. The Shipwrights, also known as the Chippy Chaps, had spent the summer hand crafting, from keel to stem to gudgeon, a Blue Jay Class sailboat. The Boatswains had decorated the Drill Shed with examples of fancy ropework (Cory's efforts predominating in spite of his rating as a gunner). They would also, using logs, rope, blocks, tackle and assorted bits and pieces of this and that, rig a Sheer and a Gyn. The Gunners would, accompanied by the Band, assemble and disassemble their field guns. The Guard would put on a display of Queen Anne's Drill. Nicholas and his Signalmen would demonstrate Signalling at Sea using semaphore and signal flags (with strict instructions to keep the messages clean - you never knew who could actually read the damn things - on pain of dire punishment). Doc, forever campaigning for the return of the Hospital Attendant Course, would set up a functioning Field Sick Bay on the far side of the parade square.

In keeping with the spirit of the day the Sea Puppies would demonstrate "Abandon Ship Drill". This was not at all popular with the Sea Puppies. A Government Standard life raft would be inflated and tossed into the harbour upside down. The Sea Puppies, wearing gym shorts and life jackets, would jump from the jetty into the water, swim to the raft and, using leverage, life lines and cadet power, right the raft and climb in. Righting the raft was not a problem. What the Sea Puppies complained about was the prescribed drill for abandoning ship. The life jackets itched and chafed their chests, backs and underarms. The swim from the end of the jetty could be embarrassing as the gym shorts, with elastic waist bands, had a tendency to be pulled down as the boys swam, exposing undies, or, in the case of the boys who chose not to wear any underwear, little pink bottoms, which exposure was definitely not popular with 13-year-old boys. What was a cause of dissension, apart from the fact they had to do it, was the manner in which one abandoned ship. Each boy would stand at the end of the jetty, his arms across his chest, his hands tightly grasping the straps of the lifejacket. He would then jump, remembering, it was hoped, to keep his legs straight and slightly bend his body back, with his toes pointing downward and, which was stressed over and over again, his ankles crossed. Since none of the Sea Puppies planned on abandoning ship any time soon, and couldn't see the point of it at all, there was much grumbling. To stifle dissent Father had promptly volunteered George Ramseur, Andy, Kyle and . . . The Gunner, to assist. None of the "volunteers" was amused.

Immediately after Divisions was over the cadets went to work, setting up displays and, as it was expected the guests would like to see the barracks and living spaces, cleaning their messes. Equipment was moved, weapons brought out of the Armoury, the field guns polished and the signal flags ironed. Dirty Dave the Deacon set up a small field chapel at the far end of the camp. Guests who wanted a place of relative peace and quiet, and a cup of weak tea, would be made welcome. Matron busied herself putting Sick Bay to rights.

With Number One dancing attendance at the airport it fell to The Gunner to hurry around the ship, checking for cleanliness and making sure that there were no errant gunshirts, soiled underpants, or empty gin bottles lurking under bunks or lockers. As he hurried about the Spit, The Gunner forgot about his hangover and tried to solve the myriad, picky little problems that seem to beset any Navy function. His presence was seemingly required in six places at once, and always "At The Rush". Had it not been for the bugle calls announcing this, that and the next thing he would have lost all sense of time. He was hurrying toward the galley, to have a bite of lunch with the Forenoon Watchmen, when a movement on the causeway leading from the mainland to the Spit caught his eye. He stopped outside the Mess Hall and shaded his eyes. A car was proceeding at a stately pace down the roadway. As The Gunner watched Anson, the Duty Quartermaster came barrelling out of the Guardhouse, closely followed by No "H, who was the Duty Officer, and by Young Brown, who had been skiving after blowing Hands to Dinner for the Afternoon Watchmen.

As the long car swung a wide turn past the Gatehouse The Gunner's eyes widened. He recognized the car, for he had ridden in it less than a week before. It was elegantly long, black, and very shiny and was the best of the cars Michael Chan had in his livery, the Rolls-Royce Phantom IV. The Gunner also recognized the small heraldic shield fixed to the top of the car and the pennant that flew from the small pole fixed to the shield: a white flag bearing the red cross of St. George with a red ball in each of the upper and lower cantons. Fred's uncle had come to call, two hours before he was expected, and in full fig!

Praying silently that No "H" and Young Brown knew how to render honours, The Gunner braced to attention and, as the notes of the Alert sounded, saluted. As the motorcar glided past him The Gunner's eyes widened even further. Affixed to the bonnet of the car was the sterling mascot of Britannia atop the globe of the world, which he had last seen in a display case in Michael Chan's drawing room. Even more surprising was that behind the wheel of the right hand drive car was . . . Noel. Beside him, looking as regal as all get out was . . . Laurence! Both men were dressed in their dark blue and silver Royal Marine uniforms. The Gunner did a quick wheel and hurried toward the Headquarters Building, again praying that someone would be around to alert the Commanding Officer that a Vice-Admiral, RN, was about to descend.

As luck would have it Greg, hornier than a two-peckered owl because he'd spent most of the morning remembering his night with Jimmy Collyer, and with his erection throbbing in his trousers, chose this moment to leave the Ship's Office, heading for the Gunroom where he could take care of his problem in relative privacy. He had just left the building when the car appeared around corner of the Mess Hall. He took one look, saw the flag, and beat a hasty retreat into the Captain's office, his erection deflating as he ran. Father, who was enjoying his first smoke of the day and looking forward to a leisurely early lunch with Dirty Dave the Deacon, quickly strapped on his sword, donned his jacket, and hurried to the entrance, arriving on the steps just as the sleek, black limousine pulled to a stop. Prodded by the Commanding Officer, Greg hurried down the steps, opened the rear passenger door of the car, and saluted. First out of the car was a tall, muscular, red-haired man wearing the exquisitely tailored dark blue uniform of a Captain, RN. On his left shoulder were the aiguillettes of a Staff Captain. The Captain straightened, smoothed his uniform jacket, and turned. He saw The Gunner and smiled a greeting. A warm smile formed on The Gunner's face as he remembered his short affair with the man who gazed back at him.

Edouard Michel Louis Marie Joseph du Faience de Lotbiniere had been a magnificent Naval Lieutenant. He had aged well and was a breathtaking, wonderful specimen of a Naval Captain.

The Gunner had joined the Royal Canadian Navy at 17 and had, under the auspices of the Command Chief Gunnery Instructor, been brought along and promoted in advance of peers and Term-mates. Stephen Winslow was recognized as a comer, a man to be watched and encouraged as much as possible. Opportunities were to be placed in his way and in the course of time he was selected, once again far in advance of his Term-mates and fellow gunners, to attend the Advanced Gunnery Course held in the Holy of Holies, the Temple of Gunnery, HMS EXCELLENT, Whale Island, Portsmouth, England.

HMS EXCELLENT had been commissioned in 1832 as a school to train gunnery instructors for the strongest, proudest Navy in the world. Britannia ruled the waves and only the best of the best would do to crew HM's Ships and train HM's sailors. Whale Island-trained gunners were considered to be without peer and successful candidates of the three-month long course could write their own ticket.

Stephen Winslow, not yet known as The Gunner, arrived in Portsmouth on a cold, rainy day and was bussed to Whale Island, home of the School of Gunnery. Here, along with twenty others, Brits for the most part but with a sprinkling of other "Colonials" - Australians, New Zealanders, two South Africans and a Hong Kong RNVR - Collingwood Term met their Term Lieutenant and Young Canada fell in love. As a gay male in a hostile environment, Stephen Winslow had developed an alternate persona. He was noted for his discretion, tolerance, and understanding and for being, as one friend put it, "the straightest man in the RCN." He was also a virgin. He had left his hometown of Lakefield a virgin. He had gone through the RCN Training Base, HMCS CORNWALLIS, and left it as he had entered it, a virgin. He had entered HMCS STADACONA School of Gunnery, been sent to the fleet to serve in HMCS ST. LAURENT, a virgin, and left when the ship had paid off, still a virgin. What he did not know was that the tall, handsome, red haired Lieutenant standing before the platoon would take him along the path he would follow for the rest of his life.

Lieutenant Edouard Lotbiniere, RN, was the scion of a wealthy and long-established Anglo-French family, and a member of the Anglo Aristocracy that had, since 1759, reigned supreme in French Canada. The product of the Jesuit College School, well-versed in the manners and mores of privilege, he had turned his back on his native country to take advantage of his status as a British Subject, obtaining an appointment as a Naval Cadet in Britannia Royal Naval College in the south of England.

To the class conscious Royal Navy Edouard Lotbiniere was a welcome addition. Well-built, handsome, rich and with the right ancestors, he was one of them. He was comfortable in his new environment, a huntin', fishin', shootin' kind of fella', and with his family connections and the friends he made in the College, a welcome guest at the dinners, hunting parties and 'weekends' that filled much of the English aristocrats' time. He was witty, charming and a "risky fella'", which was Snob speak for a chap who was just a touch risqué. Not a goat, of course - nothing queer about young Lotbiniere, y'know - just a chap who enjoyed a good bit of fun and not above making a fool of himself. Which he had achieved in Britannia, where he had been forced to climb the College mast, a tall wooden structure, by the Chief Gunner for some imagined infraction.

Regulations dictated that one stand on the small, wooden platform that topped the mast, salute, and then climb back down. Edouard decided otherwise. He considered his punishment to be totally undeserved and felt that a protest against the gross miscarriage of justice was in order. He stripped off his clothing and, naked, danced a hornpipe, much to the shock of the passers by far below, which unhappily as it turned out, included the Captain's wife and daughter. A naked cadet dancing the hornpipe naturally drew the irate attention of Authority, in the person of the College Chief Gunnery Instructor, who screamed, ranted and raged, threatening malediction and perdition for three hours at the thoroughly terrified young man.

Driven at last from his perch by a lashing rainstorm, young Lotbiniere was draped in a blanket, taken to Sick Bay (where he was diagnosed by the Surgeon-Commander as suffering "a severe chilling of the fundamentals"), and Confined to Quarters for the next seven days. His prank had also earned him his nickname of "Blue Balls" and firmly established him as a fine fellow who would make a damn good Naval officer. It also brought him to the attention of the Clan Chief of the Royal Navy, Lord Louis Mountbatten.

For a Royal Navy officer an invitation to "weekend" at Lord Louis's country home, Broadlands, was a Royal Command, an anointment that bespoke a brilliant future. Edouard had acquitted himself well and soon he was the darling of the country house aristocracy, receiving far more invitations than he could accept. The invitations continued to flow during his cadetship, his appointment as a seagoing officer and flowed in greater volume with his appointment as a Term Lieutenant in Whale Island. As an English aristocrat, it was only proper that, whenever he accepted an invitation to stop at one of the stately homes dotting the lush Devon and neighbouring Hampshire countryside, Lieutenant Lotbiniere bring along a man to "do" for him.

Lieutenant Lotbiniere always chose a different member of the Term to accompany him and serve as his manservant. Being chosen as the Term Lieutenant's valet was always a harbinger of better things for the rating chosen and almost always resulted in the same young man joining the exalted ranks of the "King's Company", the elite of the elite, there being no higher honour.

Stephen Winslow had been chosen and accompanied his Term Lieutenant to a handsome, twelfth century pile on the Norfolk dales. Here, in the rooms assigned to them in the "New Wing" (built in the fifteenth century) Stephen Winslow lost his virginity and began a short-lived, intense affair with his Term Lieutenant.

Living the double life of a gay male in a homophobic society, The Gunner quickly adapted to the demands forced upon him, living by the unwritten rules. He avoided any type of conduct that would remotely cause the finger of hatred to point at him. Like his lover, during the day he was all male, projecting the image expected of a normal man, drilling, playing sports, mucking about, cursing, swearing and generally just being male. He knew that any hint of his real self would result in ruin and degradation. He had early on learned to keep his real feelings well hidden, and to never, ever, do anything or say anything that would draw attention to himself. When he left Whale Island, at 1700, to travel to Southsea, where Edouard kept a house, he would stop at the railway terminal and change into civilian clothes. He would not, after an evening of lusty and very satisfying sex, mention to his barracks mates where he had been, or whom he had been with. He would join his mates from time to time in pub crawling, never hinting that afterward he would take a taxi to Southsea. During the day, Lieutenant Lotbiniere was a stranger. At night he was a lover.

The Gunner's love affair with Edouard was satisfying, filled with lust, and tempestuous. The Gunner, a small town boy with small town values, constantly railed at Edouard, who was a crashing snob and an anti-Semite, a racist and as tight as a frog's arsehole, never spending a farthing unless it was for his own pleasure. Edouard, in turn, would rail and rant at The Gunner, consigning the young man to the ranks of the peasantry, ill-educated, ill-bred, ill-born and with shockingly boring taste in undies. The Gunner, who favoured the white boxers issued by the RCN, retaliated by taking to wearing the loudest, most colourful, and briefest underpants he could find. Edouard fumed silently, and eventually The Gunner went back to his drab, white boxers. This did not mean that he was spared the diatribes bemoaning his lack of ancestors, nor the reminder that his ancestors were prancing about the Black Forest wearing feathers and furs with nothing on their minds but rape and pillage while the Lotbinieres were building cathedrals and crusading to save the Tomb of Christ.

