MUSCLE BOY ISLAND
(Ld Guitarist) Conclusion by Tags, f/k/a Solo3.
I originally found this unfinished story on a web site maintained by Silocondog. The author of the beginning of this story, "Lead Guitarist," invited suggestions and comments. Attempts to reach him at the internet address posted for Lead Guitarist brought nothing but error messages and frustration. So, I took the liberty of writing a conclusion for this story. I have also altered certain aspects of LG's beginning. However, I feel I have left enough of Lead Guitarist's original story intact that its essence survives. When I first read this story, I was somewhat dis- appointed that it had not been finished. I'd really gotten into the plot and I would like to have seen where LG was going to take these characters. In my opinion, LG's story was about more than just casual sex. Before deciding to write my own conclusion for this story, I made repeated attempts to contact the author at the e- mail address posted with the original version of his uncompleted story. I got no- where. But after posting this version with a different introduction, wherein I mentioned my interest in communicating with Lead Guitarist, the webmaster of web site where this story was originally posted, Silicondog, put him in touch with me and we exchanged e-mails about this and some of his other stories. It was a very interesting dialogue. Interestingly, Lead Guitarist's concept for his conclu- sion included a character very similar to Jared in the conclusion of this version, although in Lead Guitarist's planned conclusion the role of this character was not as prominent as is Jared's in this version. There were a number of conceptual dif- ferences between Lead Guitarist's concepts for a conclusion and mine.
I guess I'm just a sucker for anything about physically strong and attractive people with tender hearts and souls. Given LG's invitation to submit suggestions, since, initially, I had been unable to find him, I decided to take the liberty of revising and completing this story, myself. If you're looking for "muscle-sex," beyond LG's, you will be disappointed. I've added only four additional incidents where there is any sex at all and in none of these is the sex more than merely incidental to the overall story line.
The point in the story where LG's work ends and mine begins is clearly indicated. On the web site where I first discovered LG's story, I noticed other stories where the beginning was drafted by one writer and the conclusion by another, so this sort of thing seems to be common.
My thanks to the webmaster for maintaining this site.
- Tags, formerly known as Solo3
(I am a frequent irc-chat user, hanging out most often in the #gaymuscle chat channel.)
Disclaimer: This story contains descriptions of sexual acts involving boys in their late teens, all of them over age 18. If this type of material is illegal in your area, or if you are under 18, please stop reading now and delete this file from your computer. If you are not interested in stories involving sex with teenage boys over 18, stop reading now.
"Muscle Boy Island" is a fantasy that involves a group of three teenage boys and one twenty-year-old who have been genetically engineered for superhuman strength and muscular development.
(Reader: Substantial revisions of "Lead Guitarist's" work precede this point. Everything from here on is my work. - Tags)
With unbelievable swiftness the super-teen ransacked the house, dumping almost anything of conceivable value shy of the kitchen sink into his tent bag; including provisions from the kitchen... food, eating utensils, kitchen knives... medical sup- plies and implements ...Tom's satellite (sky-tel) cell phone, his notebook PC and several spare batteries for the notebook and cell phone. Everything went into the tent bag... And then Alex bolted out the door, hauling an incredible load of stuff. More than would be possible with any other 19 year old on the planet, Ricky pos- sibly, excepted. (Eric and Jack could've handled this load, of course, but neither of them was 19. They were ages 20 and 18 respectively.)
Alex took off with his burden at a dead sprint. He and the other three boys could "CRUISE" flat out at their max (which of course beat any normal human being that had ever lived) for indeterminate time and distance.
Once outside, he saw the approaching aircraft. It was gigantic... bigger than anything he had ever seen other than in pictures. He decided it would be prudent to take a circuitous route back to the relative safety of Mount Arnold, where he'd left his companions.
Alex was an avid aviation aficionado, and something of an amateur "expert." He'd trolled the world wide web from the boys' PC in the house for everything he could find on aviation. At one point, he had downloaded a series of in-flight checklists from the Martin-Grumman Aerospace web site for one of several ex- ecutive jets they offer in their product line. As it happens, the jet transport roaring into the Ponce de Leon airstrip was NOT a Martin-Grumman executive jet. It was a huge transport aircraft closely resembling the USAF C-5 Galaxy heavy cargo transport. But these were not US Air Force markings. Alex recognized the Cy- rillic characters stenciled on the side, "Dniepr," evidently a civilian charter service from one of the states of the former Soviet Union. There were subtle differences from the C-5. The tail assembly was a conventional empanage, with horizontal stabilizers and elevators protruding from each side of the rear fuselage, not situ- ated atop the tail in a "tee" arrangement as on the C-5. The fuselage seemed somewhat shorter, nose to tail and wider, than the C-5, giving an altogether "stub- bier" appearance. And the cockpit glazing was different from the C-5. This was, without doubt, a Russian-built Antonov AN-124. "Not good," Alex thought rue- fully. These were definitely bad guys.
The giant aircraft had rolled onto final approach heading. Its flight path would bring it directly overhead. The four huge Lotarev D-18T high-bypass turbo fans wailing, increasing in pitch with up-doppler, modulated by a warbling whine as the auto-pilot jockeyed the throttles to maintain speed and glide slope true and steady. As the lumbering Goliath passed overhead, the turbine whine gave way momentarily to a bone-rattling, ground shaking thunder, in turn suddenly dis- placed by a squalling howl in downward pitch as the aircraft continued its descent into Ponce de Leon airfield. In spite of his consternation at this arriving peril, Alex, forever the aviation romantic, at a dead run, bearing a load that would kill an ordinary man even in the best of conditioning, had sufficient "free energy" to breeze through a notional pre-landing checklist:
"Undercarriage down. Nose wheel, port and starboard main mounts indicating in the green. Landing lights, anti collision strobe, port and starboard wing tip running lights... on. Main DC power bus... and auxiliary... on Wing tank fuel pumps... off and fuel-feeder valve... secured. Center-line tank fuel pumps... on... fuel flow and fuel remaining onboard... in the green. (This will be a power-on short field approach and landing to full stop.) Glonass geo-positioning navigation satellite data flow with 5 second updates...
engaged, coupled to flight computer Glonass sat nav signal reception... 5 by 5 Auto pilot, heading and glide slope... engaged. Auto pilot manual override... set to enable. Angle of attack... 17 degrees Flaps and leading edge slats... set to "full extend" Over-wing anti-lift spoilers... set to "auto-deploy on main mount touchdown." Approach power... set...
Although the men in this aircraft, including the pilot, had most likely come to kidnap or maybe even kill him and his friends, Alex indulged himself in frank admiration of the enemy aviator's skill in executing this tricky approach. The landing strip was minimum length to accommodate an aircraft the size of the AN- 124... This approach, may not have been the toughest in the world by any means. (Try landing on an aircraft carrier at night in foul weather, for instance!) Never- theless, it was a real test of solid airmanship... Good enough that Alex, an emi- nently qualified judge in spite of his young age, was duly impressed with the pro- fessional competence of the aircraft commander.
With Dr. Vanderhaeghe's pilots in the cockpit, Alex had executed a number of ap- proaches into this airstrip aboard corporate jets. Strictly against regulations, of course, but even the straight-arrow company pilots could not resist the wiles of this hauntingly beautiful young charmer. The boys had spent nearly all of their lives on this island, but Tom and Dr. Vanderhaeghe had flown the boys to Dja- karta and to Bangkok several times, as well as to Manila, Singapore, Hong Kong, Sydney and once even to corporate headquarters south of San Francisco in the USA... "home." Alex had shot his approaches into Ponce de Leon on flights re- turning from these junkets.
Alex had felt obliged to take a circuitous route rejoining his friends on Mt. Arnold, but he made it with relative ease.
As the big Antonov cargo jet landed, the forger jump jet returned with a third wing man. These jets hovered over the airfield, covering the landing roll out, and initial deployment of troops from the transport aircraft. Then they turned their attention to the hunt, fanning out over the island.
As one of the jets was stalking Tom and the boys, his infa-red sensor having got- ten a very good "sniff," it became apparent that it would be only a matter of time before the pilot locked up his targets. They had been perched, according to Tom's plan, in the tree tops. Given the hover and infa-red search capabilities of the forger jets, this was almost as bad as getting caught in wide open country. High in the jungle canopy, there was relatively little infa-red shielding or interference with their body heat by jungle vegetation and wild fauna. At Tom's behest, Eric hurled a baseball sized chunk of debris into the starboard engine inlet of the forger, hovering about 20 meters overhead, with predictably catastrophic results. As the jet engine ingested the debris, its turbine rotors disintegrated instantly. Suddenly without power, and with no forward motion generating the slightest lift over the stubby wings, the disabled forger dropped like a stone to the jungle floor below, barely missing Eric, exploding in a fireball. The resulting concussion hurled Eric from his tree perch, his tough, resilient body slamming into the ground with horrific force. Eric was momentarily stunned, the wind knocked out of him. But he emerged without so much as a scratch. A 150 million ruble tactical jet aircraft was totally destroyed and its pilot, having no time before impact to eject, perished. Eric was horrified. He had never seen a man die, much less killed any- one. He was stricken by what he'd done.
Only moments later, Tom and the other boys were at his side. Tom had held Eric in his arms, comforting him; reassuring him that there had been no other choice.
"These men have come to kill us. I am so proud of you, Eric, that there's no joy for you in killing an enemy. But they came after us. Unless we stick together and defend ourselves, we will never get out of this alive. You've seen for yourself now; they are willing to die to get us. If we're going to survive, we'll have to kill again. Unless you, the other boys and I can bring ourselves to do that, we're all done for."
As they fought and ran, Tom and the boys were indeed obliged to kill again and it never got any easier for them. But steeling themselves with their passionate love for one another, with desperate resolve, they held at bay a well trained, well equipped and extremely well paid fighting force of some 350 men.
