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 16

The Phantom had passed yet another miserable night, much of it spent with his parents as they packed and talked about their impending trip to Regina. His parents had then retired earlier than usual, as they would be leaving just after six in the morning and driving down to Victoria, where they would board their flight to Regina. On their return they planned on staying in the provincial capital city shopping and, as his father put it, enjoying some quality time together.

After his parents had gone to bed The Phantom pretended to watch television. His mind was in turmoil. He fully realized that he was torturing himself, reliving over and over his argument with The Gunner. He was past the crying stage now and his initial anger had long since dissipated. Now all he felt was emptiness and, weary of watching nothing he went and sat on the front porch, thinking, not seeing the empty, rain-slicked street.

While The Phantom wanted to go over to AURORA the rain made that impossible. He wanted to see Ray, and tell him how proud he was of him. He wanted to take Dylan across the river again. He slipped his hand down the front of his shorts. Just thinking about going over to AURORA had given him a massive hardon.

The Phantom sat on the porch, hidden in the shadows, slowly fisting himself. He shuddered as a tremor of delight flashed through him. There was something beyond erotic about sitting on the front porch of his parents' house, beating off.

Standing up, The Phantom lowered his shorts and boxers and sat back down in the wicker chair, his butt nestled comfortably in the soft cushion. He pumped his boner slowly, using a twisting motion as his hand travelled up his swollen shaft. He was getting very close when he stuck the first two fingers of his left hand into his mouth and covered them with spit. He lowered his hand and rubbed his spit-slimed fingers over his sex-swollen helmet. The effect was instantaneous and a colossal jolt of ecstasy coursed through him.

Moaning softly, stifling his groans of delight, The Phantom pulled back his hard dick as his orgasm built deep within his balls, spreading outward, filling his body. His hand moved faster and faster as he approached the point of no return until suddenly he was beyond it. His cock spasmed and jerked, ejecting his thick semen, jet after jet crashing into his chest and oozing down his stomach. His face contorted with the sensual pleasure his orgasm brought him. His body jerked as he continued to pump his throbbing penis frantically until finally, spent and sated, he collapsed backward into the chair.

He lay back, breathing heavily as he slowly massaged his warm, creamy ejaculate into his flesh. His eyes were closed as he rubbed gently. Finally, he regained some measure of control. He licked his fingers clean of his sweet seed, pulled up his underwear and shorts, and went into the house. It was time to sleep.

The Phantom slept badly. He tossed and turned most of the night. When he did sleep, he dreamed, dreams of mad, passionate couplings with the Twins and with The Gunner. He awoke with a start at least a half dozen times, each time with a raging hardon. He willed himself to leave his thickened penis alone.

Finally, just after dawn, The Phantom gave up and got out of bed, padding into the bathroom where he looked at his haggard face in the mirror. He groaned at his reflection. His emerald eyes were bloodshot, and seemed to have faded. He needed to shave.

He turned on the shower, waiting until clouds of steam rose, then stepped in, soaping himself and, more from necessity than pleasure, masturbated.

Showered, shaved, and dressed, The Phantom went downstairs for breakfast with his parents. His mother, seeing the sadness in her son's face, asked him if he were ill. "No. It's just that there's a lot going on right now," he replied. Unfairly, he used Ray as an excuse for his appearance. "With him so busy, studying and getting ready for his Board, and all, we're short a hand in the galley." He shrugged. "More work for me. And Chef asked me to come in early."

"I have half a mind to call him," said Mrs. Lascelles as she placed The Phantom's breakfast in front of him. "Now, then, eat," she ordered gently.

The Phantom smiled and tried to eat the bacon and eggs. He found that he had no appetite, picked at the food and finally pushed the plate away. "I'm really not all that hungry, Mum," he said.

His mother sat down at the table and patted his cheek. "You don't look well, Phantom. Is something bothering you," she asked her voice soft.

The Phantom shook his head. "Nothing's bothering me, Mum." He dared not tell his parents the truth, and he hated himself for lying to them.

"It's stress," said his father taking off his reading glasses. "That combined with the shift you work. Six days a week is too much."

The Phantom smiled his thanks. "It's only for another three weeks." He began clearing the table of the breakfast dishes. "I'll get some rest this weekend. The cadets are off to Victoria for the holiday parade so Chef gave me Saturday off."

His mother made him promise that he would get as much rest as he could.

Once the kitchen had been squared away it was time for his parents to leave. The Phantom received the usual instructions from a parent to a teenage boy: No girls in the house while they were gone, no wild parties. There was some mad money in the cookie jar (where else?), and he was to call them if he had any problems. All the contact numbers were written on the tablet by the telephone in the hall and Phantom, get some rest.

The Phantom watched his parents drive away and then went upstairs to dress for work. He also packed some clean T-shirts and boxer shorts into his gym bag. He tried to keep a complete change of underwear in his locker at work. Most days the heat in the galley was such that a shower and a change of clothes after work were necessities.

Shortly after 0900 The Phantom arrived at the galley and was immediately put to work helping Joey and Randy clean up the breakfast mess. He scoured pans until just before Stand Easy, when Nathan came into the galley and beckoned. Nathan told the Phantom that Cory had missed breakfast and asked if he could possibly send some food over to him.

"Sure, I just made up the lunch sandwiches," replied The Phantom. "I'll take some over."

In the Drill Shed he saw The Gunner supervising the drill routines, but said nothing to the man. He had nothing to say to The Gunner, nothing at all.

With Ray more or less excused duty Chef kept The Phantom busy preparing the lunch dishes and, after lunch, preparing for supper. Twice The Gunner came into the galley and twice The Phantom ignored him, finding work as far away from him as possible.

Supper was the usual organized chaos, made more chaotic by the boisterous antics of Harry and the Twins. The Phantom was happy to hear that everybody had passed their Drill Mutuals.

Once the initial rush of cadets had subsided The Phantom could relax. There were always a few stragglers, usually those cadets who used the brief hour from 1600 to 1700 doing laundry, napping, or playing one on one in the Drill Hall, and always Little Big Man.

Since his banishment to Coventry Little Big Man had taken to eating as late as possible, invariably arriving 15 minutes before the food line was due to close down. He would grab a tray, pile as much food as he could on it and then go off and sit alone to eat.

Little Big Man had spent his day avoiding his fellow cadets. His refusal to loan his badges to the senior cadets was, by breakfast time, common knowledge and while no one said a word to him the looks in the eyes of the other cadets made him well aware that he was definitely not the most popular kid in the hall. He hurried to the steam line and snatched a tray from the pile at the head of the line.

Surprisingly, Ryan followed Little Big Man. Ryan, though short and slim, had a hollow leg and was always hungry. He never missed a meal and was never, until now, late. Ryan had spent much of his day avoiding Rob. Ryan's drill mutuals had gone exceedingly well and he had been congratulated on his dress and his performance. Immediately after he was dismissed from the Drill Shed he had hurried to his barracks, where he had cleansed his weeping penis and taken a double dose of painkillers. He had skipped lunch and had a nap. After his nap he had gone to Engineering Stores and tried to work. The painkillers dulled the pain in Ryan's groin and the medicated ointment he used seemed to be working. Before leaving for supper he had again washed himself and reapplied the ointment. The pain was not as severe and he could walk without wincing. His only regret was that he had no boxer shorts. The briefs he habitually wore were very constricting and the fabric rubbed the tip of his raw foreskin.

The Phantom watched Little Big Man's nightly display of greed as he piled his plate with food. Ryan, who was standing behind the young drummer, watched as well, shaking his head at the amount of food Little Big Man took. Little Big Man saw the head shaking and turned. Quite by accident the edge of his food tray brushed against the front of Ryan's trousers. A lightning bolt of excruciating pain flashed through Ryan's body. He paled and bent double, groaning loudly.

Little Big Man had no idea what Ryan's problem was. He stared at the groaning cadet and then allowed his naturally suspicious nature to take over. He suspected that Ryan was trying to get back at him for all the insults and slurs he'd made last night - he had no doubt that Rob and Ryan had been told of them - and so he had no sympathy for Ryan at all. "What's the matter with you?" Little Big Man snarled. "Rob's dick too big for your ass?" Then he laughed sarcastically.

The Phantom, who had seen the whole incident, was shocked at Little Big Man's cold indifference. He hurried from behind his counter and went to Ryan, who was in so much pain that he was gasping for breath. The Phantom's green eyes flashed with anger at Little Big Man. "You fucking little prick!" he snapped. "Get the fuck away from here."

Neither The Phantom nor Little Big Man noticed Two Strokes, who had been seated nearby eating his dessert. He had heard Ryan's groan of pain, had heard Little Big Man's smart mouth, and seen red. His chair crashed to the deck and in three quick strides the Regulating Petty Officer was in front of Little Big Man. He grabbed Little Big Man, sending the tray of food he'd been holding flying and scattering the plastic dishes and food across the deck. "I warned you, you little cocksucker," Two Strokes growled.

The Phantom, who had no love for Little Big Man, intervened. "Let him go. It was an accident."

"You sure?" Two Strokes asked, his fist raised.

"I'm sure." The Phantom put his arm around Ryan. "It was an accident."

With a look of disgust Two Strokes pushed Little Big Man away. "Get out of my sight," he ordered.

As Little Big Man scurried from the dining hall The Phantom helped Ryan into Chef's office and made him lie down on the couch. Two Strokes followed them into the room.

"What's the matter, Ryan?" asked The Phantom once he had gotten the boy settled. "Jesus, you're as white as a ghost."

"Are you sure that little fuck didn't do something?" demanded Two Strokes.

Ryan held up his hand. "It was an accident," he groaned. "Let it go."

Much against his better judgement Two Strokes allowed himself to be persuaded. "Maybe so," he said doubtfully, "but you're obviously in pain. What the fuck's going on, Ryan?"

