Phantom of Aurora

Disclaimer: The following is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to persons alive or dead is coincidental. The venue is fictional and any resemblance to actual bases, locations, is coincidental.

This story takes place in 1976 Canada and reflects the mores, traditions, customs, etc., of the times. I urge all of those who read this story to remember that what is "politically correct" today, was not thought of back then. If you are Lib-Left, politically correct and have jumped on the bandwagons of whatever causes are the fads of the month, please do not continue past this point. This also applies the so-called "Religious" Right and "Moral" Majority. I respectfully remind you that the "Good Book" also contains proscriptions, restrictions, do's and don'ts that I don't see or hear any of you thumping bibles about. Write me, I'll be glad to give you some excellent web sites. To all the anti-this and anti-that, Bible Thumpers, Libertarians and the ACLU, the bankrupt and increasingly irrelevant United Nations, please do not send me e-mails espousing whatever cause you're touting. I have no time for claptrap.

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

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

I will respond to all e-mails (except flames).

The Phantom of Aurora: Chapter 14

Shortly before 2000 Rob drove the small van he used to fetch stores from Base up to the Staff Barracks. In the back of the van were the two cases of booze that Todd had conned out of The Phantom. Todd had not had to rely on anything but a request because Rob, anxious to distance himself as much as possible from both Little Big Man, and his past friendship with him, had readily agreed to make the run into town. He carried the first box into the Gunroom where Tyler was waiting for him. "You are coming, aren't you?" Tyler asked Rob.

Rob nodded pleasantly, happy that he had been asked to a Gunroom Party. "I wouldn't miss it," he exclaimed with a grin.

"Good, because we'd really like to see you," replied Tyler. His face broke into a wide grin. "And Ryan. That horny Salome routine he put on last night was so funny!"

"Yeah, well, he was pissed, the little bastard," said Rob, pretending anger at Ryan's antics.

"I don't know what was funnier, Ryan waving his parts around or the look on your face!"

"You wouldn't have thought it so funny if he'd been waving that dinky thing of his at you!" returned Rob. He was not upset at what Ryan had done to him because it had, after all, led to . . . "There's another case of booze in the van," he said quickly. There were certain things that a guy did not even hint at, especially if he lived next door to Paul Greene. As he left the Gunroom he turned to Tyler. "That's a lot of booze, Tyler," he said. "Phantom sure is generous with his old man's booze."

Tyler hid a smile, thinking that Rob would be just as generous as Phantom if Todd had given him one of his patented feels. "Phantom's one of us now so he doesn't mind."

"Is he coming to the party?"

Tyler shook his head. "Cory asked him but he's busy. He said something about his folks leaving for Regina tomorrow so he has to stay home." He lifted the case of liquor from the van. "You and Ryan, and David, come alongside after Rounds." He snickered as he remembered the state Ryan had been in. "If worse comes to worst you all can double up."

"If we do I am not sleeping with either of the Twins," retorted Rob. He knew instinctively that he had to preserve his, and Ryan's, façades of straightness. "I happen to like my ass the way it is!"

Tyler laughed. "Actually they've been very good boys lately. And you know they only feel up guys they like."

"I guess that means I'm among the elite then 'cause Todd sure was friendly when he asked me to drive Phantom into town!"

"The Twins are harmless," replied Tyler as he mounted the stoop. "All the guys are. None of them would harm a fly!" Little did Tyler know that he would live to regret his claim of pacific behaviour by his messmates.

After stowing the booze in his cabin Tyler had gathered the denizens of the Gunroom together for a serious talk. As he later told The Phantom, all he had been trying to do was to impress upon the cadets the importance of their coming promotions and the responsibilities that came with their new rank. The Phantom told him that would teach him not to go around giving Duty, Queen and Country speeches.

Tyler had started out by saying that as Chief Petty Officers the prospective candidates had a certain image to project. They were, after all, the lynchpins, the backbones of the Sea Cadets and the men the younger cadets looked to for guidance and leadership, as had been amply proven during Operation Warm Fuzzy! As Chiefs they were expected to conduct themselves in a professional manner at all times, not only on the Parade Square, but also in their private affairs. Then he looked pointedly at the Twins. There was every possibility that come Thursday they would be Chiefs and it was time that they started acting like Chiefs. He insisted emphatically that professionalism was a paramount requirement when foreign guests were in the Mess! While he had no desire to impede their having fun, there were certain things, like decency, that they should remember. They would all therefore keep their pants on! Fun was fun but there were limits. For the second time he glared at the Twins. "And wear underwear. I don't want you two flashing your parts to all and sundry."

Tyler did not see the look that flashed between Cory and Todd, as he was too busy rounding on the others. "And you clowns as well," he stated imperiously. "I can't blame the Twins for getting all hot and bothered. Every time I turn around one of you is either waving your hardon about or beating off."

"I do not wave my hardon about," said Harry with great dignity. "I display the Pride of the Fleet, which is a great work of art, to an appreciative audience."

"Damn it, Harry, that is exactly what I mean. You have no shame," exploded Tyler, not realizing that dirty looks were flashing back and forth between the cadets. Val, who was standing in the doorway of the Chiefs' Mess saw what Tyler could not: while he was castigating Harry the other cadets were moving in, stalking the Master at Arms. Val very quietly moved back and shut the door.

Before Tyler could react the cadets fell on him. In a flash his shorts and briefs were off and his T-shirt pulled over his head. He felt someone tugging at his shoes and socks. Struggling mightily Tyler was carried out to the barracks yard and dumped in heap. "You can't do this!" he bellowed. "I'm the Master at Arms!"

The cadets gave him a loud Bronx cheer, then ran inside the Gunroom and slammed the door closed.

Tyler stood on the stoop, as naked as the day he was born, pounding on the tightly shut door. He cursed, he pleaded, and he threatened, to no avail. "Open this fucking door, you little bastards!" he screamed. There was no reply. He pounded again.

"Who is it?" came a high-pitched falsetto voice.

"Who the fuck do you think it is? The Easter Bunny?" shouted Tyler.

"Leave a messaaage," lisped the voice.

At that moment Mark, Tony, and Nathan came strolling up the path. They stopped and watched as Tyler continued to pound the firmly closed door. Then Mark chuckled. "Well, I am hurt. You could have at least waited until we got here." Tyler turned and, seeing the three Americans, blushed. "This is not what it looks like," he sputtered. "They stripped me bare and now they won't let me in." Tony laughed. "It looks fine from where I'm standing. As fine an example of a young cadet as I've seen in years."

"Someone should take a picture of you like that," guffawed Mark. "I think that it would make a great recruiting poster."

"Ha, ha, fucking ha!" Tyler gave Mark the finger and returned to pounding on the door.

Tony looked at Tyler, then at Nathan. He grinned and became an Italian imp, bent on adding insult to injury. "Notice, Nathan, that the subject is perfectly proportioned," intoned Tony pontifically as he pointed at Tyler's smooth, muscular, body. "Notice too, that he is colour co-ordinated, the flesh colouring of his body complimenting his hair colouring." Tony walked around Tyler, pointing out his attributes. "His penis, now, while somewhat on the small side, hangs in a direct line with his testicles, which are perfectly oval, with the right hanging slightly lower than the left. His pubic hair is, while sparse, neatly displayed." Tony was thoroughly enjoying himself. "His pubic hair is also slightly darker than his body hair, as is to be expected with redheads."

"I am not some fucking anatomy lesson, you Italian git!" snapped Tyler.

"I shall ignore the obvious slur on my ethnic heritage and continue," said Tony with great hauteur. "Regard too, the classic curvature of his gluteus maximus. Michelangelo's David should have such a superb gluteus maximus."

Mark was having a fit, and Nathan could barely control his laughter.

"Note the penis, and the absence of the prepuce," continued Tony. "Remember, Nathan, that circumcision is as old as man, and not confined to the Jewish religion." He looked critically at Tyler's penis. "You should also note that he displays what many consider to be a perfect circumcision, although I believe that there is one school of thought that suggests a small portion of the prepuce should be left intact, no doubt to aid in mastur . . ."

"You leave my circumcision and my prepuce out of this, damn you!" roared Tyler as he cupped his genitals and clearly not amused.

"But why, my dear boy?" asked Tony, who had been reading a James Bond novel and remembered the line. "Your penis has been circumcised by an artist, a veritable Botticelli."

"I hope someone circumcises you with an axe!" Tyler snapped.

"Too late, dear friend, too late. It was done when I was a mere babe." Tony waved his arm toward the door. "Let us away, dear friends and negotiate with yon barbarians." He rapped lightly on the door.

The door opened and Cory's head popped out. "Can I help you?" he asked with exaggerated politeness.

Tony bowed low and wiggled his behind at Tyler, who was standing back, his arms folded, glowering at Cory, who smiled sweetly at him. "Good evening, good Sir," said Tony waving his arm with a flourish. "We represent the Waifs and Strays Society of Comox and The Islands, and bid leave to negotiate on behalf of yon waif." He indicated Tyler, who made a horrible face.