Elias Wright had been ruthless. He had made it clear to members of his merce- nary force that he would not brook failure or malingering. He would only pay for results. Any casualties whose injuries were serious enough to take them out of the fighting would be summarily shot. He had no interest in caring for, feeding or paying anyone who had not "gone the distance" in "bringing home the bacon." Those who went the distance, on the other hand, would receive one half million US dollars apiece, deposited in a numbered Swiss bank account. Everyone who signed on, did so with that understanding. As a result, Mr. Wright managed to re- cruit from among the most highly qualified mercenary soldiers in the world; and he chose the most skilled, most motivated, most desperate and most ruthless. There would be no mercy. In the target folder, which each man reviewed and committed to memory, was an appendix with fairly accurate intelligence on the particulars of "Project Hercules." The assessment of the boys' capabilities, while perhaps a trifle on the conservative side was, all in all, remarkably accurate.
The operations order, to which the target folder had been appended included "rules of engagement" which were as cold-blooded as any of these hardened, cynical men had ever seen. The adult man, Tom Henderson was to be taken alive, at all costs. Anyone harming, or permitting harm to come to this man would be executed. There were four boys, all in their late teens or early twenties. Taking at least one of these individuals into custody would indeed be desirable, both as a living specimen for ultimate live vivisection and in the meantime as a hostage to elicit cooperation from Tom Henderson. However, even unarmed, their capabili- ties were considerable and their true limits may not be fully appreciated. They were to be considered extremely dangerous and, in fact, no more than tissue scrapings from all but one of these individuals would be absolutely required. Failing a live capture, it would be extremely desirable, nevertheless, to recover at least one of the bodies more or less intact in order to facilitate a thorough autopsy. But even this opportunity was to be forgone in the presence of even the slightest risk. Wright's primary mission objective was live capture of Tom Henderson. In no event would any attempt be made to evacuate alive from Ponce de Leon more than one of these super-boys. Once the first of these "uber-mentschen" were taken into custody and securely restrained, all the others would be summarily shot on sight. In his defense, it didn't appear as though Elias Wright had left himself any more of an "out" than his fighting men or his targets. His employers, the "state defense committee" of the neo-fascist Eastern European regime of Mulvia- Everinia, were cutthroats in command of a Spartan garrison-state. They were not in the habit of funding operations as expensive as this one of Wright's unless the result were unqualified success. Unless Wright successfully vindicated Mulvia- Everinia's substantial investment in this operation, he would find himself in a very tight corner with his clients. He had not the slightest intention whatever of fail- ing.
In one particularly vicious engagement, when the invaders had acquired their prey, the enemy commanders had ordered mortar fire into their targets' suspected position. Unfortunately, for them, they were about an eighth of a click off target, to the north, where a small detachment of their own force had deployed in am- bush. Truth be known, "blue-on-blue," "friendly fire" engagements in combat are not all that uncommon.
Jared Gross, a member of the mercenary force and former US Navy Seal was among this hapless band taking "incoming" from their own side.
Gross, who first truly confronted his sexuality while in Catholic high school in Texas, had decided to suppress it. After all, he wasn't really a "queer." He was not effeminate at all. He'd never wanted to wear a dress! He just had these fanta- sies about "getting it on" with other manly jocks like himself. Obviously, this was a "sickness" but it need not be fatal. He'd "work around it," maintaining a veneer of "normality." After all. There was more to life than 100% sexual gratification. How many people ever truly attained that anyway? This was his "cross to bear" and he would do it like a man: Like anyone with a lick of common sense, he'd hide it and lie about it!
To Jared, the "unholy stirrings" had actually come as early as grammar school, but he had resolutely retreated behind an impregnable fortress of denial. Although there had been that one time, when he was a high school sophomore. After wait- ing in the wings in junior varsity football, he'd finally made the varsity and his team had played an especially tough game and lost. Just about the only player on the team who'd done anything noteworthy that Friday night had been Jared, but his heroic exploits were quickly forgotten by his team mates and the kids in the stands, overshadowed by the disappointing loss. Forgotten by everyone but his quarterback, a strapping studly senior, Sean O'Malley. Like most Catholic Schools, St. Jerome's was sex-segregated... all boys. But the companion girls' school, St. Cecilia's was right down the road. All the jocks dated foxy chicks from there, Sean and Jared included. But for some reason, the weekend of the big game, all the girls at St. Cecilia's had been taken off to the Texas hill country on a religious "retreat." After showering and dressing, Jared and Sean would be "dateless." So neither boy was in any hurry to be any place in particular once they had donned their street clothes. The coaches and the rest of the team had show- ered, dressed and left, but Jared and Sean had gotten held up by the athletic re- porter of the school paper for a post-game interview. Sean had a key to the gym and dressing room so on his way out the door, the coach just asked him to lock up when he and Jared were ready to leave. Jared was still in the shower, standing under the stream of hot water, letting it soothe his sore, aching muscles. He sensed Sean, who was standing under the shower head right next to his, looking at him; leering at him with unmistakable, overpowering lust. Jared's realization was half a beat behind what it should have been, but even though for some years this Texas German Catholic boy had lived with a vague uneasiness about himself, he was, after all, in complete denial. By all odds, Jared would not have broken the taboos and responded to his appetites for years, if ever. Certainly, when he'd got- ten out of bed that morning, the fact that tonight would be "the night," was abso- lutely the farthest thing from his mind! Maybe it was nothing to write home about. Not the kind of steamy hot action one might fantasize about in such situa- tion. For Jared, there had been fleeting fantasies about this beautiful older boy... tantalizing torture. Every time they came to him, he banished these thoughts, telling himself that these unholy impulses were unnatural, a passing phase of youth that would surely vanish in time. Now that he was in this beautiful man- boy's powerful arms, he could scarcely breathe! Jared's heart was pounding against his ribcage and his stiffening meat completely betrayed his inner desire. Sean moaned to Jared, "man you have no idea how long I have wanted this." Ja- red's soapy muscles were rock-hard and unyielding to Sean's hungry grasps. Jared was in a whole new place. Even with all the locker room horseplay and grab ass, there was always a certain "space," a "cordon sanitaire" that all the guys had hon- ored among themselves. He struggled between his conflicting impulses. Sean was violating his "space" with a tantalizing invasion of sensation and lust the likes of which he had never dreamed existed! Facing one another, they bumped their bodies against each other first tentatively, experimentally and then with more force. It felt good to Jared to feel another man this way. They grasped one an- other and ground their soap-slickend pecs against each other. A flash of realiza- tion came to Jared that this particular, delicious sensation would have been denied to boys with less muscular development than his and Sean's. In that instant, he felt acutely sorry for the nerdy kids with the thick glasses and slide rules on their belts. Sean took Jared's cock in his hand and soaped it. This threw Jared into an- other tailspin of conflicting emotions. "Masturbation" was a taboo subject among his classmates. No one among his peers would even own up to the existence of the word, much less to actually... doing it! That the quarterback of his football team would dare touch his penis had simply not occurred to Jared. For a moment he froze.
Sean responded, "Where did you think this was going, Jared? For Pete's sake don't chicken out on me now! Take hold of me and stoke it like I'm doing you."
Jared did as he as told, tentatively and timidly at first, but soon his inhibition with Sean collapsed. Sean had knocked the slats out from under that with his ministra- tions of Jared's stiff shaft and now Jared started to work pumping Sean with in- creasing urgency. It was all over very quickly; too quickly; two frightened boys stealing a moment's forbidden gratification under the noses of their "tribe" near the western end of the southern Bible belt. Within moments, the passion of the moment subsided, being immediately supplanted in Jared by a crushing burden of guilt and self-reproach at having violated this sacred "taboo." Sean picked up on this and, while not expert in the art of counseling, did his best to comfort and re- assure Jared, shoring up his shattered self-esteem as best he could. Sean wished to God he could transfer to Jared some of his own fatalistic equanimity about their predicament.
"Jared," he finally said, "if its any comfort to you, you're not the first team mate I've done this with and you won't be the last. Its none of your business who else I've been with and it'll be nobody's business but ours what you and I have done together tonight. I don't know why some guys do this. I only know it feels good, better than going with a girl. It may not BE right but is sure FEELS right."
This did no good, of course. Jared regarded himself with self-loathing. To add insult to injury, Jared told himself, he had not even been man enough to be the one to open up to Sean. Sean had been the one to make the first move, not Jared. Jared, tried to tell himself that Sean was just a faggot like him, but he had to hand the devil his due. Jared envied Sean his balls. To be sure, Sean had been para- noid and afraid in that shower room, just like Jared, but at least he'd had the cour- age to follow his heart and go for what he wanted. Jared suspected there was a lesson and some wisdom in there somewhere. Maybe one day he'd figure out what it was. Neither Jared nor Sean spoke of their time in the shower again. They remained friends through the end of the term when Sean graduated. Next year he went to the Air Force Academy in Colorado Springs and Sean and Jared lost touch with each other.
After high school, instead of university, Jared had opted to join the Navy. He scored fairly high on the Armed Services Vocational Aptitude Battery of tests (ASVAB). After boot camp, he was selected for "a-school," technical training, as an aircraft gas turbine engine mechanic and, because he graduated at the head of his class, he got first pick of available assignments. He opted for a tour of duty with an anti-submarine helicopter squadron that deployed in small detachments aboard sub-hunting surface combatant ships. He would be given all the responsi- bility he could handle, a modicum of independence and a good opportunity to ad- vance rapidly through the ranks. His technical skills and adroit leadership at- tracted the interest of his superiors and, unbeknownst to Jared, his service jacket at the Bureau of Naval Personnel was "flagged." Jared now had the attention of the brass in Washington. Upon completion of his first sea tour, during which he'd earned not one but two commendation medals, unheard of in one so junior in rank, he was encouraged to apply for Basic UDT/Seal (BUDS) training on Coronado Island outside San Diego. He was accepted. He had some idea what he was getting into, of course. The "hell" of BUDS was well known, not only throughout the Navy, but in all the armed services. For both officer and enlisted candidates, it was the most grueling training anywhere in the US defense estab- lishment and, arguably, among the toughest anywhere on earth.