Ryan drew up his knees and groaned. "The tray just hit me in the nuts, is all."

Two Strokes look at The Phantom, who shrugged. Before either of them could say anything The Gunner, who had seen The Phantom, with Two Strokes following behind, take Ryan into the office, loomed in the doorway. "And just what was the tray made of?" he inquired coldly. "Cast iron?" Ryan's colour had begun to return but when he heard the Gunner's voice he paled. He struggled to sit up but The Gunner pushed him back down. "Now, Ryan, the truth." The Gunner reached out and put his hand on Ryan's shoulder. He could see the sweat beading the boy's forehead.

Ryan grimaced, not so much from pain, for it had started to wane, than from embarrassment. Two Strokes, recognizing Ryan's need for privacy, left the room. The Phantom stood up and was about to leave when Ryan grabbed his hand. "No," he whispered. "Stay, Phantom, please."

The Phantom nodded.

Ryan looked at The Gunner, his dark eyes shining. "I have a condition that causes me to get infections, you know . . ." he cast his eyes downward, toward his groin. " . . . down there."

"You're not circumcised, I take it?" asked The Gunner."

Ryan shook his head. "No."

"Have you seen a doctor? I rather think a doctor is much more qualified than I am to talk about your, um, problem."

Ryan nodded. "In Ottawa. He gave me some medicine. And some pain killers."

The Gunner thought a moment. "Ryan, I think you should see the Surgeon. He's . . ."

"NO!" yelled Ryan. He grabbed The Gunner's arm. "I can't see Doc. I can't!"

The Phantom put his arm around Ryan's shoulder. "Hey man, calm down."

"May I ask why you don't want to see a doctor?" The Gunner put his hand on Ryan's thin shoulder. "You're in pain, obviously."

The Phantom helped Ryan as he struggled to a sitting position. "If I see Doc, he'll send me home," said Ryan, tears coursing down his flushed cheeks. "Please, Gunner, don't make me see Doc. Please, don't send me home." He turned and grabbed The Phantom's arms. "Don't let them, Phantom. Please, I can't go home, not just yet."

"Ryan, there's no shame in going home for a medical reason," said The Phantom. "You can't go on like this, with your . . ." Ryan shook his head and released The Phantom.

"You don't understand," wailed Ryan. "I don't care about the pain. It's going away, honest, and so long as I use the medicine, I'll be all right. I have to stay here. I have to get my Petty Officer's rate." He looked imploringly at The Gunner. "I have to!"

"Ryan, I have to do what's right for you. If you need medical help, I have to see you get it." The Gunner sat down beside Ryan and took the distraught boy in his arms. "Ryan, you must try to understand that I have a duty, to you, to see that everything possible is done if you need medical help. I don't have a choice."

Ryan nodded slowly. "I understand. You have to do what is right. But please, can't we wait. If you let me do my Board, I'll go see Doc tomorrow. I swear it."

"Ryan, I don't understand why you have to get your promotion now," said The Gunner, trying to understand the underlying cause of Ryan's outburst. "You can go back to your unit with a recommendation from me, from the Commanding Officer . . ."

Ryan laughed harshly. "And see it thrown into File Thirteen, because that's what will happen to it? People like me don't get promoted in my unit."

"Ryan!" The Phantom stared at the young engineer. "That can't be true."

"It's true. I'm little Ryan. I'm a left-footed chowder head who goes to the Catholic chapel instead of the Anglican Church. I'm the one all the officers' ladies 'tsk, tsk' when they see me, and shake their heads because my father is a drunk and my mother has a new baby every year. I was born in January 1960. In December 1960, my mother had another baby. My father got drunk for three days and peed in the Wardroom fireplace on Levee Day."

"Oh, Ryan," breathed The Phantom.

"It gets worse," replied Ryan with a sob. He looked first at The Gunner, then at The Phantom. "You only see one side of the Sea Cadets. I live the other. Nobody in my Unit gets promoted unless he's an officer's son or the Sea Cadet Chairman's son. To get promoted you have to kiss butt and lick ass, big time." Ryan's chest heaved and for a moment The Gunner thought the boy was going to cry. "If I get promoted here, it means something. It's not just some piece of paper. It means that I'm an AURORA man. I made it here, where everybody is equal. What is it you say, Gunner? Without fear or favour? Yeah. It means that I can stand up just as tall as any other cadet because I'm just a little bit better than he is. It means I'm the best of the best. Can't you understand that?"

The Gunner nodded slowly. "Yes, I can, Ryan."

"Can you understand how much it means for me to want to be with my friends . . . my . . . my . . . wingers? It's not just Rob, but Two Strokes, and Cory, and Todd, its all the guys. I love them, and they love me. I can't let them down." "You wouldn't be letting anyone down," murmured The Gunner.

"I want to go home in that white uniform and look all the pricks in the eye and say 'See this, I got this someplace special, someplace with a special bunch of guys, I got this at AURORA!'"

The Gunner could hear the quiet pride in Ryan's voice. He reached down and felt the Gunner's chain and whistle in his pocket. For a moment he remembered what it was like to be a young sailor, a young sailor in an Elite Company . . . Then he remembered his duty. "Ryan, you're going to the Doctor. Whatever he says, goes."

"Gunner!" exploded The Phantom. He placed his arm protectively around Ryan. "You can't, you can't do that to him. Please, let him stay." He looked imploringly at the man he still loved. "If you can't do it for him, do it for me."

The Gunner looked stonily at The Phantom. "There are two things, Phantom, you can never do. One is to presume to ask me to compromise my principles. The other is to ask me to be derelict in my duty." He turned to Ryan. "Ryan, you are going to see the Surgeon. The worse case scenario is that he'll order you home. If that happens I make you this promise: you will do your Board and you will be promoted and you will go home in a white uniform."

The Gunner sat patiently in the surgery waiting room while Doc examined Ryan. The Phantom sat on the opposite side of the room, his head down, his hands clasped. His mind was in turmoil, trying to understand Ryan's obdurate demand to remain in AURORA. He was also trying to understand The Gunner's rebuke. Doc entered the waiting room, breaking The Phantom's musings. "Phantom, be a good lad and go find Ryan some boxer shorts, will you? I have to talk to The Gunner."

The Phantom nodded and left.

"Well?" asked The Gunner.

Doc pulled out a pack of cigarettes and offered one to The Gunner. "Ryan has chronic balanitis. In layman's language, he is prone to bacterial infections of the prepuce. Sometimes it's spontaneous, usually due to poor hygiene. In Ryan's case, it's chronic. He's had it before, and he'll have it again. Complicated by a torn frenulum, no doubt brought on by excessive and enthusiastic masturbation."

The Gunner laughed in spite of himself. "Well, I was 16 once."

Doc smiled and sat down opposite The Gunner. He ran his fingers through his thinning hair. "It's controllable, with medication. I've cleaned him up and given him some pain medicine. He can sleep in his own bunk tonight."

"So he's not being sent home?"

Doc shook his head. "No. I see no reason to send him home. This bout will clear up in a day or two, and he'll be fine until the next time. Then the poor little bastard will have to go through it all over again."

"There's no cure?"

Doc nodded. "Of course there is! It's called circumcision, and the sooner the better as far as Ryan is concerned. Hell, I could do it now. I have everything I need, and it takes less than an hour. In two weeks, three weeks at the latest, after he's healed, he'd be as right as rain."

The Gunner shook his head. "Too bad. I hate to see any boy suffer when there's a simple solution."

Doc snorted. "Blame his chowder-headed parents for listening to some naturalist quack who couldn't care less about his patients so long as his dizzy ideas are followed."

"Pardon?"

"Gunner, in my practice back home all my pregnant mothers are told that if the baby is a boy, he gets clipped. If they refuse, they find another doctor. Some of them are stupid enough to do that. I will not, so long as I practice medicine, take a chance that any boy in my care will suffer what Ryan is suffering. One is too many, period. The sad thing is, there is a growing movement to stop newborn circumcisions. There's a nurse, I forget the dippy thing's name, who is spearheading it. She's managed to fuck up a lot of boys with her nonsense. What is worse, she's got some doctors to come on board. One of them is a Major Phelps, who just happens to be Ryan's doctor. He's an incompetent, and a charlatan. He'd rather see the poor boy suffer the tortures of the damned than do what is right. The asshole has convinced Ryan's parents that he doesn't need surgery. God damn all naturalist Neanderthals and their troglodyte adherents!" He grinned sheepishly at The Gunner. "Sorry, but I hate to see a child suffer unnecessarily."

"Which is why I insisted he come to see you. "

Doc stood up. "Well, here's Phantom. Once Ryan is dressed he can go back to his barracks. I've put him on light duty. And before he asks, he's not going home."

As they walked back to the barracks Ryan slipped his hand into The Gunner's. "Thanks," he said simply.

"What for? I did exactly the opposite to what you wanted me to do."

Ryan smiled. "You did what was right for me. I was the one being stupid." At the door leading to the barracks Ryan released The Gunner's hand and looked at him. "I appreciate what you're doing here, Gunner. And if you can't find me a Number 11 uniform, I'll understand."

The Gunner chuckled and bent down. He put his hands on Ryan's shoulders and looked him directly in the eye. "Ryan, you will have a Number 11 uniform, if I have to scour the island for some white drill and make it myself."

Ryan laughed, and winced. "Ouch. Fuck, it still hurts when I laugh."

"So don't laugh," replied The Gunner.

When Ryan entered the barracks The Gunner turned and saw The Phantom walking steadily toward the galley. "Phantom," he yelled to the boy.

"Sir?"

"Shit," thought The Gunner, "I'm still a sir!" He resisted the urge to reach out and hold the boy. "You . . . uh . . . you need a lift home?" he asked.

