Date: Wed, 16 Feb 2005 03:34:27 -0500
From: John Ellison <paradegi@rogers.com>
Subject: Aurora Tapestry - Chapter 32

	A chair scraped, a cadet snuffled. The Drill Shed was dark and
barely lit by the red emergency lights that gleamed dully along the
bulkheads. Chef had placed a large table at one end of the huge chamber,
and arranged metal folding chairs in rows in front. The chairs were not the
most comfortable seating for praying and contemplating.
	The chairs had originally been arranged so that each cadet
candidate had a measure of privacy. This had lasted all of two
minutes. Colin had placed his chair close to The Phantom's. Cory and Todd
had pushed their chairs so close together that they appeared to be seated
on one. Randy and Joey, slumped in sleep, had arranged their chairs on
either side of Phil Thornton's. Phil was sitting quietly, awake, alert,
with an arm draped casually across each of his young lovers' shoulders.
	Colin looked around the drill shed and saw that the boys had chosen
to sit as close to those whom they loved as they could. Tyler and Val, Mark
and Tony, formed a small group in one corner. About halfway down the shed
Harry sat with Calvin. Matt sat closer to the Twins, but far enough away to
eliminate any hint that they might be together. Nicholas chose to sit
alone, as did Rob.
	Behind and to the right sat three "strangers". Peter Race sat
beside Nethanyu Schoenmann, and Eion Reilly sat quietly on Peter's other
side, fingering a rosary. Behind Nate sat Sandro, the Tallit of Maidenek
around his shoulders. Both Sandro and Nate wore kippas.
	As he looked around the dim chamber Colin saw other cadets seated,
Two Strokes and Thumper together, Jon and Chris holding hands. Stuart and
Steve, suddenly inseparable, sat together and Colin smiled indulgently as
he watched them, sitting there, saying nothing, just looking into each
other's eyes. Nathan and Fred were also sitting together, and both were
sound asleep, Nathan's head resting on Fred's shoulder.  Colin smiled
indulgently at the cadets, slouching, squirming, sleeping boys.  Glancing
at his watch, Colin saw that it was well past 0400. He yawned and
stretched, trying to loosen his cramped shoulder muscles. He then glanced
obliquely at The Phantom and saw his love looking at him, his green eyes
twinkling. "You should be praying, or contemplating," Colin whispered with
a soft smile as he slipped his hand into The Phantom's.
	"Praying has never come easily," admitted The Phantom with a slight
shake of his head. "I did pray, but to be honest, I really didn't know what
to say!" came The Phantom's whispered reply. He laid his head on Colin's
broad, firm shoulder. "I did thank God for letting me know you."
	Colin could not resist. He kissed the side of The Phantom's head
gently. "So did I," he said with a deep murmur. "I thank God for your love,
for allowing me to just be with you. I also asked Him to give me the
strength, the resilience to keep up with you!"
	The Phantom chuckled quietly. "I'm not that bad," he returned,
smiling.
	"No, you're not," said Colin. He rubbed his cheek against The
Phantom's. "I wish I had met you sooner. I say that not because I might
have changed things, but because I do believe that you have this intensity,
this absolute sense of loyalty, that I could not change then, and I know I
can't change now. I wouldn't want to change anything." His body
shrugged. "I spent more time contemplating the past than the future."
	"So did I," admitted The Phantom. "I thought about . . . about how
it all started. I thought about how things might have been if I hadn't
gotten all pissed off at my friend, Sam, and snuck across the causeway."
	"Did you think about what that led to?" asked Colin.
	"Actually, I did, and now I regret much of what happened." The
Phantom smiled wanly. "I'm truly sorry that I took advantage of those
sleeping boys. I was selfish and had no feelings at all for them. I wanted
what they had, what they offered, if you will, and I didn't care what they
might have thought or felt."
	"You're not alone," said Colin. He slipped his arm around The
Phantom's waist. "You went to their beds and did what you did because you
could. I did what I did because it was expected of me and let's face it, it
was all so available."
	"Available?"
	Nodding, Colin continued. "Phantom, you will agree that I am a very
good looking man, with a wonderful personality, and hung . . ."
	"Don't push it, Colin!" said The Phantom with a giggle.
	"You never complained," returned Colin briskly. "Anyway, had I met
you sooner maybe I wouldn't have had to perform so much, or pretend."
	"Now you've lost me," said The Phantom, turning to look at Colin.
	A long, sad sigh escaped Colin's lips. "Phantom, guys are not the
only ones to brag, or compare notes. When I was just starting high school I
rode the bus and sat behind two junior girls. Every morning they would
compare the guys they'd been with the night before. They either thought
that I was just an insignificant freshman, and not worthy of their notice,
or they forgot that I was there. Before very long I didn't have to peek at
the guys in gym class because thanks to those two girls I knew the status,
length, girth, staying power and kinky preferences of just about every jock
in school!"
	The Phantom gave Colin a long, steady look. "The girls left you
alone? A guy like you?"
	Colin bristled. "Well, let's just say I filled out a lot!" He
snickered. "They weren't interested in me because I was just a skinny kid
and not a jock. I didn't play football, and while I was interested in girls
- then - I really didn't want my dick size talked about in the back of the
school bus!"
	"But it was, eventually," replied The Phantom, for some reason
jealous. "And often?"
	Colin gave The Phantom a squeeze and laughed at his lover's obvious
pique. "No!" Then he qualified his "no". "Well, maybe. I never really found
out because in my sophomore year I started driving to school. I never did
anything with the two girls so they never had the opportunity to talk about
me. And, just so you know, I didn't play around all that much in high
school. I lived in a small town and people talk, you know."
	"Tell me about it!" sniped The Phantom. "Amy Jensen, who was the
girl who did Eion at the beach party, gave one of the football jocks a blow
job and it was all over town the next day!" He sniffed. "Some people have
nothing better to do than to talk about their sex lives."
	"Phantom, everybody does," replied Colin. "You've heard the guys in
the locker room."
	"If you ask me, half of what they were bragging about were their
imaginations talking," returned The Phantom. "There's another girl I know,
Louise Metcalfe, she's supposed to have blown or let most of the football
team go all the way with her, and I know that maybe she's boffed three or
four of the guys, but she's not quite the slut everyone wants to make her
out to be." He felt Colin stiffen slightly. "What?"