"You mean him with the red hair and the small dick?" asked Cory, who made a face back.

"My dick is not small!" yelped Tyler. He took a step forward, waved his fist at Cory.

"Testy little thing, isn't he?" asked Cory. He grimaced and waved his fist back at Tyler.

"Alas, yes. He is a trial at times." Mark grinned. "We wish to know your terms of entrance for this unfortunate stray that we have found." He bowed deeply, reached around and pulled down his shorts, mooning Tyler. Nathan clutched himself in laughter.

"Well, he has to say he's sorry." Cory assumed a dignified air. "He also has to withdraw his very unkind remarks directed at Harry. Harry is very hurt."

Mark looked at Tyler and shrugged. "Well?"

Tyler nodded slowly.

"He has to promise not to hurt us," said Cory. He leaned forward and whispered, "He can be vicious, you know, especially when naked!"

"I heard that you little . . ." began Tyler, the colour rising in his face.

"And no verbal abuse," returned Cory. He gave Tyler a sly, wicked smile. "And, he also has to stand naked on the mess table and sing the Lumberjack Song."

"I will not do any such thing!" roared Tyler. He was all but dancing with anger. "When I get my hands on you, you little son of a . . ."

Tyler's tirade was interrupted by a scuffling sound. Cory disappeared abruptly and the door slammed shut. Mark pressed his ear to the closed door.

"What in the hell is going on in there?" asked Tony.

"From the sound of it, a palace coup," grinned Mark.

The door opened and Todd's head popped out. He smiled sweetly. "Why, good evening Mark. So nice to see you again."

Behind Todd the sounds of pandemonium raged. There was an almighty crash and the cadets in the yard heard Cory yelling. "Je suis trahi! Traitres! Traitres!"

"Will somebody shut that fool up!" yelled Todd into the Gunroom. There was a muffled reply. "Then tell Harry to sit on him!" shouted Todd. "And stick something in his yap." There was another muffled reply. "I don't care, use Tyler's briefs. Cory will like that!" He turned and grinned at Tyler.

"Ah, no, come on, Todd, not my underwear," wailed Tyler. "I don't want him slobbering all over my underwear!"

"My brother does not slobber," replied Todd with exaggerated dignity.

"May we resume negotiations?" inquired Mark archly. "I really would like to come in, and my special friend is getting warm."

"What special friend?" Todd looked around and saw no one else.

Mark held up his gym bag. "Sark, Cutty Sark. I assumed you knew him."

"Well why didn't you say so?" beamed Todd. "Please come in."

"What about Tyler?" asked Tony. "He's getting goose bumps and his balls are starting to shrink."

Todd considered this for a moment. "He has to promise to remember that he's one of us, not some tight-assed Chief with Volume One of Queen's Regulations and Orders shoved up his ass!"

Tony looked at Tyler, who nodded.

The door opened wide and Todd motioned the Americans through. Tyler followed, glowering at Todd. Todd reached out and patted Tyler's behind. "Nice tan there, Chiefie," he said with a lascivious grin.

"Are they always like this?" Nathan asked, a strange look on his face.

"You should see them when they get a few drinks into them," replied Mark, grinning widely.

At the far end of the Gunroom Cory was lying on his stomach on Harry's bunk. Harry was sitting on him and Cory was hooting loudly, demanding release. "Let me go, Harry, you big dumb ox. You're crushing my balls, dammit. Let me up!"

"From what I've seen there's not much to crush," opined Harry with a grin.

Cory growled and struggled, to no avail. "Let me up, you miserable git! " he shouted. "Todd, get this goof off of me." The other cadets settled around and watched as Cory tried desperately to wiggle out from under Harry's bulk. Tyler sat at the end of the mess table sipping on the Cutty Sark. He had not put his clothes on and was enjoying Cory's discomfiture. "Tyler, come on, make him let me go," whined Cory.

Tyler had not forgotten the little dick crack. He glared malevolently at Cory and then gave him a Bronx cheer.

"Will nobody help a poor sailor in distress?" Cory had decided to appeal to his messmates' sense of honour and decency.

They had none. "No!" they all yelled back.

Cory scowled and raised his eyes to the bulkhead. "Jesus Christ! Harry, let me up!" Harry pretended not to have heard. "What's the matter with you?" Cory demanded. "Have you gone deaf? Don't you understand the Queen's English? Let me up!"

"I speak English as good as you do." Harry assumed a hurt air.

"Not from where I'm sitting, you big ox!"

"You ain't sitting nowhere. You're lying down with me sitting you," Harry pointed out with a laugh. Then he slapped Cory's well-curved behind.

Cory yelped. He grimaced at Harry. "Descendez de moi de vous grand boeuf!" he yelled.

"What? What'd he say?" asked Harry.

"He called you a big ox and said to get off of him," replied Todd. "In French."

Harry smacked Cory's bum again. "Fuck you! In English!"

Cory decided that struggling was getting him nowhere and calmed down. He also decided to have some fun at Harry's expense. "Erhalten Sie weg von mir Sie grosses Rind"

"Huh?" Harry gave Todd an uncomprehending look.

Todd sighed. "Same song, German version. You're still a big ox, Harry."

Nathan leaned over and asked Todd, "How many languages does he speak?"

"French, German, English, and Navy. Unfortunately, all of them fluently," replied Todd with a sad look. "Pass me the scotch. This could be a long night."

"For that he doesn't get his bum pinched. Even if it is a nice bum." Harry stuck his nose in the air. "A drink would be nice."

"I do not want my bum pinched! I want up!" howled Cory.

"You'll get it smacked big time if you don't settle down," growled Harry as Greg handed him his drink.

Cory, thinking that since Harry as not about to let him up anytime soon, and assuming that he was as thick as a post, being a football player and all, decided to take the mock. "Harry?"

"What?"

"Harry, si vous me laissez vers le haut je sucera votre penis dans le ciel."

Tyler and Todd almost choked on their drinks. "What did he say?" asked Tony. "What's wrong with Harry's penis?"

"Don't ask." replied Nathan, shaking his head. He could not believe that Cory had just offered to suck Harry into heaven. In French.

Harry grinned at Cory. He bent and put his lips close to Cory's ears. For a minute Cory thought that Harry was going to kiss him. "Cory, bin ich zum Himmel gewesen. Wenn ich wieder gehe, ist et mit dem Jungen, der mich dort das erste mal nahm."

Cory gasped. "You speak German?"

Harry nodded. "And French, and Ukrainian, smart ass." He stood up and pulled Cory to his feet. "Thanks for the offer, Cory. But, like I said, the next time I go to heaven I'll go with the guy who took me there first."

"You are a man of many parts, Harry. I'm sorry for trying to make a fool of you." Cory's apology was sincere.

"Many have tried All have failed," replied Harry loftily. His ready acceptance of Cory's apology was a sham. He was in the mood to play, and Cory was going to be his victim.

Nathan shook his head and watched as Harry gave Cory a huge bear hug. God, did he want to do the same. He reached over and poured a small drink. Todd poured a dollop of water into Nathan's scotch. "Stay cool, hang loose," he said quietly.

"He doesn't even know I'm here," replied Nathan as his eyes slid over to where Cory was sitting.

"He knows. He never misses a thing. He knows and he hasn't started a riot."

A look of doubt crossed Nathan's handsome features. "That's a good sign?"

Todd nodded. "If you knew Cory better you would know it was a good sign."

Val came out of the Chiefs Mess and sat beside Tyler. "Is it safe to come out now?" he asked. He stared at his friend. "Uh, Tyler, why are you sitting there in the nude?"

"They're not pissed off at you so you're safe. Just watch your ass," replied Tyler.

"I do. What worry's me is that some of them do as well," returned Val seriously. Tyler poured a large drink for his messmate. "As to why I am not wearing any clothes? It is show and tell day at the AURORA School for Retards and the Inbred. Also, Cory ate my underpants."

"I did not!" exclaimed Cory hotly. "I never touched them. They're right here." Cory handed Tyler's neatly folded clothing to Val.

"You had better put something on, Tyler. Andy and Kyle are coming over. Dave Eddy, too," said Val, handing Tyler his shorts.

Tyler stood up and slipped on his shorts. "Who did we invite?"

"Half the ship. All the guys on the promotion list, a few special friends. About two hundred, I should think," replied Todd with a grand gesture.

"We don't have enough booze," protested Val. "And we don't have any mix."

"Phantom did a booze run. There's water, and Coke and, if worse comes to worst, Chris can always hit the pop machine in the breezeway flats." Todd looked at Chris and waggled his eyebrows.

"Not a good idea, Toddy," muttered Cory. "If he goes with Jon we might not see them again."

"Shut up, Cory. You're mind is always in the gutter."

Cory was about to reply when Stuart, a bottle of amber rum in hand, came in to join the party. Steve was right behind the Buffer, along with Rob and Ryan. Then Andy and Kyle. Brian and Dylan entered. Dylan was carrying a huge boom box, which he flashed up and the Gunroom was alive with music.

