Date: Sun, 21 Jan 2001 23:54:45 -0600
From: Tags
Subject: Muscle Boy Island

MUSCLE BOY ISLAND

(Ld Guitarist)
Conclusion by Tags, f/k/a Solo3.

I originally found this unfinished story on a web site maintained by
Silocondog.  The author of the beginning of this story, "Lead Guitarist,"
invited suggestions and comments.  Attempts to reach him at the internet
address posted for Lead Guitarist brought nothing but error messages and
frustration.  So, I took the liberty of writing a conclusion for this
story.  I have also altered certain aspects of LG's beginning.  However, I
feel I have left enough of Lead Guitarist's original story intact that its
essence survives.  When I first read this story, I was somewhat dis-
appointed that it had not been finished.  I'd really gotten into the plot
and I would like to have seen where LG was going to take these characters.
In my opinion, LG's story was about more than just casual sex.  Before
deciding to write my own conclusion for this story, I made repeated
attempts to contact the author at the e- mail address posted with the
original version of his uncompleted story.  I got no- where.  But after
posting this version with a different introduction, wherein I mentioned my
interest in communicating with Lead Guitarist, the webmaster of web site
where this story was originally posted, Silicondog, put him in touch with
me and we exchanged e-mails about this and some of his other stories.  It
was a very interesting dialogue.  Interestingly, Lead Guitarist's concept
for his conclu- sion included a character very similar to Jared in the
conclusion of this version, although in Lead Guitarist's planned conclusion
the role of this character was not as prominent as is Jared's in this
version.  There were a number of conceptual dif- ferences between Lead
Guitarist's concepts for a conclusion and mine.

I guess I'm just a sucker for anything about physically strong and
attractive people with tender hearts and souls.  Given LG's invitation to
submit suggestions, since, initially, I had been unable to find him, I
decided to take the liberty of revising and completing this story, myself.
If you're looking for "muscle-sex," beyond LG's, you will be disappointed.
I've added only four additional incidents where there is any sex at all and
in none of these is the sex more than merely incidental to the overall
story line.

The point in the story where LG's work ends and mine begins is clearly
indicated.  On the web site where I first discovered LG's story, I noticed
other stories where the beginning was drafted by one writer and the
conclusion by another, so this sort of thing seems to be common.

My thanks to the webmaster for maintaining this site.

- Tags, formerly known as Solo3

(I am a frequent irc-chat user, hanging out most often in the #gaymuscle
chat channel.)

Disclaimer: This story contains descriptions of sexual acts involving boys
in their late teens, all of them over age 18.  If this type of material is
illegal in your area, or if you are under 18, please stop reading now and
delete this file from your computer.  If you are not interested in stories
involving sex with teenage boys over 18, stop reading now.

"Muscle Boy Island" is a fantasy that involves a group of three teenage
boys and one twenty-year-old who have been genetically engineered for
superhuman strength and muscular development.


(Reader: Substantial revisions of "Lead Guitarist's" work precede this
point.  Everything from here on is my work.  - Tags)

With unbelievable swiftness the super-teen ransacked the house, dumping
almost anything of conceivable value shy of the kitchen sink into his tent
bag; including provisions from the kitchen... food, eating utensils,
kitchen knives...  medical sup- plies and implements ...Tom's satellite
(sky-tel) cell phone, his notebook PC and several spare batteries for the
notebook and cell phone.  Everything went into the tent bag... And then
Alex bolted out the door, hauling an incredible load of stuff.  More than
would be possible with any other 19 year old on the planet, Ricky pos-
sibly, excepted.  (Eric and Jack could've handled this load, of course, but
neither of them was 19.  They were ages 20 and 18 respectively.)

Alex took off with his burden at a dead sprint.  He and the other three
boys could "CRUISE" flat out at their max (which of course beat any normal
human being that had ever lived) for indeterminate time and distance.

Once outside, he saw the approaching aircraft.  It was gigantic...  bigger
than anything he had ever seen other than in pictures.  He decided it would
be prudent to take a circuitous route back to the relative safety of Mount
Arnold, where he'd left his companions.

Alex was an avid aviation aficionado, and something of an amateur "expert."
He'd trolled the world wide web from the boys' PC in the house for
everything he could find on aviation.  At one point, he had downloaded a
series of in-flight checklists from the Martin-Grumman Aerospace web site
for one of several ex- ecutive jets they offer in their product line.  As
it happens, the jet transport roaring into the Ponce de Leon airstrip was
NOT a Martin-Grumman executive jet.  It was a huge transport aircraft
closely resembling the USAF C-5 Galaxy heavy cargo transport.  But these
were not US Air Force markings.  Alex recognized the Cy- rillic characters
stenciled on the side, "Dniepr," evidently a civilian charter service from
one of the states of the former Soviet Union.  There were subtle
differences from the C-5.  The tail assembly was a conventional empanage,
with horizontal stabilizers and elevators protruding from each side of the
rear fuselage, not situ- ated atop the tail in a "tee" arrangement as on
the C-5.  The fuselage seemed somewhat shorter, nose to tail and wider,
than the C-5, giving an altogether "stub- bier" appearance.  And the
cockpit glazing was different from the C-5.  This was, without doubt, a
Russian-built Antonov AN-124.  "Not good," Alex thought rue- fully.  These
were definitely bad guys.

The giant aircraft had rolled onto final approach heading.  Its flight path
would bring it directly overhead.  The four huge Lotarev D-18T high-bypass
turbo fans wailing, increasing in pitch with up-doppler, modulated by a
warbling whine as the auto-pilot jockeyed the throttles to maintain speed
and glide slope true and steady.  As the lumbering Goliath passed overhead,
the turbine whine gave way momentarily to a bone-rattling, ground shaking
thunder, in turn suddenly dis- placed by a squalling howl in downward pitch
as the aircraft continued its descent into Ponce de Leon airfield.  In
spite of his consternation at this arriving peril, Alex, forever the
aviation romantic, at a dead run, bearing a load that would kill an
ordinary man even in the best of conditioning, had sufficient "free energy"
to breeze through a notional pre-landing checklist:

"Undercarriage down.  Nose wheel, port and starboard main mounts indicating
in the green.  Landing lights, anti collision strobe, port and starboard
wing tip running lights...  on.  Main DC power bus...  and auxiliary... on
Wing tank fuel pumps...  off and fuel-feeder valve...  secured.
Center-line tank fuel pumps...  on...  fuel flow and fuel remaining
onboard...  in the green.  (This will be a power-on short field approach
and landing to full stop.)  Glonass geo-positioning navigation satellite
data flow with 5 second updates...
	engaged, coupled to flight computer Glonass sat nav signal
reception... 5 by 5 Auto pilot, heading and glide slope... engaged.  Auto
pilot manual override... set to enable.  Angle of attack...  17 degrees
Flaps and leading edge slats... set to "full extend" Over-wing anti-lift
spoilers... set to "auto-deploy on main mount touchdown."  Approach
power... set...

Although the men in this aircraft, including the pilot, had most likely
come to kidnap or maybe even kill him and his friends, Alex indulged
himself in frank admiration of the enemy aviator's skill in executing this
tricky approach.  The landing strip was minimum length to accommodate an
aircraft the size of the AN- 124...  This approach, may not have been the
toughest in the world by any means.  (Try landing on an aircraft carrier at
night in foul weather, for instance!)  Never- theless, it was a real test
of solid airmanship...  Good enough that Alex, an emi- nently qualified
judge in spite of his young age, was duly impressed with the pro- fessional
competence of the aircraft commander.

With Dr. Vanderhaeghe's pilots in the cockpit, Alex had executed a number
of ap- proaches into this airstrip aboard corporate jets.  Strictly against
regulations, of course, but even the straight-arrow company pilots could
not resist the wiles of this hauntingly beautiful young charmer.  The boys
had spent nearly all of their lives on this island, but Tom and
Dr. Vanderhaeghe had flown the boys to Dja- karta and to Bangkok several
times, as well as to Manila, Singapore, Hong Kong, Sydney and once even to
corporate headquarters south of San Francisco in the USA... "home."  Alex
had shot his approaches into Ponce de Leon on flights re- turning from
these junkets.

Alex had felt obliged to take a circuitous route rejoining his friends on
Mt.  Arnold, but he made it with relative ease.

As the big Antonov cargo jet landed, the forger jump jet returned with a
third wing man.  These jets hovered over the airfield, covering the landing
roll out, and initial deployment of troops from the transport aircraft.
Then they turned their attention to the hunt, fanning out over the island.

As one of the jets was stalking Tom and the boys, his infa-red sensor
having got- ten a very good "sniff," it became apparent that it would be
only a matter of time before the pilot locked up his targets.  They had
been perched, according to Tom's plan, in the tree tops.  Given the hover
and infa-red search capabilities of the forger jets, this was almost as bad
as getting caught in wide open country.  High in the jungle canopy, there
was relatively little infa-red shielding or interference with their body
heat by jungle vegetation and wild fauna.  At Tom's behest, Eric hurled a
baseball sized chunk of debris into the starboard engine inlet of the
forger, hovering about 20 meters overhead, with predictably catastrophic
results.  As the jet engine ingested the debris, its turbine rotors
disintegrated instantly.  Suddenly without power, and with no forward
motion generating the slightest lift over the stubby wings, the disabled
forger dropped like a stone to the jungle floor below, barely missing Eric,
exploding in a fireball.  The resulting concussion hurled Eric from his
tree perch, his tough, resilient body slamming into the ground with
horrific force.  Eric was momentarily stunned, the wind knocked out of him.
But he emerged without so much as a scratch.  A 150 million ruble tactical
jet aircraft was totally destroyed and its pilot, having no time before
impact to eject, perished.  Eric was horrified.  He had never seen a man
die, much less killed any- one.  He was stricken by what he'd done.

Only moments later, Tom and the other boys were at his side.  Tom had held
Eric in his arms, comforting him; reassuring him that there had been no
other choice.

"These men have come to kill us.  I am so proud of you, Eric, that there's
no joy for you in killing an enemy.  But they came after us.  Unless we
stick together and defend ourselves, we will never get out of this alive.
You've seen for yourself now; they are willing to die to get us.  If we're
going to survive, we'll have to kill again.  Unless you, the other boys and
I can bring ourselves to do that, we're all done for."

As they fought and ran, Tom and the boys were indeed obliged to kill again
and it never got any easier for them.  But steeling themselves with their
passionate love for one another, with desperate resolve, they held at bay a
well trained, well equipped and extremely well paid fighting force of some
350 men.