	Coughing delicately, Colin asked, "You obviously haven't been to
town lately, have you?"
	"I have, but only to see Mr. Schoenmann."
	"Well, then you don't know that Amy and Louise visited the ship!"
	"They did?" asked The Phantom, his eyes widening. "They usually
don't fool around with outsiders."
	"I can't speak for Amy, but Louise sure did," offered Colin with a
chuckle. "The commanding officer found her and Neil Menzies in the paint
locker, and they weren't discussing what colour to paint his cabin."
	"Which means his vital statistics are all over town," responded The
Phantom sourly. "Louise likes to advertise."
	"Which explains why she has a reputation," said Colin. "She talks
about the guys she sleeps with and suffers the result. I sometimes wonder
how the guys she's slept with feel about having their performances talked
about by half the girls in town. Speaking from experience I . . ."
	"Experience? You mean . . .?" asked The Phantom with a giggle.
	Colin glowered. "Yeah, they did. I had this reputation of being a
stud. The guys in my frat house would take bets on how long it would take
me to get laid whenever we went out to a bar. Thinking back, I was in a
sort of vicious cycle. Here is Colin Arnott, stud, out on the town and
everybody knows that sooner or later he's going to be approached. I didn't
have a choice in what happened next, whether it was a blow job or an
upright in the alley. Everybody, my buddies, the girls, expected me to
respond. Horny Colin always did and all it ever meant was ejaculation! I
got my nuts emptied, but it didn't mean anything and, to be honest, I never
felt anything for the girl."
	Snickering even more, The Phantom asked, "The earth didn't move? No
skyrockets exploding in air?"
	"Actually there were skyrockets the first time," replied Colin
flippantly. He leaned in and whispered. "I was 14. I got my first blow job
on Canada Day. She did me during the fireworks display. Man, what a rush!"
	"Colin!" gasped The Phantom, a disgusted look on his face.
	Laughing, Colin whispered, "Gotcha!"
	Squirming, The Phantom pulled away. He looked seriously at
Colin. "I love you Colin. I truly, deeply, love you."
	Colin sensed that something deeper than love disturbed his young
lover. He pulled The Phantom to his feet and silently led him outside. The
Phantom wondered what Colin was up to, and desperately wanted to have a
smoke, but did not. He looked into Colin's blue eyes, waiting.
	"Phantom, you are the sun and the moon and the stars. I know
they're all a bunch of hokey clichés, but you are, to me! When I'm with you
the earth does move, and the fireworks explode. I feel so damned
wonderful. You make me feel clean, loved, and all sorts of good feelings
rolled into one! I am not about to leave you and I'll fight Steve Winslow
for you, I'll risk the `wrath of the gods' for you."
	The Phantom reached out to touch Colin's pink-cheeked face. "You
don't have to worry about The Gunner. He will always be a part of my life,
but what we had is over."
	"But I do have to worry about the Twins," returned Colin. "You're
in love with them." He cocked his head. "Am I wrong?"
	A long, low breath escaped The Phantom's lips. "Cory more than
Todd," he admitted reluctantly. "We need each other from time to time. I
can't explain it, but I won't lie to you." He looked embarrassed as he
said, "There's also Ray, and Matt. They're, hell and sheeit, Colin, this is
difficult!"
	"Phantom, Cory, Todd, Ray, Matt, were and are a part of you," Colin
responded gently. "It's only natural that you have feelings for them, and
that they have feelings for you." He waved his arm toward the Drill
Shed. "Every cadet in there is there because of you. You touched something
in them, made them respond to you, made them love you and want to be with
you. You're what holds them together!"
	"And that is what frightens me," said The Phantom, a note of
desperation in his voice. "They look up to me, they love me, they want to
follow me and damn it, Colin, I'm not sure that I can be what they think I
am, what they want me to be! I don't want to let them down, to disappoint
them! I'm not some knight in shining armour. In a lot of ways I'm just a
country bumpkin, a yokel from a small town in the middle of nowhere!"
	Colin shook his head. "Listen to me, Phantom Lascelles," he said
forcefully. "For whatever reasons, you are all of the above, but not all of
the above. You're young, you've made mistakes, and you'll go on making
mistakes. But, my dear, sweet, unpredictable Phantom, you've got something
very few people have. You have charisma, you have presence, you're not
afraid to speak your mind or act in defence of the people you love. The
cadets recognize you for who and what you are. If they didn't they'd be off
in the canteen, or in their bunks. If I didn't, I'd be down in Esquimalt at
the Hug and Slug waiting for one of the Fishing Fleet to put the moves on
me. If I didn't I wouldn't have agreed to having my tackle examined, been
insulted by Chef, or agreed to be the Guardian of Princes!"
	The Phantom looked searchingly at Colin. "You mean that?"
	"I do," responded Colin, his lips formed into a thin, determined
line. "I've had a lot of time to think about us, our relationship, and our
future. I'm willing to risk everything for you, Phantom." He reached out
and pulled The Phantom close. "Laugh if you want, Phantom, but when I'm
with you there are skyrockets. Big, blasting, wonderfully loud fireworks! I
want to hold you, to make love to you, to be with you! I want to protect
you, to hold your hand when you come to a rough patch in the road, and damn
it, I will be!"
	"Even when I'm being a `pestiferous brat'?" The Phantom asked,
smiling, his emerald eyes bright with love.
	Colin drew back. "Where did that come from?" he asked. Then he
added, "Never mind, I think I know the answer." He snickered. "Chef!"
	"Chef," confirmed The Phantom with a sigh. "I'm afraid I make his
life miserable at times with my demands." He regarded Colin a moment. "I
shouldn't have demanded. I should have asked," he said sadly. "Chef
deserves better."
	"If Chef objected he'd have had at you with his cleaver," replied
Colin. "Chef knows and understands that you are intensely loyal to your
friends, and that you recognize your friends. He knows, as I do, that of
all the boys that have passed through Aurora this summer, only a handful
have stayed the course." He grinned. "On the other hand, Chef can be a
stubborn old fool when he puts his mind to it. He also knows that what
you've asked, or demanded, is the right thing to do. He has his reputation
to think of, though, so he grumbles and complains and in the end he gives
in."