The Phantom shook his head. "I have my bike, thanks, sir." He nodded curtly and added, "But I thank you for the offer, sir." With that he walked into the galley. He looked at the huge pile of pots and pans that he had neglected while he was off helping Ryan and then set to with a will, scouring and scrubbing until Joey swore he could see his face in the bottom of them. The pots and pans clean, he boiled the rice needed for one of tomorrow's desserts: Chinese Wedding Cake, which had become, more or less, his speciality.

When he was finished cooking The Phantom washed up and went over to Barracks 2 to see Ryan. He found the young Engineer sitting up in bed, being waited on hand and foot by Rob and David. Ryan smiled when he saw The Phantom enter the mess and waved him over. He patted the side of the bed and The Phantom sat down beside him. "So, how you feeling?" The Phantom asked Ryan.

Ryan looked around and leaned forward. "Actually, not too bad," he whispered conspiratorially. "The medicine Doc gave me really takes the pain away. But don't tell Rob or David." He grinned widely.

The Phantom grinned back. "My lips are sealed. Do you need anything? How about some new boxers? You must be swimming in mine."

"A little, yeah," agreed Ryan with a nod of his head. "But I can't get any. I'm flat broke, and I don't get paid until the day before I leave."

"A whole $100.00," said The Phantom scornfully. "I know when you get paid so don't worry about paying me back. I'll go into town tomorrow and get you some. You can settle up with me on pay day."

Ryan stiffened. "I don't take charity."

"Who said anything about charity? I did it for the Twins, so I can do it for you."

"Okay, just so long as you know I will pay you."

The Phantom stood up, prepared to leave. "I know."

"Phantom?"

"Yeah?"

"Try to understand where The Gunner is coming from. A lot of times he has to do things that seem unfair, but it's his duty to do those things. He saw me in pain and it was his duty to see that I got help, no matter what I said."

"But . . ."

"There are no buts," said Ryan, shaking his head. "You either do your duty, or you don't. He did the right thing."

The Phantom sat down again. "Would you say that if you knew that come Saturday you'd be on the flight home to Ottawa?"

"Yes!" said Ryan firmly. "Tomorrow they may ask me a question about good order and discipline. You can't have it if you don't do the right thing, if you let your heart rule your head."

Rob sat down on the other side of Ryan and put his arms around the boy. Ryan snuggled close, then looked deeply at the husky young man. Rob was not only Ryan's lover he was Ryan's protector. "Ryan is right, Phantom," he said quietly. "I knew this morning, before Divisions, that Ryan should have gone to Sick Bay. But I let him talk me into keeping my big mouth shut. I should not have listened to him. I should have made him go."

The Phantom looked at the two boys and sighed sadly. He well knew the nature of their relationship and felt a twinge of jealousy.

Rob gave Ryan a fond look and then his dark eyes settled on The Phantom. "Phantom, this time the only person Ryan put at risk was himself. But what would happen if there were twenty guys depending on him and he refused to seek the help he needed? And what would happen if his condition worsened and he failed to in his duty to do his job because of it?"

The Phantom looked at both boys and nodded slowly. "Ryan would be the weak link in the chain. If he fails, they all fail." Both Ryan and Rob nodded. "Okay, I understand now. But it still seems to me that a guy could sleep with The Gunner at night and in the morning, if he fucked up, The Gunner would have him."

Ryan snickered. "That's about the size of it. The Gunner, Rob, me, we can't let our personal feelings get in the way of good order and discipline. If we did, we wouldn't be doing our jobs and we wouldn't be Chiefs or Petty Officers."

The Phantom smiled and stood up. "Personally, I think I'll put on my pants and go home." He said goodnight and left the barracks.

When he arrived at the empty house The Phantom went upstairs to his room, stripped down to his underwear and then went back downstairs. He knew that he was tired and should try to sleep, but he wanted to go back to AURORA. The rain had stopped just before suppertime and the night was clear. There was a full moon. It would be a perfect night to find his way around the Spit.

Sitting in the living room, trying to watch television, The Phantom mulled over in his mind the events of the evening. He could understand Ryan's initial refusal to go to Sick Bay. AURORA was something very special to him. His friends, the love he felt for them, and the love they felt for him, was something very unique and special. This The Phantom could understand. He himself had bonded with all the boys who had been on the sailing trip.

The Phantom left the living room and sat on the porch. He stared into the gathering darkness and imagined he could see the lights of AURORA behind the houses across the street, and beyond across the harbour. More and more he was beginning to understand what he considered to be the Naval mindset. His father could understand it perfectly. He had been in the Airborne, and was a cop. Chief Lascelles could understand that the Navy and the Sea Cadets were of a special breed, set apart from lesser men.

Walking to the veranda railing, The Phantom stared up toward the star-dusted sky, realising now that asking The Gunner not to send Ryan to Sick Bay had been a mistake, turned into a gross error of misjudgement when he tried to use The Gunner's feelings for him by asking him to do something that, in the end, was wrong. In a way, The Gunner had only done what he himself had done: by not allowing his personal dislike for Little Big Man to colour his judgement, and by telling the truth about the incident with Little Big Man in the dining hall, he had done the right thing. As he turned to go into the house The Phantom began to wonder if trying to influence The Gunner was not his only error.

He showered and changed, and then glanced at Routine Orders. Brian and Dylan were on duty during the Middle Watch, as was Little Big Man. He had no worry about the two Gunners, suspecting that they would find a quiet place to hide for at least part of their Watch although, with Little Big Man on the prowl, he, and they would have to exercise greater caution.

After locking the house and mounting his bike The Phantom pedalled off, thinking about whom he would visit tonight. Ray first, of course. Then? He wondered if he should pay a visit to the Petty Officers Mess. With Little Big Man out of the barracks tonight offered a golden opportunity to sample the boys in there.

After leaning his bike against the shack The Phantom set out on his quest. As he moved cautiously along the beach, he smiled. God, he loved the taste of cock! He thought that while they all might look so very much alike, they certainly tasted different and each boy spurted a distinctly different taste. He hungrily ran his tongue around the inside of his mouth, wondering idly what The Gunner would taste like. "Probably gunpowder and cordite!" he thought with a contemptuous sniff.

The Phantom slipped into the Cooks' barracks and immediately glided silently to Ray's bunk. Ray was lying on his back, deep in sleep. The Phantom looked down at him and smiled gently. Of all the boys this quiet, lovely, young man was his favourite. Ray was not a stud, and would never be considered gloriously handsome, yet he had this indefinable something that appealed to The Phantom. He knelt beside the bunk and kissed Ray lightly on the lips.

Ray stirred and his eyelids fluttered open. When he saw the hooded figure beside him he smiled.

The Phantom reached under the coverlet and began to massage Ray's growing boner, rubbing the hard flesh through the soft cotton of Ray's briefs. Ray groaned quietly at each upward stroke of The Phantom's hand and he arched his body. As his head went back Ray's hips came up and he began to push upward, his body rising and falling in symphony with The Phantom's hand strokes.

As he stroked The Phantom could feel the wetness of the precum gushing from Ray's hardon soaking the fabric of his briefs. The Phantom lifted the coverlet and nuzzled Ray's tented underpants, nipping and sucking at his lovely five-inches. Ray began to breath heavier as his orgasm began building in his balls. The Phantom pulled down the front of Ray's briefs and took his swollen organ in his mouth. He wanted to taste Ray's sweetness, to feel the wonder as Ray's thick boy cum coated his tongue and gushed down his throat. He sucked and licked Ray to a crashing orgasm. Ray bucked and kicked in delight as a massive load blew from his distended slit. The Phantom sucked and swallowed every delicate drop of Ray's sperm, savouring the delightful flavour that filled his mouth.

As the fury of his orgasm subsided Ray collapsed, sucking air, his chest heaving. He knew what was coming next and he reached out his arms. The Phantom left Ray's cock and kissed him. Their tongues probed and Ray tasted his own cum. He embraced The Phantom, groaning as they sucked and tasted each other's tongue. The Phantom could feel Ray's hot breath through the wool of his ski mask. As their kisses became deeper and more passionate The Phantom reached down and slipped his hand into Ray's briefs. Ray's dick was still iron hard, and slippery with The Phantom's saliva.

As Ray moaned The Phantom began fisting the boy's hardon, concentrating on the tender, sensitive, wonderfully smooth helmet. After a mere dozen strokes Ray pushed upward and The Phantom felt the hot sperm flood out of Ray's cock, covering his pumping hand. He continued to fist Ray until the boy could no longer stand it. With each pass of The Phantom's hand over his swollen mushroom a lightning bolt of exquisite pleasure flashed through his body. With a quiet whimper Ray pulled away.

The Phantom grinned happily. He had given Ray two of the most glorious sensations his body had ever felt.

As The Phantom's dark, slim, shape slid silently from the Mess, Ray watched him go, his body flushed and warm with an afterglow that filled him to the very fibre of his being. He sighed a pleasant, wonderfully happy sigh as the door closed softly. "One day, Phantom," he thought, "One day I am not going to let you run away so fast!"

The Phantom slipped quietly from the Cooks Barracks and darted into the shadows cast by the sheer bulk of the Mess Hall opposite. He settled down, his back against the building, and slowly began rubbing the throbbing mound that pushed against the front of his jeans. His session with Ray had left him magnificently hard and he needed a therapeutic wank before he continued on his rounds.

He was about to pull down the zipper of his pants when he heard the harsh crump of gravel under heavy boots. He dropped and hugged the side of the building, waiting, barely daring to breathe, as the footsteps approached and then began to fade. He raised his head slightly and saw two figures, members of the Duty Watch, as they passed the end of the Mess Hall, doing Rounds.