In the course of their relationship The Gunner was put in his place many times. Edouard might sleep with him, but The Gunner was still one of the lesser breeds, though at least white, which was more than could be said for Blacks who, so far as Edouard was concerned, were barely human. Orientals, particularly the Chinese, were dismissed as having little purpose in the scheme of things, pitiful creatures whose women were fit only to cook and wash the floors and whose teenage boys were tolerated only because of their ability to service their white betters. Jews were money-grubbers and determined to inflict the Protocols of Zion on the white race. When The Gunner pointed out that he, as was Edouard, was circumcised, he was roundly castigated and reminded that circumcision had long been considered the mark of the aristocracy and besides, Edouard continue with a haughty sniff, his people had been circumcising their male children a hundred years before the first Hebrew foreskin was separated from its owner.

The Gunner recognized that Edouard was a product of his class and upbringing. Nothing would ever change him. He ignored the darker side of his lover and continued to take the bus from Portsmouth to Southsea.

The man who approached The Gunner with his hand outstretched had changed little. His physical beauty had been, if anything enhanced with age. He was still proud, tall, and muscular, his red hair as bright and intoxicating as ever. "Stephen," he drawled in the cut-glass accent that The Gunner remembered so well. He shook The Gunner's hand. "How very good it is to see you again!"

"And to see you, Edouard," replied The Gunner, thinking that as former lovers they could drop the formality that normally existed between Wardroom and Lower Deck. "You look, well, as good today as you did back in EXCELLENT."

Captain Lotbiniere laughed and shook his head. "Silver threads, I'm afraid Stephen."

"Nonsense. You look wonderful and those . . ." he pointed to the aiguillettes, "suit you."

Taking The Gunner's arm Captain Lotbiniere said, "They come with the job and, sadly, a price." He began walking The Gunner toward the Headquarters Building. "Come along, I want you to meet the Gaffer. His nephew has written reams about you and the old chap is desperate to meet you." He leaned close to The Gunner. "And after last evening, even more interested in you."

"What happened last evening?"

"Never mind, we'll talk later." He stopped in front of the tall, thin, grey-haired Vice-Admiral. "Sir, may I introduce Leading Seaman Winslow."

Admiral Stephens smiled and held out his hand. "At last, I meet the paragon!"

"Sir?"

The Admiral chuckled. "My nephew writes extolling your virtues. According to him you sit at the Right Hand of the Lord."

"Your nephew is kind, but given to exaggeration, I think," replied The Gunner smoothly.

"Gunner Winslow is much too modest," offered Father. "The boys adore him, when they're not busy being afraid of him or his clicking heels!"

"An old gunner's trick," replied the Admiral with a toothy smile. "Let 'em know that you're about and they tend to be as good as gold. If it's done right just the sound of those damned clicks approaching will make the most incorrigible of malcontents pale." He turned to the Commanding Officer. "I think the sun is over the yardarm somewhere, Snuffy . . ."

The Gunner gave Captain Lotbiniere as questioning look. Snuffy? The Captain raised his eyebrows in an "I'll tell you later" gesture.

"I'll send young Carroll to fetch your lad," said Father. "While we're waiting we'll have a dram or three. Our favourite Chef has sent over a bottle of . . ."

"Chef!" The Admiral grinned a huge grin and his eyes grew wide in surprise. "Is he here? Dear God, I thought he was dead!"

Father laughed heartily. "Quite the opposite, sir. Alive and well and cooking in the galley."

"We'll have to do a walkabout and surprise him. Is he still chasing the galley staff with a cleaver?"

Both officers laughed uproariously and entered the Headquarters Building. Laurence, who had exchanged his garrison cap for the distinctive, white Royal Marine pith helmet, followed. He gave The Gunner a wink as he passed by.

Both the Captain and The Gunner begged off visiting in Father's cabin. They were old shipmates and wanted to take a few minutes to catch up with one another. Both senior officers understood. The bonds ran true and deep in the Navy and friends were friends for life, even if they saw one another only occasionally.

Leaving the Headquarters Building behind, The Gunner and Captain Lotbiniere walked toward the far side of the base. They were nearing the field Sick Bay when the Captain turned to look at The Gunner. "So, my young protégé, once lover and dear friend, you have risen."

"Pardon?" asked The Gunner, puzzled at Edouard's sudden change,

Captain Lotbiniere stiffened and gave The Gunner a formal neck bow. "Chancellor," he murmured. "Will you do me the honour of accepting me as your Liege Man?"

For several long minutes The Gunner continued to walk, saying nothing. He had not been too suspicious at the presence of Laurence and Noel, because Laurence had mentioned that he would like to come over and see what HMCS AURORA was all about. It was not beyond reasonable doubt to think that Michael had combined Laurence's inspection trip with Sir John Stephens' visit to his nephew, Fred. Adding the Rolls and Noel was just the fine touch that Michael excelled at. If Michael wanted to expand the Order, and rebuild the English Priory, cultivating a man such as the Second Sea Lord was quite understandable.

"Did you hear me?" asked Captain Lotbiniere.

The Gunner nodded. He did not know how to reply. The foundation stone of the Order was the Golden Rule. How could a man like Edouard, who was a bone-selfish, bigoted, racist, anti-Semite, love his fellow men as he loved himself? Granted, in a perfect world, Edouard would be a prime candidate for knighthood. But this was not a perfect world and in this world Edouard was as likely to undergo a frontal lobotomy as a radical sea change. The Gunner was intelligent enough to recognize Michael Chan's Machiavellian hand when he saw it. His question was just what part did Staff Captain Lotbiniere have to play in the scheme of things?

The Gunner turned, looking sternly at Edouard. "Is joining the Order the price you have to pay for your four stripes?" he asked coldly.

A fleeting smile crossed Edouard's lips. "I cannot fault you for questioning my motives, old friend," he said. "But I assure, joining the Order is a completely and, notwithstanding my past reputation, a totally unselfish act. I have no ulterior motive."

The Gunner was not convinced. "Edouard, have you forgotten why you left Canada? Have you forgotten the lectures you gave me when we were together in England? Have you forgotten that for all of your adult life you've gone to extremes to protect your reputation? Edouard, I am many things, not the least of which is, as you once pointed out, my being a sly peasant. I am also the Chancellor of the Order and my only concern is the well being of the Order. If you are relying on our past relationship, which ended without so much as a goodbye kiss, a thank you Stephen for loving me, or a drop dead and kiss my ass, you might as well go and join your 'Gaffer'. If Michael Chan, who is Chinese in case you haven't noticed, is intent on rebuilding the English Priory, I'll help him do it. But, and do not misunderstand because I mean nothing personal, I will not compromise my principles for the sake of political expediency."

Edouard smiled sadly. "I suppose I deserved that speech."

"And more! Yesterday I accepted the candidacy of a young man who would never meet your criteria. He doesn't have sixteen quarterings in his Coat of Arms. He doesn't have a Coat of Arms! What he does have is a nobility of purpose, and a love for his fellow man. But in his own way he is an aristocrat, a patrician, and on Friday he is being professed. He's invited his friends to bear witness. Are you prepared to do that? Are you prepared to risk your career? Are you prepared to stand up and fight against the very Establishment you so dearly love being a part of?"

Edouard crossed his arms over his chest and cocked his head. "You've grown up, Stephen."

"Yes, I have. The very last word you spoke to me before I left Whale Island was 'Survive'. Well, I survived and I did not do that by putting my trust in frail reeds. I'm no longer the naïve young rating who thought the sun rose and set on you. I am the Chancellor of the Order of Saint John of the Cross of Acre. The Grand Master of that Order has given me a mandate. I am to find him one thousand knights of integrity and valour. Are you one of them or are you just thinking ahead and feathering your own little nest?"

Edouard began walking slowly toward the far end of the parade square. The Gunner kept pace, waiting for answers to his questions. As they passed the improvised Sick Bay tent Edouard began to speak. "Stephen, I knew how you felt about me when we were together. As much as I wanted to be with you, I also knew that it was not to be. I deliberately sent you away. You deserved better than me."

"You don't have to debase yourself, Edouard. I'm not asking for that," replied The Gunner kindly.

"I know that, Stephen, and I have no intention of debasing myself. I will tell you, however, my reasons for wishing to be a part of your Order."

"As you wish."

"Thank you," Edouard replied dryly. He looped his arm through The Gunner's and they strolled arm in arm, two old friends again. "Stephen, what I meant about paying a price had nothing to do with the Order. I'm to marry in the New Year." He shuddered theatrically. "She's not a bad sort. Comes from the gentry with a house in Grosvenor Square and a place in Aylesbury Vale. Adores horses. Even looks like a horse."

"Really, Edouard!"

"She does, Stephen," affirmed Edouard. "She has land, I have money. A perfect match. She is the price I must pay if I ever want to fly my flag."

"You're serious?" asked The Gunner, genuinely surprised.

"Oh, yes, quite serious," replied Edouard. "When I was gazetted Staff Captain to Sir John the writing was on the wall for me. A bachelor can be a Commander. A Captain he cannot. I've just passed my 46th birthday, Stephen, and eyebrows are being raised. Is he? Isn't he?" He shook his head and laughed sourly. "Any officer with aspirations to flag rank needs a wife. It's one of the unwritten rules, you see."

"You could always retire. You have enough money, Edouard. Buy yourself a house in the country and find yourself a young footman or three."

Edouard snorted disdainfully. "And give up my career? My dreams? Bugger that, Stephen. Why should I? The fact that I happen to be homosexual has no bearing on my abilities and like you I do not allow my homosexuality to influence my decisions. I am a bloody good Naval officer and if the Order helps to bring about the day that no matter what a man's sex life, he can still serve Queen and Country, then dammit, I'm for it!"

"And you're still not self-seeking?" The doubt had returned and The Gunner smiled smugly.

Captain Lotbiniere gave his friend a foul look. "No! I'm considering those who come after me. The Admiral's nephew, for instance!"

"Fred?" The Gunner was a little surprised. Why would Edouard, the most selfish and self-indulgent of creatures, be worried about the Admiral's nephew?

"Yes, Fred. He's the apple of the old man's eye. So much so that the Admiral has twice now refused a peerage because the College of Heralds will not give him a special remainder to have the title pass on to Fred when the old man pegs out."

The Gunner thought a moment. "Fred is a nice boy, very quiet and very competent. I like him. He is also a very private person. Nobody knows all that much about him."

Edouard sighed and nodded. "Do you remember when you were his age? How afraid you were? How afraid you were of having your secret discovered? You joined the Navy for the same reason I did. I wanted to prove to myself that I could be a man in a man's world. So did you, and so does Fred. He may not stay the course, but his uncle is determined to make bloody sure that he's given every opportunity, without interference and with the assurance of a level playing field."

"A big determination, Edouard," replied The Gunner soberly. "Being gay is a black mark from the outset. Hell, two of the finest boys I know, the Arundel twins, who are open about their sexuality, have been discriminated against because of their sexuality. There are no 'level playing fields' when it comes to gays."

"Not yet, no. But Michael Chan has a vision, which I share! Which you also share or you would not be the Chancellor of the Order!" Edouard's face grew hard. "We must find a way so that young men are not forced into making the wrong decisions simply to satisfy convention! We must find a way so that a young man can have a life, Stephen, where his sexuality is not a consideration! That is what the Order is about, and that is what I am about!"

"Quite a change from the Edouard I knew," observed The Gunner coldly. "What ever happened to the 'Little Englander' who didn't have a kind word for anyone who wasn't white, Anglo-Saxon and Protestant?"

"He got older and discovered what a superficial, shallow little man he really was!" admitted Edouard honestly.

"Now that's a shock!"

Edouard grinned sardonically. "And what of 'Young Canada', Stephen? You were as insufferable as I was. Remember, I knew you when!"

The Gunner laughed. "So you did, and I still ended up in your bed!"

"You climbed in willingly," replied Edouard with a fond smile. "All of my little conquests did, so please, do not pretend to be holier than I pretended to be. I've made mistakes in my life. I've slept with men who meant nothing to me - not you, I assure you of that - men who went to bed with me only because they knew they would be rewarded when they crawled out of the bed. You at least had the courtesy to feel some affection for me."

They turned and began walking back toward the main buildings. Edouard had a dark look on his face and when they reached the breezeway flats he sat on the bench and ran his hand across his face. "There is a better world out there, Stephen. There has to be. If we have to fight for it, in the courts, in Parliament, then so be it and let the cards fall where they fall. I am so tired of bigots, tired of pretending to be something I'm not."

"We all are, Edouard," replied The Gunner sadly. "I live a double life. I don't like living it, but I must if I want to get anywhere, to change anything." He put his hand on Edouard's shoulder. "I don't doubt your sincerity. I'm sorry, Edouard, but I do doubt your motives. You're marrying a woman you obviously don't love to safeguard your reputation and to further your Naval career. I can understand you doing that. What I cannot understand is this sudden desire to be England's Champion."

"Can you understand that I might want to expiate, in some small measure, the hurt and humiliation visited on innocent parties? That I might, finally, have realized that I, by thought, word and deed contributed to that hurt and humiliation?"

The Gunner stared in amazement at Edouard. "Do I detect a note of . . . passion? Of love?" he asked.

"Do you remember Andreus Maartens?" Edouard asked suddenly.

The Gunner thought. "I remember . . . yes. Tall, blond, well built. A midshipman, I think when we were both at Whale Island. An Afrikaner and one hell of a footballer."

"True, with one exception," replied Edouard with a nod. "Andreus is not an Afrikaner. He is a Rooinek."

"A what?"

"Afrikaner for an English South African. The epithet covers a multitude of sins. Including the fact that Andreus is Jewish."

The Gunner's eyes widened. "Jewish?"