	"Still . . ." began The Phantom doubtfully.
	"There is no `still' about it," said Colin. "You make a judgement,
and so far you've not been wrong. If Chef had any doubts about any of the
boys he'd have turned them away. He hasn't, and he won't. He trusts you and
he trusts your judgement. It's an awesome responsibility, I agree, but so
far you've not put a wrong foot forward."
	"Actually, I have," said The Phantom softly.
	"You have? How?"
	Taking a deep breath, The Phantom said, "There was a cadet, Paul
Greene. We called him Little Big Man. He's one of the reasons we are all
here. He was writing letters to his father, letters that while they were
filled with lies, could have destroyed a lot of people. He accused the
Twins, The Gunner, Tyler, Val, hell and sheeit, me, of being fags and
queers and of molesting the younger cadets."
	"Ah, now I understand why you were so worried about Harry," replied
Colin. "You took care of this Little Big Man." His words were not a
question.
	"I did," said The Phantom. "When we were in Victoria for the August
holiday we, the Twins, Harry and I, we overheard a friend of The Gunner's
telling him about a letter that Paul's father had written to SIU. They sent
the letter on to Special Branch, which already had Paul's father in their
sights because he's a racist, and a bigot and involved in some Nazi
bullshit. Special Branch dismissed the letter as nothing more than sour
grapes."
	"But something else happened, didn't it?"
	Nodding, The Phantom continued. "At the time we had meeting. Tyler,
Val, the Twins, just about all the senior cadets. Harry wanted to beat the
shit out of Paul, or at least tie an anchor around his neck and dump him in
the harbour."
	"Not a very wise idea," observed Colin dryly. "An excellent
solution to a problem, but not wise."
	The Phantom chuckled. "Harry can be very direct when he wants to
be. In the end, we realized that there wasn't a hell of a lot we could do."
	Colin scratched his chin. "If Special Branch was investigating this
Paul Greene's father, blowing Paul's cover would put their investigation at
risk."
	"Exactly." The Phantom looked at Colin. "I, we, couldn't do
anything. In the end we decided to just keep an eye on him and hope he'd go
away without doing too much damage."
	"But something happened, didn't it?" asked Colin.
	"Greg, the Yeoman? He found two more letters. This time he'd put
two and two together and came up with six! Paul was writing basically the
same thing, but he also knew about our sailing trip, and surmised that we'd
all been fucking like minks. He couldn't know what happened, because we'd
all kept that trip very quiet. He knew that Harry and Stefan Gillan were
close, and going into the School of Wind a lot. He also knew about Greg and
a kid named Steven Tyler Perkins."
	"Were Greg and . . . Stephen Tyler . . .?"
	The Phantom shook his head. "No, at least not that I know of. Greg
says they never went all the way. All that happened was that Stephen Tyler
would give Greg a hand job and then hump Greg's leg. They never even took
off their pants!"
	"Messy, but effective," responded Colin with a hint of
humour. "What about Harry and Stefan?"
	"They never made love," replied The Phantom with quiet
dignity. "They fooled around a lot but the furthest they went was oral
sex. Harry loves Stefan more than most people know. He didn't want to do
anything to hurt Stefan." He snickered despite himself. "And if you ever
see the Pride of the Fleet when it goes to Action Stations, you'd know what
I mean."
	"I'll pass," Colin replied pointedly. Once again he scratched his
chin reflectively. "Paul saw, or heard, enough to think something was
there, when it wasn't. He assumed, wrongly, that Harry and Stefan were
doing things they weren't, that Greg and Stephen Tyler, that you when you
were on the sailing trip, and so on and so on."
	"Yes. Nothing happened on the sailing trip. We did swim naked, and
we did spent a lot of time running around without our clothes on, but
nobody, Colin, did anything wrong. We grew closer together, we bonded, yes,
but every dick stayed home!"
	"A colourful way of putting it," said Colin. "You must tell me
about this sailing trip one time."
	"I'll show you the pictures," responded The Phantom, chuckling.
	"Pictures?" Colin's eyes widened. "Did Paul see them?"
	"No! Nicholas made up some albums but Paul was in Coventry by then
and nobody was talking to him. Nobody from his Mess went on the trip and
anybody who did go would have burned the pictures before they let Little
Big Man get his hands on them!"
	"Even without the pictures, Paul picked up on things," observed
Colin. "You were right in just keeping an eye on him." He looked
inquiringly at The Phantom. "And why was he in Coventry?"
	"There was a party in the Gunroom," began The Phantom. "This was
long before I became involved with the cadets and the details are hazy
because I wasn't there. All I know is that the American cadets came in and
the Twins threw a party. There was booze, as there always is, and somehow
they ended up doing a Zulu Warrior."
	Colin could not help sniggering. "I did that, once. When I was a
first year officer cadet they threw us all in the Cape Scott, the
`Fred'. We got the Buffer to smuggle us some Thunderbird and . . ." He
hesitated, and then continued on. "My first year classmates and I have no
secrets."
	"But no one walked in and then scrambled on his hands and knees to
your Divisional Officer to report the party."
	"Hell no!" protested Colin. "Sailors don't squeal on their mates."
	"Paul did," said The Phantom quietly. "He heard the laughter and
the noise and walked in. Harry was naked, and so were Mark and Tony, I
think. He called them perverts and Harry threw him out of the Gunroom. The
next morning Paul went to see the Executive Officer, who wasn't on board,
and told The Gunner, who was, all about the party. The Gunner basically
blew him off." The Phantom ran his hand across his face. "That party, and
Paul's squealing is what started my relationship with the cadets." The
Phantom shook his head ruefully. "Talk about cause and effect!"
	"What happened?"
	"Well, Harry blew his cork! He would have killed Paul if he could
have found him." He shrugged. "Paul knew that the guys were pissed off and
took off, on a day steam on board the American cutter. Harry ranted and
raved and stormed about the ship, looking for the rat. Harry was down by
the swimming beach, sitting near the causeway and throwing rocks at the
seagulls when I happened to pass by on my way to work and saw him. Harry
told me what happened and I'm the one who suggested that Paul be sent to
Coventry."