The first week, Jared became friends and not long after, the lover of a classmate. Augostino Juan Domingo Peron Rodrigues y de los Santos. God, how Jared loved to roll that "dog tag" off his tongue, trilling the "r's" and all... Unlike Jared, "Augie" was gorgeous. Jared, a lifelong jock, had a superb physique which he took pride in maintaining at peak fitness. (The physical duress of BUDS had been no tougher on Jared than on any of his other classmates.) But Jared's facial fea- tures, while "average-good-looking," were somewhat ordinary. Jared was an in- telligence officer's dream. Just the kind of operative who could disappear into a crowd. Face: no identifying marks or scars. Features: regular, symmetrical. Hair: of indeterminate shade. Some might say "dark blond," others "light brown," who remembered? Depending on the light, there might even have been casts of premature gray. The eye color was equally ambiguous and tough to pin- point... somewhere between slate gray-green and hazel. Jared was the typical all- American boy next door, regular guy-jock type. To complete this non-image, when not in uniform, Jared normally wore styleless loose-fitting, functional clothing from Wal-Mart or the Navy Exchange. In his "cracker-jack" Navy-blues, Jared's body would have looked like a recruiting poster had he not gone to the ex- tra trouble and expense of having an overlarge uniform specially tailored to a fit which, while suitably "ship-shape," was not particularly flattering in any sexual sort of way. Jared was paranoid as hell about his sexual orientation and he went way out of his way NOT to "advertise."
Augie was Jared's opposite. Tall, (at six foot two, taller by a full two inches than Jared) dark, handsome, strikingly so. A male work of art sculpted in flesh and bone rather than stone. He was acutely aware of his own sexual magnetism. He reveled in it and flaunted it, brazenly. He was urbane, witty, sophisticated, if slightly on the "fey" side. His peers at BUDS made allowances for this, assuming it to be part of his Latin-American heritage. Besides, he came to BUDS with a black belt in Karate and a body as intimidating as it was beautiful. Some of his classmates might have assumed that Augie was just laying for someone to make an issue of his, slightly unorthodox, "bohemian" mannerisms. No one, Jared in- cluded, doubted that Augie could have made short work of anyone in the class. But deep inside, Augie was a gentle soul. Like Jared, Augie had opted for the military instead of college. He signed up mainly for the education benefits. He wanted to go to university and eventually to med school, like his dad. But he did- n't want to be a financial burden on his parents. His mom and dad had opted for a life of service to the poor and of "genteel poverty" in East LA rather than the lu- crative medical practice they could have had in Orange County. He had come to BUDS as a medical corpsman. Before arriving there, he had been as much of an overachiever in his field as Jared had as an aircraft engine mechanic. Augie brought so much more to his duties as a medic than merely technical skill. He was a gifted "healer," with an intuitive sense of his patients' emotional as well as their physical problems. He always knew exactly what to say, but, more impor- tant, when to just say nothing and to lend a listening ear. He had been assigned as a Corpsman to the Marines and so was right at home in the field. Many times, young jarheads would come to Augie, not only with their medical problems but just to share personal problems, frustrations, hopes and dreams with this kind, compassionate and profoundly empathetic young man. Unlike some other Navy Corpsmen assigned to the Marines, Augie was no "weak sister." He was a natural leader and his physical prowess was on a par with the best of the best in the Corps.
Even though his family lived in East LA, Augie was not Mexican. He was Ar- gentine. His father, a physician and an intellectual, had been a "Peronista" who had fled the Argentine when "Isabelita," Juan Peron's second wife, his widow and then "Presidente de la Republica de la Argentina," was deposed by a generals' coup d'etat. During the second presidency of "El Lider," and then of his widow, Senor Doctor Rodrigues had held a minor appointment in the Ministry of Health. His younger brother was among the generals' "desaperacidos" (the "disappeared ones"). As vociferously opposed as his younger brother to the heavy handed rule of the generals and not wishing that he or his family join his younger brother in oblivion, Sr. Dr. Rodrigues slipped quietly over the border into Uruguay and ul- timately landed, with his family in tow, in Southern California. Forever the cru- sader, Dr. Rodrigues moved his family into one of the poorest barrios in East LA and, as soon as he legally could, set up a storefront medical clinic there. Even be- fore he was legal, he ran a "bootleg" practice out of his apartment. Doctor Rod- rigues and his loving, picture-perfect wife, Madelena, were devoted to their chil- dren, taking an active role in their education after school. Of course, poor as they had been when they first arrived in the United States, they still found the money for Catholic School for all the children. Both husband and wife were avid ama- teur classical musicians and they instilled their love of culture, art, and beauty in all their six children, of which Augie, named for St. Augustine and for the Argen- tine quasi-secular "saint," Juan Peron., was the eldest. The youngest child was also a boy. All four kids in between were girls. They cut their teeth on Mozart, Beethoven, Brahms, Hyden, Vivaldi and Dvorjac sonatas, symphonies and opera. The Rodrigues children joyfully performed chamber music while other kids gelled out in front of TV or video games. From the earliest Augie could remember, his dad taught him to love and appreciate classical music, art, history and culture. There was no "art for art's sake." Unless art uplifted the human soul, it was by definition "banal," that is to say, "ugly." But Augie was no sissy. He was a damned good football player, both American football and soccer. He was a good all around athlete, even excelling in the gentlemen's games of tennis and golf. In golf, Augie played to a three handicap!
Dr. and SRA. Rodrigues were devout but very progressive Roman Catholics. They'd always taught their children to be truthful to others and more important, to themselves. When Augie was eighteen, he announced gravely to his mom and dad that he was gay.
His father speaking for both of them conceded, "we're not especially overjoyed at this news. You will not, it seems, be blessing us with grandchildren. But, Augie, your happiness is more important to us even than the joy of grandchildren. So, in return for our acceptance, which we give to you freely in any event, if you ever bring a young man home to meet us, all we ask is that you make sure you pick someone we can be as proud to call our son as we are of you."
Augie had not been completely sure of his parent's reaction to this news. He had faith that eventually they would come to accept his sexuality. That they had re- sponded this way, so quickly, with such open-handed, open-hearted love, so moved him to tears that he was obliged to beat a hasty retreat to his room. He could think of nothing appropriate to say but in private, he resolved to honor his father's request. One day, he would bring home a man his parents could fall in love with as passionately as he.
From the beginning at BUDS, Jared sensed this dark-eyed heart-stopper had his eye on him. Once from across a classroom, during a tactical lecture, he could have sworn this guy had winked at him. Jared was fair complexioned and his re- action to Augie's subtle but brazen advance, under the noses of this band of ho- mophobes, was to blush deep crimson.
After classes that day, they met and introduced themselves. It was love at first sight, of course, though for the life of him, Jared who'd gone to such extreme to hide his sexuality as well as any hint of sex appeal, couldn't imagine why Augie had singled him out. Later, Augie explained, "I knew you had a good body under all those loose-fitting clothes, Jared. Nobody gets into BUDS if he's a fat slob or a skinny runt." But truth be known, Augie was a fairly shrewd judge of character and he'd sensed behind Jared's high wall of defenses a vulnerable, sensitive but desolate soul that he had been destined to rescue from a joyless, loveless life.
Jared was living in the "bachelor enlisted quarters" (BEQ), the barracks on base. Augie suggested they go to his apartment on Coronado Island outside the North Island Naval Air Station down the road from the Seal training base. It was small- ish, plain and expensive, but an apartment in a cheaper area of San Diego would not have been practical. As rigorous as most of their training was, it would have been a miserable commute. Augie led Jared into his quarters, invited him to have a seat on the sofa and offered to bring him something cold to drink. Jared asked for ice water.
Augie pressed him, "Is that all you want? I have coke, beer, wine, juice."
"Naw, that's OK. Water'll be just fine."
Augie brought two glasses, ice water for Jared and orange juice for himself. He sat down next to Jared on the sofa. It was clear right away that Jared was ex- tremely nervous. Augie decided that he would have to go slow with him. It was obvious he wasn't very experienced.
"Jared, you know why I've brought you home with me and you've come, but you haven't done too much of this have you? "
"Yeah, I guess not. I really shouldn't have come. There's really no reason for you to put up with a "nervous nellie" like me. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to lead you on."
"That's just it, Jared. You haven't led me on. I came onto you, remember? I just want you to feel relaxed and comfortable with me. But I want you to know I can see how hard that may be for you right now. I won't bullshit you. I want to be all over you, but nothing has to happen now, or today or ever, until you're ready. Worst mistake either us could make would be to rush something like this."
Jared looked at his new friend. Augie was normally very fiery eyed, projecting energy and urgency in everything. But just now his eyes were very soft and gen- tle. This change was very striking and somewhat arousing.
"I've only been with a man once, back in my sophomore year in high school. It was OK but I guess we were both pretty scared and paranoid, me more than the other guy. All in all, he was really fairly cool about the whole thing. Like I said, I'm not exactly the man of your dreams.' I want you too, Augie but I'm such a greenhorn,' I doubt I'd be holding up my end of the bargain."
"Relax, Jared. Just relax and let me make you feel good. Don't worry and don't feel like you have to do anything you don't want to. You don't have to `perform' for me. I really want you to feel good and feel safe when you're with me. That's what I wanted when I first laid eyes on you. Now just lie back and relax."