As the night progressed more cadets showed up, including Ray and the Makee-Learns. They carried a huge tray of sandwiches. "Chef says you shouldn't drink on an empty stomach, so he sent over some growlies," said Ray.

Dave Eddy came in, dressed in a floral-patterned Hawaiian shirt and red running shorts.

"I'm glad you dressed," laughed Kyle.

Dave grinned and the light danced off his braces. "After all the stories I've heard about you and the cadets on the sailing trip you're damned lucky I wore shorts!" He sat down and reached for a glass. "So, is the bar open?" he asked. Nicholas took his Hasselbad out of his sea chest and began snapping pictures and everyone mugged for the camera.

"Say, Andy," asked Greg, "what's the word on our pictures?"

Andy had collected what he thought were all the rolls of film the boys had shot. He rubbed the side of his nose and grinned. "Using guile, charm, my natural boyish good looks, and bribery, I have made arrangements. The Base photo recon unit is taking care of us."

"All of the pictures?" asked Todd. Andy had confided that he had seen the proofs and that there were some very candid shots, which required very delicate negotiations - and heavy bribes, or so Todd thought - to ensure their being processed.

Kyle gave Andy a suspicious look. "Why would you have to use guile and charm to have some harmless snapshots developed?"

Andy laughed and whispered in Kyle's ear. Kyle's eyes grew wider and wider as Andy told him the details of one of the pictures that required special negotiations.

"You didn't . . . you wouldn't . . ." sputtered Kyle, not quite believing what he had just heard. He ignored Todd's snickering. "You actually have a picture of me . . .?"

Todd broke out laughing. He knew exactly what picture Andy was talking about because he had taken it. He visualized the print: Kyle, nude, legs apart, with his pecker in his hand peeing into the scrub of Harwood Island, a satisfied look on his face. Todd laughed even harder when Kyle glared at him. "Why would you even want a picture of me . . ." Kyle was too stunned to even consider that a picture of him performing a most private function was sitting in the darkroom back in the Base Photo Shop.

Andy replied with a wickedly evil smile and said, "I want it for my mantelpiece."

Kyle's jaw dropped. "You don't have a mantelpiece!"

"So, I'll build one." Andy patted Kyle's shoulder. "It is a very good picture."

Kyle snorted. "As good as your drawers flying in the breeze!" His look said that the picture of him naked, peeing into the underbrush of Harwood Island would never see the light of day, or a mantelpiece, in his lifetime.

Todd continued to chuckle at Kyle's reaction as his eyes his eyes slid over to Nicholas, who nodded slightly. Andy did not know that he had not collected all of the rolls of film and that a very special order was in the making. Nicholas, anxious to avoid any further discussion of the photographs, fiddled with the settings on his camera, winked at Todd and then asked if Mark was ready for his formal portrait.

"I am. Tyler, where's your uniform?"

Tyler stood up and Mark followed him into the Chiefs Mess. "You better be wearing underwear. I don't want skid marks on my uniform," he grumbled.

"I am wearing underwear," retorted Mark as he followed Tyler down the short corridor. "Which from what I've seen around here is a first and . . . What the fuck do you keep in here? Goats?"

Laughing at the exchange between the two Chiefs, Nicholas recruited Todd and Cory to help set up for Mark's picture. He had decided that the best backdrop would be the bulkhead separating the Chiefs' Mess from the Gunroom so the Twins moved Cory's bed away from the wall and pushed Todd's bed back. Joey and Randy were dispatched to the Wardroom, with instructions to bring back a chair.

As the others prepared the photo shoot Nathan sat back and watched. He noticed that two of the cadets, Brian and Dylan, never seemed apart for very long. He also noticed that two others, Rob and Ryan, were sitting very close and that from time to time the smaller one, Ryan, would smile shyly at Rob. Nathan sighed. "If only Cory would smile at me like that," he thought. "If only."

Todd heard the sigh. He reached over and patted Nathan's hand. "Don't worry. He'll come around," he said sympathetically.

"When? He sees me, but he doesn't see me. He doesn't speak to me. He acts like

I'm not even here."

Todd glanced down the Gunroom. Cory was chattering away, in German, with Harry, who was replying in French. Todd could hear snippets of their conversation, which seemed to involve a rabbi, a priest, and a minister. Todd leaned over to Nathan. "Cory's showing off. He knows you're here, and he's wondering why you're here. He's just too stubborn to ask. When somebody takes so much trouble to ignore you, you know he knows you're here."

Cory suddenly yelled, "Harry, that is absolutely the worse joke I have ever heard. Not to mention that it's anatomically impossible."

Harry roared and slapped the mess table. "How do you know? Have you ever tried it?"

Cory shook his head. "Harry, you are impossible," he said, reaching for the bottle of scotch.

Sylvain and Andre came into the Gunroom and greeted the other cadets. "Hey, Sylvain, I have a present for you," said Greg in greeting. He reached under his pillow and pulled out a copy of Routine Orders. He handed the paper to Sylvain. "Here are tomorrow's Routine Orders. Better read them."

Sylvain made a face and started to read. "Tabernac!" he yelped. "Hey, Andre, you and me, we get promoted."

"We do? Let me see that!" Unlike Sylvain, Andre was from Montreal and rarely lapsed into the stereotypical French-Canadian idiom. Andre read Routine Orders, and then kissed Sylvain on both cheeks. Then they headed for Harry.

"Did you have anything to do with this?" asked Sylvain.

"Tell the truth, Harry," said Andre.

"Well . . . I cannot tell a lie. Shut up Cory!" Harry grinned and nodded his head. "In the absence of the Band Officer, and since we aren't likely to see such a critter until the Second Coming, I spoke to the Executive Officer, who spoke to the Commanding Officer." He grinned and shrugged expressively. "You guys deserve it."

The two French boys yelled, high-fived and then they embraced Harry and kissed him on both cheeks.

"You two better be careful," deadpanned Cory. "Harry likes kissing. He'd even kiss my ass if I'd let him."

Harry ignored Cory, stood up and wandered down to the other end of the Gunroom where he watched Nicholas set up the photo shoot. Cory did not see the sly smile on Harry's face or the evil glint in his eyes.

Mark came out of the Chiefs Mess. He looked magnificent, all pink and white and blonde. His usually styled hair was combed in an appropriate military manner. He turned slowly around and watched as the cadets nodded their approval. The white uniform fit him perfectly, as if it had been made for him. He sat in the chair that the Makee-Learns had purloined from the Wardroom.

Nicholas studied his seated subject. Then he shook his head. "Something's missing," he said thoughtfully. Then he turned to Tyler "He needs a cap. Get him a cap, please."

Tyler disappeared into his room, then reappeared, his cap in his hand. He handed it to Mark. Nicholas positioned Mark and began taking pictures. When he was satisfied, he grinned. "I'll make you look so pretty your mother will be handing out copies of this all over town."

"We're leaving Wednesday at noon . . ." began Mark.

"Not to worry," Nicholas assured him. "I have an in at Base. They let me use the photo lab. If I speak nice to him just maybe the Supply Officer will drive me over tomorrow."

"Me?" asked Andy. "Don't you have an examination tomorrow? And why would I take you to base, you long drink of water."

"Because you're Andy and you're a good guy, and Mark is one of yours so you'll do it."

"They can read you like a book, Andy," chuckled Kyle. "You're such a softy."

"That's not what you said last night," replied Andy with a straight face.

The cadets roared. It was something one of them would have said. Andy was an all right guy.

Andy stood up and gave the high sign to Kyle and Dave. The officers wished everyone a good night and, after a barrage of disappointed grumbling from the cadets, left the Gunroom. They waited in the barracks yard for Andy, who had signalled Tyler to follow him outside. "As much as we would like to stay, custom dictates that we take our leave." Andy told Tyler.

Tyler nodded his understanding. Tradition held that officers attending a Junior Rates function only stayed long enough to have two or, at the most, three drinks.

"Keep an eye on the infants, Tyler," Andy warned kindly. "I've seen the examinations and believe me, they are a bastard."

Tyler nodded. "I'll have everybody out by 2100. Maybe earlier. Nobody is boozing it up copious like."

Andy grinned. "Better safe than sorry, old son." He waved toward the Wardroom and motioned Kyle and Dave to follow him. "Come on you two, one drink on Dave, and then we have uniforms to press."

In the Gunroom Harry had returned to his seat beside Cory and watched out of the corner of his eye as Cory's gaze followed Mark as he returned to the Chiefs' Mess. Cory sighed heavily.

"Humph!" snorted Harry.

Cory looked at him. "I beg your pardon?"

"I said nothing." Harry put his nose in the air. "Nothing at all."

"I distinctly heard a 'Humph'. A very Harry 'Humph'," replied Cory. "What's set you off?"

Harry slowly poured a drink. "Well, it just seems to me that in all the years we've known each other you've never looked at me like that."

"Like what? What the hell are you talking about?" demanded Cory.

Harry took a delicate sip of his drink and added a little water. "Mark you look at. Greg you look at. Even Two Strokes, who has the skinniest ass in town. Him you look at. Me, I'm not good enough."