He raised himself up, all thoughts of masturbation gone from his mind. His first priority was to get away from the area. His problem was that his escape route was limited to one direction. Behind him was the main roadway, well lit and in direct line of sight of the Guardhouse. With Little Big Man on duty he dared not risk going in that direction. To his front was the path leading past the Mess Hall, the same path the two Roundsmen had just travelled. His best chance was to wait until the Roundsmen went around the Mess Hall and walked down the other side of the building and over to the Guardhouse. He sidled through the shadows to the end of the building, breathing quietly. He stopped and listened. Much to his surprise he heard quiet murmuring.

The Phantom slowly peeked around the corner of the building. His lips curled into a smile at what he saw. Leaning against the metal edge of the loading dock, were Brian and Dylan. Both boys had removed their caps and placed them on the loading dock. They had loosened their belts and unzipped the front of their bell-bottomed trousers. They stood close together, kissing passionately. Brian had one hand down the front of Dylan's briefs, the other around his hips, caressing Dylan's smooth, round, butt. Dylan had one hand down the front of Brian's boxers. His arm was draped around Brian's neck as he kneaded and rubbed the back of his lover's head.

"Hell and Sheeit," groaned The Phantom silently. "That's all I need! Two horny Sea Cadets making out!" He knew from past experience that neither cadet had a hair trigger, which meant that he would be stuck in his present exposed position for ten minutes, maybe more. He was about to turn and risk leaving by the roadway when both boys pulled apart.

"We'd better get back, Dylan," sighed Brian reluctantly. "We don't dare stay away much longer."

Dylan nodded. "Fucking Little Big Man!" He grimaced. "He's fucking up my sex life!"

Brian chuckled. "Mine, too, and as much as I would love to bust my nut right now, we'd better stop. Come on, Dylan, zip up."

Both boys straightened their gunshirts and adjusted their trousers. Dylan retrieved his cap and put it on. "What that little bastard needs is for somebody to fuck his ass. Or blow his dick into the middle of next week."

Brian shook his head. "No chance of that. The next time he gets laid will be his first time. Besides, who would do him?"

"To hear him talk he gets laid on a regular basis."

"Yeah, but that's back home." Brian put his arm around Dylan's shoulder.

Dylan snorted loudly. "According to him! My guess is the only sex he gets is when he gives himself a hand wipe!"

Brian started laughing loudly.

"What?"

"I bet he'd be one wild fuck," hooted Brian.

Dylan joined in the laughter. "Yeah, he looks the type."

They walked off and rounded the corner of the Mess Hall, speculating loudly on how Little Big Man would react to a good old fashioned, ball rattling, fuck.

Dismissing all thought of Little Big Man, fucked or unfucked, from his mind, The Phantom waited until he could no longer hear the steady tread of boots on gravel and returned to the barracks. Using the connecting heads and wash places he entered Barracks 2. He had no intention of doing anything to Ryan - the nature of his injury precluded that - but he was interested in the boy.

Ryan was lying curled in his bunk, one arm flung outward. He was breathing quietly and easily, deep in sleep. Beside him, in a huge, puce-coloured, Naugahyde easy chair (a refugee from the recently refurbished Wardroom), Rob sat sprawled, his legs spread, naked except for a pair of thin, white, cotton briefs. Like Ryan, he was sound asleep.

The Phantom squatted down and regarded the two cadets through hooded eyes. He now fully understood Ryan's reluctance to go home, why he insisted on staying. Even though his injury was, in the great scheme of things, minor, the love he felt for his fellow cadets, and the love they felt for him, had strengthened his resolve. Rob could have gone to bed but, because Ryan was not only his lover, but also his friend and a shipmate, he slept in the uncomfortable, ancient chair in case he was needed. There was no need for him to do it, but Ryan would have done the same for him, just as he would have done the same for all his brothers of the sea.

Little Big Man could not understand that love and because he could not understand it, he had rejected it. He read into that love all the wrong things. Paul Greene was a fool and The Phantom no longer hated the boy. He shook his head sadly, thinking that Little Big Man equated love with sex, when sex was only a sometime by-product of the relationships that each cadet developed here, on this barren, harsh, Godforsaken spit of land. This was a place where the boys would make friendships that would endure a lifetime, friendships that would make a man, forty years or more from now pause, nod his head, and smile gently in remembrance.

The Phantom regarded the sleeping teenager in the chair opposite. He moved forward and smiled. He could see, clearly outlined under the thin fabric of Rob's tighty-whiteys, his crisp penis and oval balls. For a moment The Phantom was tempted to once again taste the incredible sweetness that lay hidden just inches away from his face. Then he rejected the idea. Rob had Ryan now and The Phantom would not intrude. He stood up and gently pulled the coverlet up over Ryan's shoulders. He took the coverlet from Rob's bed and draped it over him. Then he bent down and kissed Rob's forehead. As quietly as he could he slipped away into the darkness.

With Brian and Dylan on duty there was no point in visiting Barracks 8. That left either the Gunroom or the Petty Officers Mess. With Little Big Man absent from the Petty Officers Mess, busily fucking up Dylan's sex life, The Phantom decided to go there.

Keeping as much as he could to the shadows, The Phantom made his way to the door leading into the Petty Officers' Mess space. Once inside he waited and listened. To his left was Little Big Man's excessively neat cubicle. To his right, Mike, the Chief PTI, lay on top of his bunk, snoring softly.

Chief Physical Training Instructor Mike Sunderland had spent much of his young life subconsciously compensating for a bad hand dealt to him. He had early on recognised that his small, immature genitals would be objects of derision. As an only child he had not had to suffer the ridicule of older, better endowed, brothers. In lower school, he had never been put in a position to expose himself - team sports, in which he excelled, were extracurricular and no one had to change in front of anyone else before, or after, the games. What he did see from peeking when the other boys took a pee, or from the pooches in their bathing suits, gave him no cause for alarm - at first. None of his playmates and school chums were all that taller, or heavier, or skinnier than he was, and their weenies, as they called their penises, were more or less duplicates of his. There were two or three boys who were larger, of course, but nobody really paid all that much attention. To a nine-year-old the size of your dick did not seem to be all that important.

As he approached puberty Mike began to notice subtle differences, not only in his own body, but also in the bodies of his friends. They grew taller, muscles began developing, voices started to deepen and dicks became plumper and longer. He began to notice when he and his friends went to the local pool for a swim, and changed into their suits, that while they seemed to be growing "down there" nothing much at all was happening to him. While his friends' scrotal sacs lengthened and seemed fuller, his balls remained the same small little orbs they had always been, and hugged the base of his dick, as they had always done. Still, he still remained unworried. His friends were going through what the family doctor told him was puberty, when the first major changes to his body occurred. Mike would simply have to be patient and let Nature take her course. As Mike approached his teenage years he began to worry. He had grown taller, and hair was starting to sprout in his armpits and dark stubble began to appear between his legs. His voice started cracking at the oddest times. Nature it seemed, was taking her course. Except that his dick was not keeping pace with his body! His furtive glances in the pool change room made him worry even more. While his contemporaries were blossoming with gusto into adolescence his dick adamantly refused to grow.

The changes that were occurring in Mike's body and his deepening feelings of inadequacy caused him to withdraw from his friends. He feared their scorn and ridicule and stopped participating in any games, avoided the local pool, and refused to attend summer camp. He became a boy alone.

Mike also feared the sensations he was having, sensations that caused his penis to grow hard and throb painfully, sensations that seemed to reach new heights whenever he was near a boy he liked, a boy he would have desperately wanted to be a friend to. His growing attraction to his male peers frightened him terribly.

He was not unaware of sex. Mike heard the usual schoolyard gossip so he knew that boys and girls did "things" together. Schoolyard gossip also insinuated that some boys did things with boys, something that was condemned by all and sundry but talked about in snickering whispers. Mike vaguely understood what boys did to boys. He heard references to blowjobs and cornholing, which by all accounts were reported to give the participants great pleasure, although he couldn't really see what good blowing on a guy's dick would do, and for a long time he thought that cornholing involved sticking your dick, somehow, into a corn cob, which seemed to his adolescent mind more uncomfortable than pleasuresome. He heard rumours that certain boys did boys. Who these boys were was never confirmed to him because he never experimented with other boys. His small penis remained unexplored by anyone but himself. For some reason dick size was important, and he knew that he could never compete with his better-endowed schoolmates so he remained purposefully alone.

Mike joined the Sea Cadets hoping that the discipline and regimen of sports, marching and physical training exercises would help him to rid himself of the secret thoughts he had. He excelled in all he did because it was in his nature to excel. The Cadets rewarded him with promotions and increasing responsibility. The Cadets protected him and allowed him to keep his dark secrets. He never had to take his clothes off in front of others, except at training camp, and he had found ways to get around even that public display, rising early to change, showering late and always wearing a jockstrap, a necessity because as he grew older he found that whenever he was around the other boys and later, cadets, that his yearnings, while held tightly in check in his mind, were revealed by his meagre little member, which would rise hard and throb achingly. Wearing a jockstrap allowed him hide the inevitable and constant erection that accompanied every sports meet, any situation where the boys stripped down to their underpants and changed into sports or training gear.

Which was more than could be said for HIGH SCHOOL, where not only was he required to take his clothes off, he was compelled to be naked before his peers, and in his mind, the world.

High school, with compulsory sports, was disastrous because one of his mandatory athletic courses was swimming and swimming classes were held in the nude. Mike had never been nude outside of his own home. He had never seen his father naked, nor had he ever seen another boy naked except for those long ago times when he'd gone to the public swimming pool and even then all he'd ever seen was a quick peek at a tiny knob or two. In high school not only would he be naked, he would see other boys naked, something he dreaded. He had taken great pains to hide his imagined deformity and now he was faced with the horror of having to reveal to other boys the secret he had kept hidden for so long. His first swim class confirmed all his fears and brought home the reality of the inherent viciousness of teenage boys.