Elias Wright had been ruthless.  He had made it clear to members of his
merce- nary force that he would not brook failure or malingering.  He would
only pay for results.  Any casualties whose injuries were serious enough to
take them out of the fighting would be summarily shot.  He had no interest
in caring for, feeding or paying anyone who had not "gone the distance" in
"bringing home the bacon."  Those who went the distance, on the other hand,
would receive one half million US dollars apiece, deposited in a numbered
Swiss bank account.  Everyone who signed on, did so with that
understanding.  As a result, Mr. Wright managed to re- cruit from among the
most highly qualified mercenary soldiers in the world; and he chose the
most skilled, most motivated, most desperate and most ruthless.  There
would be no mercy.  In the target folder, which each man reviewed and
committed to memory, was an appendix with fairly accurate intelligence on
the particulars of "Project Hercules."  The assessment of the boys'
capabilities, while perhaps a trifle on the conservative side was, all in
all, remarkably accurate.

The operations order, to which the target folder had been appended included
"rules of engagement" which were as cold-blooded as any of these hardened,
cynical men had ever seen.  The adult man, Tom Henderson was to be taken
alive, at all costs.  Anyone harming, or permitting harm to come to this
man would be executed.  There were four boys, all in their late teens or
early twenties.  Taking at least one of these individuals into custody
would indeed be desirable, both as a living specimen for ultimate live
vivisection and in the meantime as a hostage to elicit cooperation from Tom
Henderson.  However, even unarmed, their capabili- ties were considerable
and their true limits may not be fully appreciated.  They were to be
considered extremely dangerous and, in fact, no more than tissue scrapings
from all but one of these individuals would be absolutely required.
Failing a live capture, it would be extremely desirable, nevertheless, to
recover at least one of the bodies more or less intact in order to
facilitate a thorough autopsy.  But even this opportunity was to be forgone
in the presence of even the slightest risk.  Wright's primary mission
objective was live capture of Tom Henderson.  In no event would any attempt
be made to evacuate alive from Ponce de Leon more than one of these
super-boys.  Once the first of these "uber-mentschen" were taken into
custody and securely restrained, all the others would be summarily shot on
sight.  In his defense, it didn't appear as though Elias Wright had left
himself any more of an "out" than his fighting men or his targets.  His
employers, the "state defense committee" of the neo-fascist Eastern
European regime of Mulvia- Everinia, were cutthroats in command of a
Spartan garrison-state.  They were not in the habit of funding operations
as expensive as this one of Wright's unless the result were unqualified
success.  Unless Wright successfully vindicated Mulvia- Everinia's
substantial investment in this operation, he would find himself in a very
tight corner with his clients.  He had not the slightest intention whatever
of fail- ing.

In one particularly vicious engagement, when the invaders had acquired
their prey, the enemy commanders had ordered mortar fire into their
targets' suspected position.  Unfortunately, for them, they were about an
eighth of a click off target, to the north, where a small detachment of
their own force had deployed in am- bush.  Truth be known, "blue-on-blue,"
"friendly fire" engagements in combat are not all that uncommon.

Jared Gross, a member of the mercenary force and former US Navy Seal was
among this hapless band taking "incoming" from their own side.

Gross, who first truly confronted his sexuality while in Catholic high
school in Texas, had decided to suppress it.  After all, he wasn't really a
"queer."  He was not effeminate at all.  He'd never wanted to wear a dress!
He just had these fanta- sies about "getting it on" with other manly jocks
like himself.  Obviously, this was a "sickness" but it need not be fatal.
He'd "work around it," maintaining a veneer of "normality."  After all.
There was more to life than 100% sexual gratification.  How many people
ever truly attained that anyway?  This was his "cross to bear" and he would
do it like a man: Like anyone with a lick of common sense, he'd hide it and
lie about it!

To Jared, the "unholy stirrings" had actually come as early as grammar
school, but he had resolutely retreated behind an impregnable fortress of
denial. Although there had been that one time, when he was a high school
sophomore.  After wait- ing in the wings in junior varsity football, he'd
finally made the varsity and his team had played an especially tough game
and lost.  Just about the only player on the team who'd done anything
noteworthy that Friday night had been Jared, but his heroic exploits were
quickly forgotten by his team mates and the kids in the stands,
overshadowed by the disappointing loss.  Forgotten by everyone but his
quarterback, a strapping studly senior, Sean O'Malley.  Like most Catholic
Schools, St. Jerome's was sex-segregated... all boys.  But the companion
girls' school, St. Cecilia's was right down the road.  All the jocks dated
foxy chicks from there, Sean and Jared included.  But for some reason, the
weekend of the big game, all the girls at St. Cecilia's had been taken off
to the Texas hill country on a religious "retreat."  After showering and
dressing, Jared and Sean would be "dateless."  So neither boy was in any
hurry to be any place in particular once they had donned their street
clothes.  The coaches and the rest of the team had show- ered, dressed and
left, but Jared and Sean had gotten held up by the athletic re- porter of
the school paper for a post-game interview.  Sean had a key to the gym and
dressing room so on his way out the door, the coach just asked him to lock
up when he and Jared were ready to leave.  Jared was still in the shower,
standing under the stream of hot water, letting it soothe his sore, aching
muscles.  He sensed Sean, who was standing under the shower head right next
to his, looking at him; leering at him with unmistakable, overpowering
lust.  Jared's realization was half a beat behind what it should have been,
but even though for some years this Texas German Catholic boy had lived
with a vague uneasiness about himself, he was, after all, in complete
denial.  By all odds, Jared would not have broken the taboos and responded
to his appetites for years, if ever.  Certainly, when he'd got- ten out of
bed that morning, the fact that tonight would be "the night," was abso-
lutely the farthest thing from his mind!  Maybe it was nothing to write
home about.  Not the kind of steamy hot action one might fantasize about in
such situa- tion.  For Jared, there had been fleeting fantasies about this
beautiful older boy...  tantalizing torture.  Every time they came to him,
he banished these thoughts, telling himself that these unholy impulses were
unnatural, a passing phase of youth that would surely vanish in time.  Now
that he was in this beautiful man- boy's powerful arms, he could scarcely
breathe!  Jared's heart was pounding against his ribcage and his stiffening
meat completely betrayed his inner desire.  Sean moaned to Jared, "man you
have no idea how long I have wanted this."  Ja- red's soapy muscles were
rock-hard and unyielding to Sean's hungry grasps.  Jared was in a whole new
place.  Even with all the locker room horseplay and grab ass, there was
always a certain "space," a "cordon sanitaire" that all the guys had hon-
ored among themselves.  He struggled between his conflicting impulses.
Sean was violating his "space" with a tantalizing invasion of sensation and
lust the likes of which he had never dreamed existed!  Facing one another,
they bumped their bodies against each other first tentatively,
experimentally and then with more force.  It felt good to Jared to feel
another man this way.  They grasped one an- other and ground their
soap-slickend pecs against each other.  A flash of realiza- tion came to
Jared that this particular, delicious sensation would have been denied to
boys with less muscular development than his and Sean's.  In that instant,
he felt acutely sorry for the nerdy kids with the thick glasses and slide
rules on their belts.  Sean took Jared's cock in his hand and soaped it.
This threw Jared into an- other tailspin of conflicting emotions.
"Masturbation" was a taboo subject among his classmates.  No one among his
peers would even own up to the existence of the word, much less to
actually... doing it!  That the quarterback of his football team would dare
touch his penis had simply not occurred to Jared.  For a moment he froze.

Sean responded, "Where did you think this was going, Jared?  For Pete's
sake don't chicken out on me now!  Take hold of me and stoke it like I'm
doing you."

Jared did as he as told, tentatively and timidly at first, but soon his
inhibition with Sean collapsed.  Sean had knocked the slats out from under
that with his ministra- tions of Jared's stiff shaft and now Jared started
to work pumping Sean with in- creasing urgency.  It was all over very
quickly; too quickly; two frightened boys stealing a moment's forbidden
gratification under the noses of their "tribe" near the western end of the
southern Bible belt.  Within moments, the passion of the moment subsided,
being immediately supplanted in Jared by a crushing burden of guilt and
self-reproach at having violated this sacred "taboo."  Sean picked up on
this and, while not expert in the art of counseling, did his best to
comfort and re- assure Jared, shoring up his shattered self-esteem as best
he could.  Sean wished to God he could transfer to Jared some of his own
fatalistic equanimity about their predicament.

"Jared," he finally said, "if its any comfort to you, you're not the first
team mate I've done this with and you won't be the last.  Its none of your
business who else I've been with and it'll be nobody's business but ours
what you and I have done together tonight.  I don't know why some guys do
this.  I only know it feels good, better than going with a girl.  It may
not BE right but is sure FEELS right."

This did no good, of course.  Jared regarded himself with self-loathing.
To add insult to injury, Jared told himself, he had not even been man
enough to be the one to open up to Sean.  Sean had been the one to make the
first move, not Jared.  Jared, tried to tell himself that Sean was just a
faggot like him, but he had to hand the devil his due.  Jared envied Sean
his balls.  To be sure, Sean had been para- noid and afraid in that shower
room, just like Jared, but at least he'd had the cour- age to follow his
heart and go for what he wanted.  Jared suspected there was a lesson and
some wisdom in there somewhere.  Maybe one day he'd figure out what it was.
Neither Jared nor Sean spoke of their time in the shower again. They
remained friends through the end of the term when Sean graduated. Next year
he went to the Air Force Academy in Colorado Springs and Sean and Jared
lost touch with each other.

After high school, instead of university, Jared had opted to join the Navy.
He scored fairly high on the Armed Services Vocational Aptitude Battery of
tests (ASVAB).  After boot camp, he was selected for "a-school," technical
training, as an aircraft gas turbine engine mechanic and, because he
graduated at the head of his class, he got first pick of available
assignments.  He opted for a tour of duty with an anti-submarine helicopter
squadron that deployed in small detachments aboard sub-hunting surface
combatant ships.  He would be given all the responsi- bility he could
handle, a modicum of independence and a good opportunity to ad- vance
rapidly through the ranks.  His technical skills and adroit leadership at-
tracted the interest of his superiors and, unbeknownst to Jared, his
service jacket at the Bureau of Naval Personnel was "flagged."  Jared now
had the attention of the brass in Washington.  Upon completion of his first
sea tour, during which he'd earned not one but two commendation medals,
unheard of in one so junior in rank, he was encouraged to apply for Basic
UDT/Seal (BUDS) training on Coronado Island outside San Diego.  He was
accepted.  He had some idea what he was getting into, of course.  The
"hell" of BUDS was well known, not only throughout the Navy, but in all the
armed services.  For both officer and enlisted candidates, it was the most
grueling training anywhere in the US defense estab- lishment and, arguably,
among the toughest anywhere on earth.