"Deliciously so," replied Edouard with a smile. "And before you delight in reminding me of my past sins, Stephen, I would very much appreciate it if you heard me out."

"I am really not interested in hearing of your conquests!" The Gunner shook his head. "It's so like you, Edouard, to put prejudice aside for a good piece of ass!"

Edouard laughed softly. "Ah, Stephen, one of the things I so admired about you was your refreshingly sharp tongue! I shall have to revise my once low opinion of you. You sound more and more like a tight-assed Viscount of my acquaintance. Of course, all the peerage swear like sailors, so you'd be right at home."

"Well, don't go finding me a seat in the House of Lords. I'm still a peasant."

"Rubbish. You are a high-principled man of more than a little nobility of character." Edouard grinned and gave The Gunner a slight nudge with his elbow. "Even if you do have shocking taste in underwear."

The Gunner laughed. "You remember!"

"I do, indeed," replied Edouard, returning The Gunner's laugh. Then he sobered. "I admit, Stephen, that I missed you, and not only for your sexual abilities." He shook his head. "I missed our arguments. I missed the way you fought me fang and claw when I was frankly making a complete ass of myself. You stood up to me, defied me and, once again hating to admit it, made me think!"

"And here I was thinking I was just another Ordinary Seaman Stud Muffin come to warm your cold bed."

"Ah, well, you did that." Edouard grimaced slightly. "The truth is, Stephen, I missed you terribly. I would sit in that damned draughty little house in Southsea and miss you!"

"Why? You said it yourself. I was not to fall in love with you because you were a bastard who liked young men. Many young men."

"So I did, and before you came along to totally foul up my theretofore wonderful life, that statement was true," Edouard replied with a slight shrug. "After you . . . Stephen, there were no more young men. No more young sailors to take away with me when I visited some dismal country house."

The Gunner smiled smugly. "I did that to you?"

"Yes, damn you. I began to think . . . think about the way I treated you, the way I thought of you, oh, so many different thoughts plagued my thinking. After a while I calmed down, and when I thought I was back to my normal obnoxious self along came Andreus!"

"So, you did sleep with him," exclaimed The Gunner, a knowing grin on his face.

Edouard nodded slightly. "But not for a year after you'd gone. And he made the first move, not I!"

The Gunner seemed thoughtful and then said, "And, long story short, Andreus got himself into a spot of trouble. You, being you, distanced yourself and now your conscience is bothering you."

Edouard gave his friend a disgusted look. "You could not be more wrong, Stephen. Andreus and I had, and continue to have, a most satisfying relationship. He did not get himself in 'a spot of trouble'. He left the Andrew when he discovered that as a Jew he would never attain his goals, never attain anything near what his intelligence and abilities should have brought him. And all because he was a Jew!"

"Edouard, anti-Semitism is as rampant in Canada as it is in England. I can't recall one Permanent Force officer who is Jewish and got higher than Commander. But the Order is not about anti-Semitism. It's about fighting for the rights of gays, in or out of the Services."

"I am aware of that, you ignorant peasant. I am not entirely unaware of what the Order does, or is trying to do!" replied Edouard coldly.

The Gunner laughed heartily. "Now that is the Edouard I remember!"

Edouard gave The Gunner a withering look and waved his hand dismissively. "I am also aware of the way I once was. I am not that way now. I have had a great deal of time to think. It is not only the anti-Semitism. It is also the homophobia. I was appointed to the office of Commissions and Warrants at the Admiralty. Good men were passed over because of imagined homosexuality. Officers and ratings were summarily dismissed if they were discovered. Some ended up in prison."

"It happens every day, Edouard," replied The Gunner simply. "It's a risk all gays take if they accept the Queen's shilling."

"Stephen, you did not have to sign the discharge warrants. I did! Until I went up to the Admiralty I was above all that. I could shrug my shoulders and tell myself that I could not do anything about it. I didn't know the chap, or chaps involved. Not my part ship at all."

"And now?"

"When I began seeing Andreus I started to see the true me," replied Edouard, a sadness growing in his face. "I was falling in love with a Jew. I asked myself how I could love a Jewish man yet profess hatred for his people. I also asked myself how I, a gay man, could sleep with another gay man, and turn my back on my gay brothers who were being persecuted. I argued with myself for ages and every time I did I could hear you! I also realized that I was just as bad, if not worse, than the overt bigots and haters. I kept silent. I helped keep them in business."

The Gunner's eyes grew thin and a stern look came over him. "When you are a part of the Establishment, Edouard, and if you want to remain a part of the Establishment, you must do things that make you want to vomit!"

Edouard nodded slowly. "True, but it makes it damned difficult to sleep at night." He sighed and looked off into the distance. "Andreus took the crap that was dished out to him. He tried, God knows. He protested and everyone agreed with him and everyone denied point blank that there was discrimination. One of his superiors had the gall to tell him that he just wasn't good enough, don't ye know!" He slammed his fist down on his knee. "This to a man who had won the Captain's Sword in BRITANNIA, who had been given excellent ratings in everything he did."

"It happens, Edouard, sadly. I take it he gave up in frustration."

"What else could he do? He could have gotten his frock coat and more or less mouldered away in some dim office until his time came to go on Half Pay. Instead he resigned and went into his father's bank. He is one of the reasons I want the Order to be re-established in England."

"And the other?"

"Fred." Edouard's reply was almost a whisper.

"Fred? What has he got to do with it?"

Edouard smiled and looked at The Gunner. "Fred is one of us. He is a member of our Brotherhood. Why do you think he's in Canada, and not in England?"

The Gunner was perplexed and confused. "Edouard, I barely know him. He's quiet, and he never speaks about his home life. I only know what I read in his Service Record." "Of course, that would be the way of it," replied Edouard absently. "Send them away, with as little known about them as possible. Out of sight, out of mind and no explanations necessary!"

"Fred is gay?"

Edouard nodded his affirmative. "There was an . . . incident at his public school. I am not all that sure of the specifics. I only know what the Admiral told me and he did not go into any details. Suffice it to say that when the boy's parents - two pluperfect asses - found out about the incident they all but disowned him. They could not have a homosexual son! It simply was not done! How could they hold their heads up in Society, what with his mother's family name and his father's diplomatic career? They never thought about their son! All they cared about was what people would think, or say of them!"

"They sent him away?"

Edouard shuddered and a tear formed in his eye. "They sent him to Canada - summarily banished the boy without a hearing! Can you imagine it, Stephen? They did not even have the courtesy, or love, to go to the school and help him. They sent their secretary, Fred's passport and a one-way ticket to Canada."

"They never saw him?"

"No. They wanted nothing to do with him. He was out of their lives and consigned to some dreadful military school for recalcitrant boys!"

"He seems happy enough, now."

Edouard grinned. "The Admiral found out what they had done. He raised hell with them and cut them off without a penny - he controls the family funds - and then took Fred under his wing. Fred lives with the Admiral's older sister. She's a dotty old thing, and exiled because of past peccadilloes." He snickered. "She had a definite penchant for blackamoors - something not done in polite Society. A trumpet player was her downfall, I think. She was not very discreet, the silly woman, and word got back to the Palace. She was sent away, with a pension, a barge full of household goods, and told never to darken England's door lest she lose her pension."

"And the Admiral?"

"He loves Fred very deeply. He's made sure that the boy is taken care of and visits him as often as he can. As far as Fred's mother - the Admiral's youngest sister, and a bitch of the first water - he never sees her. When she agreed to let the Admiral have custody of Fred he restored her more than generous stipend. Every year, on her birthday, he sends her a fat cheque. They avoid each other as much as possible."

"I grant that you have good reason to want to be a part of the Order, Edouard. I must remind you, however, that there is no Order in England."

"There will be," replied Edouard firmly. He noticed The Gunner's raised eyebrows. "Michael Chan has been in contact with the Admiral. How he knew about Fred's problems I do not know because it all happened before I came on the scene. All I do know is that when we arrived yesterday there was this huge limousine at the airport and we were whisked off to meet with a very courtly Chinese gentleman. Over dinner we discussed the Order." He gave The Gunner a strange look. "Michael seemed to know a great deal about me. I wonder how . . ."

"You dined with Michael Chan?" asked The Gunner, his eyes wide and sparkling almost imperceptibly.

"Of course I did," returned Edouard irritably. "Why wouldn't I?"

The Gunner could not resist the temptation to remind Edouard of his not so secret prejudices. "If memory serves, Edouard, railing against the Yellow Peril was one of your favourite pastimes."

"Now, see here, Stephen, that is hardly called for," growled Edouard.

"Well, if it makes you feel any better Michael is only three-quarters Chinese. His grandfather was a Scotsman," said The Gunner, ignoring Edouard's rising choler. "Related to the Earls of Ormonde and Ness, or so I've been told. They really don't talk about him, as he was run out of the Highlands for double selling a herd of sheep, though why the Ormondes would care is beyond me, since everybody knows they were nothing but jumped-up Campbells rewarded for butchering their neighbours at Culloden, and . . ."

"You really are a most insufferable little man," hissed Edouard.

"Yes, I am," returned The Gunner, thoroughly enjoying Edouard's discomfiture. "Let that be a lesson to you. Never judge a book, and so on."

Edouard cast a withering glance in The Gunner's direction. "Why do I have the impression that you know about my host than you're letting on?"

"Because I do," replied The Gunner, not about to let Edouard know - yet - just how important Michael was. "And because I know more than I let on, I told Michael all about you." He grinned hugely. "I put your name down on my list of possible candidates and had a chat with Michael, about you." He paused for emphasis. "I neither embellished nor held back."

"The man must think me a right prat!" snapped Edouard.

"You are," returned The Gunner with a slight smile. "Or should I say that you were a prat?"

Edouard chuckled. "No, in many ways I am still the horrible creature you knew and loved. I am trying, though, Stephen, to change my ways." He stood up and gestured toward the Headquarters Building. "I really should be dancing attendance on his nibs." As they walked along he began speaking again, his voice full of emotion. "I know you doubt my motives, and Lord knows I have given you more than ample cause for that doubt. But please, I meant what I said and I am sincere! I must make amends for the harm I've done. I must at least try! I owe it to Andreus and I owe it to Fred, to all the other boys who were sent to Coventry simply because they were gay, or Jewish, or black or whatever. As a member of the Order I can do it!"

"Not overnight," The Gunner pointed out sternly. "England still has laws on the books against sodomy."

"But it would be a start, Stephen, just to re-establish the Order. With my contacts, hell, with the Admiral's contacts, we can establish a magnificent thing! We can work behind the scenes and we can do what needs to be done!" He stopped at the foot of the steps leading to the Headquarters Building. "It will take time, but we must do it."

The Gunner nodded. "All right, you will be my Liege Man. Chef will be in touch, I'm sure."

A surprised look came over Edouard's face. "Chef? Whatever does he have to do with it?"

"He's the Proctor. If he gives you his approval the ceremony will be arranged. If he says no, then . . ."

Edouard laughed. "And to think, my future depends on a man I dismissed as a well-meaning buffoon."

The Gunner's hackles rose at this slur against Chef. "Chef is more than that, Edouard, much more than that," he said stiffly. "You'd do well to remember that."

"Oh, I shall." Edouard laughed and shook his head. "Chef, of all people! Well, it proves that one should never prejudge. I thought him a mere cook with a kind heart."

"Really? And what made you think that?" The Gunner was intrigued. He felt certain that another piece of the puzzle that was Chef would shortly fall into place.

"Nothing untoward, really. Andreus and his father have more money than they know what to do with. They're connected, somehow, to the Rothschilds, and De Beers, the diamond people. Andreus's father supports half of the East End."

The Gunner recalled that there was a large Jewish population in the so-called East End of London. "Must cost him a packet."

"Not really. It all comes under the heading of good works, one of which is the Leman Street yeshiva. I was there one Shabbes with Andreus and there was this huge man rampaging about the kitchen. How he came to be there I shall never know. Chef never offered an explanation and I certainly was not about to question his presence there."

"Wise, if I know Chef."

"Wiser if he has a bloody great cleaver in his hand," responded Edouard.

" . . . Knew him in Korea," the Admiral was saying as Captain Lotbiniere slipped quietly into Father's office. "A strange man. An ogre one minute, a saint the next."

"The boys think he's as crazy as a bedbug," said Father, nodding in agreement. "They also know that his bark is much worse than his bite." He grinned slightly. "Strange though the man is, the boys love him and laugh at his stories, which I never know to believe or not. It has been my experience that Chef has a tendency to rearrange history to suit his purpose or to coincide with the story he happens to be telling at the time!"

The Admiral nodded and took a sip of the excellent brandy Father had offered him. "Really? I always thought it depended on the phase of the moon and the level in the rum bottle." He chuckled. "Still, Chef has a way with children. He was assigned to my headquarters as cook and ah, what he could do with a few tins of bully beef and a handful of pickled cabbage. When he wasn't railing at the other cooks, or threatening the Supply Officer, he was feeding the local urchins. Dear God, did Pusan teem with the little beggars! Chef was surrounded by children!"

Father chuckled. "He still is." His eyes brightened. "I wonder what would happen if I asked Chef to help out with the lifeboat drill?"

"To you? Nothing good, I'll wager."

"Perhaps left well enough alone," replied Father with a slight grin.

Suddenly the Admiral's mood changed and he looked into his glass, his face sombre. "I want to thank you. Snuffy, for looking after Fred."

Father waved away the Admiral's thanks. "Fred is large enough to look after himself. He was no trouble."

"You could have sent him home, or refused his draft."