Cory raised his eyes heavenward. "Harry, that is not true. It's just that, well, you're not the type."

"Oh, so I am not good enough."

"Damn it, Harry, I didn't say that." protested Cory. Actually, he had looked at Harry many times and liked what he had seen. He was, however, not in the mood to pander to Harry's ego. "Harry, I have known you since you were 13. We met at the Esquimalt Sea Cadet Camp, me and Todd."

"That's true, that's true," agreed Harry solemnly.

"We have seen each other every summer for five years. Harry, I knew you when. I knew you when you had exactly two pubic hairs. I know because you insisted on counting the damn things every night before you crawled into your bunk. I watched you grow from a skinny lump, into a big lump."

"Oh, so now I'm a lump. I'm not good enough to take a look at, and there's a lot to look at, all of it nice . . ."

"Harry, I've seen you with your clothes on. I've seen you with your clothes off. I agree that you look very nice either way and . . ."

"Oh, now you change your tune," scoffed Harry.

"Harry's up to something," singsonged Greg in Todd's ear.

Todd grinned and nodded. "Cory's ass is grass."

"You going to do anything about it?" asked Two Strokes.

"Nope. Cory's been a little brat lately. Besides, I want to see what's going to happen."

" . . . So you see, Harry, you're just you. You're just Harry." Cory's patience was almost exhausted.

"Well, that's a backhanded compliment, I must say!" sniffed Harry.

"Harry, you are the greatest piece of maleness to appear in years. You have wonderful balls, a superb dick, the muscles of Charles Atlas, you are a paragon, and you are unique. THERE, ARE YOU SATISFIED?"

"Sarcasm ill becomes you, Cory," replied Harry. "But, enough said, I shall say no more."

Cory, totally frustrated at Harry's attitude, screamed softly. "Aaaaaghhhh. Harry, why don't you kiss my ass?"

Harry had just reached the moment he had been waiting for. "Okay," he grinned, and lunged.

Cory squealed and threw himself backward, landing on Nicholas' bed. "Get away from me you big lout!" he yelled.

Harry cackled and threw himself at Cory, who leaped onto Two Strokes' bed.

"Hey, I just made that bed!" yelled Two Strokes.

"Well make it again! Heeellllp!" howled Cory. "He's after me. Heeellllp!" The cadets roared as Harry chased Cory from bed to bed, then down the other side of the Gunroom. "Get him away from me!" hooted Cory. "He wants to hurt me. Todd, I'm your brother! Help me!"

"Not after that crack about Mrs. Fist," Todd laughed back.

"He's not going to hurt Cory, is he Todd?" asked Nathan, half rising.

Todd motioned Nathan to sit down. "Harry wouldn't hurt a fly. He's just getting even. Harry never gets mad. He gets even."

As Cory began his second circuit around the Gunroom a foot flashed out and Cory tripped, falling on his face.

Tyler smiled. Like Harry, he did not get mad. He got even. Naked or fully clothed, he got even.

Harry reached down and lifted Cory up. He sat down on Greg's bunk with Cory, squealing and squirming, draped over his lap. "I believe you asked me to kiss your ass?" inquired Harry.

Cory, a stricken look on his face, stared at Harry. "You wouldn't dare!"

Harry laughed maniacally. He pulled down the back of Cory's shorts and briefs and planted the biggest, wettest kiss he could muster, on Cory's round, tanned butt.

Cory screamed. "He kissed my bum," he howled at the laughing cadets. "That's gross, Harry, gross!"

"I can do better than that." Harry leaned down and bit Cory, not hard enough to break the skin, but hard enough for Cory to know that his behind had been bitten. Then he pushed Cory off his lap.

Cory lay on the deck, speechless. Then he jumped up, and danced around the Gunroom, holding his bare behind. "He bit me! You all saw it! You are all witnesses," he bellowed.

"Not me, I didn't see a thing," said Greg.

"I'm not a witness. I'm drunk," yelled Nicholas.

"Maybe Cory will need emergency surgery." Fred rolled on his bunk, laughing hard.

"I'll get the tweezers," offered Two Strokes.

Cory, who was not really hurt, jumped up and down. Then he confronted Todd. "Well, what are you going to do about it? You're my brother, Todd, and, stop laughing at me! Dammit, Todd, this is not funny at all!"

"Yes it is!" howled Todd. He laughed so hard he fell off of the bench.

Cory began stuttering in frustration. Then he jumped on top of Todd.

As the Twins rolled around the deck, Tyler looked at Val and nodded. Val stood up and walked down to the showers where he filled the fire bucket full of cold water. He calmly re-entered the Gunroom and poured the bucket of water over the fighting Twins.

Mark grinned at Nathan. "I told you to wait and see them when they had a few drinks in them."

After leaving the Gunner's apartment The Phantom angrily pedalled home. Fortunately his mother was in bed, and, with his father at work, he was spared any further indignity by having to explain his agitation and anger to his parents. His hopes concerning The Gunner shattered, he allowed his anger full range, and then decided that if The Gunner did not want him there were boys who did. He showered, changed his clothes, and went to the shack.

For a long while he lay on the bed in the old shack, thinking. His anger, he found, had receded, replaced by the bitter knowledge that he had been betrayed by The Gunner. He had convinced himself that he had been lied to.

Determined not to wallow in self-pity, The Phantom heaved himself off the bed and opened the door of the shack. It was very late. The moon was hidden behind the clouds and it was very dark. He looked around and sniffed the air. Nothing. It was warm, and The Phantom thought it would rain. He could see the lights of AURORA shining in the distance and smiled thinly. There were boys there, boys that he would never betray, as he had been betrayed. Boys who were waiting for him, waiting for him to give them what he was denied. He closed the door and started walking south, toward Goose Spit and the boys of AURORA.

The Phantom skirted the Mess Hall and entered the Cooks' barracks. He was very pleased that Ray was being promoted and he decided that tonight he would take Ray, for the first time, across the river.

At the first touch of The Phantom's warm lips against his Ray opened his eyes and groaned quietly. He parted his lips and their tongues met and Ray tasted again the lips he had tasted twice this day. Ray felt the hand slip under the elastic band of his underpants and embrace his stiffening penis. He raised his hips as The Phantom's thumb slowly stimulated the leaking head of his cock.

The Phantom began slowly kissing his way down Ray's heaving chest, finding his nipples, then his navel. He licked and sucked Ray's treasure trail and then, as he pushed Ray's briefs down, he buried his nose in the boy's pubic hair, smelling the uniqueness of Ray, the rough, curly, hairs somehow stimulating and sensuous.

Ray felt the moist lips slowly suck his throbbing helmet into the wetness. He bit his lips as an incredible pleasure pulsed down his stone hard dick, sweeping through his balls, and engulfing his body. His mind screamed the name he wanted to yell out loud. He felt the small opening in his mushroom being probed with a hard, pointed tongue, then rimmed and sucked clean of the clear pre-cum that oozed out. The warm wetness left his penis and he felt the tongue slowly lick his tightening balls, first one, and then the other. The lips sucked softly, drawing the wrinkling skin inside the moistness. Ray arched his body at each pass of the tongue across his balls. He groaned, using all his willpower not to call out the name of the boy who gave him such pleasure. The mouth left his testicles. It was time. Ray shuddered in anticipation.

The Phantom slowly, almost imperceptibly, used his mouth and lips to barely caress Ray's pulsing thickness. Ray bucked and moaned as the feeling of wonder began rising; his legs became numb, his dick swelled, and he felt his orgasm rise up and crash down, sending him to a level of pleasure he had never felt before. He felt his cum bubble slowly out of his slit. Just when he felt his first orgasm ebbing, a second seized him. His eyes rolled back and his body convulsed. He opened his mouth and groaned as more of his nectar seeped down to coat his throbbing helmet and shaft. Dear God! Dear God! What was Phantom doing to me?

Another orgasm, more powerful than the other two combined, avalanched through Ray's body. Exhausted, breathing as if his next breath would be his last, Ray drew his hands across the back of the boy who had taken him to heights he had never known before. His body jumped and squirmed as his cock was licked and sucked clean of his cream. He panted and moaned, begging for the mouth to leave his dickhead, which was so sensitive that every part of him seemed to be concentrated there.

Finally, The Phantom withdrew and pulled the coverlet over the naked body of his friend. He gently squeezed Ray's genitals, which caused to boy to leap upward. He kissed Ray softly and left him, spent and breathing harshly, knowing that Ray would never forget this night.

The Phantom used the cross-corridor and entered the Storekeepers Barracks. He stopped and listened. He could hear soft murmuring. As slowly as he could he peered around the corner of the bulkhead. What he saw made him stare, smiling slightly.

Rob and Ryan were lying together, in Rob's bunk. They were both naked. Ryan's leg was draped over Rob's. Their hands explored each other's body, as they kissed softly. As The Phantom watched their hips began to grind. There was a slight, faint odour in the warm night air. He smiled in recognition of the distinctive aroma that drifted into his nostrils. Semen.