He had stood in a locker room with thirty other boys and watched fearfully as they stripped off and lowered their underwear. As each pair of underpants slipped down firm, thin legs, revealing all, thirty pairs of eyes checked thirty sets of parts; some were large, some were not. All were circumcised, which at least meant he had something in common with them. While 29 pairs of eyes checked dick and ball sizes, Mike waited for the inevitable. He tried his best to hide his puny part, but to no avail.

When the initial crudeness and laughter had died away he emerged from the dressing room red-faced, angry, and with the inevitable nickname, Tiny. While he could have stood the ridicule, and the nickname, what hurt most of all was that the boys made no secret of their discovery. While he grew in height and bulk, his genitals seemed to be frozen in time. Girls, being girls, snickered and giggled behind his back. The boys commiserated and pretended to understand his plight.

A kindly gym instructor took pity on him and introduced him to weight lifting and what was called bodybuilding. He avoided organized sports, concentrating all of his energy in his new interests and began the regimen that would, by the time he was seventeen, give him the body of an Atlas. Two things consumed his whole being, his body and the Sea Cadets where, while he had come under some form of derision - several of his high school classmates were also Sea Cadets and had not unexpectedly snickered Mike's secret to the other cadets - and been renamed Gerbil Dick, he found a form of acceptance. No one seemed to care that his dick was the size of a cocktail wiener and, except when they were pissed off at him, rarely called him by his nickname. Being a Petty Officer and subsequently a Chief Petty Officer had helped. His rank, if not his body, was respected.

As he grew older Mike cultivated an aloofness that insulated him from the cruder members of the Sea Cadet pack and he immersed himself in his body building routines. When he wasn't in school, he was in the gym. When he wasn't in the gym he was away with his Sea Cadet Corps. By keeping himself as busy as he could he convinced himself that all the hard work in the gym and at the Sea Cadet barracks made up for the essential loneliness he felt, a loneliness that he actively cultivated, keeping a distance from his peers and schoolmates. He had many acquaintances, but no close friends. He had no friend to confide in, no one to talk to, to perhaps reveal his innermost secret. Sometimes at night he would wake up and reach out . . . finding nothing but emptiness. He would sigh and roll over, thinking, as he always did, that there would never be another in bed beside him. After all, who would want to have anything to do with a freak? He would squeeze his pillow in frustration. Who would want to love a muscle-bound freak with the dick and balls of a seven-year-old?

The Phantom was unaware of Mike Sunderland's history. Had he known he would have been sympathetic and would have tried to make the hulking boy know that his physical frailty made little difference to anyone. Mike was a shipmate now, as he had proven last night when he had defended the Twins, and The Phantom himself, when he had confronted Little Big Man. The Phantom was prepared to show his gratitude to Mike for what he had done and hoped, not unreasonably, that the boy/man lying in the bunk before him would not react badly when he felt himself being pleasured.

The Phantom had heard the rumour that Mike shaved all his body hair, so he was not surprised when he reached out and began to pull down the white briefs that covered the boy's muscular waist and groin. He saw that underneath the thin fabric there was no hair at all, just a vague shadow of stubble at the base of Mike's soft dick. The boy was as smooth as any five-year-old.

At the first touch of strange hands on his briefs Mike's eyes snapped open. He felt his underpants being slowly lowered and as the fabric slid softly across the head of his cock he felt it twitch and a shiver of anticipation raced through him.

The Phantom saw a small, thick penis, neatly circumcised, nestled above well-formed, small, oval testicles. He marvelled that such a huge boy could be so under-endowed. He leaned forward and kissed the tip of Mike's dick, licking it as he did so.

Mike shivered and moaned and raised his hips to facilitate the removal of his underpants. He heard himself moan as his dick was kissed, and almost died of a heart failure when his dick was slowly sucked into a warm, moist, obvious mouth. As his dick began to harden, he felt the gliding, almost liquid, movement of the mouth. He exhaled and groaned as his entire dick was engulfed. His dick had never felt this good before, and the intensity of the feelings rushing through his body was so intense that he arched and bucked, his fingers clutched the thin coverlet.

Aware that Mike was now fully awake, The Phantom reached out to place his index finger briefly across the boy's lips. Mike understood and struggled to restrain his urge to cry out.

The Phantom had all of the Chief PTI's dick in his mouth, barely over four inches, but nice tasting, and very clean. His nose was nestled in the hard bristle that remained of Mike's pubic hair and The Phantom could smell the last remnants of soap that Mike had used while showering, and the talc he had used after showering. The Phantom sucked gently, listening as the cadet barely managed to contain his ecstatic moans. When Mike's legs began to scissor The Phantom reached out and held them down, feeling the muscles tighten.

Mike had never known such feelings and every nerve in his lower body seemed to scream in agony as the mouth engulfing his dick began to suck faster and faster. He was completely lost in lust, not knowing or caring who was sucking on him, knowing only that he never wanted it to end. He could feel the pressure as his balls withdrew into his body and his dick jerked.

The Phantom sucked patiently and knew that the Chief was about to erupt when his restrained moans sounded more like squeaks. He felt the Chief strain and his muscles tighten into bands of steel as he approached his climax. He ran his tongue over the now gaping slit in the Chief's helmet and was rewarded as a huge jet of thick cum flew out. He greedily swallowed each drop of the five or six mammoth gushers that pumped in quick succession from the Chief's turgid cock. He continued to suck and clean the Chief's softening dick until the boy grunted and pulled away. He rolled on his side and lay there, breathing heavily.

The Phantom was about to rise when he heard the distinctive rattle as the door in the bulkhead leading to the Gunroom was shaken. He dropped and rolled under Mike's bunk, waiting. He heard the door opening and saw a shaft of light. He heard the heavy tread of nailed boots as the Duty Petty Officer, making no pretence of silence, marched the length of the Mess, making a bed check. The Phantom lay as quietly as he could, waiting, and all but stopped breathing when the heavy boots stopped at the end of the Chief's bed, and kicked it.

Mike, who was thoroughly enjoying his post-ejaculation glow, sat up with a start when his bed was kicked. Almost immediately he held up his hand to shield his eyes from the blinding light of the flashlight being shone in his face. "Get that fucking thing out of my face!" he snarled angrily.

"You're naked," growled a familiar voice. "I can put you on charge!"

Mike glared at Little Big Man. "Fuck you!" he growled dangerously. "And get that light out of my face before I shove it so far up your ass you'll have to turn it off with your tongue!"

"You can't talk to me that way!" squalled Little Big Man. "I'm the Duty Petty Officer."

Mike slowly got out of his bed and loomed over Little Big Man. "You'll be a dead Duty Petty Officer if you don't get the fuck out of here!" he threatened. He lay back down on his bed, rolled on his side and lifted his leg, exposing his anus to the flustered Little Big Man. Mike's sphincter opened and a loud blast of flatulence shook the mess. From the far end came muffled snickers.

"I'll . . . I'll . . ." sputtered Little Big Man.

"You'll shit if you're well fed!" The voice that came from the far end of the Mess was Mal's. "Fuck off, you useless cunt!"

"Move it, asshole!" Willy was bigger than Little Big Man, meaner, and hated him with a passion. "Hit the road, ass wipe, or I'll help Mike put that flashlight where the sun don't shine!"

"The little fucker will cum his load when you do that!" laughed Jack, who shared Willy's opinion of Little Big Man.

A heavy boot just missed Little Big Man as it slammed into the bank of lockers behind him and fell to the deck.

"You faggot cocksuckers are all on report!" shouted Little Big Man. A chorus of "Fuck offs" followed him as he beat a hasty retreat from the Mess.

The Phantom waited silently as the grumbling and name calling subsided. Finally, after what seemed like hours, he began to stir, preparing to leave. As he wiggled out from under the bunk a heavy hand fell on his shoulder. He looked up and saw Mike looking down at him. "It's okay, now," whispered the Chief. "They're asleep." He motioned for The Phantom to come closer. With some trepidation The Phantom leaned closer. His eyes widened as Mike's face broke into a wide grin. "Can we do it again?"

Phillip Adean, called the Assistant, lay panting into his pillow, which he clutched tightly. Something had just happened to him that had never happened before. He had just experienced a massive, mind-blowing, spontaneous ERUPTION, an ejaculation so powerful that his spasming dick threatened to rip through the restraining cotton cloth of his tighty-whiteys. He had not touched himself but when Mike started grunting his way to his THIRD orgasm Phillip's balls had all but imploded and his cock had blown!

Phillip had heard every muted grunt, muffled moan and strangled squeak. He had lain in his bunk with his eyes wide and his dick hard listening to every sexual nuance that Mike produced, and wishing that whoever was helping Mike would hurry up and finish and come over to his bunk where a dick twice as long as Mike's (at least) and six times as thick lay waiting for some tender care.

Although not a particularly heavy sleeper, Phillip had long ago learned that you accustomed your body and brain to ignore the noises that echoed throughout every mess he had ever been in and you slept. As he told his brother, Anson, you taught your brain to filter out the useless sound and trained your ear to hear the important, or strange, out-of-the-ordinary sounds. This had not been a problem for Phillip. While learning to play the piano (which he did, very well) and later as a bandsman (before Harry frightened the life out of him and made remustering to a less dangerous trade, such as Physical Training Instructor, an desirable career move) Phillip had trained his ears to hear little noises that nobody else gave a second thought to and while he had not heard whoever it was come into the mess he had heard Mike and had listened raptly, his boner straining to be set free, as Mike was brought to glory.