	"Which limited his ability to snoop," supplied Colin.
	"Yes, there is that," agreed The Phantom. "But did not limit his
imagination. He still wrote things that weren't true. No one was sleeping
with his brother, as he accused, and Tyler and Val were not going into the
barracks and molesting the Sea Puppies."
	"But Greg found the letters," said Colin, wondering how the letters
had come into Greg's possession.
	"Yes, and we burned them," answered The Phantom without
elaboration. "But we still worried about what would happen when Paul went
home." He regarded Colin carefully. "If our affair were to become known,
you do know what would happen to you?" he asked.
	Colin nodded. "I would be, as the saying goes, `Dismissed With
Ignominy from Her Majesty's Service'. Neil Menzies can stick his dick in an
underage female and all that will happen is a letter of reprimand. He'll
get his dick slapped and probably never go to sea again, but he won't be
turfed."
	"Because he was doing it with a girl. If I were a girl, and The
Gunner were boffing me it would be no big deal. He'd be in for a rocket,
and probably never make Petty Officer, but . . ."
	"Boys will be boys?" supplied Colin.
	"Basically. Menzies can bang Louise and all she'll get out of it is
a brown baby, which will cause all the tongues in town to cluck and
wag. Menzies will be thought a jerk, but his career would not be in
danger. By having sex with me The Gunner, being a Permanent Force sailor,
risked his career, and risked being court martialed. Harry risked being
charged with child molestation, and worse when word got out back
home. Tyler is going to Royal Roads. Even a hint of scandal and he could
kiss his appointment goodbye! The Twins' parents are very prominent, and
. . . hell and sheeit, Colin, you must see what could have happened if
Paul's lies were even partly believed!"
	"Once the cloud of suspicion settles, everybody gets hurt." Colin
knew what could happen. "You couldn't, or wouldn't let that happen, so you
did something about it."
	"I seduced Paul Greene," said The Phantom bluntly.
	Colin sat down abruptly on the small bench that stood outside the
Drill Shed. "You . . . you what?"
	"I snuck into the Petty Officers Mess and seduced Paul Greene,"
repeated The Phantom. "The Twins, Cory more than Todd, thought that Paul
hated gays because he was gay, and wouldn't admit it. I thought that if I
proved to Paul what he really was, and threatened him with exposure, he'd
back off."
	"Did he?" asked Colin, still trying to absorb The Phantom's words.
	"With a little help from the Twins, yes." The Phantom sat down
beside Colin. "I, well, let's just say that Paul responded with
enthusiasm," he said glumly.
	"You sound as if you didn't enjoy the experience," said Colin.
	"I did not!" replied The Phantom with icy words. "I did what I did
and I felt as if I were covered in slime! The Twins took me into the galley
heads and they, with Tyler and Val, scrubbed me with scrubbing brushes,
Pusser scrubbing brushes."
	"Jesus!" Colin gasped. "Those things are lethal weapons!"
	"Not a pleasant experience," returned The Phantom. "I don't
remember all of what happened after I left Paul moaning for more. I lost my
mind, really. All I can remember is wanting to clean myself, to scrub the
slime of Paul Greene off of my body."
	Colin thought a moment. "I understand, because I've done the same
thing."
	"You have?"
	"I have. More often than not all I did was get my rocks off because
I was expected to respond to whatever female was trying to get into my
Jockeys. I was expected to let her blow me, or screw me. Afterward I would
spend hours in the shower, just rubbing the soap over and over my parts. To
be honest, Phantom, I ended up feeling soiled rather than satisfied."
	"Which is how I felt," said The Phantom. "I didn't want to do it,
but it was the only way I could think of to stop Paul." His green eyes grew
soft. "Afterwards, after I'd been scrubbed, the boys took me to the
Wardroom and put me to bed. Cory spent the night with me. We made love, and
that was the night we fell in love."
	"You needed someone, Phantom. You needed someone to make you feel
better again."
	"You're not angry?"
	"No. I understand your motives. You stopped Paul. That was all that
mattered."
	"Yes, but at the same time I wonder just what sort of a monster I
created." Once again his green eyes probed Colin's face. "Paul is a mean,
evil boy! He hates the Twins, he hates his brother. If he knew about me,
knew it was me who did him, I can only imagine what he would do!"
	"What can he do? You found a way, I take it, to ensure his
silence. He's gone, and he's not coming back."
	"Yes, we found a way. We taped every sound," confided The
Phantom. "Todd bought a small tape recorder at Radio Shack. It was voice
activated and all I did was turn it on. After I was finished Cory went into
the Mess and got the recorder. He and Todd played the tape to Paul and told
him that if he ever opened his mouth about what happened here that they'd
spread the word. They would, too."
	    A tape recorder? Colin was tempted to blurt out that the next
time he and The Phantom were alone together he was going to check under the
bed but instead said, "Phantom, it sounds to me that this Paul Greene has
been given the fright of his life. He's deep in the closet and plans on
staying there. He's been exposed once and he didn't like what he
saw. Remember, he's involved with an organization that is blatantly
homophobic. They'd turn on him in a New York minute if they knew what he's
really like. If he turns on you, and I'm not saying he will, he risks
exposure. He doesn't want that, so he'll keep quiet. You shouldn't worry
about what you did to him. He responded because he wanted to respond and he
certainly never yelled rape, now did he?"
	"No. In fact he did something that I suppose could be called rape."
	Colin's eyes widened. "He did?"
	"A boy we know, his name is Logan Hartsfield, he was working here
as a civilian employee, picking up the gash. I know him."
	"And?"
	"Logan was in a bind, and needed cash, so he went into the Petty
Officers Mess and was looking into the lockers, looking for something to
steal. Paul was skiving and caught Logan. He forced Logan into a sex act
and threatened to yell rape if Logan didn't go along with everything he
wanted to do. Logan was so afraid of Paul he left town."
	"This kid is that evil?" Colin asked. He considered himself a
modern man, a man who did not believe in the old wives tales of someone
being born evil, Hollywood and the authors of romance novels not
withstanding. Nor was Colin naïve. He realized now that Paul Greene could
be a formidable enemy if the situation presented itself. As the Guardian of
Princes, Colin had to know his, and The Phantom's enemies.