The Phantom felt a momentary twinge of jealousy, not so much that Rob - who was admittedly a desirable and willing partner - had discovered a soul mate in Ryan, as the knowledge that he would never know the joy that Rob was feeling now, that Ryan was feeling. Still, The Phantom was happy for the two boys. It was obvious from their actions that theirs was not some summer infatuation. With a sigh of regret The Phantom slipped quietly away.

He crossed the short alley and entered the Boatswains Barracks where he found Dylan in his bunk, curled in a tight ball, his coverlet drawn over his head, snoring quietly. The Phantom slipped his hand under the cover and felt Dylan's soft cock, the round head under his hand warm, and slightly sticky. The Phantom chuckled quietly. Dylan had shot his load, and not so very long ago. He debated giving Dylan a special treat but the boy's refusal the first time The Phantom had visited him still rankled.

The Phantom moved down to where Brian lay sleeping, spread-eagled on his bunk, clad only in tight, white briefs, his balls and dick clearly outlined. The Phantom lowered his head and in the dim light saw three small stains discolouring the cotton fabric. He touched them. Still damp. He raised his finger and sniffed delicately. Cum. Brian's? Dylan's?

As The Phantom squeezed and fondled his soft penis to thickness, Brian slowly opened his eyes and smiled broadly as The Phantom's hands pulled down his briefs. "Jeez, man, I missed that," he whispered.

The Phantom felt Brian's balls, then his love trail. The hair lining Brian's trail was clotted and damp with boy juice. "You've been busy," he replied. Then he began slowly pumping Brian's hardon.

Brian chuckled and nodded slowly. "There was a party in the Gunroom, and . . . oh, Jesus, that feels good, and, uh . . ." he grimaced as the movement of The Phantom's hand sent a mini-wave of pleasure through his balls. "Dylan and me, we, uh, well . . ."

The Phantom did not reply. He lowered his head and his mouth engulfed Brian's iron rod. Brian thrust upward, not hard, but enough to push his entire hardon deep into The Phantom's mouth. He thrust gently, face fucking The Phantom.

Using his tongue and lips The Phantom quickly brought Brian to orgasm. Brian groaned and muttered as his thick cream rocketed down The Phantom's throat. He whimpered quietly as The Phantom's tongue and lips licked him clean. "I'm sorry," he apologized when The Phantom moved away. "I don't usually cum so quickly."

"That's okay. I gave you what you wanted. You gave me what I wanted." Brian's hand found The Phantom's throbbing hardon under his tight jeans. "Let me help you with that."

"Ah, it's okay." The effect of Brian's hand rubbing his hardon and the friction caused by the soft cotton of his underwear on the sensitive underside of his dick was stunning. The Phantom did not move away and Brian's hand continued to slowly rub him.

"If you want me to, I'll suck you off," offered Brian.

The Phantom moaned and thrust forward. "No . . . ah, no . . . just keep doing that."

Brian continued to rub the front of The Phantom's jeans, slowly bringing him to the peak. As he crashed over the precipice The Phantom's dick spurted out a huge load of semen. He groaned and whimpered, pushing his crotch into Brian's hand.

When his dick gave up the last of his load The Phantom pulled away. The cotton rubbing against the underside of his glans was so excruciatingly wonderful that he wanted to scream. He leaned down and kissed Brian. "Thanks."

"For what you give me?" Brian chuckled. "Anytime, guy, anytime."

The Phantom moved silently through the connecting heads and washplace and into Barracks 7, where the Boatswains slept. He remembered seeing Steve's slim, handsome form, naked and exposed, during the sailing trip. He also remembered Steve's small, thick, neatly circumcised dick and well proportioned balls and had decided to visit him.

Barracks 7 was arranged much the same as all the barracks: a row of double bunks down each side of the room separated by a long, wooden table. This barracks, however, seemed cleaner than the others. The Phantom wrinkled his nose, detecting the slightly acrid odour of some stern antiseptic soap that the seamen used to scrub the deck, which was disappointing, as he did love the smells of a roomful of sleeping males.

Since he had never been in this barracks The Phantom moved slowly, carefully scrutinizing each sleeping form and hoping that Steve would be sleeping in a lower bunk. Much to his surprise he found that both Stuart and Steve, as the senior ratings of the Seamanship Branch, had single bunks, each flush against the outside wall and separated by the doorway leading to the outside. Steve slept in the starboard side bunk, while Stuart was stretched out in the portside bed.

Steve was lying on his back, wearing only a pair of dark gym shorts. As the Phantom stood over him and watched carefully Steve snorted and half-rolled on his side, the right leg of his shorts gaping open. The Phantom knelt beside the bunk and gently pushed Steve's legs aside. Then he ran his hand up the leg of Steve's shorts, feeling first the soft, warm, hair-covered skin of Steve's leg, then his clean, satin-skinned balls, then the slim, velvet shaft topped by the silky-smooth mushroom. He squeezed gently and Steve's dick hardened to four inches of strong, firm flesh.

Unlike many boys of his age, Steve was not a leaker. A small droplet of precum oozed from his slit and The Phantom used it to lubricate his thumb as he massaged Steve's helmet. The quiet rhythm of Steve's breathing broke and he stirred, moved slightly, spreading his legs a bit wider. His arms reached out and he hugged his pillow, burying his face in it.

The Phantom withdrew his hand and then reached up and unbuttoned Steve's shorts, drawing down the zipper and pushing the stiff cotton fabric aside, exposing Steve's four-inch hardon and tight hanging balls, which were dusted with a light covering of fine, soft hair. He lowered his head and drew the warm, pink erection into his mouth, sucking slowly, delighting in the sweet taste, his tongue caressing the thick vein on the underside of Steve's dick. His hand fondled Steve's retreating balls, feeling the sac contract into a wrinkled, double-humped mound.

Steve's hard dick fit The Phantom's mouth perfectly and he was able to suck and tongue Steve's smoothness, enjoying the taste, his nose buried in Steve's bushy forest of pubic hair. He withdrew and, making a perfect "O" with his thumb and forefinger, gripped the raw pinkness of Steve's helmet, forming the slit into a small, gaping circle. His tongue licked and probed the opening, setting it to twitching. Steve pushed his hips forward and The Phantom took him into his mouth again.

As he sucked, The Phantom heard Steve's raspy breathing increase. He looked up and saw Steve's head thrashing back and forth, his tongue rimming his open mouth. As he watched, Steve's face contorted and he gasped loudly as his dick thickened and his slit gaped. A sharp-tasting spurt of cum coated The Phantom's tongue, sliding easily down his throat as he swallowed. Steve made small, quick movements with his hips, each upward thrust expelling a decreasing amount of his semen.

When Steve stopped thrusting and lay moaning softly into his pillow, The Phantom withdrew. He pulled the zipper on Steve's shorts up, closing the wide V of fabric and hiding Steve's still twitching cock.

Smiling happily, The Phantom left the Barracks and headed for the shack. He would have liked to have visited Tyler and Val, but decided against it. He had no idea of the time but his inner being told him that he had done enough for one night.

The Phantom did not enter the shack. He mounted his bicycle and pedalled home and went to bed. He did not jack off. He could not sleep, and for most of the night his mind reeled and the tears coursed down his cheeks as he remembered . . .

The Gunner tossed and turned for most of the night. He cursed himself for the utter fuck-up he had made of it. Bloody Hell! He should have told Phantom about Joel. But there was nothing to tell. He and Joel were finished, and The Gunner now realized that they had been finished for a long time. Nothing remained but to end it once and for all.

He reached over and picked up the framed photograph that sat on the bedside table. He smiled at the image of Phantom, proud in his steward's uniform, grinning back at him. Was the boy truly in love with him, or was he equating love with sex? The Gunner sighed and returned the photograph to its place on table. Phantom was, in one way, very correct in what he had said. He had lied to Phantom. Not about Joel, for he had never mentioned Joel, had, in fact, never mentioned anything about his past. What The Gunner had lied about was his fear. His fear of rejection, his fear of the world he lived in, his fear that once again his love would be thrown back in his face. Phantom was 17. He was 26. How long would it be before a younger, handsomer, man came along? Would Phantom still love him?

He had loved once before, only to be beaten and kicked for expressing that love. Could he dare hope that the God he feared would give him a second love? He doubted it. God hates queers. Every crackpot southern evangelist thundered it at his incestuous and inbred congregations. The Pope in Rome, who wept copious tears at the fate of dying Africans, whose predecessor had risked life and limb to save hapless Jews, proclaimed it. Every religion on earth condemned it.

The Gunner had used his so-called code to lie to Phantom. It was not his personal code of honour that prevented him from returning the boy's love. It was his irrational fear of discovery, of rejection. From the day he had first realised that he was gay his whole life had been riven with fear. In high school he feared being discovered looking at the other boys. In CORNWALLIS, he had feared making any true friends, but he had and been spat upon. In Nam it had been anonymous sex, with anonymous Australians and New Zealanders. Safe, anonymous sex, with no questions asked, all done out of fear of discovery, fear of losing everything.