Phillip had automatically shoved his hand down the front of his briefs - there was no point in wasting a perfectly good boner - and was squeezing himself in time to Mike's moans and was just about to let fly when Little Big Man had come barging into the mess. When the ensuing shouting and tumult (which Phillip, intrigued and curious as to what had happened to the someone who had blown Mike, had deliberately pretended to sleep through) had died down he had thought to wait a bit until everyone had gone back to sleep and then slip into the heads with a bottle of hand lotion and a towel. He was just about to sneak from his bunk when he heard soft shuffling and stiffened. Then he heard Mike's stage whisper.

"Can we do it again?"

Phillip could not believe what he had just heard. Sweet Jesus and Nancy Lee! Mike?

Because he slept on his side, with his back turned to Mike's bunk, Phillip did not see anything. He heard a great deal and with each sound of Mike's second, and then Mike's third go 'round Phillip found his dick getting harder and harder. As Mike cried out softly and squirted Phillip had joined him in the first spontaneous orgasm of his life.

Sweet Jesus, Nancy Lee and Admiral Beatty! Phillip could hardly believe what had happened. Not only had he cum magnificently but he had . . . Sweet Jesus, Nancy Lee, Admiral Beatty and LORD LOUIS BLOODY MOUNTBATTEN . . . Not only had he cum without touching himself he had done it at the same time as Mike!

As he clutched his pillow and the post-orgasmic bliss drained from his body Phillip mulled over what had just happened to him. He had never been so excited and he had never shot his load at the same time as one of his jock buddies (who preferred his company to that of their girlfriends, to the jocks' better advantage). He had never suspected that Mike, of all people, would enjoy being with another boy, so much so that he had asked for more!

Phillip's musing was interrupted by the soft scuffling sound of soft-soles and the quiet click as the door leading to the outside closed. He listened as Mike snuffled and sighed and then heard his soft, rhythmic breathing as he drifted into sleep. Phillip rolled over and cautiously looked over to Mike's bunk. Mike was lying flat on his back, with his arms at his side and his legs spread. Phillip raised his head and looked at Mike's sleeping body. He could not see much - the mess was as dark as the inside of a cow's stomach but Phillip could make out that Mike's genitals formed a decided mound between the Chief PTI's legs.

As he lay back down Phillip slipped his hand back into his tighty-whiteys. His dick was hard again and he considered sneaking over to Mike's bunk and maybe . . . But no, Little Big Man was on the prowl and pissed off to boot. Much better to wait for another time and place. A slow smile creased Phillip's face. "And there will be, Mikey, my gentle giant, another time, and another place, I promise you."

Long before the bugler sounded Reveille Cory was awake, showered, and sitting at the Gunroom table, polishing his boots. Before very long Todd awoke, an inner voice telling him that his brother was up and about. Before showering he sat beside Cory and gave him a hug. "Can't you sleep?" he asked Cory.

Cory smiled and shook his head. "I'm a little worried, to tell the truth."

"About?"

Cory slowly put aside his boot and polishing rag. "What if they ask me about my being gay?"

"They won't. Andy and Kyle wouldn't do that. And Dave Eddy is an upright guy."

"I won't lie if they do, Todd."

Todd nodded. "I know. But they won't ask."

Harry was lying in his bunk, as awake as the Twins. He overhead them talking and joined them. As he walked down the length of the Gunroom he unconsciously adjusted his morning woody and when he sat down beside the Twins the top two inches and rosy helmet of his hardon were poking above the elastic waistband of his briefs. "If they try anything funny they'll have me to answer to," Harry threatened as he put his arm around Cory's shoulder.

"You're only saying that because you bit my ass," smiled Cory, frankly enjoying the view.

"And a very nice tasting ass it is," agreed Harry. "Hey, since you and Todd are twins, does that mean his ass tastes like yours?"

"Harry!" Todd was shocked. "Whatever are you thinking of?"

Harry reached out and pinched Todd's basket. "Getting you two to lighten up. Nobody is going to ask you anything stupid."

Todd, who always thought Harry to be one of the straightest guys he knew, yelped and jumped back. "Harry!"

"I'm sitting here with a hardon," observed Harry with a wide grin. "I've bitten Cory's bum, and pinched yours. I just felt your dick and balls. Big fuckin' deal. Both of you have copped a feel from me on more than one occasion. Everybody knows I beat my brother off."

"The point being?" Todd was confused about what Harry was trying to do.

"The point being, Todd, is that if they ask Cory a stupid question like he's talking about, they have to ask me the same thing. Thumper beats off every night. Nicholas goes to bed with a towel and we all know why. Two Strokes is the master of the silent jack off. Fred sits around with his dick hanging out of his pants and Chris has had the hots for you two from day one." Harry pulled the Twins close to him. "And everybody knows how I feel about Stefan. The last thing any member of the Board is going to ask us about is our sex lives because they're afraid of what the answers might be."

Harry released the Twins, stood up, and readjusted himself. He stared down at his crotch. "Damn thing's back to normal." He smiled at Cory. "Two of the three board members spent two days running around with a bunch of naked kids. Do you really think either Andy or Kyle would even consider asking us about our sexuality?" Both Twins had to agree with Harry's logic. "We're all in the same boat, lads, and if anybody has any doubts, I'll confirm it." Without warning he reached out and pulled Todd to him and before Todd could protest Harry kissed him, his kiss so deep and intense that Todd's knees buckled.

Harry released Todd and pulled Cory to his feet. He looked deep into Cory's blue eyes and then pressed his lips against the unprotesting boy.

Cory could not help himself. Harry's kiss was electrifying, and he responded by returning the kiss with just as much depth and emotion as Harry. He slipped his hand down the front of Harry's briefs and felt his soft dick and balls. Only two people had ever affected him this way. One was Todd. The other was in transit to Seattle.

Harry felt the slim hand engulfing his privates and closed his eyes. Cory's lips were so soft, his hand so gentle, that for a moment he almost lost it. He moaned quietly, not regretting for a moment what he was doing. His only regret was that it was not Stefan in his arms.

Cory regained a small measure of composure and pulled away. "God, Harry," he breathed.

"Good, huh?" Harry grinned.

Cory swallowed and nodded. "No wonder Stefan loves you."

Harry chuckled. "Best kisser in Manitoba. Owner of the Pride of the Fleet." Harry pulled the two boys close to him. "I love you two turkeys. What you are, I am. What I am, you are." He shook the Twins gently. "So, no more bullshit. We're going to wake up the slugs and get ready to ace this rat-ass Selection Board."

At breakfast the Mike joined the Twins and Harry for breakfast. With some ceremony he presented each cadet with a set of Chief's badges. Cory looked at the Chief. They had never been close, and his sudden interest in them was puzzling. What Cory did not know was that Mike had spent a pleasant hour or so with a young man who had necked and fondled him past Nirvana, had been taken across the river and still glowed with the effects of the crossing.

After thanking Mike for his unexpected gift Todd and Cory expressed their worries about their coming Selection Board. Mike had been through it and any hints as to what they could expect would be appreciated.

Mike thought a moment. "Just to tell those clowns what they want to hear," he offered with a shy, sly, smile.

"How so?" asked Todd.

"Look," began Mike confidently. "The Old Man has been planning it for weeks with Lieutenant-Commander Hazleton. They want you to become Chiefs but they are not going to just hand the rank to you on a silver platter."

"Tell us about it," groaned Harry loudly. "The drill mutuals were bad enough, but that fuckin' parade routine was a Class A bitch!" He grimaced. "I'm a musician, not a drill instructor!"

"Harry, you are not just a Band Chief, you're a Chief Petty Officer," replied Mike. "What that means is that you not only have to know your duties, you have to know mine, or Val's or Tyler's. You have to know them because you might have to perform their duties."

"I understand that, Mike," said Harry with a nod. "It just seems to me that The Gunner could have cut us some slack, for Christ's sake. He's supposed to be a friend!"

"Come on, Harry, you know what The Gunner is like," temporized Cory.

"I sure do! He's a hard-nosed Gunnery type who wouldn't pass his grandmother if she fucked up one of his evolutions!" Harry, ever the pragmatist had hit the nail on the head. He snorted loudly and shook his head in disgust.

"Exactly," agreed Mike. "The Gunner is not going to pass some airhead simply because the Old Man wants him to. The Gunner is indeed a hard-nosed SOB and when he says you're the best then, gentlemen, you are."

"The Gunner was only doing what he's supposed to do," said Todd. He looked directly at Harry. "Which means that he's doing his duty."

"Which we all have to do sooner or later," said Cory with a soft sigh.

"Which means sometimes you have to put aside personal friendships, for duty." Mike had never before had an opportunity to really tell his fellow cadets how he felt. He felt very comfortable and warm sitting with Harry and the Twins, and just talking to them. A bull session with three of the most popular cadets on board, following a night of what had been to him unbelievable bliss, was almost overwhelming.

"Dave Eddy told us about the Queen's Guard," said Todd, breaking Mike's reverie. "I understand why The Gunner did what he did," Todd continued, "And I suppose that one day I'll have to do the same." He furrowed his brows. "That doesn't mean I'll enjoy it."

"Nobody worth his salt enjoys it, Todd," commiserated Cory. "It just goes with the territory."

"A chief is fair, firm and impartial in all things!" rumbled Harry. "I hope the Board remembers that!"

Mike laughed. "Oh, Harry, the Board is composed of young officers who wouldn't dream of busting your ass! They'll be nice, if it kills them!"

"We were wondering about that only this morning," said Cory. "They do have a job to do, you know."

"Of course," agreed Mike. "And I'm not saying that you can't shoot yourself in the balls. I mean, if you tell them that you plan to blow this chicken shit outfit the minute your feet hit the tarmac back home, obviously they are not going to recommend your promotion."

"Okay, then, what should we expect?" Harry leaned forward expectantly.