	"In my dream I saw evil, Colin," said The Phantom, his voice calm
and controlled. "There was this huge, hazy thing in the background, and all
sorts of spectral shapes screaming and waving." He turned to look directly
at Colin. "Only one had a face."
	"Paul Greene," whispered Colin, a cold shudder running down his
spine.
	"Yes. If I believe that Sylvain was calling for me, and I do, then
it follows that I must also believe that Paul Greene, Little Big Man, will
be, or even possibly is, not only involved in this horror, but that he will
be a part of my nightmares for a long time. He hates, Colin, and in his
hatred there is something else: revenge."
	"But he doesn't know that it was you, Phantom," Colin pointed
out. "He can't seek revenge against someone he can't identify!"
	The Phantom nodded thoughtfully. "He blames the Twins for what
happened, and truthfully they tried to talk me out of going into the
Mess. He also blames Matt, his brother, who was not involved in any way."
Thinking of Matt, The Phantom's face grew sad. "Matt will end up getting
the brunt of Paul's hatred, I'm sure of that, because Matt wouldn't toe the
party line and blew up one night in the Mess Hall, and basically called
Paul a fairy. Paul's hated him ever since."  His shoulders sagging, The
Phantom continued, "From his letters I know that Paul thinks that I'm some
faggot screwing his brother, which puts me high on his hate list." He
glanced obliquely at Colin. "He doesn't know that I'm the one who did the
dirty with him, and I'm sorry about that. I'm the one who seduced him and
he's blaming the wrong people!"
	"He's lashing out at old hatreds, Phantom. He has to blame someone,
anyone for exposing his darkest secret, which makes him irrational,"
returned Colin firmly.
	"Which makes him even more dangerous," came The Phantom's equally
firm reply. "He's also cold and calculating. When Logan told Brian what
happened Logan said that Paul's eyes were dead, with not a spark of
emotion, not even when he had his . . ." The Phantom paused and
blushed. "Not even when they were doing it. Paul terrified Logan, really
terrified him and if you met Logan you would know that he's not one to be
easily terrified. He's a street punk, or at least he was."
	"Was?"
	"The Gunner arranged for friends in Victoria to look after Logan. I
hope he's okay. He's not a bad guy, and he's had a few hard knocks. He
deserves a break, and I hope he gets it."
	"The Gunner is a very powerful man, and if his `friends' are
looking after Logan I think the boy will be fine," said Colin. "And if The
Gunner, and his friends are as powerful and as careful as I know they are,
then they've taken steps to keep an eye on things."
	"The Gunner gave me his word that he would look after Matt," said
The Phantom. "He can, I think, keep his word . . . in Ottawa." He saw the
questioning look on Colin's face and explained, "Matt, and Paul, live in
Ottawa. Their father is a sergeant in Supply. He, and his family are being
posted to Germany." Shrugging, The Phantom added sorrowfully, "I worry
about what will happen there! I worry about what Paul will do to Matt and I
worry about how many other boys he'll hurt, he'll terrorize! How many
innocents will Paul Greene destroy, Colin? Can you answer that question and
can you tell me what I must do to prevent it?"
	"No, Phantom, I can't," replied Colin with simple honesty. "I can
only ask you to cross that bridge when you come to it. At the moment you
have a group of boys depending on you to lead them. They love you and they
trust you and that, my Phantom, is what is important. Because of you, they
are here. They believe in you, Phantom. That should be your focus."
	"Focus on the here and now, but keep an eye out for the unexpected
and my powder dry?" returned The Phantom, smiling. Colin was right. He
could not worry about what Paul Greene might do in the future. The Phantom
glanced at the door leading to the Drill Shed and nodded slowly. He would
not dismiss Paul Greene from his thoughts for he firmly believed that Paul
was a danger, to his friends, to the Order, and to himself. He held out his
hand to Colin. "We should get back."
	"Yes," agreed Colin, taking The Phantom's hand. "Just remember,
though, that I will always be with you, always be at your side."
	The Phantom gave Colin a quick peck on his lips. "That's your job,
Guardian of Princes," he said with a giggle.
	"No, that is my desire," whispered Colin in reply as he led The
Phantom back into the Drill Shed.

******

	Michael Chan slowly replaced the telephone receiver and looked
intently at the Major. "It has begun," he said slowly.
	The Major slowly closed the dossier he had been studying and looked
carefully at his employer. He had arrived barely two hours before and
Michael, as he always did, had wanted an immediate report on the marriage
contract. The Major, now very tired, and out of sorts, growled, "Shall we
then cry havoc and set loose the dogs of war?"
	Michael looked askance at the Major, and then remembered that his
oldest friend, and mentor, had just spent 24 hours travelling in a cramped
cigar-shaped cabin of an aircraft, having spent days arguing with that most
obnoxious of creatures: a Chinese father determined to wring the last
silver tael of dowry from a prospective bridegroom, and did not lash
out. "They have already been loosed," he replied calmly.
	The Major raised an eyebrow. "Trouble?"
	"Simpson is dead," Michael informed the Major dispassionately. "The
Gunner and his people were called to the old man's house and he walked in
on them. Simpson actually suffered a heart attack." Michael's tone was one
a person might use when describing a particularly boring day spent watching
grass grow: disinterested and of no consequence.
	Sniffing disdainfully, the Major shrugged. "Simpson's passing will
be little noted nor long remembered," he said. The Major had never cared
for Simpson, and had never lost an opportunity to express his disdain for a
man he considered to be a traitor and a collaborator.
	"He will be rushed early to his grave," opined Michael. "The Gunner
has the situation in hand."
	Michael walked slowly to look out into the dark garden. The moon
was high, but deep shadows lurked. As he watched he saw a duet of young men
clad in combat uniforms, automatic rifles slung over their shoulders,
patrolling the edge of the greensward. Another pair stood guard at the
massive gates leading to the outside world. Michael also felt the presence
of more guards standing sentry on the terrace.