As he lay down on the sofa, Augie unbuckled Jared's fatigue uniform web belt, unbuttoned and unzipped his pants and went to work on the now rigid shaft through his skivvies. At first Jared's body was as taught and rigid as his cock, but he quickly responded to the ministrations of Augie's hungry mouth. Augie pulled down Jared's briefs with his teeth. Jared trembled with tension and desire as Au- gie sucked the head, then bathed the steely cock with his warm, firm and silky tongue. Jared's pre-cum was sweet in Augie's mouth. Then he moved to the balls. Sucking and nibbling the sack. Taking first one, then the other then both balls between his lips. As he worked over Jared's cock and balls, Augie massaged his muscles, grooving on their supple hardness. God, this man was so incredibly firm and well-defined. Jared's breathing was regular, but increasing in tempo as Augie brought him ever closer to climax. Jared held back, not wanting this to end and not wanting to shoot in Augie's mouth. When he could stand it no longer, he reached down to pull Augie off his throbbing tool. But Augie clasped Jared's hands in his own, giving him a quick reassuring squeeze. Then he returned his at- tentions to the hot dick. It was not as big as his own, a standard six inches but beautiful and form-fitted to his mouth. Jared shot his load down Augie's throat as he went down to the root, burying his nose in Jared's pubes. Augie took every- thing Jared had without coming up for air. And then it was over. Augie slowly pulled off Jared as he continued to tremble and shudder with the after shocks of the most intense orgasm he had ever experienced.
Augie lay his head on Jared's firm flat stomach momentarily Then he sat up and rolled Jared over on his stomach. But as soon as he felt's Augie beginning to ex- plore his manhole with his tongue, Jared stopped him. "No, Augie, not that!"
"OK, Jared. Its OK. I just want to rim you. You won't believe how good it feels. I promise that's all I'm up to."
"No Augie, not even that. There are some lines I will never cross, ever, and that's one of them. What you did for me was really great and now I owe you for that. I don't know that I can measure up to what you did, but I'm willing to try."
"No, Jared. I don't think you're ready for that yet, either. I think we need to `break you in slowly.' You'll know when the time is right. You won't feel obli- gated to me, you'll just be doing it because you want to, for yourself and for us, not just for me. I'm willing to wait for that. I want you, Jared, in every possible way one man could want another. But I really need for you to want me and to get off to me as much as I do you. Until then... Well, I just don't want it any other way."
Jared could not believe this beautiful hunk of man was actually wooing him like this. He regarded this with an odd combination of joy and dismay: Dismay that he wasn't "the man" with Augie. Here he was playing the role of the "demure young maiden." But joy that anyone of Augie's caliber could feel he was worthy of this kind of attention. His dad had always warned Jared that when something seems too good to be true (like this marvelous dark eyed Argentine for instance) usually, that's because it IS too good to be true.
In spite of his accomplishments in school and in the Navy, Jared had a fairly low opinion of himself. His parents, though dutiful, were distant, aloof and undemon- strative. His father rarely gave Jared any encouragement or indication of paternal approval. There had been no other children and Mr. and Mrs. Gross were both approaching 40 when Jared was born. Neither parent had wanted children. Jared had been an accident. As devout Catholics, abortion had been out of the question. They did their duty and they did their best to be good parents, but it had not been a joy to either of them. Though neither his mom nor his dad had ever been delib- erately cruel, they had not been particularly affectionate, either. And when Jared had faced alone the awful truth that he was gay, although he had felt sure that he could hide it and suppress it, he could not escape the certitude that he was defec- tive, a deviant, an abomination.
Jared pulled up and re-secured his pants. "Well, OK, Augie. I guess I really should be getting back to the barracks, then. We have early reveille tomorrow and, like they say, `at BUDS, the only easy day was yesterday.'"
"No, Jared. I don't want you to leave now. I want you to stay here with me to- night. We'll get up early tomorrow morning. You can use my stuff here to shower and shave and we'll swing by the barracks on the way to class so you can snag a fresh uniform. We don't have to do anything at all. I just want to sleep with you tonight."
Jared considered his father's warning and then, uncharacteristically throwing all caution to the winds, decided to go with his heart, and with Shakespeare instead of with his dad: "It is better to have loved and lost..."
In retrospect, Jared often wondered how he could have gotten through BUDS without Augie. It should have been hell. It was intended to be hell. But he'd had Augie at his side. In later years, Jared found himself looking back on his SEAL training tour as among the happiest days of his life.
As rigorous as BUDS had been, it was NOT "boot-camp." Except when trainees remained in the field overnight for combat exercises, they were permitted, though not required, to live off base. Within a week, at Augie's insistence, Jared had moved in with him.
After graduation, Augie and Jared had both been assigned to the same SEAL team.
After several extremely hazardous assignments, during which both men had re- ceived their baptisms of fire and saved each others' lives in the bargain, Pres. Clinton had been elected to the Whitehouse. He had promised during his cam- paign that there would be reform in the military. The sanctions against gays would be lifted. Augie had insisted that they not wait for formal orders to be promulgated and passed down the chain-of-command; that they come forward and declare themselves right away, certain that, by Presidential order, very soon, they would be vindicated. Jared was horrified at this ridiculous notion! He was a passionate advocate of "don't ask, don't tell," long before that policy had a name. "Sorta like having your cake and eating it too." He appealed to Augie. Augie had finally worn him down, of course.
"Maybe it's not our lot to give our lives in defense of our country in battle. I think maybe we've been called to defend the constitution and to live up to our oaths to defend the nation here at home. Besides, what right have we to our own happi- ness unless we are in solidarity with our `brothers and sisters' who are hurting? This is a question of our own integrity."
Jared countered that it really didn't matter a hill of beans what the President did. If they came out of the closet, they would be ostracized and, who knows, maybe allowed to get hurt or killed in the field or maybe even fragged outright. Augie insisted that now was the time for courage. It was the only way they could keep faith with all the martyrs of the nation who had given their lives over the last two centuries in defense of freedom.
Jared thought Augie, like so many naturalized Americans, a hopeless romantic. "Of COURSE he was! Hell, his dad was a fucking Peronista for chrissakes!" But Jared loved this darkly-handsome, muscular, fiery-eyed Argentine so, against his better judgment, he went along. They were bounced, of course: sacrificed to the Administration's "don't ask. don't tell" compromise. The very policy that Jared had touted to Augie as "a neat idea." Jared was furious with himself. If he'd had the courage of his own damned convictions this never would have happened. Au- gie could not be expected to make decisions like this rationally. He had no con- cept of self-interest. He was just such a starry-eyed idealist and Jared had known this. It was his job to protect Augie and himself and he'd been a fool. Now both of them had suffered. The real hell of all this was, Jared wholeheartedly AGREED with "don't ask. don't tell." It codified what had been tacitly practiced in the military for years. Jared wasn't really prepared himself to see gay "military dependents" receiving the same base-exchange, medical and other dependent benefits as "normal" families. Not really. He saw open homosexuality in the ranks as gravely "prejudicial to good order and discipline." Now they were out on the street with skills nobody wanted. None of the other services could take them. They were stuck in relatively low-paying jobs, no GI-education benefits, nothing.
Then Augie got sick; very sick. It was a genetic, degenerative muscle disorder. no cure... only a matter of time. The end would be protracted and painful. Jared was sure this was God's judgment against his temerity for seizing joy and happi- ness in forbidden love. Getting bounced from the Navy was a minor setback compared to this. Jared was devastated.
Before this disaster, after they had come forward in the Navy as homosexuals, Augie had taken Jared home to meet his family. This did not happen easily. Ja- red and Augie almost came to blows over it. Augie had pleaded with Jared who simply would not consider such a "ridiculous notion." He was genuinely con- cerned for Augie's parents and could not believe they would accept him with open arms. "Hell," Jared had bleated about four octaves above dead center his normal register, "I wouldn't WANT parents who could understand or accept a thing like this!" Augie's assurances that his parents had begged him to bring his young man- friend home to meet them was rejected with contempt.
"You stupid, naive "Argie"-idealist-pandejo. Your parents are LYING!!! They don't want the truth, you fucking idiot! They want REASSURANCE... that eve- rything is going to be story-book, picture-perfect okey-dokey. They want you to look into their eyes and lie, lie, deny, deny. I am NOT going to be the jerk who sachets into their home to inform them that they'll never have any grandchildren by you. I may be a dick-smoking queen, but at least I've got some pride left. You're asking me to break your parents' hearts. to trash their last hopes for you to have a normal life with a normal family. That's not going to happen by me, Augie... Ever!"
Augie won of course. He wheedled and cajoled until Jared turned on his friend and snarled, "You're making a worse mistake than when I let you talk us into coming out in front of our shipmates in the Navy. I've let you destroy our Navy careers. I'm not going to have your parents on my conscience too."
Augie was stung by Jared's vicious cheap shot and as soon as he'd spoken the words Jared wanted them back. He hadn't meant to hurt Augie's feelings, just get him off his back. Now he had rekindled Augie's own remorse for what he felt he'd done to Jared's aspirations for a career in the navy. Augie would have gladly given up life or limb in defense of his adopted country and the cherished freedoms America stood for. That, in their defense he'd only been called upon to sacrifice his navy career, Augie felt was a small price to pay, indeed. But in his rush to "martyrdom," Augie had not counted the cost to his beloved Jared. He bitterly re- gretted having dragged the man he loved into this hopeless stand and what this had wound up costing him. Much as Augie loved America, loved liberty and loved his principles, he would have sacrificed them all... would have sacrificed ANYTHING for Jared. He would sooner have died than do anything that would harm Jared in any way.
But the truth was, Jared didn't blame Augie one bit, and never had, for their ill- advised decision to declare their homosexuality to the navy. He blamed himself. Augie had done so much for Jared. He lavished more love and affection on Jared than he'd ever known in his life. And he was so protective and supportive of him, so determined to make up for the comparatively barren and loveless early years of his life. Jared was certain there would never be any way he could repay Augie for all he'd done for him. But at least he could have protected them both from Au- gie's quixotic impulse to "come out" in full view of the Navy, not to mention, worse, in front of their seal team shipmates! He had known better but he'd al- lowed himself to be weak, failing to stand up to Augie when it counted, for both of them, rather than hurting his feelings now for no good reason. He'd been nursing a guilty conscience, ever since they were cashiered, for his perceived fail- ure to hold up his end of the bargain, for allowing his friend to stand into peril without stopping him. Now, Augie's needlessly wounded feelings broke his heart.