"Guys, the officers work to the System. Now, you all know that the idea is a boy joins the Sea Cadets, falls in love with all things Navy and when the time comes he either takes a commission with the Cadets, or joins the Permanent Force or the Reserves?"

The Twins nodded in unison. "Just as Kyle and Dave did," said Cory.

"Precisely as Kyle and Dave did," repeated Mike. "Their whole mind set is geared to the Sea Cadets and the Navy. Once you know that you know the type of questions they'll ask."

Todd twigged on what Mike was getting at. "They'll ask us our intentions with regard to the Navy, will we continue on, what we would like to do, then?"

Mike nodded. "Part of their job is to convince you to join the Navy. You tell them that sure, you're going to go all the way, join the Navy, see the world, and be fine upstanding young men. If they ask you if you want to be Chief of your Corps, look like you're thinking about it, then tell them yes. If they ask you if you want to become an officer, tell them it sounds interesting but your really a bit young to be thinking about it, but you'll sure consider it. And if they ask you if you think you can be a good Chief, tell them no."

"No?" Harry's mouth dropped open in disbelief.

"Tell them that you don't think, you know, you'll make a good Chief."

Todd and Cory nodded in understanding. "Mike, it all seems, well, underhanded," said Todd.

Mike shook his head. "Why? How? You guys all know you'll make good Chiefs. Shit, even I know that! Why do you think I gave each of you one of my badges? You're not lying to them because you haven't actually said you'll do what they asked about. All you've really said is that you'll think about it." He grinned.

Harry agreed. "Well, I know I plan on staying in the Corps until I'm 19. I can't join the Navy Reserve because I don't live anywhere near a Reserve ship."

"And we might think about becoming officers. Our Dad was an officer," said Cory.

"He's always going on about it," added Todd.

"See how easy it is?" Mike grinned widely. "All you have to do is to tell people what they want to hear, and let them see what they want to see, and life is good. You don't have to lie, or pretend." Mike stood up and shook each boy's hand in turn. "You guys will make out all right." Then he gave Cory and Todd a mock look of anger. "I didn't spend all of last night ironing your duds just to have you clowns fuck it all up!"

Harry spoke for all of them. "You know, Mike, you are a Chief and you really should be in the Gunroom, not in that shit pit with the riff raff!" Mike had a feeling of what was coming but after last night wild horses would not have been able to drag him from the Petty Officers Mess. He opened his mouth but Harry shushed him into silence. "Now, me and these two reprobates have been talking and we think that you should be with us!"

Neither Harry nor Todd picked up on the strange look that came into Mike's eyes, a look that said no matter how uncomfortable he might be in mucking in with the riff raff, he was not about to make a move any time soon. Cory did see the look and wondered if Mike had something going on the sly, perhaps a little bit of . . . "No," Cory thought, "Not Mike!" Then he reconsidered and gave Mike a good, hard look. There was a flush on Mike's face, a certain jauntiness in the way he had walked into the dining hall. Neither Todd nor Harry might know the signs but Cory sure as hell did. Unless he missed his mark, and he did not think he did, before him stood one very happy, and very satisfied Chief Physical Training Instructor! He hid a smile and looked into Mike's eyes. "Mike, don't let them talk you into anything. I know you're comfortable where you are. Why screw up a good thing?"

Mike could feel the colour rising in his face. "Well, yeah, I am comfortable, like I said the other night." He saw the smile on Cory's lips and blushed furiously.

"What the hell are you blushing for?" demanded Harry. His eyes suddenly widened. "Hey, Mike, if you're worried about us making fun of your . . ."

Mike recovered quickly. "Harry, like I told the Twins, I have heard it all about by dick." Then he reached down and chucked Harry under the chin. "I think you want me in there with you just so you can see my Gerbil dick!" He began chuckling. "You know, Harry, I heard about the Pride of the Fleet." Then he looked at Cory, his eyes twinkling. "I don't have anything near like the Pride. Mine is more like a little harbour tug, powerful, and with lots of staying power!" He patted the top of Harry's head and walked proudly from the dining hall.

At 0830 the Board members convened in the Commanding Officer's anteroom, which had been rearranged for their use. A long table, behind which stood three chairs, had been placed under the tall windows. Kyle glanced around the sparsely furnished room. "Jesus, are we going to promote them or condemn them?" he asked. Dave Eddy grinned. "Promote them, of course. You don't need all the fancy trappings for what we have to do. Just bring 'em in, ask a few pertinent questions, and send them on their way, happy as clams."

"Which reminds me," said Andy. "Just what are we supposed to ask them?"

Kyle thought a moment. Then he grinned. "Same rules as a Mess Dinner. No sex, no politics, and no shoptalk. Stick to what they plan to do, maybe how they feel about becoming Chiefs, or whatever."

"In other words, Keep It Simple, Stupid!" laughed Andy.

Dave and Kyle nodded. As all three officers moved to take their seats Tyler knocked and opened the door. Kyle, the senior Board member, greeted him with a friendly wave.

"They're all here, sir," said Tyler. "And every one of them as nervous as a virgin on her wedding night!"

"Tyler!" Dave Eddy laughed in spite of himself. "Try to set an example."

"The last time I did that they stripped me naked and threw me out into the yard. I know enough to come in out of the rain," returned Tyler.

"Okay, then, who's on first?" asked Andy.

Tyler, who was not an Abbott and Costello fan, missed the allusion. "Guns asks if you can take Ryan first. Chef wants Ray to go first. When you guys decide who you want in here, let me know."

"Send in young Ryan. There's no sense in pissing off The Gunner," ordered Kyle.

Tyler nodded and left the room. Three minutes later he marched a visibly nervous Ryan into the chamber.

The examinations had begun.

The Twins sat quietly on the bench outside the Headquarters Building and watched as the other candidates filed inside. Cory, who was still under the thrall of Harry's kiss, and the feel of Harry's parts, was no longer nervous. He was smiling happily, and was, as far as Todd was concerned, totally annoying. "Jesus, Cory, if a kiss and feel did that to you I'd hate to be around if Harry really went to town."

"Do you deny that you enjoyed it?" asked Cory. "Go ahead, deny it."

Todd chuckled and shook his head. "It was pretty good," he admitted.

Cory nodded. "Too bad he didn't mean it. I've always had a thing for Harry."

Todd snickered. "Me too. I have a feeling that a night with Harry would . . ." Todd had no opportunity to expound further on just what a night with Harry would be like. Out of the corner of his eye he had seen The Gunner walking toward them.

"Well?" asked The Gunner, standing in front of them.

Both of the Twins shrugged. "Ryan's in there now. Then Ray goes in," replied Todd.

"Which means Chef will be sniffing around." The Gunner sat down between the Twins and put his arms around their shoulders. Remember what I told you back on Texada. You two are the best of the breed, and no danger. You remember, hear, because next year, when I'm not around, and you two are, you keep up the standards. I'm relying on you. Now, take off your caps."

"What?" asked Cory, puzzled.

"Take off your caps," repeated The Gunner. Both boys removed their caps. The Gunner pulled Todd to him and kissed the top of his head. He did the same to Cory. Cory giggled. "Jeez, Gunner, what if someone saw you . . ."

"Cory, you and Todd are the sons I'll never have. You're the sons of my spirit, if not my body. You keep the White Ensign flying for me when I'm gone, you hear?" Both boys nodded. The Gunner sniffed, rubbed his nose and stood up. "You guys will do all right. It's a piece of piss, really," he said quietly. "Just be yourselves and make sure you invite me to your Wet Down."

"Our what?" asked the Twins in unison, now understanding The Gunner's speech on Texada.

"Your Wet Down," repeated The Gunner. "It's a tradition in the Navy that when you get promoted you stand all your messmates a drink, some of which they pour over your new rank badge, which you're wearing at the time. Usually they don't stop at your rank badge. At mine some joker poured a bottle of beer down the back of my pants, and that was just for starters."

"Beer?" asked Todd hopefully.

The Gunner grinned. "I think in your case canned pop will make a good substitute."

The Twins groaned. "We'll end up all covered in pop," complained Cory. "Do you know how much sugar is in a can of pop? And who gets to clean up the mess?"

"You do," replied The Gunner unsympathetically. "You pay for it, you clean it up."

Todd grimaced, then grinned. "You gonna let your sons be wet down in pop?"

"Bet your ass, boychick!"

As The Gunner sauntered off toward the Drill Shed Chef stuck his head around the corner of the building. "Cory!" he hissed.

Cory jumped and looked. Chef beckoned for him to come alongside. "What?" Cory asked suspiciously.

Chef glanced around and then said, "Don't you be worrying about pop, laddie. My boy gets wet down in style. Check the Linen Stores in the Gunroom." He ran his finger upside the side of his nose and winked.

Cory told Todd who told Tyler what Chef had said. They also told him what The Gunner had said. Tyler grinned. "Party Time!"

The Twins nodded enthusiastically, and then resumed their waiting. After ten minutes or so Ryan emerged, looking visibly relieved. "What happened?" asked Cory.

Ryan grinned. "Nothing, really. First they asked me how I was doing. Then Dave asked me what my plans were with the Sea Cadets. Then they told me what a good boy I was and I said thank you."

"That's it?" Cory looked at Todd, who shrugged a 'how would I know' shrug.

"We've been sitting here worrying and that's all?"

Ryan nodded. "That's all she wrote, folks."

The Twins shook their heads and waited until Ray came out. Ray too, was visibly relieved and smiling. "Well, what happened?" asked Todd.

Ray shrugged. "They looked at me, smiled, and then asked me if I had any future plans for the Sea Cadets. When I told them no, I was planning on joining the Navy when I turned 18, they all smiled and Kyle said that was the way things were supposed to go. Then Andy said that being a Petty Officer, particularly a young Petty Officer, was a very responsible rank, and did I think I could handle it."