The first week, Jared became friends and not long after, the lover of a
classmate.  Augostino Juan Domingo Peron Rodrigues y de los Santos.  God,
how Jared loved to roll that "dog tag" off his tongue, trilling the "r's"
and all...  Unlike Jared, "Augie" was gorgeous.  Jared, a lifelong jock,
had a superb physique which he took pride in maintaining at peak fitness.
(The physical duress of BUDS had been no tougher on Jared than on any of
his other classmates.)  But Jared's facial fea- tures, while
"average-good-looking," were somewhat ordinary.  Jared was an in-
telligence officer's dream.  Just the kind of operative who could disappear
into a crowd.  Face: no identifying marks or scars.  Features: regular,
symmetrical.  Hair: of indeterminate shade.  Some might say "dark blond,"
others "light brown," who remembered?  Depending on the light, there might
even have been casts of premature gray.  The eye color was equally
ambiguous and tough to pin- point... somewhere between slate gray-green and
hazel.  Jared was the typical all- American boy next door, regular guy-jock
type.  To complete this non-image, when not in uniform, Jared normally wore
styleless loose-fitting, functional clothing from Wal-Mart or the Navy
Exchange.  In his "cracker-jack" Navy-blues, Jared's body would have looked
like a recruiting poster had he not gone to the ex- tra trouble and expense
of having an overlarge uniform specially tailored to a fit which, while
suitably "ship-shape," was not particularly flattering in any sexual sort
of way.  Jared was paranoid as hell about his sexual orientation and he
went way out of his way NOT to "advertise."

Augie was Jared's opposite.  Tall, (at six foot two, taller by a full two
inches than Jared) dark, handsome, strikingly so.  A male work of art
sculpted in flesh and bone rather than stone.  He was acutely aware of his
own sexual magnetism.  He reveled in it and flaunted it, brazenly.  He was
urbane, witty, sophisticated, if slightly on the "fey" side.  His peers at
BUDS made allowances for this, assuming it to be part of his Latin-American
heritage.  Besides, he came to BUDS with a black belt in Karate and a body
as intimidating as it was beautiful.  Some of his classmates might have
assumed that Augie was just laying for someone to make an issue of his,
slightly unorthodox, "bohemian" mannerisms.  No one, Jared in- cluded,
doubted that Augie could have made short work of anyone in the class.  But
deep inside, Augie was a gentle soul.  Like Jared, Augie had opted for the
military instead of college.  He signed up mainly for the education
benefits.  He wanted to go to university and eventually to med school, like
his dad.  But he did- n't want to be a financial burden on his parents.
His mom and dad had opted for a life of service to the poor and of "genteel
poverty" in East LA rather than the lu- crative medical practice they could
have had in Orange County.  He had come to BUDS as a medical corpsman.
Before arriving there, he had been as much of an overachiever in his field
as Jared had as an aircraft engine mechanic.  Augie brought so much more to
his duties as a medic than merely technical skill.  He was a gifted
"healer," with an intuitive sense of his patients' emotional as well as
their physical problems.  He always knew exactly what to say, but, more
impor- tant, when to just say nothing and to lend a listening ear.  He had
been assigned as a Corpsman to the Marines and so was right at home in the
field.  Many times, young jarheads would come to Augie, not only with their
medical problems but just to share personal problems, frustrations, hopes
and dreams with this kind, compassionate and profoundly empathetic young
man.  Unlike some other Navy Corpsmen assigned to the Marines, Augie was no
"weak sister."  He was a natural leader and his physical prowess was on a
par with the best of the best in the Corps.

Even though his family lived in East LA, Augie was not Mexican.  He was Ar-
gentine.  His father, a physician and an intellectual, had been a
"Peronista" who had fled the Argentine when "Isabelita," Juan Peron's
second wife, his widow and then "Presidente de la Republica de la
Argentina," was deposed by a generals' coup d'etat.  During the second
presidency of "El Lider," and then of his widow, Senor Doctor Rodrigues had
held a minor appointment in the Ministry of Health.  His younger brother
was among the generals' "desaperacidos" (the "disappeared ones").  As
vociferously opposed as his younger brother to the heavy handed rule of the
generals and not wishing that he or his family join his younger brother in
oblivion, Sr. Dr. Rodrigues slipped quietly over the border into Uruguay
and ul- timately landed, with his family in tow, in Southern California.
Forever the cru- sader, Dr. Rodrigues moved his family into one of the
poorest barrios in East LA and, as soon as he legally could, set up a
storefront medical clinic there.  Even be- fore he was legal, he ran a
"bootleg" practice out of his apartment.  Doctor Rod- rigues and his
loving, picture-perfect wife, Madelena, were devoted to their chil- dren,
taking an active role in their education after school.  Of course, poor as
they had been when they first arrived in the United States, they still
found the money for Catholic School for all the children.  Both husband and
wife were avid ama- teur classical musicians and they instilled their love
of culture, art, and beauty in all their six children, of which Augie,
named for St. Augustine and for the Argen- tine quasi-secular "saint," Juan
Peron., was the eldest.  The youngest child was also a boy.  All four kids
in between were girls.  They cut their teeth on Mozart, Beethoven, Brahms,
Hyden, Vivaldi and Dvorjac sonatas, symphonies and opera.  The Rodrigues
children joyfully performed chamber music while other kids gelled out in
front of TV or video games.  From the earliest Augie could remember, his
dad taught him to love and appreciate classical music, art, history and
culture.  There was no "art for art's sake."  Unless art uplifted the human
soul, it was by definition "banal," that is to say, "ugly."  But Augie was
no sissy.  He was a damned good football player, both American football and
soccer.  He was a good all around athlete, even excelling in the
gentlemen's games of tennis and golf.  In golf, Augie played to a three
handicap!

Dr. and SRA. Rodrigues were devout but very progressive Roman Catholics.
They'd always taught their children to be truthful to others and more
important, to themselves.  When Augie was eighteen, he announced gravely to
his mom and dad that he was gay.

His father speaking for both of them conceded, "we're not especially
overjoyed at this news.  You will not, it seems, be blessing us with
grandchildren.  But, Augie, your happiness is more important to us even
than the joy of grandchildren.  So, in return for our acceptance, which we
give to you freely in any event, if you ever bring a young man home to meet
us, all we ask is that you make sure you pick someone we can be as proud to
call our son as we are of you."

Augie had not been completely sure of his parent's reaction to this news.
He had faith that eventually they would come to accept his sexuality.  That
they had re- sponded this way, so quickly, with such open-handed,
open-hearted love, so moved him to tears that he was obliged to beat a
hasty retreat to his room.  He could think of nothing appropriate to say
but in private, he resolved to honor his father's request.  One day, he
would bring home a man his parents could fall in love with as passionately
as he.

>From the beginning at BUDS, Jared sensed this dark-eyed heart-stopper had
his eye on him.  Once from across a classroom, during a tactical lecture,
he could have sworn this guy had winked at him.  Jared was fair
complexioned and his re- action to Augie's subtle but brazen advance, under
the noses of this band of ho- mophobes, was to blush deep crimson.

After classes that day, they met and introduced themselves.  It was love at
first sight, of course, though for the life of him, Jared who'd gone to
such extreme to hide his sexuality as well as any hint of sex appeal,
couldn't imagine why Augie had singled him out.  Later, Augie explained, "I
knew you had a good body under all those loose-fitting clothes, Jared.
Nobody gets into BUDS if he's a fat slob or a skinny runt."  But truth be
known, Augie was a fairly shrewd judge of character and he'd sensed behind
Jared's high wall of defenses a vulnerable, sensitive but desolate soul
that he had been destined to rescue from a joyless, loveless life.

Jared was living in the "bachelor enlisted quarters" (BEQ), the barracks on
base.  Augie suggested they go to his apartment on Coronado Island outside
the North Island Naval Air Station down the road from the Seal training
base.  It was small- ish, plain and expensive, but an apartment in a
cheaper area of San Diego would not have been practical.  As rigorous as
most of their training was, it would have been a miserable commute.  Augie
led Jared into his quarters, invited him to have a seat on the sofa and
offered to bring him something cold to drink.  Jared asked for ice water.

Augie pressed him, "Is that all you want?  I have coke, beer, wine, juice."

"Naw, that's OK.  Water'll be just fine."

Augie brought two glasses, ice water for Jared and orange juice for
himself.  He sat down next to Jared on the sofa.  It was clear right away
that Jared was ex- tremely nervous.  Augie decided that he would have to go
slow with him.  It was obvious he wasn't very experienced.

"Jared, you know why I've brought you home with me and you've come, but you
haven't done too much of this have you? "

"Yeah, I guess not.  I really shouldn't have come.  There's really no
reason for you to put up with a "nervous nellie" like me.  I'm sorry.  I
didn't mean to lead you on."

"That's just it, Jared.  You haven't led me on.  I came onto you, remember?
I just want you to feel relaxed and comfortable with me.  But I want you to
know I can see how hard that may be for you right now.  I won't bullshit
you.  I want to be all over you, but nothing has to happen now, or today or
ever, until you're ready.  Worst mistake either us could make would be to
rush something like this."

Jared looked at his new friend.  Augie was normally very fiery eyed,
projecting energy and urgency in everything.  But just now his eyes were
very soft and gen- tle.  This change was very striking and somewhat
arousing.

"I've only been with a man once, back in my sophomore year in high school.
It was OK but I guess we were both pretty scared and paranoid, me more than
the other guy.  All in all, he was really fairly cool about the whole
thing.  Like I said, I'm not exactly the `man of your dreams.'  I want you
too, Augie but I'm such a `greenhorn,' I doubt I'd be holding up my end of
the bargain."

"Relax, Jared.  Just relax and let me make you feel good.  Don't worry and
don't feel like you have to do anything you don't want to.  You don't have
to `perform' for me.  I really want you to feel good and feel safe when
you're with me.  That's what I wanted when I first laid eyes on you.  Now
just lie back and relax."