He struggled valiantly to control his emotions, but it was a lost cause. Jared melted into a chair in tears of remorse.
Augie'd never seen Jared cry before, except when the national anthem was played. Jared could always be depended to mist over at the Star Spangled Banner. Aside from that, Jared just didn't display much emotion of any kind. But when the flood gates opened, it was a deluge. Augie cradled him tenderly in his muscular arms like a little boy.
Jared's "surrender" was NOT unconditional. If it meant so much to Augie, Jared would go along and meet his folks. But Jared would NEVER reciprocate by tak- ing Augie back to Brenham, Texas to meet his own sober, straight laced, Texas German Catholic parents. Augie had wanted very badly to be introduced to Ja- red's folks. Jared flatly refused and declined even to discuss the matter.
"What's the matter, Jared? I'm not good enough to meet your parents? Are you ashamed of me?"
"Fuckin'-A, Augie... Bingo! You're a hairy-assed MAN for God's sake! Hell, of COURSE I'm ashamed to bring you home to my folks. I'd be ashamed to bring any MAN home to them. Which fucking PLANET are you living on? What is the MATTER with you?"
Jared warned Augie in no uncertain terms that to insist on this would be tanta- mount to forcing a choice between his lover and his parents. He assured Augie that his duty to his parents back in Texas would prevail over the call of his heart. Augie could not bring himself to believe that once they knew the truth, Jared's parents would fail to come around. But it was clear that Jared had no such faith in them so, reluctantly, Augie promised never to push this issue again.
Augie's parents fell in love with Jared immediately and he with them. Augie had known all along this would happen. Jared was so gallant with Augie's mom. So deferential to his dad; a real Texas gentleman that Augie had been bursting with pride to show off to his folks. Jared had known a smattering of Spanish from his school days and in the Rodrigues home, he had plenty of opportunity to polish his skills. And between Augie and his family, Jared, who had thought of himself as unmusical as anyone who'd ever lived, picked up the piano and within a year had progressed sufficiently that he could hold his own as a performing member of the Rodrigues family "chamber orchestra." With his piano training from SRA. Rod- rigues and his musicology from Augie's father, Jared could hold forth for as long as 15 to 20 minutes, polemicizing competently and with passion on the objective geometric superiority of lower frequency Verdi tuning! How much different, broader and more beautiful his life had become because of Augie and his family!
And now Augie was sick and dying. Clearly, "the mills of God [had ground] ex- ceeding fine." Jared would peddle the only thing he had, his combat skills. He had known how to plug into the mercenary networks and it wasn't long before he found the "mercs" who were recruiting for Elias Wright. He knew from the jump that these guys were bad news, but you had to understand the AMOUNT of money they were offering him. Half a million bucks! He would bargain away his soul for Augie's life. It was a shot, anyway. He went to the hospice where Au- gie's dad had arranged to make his son as comfortable as possible. Augie had told his dad how glad he was that it was him in this death bed and not Jared. Badly as this hurt, if it had been the other way around, Augie was sure he could not have endured that anguish. Jared had always been more stoic, more able to endure, more resilient to pain. Jared's "farewells" to Augie and his dad were brief. He'd be back. He had to go away on business. "No." He couldn't fill them in on any details. He would be gone no more than a few weeks at most.
And then he'd joined Elias Wright's band of cut throats. He'd been horrified by the mission. Killing teenage boys, even those reputed to be as "dangerous" as these would have been unthinkable under normal circumstances. But the money he would be paid was Augie's only hope and a slim one at that. Jared bit the bul- let and went with the flow.
Then Jared had let himself get hit, evacuating seriously wounded who would only be shot anyway by his employers. It was because of Augie's influence in his life that he found himself "jousting windmills" now. Before Augie, he couldn't imagine himself doing something so futile. From his deathbed thousands of miles away, the Argie "pandejo," had "won" again, just like with their "coming out" in the navy and with his meeting Augie's parents. In spite of himself, Jared had been irreversibly changed by Augie and his loving family.
"Completely avoidable, of course," Jared later told himself. If he hadn't been such a sentimental fool, he'd have gotten away, unscathed to fight another day, collect his money and maybe save his lover's life. But, no, he'd lingered, trying to evacuate the wounded from, of all things, incoming "friendly" mortar fire. It did no good, unfortunately. As promised when they were recruited, the invaders were killing their own seriously wounded. They were as good as their word at having made no provision for medical attention in the field and at having no desire to feed, pay or care for mercenaries no longer of any use to them. He had known this as did all his confederates. They had all been warned by their employer be- fore they signed up that if they were seriously wounded, they would be disposed of. But those who managed to go the distance in "delivering the bacon," would receive that half million dollars apiece. Still, even knowing they would be shot, Jared could not bring himself to leave wounded men in harm's way. After ven- turing half a dozen times into a mortar impact zone, Jared had taken a stray shrap- nel hit, opening his right leg from the crotch to the knee. The femoral artery had not been severed. Had it been, he would not have survived. As it was, his blood loss was horrific. He went down , beginning a silent recitation of the Act of Con- trition as he lost consciousness: "Oh my God, I am heartily sorry for having offened thee..." and then when he awoke, he was surrounded by four bikini-clad, phenomenally muscled, tanned beautiful boys, just at the threshold of manhood. A big, heavily muscled, but fully clothed, man, forytish, was with them. These were the people Jared's employers had come for. But they had badly mauled the invading force. From what he had seen of their incredible strength, confirming what he'd read in pre-arrival intelligence reports, any one of them could take him apart with his bare hands. He couldn't run. His right leg was out of commission and he'd lost so much blood. He was too weak. There would be no mercy for him, of course. His captors would certainly kill him and even if they didn't, once they found him, his own comrades would. He'd already made peace with his God. He lunged for his side arm, managed to retrieve it from the holster on his web belt, chambered a round, then placed the muzzle in his mouth. But with the unbeliev- able swiftness of a striking viper, one of the of the muscle boys, the dark-headed one, was on him, grasping his wrist and squeezing with near bone-crushing power. The man lost his grip and the pistol fell harmlessly to the ground at his side. With his bare foot, the boy kicked the weapon out of Jared's reach. Then, without a word to the man , the muscle-boy turned to his companions and pleaded with them to spare the mercenary's life. He shielded the wounded man with his near-naked body, clearly worried the three other boys might indeed try to take him apart with their bare hands. The dark-haired boy, keenly aware of his own super- strength, and that of his friends, knew all too well that this was no idle fear. But without hesitation, one of the other muscle-youths, this one strikingly beautiful with gold-streaked brown hair... and the eyes: Eerie! gold streaks radiating from the pupils, like star bursts... this was Eric... He spoke for the other two boys, the big man (Tom) and himself, when he gravely declared, "Ricky, these guys may wind up killing us all but I promise you, we will never let them make us do something like that. No matter what, we won't murder a wounded man. We won't let these marauders to turn us into monsters like them!" That the four boys would unanimously turn their backs on revenge was marvel enough, but they had spotted the attackers' cold-blooded killing of their own badly wounded! Even in their own acute distress, these young boy-men, mature beyond their tender years, felt compassion even for this evidently unrepentant but helpless enemy.
The dark haired youth, this was Ricky, exclaimed: "Maybe this dude has a fam- ily, kids or SOMEbody who needs him, waiting for him to come back home. We CAN'T leave him for the bad guys to finish off! We just CAN'T" So, then and there, the boys agreed among themselves that, until they could nurse their captive back to health, they would carry him as best they could, on their backs, if need be, as they moved through the jungle, evading their enemy. That these boys would decide to do this for a captive enemy reduced Tom, momentarily, to tears of awe. He had simply never imagined he would see such sublime vindication of his years of loving and rearing these boys, their souls radiating beauty even more compel- ling than that of their sleek, sculpted and powerful bodies.
By the time of his capture by Tom and the boys, Jared and his comrades had tasted bitterly of the awesome power of these young muscle hunks. Prior to their arrival, the mercenary force had obtained good intelligence of their reputed prowess. The target folder, which Jared had reviewed thoroughly, included an appendix with thorough intelligence on the essentials of "Project Hercules." When wounded and captured, he had expected no mercy, either from these terri- fyingly powerful super-beings or from his own comrades. So he had tried des- perately to kill himself. But this young muscle-boy, Ricky, had restrained him, saving him from himself.
Eric leveled his gaze at the mercenary explaining: "You are our prisoner now, mister: Our responsibility. No way anyone under our protection is allowed to die, by suicide or any other way."
Jared had heard all of this exchange and, as hardened as he had felt compelled to become, he was overcome with remorse that he had come here to kill these aw- somely powerful but obviously tender-hearted boys and their guardian. He did indeed have "family" back home, after a fashion: The love of his life, Augostino Juan Domingo Peron Rodrigues y de los Santos, in hospice in LA, with that crip- pling, debilitating, degenerative muscular disease. Augie was totally dependent upon Jared's return with the money for financial support for sustenance and per- haps a slender chance at life. But Jared did not share this "hard luck story" with his captors.
The big man spoke: "What's your name fella?" The mercenary answered, "Look, I'm as good as dead here. And I came here to kill you. You don't owe me any- thing. Just give me back my piece and leave me be. It'll be over in a few seconds. Then you can take the weapon and run.
Tom replied: "Sorry guy, can't do that, much as I'm tempted to accommodate you. But I guess I've been out voted. Seems these lads suspect you of having some kind of soul deep down there somewhere inside you. Going back into that mortar fire for your wounded was stupid and hopeless, but it was right and good. We're gonna hold onto you..."
"As a hostage?" the mercenary laughed mirthlessly. "Won't do you any good. They're killing the wounded."
"Yeah. We know, Tom said. "Now just tell us your name."
"Gross. Jared Gross."