"So, what did you say?" Cory had a feeling he knew what the answer would be, but asked the question anyway.

Ray grinned. "Exactly what Chef told me to say. I told them I didn't think, I knew, I was the best Petty Officer this place ever produced and I had the balls to prove it!"

Todd's jaw dropped in surprise. "You . . . you . . . didn't say that." he stuttered.

"Did so. Andy laughed so hard he fell out of his chair and Dave Eddy's braces locked, he was trying so hard not to laugh. Kyle kept opening and closing his mouth. He looked like a fish out of water." Ray grinned broadly. "Gotta go, guys. Chef is waiting. And, Cory . . .?"

"Yeah?"

"You're next."

"I . . . WHAT?"

"Next," laughed Ray.

Todd helped a very unsteady Cory to his feet. Cory gently pushed him away and squared first his shoulders, then his cap. "Toddy, I love you."

"Cory, I love you." Todd hugged his brother. "No prisoners, no quarter, never surrender."

When Cory stepped onto the Quarterdeck Tyler nodded officiously, turned, knocked on the door leading to the Anteroom, and announced Cory. "Petty Officer (Gunnery Branch) Arundel, C., candidate for promotion to the rank of Chief Petty Officer (Gunnery Branch)."

Cory marched to a spot three paces directly to the front and centre of the table. He crashed to a halt and removed his cap when ordered to do so by Tyler. All three officers regarded the slim young man standing before them with affection. The bright morning sun streaming through the windows turned Cory's hair to fine gold. His uniform was immaculate, his boots gleamed and sparkled. His hair was neatly trimmed (Nicholas had given him a haircut the night before), and he exuded an air of competence and confidence.

Andy saw before him the perfect young man, sure of himself, and of his abilities. There was a look in Cory's eyes that said it all. Cory might not hold the rank, but he was a Chief. "Petty Officer," began Andy, "what would you do if I told you that influence had been brought to bear to ensure that you receive your promotion?"

"I would refuse it, sir," replied Cory truthfully.

"May I ask why?"

"My father always taught me that something not worked for was nothing. Someone else once told me that I could be whatever I wanted to be. All I have to do is give it my best shot and be me."

Dave Eddy saw himself, not so very many years ago. "As a Chief you might have to discipline someone you care for very much, your brother, for instance. Would that be a problem?"

"A Chief is fair, firm, and does not play favourites, sir. I believe in helping my friends, but I do not believe in covering up for them. That includes my brother, sir."

Kyle gave Andy a sidelong glance. He loved the young American, but if the Sea Cadets were capable of producing a young man of such uncompromising integrity, he could not leave them.

Andy saw the glance that Kyle had given him. Kyle would not be leaving his Sea Cadet Corps when he graduated university and the reason he would not leave stood before the Board. He looked at Cory and saw a young man who had more self-control than others realised, a young man who loved his friends with all his heart, who would never hurt anyone intentionally, who kept his word, no matter what influences were brought to bear, a young man who had given up childish things. Andy smiled at Kyle and nodded. "God," Andy thought, "Give me a platoon of men such as this boy will become, and together we shall storm the very gates of Hell."

"Petty Officer (Gunnery Branch) Arundel, T. candidate for promotion to the rank of Chief Petty Officer (Gunnery Branch)," announced Tyler.

Todd waited patiently for the first question to come.

"Petty Officer Arundel, as a Chief you would be required to enforce discipline," began Kyle, "without fear or favour. You are a very popular young man and you have a great many friends. Would you, as a Chief, allow your friendships to influence your decision making?"

Todd thought a moment. "In disciplinary matters I would have no choice. I would do my duty. Their ass would be grass."

"Colourfully put, Petty Officer," coughed Dave. "You would then, I take it, have no mercy?"

Todd regarded Dave, debating on what he should answer. He decided to be as truthful as possible. "In serious cases, I would like to think, no. I know I would try to understand the reasons behind the infraction. Any charge I might lay would, I think, depend on the circumstances. I would also try to help the guy, help him through whatever it was that got him charged in the first place."

"Everybody?" asked Andy.

"Yes, sir, everybody."

"Including people you dislike?" asked Kyle.

Todd smiled. "I don't hate anybody. I dislike certain people because of the way they act, the way they treat other guys. But my likes, or dislikes, have nothing to do with me doing my duty as a Chief. I could, and, if you give me my Chiefs, I no doubt would, charge someone I don't like as a person. My feelings towards that person would have nothing to do with it at all. And I would still try to help the fool, if I could."

"So you think that you could exercise the office of Chief Petty Officer with fairness, uninfluenced by your personal feelings?" asked Andy.

"I know I can. And after Texada and Harwood Islands, and serving in QUEST, I mean no disrespect when I say that you all know I have the balls and the brass to do it right."

Dave Eddy smiled. He remembered his time in QUEST with Todd fondly. "Very well, then, Petty Officer, tell me, are you planning on continuing on in the Sea Cadets?"

Todd nodded. "I'll do next year. Here, if they let me. I have a debt to pay."

"A debt?" asked Kyle.

"Yes, I owe someone for everything he's done for me. He asked me to do something, because he won't be here next year. I have to keep the White Ensign flying. With respect, sirs, I intend to do just that."

Dave Eddy grinned. "My father says that the most mulish, pigheaded, stubborn, focused people on the face of the Earth are Navy Chiefs. Once they set a course, only God can get them to change their minds. Do you know my father?"

"I have not had the honour, sir," replied Todd formally.

"Well, damn me, but if I didn't know better, I'd swear he was talking about you."

"I take that as a compliment, sir."

"I thought you would," replied Dave dryly.

"What about later on down the road?" asked Kyle, "Have you considered what your future will be?"

"My father wants me to go to Law School, you know, follow in his footsteps. I might, but I think I'll see what the Navy is like."

"The Permanent Force?" asked Andy.

"Perhaps. Or the Reserves. Maybe the Reserves first."

"And what does your brother think of that?" asked Kyle.

Todd looked directly at Kyle. "Cory is Cory. I am me. I never try to tell Cory what to do, and he never tries to tell me what to do. We think alike and agree on many things. We disagree on some other things. When I tell him my plans he'll tell me what he thinks, and then he will go and do exactly what he pleases."

As the morning progressed the candidates filed into the Boardroom. Harry, when asked what he planned to do with his life replied that all he wanted to do was to farm, marry a nice girl, and make babies, all of them boys. Nicholas told the Board that he planned on joining the real Navy because his father had told him that he didn't have a Chinaman's chance of signing on with CP Steamships and might as well take the path of least resistance.

Chris announced that he planned on attending Medical School and that while he might join the Reserves he had his priorities to consider. Jon told the Board that he planned on going back and showing the SOB who ran his Corps what a real Chief looked like.

Both Thumper and Stuart, who had taken the Chief PTI's advice to heart, agreed that a career in the Navy was definitely something to think about. Two Strokes made clear that his intention was to join the police force back home and assured the Board that he would never, ever, abuse his authority. He had, he advised the officers, matured. Rob and Steve both told the Board that they hoped to be accepted as Officer Cadets in their home Reserve units, and Fred learned that having an uncle who was a Vice-Admiral certainly smoothed the way. Greg told the officers that he would most certainly consider asking for a Commission as a Sea Cadet Officer, but really thought he should wait until he finished high school. In the interest of fairness, and in keeping with Corps policy, both Sylvain and Andre were offered the services of a translator (two very reluctant Twins) in the event that they felt more comfortable speaking their native French-Canadian. Both refused and were duly examined in English. Their examinations were straightforward, although Andre did feel that in the event of a national emergency it might be best to circle the whalers.

The cadets then gathered in the Gunroom, waiting while the Board made its decision. They talked about the questions they had been asked and groaned when they thought an answer given had been totally out to lunch.

Greg, as Ship's Writer, managed to loiter about the office, ostentatiously doing his normal, every day, run-of-the-mill job, all the while trying to listen as the three officers made their reports to the Commanding Officer. At 1600 he closed the office, not one whit wiser than he had been when he stood before the Board.

At 1700 they all trooped over to the Mess Hall, sitting quietly, picking at their food until The Phantom threatened to throw them all out because they made the place about as cheerful as a funeral parlour.

At 1800 Andy, Kyle and Dave knocked on the Gunroom door. Kyle looked at the silent cadets and frowned. Andy and Dave shook their heads. Then they all grinned.

"We're promoted?" asked Harry.

Dave nodded. "As of 0800 tomorrow." He pulled a sheet of paper from his pocket and pretended to consult the list of names.

"Let's see," began Dave. He began reading the names of the candidates in the Gunroom, grinning as each name was read, and deliberately avoided reading the name that Harry was anxious to hear. " . . . Then we have Arundel, C., promoted to Chief Petty Officer (Gunnery Branch)." He folded the piece of paper and looked at Harry who glared at him menacingly. "Oh, yeah, there's also one more name on the list." Dave unfolded the paper and ran his finger down the list of names. "Yeah, here it is, some big ugly ape of a football player has been promoted to Chief Petty Officer (Bandsman). Some guy named Harry . . ."

Harry whooped and grabbed Dave. He kissed the protesting Sub-Lieutenant on both cheeks. The he grabbed Kyle. Andy took off at a run and hid in the Petty Officers' Mess until he thought it was safe to return.

The boys slapped each other's backs and shook each other's hands. Harry backslapped and kissed his way through the Gunroom, laying a hell of a pucker on Greg, which so amazed him that he sat in the corner, too stunned to move.

Cory hugged Todd. Then everybody hugged each other. "Wow, we're Chiefs!" exclaimed Cory.

"And don't you forget it!" replied Todd. He reached out and embraced his brother.

"No prisoners, no quarter, and never surrender," Todd whispered.

"Never surrender, Toddy," replied Cory, hugging his brother close. "Never Surrender."