As he lay down on the sofa, Augie unbuckled Jared's fatigue uniform web
belt, unbuttoned and unzipped his pants and went to work on the now rigid
shaft through his skivvies.  At first Jared's body was as taught and rigid
as his cock, but he quickly responded to the ministrations of Augie's
hungry mouth.  Augie pulled down Jared's briefs with his teeth.  Jared
trembled with tension and desire as Au- gie sucked the head, then bathed
the steely cock with his warm, firm and silky tongue.  Jared's pre-cum was
sweet in Augie's mouth.  Then he moved to the balls.  Sucking and nibbling
the sack.  Taking first one, then the other then both balls between his
lips.  As he worked over Jared's cock and balls, Augie massaged his
muscles, grooving on their supple hardness.  God, this man was so
incredibly firm and well-defined.  Jared's breathing was regular, but
increasing in tempo as Augie brought him ever closer to climax.  Jared held
back, not wanting this to end and not wanting to shoot in Augie's mouth.
When he could stand it no longer, he reached down to pull Augie off his
throbbing tool.  But Augie clasped Jared's hands in his own, giving him a
quick reassuring squeeze. Then he returned his at- tentions to the hot
dick.  It was not as big as his own, a standard six inches but beautiful
and form-fitted to his mouth.  Jared shot his load down Augie's throat as
he went down to the root, burying his nose in Jared's pubes.  Augie took
every- thing Jared had without coming up for air.  And then it was over.
Augie slowly pulled off Jared as he continued to tremble and shudder with
the after shocks of the most intense orgasm he had ever experienced.

Augie lay his head on Jared's firm flat stomach momentarily Then he sat up
and rolled Jared over on his stomach.  But as soon as he felt's Augie
beginning to ex- plore his manhole with his tongue, Jared stopped him.
"No, Augie, not that!"

"OK, Jared.  Its OK.  I just want to rim you.  You won't believe how good
it feels.  I promise that's all I'm up to."

"No Augie, not even that.  There are some lines I will never cross, ever,
and that's one of them.  What you did for me was really great and now I owe
you for that.  I don't know that I can measure up to what you did, but I'm
willing to try."

"No, Jared.  I don't think you're ready for that yet, either.  I think we
need to `break you in slowly.'  You'll know when the time is right.  You
won't feel obli- gated to me, you'll just be doing it because you want to,
for yourself and for us, not just for me.  I'm willing to wait for that.  I
want you, Jared, in every possible way one man could want another.  But I
really need for you to want me and to get off to me as much as I do you.
Until then...  Well, I just don't want it any other way."

Jared could not believe this beautiful hunk of man was actually wooing him
like this.  He regarded this with an odd combination of joy and dismay:
Dismay that he wasn't "the man" with Augie.  Here he was playing the role
of the "demure young maiden."  But joy that anyone of Augie's caliber could
feel he was worthy of this kind of attention.  His dad had always warned
Jared that when something seems too good to be true (like this marvelous
dark eyed Argentine for instance) usually, that's because it IS too good to
be true.

In spite of his accomplishments in school and in the Navy, Jared had a
fairly low opinion of himself.  His parents, though dutiful, were distant,
aloof and undemon- strative.  His father rarely gave Jared any
encouragement or indication of paternal approval.  There had been no other
children and Mr. and Mrs. Gross were both approaching 40 when Jared was
born.  Neither parent had wanted children.  Jared had been an accident.  As
devout Catholics, abortion had been out of the question.  They did their
duty and they did their best to be good parents, but it had not been a joy
to either of them.  Though neither his mom nor his dad had ever been delib-
erately cruel, they had not been particularly affectionate, either.  And
when Jared had faced alone the awful truth that he was gay, although he had
felt sure that he could hide it and suppress it, he could not escape the
certitude that he was defec- tive, a deviant, an abomination.

Jared pulled up and re-secured his pants.  "Well, OK, Augie.  I guess I
really should be getting back to the barracks, then.  We have early
reveille tomorrow and, like they say, `at BUDS, the only easy day was
yesterday.'"

"No, Jared.  I don't want you to leave now.  I want you to stay here with
me to- night.  We'll get up early tomorrow morning.  You can use my stuff
here to shower and shave and we'll swing by the barracks on the way to
class so you can snag a fresh uniform.  We don't have to do anything at
all.  I just want to sleep with you tonight."

Jared considered his father's warning and then, uncharacteristically
throwing all caution to the winds, decided to go with his heart, and with
Shakespeare instead of with his dad: "It is better to have loved and
lost..."

In retrospect, Jared often wondered how he could have gotten through BUDS
without Augie.  It should have been hell.  It was intended to be hell.  But
he'd had Augie at his side.  In later years, Jared found himself looking
back on his SEAL training tour as among the happiest days of his life.

As rigorous as BUDS had been, it was NOT "boot-camp."  Except when trainees
remained in the field overnight for combat exercises, they were permitted,
though not required, to live off base.  Within a week, at Augie's
insistence, Jared had moved in with him.

After graduation, Augie and Jared had both been assigned to the same SEAL
team.

After several extremely hazardous assignments, during which both men had
re- ceived their baptisms of fire and saved each others' lives in the
bargain, Pres.  Clinton had been elected to the Whitehouse.  He had
promised during his cam- paign that there would be reform in the military.
The sanctions against gays would be lifted.  Augie had insisted that they
not wait for formal orders to be promulgated and passed down the
chain-of-command; that they come forward and declare themselves right away,
certain that, by Presidential order, very soon, they would be vindicated.
Jared was horrified at this ridiculous notion!  He was a passionate
advocate of "don't ask, don't tell," long before that policy had a name.
"Sorta like having your cake and eating it too."  He appealed to Augie.
Augie had finally worn him down, of course.

"Maybe it's not our lot to give our lives in defense of our country in
battle.  I think maybe we've been called to defend the constitution and to
live up to our oaths to defend the nation here at home.  Besides, what
right have we to our own happi- ness unless we are in solidarity with our
`brothers and sisters' who are hurting?  This is a question of our own
integrity."

Jared countered that it really didn't matter a hill of beans what the
President did.  If they came out of the closet, they would be ostracized
and, who knows, maybe allowed to get hurt or killed in the field or maybe
even fragged outright.  Augie insisted that now was the time for courage.
It was the only way they could keep faith with all the martyrs of the
nation who had given their lives over the last two centuries in defense of
freedom.

Jared thought Augie, like so many naturalized Americans, a hopeless
romantic.  "Of COURSE he was!  Hell, his dad was a fucking Peronista for
chrissakes!"  But Jared loved this darkly-handsome, muscular, fiery-eyed
Argentine so, against his better judgment, he went along.  They were
bounced, of course: sacrificed to the Administration's "don't ask. don't
tell" compromise.  The very policy that Jared had touted to Augie as "a
neat idea."  Jared was furious with himself.  If he'd had the courage of
his own damned convictions this never would have happened.  Au- gie could
not be expected to make decisions like this rationally.  He had no con-
cept of self-interest.  He was just such a starry-eyed idealist and Jared
had known this.  It was his job to protect Augie and himself and he'd been
a fool.  Now both of them had suffered.  The real hell of all this was,
Jared wholeheartedly AGREED with "don't ask. don't tell."  It codified what
had been tacitly practiced in the military for years.  Jared wasn't really
prepared himself to see gay "military dependents" receiving the same
base-exchange, medical and other dependent benefits as "normal" families.
Not really.  He saw open homosexuality in the ranks as gravely "prejudicial
to good order and discipline."  Now they were out on the street with skills
nobody wanted.  None of the other services could take them.  They were
stuck in relatively low-paying jobs, no GI-education benefits, nothing.

Then Augie got sick; very sick.  It was a genetic, degenerative muscle
disorder.  no cure...  only a matter of time.  The end would be protracted
and painful.  Jared was sure this was God's judgment against his temerity
for seizing joy and happi- ness in forbidden love.  Getting bounced from
the Navy was a minor setback compared to this.  Jared was devastated.

Before this disaster, after they had come forward in the Navy as
homosexuals, Augie had taken Jared home to meet his family.  This did not
happen easily.  Ja- red and Augie almost came to blows over it.  Augie had
pleaded with Jared who simply would not consider such a "ridiculous
notion."  He was genuinely con- cerned for Augie's parents and could not
believe they would accept him with open arms.  "Hell," Jared had bleated
about four octaves above dead center his normal register, "I wouldn't WANT
parents who could understand or accept a thing like this!"  Augie's
assurances that his parents had begged him to bring his young man- friend
home to meet them was rejected with contempt.

"You stupid, naive "Argie"-idealist-pandejo.  Your parents are LYING!!!
They don't want the truth, you fucking idiot!  They want
REASSURANCE... that eve- rything is going to be story-book, picture-perfect
okey-dokey.  They want you to look into their eyes and lie, lie, deny,
deny.  I am NOT going to be the jerk who sachets into their home to inform
them that they'll never have any grandchildren by you.  I may be a
dick-smoking queen, but at least I've got some pride left.  You're asking
me to break your parents' hearts.  to trash their last hopes for you to
have a normal life with a normal family.  That's not going to happen by me,
Augie...  Ever!"

Augie won of course.  He wheedled and cajoled until Jared turned on his
friend and snarled, "You're making a worse mistake than when I let you talk
us into coming out in front of our shipmates in the Navy.  I've let you
destroy our Navy careers.  I'm not going to have your parents on my
conscience too."

Augie was stung by Jared's vicious cheap shot and as soon as he'd spoken
the words Jared wanted them back.  He hadn't meant to hurt Augie's
feelings, just get him off his back.  Now he had rekindled Augie's own
remorse for what he felt he'd done to Jared's aspirations for a career in
the navy.  Augie would have gladly given up life or limb in defense of his
adopted country and the cherished freedoms America stood for.  That, in
their defense he'd only been called upon to sacrifice his navy career,
Augie felt was a small price to pay, indeed.  But in his rush to
"martyrdom," Augie had not counted the cost to his beloved Jared.  He
bitterly re- gretted having dragged the man he loved into this hopeless
stand and what this had wound up costing him.  Much as Augie loved America,
loved liberty and loved his principles, he would have sacrificed them
all... would have sacrificed ANYTHING for Jared.  He would sooner have died
than do anything that would harm Jared in any way.

But the truth was, Jared didn't blame Augie one bit, and never had, for
their ill- advised decision to declare their homosexuality to the navy.  He
blamed himself.  Augie had done so much for Jared.  He lavished more love
and affection on Jared than he'd ever known in his life.  And he was so
protective and supportive of him, so determined to make up for the
comparatively barren and loveless early years of his life.  Jared was
certain there would never be any way he could repay Augie for all he'd done
for him.  But at least he could have protected them both from Au- gie's
quixotic impulse to "come out" in full view of the Navy, not to mention,
worse, in front of their seal team shipmates!  He had known better but he'd
al- lowed himself to be weak, failing to stand up to Augie when it counted,
for both of them, rather than hurting his feelings now for no good reason.
He'd been nursing a guilty conscience, ever since they were cashiered, for
his perceived fail- ure to hold up his end of the bargain, for allowing his
friend to stand into peril without stopping him.  Now, Augie's needlessly
wounded feelings broke his heart.