Joel had recognised that fear and refused to be intimidated by it while The Phantom, a boy who knew no fear, because he had never had to live in fear, refused to understand it.

As the first thin rays of the rising sun entered his bedroom, creating deep shadows as it brightened the darkness of the room, The Gunner reached again for the picture of Phantom. He held it close to his broad chest, weeping a little. He would settle with Joel. It was over between them, and it must be ended. On Saturday he would go to Vancouver. He would find out where Joel was, and end it. Phantom remained. The Gunner was determined to find a way to reach the boy. He would find a way to explain. He had to.

On Tuesday morning the cadets prepared for their examinations. Tyler pointed out that they would have to know a little bit about everything. If, and he insisted it was a big if, they managed to pass the exams, and the Selection Boards, they would not just be a Band Chief, or a Gunnery Chief, but a Chief who would be expected to know how to handle just about any branch or trade.

Dave Eddy and Kyle gathered the candidates in the Gunroom after PT. "Remember, guys, you are the elite," began Dave. "You will be expected to be the best of the best, as the Gunner would say. Which means, from now on, everything has got to be absolutely perfect. Boots, bells, jumpers, even your lanyards."

"Don't tell us they plan on inspecting us every time," moaned Two Strokes.

"They will," said Kyle firmly. He remembered his own Chiefs Board. "I've been there. There's a lot The Gunner will put up with but I can tell you from experience that when it comes to dress and deportment he'll expect the very best. He looks at it this way: As Chiefs you set the example. If the troops see you trucking around in dirty boots and un-ironed pants, what will they think? How will they act?"

"You have to earn the respect of each and every junior cadet," continued Dave who, like Kyle, had been through the ordeal of a Chiefs Selection Board. "If you go around looking like five pounds of shit in a one pound bag, you'll soon learn what they think of you." He reached out and made a minute adjustment to Two Strokes' lanyard. "Look your best, look sharp. That's the first thing."

"And know your stuff." Kyle pointed at each of the candidates in turn. "There's nothing worse than having a junior cadet ask you how to do something and you can't do it. As a Chief you'll be expected to know what you're about. The kids will look up to you. If the troops think that you're just another bit of window dressing, they'll treat you accordingly."

"And you might as well pack your bags and go home," finished Dave.

Fred groaned. "In other words, when we're not teaching or drilling, or on duty, we'll be doing laundry and polishing boots and trying to absorb the Sea Cadet Manual."

"And don't presume on your friendship with The Gunner," warned Dave. "You may have spent a weekend playing with him in the sun but he's all Pusser when it comes to doing his duty. He won't cut you any slack. I know, I've seen him in action."

"You have?" asked Todd.

Dave nodded. "In Halifax, at the School of Gunnery. He was teaching there when I went on a course. He was the Command Chief's pet."

Cory perked up. "Did the Command Chief stroke The Gunner?"

"Cory!" Dave was aghast that Cory could even suggest such a thing! "No, the Command Chief most certainly did not!" he snapped indignantly.

Todd slapped Cory's behind. "You are such a git!" He turned to Dave. "Don't pay any attention to him."

Dave chuckled and continued. "Anyway, The Gunner was put in charge of training a 100-man Guard. The Queen was coming over and Halifax was the first place she was visiting. He worked with the guys for three months, lived with them, and drank with them. They were all friends. Hell, half of them were at the Gunnery School with him. On the night before the Parade they were all told by the Chief, and by The Gunner, to stay in, do up their kits, and no nonsense."

"From the sound of it the other boot is about to drop," said Two Strokes glumly.

Dave nodded. "Three of the guys, they were real buddies with The Gunner. They were in his term at CORNWALLIS, been to Gunnery School with him, sailed in the same ship, and they figured that it would be okay to spend some time in town. Which they did."

"And?" asked Jon.

"The morning of the Parade they showed up in full kit. They looked good, I mean really good. Boots shined, gaiters blancoed, uniforms pressed, and caps just so. The only problem was they were half in the bag. One of them hadn't bothered to shave. The other two were red-eyed. The Gunner took one look and walked up to each one in turn. He never said a word. He just reached out and unbuckled their web belts and let them drop to the deck. They were out of the Guard, for which they had spent three months training, and they were no longer The Gunner's mates."

Tyler held up his hand. "You don't have to worry on that score. Everybody was in bed before Last Post, even the Twins."

"And nobody got pissed. I only had three drinks all night long," put in Harry righteously, an almost angelic look on his face.

"Good, because, gentlemen," drawled Kyle, "if you want to be Chiefs, you had better be on your toes. If you all want to put on a Chief's badge for Divisions on Friday, then from now on you had better be like Caesar's wife. No nonsense, uniforms whiter than white, and your boots so shiny I can shave in them." There was a collective groan. "The Gunner will not compromise, guys, so be prepared," he said with heavy emphasis as he stood up. He waved at the boys. "I can't help you. Dave will. Good luck to all."

Dave checked his clipboard and consulted the schedule for the day. "You guys are to be at the high school at 0930. There's a bus laid on. Andy, No H, The Gunner, and me, will be there. Cory, Todd, Brian, Dylan, you're Gunnery types so be ready for a Gunner Special exam." Dave grinned. "He was in the Ship's Office this morning at 0600, photocopying, and then he went to Stores and drew some parade manuals."

"Oy vey!" groaned Cory. "Parade State. He's going to make us do up a Parade State. What a bugger!"

Todd and Brian exchanged glances. "I'm dead," muttered Brian.

"No, you're not." replied Todd. "Dave, you know this stuff. So does Cory. You two help Brian and Dylan. I'll do up their uniforms." He began issuing orders. Two Strokes, who was the best boot polisher, got busy on the boots that needed polishing. Harry, who was almost as good tailor as Cory, set to work examining jumpers and bell-bottoms for Irish pennants. Chris and Jon were dispatched to the laundry with the collected gunshirts. Sylvain helped Harry, and then the pair of them went outside where Harry began showing Sylvain the finer points of Mace Drill. Before he went outside with Sylvain, Harry set Andre to writing out the all the tunes he could remember that would be suitable for a parade. By 0700 everyone was busy, so busy that breakfast was forgotten.

At 0900, showered, shaved, booted and pressed, the candidates boarded the bus outside of the Headquarters Building. Rather than take the chance of creasing their uniforms, they stood all the way to the high school. When the bus stopped outside the school they all piled off and formed up. No one told them to, it was a disciplined reaction. The Gunner, clipboard in hand, his clickers waking the echoes, marched up and crashed to a halt in front of the assembled cadets. He smiled grimly. "Well then, gentlemen, shall we begin?"

When The Phantom arrived at work he immediately felt the tension. Chef was sitting at his desk alternately smoking cigarettes and looking at his watch. Sandro and the Makee-Learns were on automatic, alternately chopping, peeling or loading the ovens, and looking at the galley clock. The Phantom went to Chef's desk and placed the box of boot polish his father had gotten for him in front of Chef.

"What's this?" Chef asked, looking at his watch and lighting another cigarette.

"Boot polish. My Dad got it for the guys. And Chef, you've already got six cigarettes burning in the ashtray."

Chef smiled thinly. "Nerves. I know Ray is going to do okay. Still, I worry."

The Phantom grinned. "My guess is that Ray is a hell of a lot calmer than you are."

Chef smiled his thanks. He looked at Phantom and a worried expression crossed his face. Phantom was pale, and there were dark circles under his eyes.

"Are you all right, boy?" he asked. "You look decidedly unwell."

"I'm okay, Chef, honest. It's just that I couldn't sleep last night." It was not quite a lie.

Chef looked at his watch again. "When I was your age I could sleep like a log, any time, any place. Damn, when will they be finished?"

"Chef, they will be finished when they are finished and Ray will be all right." Chef nodded. "Yes, he's a smart lad. Go on now, Phantom, start the fish for lunch."

The Phantom kept himself as busy as he could, not wanting to think about anything. He prepared the fish for baking, and then helped Sandro. At 1130 he went out to the steam line and served the Afternoon Watchmen, then he began cleaning the metal trays in preparation for the main lunch hour crowd.

Promptly at 1200 the Young Brown blew Hands to Dinner. Phantom, with Sandro, stood at the ready. Chef wandered out, as he always did, to make sure that everything was in order. The door flew open and one of Harry's Sea Puppies ran in. "Hey, you guys, you should see what's going on out in the middle of the Parade Square." He waved his arm. "Some American Cadet is stripping naked!"

Chef, followed by The Phantom and Sandro rushed out. They saw a small group of cadets clustered in the middle of the dusty parade square. In the middle of the group was a naked cadet.

Nathan had, as instructed by Todd, marched out to the middle of the Parade Square and, just as the bugle started sounding, begun to remove his clothes. When Chef and the others arrived, he was slowly pushing down his tighty-whiteys. He stepped out of them, folded them neatly, and placed them on the small pile of uniform clothing at his feet. He removed his soft cap and assumed the position of attention.