"Mine's Tom Henderson. And this young fella who spoke up for you is Ricky Addison and this is Eric Silverthorne, Jack Tyler and Alex Tempest."
Jared swooned. Tom knelt alongside, made a cursory examination. "Boys. This man's hurt bad. He's going into shock and unless we can figure out something, he won't last the night." Moving him's not such a good idea either.
Alex spoke up. Maybe we stitch him up somehow and figure out a way to give him a transfusion."
"How can we do that?" Tom replied. In the first place, we don't have the proper equipment and I'm not a doctor... not a medical doctor."
Jack placed his hand on the man's shoulder. "Tom, you are a physiologist. That's the next best thing and right now, you're the only chance this guy's got. You've got plenty of stuff in that back pack of yours. Alex brought out nearly everything in the house in that tent bag when he went back to the shed for that rope for your tree-harness. We've gotta bring this dude around, find out his blood type and hope for a match with one of us. We all know each others' blood types. Heck, you've been jabbing and prodding at us with your needles and probes for as long as I can remember. Now maybe all that sticking and poking can count for some- thing. At least we have to try."
Ricky added his two cents worth: "Tom, you saw how Eric came around when he got shot. He nearly died and by next morning, it was like he'd never been hit. Maybe we all can heal like that."
"Yeah, probably, but so what?" Tom asked...
"Well," Ricky went on, "maybe if one of us is a match, our blood could do the same thing for... for this man."
"We don't know that for sure," Tom answered. "Maybe its more than just your blood that gives you your special self-healing traits. It's probably a combination of factors. Dr. Vanderhaeghe and I never really had a chance to pursue that line of research. None of you has ever been sick a day in your life and your bodies are phenomenally resistant to injury. But we never did any research on your response to trauma like this or like what happened to Eric. How could we?"
This time Eric spoke up. "Tom, slim chance is better than no chance. Lets try to wake him up and get his blood type."
Tom reached into his rucksack, took out a syringe and a small bottle. He prepared the injection, stuck the needle in Jared's left arm and slid the plunger home. After about a minute or so, Jared returned to a groggy consciousness. Tom spoke to Ja- red. "Look man, you're hurt pretty bad but we think we can patch you up. But you've lost a lot of blood. We need to know your blood type."
"Like I said, I'm finished. You're wasting valuable time. You fellows need to move out now. My 'friends' could come back this way any minute and, trust me, you don't want to be here when they do. Mister, by screwing around with me you're being irresponsible with these kids."
Tom got down into Jared's face: "Look, asshole, I thought we already had this settled. You don't understand. If you don't cooperate, I'm never gonna get these guys outta here. They refuse to leave without you. And there's not a man alive who could make them move if they don't want to go. I don't have time to go into all the "why's" and "wherefores" of that right now but, trust me, we've got a chance if you'll just fucking cooperate. Now tell me your blood type before you pass out again."
It's "o-positive," Jared said... and then he did pass out again.
Tom looked up at the boys. "
Jack, looks like you've been elected as donor. Step right up here and let me poke at you yet again."
Tom reached into his rucksack and pulled out the necessary implements, silently thanking the God he didn't believe in that Alex had the presence of mind to re- trieve all this stuff when he'd returned to the compound for the rope for his tree- harness. Jack was right. Alex had brought out everything from the house but the kitchen sink. Even some sentimental photos from happier times.
Tom reconsidered and decided the first thing to do was to staunch the blood loss and then get Jared moved to a safer place so he could work on his "patient" with- out having to look over his shoulder, worried about the enemy finding them in this relatively exposed position. He took off his belt and rigged a tourniquet... Then peeled off his shirt and applied it as a compress directly over the gaping wound.
Jack and Ricky rigged a stretcher for Jared, placed him on it and the small band moved out. They made very good time, not withstanding the dense jungle and, before too long came to a place of relative safety where they had stashed Alex's "loot" from the house. Here was a place Tom could work in relative comfort and security. He drew as much blood as he dared from Jack and fed it into Jared's vein. "Now all we can do is wait and hope."
Tom then set to work on the leg, disinfecting the gaping wound and then stitching it closed as best he could. It was an grizzly, ugly job but it would have to do. Tom covered Jared with a blanket and looked at the boys. "That's it guys. That's all I can do."
Eric, and Alex fanned out on the flanks. Each boy rocketed up a tree trunk into the jungle canopy to watch for approaching enemy patrols. Their speed and agil- ity was disquieting, even though Tom had observed it so many times, maybe hun- dreds of times before. He shuddered as he considered an army of such supermen at the disposal of neo-fascist former Soviet bloc bandit states like the Eastern European Republic of Mulvia-Everinia. His boys had been raised in a loving, nurturing and caring environment. But such super-beings raised by a Spartan, garrison state, even unarmed, would be lethal. With their clear-cut physiological superiority over ordinary men, they could easily be programmed to believe they had a right to kill, remorselessly. History was replete with horrifying precedents. For the first time since joining Project Hercules, Tom was genuinely afraid that he and Dr. Vanderhaeghe may well have opened "Pandora's box," with, conceivably, catastrophic consequences for humanity at large.
Since he'd just been drained of so much blood, Tom ordered Jack to lie down and he, of course, objected but finally relented to please Tom. Tom spread a light- weight blanket over Jack. Ricky lay on the ground alongside Jared underneath his blanket, adding his above-normal body warmth to Jared's to counter the effects of traumatic shock. All they could do now was wait. This was an opportunity to get some rest himself and Tom decided it would be wise to take advantage of it. >From their vantage points, Eric and Alex would warn them in plenty of time if trouble came calling.
It took Jared's leg about twice as long as it had taken Eric to recover from the sucking chest wound he had gotten in an earlier engagement with Wright's henchmen but aside from that, recovery was every bit as miraculous. During that time, Jared's body temperature had elevated to 41 degrees Celcius, causing Tom some concern. But when he examined the dressing, he was mildly surprised at the healing. Not as dramatic in time of recovery as Eric's, but other than Eric's, unlike anything Tom had ever seen or ever heard of. Clearly, Ricky's theory that their blood could transmit phenomenal healing properties to ordinary men was correct. Jared was "coming out of the woods." By the time Jared was completely healed, there was no trace of even so much as a scar, swelling or redness of the skin in the vicinity of the wound.. If Tom had not already seem even more rapid healing in Eric, he would have been astounded. He made two mental notes to self: One, for about the thousandth time, to try not to be astounded at anything in connection with these super-boys and their physiology. The second, that this fortuitous medical miracle might come in handy again in the next few days and hours. Who knew what scientific and medical implications from this might lie ahead if they ever managed to get off this island!
Jared had slept during most of the 24 hours of his unbelievable recovery. When he awoke, fully healed, he was to say the least, speechless. Tom explained, "We dressed the wound and gave you a transfusion. It was Jack's blood that matched yours. Eric took a bad hit not long after you people arrived. We thought we'd lost him and by next morning, he was completely healed, just like you. He was a lot worse off than you and he healed in about half the time you took. But, obviously, their blood has the capacity to transfer a good bit of their phenomenal recupera- tive powers through transfusion. Actually, it was Ricky's idea. He hasn't left your side the whole time."
Jared was even more taken aback by the kindness of his captors even than his phenomenal recovery with the aid of Jack's blood in his veins.
"Why are you people doing this for me? I came here to kidnap you and to kill these boys."
"No you didn't, Jared." Tom replied. "If you had, you would have shot us when you pulled your pistol and tried to eat that bullet. Why didn't you turn your weapon on us?"
Then Tom turned to Jack and Ricky. "You boys round up Eric and Alex." I think we should be moving out, now. Can't afford to stay in any one place too long. Lets not push our luck, eh? I think you can move OK now, can't you, Jared?"
"Yeah, I think so. And you're right, Tom. No doubt Wright and his goons are doing a sector-by-sector search, sweeping this whole island. Only a matter of time before they pass this way."
Tom put his hand on Jared's shoulder. "Jared, I'm not a religious man and I'm not superstitious at all. But if I were, I'd swear our finding you was some kind of miracle. We saw what you did with your people, risking your life to save them. I don't know how in hell you fell in with these bastards, but I'd bet even money there's some kind of story there. We're in a really tight corner with no way we can see to get out of it. Will you help us? Can you help us?"
Jared looked up at Tom. "I'm not really sure. Right now we've got to keep mov- ing and evading. Maybe I can come up with something."
Tom gathered his boys around and explained to them that he wanted them to trust Jared and to follow whatever instructions he gave them. Then he turned to Jared and explained, "We'll follow your lead, Jared. It's the only chance I can see we've got. But you've got to remember, even though none of these kids is expendable, they have strength and abilities that you and I are going to have to rely on if we're going to have any chance at all to level the playing field here."
"Tom, our target folder had fairly decent intell. on this Project Hercules' of yours and Dr. Vanderhaeghe's. And I've been on the receiving end of some of their mischief.' So far, this "goat-rope" OP has been `Home Alone,'... SQUARED. It's been kinda like goin' up against McCauley Caughlin and Superboy combined! I don't think I'll have any problem at all keeping in mind what these boys can do."
"We're going to have to keep moving to have any chance of avoiding detection. And eventually, we'll have to do some reconnoitering of our own. I want to find someplace that's already been swept and try to give you and the boys some 'school-call' on how to move and how to manage a takedown. First thing, we're going to need some weapons. Best way to do that, I think is to ambush a patrol, take `em out and grab their stuff. But I won't be able to afford you and these kids going soft on me. When we pounce, I expect them to be taken out, period. And I can't manage all the dirty work by myself. We're going to have to do some killing before this is over."
Tom had made this same argument with Eric after the young man had downed that forger jump-jet. He nodded to Jared and turned to the boys. They nodded too, their expressions grave but determined. Tom marveled again at his boys' complete lack of blood lust for their mortal enemies. Jared wasn't entirely satis- fied. He felt they would need to be a lot more aggressive if they were going to have any chance at all of getting off this island in one piece. But, hey, this was the hand he'd been dealt. An egg-head "nutty professor," even if he was built like a defensive lineman, four adolescent "love-and-peace flower children," even if they were the strongest human beings alive, no weapons, except for Jared's Glock 40 cal., and except for him, no military training or combat skills. Things had sure gotten... "interesting!"