	The Major heard Michael's heavy sigh at the enhanced security, but
said nothing. A coded message had been sent to him at his hotel in Hong
Kong, and he was aware of the treachery of Captain K'ang. He was secretly
pleased with the expulsion of the Chinese guards, a force he had never
trusted. He could not have argued against them because their presence had
been "business". Michael's partners had demanded concessions, which Michael
had been forced to accept, all under the heading of "business", just as he
had been forced to conclude the marriage contract with the Soongs. All was
"business".
	The Order was something different. To Michael, and to the Major,
the Order was "personal", and much more important. Michael would make
concessions when it came to his partners. He would not compromise or yield
when it came to the Order.
	"Where is Patrick?" asked Michael, referring to the young man whom
he had come to care deeply for.
	"He is in his rooms, resting," replied the Major, doubting that the
young Chinese was sleeping. More than likely he was walking the floor,
waiting impatiently for Laurence, who was, much to the Major's proud
amusement, still playing silly buggers with the Outside Security Force.
	"Cousin Tommy?" asked Michael. His face was expressionless for he
suspected that Tommy was with Joel.
	Answering truthfully, the Major replied, "He's with Joel. They were
going to dinner and then back to Joel's flat." He did not need to
elaborate. What Cousin Tommy and Joel did in the privacy of Joel's bedroom
was their business. The Major then added, to forestall any further
inquiries about the whereabouts of the staff, "Joe Hobbes and Gabe Izard
went to Louis Arundel's house for dinner. I had the impression that Joe
would be spending the night."
	Michael turned his head slightly, thinking, "Good!" He then
returned to observing his gardens. "The Gunner has made his plans,
Richard," Michael said without preamble. "He plans to make his move on
Monday next. We must be ready as well."
	"We are ready," replied the Major tonelessly, his face
blank. "Tsang Su Shun has kept his people busy. We know exactly where the
men we seek are, and whom they are with. Cousin Eddy Tsang has sent his
wife and children to Hawaii and prepared his house to receive the boys we
hope to rescue."
	"Nine boys, I believe?" asked Michael, who knew exactly the number
of boys held captive by six men, all of whom lived in Victoria, or its
suburbs.
	"Yes." Without consulting any notes, the Major rhymed off the names
of the six men that the Order had determined were paedophiles, four of whom
were knights. "A doctor has been engaged and he will be in attendance when
the boys are brought to Eddy's house. The doctor is a recent arrival from
Hong Kong who has not been able to practice because of the present laws
concerning foreign-educated professionals."
	"Which helps to explain why our medical system is in the shambles
it is," observed Michael as he moved to sit behind his desk. "But, no
matter." He wrote a name on a piece of paper and pushed it across the desk
toward the Major. "The doctor is to be granted full privileges." He pointed
at the name he had written down. "That man is in my debt."
	Pocketing the paper, the Major nodded. There were many men who owed
Michael, men for whom a service had been performed and who would, sometimes
reluctantly, be called upon to return the service. The Major knew better
than to ask just what service had been performed for the man Michael had
named. He knew too well what would happen if the man did not repay his
debt. The Major would make the telephone call and the Chinese physician
would suddenly have full privileges with few, if any, questions asked on
either side.
	Michael looked reflective for a moment and then said, "The four
knights are to be brought here to stand before a Bar of Justice. Cousin
Tommy is to prepare a place. He will know what to do."
	Coughing delicately, the Major felt constrained to point out that
the sudden disappearance of four men of prominence might draw
attention. Michael was far and away ahead of his counsellor.
	"Four seats have been booked on four different charters going to
four different countries," Michael said with a sly smile. "The charters
will land in countries that do not have extradition treaties with
Canada. Beginning Monday morning four men, each purporting to be one of our
knights, and each bearing proper papers and travel documents, will board
flights to connect with the charters. Upon arrival at their destination
they will disappear."
	"White men?" asked the Major, his tone expressing his admiration at
Michael's plans.
	"Of course. We cannot have four Chinese with Western names, now can
we?" asked Michael, leaning across the desk. "Cousin Andy Tsang made the
arrangements with the Toronto Italians, using Terry Hsiang's
connections. Everything is prepared."
	The Major smiled knowingly. Using the Italians guaranteed
silence. There would be a paper trail showing that the knights had
fled. The men who boarded the planes in Canada would destroy their travel
documents and return, more than likely using other aliases. He nodded, and
then thought out loud, "Evidence of their perfidy?"
	"Enough will be left behind to show what they were," responded
Michael. "Their residences will show signs of a hasty departure, evidence
showing the presence of young men, or boys, will be found. Paulie Tsang,
who has a mind almost as devious as your own, is in charge of the
arrangements. Joel has managed to infiltrate the banking systems and large
sums will be transferred to numbered accounts in countries where the
privacy laws are airtight. It will take the authorities years to unravel
the mystery, if they unravel it at all."
	"And the others, the men who are not knights?" asked the Major.
	"We will use the power of the press," replied Michael
succinctly. "A rumour will be planted with certain newspaper
reporters. Certain covert photographs will be sent to the newspapers."
Michael snorted. "These . . . creatures feel so secure in their positions
that they think themselves above the law, above surveillance. The
photographs are, at first glance, innocuous and innocent." Michael held up
his hand. "But, they are open to interpretation. If you were a
newspaperman, always looking for the `scoop of the century' and saw a man
of prominence and importance snuggled together with two boys wearing
nothing but the briefest of bathing costumes, boys who are not his sons, or
of any degree of relationship that can be established, would you not be
curious?"
	"Put that way, and being a reporter for one of the gutter press
tabloids, which delight in printing the salacious, yes," agreed the Major.
	"We are merely using their own stupidity against them," observed
Michael dryly.
	"There are what, a dozen men involved?"
	Michael nodded. "More, actually," Michael replied. "The Gunner and
his people have unearthed a trove of correspondence, taken from Simpson's
house. They are going over it all at the moment. He hopes to have a
complete list of names before today is finished."
	"And who knows what else will be revealed, what names will
surface?" observed the Major.
	Shrugging, Michael agreed silently. Then he said, "As we speak a
group of young men are sitting a Vigil. Tomorrow we will travel to Comox
and declare them knights. Friday they will leave and begin what is to them
a crusade. We must do everything we can to smooth their path, and to
prepare them for what is to come. And we must do everything we can to
ensure that no harm comes to them."