"Why?" Father shook his head. He and the Admiral were old friends, and had been shipmates during the War. He leaned across his desk and looked directly at the Admiral. "Old friend, the thought never crossed my mind. You asked in your letter that the boy be given a chance. So far as I am concerned what happened in England, happened in England. Young Fred has been a credit to you, and to himself. He has fit in, and done exceptionally well. When nearly all the senior cadets were off on a jaunt he, and his fellow Regulating PO, young Tom Vernon, together with Chief Jon Jackson ran the place. Fred has this calm, quiet way of getting things done." He leaned back in his chair and looked squarely at his old friend. "Fred was promoted because of his proven ability, not because he is your nephew. Jon, Fred and young Thumper will be receiving a small token of appreciation later on today. You'll be handing out some of the prizes."

"I will?" The Admiral turned to look at Edouard, who shrugged. "I was under the impression that the Lieutenant Governor would be playing mother."

Father laughed and shook his head. "His Excellency can only stay for the Inspection, and would like to be off no later than 1530 as he's to dedicate a War Memorial in Port Alberni later in the day. Then he's off to Nanaimo to preside at the Commissioning Ceremonies for the new CP ferry. He is a very busy man and can give us just so much of his time."

The Admiral pretended patient acceptance. "Can't be helped, I suppose." He raised an eyebrow. "Fred's to be given an award?"

Father nodded. "He and quite a few of the others. You'll be busy." He was not at all reluctant to ask his old friend to fill in. Besides, the old boy would be right chuffed and pleased beyond measure to give his nephew his award. "Of course, Bertie Arundel will be here. He's just been named an Associate Justice of the Supreme Court, don't ye know, and his two lads, the Twins, are my Chief Gunners this year. He's also ex-Navy and I am sure that he would be right chuffed to . . ."

"Nonsense," grumbled the Admiral. "I shall do it. Done it a million and more times. Piece of cake!"

Father glanced at Edouard who raised his eyes and gave a slight shake of his head. Wild horses would not be able to drag the Admiral away from the Prize Giving ceremony. "What say we chat about it over lunch. We'll go over to the Mess Hall. I'm sure that Chef would be happy to renew acquaintances and . . ."

"He'd pitch a fit, is what he'd do," said the Admiral, "if we all showed up unannounced."

Father reached for the telephone. "Perhaps it would be best to ring over to the galley and let Chef know that we're coming."

After hanging up the telephone Chef was galvanized into action. He thundered through the galley issuing orders. "Phantom," he bellowed. "Set up the Chief's table. Use the good linen and the Admiral's china."

"But Chef, its all packed away," whined The Phantom.

"Well unpack it!"

"Val and Tyler are already at the Chiefs table," replied The Phantom. He also made a face at Chef's back.

"I saw that, Phantom," growled Chef as he all but stampeded into the main dining room. He stopped at the Chiefs table and glared at Tyler and Val. "Stop eating, the whole of you," he ordered.

Tyler and Val looked at Chef and then at each other. "But, Chef, we're almost finished," said Tyler, wondering what Chef was up to now.

"Good! You'll have room for lunch then," replied Chef, a glint in his eye.

"Chef, we've just eaten lunch!" said Val.

"So, you'll eat again. You're a growing boy and need your victuals! Now, off with you, and change into something decent."

Both Tyler and Val looked down at their uniforms, and then at each other. Both were dressed in the Rig of the Day: gunshirts and blue bell-bottoms. "We are wearing something decent," Tyler pointed out.

"Not if you're lunching with the Admiral!"

"What?" Val went white under his tan. "What admiral?"

"The admiral you're having lunch with," returned Chef. "Put on your jumpers and be back here at 1245 on the dot. Luncheon is at 1300. And find Fred! I don't care what he's doing. He's to eat lunch with his uncle!"

"What if he's on the toilet?" asked Tyler in pretended innocence.

"Wipe his bum and get it over here!" retorted Chef without hesitation. He wheeled and descended on the stewards, who were cowering in one corner of the dining room. "Matt, Kevin, Killian. Clean into your jackets and wash your hands. You'll be serving. Phantom, it would be nice if the plates were on the table before our guests arrive! And we need flowers. Where the hell is Nathan? Bloody Yanks are never around when you need them!" He scowled at Nicholas, who had been planning a quiet lunch with Andre. "And I better not see any pictures of hairy asses or wee willies, or I swear . . ."

Lunch with the Admiral was a treat. He put all of the cadets at ease by telling them carefully expurgated stories of his time in the Far East, and never once talked down to them. He was interested in their stories, and was impressed when he learned that the officers would assist in the Abandon Ship drill.

"Bloody good show!" he snorted. "Not enough of it these days. In my day an officer thought nothing of mucking in and getting dirty with the hands. The officers would paint ship with the lads, rig fuelling stations, cox a whaler and generally make themselves useful." He glared at his Staff Captain. "Nowadays officers are politicians and spend half their time worrying that someone will give them a wedgie!"

Captain Lotbiniere almost choked on the wine that Chef had thoughtfully provided. "There is hardly much of an opportunity, sir," he said tentatively. He had no idea what a "wedgie" was and was not at all eager to find out.

Fred, who was sitting to the Lotbiniere's right, leaned over and said, "Be careful, sir. Uncle is setting you up for something."

The Admiral waved his glass and shook his head. "Rubbish. You're as healthy as a horse and you've a golden opportunity here! Just think of it, a Royal Navy Captain, helping the little ones in a very important lesson. The press will be out in swarms. Think of the publicity. Hands across the sea, Nelson's Band of Brothers."

Edouard stuck his nose in the air. "I'm afraid, sir, that I did not include a swimming costume in my luggage."

The Gunner grinned evilly. "Why, Captain, I would be happy to lend you a pair of shorts." Edouard gave The Gunner a black look as The Gunner continued. "The cadets would be honoured if you took part in the drill."

The old Edouard rose to the fore. "Really, Stephen, 'shorts'? One would be better attired if one were nude!"

Father snickered. "Well, we can't go quite that far. However, since The Gunner is going into town to do some errands perhaps you would care to accompany him? I'm sure that the shops will have something to suit your taste." Without waiting for an answer he turned to the Admiral. "The Lieutenant Governor will be here at 1400. He's very prompt so I do not expect that he will delay the Inspection. He'll do that, do a quick walk about, and then he's off."

The Admiral nodded. "Understandable. He's a busy man and much in demand."

"True," replied Father. "He hasn't been up this way for quite some time so he's scheduled all these different functions. We're fortunate we will have him for the hour or so he's scheduled."

"So then, I'm on . . . when?"

Father fiddled with his napkin, thinking aloud. "One hesitates to be precise as to timing. You know how these things go. There are always inevitable delays. We will need to have some lead-time after the New Entries finish their part of the program. They will need to shower and change. I think about half an hour should give us the opportunity to roust all of our young charges from whatever nooks and crannies they hide in." He grinned at Tyler and Val. "It has never ceased to amaze me that 200-odd boys can disappear so completely. I shall rely on you both to keep an eye on things." He turned to Number One. "If last year is any indication I doubt that we'll be overrun with guests. Still, keep the bar closed until after the Prize Giving. They can have tea or coffee before the ceremony but no booze until after."

Number One nodded his agreement. "Nothing like the promise of a large something to curtail dawdling."

Father continued on. "With luck we shall finish everything by 1630, which is the best answer I can give you, Admiral." He looked at The Gunner. "You should do what you have to do now, Stephen."

The Gunner rose and nodded to Edouard. "Once more into the breach, dear friend," he quoted.

Edouard grimaced. "Or fill this ditch with English blood!" he snarled in return.

"I really don't know why you're so damned upset, Edouard," The Gunner said as he parked his Land Rover beside the trophy shop. "It's not that you haven't done anything like this before. You did climb the mast at the College."

Edward all but snorted his indignation. "And just as I was forced to climb the bloody mast at the College I am being forced to leap from a jetty! At the College I was an innocent cadet. I am now a bloody Staff Captain! It offends my dignity!"

"Bugger your dignity," replied The Gunner, not at all sympathetic to Edouard's plight. "Here you're one of the boys so you might as well stop complaining." He left the car and called back, "There are some decent shops down the road a way. I'm sure we'll find something suitable that will not offend your dignity."

Edouard remained in the Land Rover, sitting stony faced and occasionally glowering in the direction of the trophy shop as The Gunner completed making his purchases. When he reappeared, his arms full of packages, Edouard got out of the car and helped stow away the prizes.

They walked along the crowded Esplanade, Edouard peering into the shop windows. Every other store seemed to sell bathing suits and accessories. Edouard sneered his way past at least five shops and found the merchandise on offer decidedly wanting. The suits were too brief, they were too long, they were too loud, or they weren't loud enough. "I don't know what you want, Edouard," The Gunner complained bitterly. "What do you care what the bloody thing looks like? You're only going to wear it for an hour at most! You certainly didn't mind when we were in Whale Island. You ran with the Gun Run Team and got down in the mud with the football players."

"The press will be there," returned Edouard. "One must make an impression!"

"Jesus, you sound like Queen Mary!"

"A redoubtable woman who believed in doing her duty. Grim and forbidding though she was, I thought her a remarkable woman."

"You knew her?"

"Of course," replied Edouard, giving The Gunner a "How dare you doubt me" look. He carried on past Mr. Schoenmann's shop, and into the market.

"Edouard, there are no clothing stores in this market. It's all food and flowers and . . ." began The Gunner. He was becoming decidedly cranky and the headache that had been in remission was returning. He crashed into Edouard, who had stopped abruptly in front of a dismal little shop.

"Whatever is this quaint establishment?" asked Edouard as he surveyed the merchandise arrayed behind the streaked and flyspecked display window. "Some sort of a novelty shop?"

The Gunner peered into the window of the shop and chuckled. "Only if you're in the market for an inflatable companion for the evening."

Edouard did not favour The Gunner with the expected sneering reply. He seemed to be staring at one of the display mannequins. He looked thoughtful and began to tap his chin with his forefinger. A strange glint came into his eyes and he smiled slyly. "I wonder Stephen, have you ever been snorkelling?"

The Gunner looked at the mannequin and shook his head wildly. "Oh, no. No you don't! If you think for one minute . . ." He gave Edouard a hard look. "You wouldn't!"

Edouard nodded. "I would. Remember, dear Stephen that you are speaking to the man who once revelled in the name of "Blue Balls!" He laughed softy. "My intended, when she isn't eating hay or farting - and oh, Stephen, when she laughs, she neighs - insists that what makes the look are the accessories. Now, what say we step inside and see if we can negotiate with the purported proprietor of this low establishment?" He began to pull The Gunner by the arm into the shop. "I do hope that you have some money. I'm afraid I left the hotel without so much as a crown."

The Gunner raised his eyes. So like Edouard! Still as tight as a frog's arsehole! "I have money. I also hope that there is only one of those . . . costumes," he grumbled as he was pulled with all the enthusiasm of a mule into Baillie's Box.

Although the invitations had been for 1300 the first of the guests began to arrive shortly after 1100. While Inspection Day at AURORA had its allures, it was the middle of a working week and relatively few civilian guests could find the time to take the afternoon off. Most of the guests were from the Legion, bemedalled veterans and their wives, the local Boy Scout troop, friends the officers had made in town and the parents of the boys from the Comox unit. The only out of town guests were Tyler's parents, Associate Justice and Mrs. Arundel, the parents of the Twins, and a few American tourists who appeared to be lost.

The guests walked about admiring the displays and the excellent view of the Strait of Georgia, the older men reminiscing and the women critiquing each other's ensembles. Almost every lady wore a light, colourful summer frock, an impossible hat, and white gloves. Starched white shirts, regimental or club ties, grey flannels and medals predominated amongst the men, except for Justice Arundel who wore a proper morning suit and the group of American tourists who thought that Bermuda shorts, garishly-coloured Hawaiian shirts (worn outside their shorts) and leather sandals good enough to wear when visiting a training school for little boys.

Precisely at 1345 a long, black Lincoln Town Car nosed its way past the Guardhouse. The Phantom, who was leaving the Mess Hall with The Gunner, saw the car pass and remarked that it looked familiar, as it should have. The car had been hired from the local undertaker, Base Transport's offer of a plebeian Ford Torino having been politely declined as not in keeping with the dignity of so august a personage as the Lieutenant Governor.

Todd, who had been watching impatiently, raised his arm, then brought it down sharply. Number One gun bellowed and jerked from the recoil. The Lieutenant Governor had arrived and his seven-gun salute began.

As the Lincoln moved majestically toward the dais set up in front of the parade square the guns continued to thunder. Father, with Admiral Stephens at his side, waited to greet the Queen's Representative in British Columbia.

Arrayed behind the dais were the Piping Party of Stuart, Steve, and two senior Boatswains. Four Sea Puppies stood opposite the Piping Party as Side Boys. In front of the dais the Guard was standing ready. Behind the Guard was the Band, Harry in front as always, praying that Fozzy would not repeat his performance of yesterday, and that Andre would not say something that would cause him to drop the Mace!

Behind the Band, in platoons and companies, were the Cadets of AURORA, and the five boat crews from the Dockyard. Every officer and cadet was dressed in a gleaming white uniform. On the far side of the parade square, wearing green coveralls, Little Big Man lethargically policed the Vicar's little prayer garden.

On either side of the dais, affording a good view of the parade, were seated the dignitaries and invited guests: the Mayors of Courtenay and Comox, Associate Justice and Mrs. Arundel, the Commanding Officer of CFB Comox, Mark, Tony and Nathan (the Americans looking stunning in their freshly laundered white uniforms), and the ship's cat, which was curled under the chair provided for the Lieutenant-Governor, licking itself.