Tom had the boys bury their tent bag and with light provisions, the band moved out. Rick walked "point" 50 - 75 meters ahead with Eric and Alex deployed 20 meters left and right of Rick. Jack brought up the rear with Jared and Tom in the center. Neither man liked screening themselves behind these kids, but Jared re- luctantly concluded this was their optimum formation. Jared did not really expect these four boys to be particularly aggressive. All of the damage they'd done to Wright's mercenary force had occurred in defensive, not offensive engagements. In nearly a dozen encounters with Wright's mercs, not once had Tom or the boys taken the initiative. But Jared was taking no chances. One-by-one, Jared swore each of the young muscle prodigies, individually, on solemn oath, that they would not try any "cowboy" heroics on their own. The immediate objective here was to avoid detection at all costs. Winning an "impromptu" skirmish was a long shot at best and even if they did, enemy mercenaries would certainly manage to broadcast a contact report before going down. Each of the boys had agreed in turn. Jared assured each of them that when he judged the time was right, they'd set up an am- bush and engineer a takedown. But it would be on their terms, not the enemy's, and on their initiative, not the enemy's.
The group had been on the move about two hours when Eric spotted a small en- emy patrol moving in on their left flank. It didn't look like they'd been detected. The three boys in the lead doubled back and, as agreed, everyone ascended the tree trunks. There was no time for the older men's dignity. Jack snatched Tom. Ricky got Jared, like a sack of potatoes and up they went. The enemy patrol passed harmlessly underneath, never detecting their prey. They agreed it would be a good idea to offset their position 50 meters or so to their left, realigning their route of march through the jungle. They were in no hurry to do this, so Tom and Jared moved independently through the canopy. No way they could match the boys in speed, but, as well conditioned athletes, both men were agile enough to make their way this short distance. The boys adjusted their own speed of travel so they could all stay together.
Just as they arrived over their objective, the tree limb Jack was hanging onto broke clean through. Like a cracking whip, Jared's left hand shot out, snagging the boy's right wrist. And then, Jared's supporting tree limb began to fail. Jack's added weight was just too much. The tree branch splintered and folded. Jared held on for dear life, his own as well as Jack's; Ricky was overhead on a neigh- boring branch, reaching out for Jared in desperation, but he was just out of reach. Jack looked up at Jared. "Look man. You're gonna hafta let me go. That tree branch is coming down if you don't."
"Naw, kid. Sorry. Can't do that. We go down, we're going down together. Now just chill out and let me figure this out. Don't move or do anything stupid. We might split this branch clean through. I'd turn you loose and let you climb on up my body, bit I'm pretty sure this branch will give way with that much motion. You've got to trust me to hang onto you. I won't let go."
"That's just it, Jared. You HAVE to let go. I can take this fall. Me and the other guys do this all the time... Done it since we were little kids! We always come up without a scratch!"
"Jack's right," Tom broke in from a few feet away in another tree. I know its hard but you've got to trust us. Please, Jared. It'll be OK, I swear."
Here was Jared facing a life or death situation and here THEY were, even Tom, spouting all this NONSENSE about letting this boy take a 100 foot fall! They were throwing him off his concentration!
Jack broke the impasse. "Jared. Listen to me. Don't be afraid. I'm just going to reach up with my left hand and pull myself free. I know why you can't let go. Maybe if I were you, I couldn't either." Jared's grip was strong. Very strong. But as easily as Jared would have pulled free of the grip of an infant, Jack pulled free of Jared.
Jack still held onto Jared's left wrist with his own. He looked up at Jared. "It's OK, man. It's just that I'm so strong. It's not your fault. No way you could've held onto me. Please don't worry. I'm gonna be OK. Just hold on and we'll get you outta this." Then Jack let go and began to fall over 100 feet to the jungle floor below. His hands above his head and then pulled in across his chest as Jack prepared for his crash landing. Jared started down at Jack in horror, letting out a soft, low-throated groan of despair.
Before Jack reached the ground, Jared's branch broke clean through. For the sec- ond time today, Jared started recitation of his final Act of Contrition. As he hur- tled earthward, he glanced down in time to see Jack slam into the ground, break- ing his fall with a rolling somersault, coming to his feet unharmed. The kid had made it!
From directly overhead Ricky called out to Jared, "hang on, man. I'm coming." Jared couldn't see Ricky, but he knew now exactly what was coming. Ricky, perched on a tree limb just overhead and just out of reach of Jared propelled him- self down toward his target with incredible power in his spring-coiled legs. Ricky had attained greater than terminal velocity before his feet cleared the branch. Less than one second later, he slammed into Jared's body with unbelievable force, overcoming the full-grown man's inertia with his own, snagging him under his armpits with his muscular left arm. Jared was no varsity gymnast, but he'd done some intramural stuff in high school on the floor, parallel bars and high bar. He discarded the pigheadedness he'd shown with Jack like an ill-fitting, worn-out garment and in a brilliant flash of inspiration went with the flow. Jared had a marvelous, instinctive sense of spatial geometry and in a leap of insight nothing short of phenomenal, just before Jack slammed into him, grasped exactly what was about to happen. He would give Ricky his full cooperation and permit this boy to save his life. He allowed Rick to tuck his body in close and streamlined himself alongside. A less agile man probably would not have accomplished his part in his own rescue as adroitly as Jared. The man saw Ricky's target, a tree limb coming on fast, just offset from their nearly vertical, downward, straight and true trajectory. He lowered his head for maximum clearance a fraction of a sec- ond before Ricky's right arm snagged the limb. Together, man and boy executed two full 360 degree loops and 180 degrees of a third before gravity finally over- came inertia and they swung back 90 degrees to vertical.
For just a second, they just hung there together. Ricky supporting both of them from the tree limb with his powerful right arm, holding Jared securely into his left side with his other arm. Ricky murmured mechanically, "Its OK `Lois.' I've got you."
Jared, recognizing the Hollywood reprise and quick on the uptake, did not miss a beat. "You've got me... Who's got you?"
Jared couldn't see Ricky's broad boyish grin, but if he had, his heart would have melted. "Wow man! You've seen that movie too!" Jared reached up for the tree limb and grabbed hold with his own left hand. Together, the two of them hung together, profound relief and mutual admiration washing over them. Ricky gave Jared an affectionate squeeze, just a little tighter. He would have preferred a bear hug, but this was the best he could manage in such an awkward position.
When they got down to the jungle floor below, Ricky explained to Jared and Tom. "Ever since Dr. Vanderhaeghe brought us that old Superman-One,' video tape a few months ago, me and the guys have been practicing that save.' Way cool that you picked up on our lines, Jared. We said those exact words from the movie every time we got it right and made a good save. We've just started to get it down fairly good. When we started out, we'd call ourselves Clark and Lois.' We were- n't really doing all that well with it, though. Then Alex figured it out. He'd checked out a Canadian Air Force Web Site on formation flying.' He showed us the printout. It said the wing men normally worked harder than the lead pilot, working to maintain proper speed and interval from the lead. It works the same when we're heaving iron in our workouts. The spotter concentrates nearly as hard as the lifter. Maybe harder. So, that was our ticket. Superman' was lead' and Lois,' wing man.' Wingie' had to trust in his lead and be ready to eat dirt with him if lead' messed up. We all ate a lotta dirt for each other. Wingie had to help his lead by going with the flow and by not trying to do the save if his lead missed the limb. No other way we were ever gonna get good. Never thought we'd ever get to do this for real, Jared." Ricky said in frank admiration, "You were about the coolest wingie I've ever been with. Not sure I'd've managed without you being so fast on the uptake. Next time you wanna take lead?"
Ricky flashed Jared another million dollar wide mouth grin that would have melted an iceberg.
Jared just sighed and replied, "Noooo... kid. I think I've had about all the `fun' with that little maneuver I can stand for one lifetime. Not to mention snagging that tree limb would probably dislocate anybody's shoulders but you guys'!"
Tom regarded the muscle-youths with disbelief. "Are you boys crazy? You could've broken your damn fool necks trying a stupid thing like that. Why didn't you TELL me this was going on?"
Alex, standing alongside, gave Tom a playful one-arm squeeze around his middle. "Aw, come on, Tom! Honest... Did you tell YOUR folks everything you got into when you were our age?"
Tom was momentarily completely disarmed by Alex's offhand but genuinely heartfelt allusion to his role as the four boys' "parent." Before he could recover, Jared broke in.
"OK, this chit-chat is real nice and all but we gotta get a move on. Now let's shove off."
It wasn't long before they ran into trouble again and this time they weren't so lucky. The enemy patrol spotted them and it was obvious they'd managed to get a signal off to their command post before Jared, Tom and the boys managed to take them down. Jared ordered Tom and the boys to strip the enemy of everything of conceivable value, including their uniforms. Darkly tanned muscle boys running semi-nude through this jungle may have been very picturesque and all, but he wanted them in camouflage uniforms ASAP. He had the boys don captured en- emy jungle-pattern uniforms. Tom, as well as each of the boys, strapped on web belts, taken from their victims, each fitted with holsters, each with a Gloch-40! The boys strongly objected when Jared ordered each of them to select a pair of boots with a fairly close fit; but when he continued to insist, Tom ended the de- bate, reminding them of their promise to follow ALL of Jared's instructions. Then Jared ordered Tom into one of the uniform shirts. There were none among their captured "loot" large enough for Tom's massive frame, so he ordered the boys to rip out the sleeves and told Tom not to bother buttoning up. It was better than no camouflage at all. They moved away from their point of contact with the enemy patrol just as one of the two surviving forgers arrived overhead. This pilot had learned from his comrade's misfortune so he hovered safely above hurling range of the boys' powerful arms.