"Just what in the bloody hell do you think you're doing?" roared Chef.

"Standing in the middle of the parade square, naked, at high noon," replied Nathan calmly.

Chef sputtered a bit. Phantom grinned. Sandro closed his eyes and shook his head. "And just why are you standing in the middle of the parade square naked?" demanded Chef.

Joey and Randy, who had followed Chef out of the Mess Hall, giggled, and punched each other in the ribs. While they were no strangers to nakedness in the barracks, public nudity was a novelty to them.

"I lost a bet." Nathan could not very well tell Chef the real reason he was standing out here, not with 50 cadets checking him out. "I have to stand here naked." He cocked his head and grinned shyly. "A guy's gotta pay off on a bet, right, Chef?"

Before Chef could reply one of the cadets yelled out. "Hey, the buses are back." Nathan forgotten, Chef turned and hurried toward the Headquarters Building, where the bus containing the candidates had just pulled to a stop. Phantom, Sandro and the Makee-Learns returned to the Mess Hall. The guys would be hungry and they would learn how well, or badly, the examinations had gone, soon enough. "Jeez, did you see that guy's dick?" asked Randy.

Joey nodded. "I hope my dick gets that big."

"It will if you keep pulling on it every night!"

Chef greeted the cadets who had gathered around the Coke machine in the breezeway flats and immediately wanted to know how the examinations had gone.

"Good, Chef, really good," Ray assured him. He was positively glowing. "What's been happening around here?"

"Except for some Yank standing in the middle of the parade square, buck naked, not much. Now, come and tell me exactly what happened. I made a Sacher Torte and . . ."

Todd looked at Chris and grinned. Cory, who had not been paying all that much attention to them, was standing at the Coke machine, feeding money into it. "Oh, Cory?" Todd winked at Chris who gave him a thumb's up.

"What?"

"Are you terribly interested in the fact that Nathan is standing out there naked?"

"Uh . . . Nathan?" Cory shaded his eyes and looked toward the parade square. "What the fuck is he doing out there without any clothes on?" He began walking toward the parade square.

"Now how would I know that?" asked Todd, following his brother. "Oh, look, there goes Dave Eddy."

They saw Dave hurry from the Headquarters Building and head on over to where Nathan was standing. "You had better have a damn good explanation for this, Berman!" exclaimed Dave.

Nathan shrugged. "I lost a bet." He could see Cory, Todd and Chris hurrying over. "I can put my clothes on, now."

Todd grinned as Cory rushed up to Nathan. "Just what the hell is this in aid of?" demanded Cory. "What the hell are you doing stripping off like that?"

"Calm down, Cory," soothed Dave, wondering what was really going on. "He lost a bet, is all."

Cory glowered as Nathan slipped on his briefs, then the rest of his uniform. Dave told them all to go about their business and headed off to the Mess Hall for lunch. Todd grinned at Nathan and winked. Cory, who was much too pissed off at Nathan for exposing himself, failed to notice the wink. "I don't know what it's like down in Seattle, but I'm here to tell you that guys do not go around taking off their clothes like that!" complained Cory.

"Why? I have nothing to be ashamed of, Cory." replied Nathan, walking beside him as they headed for the Mess Hall. "Can I sit with you at lunch, please?"

"No. I have a class to prepare for this afternoon." Cory was determined not to let Nathan get to him. "Damn," he thought, "why does he have to look so good?"

"You can sit with Chris and me," said Todd. "We don't have any classes. Just parade rehearsal."

Cory, speechless, stamped his foot. "Now wait a minute, Todd . . ."

"No, Cory, you wait a minute. Just because you've got a pickle up your ass about Nathan it doesn't mean that I have. Or Chris."

"Yeah, come on Cory, Nathan's a nice guy. In more ways than one." Chris grinned appreciatively. "And I do mean in more ways then one."

"Will you three shut up?" demanded Nathan. He turned to Cory. "Cory, I know you're mad at me. Please do not take it out on Todd. Or Chris."

Cory did not reply. He stuck out his chin and waited.

"I want you to be my friend. I want to make up for what I said."

"That's all?" snapped Cory. "Well you'll wait a long time. I wouldn't be your friend if you . . ." He was about to say something about Nathan jumping off a bridge when he remembered having said something about Nathan standing naked on the Parade Square at high noon. "Never mind. I'm not ready to be your friend." He stomped off in the general direction of the Gunroom.

"It's working." Todd put his arm around Nathan's shoulder. "He's blowing smoke out of his ass."

"How do you know that?" Nathan was downcast. "He just said he wouldn't be my friend."

Todd laughed. "No, he said he wasn't ready to be your friend. Did you not notice how he carried on about you being naked?"

Nathan nodded. "So, what happens now?"

"We have lunch. Then we talk about Plan B."

With the lunch crowd fed The Phantom set about cleaning up the steam tables and loading up the massive dishwashers. He spoke briefly to Ray, who smiled warmly, and asked him to make sure that all the candidates received a can of the boot polish. "It works, Ray. I used it on my shoes."

"Don't worry, Phantom, I'll make sure they all get a can." Ray put his arm around The Phantom's waist. "Are you all right? You look like hell." There was genuine concern in his voice.

"Aw, come on Ray, I'm okay. Hell and sheeit, you're as bad as Chef. A guy has a bad night and everybody thinks he's at death's door."

"Anything I can do to help?" asked Ray as the door leading from the Mess Hall opened.

The Phantom saw The Gunner enter the galley. He smiled at Ray and looked daggers at The Gunner. "Thanks, Ray, but, no, there's nothing you can do." He walked away and tried to look busy.

The Gunner sat down at Chef's desk and nodded slowly.

"He did all right, then?" asked Chef, smiling and nodding in Ray's direction.

"Yes. More than all right, actually. He's a smart kid." The Gunner stole a cigarette from Chef. "They all passed. Next stop, Drill Practicals." He lit the cigarette and took a drag.

Chef beamed. "Well, that deserves a beer. Phantom! Two beers, if you please."

The Phantom brought the beers and two glasses. As he set the bottles on table The Gunner looked at him. "How are you, Phantom?" he asked gently.

"Me? I'm fine, thank you, sir," replied The Phantom, formally.

The Gunner winced slightly. "I'm sorry I missed your lesson earlier. I can make it up this afternoon, if you like." His hooded eyes stared pleadingly at The Phantom.

The Phantom shook his head. "That's not necessary, but thank you, sir." He placed the glasses on the desk and was about to turn away when he looked directly at the Gunner. "I appreciate all that you've done, but I've decided not to join the Navy. I won't be needing any more lessons." He walked briskly away. The Gunner nodded silently, then looked at Chef, who was glowering at him. "What have you done, Stevie?" Chef hissed.

"I've done what you said I should have done a long time ago. Now drink your beer and mind your own business."

Chef was not a man to mince words. "If you've hurt that kid, so help me, Stevie, you'll regret it. He's one of my lambs. You hurt one my lambs . . ."

"I haven't hurt him," interrupted The Gunner. "All you need to know is that what was once between us is over. Finished, finito, kaput."

Chef took a huge swallow of beer. "You're a fool, Stevie."

The Twins spent much of the afternoon bickering, mostly over Nathan and Cory's treatment of him. After Secure they changed, and went in search of Phantom. Todd needed him to take the artwork for the course T-shirts into town and to arrange for the printing of the shirts.

They found The Phantom sitting in his usual place on the galley steps, enjoying the afternoon sun. He looked up as he saw the Twins ambling down the path, and noticed that Todd was carrying a small roll of paper. He also noticed that Cory looked like a thundercloud. He chuckled when he saw that the Twins were in their Seminarian mode: navy blue shorts, regulation white T-shirts with blue piping, all in all very conservative. They were not wearing anything on their feet. "Hey, Todd. Hey, Cory," he greeted them.

Todd sat down on the step below The Phantom and looked at him with disgust. "I see you're still smoking those damn things," he snorted.

The Phantom nodded. "Yes, Todd, I am. And before you start, yes, cigarettes are a filthy habit. Yes, they will stunt my growth. Yes, they will smell up my body. They will make my dick shrink, and my balls shrivel up into two little peas." He took a deep drag on his cigarette. "I love 'em."

"Leave Phantom alone, Todd," said Cory. "It's his body."

"Yes, it is," agreed The Phantom. "And what's up with you, Cory? The ship's cat die?"

Todd sighed theatrically. "Nathan."

The Phantom snickered. "So Nathan's still after your ring?" He winked at Todd.

"I would have thought that after he bared his soul . . ."

"And his balls," interrupted Todd.

"Those too."

Cory glared angrily at them. "Phantom, I like you. I like you a lot. Don't make me hurt you."

The Phantom held up his hand. "Cory, I'm only pulling your pisser."

"That's what Nathan wants to do!" laughed Todd.

"I know what Nathan wants!" snapped Cory firmly. "I also know he is not getting it from me." He sat down and glared at Todd. "Can't we just drop the subject?"