Simon, who had once again been detailed off as Car Boy, opened the rear passenger door of the Lincoln and the Lieutenant Governor, a short, compact little man dressed in the blue and gold uniform of the Old Navy, exited. He was a Honourary Captain in the Royal Canadian Navy and refused point blank to wear the green uniform, which had once led to a flaming row with the Colonel Commanding the aerodrome, who was belligerently green. Addressing the Colonel as "Wing Commander" had not improved their relationship in the slightest.

"Your Excellency," said Father, beaming a greeting and saluting.

"Snuffy, old thing," replied His Excellency. He returned the salute and held out his hand, beaming. He and Father had served together during the Battle of the Atlantic and were old shipmates. "And Johnny Stephens!" He reached out both hands to the admiral. They had served together in the Korean Conflict.

The three old friends spent a few moments remembering what they all considered to be better times. During the brief conversation His Excellency mentioned that he had been coming to AURORA since 1943, the first year that cadets had begun training, and in fact had been one of the instructors at the first two-week-long training camp at the "Cadet Camp at Heron Spit." He also, quite without thinking that anyone would pay the slightest bit of attention to him, remarked that all the white uniforms and caps reminded him of the early days, when Divisions were being held, and that it was such a pity that the Old Flag had been relegated to the dust bin of history.

His Excellency reckoned without Nicholas who, as Yeoman of Signals, was at his post beside the ship's mast. His ears perked up at the mention of the Old Flag and he whispered hurriedly to Calvin Hobbes, his most junior and newest addition to the Signals Branch. Calvin, a slim, trim, strawberry blond, who was tall for his age, with a thin face covered in freckles and the not so proud owner of what were demonstrably the biggest feet any thirteen-year-old could possess, nodded enthusiastically and slipped away unnoticed into the Flag Locker.

Number One tried to hurry things along. He was so intent on getting things moving that he did not notice the Canadian flag being lowered and transferred from the gaff to the starboard spar of the mast. He managed to prod diplomatically and the three senior officers, grumbling a bit, moved to their places. His Excellency mounted the dais and stiffened.

Kyle, as Guard Officer, executed a sword salute and bellowed, "Ship's Company . . . Ship's Company . . . Vice-Regal Salute, Present . . . ARMS!" On the last movement of the Present Arms, Harry's Mace came down and the Band played the Vice-Regal Salute, nobody in the Official Party noticing that as the Band Played the first six bars of God Save The Queen, the first four, and then the last four bars of O Canada, slowly rising to the gaff of the mast was the White Ensign. As the last note of the Salute sounded the Canadian Flag was hauled close to the spar of the mast and the Lieutenant Governor's flag was broken at the top of the mast. Harry and the entire parade, grinned. The Commanding Officer of CFB Comox, seated with the spectators, fumed and glowered.

The Phantom, with Matt, was not on parade. Dressed in gunshirts and blue denim work dress trousers they helped the caterer and his assistants with setting up the buffet lunch being provided for the guests and visitors. On long tables were set out hot and cold dishes, and trays of canapés, which the cadets would pass. They were not allowed to handle alcohol, and the caterer's staff would be passing the drinks.

With the inspection music sounding in the background the two boys worked quickly and efficiently. They were finished in good time and decided to walk over to the parade square where they stood to one side and watched as the Inspection Party, which consisted of the Lieutenant Governor, Captain Lotbiniere, Father, No "H", who was A Company Commander, and the ship's cat, walked slowly through the ranks.

"I don't really see why all those people have to be out there," said Matt presently. "It's kind of intimidating, especially for the little kids."

The Phantom nodded. "The Gunner says that only the Inspecting Officer and the Parade Commander should be doing it." He giggled. "I wonder . . ."

"What?"

"Well, I wonder if the Lieutenant Governor looks at their bums."

"Phantom!"

The Phantom blushed slightly. "Some mighty nice bums out there, Matty."

"Well I don't think that the Lieutenant . . ." Matt gave The Phantom a hard look. "You looked at my bum?"

"Yep," replied The Phantom, nodding and grinning. He leaned back and then forward. "You do have a nice butt, Matt."

"After last night I bloody well hope you'd think that!" replied Matt with a giggle.

The Phantom's face softened. "About last night, Matt . . ."

Matt swivelled his head and looked intensely at The Phantom. "I meant what I said earlier, Phantom. I wanted you to make love to me. I don't regret it and . . ."

The Phantom wrapped his hand around Matt's wrist. "If you will shut up for one minute, perhaps you might like to hear how I felt." Without letting Matt reply he took a deep breath and said, "What happened last night was . . . wonderful for me too."

"You mean that? You really mean that?" asked Matt, who had been expecting a lecture.

"Yes, I mean it," replied The Phantom slowly. He released Matt's wrist. "We just can't do it again."

Matt stifled a growl. "I know that! I'm not sorry we did it," he whispered fiercely, thankful that they were far enough away from the seated spectators that they could not be overheard. "I know that you're in love with The Gunner. I'm still in love with Todd. I accept that you're uncomfortable with what happened, just don't expect me to say that I'm sorry it happened!"

"I don't expect that at all, Matt," said The Phantom softly. "All I am saying is that we owe it to the people we do love not to do it again. Please, Matt, try to understand that while I want to be with you, I can't. And while you might want to be with me, you can't because you know deep down inside your heart that Todd is the boy you want. I love you, Matt. I will always love you. I just don't love you enough, I guess."

"You love me enough, Phantom." Matt smiled slowly. "That's all that is important to me. Last night you made me feel warm, and wanted." He glanced sideways at The Phantom. "I know how you feel about The Gunner. You know how I feel about Todd. That is not going to change."

"At least we understand each other in that respect."

Matt nodded. "I still want Todd." He sighed heavily. "I'll wait for him, Phantom."

The Phantom shook his head. "Matty, you're a young, good looking guy. You can have the . . ." He saw the look that came over Matt's face. "All right, you'll wait for Todd," he said with a heavy heart. "You know I'll do what I can."

"I know. I also know that I can't promise you that I won't try to be with you again." Matt turned and looked passionately at The Phantom. "When I need someone to hold me, to love me, I'll turn to you, Phantom."

"You seem awfully sure of yourself," replied The Phantom with a sniff.

Matt laughed quietly. "I am sure. I'm your little brother. I know you, Phantom. If I hurt, you hurt. You can't help yourself, you know. You have this, I don't know, this something in you that makes you want to take away all the hurts of your friends and brothers. If I come to you, hurting, you'll do whatever it takes to make my hurt go away. Guys know that, Phantom. That's why they come to you."

"I don't sleep with all the guys I help," replied The Phantom defensively. "All the guys I've helped have been here, at AURORA."

"No one in town?"

"No, Matt. No one in town."

"Too bad. You're a good friend, Phantom. Maybe one day some of the town guys will realize it."

The Phantom put his arm around Matt's shoulder. "I don't think that will happen, Matt. I don't feel the same way about them as I do the guys here. I could never get close to the guys I went to school with."

"None of 'em have a nice bum?" asked Matt with a grin.

"Too many with nice bums," returned The Phantom sharply. "They're so . . . I don't know, they're just so wrapped up in themselves, so concerned about what the others will say about them - everybody knows everybody in a small town, Matt. It's not like here, where guys learn to trust each other. Over there . . ." The Phantom gestured toward the bay. "Over there, everybody has their own little gang, they're own little clique. Over there, guys are supposed to like girls. Over there guys like me, and you, and Todd, all the others, we're . . ." Matt held up his hand. "I know. God do I know.

"Here at AURORA guys don't care." The Phantom thought about Little Big Man and Two Strokes and amended his remark. "Most guys don't care. We have a job to do. We have to do it together, so we do it." He waved toward the parade. "Those guys out there, they know that this parade is important. They want to do a good job, so they all work together to make sure that the parade goes off as it should. Nobody gives a fiddler's fuck if the guy standing beside him is gay, or dicks chickens. All that matters, all that is important, is that they do their job."

"Which is the way it's supposed to be," said Matt. He shaded his eyes with the flat of his hand. "They're almost finished. You want to stick around for the speeches?"

The Phantom shook his head emphatically. "Nope. Let's finish up here and then go and watch the Sea Puppies make like lemmings.

Matt laughed. "I'm waiting to see The Gunner do it! And that Kipper captain. He looked like he'd been stabbed after the Admiral volunteered him."

"It's a twenty foot drop when the tide is out. I just hope nobody gets hurt," said The Phantom as he moved back toward the tables.

They finished the setting up, brushed themselves, clapped their caps on their heads and began walking slowly toward the Dockyard. In the background they could hear the voice of the Lieutenant Governor coming from the loud speakers that had been set up, announcing how pleased he was to issue a Vice-Regal Proclamation renaming the Guard of HMCS AURORA the Queen's Company.

As they entered the Dockyard they could hear the rattle of the guns being limbered up in preparation for the March Past. The Phantom turned to Matt. "About us being together last night . . ."

Matt shrugged, sensing The Phantom's unease. "I'm not going to blab it all over the ship, Phantom. We made love and it's nobody else's business. Period!"

They walked down the jetty, admiring the flagged-bedecked YAGs, which had been dressed overall in honour of the Vice Regal visit. "I never thought that you would say anything, Matt," replied The Phantom with a warm smile. "I trust you and you trust me. It's just that . . . well, I don't think Todd needs to know about what happened."

"Or The Gunner?" asked Matt. He cocked an eyebrow. "You going to tell him about us?"

"No." The Phantom stopped and looked at Matt. "Matt, I love you, and I love some other guys. I've slept with them, and The Gunner knows that I did. He says he understands but I get the feeling that maybe he's jealous and worried that I'll leave him. I won't, which is one of the reasons I don't want us to get serious. I think that I should just be, well, myself and let him be himself. Telling him about us would serve no purpose, just as telling Todd would serve no purpose."

Matt snorted and began walking on. "Todd doesn't give a damn what I do, or who I do it with. He's all wrapped up with Harry. He's not interested in me so why should he care who I sleep with, or don't sleep with?"

"You mustn't give up on him, Matt. He's just as confused as the rest of us. He thinks that he's in love with Harry, and as much as I do love Todd, and Harry, I think that sooner or later they will both realize that what they have can't and won't last. Harry is infatuated with Stefan and has been since the day they met." He shrugged expressively. "As for Todd, well, Harry is Todd's dream attained."

"We all have dreams, Phantom," said Matt quietly.

The Phantom nodded as they took up their seats on two of the bollards. "I know. My dream was The Gunner. Your dream is Todd." He began chuckling softly.

"What?" asked Matt, wondering what The Phantom found amusing.

"Oh, I was just thinking of Chris," replied The Phantom. "Before you got here Chris used to go on about the Fort Henry Guard."

"I've been to Kingston and the Guard is pretty good," replied Matt as he settled himself as comfortably as he could. "They are all Queen's University students and the uniforms are neat."

The Phantom snickered. "I think Chris was more interested in getting the Guardsmen out of their uniforms."

Matt laughed. "Well, I can't blame him. Some of those guys could sure fill out a pair of pants!"

"Well, anyway," continued The Phantom as he laughed with Matt, "The Guard was Chris's dream. The Grail. Harry was Todd's dream." He frowned slightly. "Cory's, too."

Matt stared into the flotsam-littered water. "Chris might not have 'attained' his dream. Todd has and I don't see him breaking up with Harry any time soon."

"They will," said The Phantom firmly. "Harry will always love Stefan, and Todd will either accept that, or he won't. My guess is that Todd won't."

"And when he comes to his senses?"

The Phantom grinned broadly. "Why, Matt, did I not tell you that your big brother would be looking out for you?"

Matt returned The Phantom's infectious grin. "That's all well and good, Phantom. In the mean time . . ." he stretched and then reached over and gave his friend a punch on the shoulder and waggled his eyebrows. "I think I'll stick with Chief Stewards who fill out their pants just the way I like!"

The Gunner sat next to Laurence and watched as the Inspection came slowly to a close. As the Lieutenant Governor's party moved off to inspect the Field Gun Crews he turned to Laurence. "Like what you see?"

Laurence, his face shaded by his broad-brimmed helmet nodded slowly. "Reminds me of Navy Day on the Parade back in Portsmouth." He raised his head and looked at The Gunner. "I would have preferred a few young Royals, but . . ." he shrugged languidly. "One cannot have everything."

The Gunner chuckled. "With Admiral Stephens and Captain Lotbiniere coming on board you just might have a few of those to work with."

"A long time coming, Sir Stephen," replied Laurence. "Still, one hopes."

"Did you know, were you privy . . .?"

Laurence shook his head. "Mr. Michael works very much on a need to know basis. And he never says anything until he is absolutely certain that his planning has been successful."

"So you knew nothing about Michael's plans to reopen the English Priory?"

"Until I went to the airport, no. I was as surprised as you were." Laurence smiled thinly. "Until you were elected Chancellor and I was made your Equerry, I was little more than a security guard disguised as a footman. I knew that Michael, and Major Meinertzhagen, were involved in something in England. I did not know that they were meeting with Admiral Stephens until I picked him up at the airport."

"And Captain Lotbiniere?"

Laurence laughed softly. "A surprise." He saw the look on The Gunner's face and nodded firmly. "Neither Michael nor the Major had any idea that he was on the Admiral's staff. Admirals choose their own staff officers, you know."