Jared knew this was "game over" unless somebody came up with something fast. No way for one of the boys to hurl debris into the engine inlet this time, but they'd just managed a takedown of that enemy patrol. Jared had found a captured gre- nade launcher among their "loot." He stuffed two of the long rocket grenades into his baggy side pockets, slung the weapon onto his back and proceed to shinny up a tree. He didn't have the phenomenal strength or agility of the boys, but for an ordinary man, his performance was impressive. Even the boys had to grant him credit. Ricky started to go after him but, at Tom's behest, Eric held him back.
"Ricky. This is hard for you. It tough for me too. We both want to go up that tree with Jared but we've got to let him do this on his own. He's the best man for this job and you've got to trust him to do it right, just like he trusted you with that save. You owe him that."
Ricky nodded reluctantly... very reluctantly. But Eric was right. He had no counter argument.
Jared brought if off, of course. Right up the starboard engine inlet with his rocket-propelled grenade. "Scratch forger number two," Jared reported with satis- faction when he rejoined his new friends. "Now Wright is really gonna be pissed. But he's not going to be as fast and loose with his last jump-jet. All of a sudden, the playing field is getting just a wee tad more level, and I'm beginning to think I may have a plan. Now its time we move out. Fast. Bad guys gonna be all over us before you know it."
When they had reached relative safety, deeper in the jungle, Jared took the time to give each of his "troops," Tom, Eric, Alex, Ricky and Jack some small-arms ori- entation. He taught them how to acquire their target, shut one eye, line up the front and rear sight, dead center your target and squeeze, do NOT jerk, the trigger. Jared would have preferred "live fire" target practice, but the danger was too great that the noise would reveal their position to the hunters, so "dry fire" would just have to do. They'd all get live fire experience soon enough. Jared cursed the cir- cumstances that had catapulted these gentle, peace loving adolescents into harm's way. Super strength or no, forcing these kids to perform as combatants was a crime against humanity. He prayed to his God that he would be favored with the opportunity to redeem himself for his part in this "war crime."
Jared was an experienced combat veteran who ought to have known better than to pray for a thing like that. He got exactly what he asked for sooner than he might have wished.
Too late, they had walked into an ambush. Ricky, Alex and Eric had been walk- ing a three-man point again, but the enemy had remained concealed, allowing the boys to overrun their position. A split second before they opened up on Tom and Jared, Jared heard a metal-to-metal click, a rifle safety-catch selected to "off!" Without thinking, Jared dove for the dirt, sweeping Tom off his feet with his out- stretched arm. Now they were cut off from the three boys in the lead. Jack, com- pletely alone in the rear sprinted through the undergrowth to Tom's side, ignoring the withering enemy fire. He moved so swiftly and he took such good advantage of cover from the jungle floor vegetation, that it was very difficult for enemy sharpshooters to keep Jack in their sights. He made it without a scratch. Jared was furious with himself for allowing his "formation" to be trapped like this. Ja- red, Tom and Jack, as well as the boys in front, were armed now, with AK-74 automatic rifles as well as their Glock-40's. He had instructed them to select semi-auto mode (one shot - one trigger pull) and impressed upon them the impor- tance of maintaining "fire discipline." He had taught them to leap frog from one position to another in their maneuver, one man establishing a base of fire to cover the movement of the others in his formation. In his crash course to Tom and the boys on elementary infantry fire and maneuver, he had described precisely this scenario. In his briefing, he had warned them that most likely, the enemy would be employing the exact same maneuver tactics against them. This meant there were probably more armed men moving in on them than those behind the muzzle flashes dead ahead in their line of march.
Tom had taken the time to observe close up, some of the boys phenomenal strength, speed and stealth. He wanted a fair assessment of their capabilities with a mind to exploiting them to their tactical advantage should the need arise. Tom had protested that the boys were NOT expendable and that they could not be de- liberately sent in harm's way. Jared retorted that the chances that any of them es- caping this island were "a very low order of probability." The chances that they might all get out alive were, statistically, so remote as to be unworthy of serious consideration. There would be casualties. There would be fatalities. Unless Tom and the boys were prepared to reconcile themselves to this fact, none of them had a prayer.
Tom had been enraged. He grabbed Jared by his shirt and shook him, thundering at his cold-blooded ruthlessness. Jared did not fight back. He was as heartsick as Tom that any of these kids might not see another birthday. But, unless they all agreed with Jared in this, there was absolutely no chance whatsoever that any of them would. Tom had calmed down a little, but he was still sputtering in rage, frustration, grief and horror. He had not wanted to face this awful prospect and now here was Jared talking about it as dispassionately as he would relate the muz- zle velocity of a standard round from his automatic weapon. Jared offered to re- linquish command, but declared simply, as gently as he could that if he were to carry on, it would only be with the understanding that everyone, men and boys, were reconciled to this inevitability and that each of them was prepared to give his life in the cause of escape for the rest of them. Each of the boys readily agreed, but while Tom was ready to lay his own life on the line, he could not agree to sac- rifice any of the boys.
Eric spoke for them. "Tom. We've decided among ourselves. There's nothing any of us can do but to try our best. Jared's doing his best. We need you to trust him like you've told us to and do what he says. You heard the man. If we aren't willing to die, none of us is gonna make it. Please Tom."
Tom looked at these four fine young men. So ready to give up their young lives for each other and for him. Such courage and selflessness should have been cause for pride and joy in Tom. But he fell to the ground and wept. It was Jared who, quite uncharacteristically, knelt by Tom and extended a comforting hand to the man, lightly squeezing his shoulder. Jared could not remember when he had felt so keenly in his own heart the pain and desolation of another human being.
Jared gleaned a fairly accurate assessment of the boys' maximum speed over the ground, their abilities with regard to stealth, as well as their disconcertingly sur- real, super human ability to shoot up a tree trunk. Jared was no superman. But he was a superb athlete and he'd endured some of the toughest combat training and indoctrination in the world. Not only was he a graduate of BUDS, but he was the honor enlisted graduate in his class. He had also been selected for additional training with the British Special Air Services (SAS) and had participated in ultra- secret joint training exercises with the Spetzialnoye Nazhachenya (Spetznaz) in- side Russia. All of this grueling punishment, as well as Jared's maniacally rigor- ous training and exercise program had Jared in as good conditioning as any man born of ordinary genetics could hope to attain. He had also experienced some- thing of a "boost" with his transfusion from Jack. He had no idea how long this serendipitous effect would last, but for now, it was a noticeable (and much wel- come) improvement over his otherwise quite remarkable strength, agility and en- durance.
He impressed on the boys how important it was that they exploit their speed as a weapon. Their enemy had some idea the boys had super-human abilities, but they were not accustomed to fire fights with such swift moving opponents. Jared would employ this superior ability in movement as a "force multiplier." They would be able to bring to bear more fighting power against their enemy than their small numbers might suggest. Much more.
As soon as the three boys walking point heard the shooting, they knew what had happened. They had been allowed to over run the enemy ambush which was now between them and Jared, Tom and Jack. Their first objective would be to flank the opposing force and draw their fire to relieve the pressure on their friends. Then they would attempt to rejoin and move off to a predetermined location. If they failed to rejoin, as many as survived would maneuver independently to the rendezvous point.
As it happened, the boys did manage to flank their enemy and draw pressure off Jared, Tom and Jack. This would not have been possible were it not for the phe- nomenal speed with which they moved through the dense undergrowth. As they were about to disengage and retire toward their rendezvous point about three and a half clicks to the west, an enemy rifleman popped up and leveled his weapon at Jack. Jared saw it first. There was no time to do anything else so he dove be- tween the shooter and Jack a split second before the round tore into his abdomen. Tom shot the assailant in the head and he immediately crumpled.
Jack snatched Jared's now limp body, tucked him under his left arm, his AK-74 in the other and he and Tom moved to rejoin the other three boys at the rendezvous point.
This was worse than the leg. Much worse. And now they were separated from most of their supplies. Jared's prediction that some of them were bound to die seemed to have come horribly true. Tom did his best with the gut wound. He was afraid to take any more blood from Jack this soon. He'd already taken as much as he'd dared for Jared's leg, no more than forty eight hours earlier. Jack begged and pleaded and threatened to draw the blood from himself. Then Alex spoke up. "Tom. I'm o-negative. I'm a universal donor. Take my blood. Maybe it won't work well as Jack's, but it's the only shot we have."
It worked and Tom recovered even more remarkably than he had the first time. In fact, nearly as remarkably as Eric had. In addition to profound relief at Jared's second miraculous recovery from serious combat injury in two days, Tom was mystified at Jared's even stronger response to this second transfusion. He wished he had some tissue scrapings from Jack, Alex and Jared, a microscope and some time to check some things out. He was beginning to have a nagging suspicion but in truth, there could be any among a number of things going on here. If they could just manage to get away from this place...
When Jared came to, the boys were all over him with hugs and tears of joy and relief. Tom helped Jared to his feet, embraced him tightly and them held him by the shoulders at arms length looking into his eyes with deep love and gratitude.
"Jared, what you did for Jack, I have no words..."
Jared chuckled and replied, "Well, Tom, I'm not going to stand here and tell you `it was nothing.' Jesse Jackson and President Reagan were right. It hurts like hell to get shot!"
Jared was still less than 100% even though there was no visible evidence at all of his trauma. But the healing engine that Alex's blood had fired consumed nearly every ounce of Jared's fat, low to start with, and actually consumed some muscle mass as well. That fuel had to come from someplace. He badly needed nourish- ment to regain his strength. Tom took charge and ordered that they return to their primary safe area where they'd stashed most of their supplies. They did not want to spend an inordinate amount of time there for fear of attracting the enemy's at- tention to the place, but for now, it seemed the best place to go. They would make it easily by dark. Once there, they would all rest up, eat and gather their strength for the coming struggle for survival and escape.