He struggled valiantly to control his emotions, but it was a lost cause.
Jared melted into a chair in tears of remorse.

Augie'd never seen Jared cry before, except when the national anthem was
played.  Jared could always be depended to mist over at the Star Spangled
Banner.  Aside from that, Jared just didn't display much emotion of any
kind.  But when the flood gates opened, it was a deluge.  Augie cradled him
tenderly in his muscular arms like a little boy.

Jared's "surrender" was NOT unconditional.  If it meant so much to Augie,
Jared would go along and meet his folks.  But Jared would NEVER reciprocate
by tak- ing Augie back to Brenham, Texas to meet his own sober, straight
laced, Texas German Catholic parents.  Augie had wanted very badly to be
introduced to Ja- red's folks.  Jared flatly refused and declined even to
discuss the matter.

"What's the matter, Jared?  I'm not good enough to meet your parents?  Are
you ashamed of me?"

"Fuckin'-A, Augie...  Bingo!  You're a hairy-assed MAN for God's sake!
Hell, of COURSE I'm ashamed to bring you home to my folks.  I'd be ashamed
to bring any MAN home to them.  Which fucking PLANET are you living on?
What is the MATTER with you?"

Jared warned Augie in no uncertain terms that to insist on this would be
tanta- mount to forcing a choice between his lover and his parents.  He
assured Augie that his duty to his parents back in Texas would prevail over
the call of his heart.  Augie could not bring himself to believe that once
they knew the truth, Jared's parents would fail to come around.  But it was
clear that Jared had no such faith in them so, reluctantly, Augie promised
never to push this issue again.

Augie's parents fell in love with Jared immediately and he with them.
Augie had known all along this would happen.  Jared was so gallant with
Augie's mom.  So deferential to his dad; a real Texas gentleman that Augie
had been bursting with pride to show off to his folks.  Jared had known a
smattering of Spanish from his school days and in the Rodrigues home, he
had plenty of opportunity to polish his skills.  And between Augie and his
family, Jared, who had thought of himself as unmusical as anyone who'd ever
lived, picked up the piano and within a year had progressed sufficiently
that he could hold his own as a performing member of the Rodrigues family
"chamber orchestra."  With his piano training from SRA. Rod- rigues and his
musicology from Augie's father, Jared could hold forth for as long as 15 to
20 minutes, polemicizing competently and with passion on the objective
geometric superiority of lower frequency Verdi tuning!  How much different,
broader and more beautiful his life had become because of Augie and his
family!

And now Augie was sick and dying.  Clearly, "the mills of God [had ground]
ex- ceeding fine."  Jared would peddle the only thing he had, his combat
skills.  He had known how to plug into the mercenary networks and it wasn't
long before he found the "mercs" who were recruiting for Elias Wright.  He
knew from the jump that these guys were bad news, but you had to understand
the AMOUNT of money they were offering him.  Half a million bucks!  He
would bargain away his soul for Augie's life.  It was a shot, anyway.  He
went to the hospice where Au- gie's dad had arranged to make his son as
comfortable as possible.  Augie had told his dad how glad he was that it
was him in this death bed and not Jared.  Badly as this hurt, if it had
been the other way around, Augie was sure he could not have endured that
anguish.  Jared had always been more stoic, more able to endure, more
resilient to pain.  Jared's "farewells" to Augie and his dad were brief.
He'd be back.  He had to go away on business. "No."  He couldn't fill them
in on any details.  He would be gone no more than a few weeks at most.

And then he'd joined Elias Wright's band of cut throats.  He'd been
horrified by the mission.  Killing teenage boys, even those reputed to be
as "dangerous" as these would have been unthinkable under normal
circumstances.  But the money he would be paid was Augie's only hope and a
slim one at that.  Jared bit the bul- let and went with the flow.

Then Jared had let himself get hit, evacuating seriously wounded who would
only be shot anyway by his employers.  It was because of Augie's influence
in his life that he found himself "jousting windmills" now.  Before Augie,
he couldn't imagine himself doing something so futile.  From his deathbed
thousands of miles away, the Argie "pandejo," had "won" again, just like
with their "coming out" in the navy and with his meeting Augie's parents.
In spite of himself, Jared had been irreversibly changed by Augie and his
loving family.

"Completely avoidable, of course," Jared later told himself.  If he hadn't
been such a sentimental fool, he'd have gotten away, unscathed to fight
another day, collect his money and maybe save his lover's life.  But, no,
he'd lingered, trying to evacuate the wounded from, of all things, incoming
"friendly" mortar fire.  It did no good, unfortunately.  As promised when
they were recruited, the invaders were killing their own seriously wounded.
They were as good as their word at having made no provision for medical
attention in the field and at having no desire to feed, pay or care for
mercenaries no longer of any use to them.  He had known this as did all his
confederates.  They had all been warned by their employer be- fore they
signed up that if they were seriously wounded, they would be disposed of.
But those who managed to go the distance in "delivering the bacon," would
receive that half million dollars apiece.  Still, even knowing they would
be shot, Jared could not bring himself to leave wounded men in harm's way.
After ven- turing half a dozen times into a mortar impact zone, Jared had
taken a stray shrap- nel hit, opening his right leg from the crotch to the
knee.  The femoral artery had not been severed.  Had it been, he would not
have survived.  As it was, his blood loss was horrific.  He went down ,
beginning a silent recitation of the Act of Con- trition as he lost
consciousness: "Oh my God, I am heartily sorry for having offened thee..."
and then when he awoke, he was surrounded by four bikini-clad, phenomenally
muscled, tanned beautiful boys, just at the threshold of manhood.  A big,
heavily muscled, but fully clothed, man, forytish, was with them.  These
were the people Jared's employers had come for.  But they had badly mauled
the invading force.  From what he had seen of their incredible strength,
confirming what he'd read in pre-arrival intelligence reports, any one of
them could take him apart with his bare hands.  He couldn't run. His right
leg was out of commission and he'd lost so much blood.  He was too
weak. There would be no mercy for him, of course.  His captors would
certainly kill him and even if they didn't, once they found him, his own
comrades would.  He'd already made peace with his God.  He lunged for his
side arm, managed to retrieve it from the holster on his web belt,
chambered a round, then placed the muzzle in his mouth.  But with the
unbeliev- able swiftness of a striking viper, one of the of the muscle
boys, the dark-headed one, was on him, grasping his wrist and squeezing
with near bone-crushing power.  The man lost his grip and the pistol fell
harmlessly to the ground at his side.  With his bare foot, the boy kicked
the weapon out of Jared's reach.  Then, without a word to the man , the
muscle-boy turned to his companions and pleaded with them to spare the
mercenary's life.  He shielded the wounded man with his near-naked body,
clearly worried the three other boys might indeed try to take him apart
with their bare hands.  The dark-haired boy, keenly aware of his own super-
strength, and that of his friends, knew all too well that this was no idle
fear.  But without hesitation, one of the other muscle-youths, this one
strikingly beautiful with gold-streaked brown hair... and the eyes: Eerie!
gold streaks radiating from the pupils, like star bursts...  this was
Eric... He spoke for the other two boys, the big man (Tom) and himself,
when he gravely declared, "Ricky, these guys may wind up killing us all but
I promise you, we will never let them make us do something like that.  No
matter what, we won't murder a wounded man.  We won't let these marauders
to turn us into monsters like them!"  That the four boys would unanimously
turn their backs on revenge was marvel enough, but they had spotted the
attackers' cold-blooded killing of their own badly wounded!  Even in their
own acute distress, these young boy-men, mature beyond their tender years,
felt compassion even for this evidently unrepentant but helpless enemy.

The dark haired youth, this was Ricky, exclaimed: "Maybe this dude has a
fam- ily, kids or SOMEbody who needs him, waiting for him to come back
home.  We CAN'T leave him for the bad guys to finish off!  We just CAN'T"
So, then and there, the boys agreed among themselves that, until they could
nurse their captive back to health, they would carry him as best they
could, on their backs, if need be, as they moved through the jungle,
evading their enemy.  That these boys would decide to do this for a captive
enemy reduced Tom, momentarily, to tears of awe.  He had simply never
imagined he would see such sublime vindication of his years of loving and
rearing these boys, their souls radiating beauty even more compel- ling
than that of their sleek, sculpted and powerful bodies.

By the time of his capture by Tom and the boys, Jared and his comrades had
tasted bitterly of the awesome power of these young muscle hunks.  Prior to
their arrival, the mercenary force had obtained good intelligence of their
reputed prowess.  The target folder, which Jared had reviewed thoroughly,
included an appendix with thorough intelligence on the essentials of
"Project Hercules."  When wounded and captured, he had expected no mercy,
either from these terri- fyingly powerful super-beings or from his own
comrades.  So he had tried des- perately to kill himself.  But this young
muscle-boy, Ricky, had restrained him, saving him from himself.

Eric leveled his gaze at the mercenary explaining: "You are our prisoner
now, mister: Our responsibility.  No way anyone under our protection is
allowed to die, by suicide or any other way."

Jared had heard all of this exchange and, as hardened as he had felt
compelled to become, he was overcome with remorse that he had come here to
kill these aw- somely powerful but obviously tender-hearted boys and their
guardian.  He did indeed have "family" back home, after a fashion: The love
of his life, Augostino Juan Domingo Peron Rodrigues y de los Santos, in
hospice in LA, with that crip- pling, debilitating, degenerative muscular
disease.  Augie was totally dependent upon Jared's return with the money
for financial support for sustenance and per- haps a slender chance at
life.  But Jared did not share this "hard luck story" with his captors.

The big man spoke: "What's your name fella?"  The mercenary answered,
"Look, I'm as good as dead here.  And I came here to kill you.  You don't
owe me any- thing.  Just give me back my piece and leave me be.  It'll be
over in a few seconds.  Then you can take the weapon and run.

Tom replied: "Sorry guy, can't do that, much as I'm tempted to accommodate
you.  But I guess I've been out voted.  Seems these lads suspect you of
having some kind of soul deep down there somewhere inside you.  Going back
into that mortar fire for your wounded was stupid and hopeless, but it was
right and good.  We're gonna hold onto you..."

"As a hostage?" the mercenary laughed mirthlessly.  "Won't do you any good.
They're killing the wounded."

"Yeah.  We know, Tom said.  "Now just tell us your name."

"Gross.  Jared Gross."