The Gunner nodded his agreement. "So, a new English Priory. What's next? Germany? Or perhaps the States?" The Gunner was frankly fishing for information. As Chancellor he felt that he should be privy to whatever plans Michael had afoot.

Laurence shrugged. "I doubt Germany. There's no one there that Michael trusts. I can tell you that it took four years before Michael felt that the time was right for England. Germany has a long history of dealing harshly with gays."

"I know," said The Gunner, his voice filled with emotion. "The Nazis killed 70,000 of our brothers for no other reason but that they were gay."

"So you understand Michael's reluctance to become involved with such people."

"And the States?"

Laurence saw that the Inspection Party was finished and was returning toward the dais. "I have a report for you, which will keep you up until all hours. It details Michael's plans for the United States. Your four Yanks figure large. Basically all Michael wants is a watching brief. The climate in America is not quite right. If Ensign Berg and his three cadets are interested, Michael feels that they will be a good foundation on which to build."

"I've spoken to Kyle St. Vincent. He's Andy's lover and he seems to think that Andy will be interested. I've not had a chance to speak to the boys. Mark van Beck and Tony Valpone I think will also be receptive."

"And Petty Officer 1st Class Berman?"

The Gunner looked thoughtful. Then he shook his head. "Nathan is too wrapped up in himself, and his ability to attract other boys. I frankly do not feel that he would bring the dedication to our ideals that Mark, Tony, and Andy will bring." He shook his head again. "Monday morning the boys who live in the Gunroom had a meeting. Mark and Tony were invited. Nathan was not. If his own shipmates do not trust him, why should we?"

"No watching brief then for young Nathan." Laurence did not entirely agree with The Gunner's assessment of Nathan but kept his doubts to himself.

The Gunner had made a decision about Nathan. "No. He arrived here Sunday and between then and now he's been with two boys. Call me old fashioned but somehow rampant promiscuity is not very high on my list of recommendations for membership."

"Perhaps if the young gentleman learns that quality is to be preferred over quantity," suggested Laurence.

"Nathan has sex appeal. He also has no scruples or morals," snapped The Gunner angrily. "I cannot help but think that when it comes down to the good of the Order, or his next piece of tail, the latter will win over the former!"

Laurence did not reply immediately. He was aware that The Gunner was fully prepared to refuse acceptance to any candidate that he did not personally approve of. Nathan seemed to fit the bill. "As you wish." He glanced toward the dais. "Time for speeches, I think," he said, ending their conversation.

The Gunner shuddered. He hated canned speeches, with tales of derring-do and insincere expressions of pride and interest in what the cadets were doing. He stood up and nodded toward the Band. "Stick around, Laurence, and wait until the boys march off. I think you'll be pleasantly surprised."

"Where are you going?" asked Laurence as he looked over the Band, wondering what they had to do with anything.

The Gunner ducked his head. "I, my friend, must now go and prepare myself for my coming ordeal," he said with a tight grin. "You might poke Lotbiniere. He's the one who got me into this."

Laurence was not at all sure what The Gunner was talking about. "The Captain and you are helping with the drill, are you not?" he asked flatly.

"Yes," replied The Gunner without enthusiasm.

"The Captain found a bathing suit to suit him, then?"

The Gunner raised his eyes. "Laurence, you do not want to know," he advised as he left the spectators area, muttering about a certain Naval Captain not being one to talk when it came to execrable taste in one's intimate garments!

Every effort had been made to ensure that the Abandon Ship Drill was conducted as safely as possible. Mal, as Navy diver in residence, was in the water, fully kitted out in a wet suit and scuba gear. Doc, with Matron, was standing by with first aid supplies, a stretcher, and plenty of blankets. Tyler, Val and Steve all manned picket boats and further out in the harbour the "Captain's Gig", a long, low clinker-built vessel lovingly maintained and decorated, putt-putted back and forth.

Chef, with little to do, bored, and not at all anxious to play Pearl Mesta to visiting firemen, inquisitive civilians and snooping brass hats, nor to sit chatting with the officers' wives exchanging recipes, surprised the Commanding Officer by insisting on "doing his bit" and had volunteered as Shark Patrol. He had also volunteered Ray, Kevin, Randy and Joey, none of whom were at all pleased about it. They muttered and grumbled with reason, for they had to clean into bathing suits and, when the exercise was over, clean into their stewards uniform and cooks whites. It was all very inconvenient so far as they were concerned.

Chef as usual brushed aside all complaints and, after commandeering the Captain's gig, set about making the small boat in all respects ready for sea. His crew, wearing a variety of swimsuits, were outfitted with life jackets. Extra life jackets and blankets were loaded on board. Secreted in one of the compartments fitted under the seats was a bottle of Pusser Penicillin, together with thermoses of coffee and hot chocolate. Chef was prepared for anything, even the appearance of sharks, which had not been reported in Comox Harbour in living memory. He settled himself into the stern of the gig, waved archly at his grumbling crew, and ordered anchors aweigh.

Giving Chef a dirty look, Ray and Kevin slipped off the lines that held the gig to the floating jetty bollards and Stuart, who was qualified to drive the thing, reversed engine and backed into the bay. At his feet was a field medical kit, which would come in useful if they had to do major surgery, assuming that any of the crew was qualified above Standard First Aid or had a medical degree.

As they putt-putted back and forth in front of the jetty, Kevin asked that should a shark be crazy enough to come into the harbour, just what Chef planned on using to drive the beast away?

Chef, who had commandeered all the seat cushions, settled his heavy body into a more comfortable seat, and grinned. "Gaffs," he said, pointing to the long boat hooks fitted to the gunwales of the gig. "And this." He reached down and pulled out a long wooden box that he had manhandled down into the boat. "Guaranteed to put the fear of God into any finny creature." He opened the box and pulled out a long, double-barrelled, Purdey and Son wooden stocked .400 sporting rifle. "I knew this would come in handy one day," observed Chef as he broke the breech of the weapon and peered down the barrels.

Kevin, who was interested in such things and hunted with his father and brothers, gasped at the sight of the rifle. "Jesus, Chef, that thing's an elephant gun!"

"Of course it is," replied Chef with a disdainful look. "Guaranteed to stop an elephant! Why do you think I brought it?"

"But Chef," said Ray carefully. "We usually use a .303, or an FN."

"I know that," replied Chef testily. "Peashooters the whole of them! Wouldn't stop a minnow in full charge."

"Chef, I sorta think that the chances of finding an bull elephant in Comox Harbour are pretty remote," said Stuart over his shoulder.

"But not a bull shark!" returned Chef as he reached down to find the asparagus-sized cartridges that the weapon fired. "Now, where did I put those damned bullets?"

Up in the bow of the gig Randy nudged Joey. "You hid 'em?" he asked out of the side of his mouth.

Joey shook his head and pointed down into the water. "I deep-sixed them when he was in the heads."

Both boys grinned and settled back to enjoy the day.

With the Inspection over, and Laurence and Noel marching with an extra bounce in their steps thanks to Harry having the Band play Sari Marais as the cadets marched off, the Lieutenant Governor started his walk about. He visited the static displays, commenting favourably on the cadets' efforts, stopped briefly in the Commanding Officer's cabin for a short restorative, and the headed for the Dockyard, and the jetty, where the Sea Puppies were lined up, unwillingly prepared for their part in the festivities.

The jetty was a long, high structure built on a maze of wooden, creosoted piles. Berthed alongside were the five YAGS, each vessel dressed overall with colourful flags and pennants. Connecting each YAG to the weather-beaten boards of the jetty was a long, wooden gangway, varnished and decorated with fancy rope work. Sean, as Squadron Chief, and Lieutenant-Commander Harvordson, a cadaverous, lean, man with the look of the sea etched on his lined face and the YAG Squadron Commander, met the Lieutenant Governor at the Dockyard gate and escorted him down the jetty, pointing out interesting (they thought) features of the small vessels.

The civilian spectators gravitated toward the beach, or along the jetty, to watch the Sea Puppies perform their drill. Nicholas, with Calvin Hobbes, stood at the end of the jetty, semaphore flags at the ready. They would, by flag signal, communicate with the picket boats and the Captain's gig, there being no field radios available for cadets.

Harry, in the interest of uniformity, had ordered the Sea Puppies to wear their dark blue issue shorts. Andy and Kyle, as officers, were not subject to Harry's authority and wore their usual swimming gear, Kyle in a pair of flowered print swimming shorts and Andy in a tight, abbreviated pair of USN khaki shorts. The Executive Officer, as OIC Exercise, was dressed in his Number Eleven 11, complete with sword and medals.

As the Lieutenant Governor and his party approached, Number One pointed to four white, plastic canisters that had been tied to the side of the jetty. "Right, over they go."

Thumper, wearing sports gear, and Chris, who had simply removed his jumper, quickly pushed the canisters over the side. They landed in the water with a huge splash and sank. Each canister contained a life raft and was fitted with hydrostatic release gear, which had been set to minimum depth so that within 30 seconds four ten-man, covered life rafts popped to the surface. Number One grinned at Andy and Kyle. "Over you go, and where the hell is The Gunner and that pestiferous Captain Lot . . ."

A wave of tittering from the spectators lined along the jetty rolled toward Number One. He turned and his eyes bugged out of his head. He could not believe their getups!

Waving regally The Gunner and Captain Lotbiniere strolled toward Number One. They both looked as if they had just stepped off of Brighton promenade, circa 1900. Each man wore a two-piece, wool bathing costume, which covered his body from neck to knee. Firmly clamped between each man's teeth was a snorkel and they both wore facemasks. On their heads were perched solar topees, which The Gunner estimated had first seen use during the South African War. On their feet were rubber diver's flippers, which flip-flopped with each step they took, and made them look like multicoloured frogs.

The Gunner, dressed in an orange-striped suit, was grumbling and complaining. Not only was the suit made of wool, which scratched abominably, it was a size too small and while he never bragged, the costume did little to hide the prominent bulge in his drawers. He knew he should have worn a jock!

Edouard, far from being embarrassed, was thoroughly enjoying himself. If the Admiral wanted him to muck in with the lads, so be it. He was wearing a blue striped costume, which fit him to perfection and, while he would have much preferred to wear the diaper-sized suit he had worn when in the South of France, he was satisfied with the effect, if not the cleanliness of the suit he was wearing. He waved and bowed to the spectators, enjoying himself and not even The Gunner's muttered aside that he could well believe that Edouard knew Queen Mary because he was doing a damned good imitation of her, spoiled his mood.

As they flip-flopped down the jetty The Gunner and Edouard could hear Harry giving his last minute instructions to his charges, warning the not at all enthusiastic Sea Puppies that they must keep their ankles crossed and their legs together as they leapt from the jetty. This was very important. They were young boys and if they went into the water the wrong way they would end up with damaged tackle, which, while unused (Harry hoped), was all they were going to be issued, and as such had to be protected at all costs.

Nearly everybody ignored Andy and Kyle cursing as they tried to overturn the rafts.

Number One, his carefully planned exercise not going at all well, gave The Gunner and Captain Lotbiniere the eye and pointed toward the two struggling younger officers. The Gunner looked at Edouard who bowed, doffed his topee and handed it to Number One. He removed his mouthpiece and grinned at The Gunner. "Once more into the breach, dear friend," he said. He replaced the snorkel mouthpiece and cannonballed into the water, sending up a huge wave and almost capsizing Andy in the process.

"You should be stuffed up a breech," snarled The Gunner under his breath. He handed his topee to Number One and followed the Captain's lead.

Ignoring the muttered grumbling from the Sea Puppies and The Gunner's groaning, Number One exchanged The Gunner's hat for the megaphone that Sean was holding and launched his spiel. After welcoming everyone to the ship, he waved an arm toward the life rafts bobbing gently below the jetty. He explained that the rafts had been designed to be self-righting when released into the sea, and under ordinary circumstances this was exactly what happened. However, Number One warned, the sea oft times dictated otherwise and rafts would overturn. He glared as The Gunner and Edouard, as clumsy as waterlogged ducks, argued profanely over the best way to overturn the raft they were clinging to.

Raising his eyes, Number One continued gamely on. Before he could open his mouth there was a loud splash and a string of oaths (Andy and Kyle had managed to over turn one of the rafts. Unfortunately the Band Officer had been under it at the time). Trying not to hear the snickering from the Peanut Gallery and the outright guffaws from the Sea Puppies, Number One turned up the volume on his megaphone and explained that while things were designed to perform in a certain way, the sailors had to be prepared for any eventually, including an overturned life raft, and the junior cadets would demonstrate how to evacuate a sinking ship and right an overturned raft.

With a short prayer that all would go well, Number One returned the megaphone to Sean and glared at the group in the water, willing them to get on with it!

When the four officers and one rapidly ageing Leading Gunner in the water had actually managed to turn the bloody rafts upside down, Harry formed the Sea Puppies into four groups: three of ten, and one of eight. The idea was that each group would jump, swim to a designated raft, turn it over, and everybody would clamber aboard. Each group would be timed and the winners would receive a small trophy.

Grumbling, the Sea Puppies lined up, each group waiting its turn. The first group, with accompanying yells and shrieks, jumped into the water. All of the boys paid careful attention to their parts and no one was hurt. The water was not all that cold and nobody managed to lose their shorts during the short swim between the jetty and the first upturned raft. Once at the raft they scrambled, lithe and nimble as monkeys, around and over the ten-man craft and discovered that they were actually having fun, slipping and falling back into the water, cursing and swearing and no one about to upbraid them except Kyle, who kept his distance, remembering all too well what had happened to Dave Eddy in the pool in Victoria.