"Sure," agreed Todd. "Besides, we didn't come here to talk about Nathan's love life, or his lack of it."

Cory grimaced. "As far as I'm concerned Phantom has a better chance than Nathan."

"Well, thanks a lot!" The Phantom winked at Todd. "I really appreciate that. After all we've been through, after you invite me to share your bed, that's how I get treated."

"Oh, Phantom, shut up! You sound like Harry."

"I don't bite bums, Cory," returned The Phantom with a grin. "Mind you, I do agree with Harry's assessment of your bum."

"I should hope that you don't bite bums!" Cory looked directly at The Phantom. "It's gross." He gave The Phantom an appraising look. "So, Phantom liked his bum, did he?" He smiled warmly. "If you want to know the truth, you do have a much better chance than Nathan. Much better than you know."

"I do?" The Phantom wondered where this was leading. Cory smiled and ran his hand up The Phantom's leg. "I'm not coming on to you, so don't get all huffy."

"I'm not." The Phantom swallowed. "Christ, Cory," he thought, "You keep that up and . . ." His body trembled slightly. He quickly tried to defuse a potentially, for him, embarrassing situation. "Uh, Cory, you're supposed to be straight, and I . . ."

Cory withdrew his hand. "I know what I'm supposed to be. I also know what I really am, so why should I pretend?" He gave The Phantom's knee a soft caress. "You're a good looking guy, Phantom, and to be honest, I wouldn't say no."

"Cory . . ." warned Todd.

"Todd, I am not going to pretend to be something I'm not. I'm sick of pretending." His blue eyes sparkled as he looked directly at The Phantom. "If you gave me the slightest encouragement, I'd sleep with you. Todd would too, if he wasn't such a hypocrite!"

The Phantom blushed furiously. "Cory, I appreciate, the . . . um . . . invitation. I'm more than flattered . . ."

"But you're not interested." Todd made a statement of fact.

The Phantom said nothing. He was stunned that the Twins would even consider him for such a thing. "It's just that . . ." The Phantom began with some hesitation, "It's just that you guys are so, well, handsome and you could have your pick of guys. Me? I'm not all that good looking, and I sure don't have a big dick, and . . ."

"Fuck, Phantom, who said you had to have a big dick?" demanded Cory. "Remember, we spent two days together, naked. We also undressed you before we went sailing. Todd likes you, and I like you. You have a handsome set of parts." He sighed and smiled at the memory. "You've got a nice set of balls, and a very nice dick."

The Phantom looked down at his crotch. "Yeah, I do, don't I?" He grinned and waggled his eyebrows.

The Twins laughed and clapped him on his shoulder. "Phantom, any time you want, you just give me the high sign." Todd told him. "I mean any time."

The Phantom cocked his head and grinned at Todd. "Did you two wander over here just to put the moves on me, or did you want something?"

Todd grinned back. "Well, we actually wanted to ask you a favour."

"It isn't illegal, is it?"

"Of course it is. Would you have it any other way?" Todd smiled. Cory was right; Phantom was not a bad piece of work.

"No."

"Good. So, my young friend who won't sleep with us, and who should be very flattered that we asked him, this is what we want." Todd held out the roll of paper. "We need some T-shirts printed. This is the artwork we want on the shirts, plus a list of the sizes we think we'll need."

The Phantom unrolled the paper and saw the logo that Todd had drawn, redrawn, and drawn again. The finished drawing was a work of art. He whistled in admiration. "Todd, this is good. I mean that, this is really good," he said, admiring the drawing.

"I have a talent," replied Todd without a trace of modesty. "Can you take it to the print shop in town? They already have the artwork for the Ship's Crest, so they shouldn't have too much trouble with the new stuff."

"Consider it done."

"Thanks, Phantom, we appreciate it." Todd stood up and motioned for Cory to follow him. "Well, we'd better head off. We have to hide somewhere. Nathan on heat is not a pretty sight."

"Nathan is not on heat!" growled Cory with clenched fists.

Todd gave his brother a withering look. "I wish you'd make up that little mind of yours, Cory. One minute you curse the poor guy up hill and down dale. The next minute you get all pouty if I so much as suggest that he's after you, or say anything against him."

Cory grunted but said nothing.

"I really don't understand you, Cory. It's not like he raped you or anything." Todd looked at Cory with disdain. "He's not that bad to look at and he wants to apologize to you. Why not let him? You don't even have to sleep with him."

"I don't plan to." Cory gave Todd a malicious look. "If you're so interested, you sleep with him. Just don't be disappointed when you find out that he's not all that good of a fuck and . . ."

"Stop it!" The Phantom stood up, a stricken look on his face. "Stop it, Cory, stop it now." Cory and Todd stared at The Phantom. "Stop it the pair of you!" He waved his arm, an angry gesture that brooked no argument. "Stop demeaning yourselves and stop acting like a couple of underage queens."

"Holy shi . . . I mean okay, calm down, Phantom." Cory put his arm around The Phantom's shoulder. "I, we, well, we talk like that all the time and . . ."

"Well, don't!" snapped The Phantom, sitting down again. "You guys piss me right off. I know you think you're just being yourselves, being honest, but it pisses me off when you talk like that. You are not queers. You are not fags. You're two guys who happen to like other guys, which has nothing to do with who you are or what you do. Who you sleep with is your business. You don't hear straight people going around discussing their sex life."

"Well, some guys, when they score with a girl . . ." began Todd.

"Does that mean you have to? Does that mean you have to go around screaming that you're gay? What does it gain you?" The Phantom was very angry with them. "You two mean the world to me, but I'm warning you, stop it. You don't have to pretend to be straight. You also don't have to broadcast that you're gay."

Todd hung his head. "The Gunner told us the same thing, only he put it differently."

"He's right, Todd," said Cory softly. "I'm sorry, Phantom, truly, it's just that, well, usually straight guys expect us to talk that way. I guess it makes their balls grow bigger, makes them feel more hetero."

"I am not other guys," replied The Phantom firmly. "And I am also not straight." The Twins stared at the Phantom. "What . . .?" gasped Todd.

"I am not straight." The Phantom repeated calmly. Then he realized what he had just said and turned beet red. "I can't be. I love a man. I love The Gunner."

It took the dumbstruck Twins a moment to recover. "Well, we love him too," said Cory, "maybe not the way you love him, but . . ."

The Phantom could not lie his way out of his gaffe. "Cory, I love him exactly the way you do. I love him and I want to sleep with him. I mean really sleep with him. I want to taste every part of him. I want him to love me the way you, Todd, love Cory. The way Cory loves you, Todd." He smiled shyly at the Twins. "When we slept together, on the trip?" The Twins nodded. "I felt his balls and dick. I felt him because I wanted to see him hard, to feel him hard. I did it because I wanted him." There, it was out. "I guess that makes me as gay as you two are."

"Phantom, I can't believe you're gay." Cory was flabbergasted. "I knew that you had a crush on The Gunner, but that doesn't mean anything. Hell, guys experiment all the time. I bet that The Gunner did it, when he was our age."

"Cory, it's more than a crush. I slept beside him, hoping that we would do things together. I felt his balls and dick. I tried to get him hard."

Todd shook his head. "And he won't let you love him?"

"No. It's over, anyway. He says he can't love me that way."

"Tell me about it." Todd gave The Phantom a squeeze. "He told us the same thing. He quoted Kipling, England's Answer, actually. He knows that both Cory and I would sleep with him. But, he won't let us. He won't let himself even consider sleeping with us."

The Phantom nodded sadly, then reached up and ruffled Cory's hair. "It doesn't matter anymore. We had words last night. He can get on with whatever he wants. I won't be bothering him again. He doesn't want me, so it's over and done with." He gave the Twins a leering smile. "But, cheer up, if all else fails, there is always you two."

Todd looked at The Phantom. He hoped that he would not have to go through with The Phantom what he had gone through with Harry.

"And I know how Nathan feels." The Phantom sighed and smiled wanly. "It would seem that we are both in the same boat."

"I warned you about him, Phantom . . ." growled Cory.

"Sorry, Cory. It just slipped out."

"Well, slip it back in."

They sat together in silence, deep in thought, The Phantom hoping that the Twins would forget he had ever said anything, the Twins not quite ready to accept that Phantom was a part of their brotherhood. "You want us to do anything about it?" asked Todd presently. "The Gunner likes us and we could talk to him."

"No. Please, Todd, Cory, let it be. I've accepted it."

Todd stood up and motioned to Cory. "If we can do anything, you tell us, hear?" The Phantom nodded.

Todd nodded toward the Mess Hall. "You better get back. Chef will think you've deserted."

"Phantom, can I ask you a question?" Cory put his hand on The Phantom's shoulder.

"Sure."

"What did it feel like, when you . . ."

The Phantom blushed fiercely. "Cory, it was . . ." he crooned, his eyes half closed and a look of bliss on his face. Then he grinned.

"Never mind, I get the picture," said Cory grinning back. "So, did you wash your hand? Can I smell it?"

"Cory!" The Phantom and Todd shouted at him.