	"And punish those who would harm them," suggested the Major.
	"Yes. We must be true to our oaths, Richard, and eliminate the
abomination that has sullied our Order. I do not suggest that these young
men are innocents. I do suggest that we give them an Order that is worthy
of their membership. They are prepared to give their lives, and to pledge
their sacred honour, to our Order. They are the future, Richard, and we
must ensure that what we pass on to them is worthy of their trust."
	"We are all working toward that goal, Michael," the Major replied.
	"We must work harder," returned Michael. "Have Patrick go for a
walk."
	"I beg your pardon?"
	Michael smiled. "I have not gone mad, Richard. I need Laurence back
here. He will see Patrick and Patrick will tell Laurence that his playtime
is over."
	"Lieutenant Sheppard will be relieved, if all the stories I've been
hearing are true," said the Major with a chuckle. "I understand that it is
game, set and match for the Booties over the Leathernecks."
	Michael returned the Major's chuckle. "Much to young Sheppard's
chagrin. I must add that Sheppard understands what Laurence is
doing. Sheppard's men are much more alert, much more careful, and very much
less complacent."
	"I noticed," answered the Major sourly. Sheppard's men were
everything Michael had said of them, and more.
	"Then you will notice the difference when our young gentlemen are
put through their paces," said Michael flatly.
	"You're up to something," accused the Major, smiling.
	"Of course," replied Michael. "The cadets from Aurora will be our
guests and we must entertain them. I think a session on the obstacle
course, which Sheppard's men, under great adversity, and not a little
nudity, have finally managed to complete, will be quite beneficial to
them."
	"With Laurence, and Sheppard, lurking in the shadows?" supplied the
Major.
	"Of course." Michael frowned. "The young men who will leave here
must be prepared as much as possible for what lies ahead. We do not know
what dangers are out there. Nobody knows. We can only prepare them as much
as possible to face those dangers. I will send Laurence and Sheppard with
them, and Paulie and Andy Tsang will be their backup. Everything that can
be done to ensure their safety will be done. I expect no complications, but
we must be prepared, and so must they."
	Michael sighed and continued. "We must also understand that we are
dealing with teenage boys, boys who think that they will never die, boys
who think that they are invincible. Death to them is an abstract, something
that happens to other people, not to them. They take chances without
considering the consequences, and sometimes they allow their enthusiasm to
rule their actions."
	The Major, who had served in two wars and one insurgency, knew well
what Michael was talking about. Young men, be they soldiers, sailors or
marines, all projected an air of bravado, of absolute self-assurance that
the bullet that would kill them had not been manufactured. Sadly, the war
cemeteries were filled with young men and boys who had not remembered that
violence touches everyone. "I shall use all my experience, all my
expertise," the Major assured Michael, "to keep them safe."
	"I know you will, Richard," replied Michael. "I only wish we could
extend our efforts to the boys being held against their will. There has
already been one casualty and I fear there will be more."
	"A casualty?" the Major asked, paling. "Dead?"
	Michael shook his head. "Raped and beaten," he said simply. "And
not dead." Then Michael added grimly, "At least not yet."

******

	Sophie rose shakily and clutched at James Edgar's hand. The doctor,
a tall, bespectacled, cadaverous man advanced down the short corridor that
led from his surgery.
	"How is he?" asked Sophie, her eyes red from crying, her voice
trembling with fear.
	Doctor Langford, together with his son, who was almost always
referred to "Young Doctor Langford", had been waiting, as promised. After a
quick but thorough examination of Eugen by both doctors, the elder
physician shook his head slowly. "Sophie dear, the boy is in critical
condition. He must be taken to hospital. He needs an Intensive Care Unit."
	"How bad is he?" asked The Gunner who had been standing impassively
to one side.
	Doctor Langford took a deep breath. He had known Sophie Nicholson
for many years and knew that she would not tolerate euphemism, or veiled
words that all doctors used to comfort the kin of terribly injured
patients. He did not know the young man with the flaring, angry eyes who
stood to one side, nor did he know the small group of determined men who
stood obvious watch at the clinic's entry. He knew enough to speak
bluntly. "Eugen has been brutally raped and beaten, which you know. He has
three broken ribs, from being kicked, I think, and a broken left
cheekbone. His rectum is torn and while we did manage to get the bleeding
under control, he has lost a great deal of blood."  Young Doctor Langford,
his lips set in a grim, thin, line, continued the diagnosis. "Because of
the tearing to the rectum we fear sepsis. Clinically there are early signs
of such infection. He is hypotensive, his extremities are warm to the touch
and flushed and he presents tacchycardia, a rapid heart beat."  "Which
could merely be due to blood loss," observed Doctor Langford. "We have him
on intravenous normal saline, which is to replace the blood volume and to
help raise his low blood pressure." The old doctor's face grew soft as he
emphasized gently, "We really need to run tests to learn what we are up
against. We need laboratory confirmation through blood tests whether there
are bacteria infecting his bloodstream."
	"Is he dying?" asked Sophie, dreading the answer.
	"If we cannot get the infection under control, he will die,"
replied Young Doctor Langford stoically. "He was left untended for too long
and . . ."  Doctor Langford's long friendship with Sophie, and his kindly
nature, and his years of experience would not allow him to express the
pessimism shown by his son. Eugen was very ill, but . . . "I am hopeful,"
the doctor said as he ran his hand over his face. "All the clinical
features suggest sepsis, although we can't be sure until we do the
tests. We are giving him antibiotics and so far we have not observed
anything that would lead us to think that he is in septic shock." Seeing
Sophie's look of grief change to one of hope, the doctor held up his
hand. "That is not to say that his present condition will not deteriorate."
"We wish to know everything," said The Gunner emphatically.  Nodding,
Doctor Langford continued. "There is a massive haematoma over the left side
of his abdomen, which leads me to suspect splenic trauma."  "Dear God!"
Chief Edgar gasped. "I knew it was bad, but . . ."  "There is hope,"
replied Young Doctor Langford quickly, trying to show some optimism. "If we
can get him to a proper hospital for emergency surgery, blood transfusions,
proper care, he will probably survive."  Doctor Langford looked firmly at
Sophie but his voice was kind as he said, "Sophie, we are doing everything
we can, but I agree with my son."