"Mine's Tom Henderson.  And this young fella who spoke up for you is Ricky
Addison and this is Eric Silverthorne, Jack Tyler and Alex Tempest."

Jared swooned.  Tom knelt alongside, made a cursory examination.  "Boys.
This man's hurt bad.  He's going into shock and unless we can figure out
something, he won't last the night."  Moving him's not such a good idea
either.

Alex spoke up.  Maybe we stitch him up somehow and figure out a way to give
him a transfusion."

"How can we do that?" Tom replied.  In the first place, we don't have the
proper equipment and I'm not a doctor...  not a medical doctor."

Jack placed his hand on the man's shoulder.  "Tom, you are a physiologist.
That's the next best thing and right now, you're the only chance this guy's
got.  You've got plenty of stuff in that back pack of yours.  Alex brought
out nearly everything in the house in that tent bag when he went back to
the shed for that rope for your tree-harness.  We've gotta bring this dude
around, find out his blood type and hope for a match with one of us.  We
all know each others' blood types.  Heck, you've been jabbing and prodding
at us with your needles and probes for as long as I can remember.  Now
maybe all that sticking and poking can count for some- thing.  At least we
have to try."

Ricky added his two cents worth: "Tom, you saw how Eric came around when he
got shot.  He nearly died and by next morning, it was like he'd never been
hit.  Maybe we all can heal like that."

"Yeah, probably, but so what?" Tom asked...

"Well," Ricky went on, "maybe if one of us is a match, our blood could do
the same thing for... for this man."

"We don't know that for sure," Tom answered.  "Maybe its more than just
your blood that gives you your special self-healing traits.  It's probably
a combination of factors.  Dr. Vanderhaeghe and I never really had a chance
to pursue that line of research.  None of you has ever been sick a day in
your life and your bodies are phenomenally resistant to injury.  But we
never did any research on your response to trauma like this or like what
happened to Eric.  How could we?"

This time Eric spoke up.  "Tom, slim chance is better than no chance.  Lets
try to wake him up and get his blood type."

Tom reached into his rucksack, took out a syringe and a small bottle.  He
prepared the injection, stuck the needle in Jared's left arm and slid the
plunger home.  After about a minute or so, Jared returned to a groggy
consciousness.  Tom spoke to Ja- red.  "Look man, you're hurt pretty bad
but we think we can patch you up.  But you've lost a lot of blood.  We need
to know your blood type."

"Like I said, I'm finished.  You're wasting valuable time.  You fellows
need to move out now.  My 'friends' could come back this way any minute
and, trust me, you don't want to be here when they do.  Mister, by screwing
around with me you're being irresponsible with these kids."

Tom got down into Jared's face: "Look, asshole, I thought we already had
this settled.  You don't understand.  If you don't cooperate, I'm never
gonna get these guys outta here.  They refuse to leave without you.  And
there's not a man alive who could make them move if they don't want to go.
I don't have time to go into all the "why's" and "wherefores" of that right
now but, trust me, we've got a chance if you'll just fucking cooperate.
Now tell me your blood type before you pass out again."

It's "o-positive," Jared said...  and then he did pass out again.

Tom looked up at the boys. "

Jack, looks like you've been elected as donor.  Step right up here and let
me poke at you yet again."

Tom reached into his rucksack and pulled out the necessary implements,
silently thanking the God he didn't believe in that Alex had the presence
of mind to re- trieve all this stuff when he'd returned to the compound for
the rope for his tree- harness.  Jack was right.  Alex had brought out
everything from the house but the kitchen sink.  Even some sentimental
photos from happier times.

Tom reconsidered and decided the first thing to do was to staunch the blood
loss and then get Jared moved to a safer place so he could work on his
"patient" with- out having to look over his shoulder, worried about the
enemy finding them in this relatively exposed position.  He took off his
belt and rigged a tourniquet...  Then peeled off his shirt and applied it
as a compress directly over the gaping wound.

Jack and Ricky rigged a stretcher for Jared, placed him on it and the small
band moved out.  They made very good time, not withstanding the dense
jungle and, before too long came to a place of relative safety where they
had stashed Alex's "loot" from the house.  Here was a place Tom could work
in relative comfort and security.  He drew as much blood as he dared from
Jack and fed it into Jared's vein.  "Now all we can do is wait and hope."

Tom then set to work on the leg, disinfecting the gaping wound and then
stitching it closed as best he could.  It was an grizzly, ugly job but it
would have to do.  Tom covered Jared with a blanket and looked at the boys.
"That's it guys.  That's all I can do."

Eric, and Alex fanned out on the flanks.  Each boy rocketed up a tree trunk
into the jungle canopy to watch for approaching enemy patrols.  Their speed
and agil- ity was disquieting, even though Tom had observed it so many
times, maybe hun- dreds of times before.  He shuddered as he considered an
army of such supermen at the disposal of neo-fascist former Soviet bloc
bandit states like the Eastern European Republic of Mulvia-Everinia.  His
boys had been raised in a loving, nurturing and caring environment.  But
such super-beings raised by a Spartan, garrison state, even unarmed, would
be lethal.  With their clear-cut physiological superiority over ordinary
men, they could easily be programmed to believe they had a right to kill,
remorselessly.  History was replete with horrifying precedents.  For the
first time since joining Project Hercules, Tom was genuinely afraid that he
and Dr. Vanderhaeghe may well have opened "Pandora's box," with,
conceivably, catastrophic consequences for humanity at large.

Since he'd just been drained of so much blood, Tom ordered Jack to lie down
and he, of course, objected but finally relented to please Tom.  Tom spread
a light- weight blanket over Jack.  Ricky lay on the ground alongside Jared
underneath his blanket, adding his above-normal body warmth to Jared's to
counter the effects of traumatic shock.  All they could do now was wait.
This was an opportunity to get some rest himself and Tom decided it would
be wise to take advantage of it.  >From their vantage points, Eric and Alex
would warn them in plenty of time if trouble came calling.

It took Jared's leg about twice as long as it had taken Eric to recover
from the sucking chest wound he had gotten in an earlier engagement with
Wright's henchmen but aside from that, recovery was every bit as
miraculous.  During that time, Jared's body temperature had elevated to 41
degrees Celcius, causing Tom some concern.  But when he examined the
dressing, he was mildly surprised at the healing.  Not as dramatic in time
of recovery as Eric's, but other than Eric's, unlike anything Tom had ever
seen or ever heard of.  Clearly, Ricky's theory that their blood could
transmit phenomenal healing properties to ordinary men was correct.  Jared
was "coming out of the woods."  By the time Jared was completely healed,
there was no trace of even so much as a scar, swelling or redness of the
skin in the vicinity of the wound..  If Tom had not already seem even more
rapid healing in Eric, he would have been astounded.  He made two mental
notes to self: One, for about the thousandth time, to try not to be
astounded at anything in connection with these super-boys and their
physiology.  The second, that this fortuitous medical miracle might come in
handy again in the next few days and hours.  Who knew what scientific and
medical implications from this might lie ahead if they ever managed to get
off this island!

Jared had slept during most of the 24 hours of his unbelievable recovery.
When he awoke, fully healed, he was to say the least, speechless.  Tom
explained, "We dressed the wound and gave you a transfusion.  It was Jack's
blood that matched yours.  Eric took a bad hit not long after you people
arrived.  We thought we'd lost him and by next morning, he was completely
healed, just like you.  He was a lot worse off than you and he healed in
about half the time you took.  But, obviously, their blood has the capacity
to transfer a good bit of their phenomenal recupera- tive powers through
transfusion.  Actually, it was Ricky's idea.  He hasn't left your side the
whole time."

Jared was even more taken aback by the kindness of his captors even than
his phenomenal recovery with the aid of Jack's blood in his veins.

"Why are you people doing this for me?  I came here to kidnap you and to
kill these boys."

"No you didn't, Jared." Tom replied.  "If you had, you would have shot us
when you pulled your pistol and tried to eat that bullet.  Why didn't you
turn your weapon on us?"

Then Tom turned to Jack and Ricky.  "You boys round up Eric and Alex."  I
think we should be moving out, now.  Can't afford to stay in any one place
too long.  Lets not push our luck, eh?  I think you can move OK now, can't
you, Jared?"

"Yeah, I think so.  And you're right, Tom.  No doubt Wright and his goons
are doing a sector-by-sector search, sweeping this whole island.  Only a
matter of time before they pass this way."

Tom put his hand on Jared's shoulder.  "Jared, I'm not a religious man and
I'm not superstitious at all.  But if I were, I'd swear our finding you was
some kind of miracle.  We saw what you did with your people, risking your
life to save them.  I don't know how in hell you fell in with these
bastards, but I'd bet even money there's some kind of story there.  We're
in a really tight corner with no way we can see to get out of it.  Will you
help us?  Can you help us?"

Jared looked up at Tom.  "I'm not really sure.  Right now we've got to keep
mov- ing and evading.  Maybe I can come up with something."

Tom gathered his boys around and explained to them that he wanted them to
trust Jared and to follow whatever instructions he gave them.  Then he
turned to Jared and explained, "We'll follow your lead, Jared.  It's the
only chance I can see we've got.  But you've got to remember, even though
none of these kids is expendable, they have strength and abilities that you
and I are going to have to rely on if we're going to have any chance at all
to level the playing field here."

"Tom, our target folder had fairly decent intell. on this `Project
Hercules' of yours and Dr. Vanderhaeghe's.  And I've been on the receiving
end of some of their `mischief.'  So far, this "goat-rope" OP has been
`Home Alone,'...  SQUARED.  It's been kinda like goin' up against McCauley
Caughlin and Superboy combined!  I don't think I'll have any problem at all
keeping in mind what these boys can do."

"We're going to have to keep moving to have any chance of avoiding
detection.  And eventually, we'll have to do some reconnoitering of our
own.  I want to find someplace that's already been swept and try to give
you and the boys some 'school-call' on how to move and how to manage a
takedown.  First thing, we're going to need some weapons.  Best way to do
that, I think is to ambush a patrol, take `em out and grab their stuff.
But I won't be able to afford you and these kids going soft on me.  When we
pounce, I expect them to be taken out, period.  And I can't manage all the
dirty work by myself.  We're going to have to do some killing before this
is over."

Tom had made this same argument with Eric after the young man had downed
that forger jump-jet.  He nodded to Jared and turned to the boys.  They
nodded too, their expressions grave but determined.  Tom marveled again at
his boys' complete lack of blood lust for their mortal enemies.  Jared
wasn't entirely satis- fied.  He felt they would need to be a lot more
aggressive if they were going to have any chance at all of getting off this
island in one piece.  But, hey, this was the hand he'd been dealt.  An
egg-head "nutty professor," even if he was built like a defensive lineman,
four adolescent "love-and-peace flower children," even if they were the
strongest human beings alive, no weapons, except for Jared's Glock 40 cal.,
and except for him, no military training or combat skills.  Things had sure
gotten... "interesting!"