Group Two and Group Three, seeing that the jump was not all that bad, and that their friends in the water were enjoying themselves, jumped as directed, yelling mock pleas to heaven, the Virgin, and assorted saints and sinners to protect their parts.

Harry, in his capacity as Master of Ceremonies, Evolution, lined up the fourth and last group. He looked down into the water and saw that three of the rafts had been turned upright. The boys had scrambled into the rafts once they had righted them, as had the officers in charge. The Gunner, who could feel his wool suit shrinking by the minute, paddled about the one remaining raft muttering oaths and maledictions, cursing fate and smartass Commanding Officers. Harry waved nonchalantly to The Gunner and turned to the last group of boys. "Okay, guys, on three over you go."

The eight boys lined up along the edge of the jetty. Eight pairs of hands firmly grasped the straps of their life jackets. At Harry's bellowed "Three", seven boys leaped off of the jetty, their legs crossed, and splashed into the water. The eighth, Simon, remained firmly rooted to the wooden boards. Not for all the tea in China would he jump. He was afraid of heights and not at all fond of the water, especially water where his toes could not touch bottom.

Harry was momentarily confused. He stared at Simon, who stared back. "Simon, are you going into the water any time soon?" Harry asked, not unkindly.

"No!"

"Come on, Simon, you have to do it," pleaded Harry. "All the other guys did it."

"Good for them," replied Simon stubbornly. "I'm happy for them."

"You're not afraid, are you?" asked Harry.

"Yes." Simon was clinging to his life jacket for dear life. He had made up his mind. No matter what Harry said, he was not jumping.

"Now Simon, be reasonable," said Harry in a wheedling tone. "Nothing is going to happen to your little parts."

"My parts aren't little!" snarled Simon. "And I still ain't jumping."

Number One was about to intervene when the Admiral's hand on his arm stopped him. "Let's see how this plays out, Charles," the Admiral said in a low voice.

The Phantom, who was standing nearby, approached the end of the jetty. "Hey, Harry, what's the problem?" he asked. He smiled at Simon. "Hey, Simon. Not swimming today?" He had an idea that Simon was proving difficult, probably through fear of something. He tried to keep his tone light.

Harry gave Simon a look through narrowed eyes. "Simon doesn't want to be a part of the team," he said, his voice growly.

The Phantom gave Harry a stern look. "Did you ask him why?" He bent close to Simon's face and looked into his eyes. "You can tell me, Simon."

Simon's face contorted slightly. "I . . . I'm afraid of the . . ." He looked apprehensively down into the water.

"The height? The water?" probed The Phantom.

"Both," came Simon's whispered reply.

Harry's tone softened. "Well, if that's the case, we can't make him."

Ordinarily The Phantom would have agreed with Harry. However, Simon somehow had to learn that walking away from a problem, any problem, was taking the coward's way out. He also knew that if Simon did not jump the other boys would rag him unmercifully. He bent down and looked up at Simon's frightened face. "Simon, you just can't not do this," he said quietly. "I know that you are afraid. It's okay to be afraid."

"You're not afraid," replied Simon. "You're not afraid of anything. You're big and I'm little."

The Phantom reached out and gently clasped Simon's arms. "Simon, size doesn't mean anything. Just because I'm bigger than you are doesn't mean that I'm not afraid."

Eyes widened in surprise, Simon gaped at The Phantom. "You . . . you're afraid, too?" he asked, his voice expressing his astonishment.

The Phantom nodded. "Maybe not about the same things you are, but yes, I become frightened, afraid, scared. Everybody does and only a fool tells you different."

"I don't believe you," replied Simon flatly. He looked down at the water where the other boys, bored with watching Simon doing nothing, were laughing and carrying on, jumping into and out of the rafts and ignoring Andy, Kyle and Edouard's commands to behave. He shuddered and closed his eyes tightly.

The Phantom looked at Harry for some assistance. Harry shrugged. Little boys afraid were little boys afraid. The Phantom gave Harry a dirty look and then returned to Simon. "Simon, open your eyes and look at me."

"No. And I'm not jumping."

"Fine. Nobody is going to make you," replied The Phantom with a soft sigh. He decided to try something different. "Simon, shall I tell you a secret?"

Simon cocked his head and opened one eye. "A secret?" he asked warily.

The Phantom nodded. "Simon, I've never jumped off the jetty." He smiled and looked into Simon's face. "Honest, I've never jumped."

Simon's face widened. "You're not lying?"

"Ask Harry," said The Phantom shaking his head.

Harry, who had seen the photos in The Phantom's rec room, was smart enough to play along with Phantom. He knew that his friend could swim like a fish and had the trophies to prove it. He also knew that The Phantom had participated in the Inter-Provincial Diving Meets and jumped from the Olympic High Board of the UVic swimming pool. He nodded his head in confirmation. "Phantom's never jumped from this jetty," he said, his face a mask of innocence, his eyes sparkling with hidden laughter.

"If you didn't jump, how did you get to be a Chief?" Simon looked evenly at The Phantom.

"I got stripped naked in the Ship's Office," muttered The Phantom under his breath. He smiled at Simon. "Tell you what. Since I've never jumped, maybe I should correct that oversight now." He sat down on a bollard and as he was untying his shoelaces he turned to Harry. "I'll need a life jacket."

Harry nodded and looked at Calvin Hobbes. "Get me a life jacket, Calvin, quick like and at the rush!" he ordered.

The Phantom watched as the slim, red-haired cadet rushed away. He knew the boy and had seen him around town, usually with the posse of hellions that Robby Jensen travelled with. In a way Calvin was like he had been: somebody that you knew was there but gave little notice to, like the postman.

"Phantom, you don't have a bathing suit," Simon pointed out, his voice breaking The Phantom's train of thought.

The Phantom removed his cap, pulled his gunshirt over his head, and handed them to Matt, who had been hovering in the background. He bent down and removed his shoes and socks. "So I'll wear my undies," he said with a grin as he slipped out of his blue denim trousers. He was wearing white boxer shorts and he hoped that the crowd was paying more attention to what was going on in the water than they were to his impromptu strip tease.

Calvin thundered back down the jetty and handed the red kapok lifejacket to The Phantom. He looked the teenager up and down and nodded appreciatively. Yes sir, Robby had been right. Old Phantom sure packed his drawers nice! When The Phantom put on the lifejacket and turned around Calvin's assometer registered a ten. He saw Harry looking at him and his sunburned face turned a darker red.

"Get back to your post, you little pervert," growled Harry giving the back of Calvin's head a swipe.

The Phantom was not paying any attention to Harry, or Calvin. He stood beside Simon, his toes aligned with the edge of the jetty. "So, Simon, we'll go together then?"

"You're really going to jump with me?"

"Yes, Simon, I am."

"Okay." He looked thoughtful a moment. "Phantom, if you've never jumped, are you sure you know what to do?"

"I thought maybe you'd tell me," replied The Phantom, playing ignorant. He'd been watching cadets jumping from the jetty for two years and had a very good idea of what he had to do.

Simon remembered seeing The Phantom and Todd naked on the beach and giggled. "You have to cross your ankles as you go down. You don't want to hurt yourself, you know," he said sternly. "Harry says if you keep your legs open you'll crush your . . ."

"I know what Harry says," interrupted The Phantom. "He'd know all about things like that, Harry would."

Simon giggled again. "And you have to stretch back, so you go in on an angle."

"On an angle. Got it."

"And hold on to your lifejacket 'cause if it slams against your chin your neck could snap back and do you in. Harry says that you . . ."

"Simon, why don't we just jump?"

Simon took a deep breath. "Okay."

"On a count of three?"

"On three," muttered Simon. He nodded his head. "You count."

"One," began The Phantom. "Two . . . Three!"

As The Phantom and Simon hurtled toward the water a cheer arose from the Captain's gig and on shore the Admiral nodded. "That boy has bottom, Snuffy." Father returned the Admiral's nod. "Copper plated, sir. Copper plated."

The Admiral looked down and saw The Phantom and Simon swimming toward their designated raft. He began to chuckle. "Well, a pink bottom at any rate," his chuckle becoming a hearty laugh.

In the water The Phantom treaded water and then swam over to where The Gunner was swimming lazily. "Gunner, I've lost my shorts!" The Phantom exclaimed. "The damn things came off as I was swimming and I can't find them."

The Gunner rose up and looked around. "There they are," he said, pointing at the white boxers floating on the tide. "They're just off the Captain's gig." He started to laugh as The Phantom swam away. "Nice bum, Phantom!"

The Phantom, frantic and embarrassed that his butt was on view for all of Comox Harbour to see, began to swim toward the gig. He could hear The Gunner's laughter as he reached out for his underpants and then almost fainted. Above him, leaning over the gunwale of the gig was Chef. In his hands was the biggest double-barrelled CANNON the Phantom had ever seen. In the bows Randy and Joey were grinning, gazing hungrily at The Phantom's bare behind. The Phantom did not know which frightened him more, Chef's elephant gun or the lascivious grins on Randy and Joey's faces.

Treading water, The Phantom struggled into his boxers and then reached out his arm. He scowled at Chef. "Well, are you going to give a young sinner a hand or are you going to shoot me?" he asked. "And for Christ's sakes keep those two perverts up forward!"

Chef put aside the rifle and reached down. "Why, Phantom, I would not have shot you. I do know the difference between a shark and a double-cheeked pink-butted steward," he said as he hauled The Phantom into the gig.

When the exercise with the Sea Puppies ended the Lieutenant Governor made his goodbyes and sped off to his next function. The Sea Puppies were hurried to their barracks by Harry who, along with The Phantom and Matt, spent a harried thirty minutes adjusting silks, tying tapes, and generally helping to make the young boys presentable. Val rampaged through the barracks rousting sleeping or goldbricking cadets while Number One gently persuaded the guests to return to their seats for the prize giving.

During the lull after the salvaging of the waterlogged Sea Puppies, and while the Commanding Officer entertained his guests to a restorative drink, The Phantom, grumbling and whining, heeded The Gunner's instructions and hurried from the Sea Puppies barracks and into the galley washplace to change into Number 11 uniform. He found Joey, Randy, Ray and Sandro cleaning into their best white uniforms, having been threatened by Chef with dire consequences if they did not appear at the Prize Giving. What annoyed The Phantom was that he had changed from gunshirt and white cook's trousers, to his steward rig to serve the Admiral's lunch, had cleaned into work dress to help set up for the reception, had stripped off to help with the Sea Puppies, was now donning his Number 11s and would have to clean back into his steward rig to serve at the reception. It was all very annoying! He did not feel the need to be on parade, anyway.

The other cadets joined the Phantom in his plaint. Randy and Joey had been on parade, changed from their Number 11 Round Rig uniform into their cookery rig, now back into Number 11s for the Prize Giving and would have to change again to help with the barbecue preparations. They were only slightly mollified when Sandro stripped down to his white underpants, revealing his firm young body and very respectable bulge, which earned them a smack on the butt from Ray, who was as sore as bear because he also had to change. He would have preferred to take umbrage with the Litany, but they had decamped to parts unknown. All complaints were silenced, however, when Chef appeared in full canonicals, complete with sword and medals.

As they hurried from the Mess Hall to muster The Phantom noticed that all of the senior cadets had cleaned into the Number 11 Fore and Aft Rig, their gold buttons and crowns bright in the late afternoon sun. As with the cooks, they were muttering and grumbling, except for Cory, who remarked archly that a gentleman changed and wore clothing to fit any occasion, even if it meant changing four or five times a day. Sean, to whom the remark was addressed, gave Cory a dirty look, called him an even dirtier name, and hurried off to the Dockyard to roust out his senior hands. And change into his Number 11 uniform.

The Commanding Officer, with Admiral Stephens, took up his position behind the dais. To their right was a long table on which Greg had placed the collection of trophies, plaques, the small figurines from Mr. Schoenmann's shop, and front and centre, the Antwerp Centrepiece. He had also placed a small collection of red and blue oblong boxes on the table. The faux-leather boxes were embossed with crests, the red boxes bearing the Legion crest, the blue boxes the crest of the Navy League of Canada.

Father surveyed the assembled cadets and glanced at his watch. Much to his surprise they were only 15 minutes behind schedule. He smiled slightly and began speaking. "Gentlemen of AURORA," he said with a slight twinkle in his eye, "one of the things an Officer Commanding a ship has in his power is the ability to reward his crew. Many of you have noticed that arrayed on the table behind me are some rather interesting objects." He crossed his arms and his eyes scanned the Parade. "Ordinarily when an award is given annually, the main award remains behind and the cadet goes away secure in the knowledge that his name might be engraved on it, eventually." He waited for the expected laughter to die away and continue on. "This year, the recipients of the awards we are about to give will also be given a small memento to remind them, when they are old and grey, that in the year of grace, 1976, they honoured themselves and their ship by their actions."

Father turned and picked up the first award, a Naval officer's sword. He looked down at Tyler. "This is a year of firsts. This year the Captain's Sword will be awarded to the cadet who by his example and leadership best exemplified the qualities of seamanship and by his conduct demonstrated the qualities that we have come to associate with being a Sea Cadet. By his character, his strength, and his grace under pressure the recipient of this, the first Captain's Sword Award, has done himself, and his Corps, honour. It gives me great pleasure, and no small measure of pride to award this sword to Regulating Chief Petty Officer Tyler Benbow."