	Shaking off Jim Edgar's hand, Sophie clutched at the doctor's green
surgical scrubs. "You must save him, Henry."
	Doctor Langford slowly pulled Sophie's hands from his jacket. "I
will do my best, you know that I will, Sophie, but I am not a miracle
worker. Eugen is in God's hands." He turned to look at The Gunner. "Sophie
has told me a little of what you are doing, and I understand your desire
for discretion. Bur as a doctor, I must insist that you forget your needs,
and concentrate on the needs of this boy. I do not have the facilities, or
the equipment, here. Eugen must be hospitalized, and the sooner the
better."
	Terry Hsiang, who had been hovering in the background, stepped
forward. "The Chinese Community Hospital," he suggested. "It has everything
you need."
	Doctor Langford nodded. CCH was a new facility, built with
government largesse in these boom times, and had a fine reputation. It also
had a private wing. There was, however, a problem. "I don't have
privileges, and the boy needs . . ." The doctor's voice trailed off. "I do
not have privileges."
	The Gunner had picked up on the doctor's reluctance. The man was
hesitant, which meant that Eugen was much worse than any of them
suspected. The Gunner decided that there was no point in distressing Sophie
further. He glanced obliquely at Terry.
	Terry spoke up quickly. "Privileges will be arranged. Every
facility will be made available to you."
	Relieved that at last something was being done, Sophie asked, "May
I see him?"
	Doctor Langford nodded. "He's in a coma, Sophie. I fear a
concussion. And his face is, well, battered."
	"I still wish to see him," replied Sophie. She turned to The
Gunner. "Whatever it takes, we must do, Stephen."
	"That goes without saying." The Gunner smiled at Sophie and looked
at Terry Hsiang. "Do whatever must be done. Arrange for an ambulance." He
saw Doctor Langford turning to accompany Sophie into the surgery and spoke
loudly, "A word, doctor?"
	Doctor Langford recognized the authority in The Gunner's voice and
turned to his son. "Why don't you take Sophie down to the room?" He turned
to Sophie. "The boy is unconscious and you can only stay a few minutes."
Chief Edgar took Sophie's hand. "Come, Sophie dear. We'll visit Eugen for a
moment or two," he said as he led Sophie down the corridor, following young
Doctor Langford to the room where Eugen lay.
	When Sophie was out of earshot The Gunner asked coldly, "Now, tell
me the real truth," he demanded quietly.
	"I have told you the truth," replied old Doctor Langford. Eugen we
suspect is suffering from septicaemia, blood poisoning. On the plus side we
believe that the sepsis is not advanced, that it is in the early stages, as
we have observed no tachypnea, which is a rapid rate of breathing
indicating damage to the lungs, and no oliguria, which would indicate
kidney dysfunction. And his skin, his extremities, are warm, as opposed to
being cool and clammy." He smiled thinly. "All good signs, really."
"However?" The Gunner bluntly asked.  "Septicaemia might be the least of
his problems. In addition to the spleen and possible other internal
injuries, I suspect that he has a concussion," replied Doctor Langford,
"which will need to be looked at by a specialist, a neurologist."
	"Go on." The Gunner's voice was tense, but controlled.
	"He will also need a urologist," Doctor Langford replied
grimly. "Whoever did this paid vicious attention to the boy's genitalia. We
managed to insert a Foley but it was difficult. I believe his urethra is
damaged, as are his testicles, which are bruised and badly swollen. Someone
deliberately stomped him, Mr . . . Mr . . .?"
	"Winslow," supplied The Gunner. "Anything else?"
	"Eugen's prepuce was torn from the meatus and the fraenulum is
ripped. Given the damage, I cannot see him ever regaining normal sexual
function, and I fear that he will need to have one, or both, testicles
removed." Doctor Langford shook his head. "I have never seen such wanton,
deliberate damage." He scowled angrily. "Mr. Winslow, whoever did this
deliberately set out to cause as much damage as they could!"
	The Gunner, fearing the answer, for he had seen what had been done
to Eugen, steeled himself and asked tightly, "The prognosis, and please,
the truth."
	"The truth?" Doctor Langford scowled and spoke emphatically. "We
must get him to hospital. He needs whole blood and emergency surgery. If we
can get the infection under control, if the internal damage can be
surgically repaired, he'll live. The boy is young, strong, and healthy. Had
he been looked at sooner, I would be more hopeful. As it is, given his
blood loss, and the extent of the damage to his internal organs, and the
infection, I just don't know if we got him in time, or how well he might
recover."
	The Gunner placed his firm, strong hand on the doctor's
shoulder. "You will do your best, which is all than can be asked of you,"
he said kindly. "Whatever help you need, will be provided."
	"I will need to call some people," said Doctor
Langford. "Specialists."
	"Do it, then," directed The Gunner. He released the doctor and
walked slowly down the corridor toward the surgery.

******

	Sophie was sitting in a chair beside Eugen's bed, holding the young
German boy's hand. She wanted desperately to reach out and brush away an
errant lock of his hair that had fallen across his forehead, but feared to
touch him.
	Eugen seemed to have tubes in every orifice, and was breathing with
the help of an oxygen mask. His face was hideously swollen, both closed
eyes purple, his face one huge, disfiguring bruise. He lay completely
still, a slight twitching of his hand giving the only indication that he
was in any discomfort.
	"They have him filled with morphine," Sophie said needlessly as The
Gunner entered the room. She brought Eugen's hand to her lips and kissed it
gently. "Don't sugar coat it, Stephen," she said, never taking her eyes
from the boy. "He's dying, isn't he?"
	"He is very ill, Sophie," replied The Gunner. He could not bring
himself to tell Sophie the true extent of Eugen's injuries.
	Sophie seemed not to hear. "When you find the man who did this, I
want to be there," she said coldly. "When you punish him, I want to be
there."
	"Sophie, I . . ." began The Gunner helplessly.
	Sophie turned cold, hard eyes at The Gunner. "You will find the man
who did this, Stephen. I am not asking you, I am telling you. I do not care
what it takes, or what it costs. Do it!"