Tom had the boys bury their tent bag and with light provisions, the band
moved out.  Rick walked "point" 50 - 75 meters ahead with Eric and Alex
deployed 20 meters left and right of Rick.  Jack brought up the rear with
Jared and Tom in the center.  Neither man liked screening themselves behind
these kids, but Jared re- luctantly concluded this was their optimum
formation.  Jared did not really expect these four boys to be particularly
aggressive.  All of the damage they'd done to Wright's mercenary force had
occurred in defensive, not offensive engagements.  In nearly a dozen
encounters with Wright's mercs, not once had Tom or the boys taken the
initiative.  But Jared was taking no chances.  One-by-one, Jared swore each
of the young muscle prodigies, individually, on solemn oath, that they
would not try any "cowboy" heroics on their own.  The immediate objective
here was to avoid detection at all costs.  Winning an "impromptu" skirmish
was a long shot at best and even if they did, enemy mercenaries would
certainly manage to broadcast a contact report before going down.  Each of
the boys had agreed in turn.  Jared assured each of them that when he
judged the time was right, they'd set up an am- bush and engineer a
takedown.  But it would be on their terms, not the enemy's, and on their
initiative, not the enemy's.

The group had been on the move about two hours when Eric spotted a small
en- emy patrol moving in on their left flank.  It didn't look like they'd
been detected.  The three boys in the lead doubled back and, as agreed,
everyone ascended the tree trunks.  There was no time for the older men's
dignity.  Jack snatched Tom.  Ricky got Jared, like a sack of potatoes and
up they went.  The enemy patrol passed harmlessly underneath, never
detecting their prey.  They agreed it would be a good idea to offset their
position 50 meters or so to their left, realigning their route of march
through the jungle.  They were in no hurry to do this, so Tom and Jared
moved independently through the canopy.  No way they could match the boys
in speed, but, as well conditioned athletes, both men were agile enough to
make their way this short distance.  The boys adjusted their own speed of
travel so they could all stay together.

Just as they arrived over their objective, the tree limb Jack was hanging
onto broke clean through.  Like a cracking whip, Jared's left hand shot
out, snagging the boy's right wrist.  And then, Jared's supporting tree
limb began to fail.  Jack's added weight was just too much.  The tree
branch splintered and folded.  Jared held on for dear life, his own as well
as Jack's; Ricky was overhead on a neigh- boring branch, reaching out for
Jared in desperation, but he was just out of reach.  Jack looked up at
Jared.  "Look man.  You're gonna hafta let me go.  That tree branch is
coming down if you don't."

"Naw, kid.  Sorry.  Can't do that.  We go down, we're going down together.
Now just chill out and let me figure this out.  Don't move or do anything
stupid.  We might split this branch clean through.  I'd turn you loose and
let you climb on up my body, bit I'm pretty sure this branch will give way
with that much motion.  You've got to trust me to hang onto you.  I won't
let go."

"That's just it, Jared.  You HAVE to let go.  I can take this fall.  Me and
the other guys do this all the time...  Done it since we were little kids!
We always come up without a scratch!"

"Jack's right," Tom broke in from a few feet away in another tree.  I know
its hard but you've got to trust us.  Please, Jared.  It'll be OK, I
swear."

Here was Jared facing a life or death situation and here THEY were, even
Tom, spouting all this NONSENSE about letting this boy take a 100 foot
fall!  They were throwing him off his concentration!

Jack broke the impasse.  "Jared.  Listen to me.  Don't be afraid.  I'm just
going to reach up with my left hand and pull myself free.  I know why you
can't let go.  Maybe if I were you, I couldn't either."  Jared's grip was
strong.  Very strong.  But as easily as Jared would have pulled free of the
grip of an infant, Jack pulled free of Jared.

Jack still held onto Jared's left wrist with his own.  He looked up at
Jared. "It's OK, man.  It's just that I'm so strong.  It's not your fault.
No way you could've held onto me.  Please don't worry.  I'm gonna be OK.
Just hold on and we'll get you outta this."  Then Jack let go and began to
fall over 100 feet to the jungle floor below.  His hands above his head and
then pulled in across his chest as Jack prepared for his crash landing.
Jared started down at Jack in horror, letting out a soft, low-throated
groan of despair.

Before Jack reached the ground, Jared's branch broke clean through.  For
the sec- ond time today, Jared started recitation of his final Act of
Contrition.  As he hur- tled earthward, he glanced down in time to see Jack
slam into the ground, break- ing his fall with a rolling somersault, coming
to his feet unharmed.  The kid had made it!

>From directly overhead Ricky called out to Jared, "hang on, man.  I'm
coming."  Jared couldn't see Ricky, but he knew now exactly what was
coming.  Ricky, perched on a tree limb just overhead and just out of reach
of Jared propelled him- self down toward his target with incredible power
in his spring-coiled legs.  Ricky had attained greater than terminal
velocity before his feet cleared the branch.  Less than one second later,
he slammed into Jared's body with unbelievable force, overcoming the
full-grown man's inertia with his own, snagging him under his armpits with
his muscular left arm.  Jared was no varsity gymnast, but he'd done some
intramural stuff in high school on the floor, parallel bars and high bar.
He discarded the pigheadedness he'd shown with Jack like an ill-fitting,
worn-out garment and in a brilliant flash of inspiration went with the
flow.  Jared had a marvelous, instinctive sense of spatial geometry and in
a leap of insight nothing short of phenomenal, just before Jack slammed
into him, grasped exactly what was about to happen.  He would give Ricky
his full cooperation and permit this boy to save his life.  He allowed Rick
to tuck his body in close and streamlined himself alongside.  A less agile
man probably would not have accomplished his part in his own rescue as
adroitly as Jared.  The man saw Ricky's target, a tree limb coming on fast,
just offset from their nearly vertical, downward, straight and true
trajectory.  He lowered his head for maximum clearance a fraction of a sec-
ond before Ricky's right arm snagged the limb.  Together, man and boy
executed two full 360 degree loops and 180 degrees of a third before
gravity finally over- came inertia and they swung back 90 degrees to
vertical.

For just a second, they just hung there together.  Ricky supporting both of
them from the tree limb with his powerful right arm, holding Jared securely
into his left side with his other arm.  Ricky murmured mechanically, "Its
OK `Lois.'  I've got you."

Jared, recognizing the Hollywood reprise and quick on the uptake, did not
miss a beat.  "You've got me...  Who's got you?"

Jared couldn't see Ricky's broad boyish grin, but if he had, his heart
would have melted.  "Wow man!  You've seen that movie too!"  Jared reached
up for the tree limb and grabbed hold with his own left hand.  Together,
the two of them hung together, profound relief and mutual admiration
washing over them.  Ricky gave Jared an affectionate squeeze, just a little
tighter.  He would have preferred a bear hug, but this was the best he
could manage in such an awkward position.

When they got down to the jungle floor below, Ricky explained to Jared and
Tom.  "Ever since Dr. Vanderhaeghe brought us that old `Superman-One,'
video tape a few months ago, me and the guys have been practicing that
`save.'  Way cool that you picked up on our lines, Jared.  We said those
exact words from the movie every time we got it right and made a good save.
We've just started to get it down fairly good.  When we started out, we'd
call ourselves `Clark and Lois.'  We were- n't really doing all that well
with it, though.  Then Alex figured it out.  He'd checked out a Canadian
Air Force Web Site on `formation flying.'  He showed us the printout.  It
said the wing men normally worked harder than the lead pilot, working to
maintain proper speed and interval from the lead.  It works the same when
we're heaving iron in our workouts.  The spotter concentrates nearly as
hard as the lifter.  Maybe harder.  So, that was our ticket.  `Superman'
was `lead' and `Lois,' `wing man.'  `Wingie' had to trust in his lead and
be ready to eat dirt with him if `lead' messed up.  We all ate a lotta dirt
for each other.  Wingie had to help his lead by going with the flow and by
not trying to do the save if his lead missed the limb.  No other way we
were ever gonna get good.  Never thought we'd ever get to do this for real,
Jared." Ricky said in frank admiration, "You were about the coolest wingie
I've ever been with.  Not sure I'd've managed without you being so fast on
the uptake.  Next time you wanna take lead?"

Ricky flashed Jared another million dollar wide mouth grin that would have
melted an iceberg.

Jared just sighed and replied, "Noooo... kid.  I think I've had about all
the `fun' with that little maneuver I can stand for one lifetime.  Not to
mention snagging that tree limb would probably dislocate anybody's
shoulders but you guys'!"

Tom regarded the muscle-youths with disbelief.  "Are you boys crazy?  You
could've broken your damn fool necks trying a stupid thing like that.  Why
didn't you TELL me this was going on?"

Alex, standing alongside, gave Tom a playful one-arm squeeze around his
middle.  "Aw, come on, Tom!  Honest... Did you tell YOUR folks everything
you got into when you were our age?"

Tom was momentarily completely disarmed by Alex's offhand but genuinely
heartfelt allusion to his role as the four boys' "parent."  Before he could
recover, Jared broke in.

"OK, this chit-chat is real nice and all but we gotta get a move on.  Now
let's shove off."

It wasn't long before they ran into trouble again and this time they
weren't so lucky.  The enemy patrol spotted them and it was obvious they'd
managed to get a signal off to their command post before Jared, Tom and the
boys managed to take them down.  Jared ordered Tom and the boys to strip
the enemy of everything of conceivable value, including their uniforms.
Darkly tanned muscle boys running semi-nude through this jungle may have
been very picturesque and all, but he wanted them in camouflage uniforms
ASAP.  He had the boys don captured en- emy jungle-pattern uniforms.  Tom,
as well as each of the boys, strapped on web belts, taken from their
victims, each fitted with holsters, each with a Gloch-40!  The boys
strongly objected when Jared ordered each of them to select a pair of boots
with a fairly close fit; but when he continued to insist, Tom ended the de-
bate, reminding them of their promise to follow ALL of Jared's
instructions. Then Jared ordered Tom into one of the uniform shirts.  There
were none among their captured "loot" large enough for Tom's massive frame,
so he ordered the boys to rip out the sleeves and told Tom not to bother
buttoning up.  It was better than no camouflage at all.  They moved away
from their point of contact with the enemy patrol just as one of the two
surviving forgers arrived overhead.  This pilot had learned from his
comrade's misfortune so he hovered safely above hurling range of the boys'
powerful arms.