Tyler, much embarrassed, marched to the front of the dais, saluted, and accepted the sword from the Commanding Officer. Behind, in front and around him the reporters - all two of them - and those spectators who had brought along cameras, snapped away.

After being assured that the sword would be waiting for him after the parade had been dismissed Tyler, blushing at the muted applause coming from the ranks, returned to his position to the right of the Guard. It was now time for the presentation of the next award.

"The next award would traditionally go to the Captain of the Cadet Division. As it happens, we don't have such a thing," began Father with a slight smile. "Instead, a blue-ribbon committee, who for personal safety reasons shall remain anonymous, decided to award the Commander's Telescope to the Cadet Chief Gunnery Instructor, whose knowledge of drill and ceremonial, for this year at least, has been extraordinary and encyclopaedic. Gunnery Chief Petty Officer Orsini's knowledge has never failed him, and his unerring excellence in dress and deportment has been an example for us all." Father broke into a huge grin. "Mind, Chief Orsini is not a paragon. He has his faults and has made the odd mistake here and there." He looked pointedly at Val. "However, unlike so many before him, and who lacked his experience and knowledge, Chief Orsini will never again, I am sure, question a cadet's religious persuasion . . . at least, one hopes, not on the parade square."

To appreciative ooohs and aahs, Number One presented Cory's masterpiece of ropework to Val, who looked at the decorated telescope. He then look up at Number One and shrugged slightly. "Sir, I'm afraid to touch it. It's . . . beautiful!"

"It is that, young Val," replied Number One. "Shall I keep it then, and when you've scrubbed and put on surgical gloves you can retrieve it?"

Val shook his head. "Uh, I think I'll take it, sir. If you don't mind."

Number One laughed softly. "Another hope crushed." He winked at Val. "I shall have it for you after the parade."

There followed a series of awards for excellence in Drill, for excellence in dress and deportment, for excellence in seamanship and boat work. Bobby Baugnier was awarded a small plaque and one of the figurines for being the top ranking Sea Puppy academically. Simon, much to his surprise, was awarded a plaque and a figurine for Best In Drill.

As the hoard of awards dwindled The Phantom, who was loitering to one side of the dais kept a weather eye on the Antwerp Centrepiece. He had no idea what The Gunner had planned to establish the piece's provenance. He also did not doubt that The Gunner had something up his sleeve.

Father alternated with the admiral in handing out the awards and when the last of the figurines and plaques had been distributed, he motioned for two civilians, who had been sitting patiently amongst the spectators, to stand up. He cleared his throat and began to speak. "It has always been my one regret that we have so few awards to officially recognize extraordinary deeds above and beyond the call of normal cadet duties. I can, however, bring to the attention of two organizations, the Navy League of Canada and the Royal Canadian Legion, the outstanding performance of several cadets during their commission here at AURORA, and request that these cadets be given the accolades they so richly deserve.

"We were, in the first weeks, unsure of one another and in many cases, still in a learning mode. Our cadets had come to us well recommended; yet they were untested. There was no doubt as to the ability of the cadets, yet no one, not the least of which were the cadets themselves, knew how they would act, or react, in a situation where they would face the perils of the sea. I am happy to report that when a situation, in the form of a gale, presented itself, the cadets responded admirably, not only the Boatswain Staff, whose duty it was to respond, but others, who were called out and without exception, stood to their duty. When you consider that in addition to the five support vessels this ship also maintains 12 wooden dinghies, 8 cutters, 8 whalers and 2 powerboats, plus the small sail boats, the magnitude of preparing each vessel to ride out and survive gale force winds can be appreciated. The cadets responded, the flotilla was prepared, and minimal damage was done. Wet and half-drowned, the cadets carried on and did their duty. Their conduct, and devotion will be rewarded today." He looked along the long front rank of the assembled cadets. "When I call out your names, please come forward."

Reading from his prepared list the Commanding Officer soon had assembled in front of the dais a small platoon of cadets: Stuart, Steve, Fred, Jon, Todd, Cory, Nicholas, and Chris from the Gunroom. From the YAG Squadron Sean, Glenn Beuscher, Phillip Thornton, Eion Reilly and Jimmy Collyer were called forward. Under Val's direction the boys were formed up in a long row and then the local Chairman of the Navy League of Canada, James Winton, stepped forward.

"Ladies and gentlemen, I am pleased to announce that the cadets assembled have been awarded the Navy League of Canada's Award of Excellence," announced Father with a huge smile. He then stepped down from the dais and accompanied Mr. Winton down the line of cadets as he pinned the silver medal, which hung from a red, white and blue ribbon, on the right chest of each cadet.

When the Commanding Officer and Mr. Winton were out of earshot Cory muttered out of the side of his mouth, "Harry better not be lurking in the shadows waiting to strip us down like he did the night of the gale!"

Todd's eyebrow arched upward. "Better than him biting your bum!" he muttered under his breath.

Before Cory could think of a suitable reply the cadets, except for Fred and Jon, were dismissed and a new list of names read out. The Phantom, Ray, Sandro, Randy, Joey and Thumper were lined up to Fred's right.

Father resumed his place on the dais and then began speaking. "There is a saying in the military that they also serve who stand and wait. We place great emphasis on the ability of cadets to function in any capacity. Nelson once said that sailors, because of their intelligence and devotion to duty, should rule the world. The cadets assembled have proven that no matter what the situation they can, and do, rise to the occasion and do the job. When the senior cadets were sent away on a training mission, it fell to the junior cadets, none of whom had ever before been placed in a situation of ultimate authority and responsibility, to assume the duties normally performed by senior cadets." He gestured to the small man standing beside the dais. "Mr. Martin Robinson, MM, President of the Comox Royal Canadian Legion, will now, with the assistance of Sir John Stephens, present to Regulating Chief Petty Officer Thomas Jonathan Jackson, Regulating Petty Officer Thomas Vernon and Regulating Petty Officer Frederick Fisher the Legion Medal of Excellence."

Fred beamed as his uncle pinned the silver disc, suspended on a blue-yellow-blue ribbon, next to the Navy League medal on his chest.

"I am so very proud of you, young Fred," said the Admiral as he pinned the medal. "So very proud."

The Admiral and Mr. Robinson stepped back and waited while Father consulted his notes. "In every country the military, be they Navy, Army or Air Force, cannot function without one very important group of men. These are the cooks and galley hands, young men who work long, hard hours to little appreciation if the grumbling after every meal can be believed. They devote their time to preparing hearty, nutritious meals, making sure that no one can ever say that he went hungry. Their efforts can be appreciated if one reads the reports I read at the end of every training year. While this year's figures are not yet compiled, I can tell you that last year the Cookery Branch prepared and served 81,548 meals. They also prepared 3,810 box lunches. This year, in addition to preparing upwards of 90,000 meals, the cooks and stewards found time, under the direction of our admirable and unflappable Chef, and the Chief Steward, Philip Lascelles, to plan, prepare and serve the first Chiefs and Petty Officers Mess dinner, which was a resounding success. The contribution of these young men to the morale and well-being of the ship cannot be underestimated and in recognition of their hard work and unstinting efforts I now call on Mr. Robinson to present the Legion Medal of Excellence to Chief Steward Lascelles, Chief Cook Raymond Cornwallis, Chief Cook Alexandr Signaransky and Able Cooks Joseph Pelham and Randall Lowndes."

With all the medals distributed the Commanding Officer stepped aside and motioned for the Admiral to take his place on the dais. The Admiral straightened his uniform, adjusted his sword and stared at the assembled cadets. Then he grinned. He raised his arm and motioned for the cadets to gather 'round. "It is much too warm a day to be standing on a dusty parade square," he announced, continuing his gesture. "Break ranks and gather 'round lads."

The cadets needed little encouragement. The day was warm and the cooling wind had died. They gathered, a huge mass of boys, around and in front of the dais.

When the murmuring of the boys died away the Admiral smiled and took off his cap. He began to fan his face with it. "You lads, take off your caps. You look warm and while I am sure that Doctor Reynolds and his staff are more than capable of handling an emergency, let us not tempt fate." He smiled warmly. "I want you all to relax, and after I've said my piece, you can carry on to the party that is planned for this evening."

A cheer went up from the assembled cadets at these words. They were all hot and tired and dying for a cold drink.

"Now then," began the Admiral, "I shall try to be brief . . ."

"That will be the day," muttered Edouard to The Gunner.

The Admiral, who had heard his Staff Captain, chuckled. "I shall ignore, for the moment . . ." he said ominously, " . . . the bleating of the Peanut Gallery, and continue." The cadets tittered and the admiral cleared his throat. "I am, I suppose, to give you a rousing 'Queen and Country' peroration. I shan't do that because you all know why you are here." He grinned again. "I also feel that Noel Coward does a much better job of it and is better looking into the bargain."

Few of the cadets knew who Noel Coward was, but snickered politely anyway.

The Admiral reached into the pocket of his jacket and pulled out a small, blue cloth crest on which was embroidered a gold pig and the letters "Pride, Integrity, Guts." He held the small piece of cloth up so that all of the cadets could see it. "Last year I visited the Small Boats Unit in Halifax and was presented with the unit crest, which each member wears proudly. SBU Halifax maintains three training vessels, iron-hulled ships that were old long before any of you were even thought of, and I think long before your fathers were thought of. These vessels, officially called gate vessels, glory in the nom-de-guerre of 'Pig Boats'. They are tough; they sail in any weather, and they continue on, no matter what the duty. They fly the flag in the out ports of Newfoundland and in the small fishing villages that dot the coast of Nova Scotia from Cape Breton to Yarmouth; they fight the wind and the weather, and have never failed. They are crewed by Naval Reservists, young men unskilled in the ways of the sea. The boats are battered and scarred . . ." He stopped and looked pointedly at the bruised faces of the Twins. "Yet they continue on. Their crews, small families really, serve with pride, the pride that comes of love of their ship and their service and yes, their love of each other.

"As I walked about the Ship today it struck me that the motto of the Small Boats Unit applies equally to the young men of AURORA." Pointing to the crest with his other hand, the Admiral intoned, "Pride, Integrity, Guts. I heard over again, and saw with my tired old eyes, the pride and the dedication that all too often have disappeared from our profession. I saw young men who put aside their own concerns and fears in order to help others. I saw demonstrated today that the concept of the Naval family, the very idea of Nelson's Band of Brothers, flourishes here at AURORA.

"As happens in ships, so too have you, the young Gentlemen Cadets of AURORA formed, for perhaps a relatively short period of time, a family. Like all families, we have our eccentrics, our ups and downs. We argue, we fight, but always deep down we remember our duty. We have kindly uncles who always have uppermost in their thoughts the welfare of their young nephews. We also have older brothers." Glancing briefly toward The Phantom, he continued, "Brothers who are always there to gently correct a fault, to extend a hand, to stand with their younger, less experienced brothers and, when necessary, have never failed to provide a shoulder to cry on or a welcoming pair of arms to comfort the frightened and the homesick, and never compromising their integrity, their sense of honour, in the doing of it!

"In times of stress and danger, as in true families, you have rallied together. You have always answered the call, no matter the weather or the operation. A job to be done is just that: a job to be done, a job to be done in the best way possible, no matter what the odds of success or failure. The ships and crews sail in the face of a gale or a howling hurricane. They have guts! They have bottom. You young men demonstrated your Pride, your Integrity, and your Guts here, in this place, standing to in the face of a gale, and taking part in field exercises that would give grown men pause. All of you should take pride in your achievements. When you return home do so with the knowledge that here, in AURORA, and in the hearts of your brother cadets and in the hearts of your officers and instructors, there is a special niche labelled "The Boys of AURORA". You are the Boys of AURORA, the heirs and successors to all the boys and men who have gone before you. You have never let down the side, just as the boys who went before you never let down the side."

The Admiral then reached back and Number One handed him a large shield set with silver plaques and engraved with the figure of a charging corvette. "There is one more award to be given. It has been donated anonymously and is to be awarded to the cadet, or cadets, who best exemplify, by their conduct, by their bearing, by their very presence, the best traditions of the Royal Canadian Navy. While this award is given to a very few, in a sense it belongs to all of you. In each of you rests the spirit of the Old Navy. Today, all of you have served under the White Ensign . . ." He waved toward the flag that still flew from the mast. " . . . Let it always fly proudly in your hearts and when you see this award, know that while the names engraved on it are those of the boys who will be given it today, your names are also there, unseen, but known to all of you." His eyes swept the crowd of boys. "Will the following cadets please come forward: Chief Petty Officer Steward Philip Lascelles, Gunnery Chief Petty Officer Todd Leveson-Arundel and Gunnery Chief Petty Officer Cory Leveson-Arundel."

Seated directly behind the table holding the awards still to be given out, Associate Justice Arundel clutched his wife's hand. He did not know what had come over his boys! A medal, and now an award! It was all too much to comprehend. He was much more accustomed to seeing the Twins called on the carpet for their sins!

After presenting the Shield to The Phantom and the Twins, the Admiral shook their hands. "There are small tokens to keep and to remind you all of the job you've done." He handed Cory and Todd a midshipman's dirk each, which told them exactly who the "Anonymous Donor" of the award was. The Admiral pointed to the Antwerp Centrepiece and then at The Phantom. "And that great lump of silver is yours, young Lascelles. What you're going to do with it I'm sure I don't know." He grinned. "Makes a hell of a door stop, though!"

At the rear of the spectators Chef stood, ignoring the laughter and the chattering, weeping silently. No matter how long he lived, he would devote his life to the Boys of AURORA. He now knew that he had made the right decision. He now knew what course had been set for him.