Jared knew this was "game over" unless somebody came up with something
fast.  No way for one of the boys to hurl debris into the engine inlet this
time, but they'd just managed a takedown of that enemy patrol.  Jared had
found a captured gre- nade launcher among their "loot."  He stuffed two of
the long rocket grenades into his baggy side pockets, slung the weapon onto
his back and proceed to shinny up a tree.  He didn't have the phenomenal
strength or agility of the boys, but for an ordinary man, his performance
was impressive.  Even the boys had to grant him credit.  Ricky started to
go after him but, at Tom's behest, Eric held him back.

"Ricky.  This is hard for you.  It tough for me too.  We both want to go up
that tree with Jared but we've got to let him do this on his own.  He's the
best man for this job and you've got to trust him to do it right, just like
he trusted you with that save.  You owe him that."

Ricky nodded reluctantly... very reluctantly.  But Eric was right.  He had
no counter argument.

Jared brought if off, of course.  Right up the starboard engine inlet with
his rocket-propelled grenade.  "Scratch forger number two," Jared reported
with satis- faction when he rejoined his new friends.  "Now Wright is
really gonna be pissed.  But he's not going to be as fast and loose with
his last jump-jet.  All of a sudden, the playing field is getting just a
wee tad more level, and I'm beginning to think I may have a plan.  Now its
time we move out.  Fast.  Bad guys gonna be all over us before you know
it."

When they had reached relative safety, deeper in the jungle, Jared took the
time to give each of his "troops," Tom, Eric, Alex, Ricky and Jack some
small-arms ori- entation.  He taught them how to acquire their target, shut
one eye, line up the front and rear sight, dead center your target and
squeeze, do NOT jerk, the trigger.  Jared would have preferred "live fire"
target practice, but the danger was too great that the noise would reveal
their position to the hunters, so "dry fire" would just have to do.  They'd
all get live fire experience soon enough.  Jared cursed the cir- cumstances
that had catapulted these gentle, peace loving adolescents into harm's way.
Super strength or no, forcing these kids to perform as combatants was a
crime against humanity.  He prayed to his God that he would be favored with
the opportunity to redeem himself for his part in this "war crime."

Jared was an experienced combat veteran who ought to have known better than
to pray for a thing like that.  He got exactly what he asked for sooner
than he might have wished.

Too late, they had walked into an ambush.  Ricky, Alex and Eric had been
walk- ing a three-man point again, but the enemy had remained concealed,
allowing the boys to overrun their position.  A split second before they
opened up on Tom and Jared, Jared heard a metal-to-metal click, a rifle
safety-catch selected to "off!"  Without thinking, Jared dove for the dirt,
sweeping Tom off his feet with his out- stretched arm.  Now they were cut
off from the three boys in the lead.  Jack, com- pletely alone in the rear
sprinted through the undergrowth to Tom's side, ignoring the withering
enemy fire.  He moved so swiftly and he took such good advantage of cover
from the jungle floor vegetation, that it was very difficult for enemy
sharpshooters to keep Jack in their sights.  He made it without a scratch.
Jared was furious with himself for allowing his "formation" to be trapped
like this.  Ja- red, Tom and Jack, as well as the boys in front, were armed
now, with AK-74 automatic rifles as well as their Glock-40's.  He had
instructed them to select semi-auto mode (one shot - one trigger pull) and
impressed upon them the impor- tance of maintaining "fire discipline."  He
had taught them to leap frog from one position to another in their
maneuver, one man establishing a base of fire to cover the movement of the
others in his formation.  In his crash course to Tom and the boys on
elementary infantry fire and maneuver, he had described precisely this
scenario.  In his briefing, he had warned them that most likely, the enemy
would be employing the exact same maneuver tactics against them.  This
meant there were probably more armed men moving in on them than those
behind the muzzle flashes dead ahead in their line of march.

Tom had taken the time to observe close up, some of the boys phenomenal
strength, speed and stealth.  He wanted a fair assessment of their
capabilities with a mind to exploiting them to their tactical advantage
should the need arise.  Tom had protested that the boys were NOT expendable
and that they could not be de- liberately sent in harm's way.  Jared
retorted that the chances that any of them es- caping this island were "a
very low order of probability."  The chances that they might all get out
alive were, statistically, so remote as to be unworthy of serious
consideration.  There would be casualties.  There would be fatalities.
Unless Tom and the boys were prepared to reconcile themselves to this fact,
none of them had a prayer.

Tom had been enraged.  He grabbed Jared by his shirt and shook him,
thundering at his cold-blooded ruthlessness.  Jared did not fight back.  He
was as heartsick as Tom that any of these kids might not see another
birthday.  But, unless they all agreed with Jared in this, there was
absolutely no chance whatsoever that any of them would.  Tom had calmed
down a little, but he was still sputtering in rage, frustration, grief and
horror.  He had not wanted to face this awful prospect and now here was
Jared talking about it as dispassionately as he would relate the muz- zle
velocity of a standard round from his automatic weapon.  Jared offered to
re- linquish command, but declared simply, as gently as he could that if he
were to carry on, it would only be with the understanding that everyone,
men and boys, were reconciled to this inevitability and that each of them
was prepared to give his life in the cause of escape for the rest of them.
Each of the boys readily agreed, but while Tom was ready to lay his own
life on the line, he could not agree to sac- rifice any of the boys.

Eric spoke for them.  "Tom.  We've decided among ourselves.  There's
nothing any of us can do but to try our best.  Jared's doing his best.  We
need you to trust him like you've told us to and do what he says.  You
heard the man.  If we aren't willing to die, none of us is gonna make it.
Please Tom."

Tom looked at these four fine young men.  So ready to give up their young
lives for each other and for him.  Such courage and selflessness should
have been cause for pride and joy in Tom.  But he fell to the ground and
wept.  It was Jared who, quite uncharacteristically, knelt by Tom and
extended a comforting hand to the man, lightly squeezing his shoulder.
Jared could not remember when he had felt so keenly in his own heart the
pain and desolation of another human being.

Jared gleaned a fairly accurate assessment of the boys' maximum speed over
the ground, their abilities with regard to stealth, as well as their
disconcertingly sur- real, super human ability to shoot up a tree trunk.
Jared was no superman.  But he was a superb athlete and he'd endured some
of the toughest combat training and indoctrination in the world.  Not only
was he a graduate of BUDS, but he was the honor enlisted graduate in his
class.  He had also been selected for additional training with the British
Special Air Services (SAS) and had participated in ultra- secret joint
training exercises with the Spetzialnoye Nazhachenya (Spetznaz) in- side
Russia.  All of this grueling punishment, as well as Jared's maniacally
rigor- ous training and exercise program had Jared in as good conditioning
as any man born of ordinary genetics could hope to attain.  He had also
experienced some- thing of a "boost" with his transfusion from Jack.  He
had no idea how long this serendipitous effect would last, but for now, it
was a noticeable (and much wel- come) improvement over his otherwise quite
remarkable strength, agility and en- durance.

He impressed on the boys how important it was that they exploit their speed
as a weapon.  Their enemy had some idea the boys had super-human abilities,
but they were not accustomed to fire fights with such swift moving
opponents.  Jared would employ this superior ability in movement as a
"force multiplier."  They would be able to bring to bear more fighting
power against their enemy than their small numbers might suggest.  Much
more.

As soon as the three boys walking point heard the shooting, they knew what
had happened.  They had been allowed to over run the enemy ambush which was
now between them and Jared, Tom and Jack.  Their first objective would be
to flank the opposing force and draw their fire to relieve the pressure on
their friends.  Then they would attempt to rejoin and move off to a
predetermined location.  If they failed to rejoin, as many as survived
would maneuver independently to the rendezvous point.

As it happened, the boys did manage to flank their enemy and draw pressure
off Jared, Tom and Jack.  This would not have been possible were it not for
the phe- nomenal speed with which they moved through the dense undergrowth.
As they were about to disengage and retire toward their rendezvous point
about three and a half clicks to the west, an enemy rifleman popped up and
leveled his weapon at Jack.  Jared saw it first.  There was no time to do
anything else so he dove be- tween the shooter and Jack a split second
before the round tore into his abdomen.  Tom shot the assailant in the head
and he immediately crumpled.

Jack snatched Jared's now limp body, tucked him under his left arm, his
AK-74 in the other and he and Tom moved to rejoin the other three boys at
the rendezvous point.

This was worse than the leg.  Much worse.  And now they were separated from
most of their supplies.  Jared's prediction that some of them were bound to
die seemed to have come horribly true.  Tom did his best with the gut
wound.  He was afraid to take any more blood from Jack this soon.  He'd
already taken as much as he'd dared for Jared's leg, no more than forty
eight hours earlier.  Jack begged and pleaded and threatened to draw the
blood from himself.  Then Alex spoke up.  "Tom.  I'm o-negative.  I'm a
universal donor.  Take my blood.  Maybe it won't work well as Jack's, but
it's the only shot we have."

It worked and Tom recovered even more remarkably than he had the first
time.  In fact, nearly as remarkably as Eric had.  In addition to profound
relief at Jared's second miraculous recovery from serious combat injury in
two days, Tom was mystified at Jared's even stronger response to this
second transfusion.  He wished he had some tissue scrapings from Jack, Alex
and Jared, a microscope and some time to check some things out.  He was
beginning to have a nagging suspicion but in truth, there could be any
among a number of things going on here.  If they could just manage to get
away from this place...

When Jared came to, the boys were all over him with hugs and tears of joy
and relief.  Tom helped Jared to his feet, embraced him tightly and them
held him by the shoulders at arms length looking into his eyes with deep
love and gratitude.

"Jared, what you did for Jack, I have no words..."

Jared chuckled and replied, "Well, Tom, I'm not going to stand here and
tell you `it was nothing.'  Jesse Jackson and President Reagan were right.
It hurts like hell to get shot!"

Jared was still less than 100% even though there was no visible evidence at
all of his trauma.  But the healing engine that Alex's blood had fired
consumed nearly every ounce of Jared's fat, low to start with, and actually
consumed some muscle mass as well.  That fuel had to come from someplace.
He badly needed nourish- ment to regain his strength.  Tom took charge and
ordered that they return to their primary safe area where they'd stashed
most of their supplies.  They did not want to spend an inordinate amount of
time there for fear of attracting the enemy's at- tention to the place, but
for now, it seemed the best place to go.  They would make it easily by
dark.  Once there, they would all rest up, eat and gather their strength
for the coming struggle for survival and escape.