Date: Tue, 4 Jan 2011 18:05:41 +0100 From: A.K. Subject: The Mercenary and the Friar 12/14 (Adult Youth) ---------------------------- THE MERCENARY AND THE FRIAR By Andrej Koymasky © 2010 Written on January 20th, 2003 Translated by the Author English text kindly revised by Ed, a reader ----------------------------- USUAL DISCLAIMER "THE MERCENARY AND THE FRIAR" is a gay story, with some parts containing graphic scenes of sex between males. So, if in your land, religion, family, opinion and so on this is not good for you, it will be better not to read this story. But if you really want, or because YOU don't care, or because you think you really want to read it, please be my welcomed guest. ----------------------------- TWELVE - A posthumous letter Joe went to the infirmary to see his comrades and pass some time with them. After an hour he stood up and went away, but he first went to see Augustin to ask him about the real health conditions of his comrades. The boy reassured him that they would all recover, even though for some of them it would take at least forty days. "But, I'm not a doctorÉ I'm just doing my best. I hope not to be wrong." the boy concluded. "You are better than Max anyway, who was our nurse before you came with us. And besides being more competent, you are able to build the morale of the wounded men better than any of us." "I'm just doing my bestÉ" the boy repeated. "Neil is really lucky to have found you." "And you having found Isidro, I think." "Yes, you are right, I can't complain. Even if he sows his wild oats, he always comes back to me. Isidro is made this way." "Is itÉ is it a burden for you thatÉ that he sows his wild oats, as you say?" Augustin asked him. "NoÉ after all, Isidro and I are rather alike. It is really true that, as the proverb goes, God makes them and couples them. He has by the way, with you and Neil." "So much the better. I was somewhat worried for youÉ" the boy said. "For me?" the man asked, a little amazed. "Well, of course. I consider you a friend." "And you aren't wrong. But in here everybody is your friend. There isn't one of us who doesn't esteem you, boy. For all you do." "I am justÉ" "É doing my best!" Joe interrupted him, kind-heartedly pulling his leg. Augustin smiled. Joe made him the military salute in perfect order, just as a joke, and went out. Augustin sat at the table to complete the list of what he needed for the infirmary because a group would go down soon to the town to get the needed provisions. He heard a knocking on the door glass. He raised his eyes and saw it was Tom. He smiled and signalled him to come in. The mercenary entered, took a chair, turned it and sat astride, leaning his folded arms on its back. "Am I bothering you, Augustin?" "Not at all. I finished doing what I had to do. You are also going to the town for the provisions, if I'm not wrong." "Yes; do you need something?" "I've a list here of all I need for the infirmary. If you can take it to the captain for his signature, I would be grateful, and if you could be sure to get all I need, above all, the penicillin." "All right. But I wanted to know if you needed something, for yourself." "No, thank you. I have here all I need." "You don't smoke, you don't drinkÉ you really are a boy without vices." "Besides that of sexÉ" the boy jested. "Oh, thatÉ But anyway you are not a promiscuous fellowÉ ButÉ talking about sexÉ I wantedÉ I wanted to ask youÉ" Augustin looked at him and shook his head, "I already told you one time, Tom. No offense. You know that IÉ" The mercenary laughed, "Oh no, not in that meaning. I just wantedÉ if you feel like listening to meÉ" "Listening costs nothing, man. Go on, spit it out." "It possibly costs nothing, but you are a good listener. Well, then, you seeÉ Do you remember when I told you that I am a confirmed straight manÉ but that even I would consider trying it with you?" "Of course I remember. So what?" "Well, you seeÉ the fact is that, you seeÉ I am increasingly less sure I am really so straightÉ" "Ah. And why?" "Because more and more often it happens thatÉ that I get a hard-on just looking at some of our comradesÉ" "How long is it since you last fucked a woman?" Augustin asked him in a low voice. "No, it's not that. The last time I fucked was just a week ago, when I went to town for the provisions." "AndÉ you enjoyed it, I presume." "Yes, sure, yes, butÉ" "From the little I can understand, I think that the majority of people in reality are more bisexual than just straight or homosexualÉ" "But I'm becoming aware that, if on one side with the girls it always worked properlyÉ it happens more and more frequently that I desire doing it with a manÉ to fantasize about it, while I beat my meatÉ" "I told you, you can possibly be a bisexual manÉ" "Or rather what we call in the States, a repressed gay?" "Do you feel repressed?" "One who is really straight, who doesn't haveÉ unconscious fears, should not feel the need to affirm all the time, when the subject is about sex, that he likes only women, should he? He is so and that's all, without any need to reaffirm it every time." "Ah. And you?" "Since I was thirteen, fourteen years oldÉ I always felt the need to lay it out clearly with my friends that I really am not at all interested in boys, in men." "When you were an adolescent, did you ever do it with a friend, with a mate, with a man? If you want, you don't have to answer me, it is enough you answer to yourselfÉ" "No, I want to talk about it with you, if it doesn't annoy you. No, I never tried it with anybody, even though I used to look stealthily at my companions when we undressed in the showers." "It could have just been curiosityÉ" "Yes, but my companions looked at each other without subterfuge, at times they measured each other, comparing them, at times they also touched each other, without problems. I never could. Because, I said, ÒI am not a faggot." "Couldn't yours just be shyness?" "I don't think so, I have never been a shy guy." "Decency?" "No, no, believe me. Thinking about it nowÉ it could have been fear." "Of what?" "To discover that which I would have likedÉ And nowÉ for some time nowÉ I fantasize more and more often about doing it with one of my comrades." "WhenÉ you know, in a villageÉ or even up there at the abbeyÉ you never did it with a boy, with a man?" "No, never. Because I was convinced I was a straight man, as I said, and was keen that nobody could doubt it." "And since when, on the contraryÉ" "Half a year, more or lessÉ" "Therefore before Isidro and I joined your group." "Yes, about one month before, approximately. A little more or a little less, I am not able to tell you, but surely before we met you." "May I ask you a question? If you don't want to answerÉ" "You can ask me anything. And I will answer, as I want to be sincere with you or it would be useless for me to have come to talk with you." "Did Isidro ever try it with you?" "YesÉ" "And you always refused, I imagine." Augustin commented, telling himself that if Isidro did it also with Tom, he would certainly have told him. "Of course, I couldn't give away my image of a straight man, do you understand?" "ButÉ you would have liked to tell him yes?" "WellÉ I feel attracted more to a mature man than to a boy." "Yet you tried with me, even though in a very soft way." "I trusted youÉ" "And with Joe? Would you do it with Joe?" "With Joe, yes. He is really my type, manly from head to toe, even though he is gay; a mature man, and well built." "Why then you don't try it with him?" "Possibly becauseÉ possibly because I would be deadly ashamed to ask a comrade for it. Do you understand, especially after I so insisted that I am straight from head to toeÉ" "Fear to lose face?" "Yes, I think so." ÒBut on the other hand, as long as you don't try, you cannot understand if it is really your way or not. You cannot understand if you are really straight, or bisexual or gayÉ Why then don't you try when you go down to town, one time, instead of going to look for a woman? I think you could find someone, in a discreet wayÉ without our comrades coming to know about it." "It's not easy, but neither is it impossible. Do you really think I should try?" "BahÉ yes. I would do it, in your situation. But I am not in you place, do you see? Besides giving you my opinion, I can't do anything else, I can't make a decision in your place." "Yes, I can understand it. May I come here to talk about this again?" "Any time you want, Tom. I'm here." "Thank you, Augustin. I still don't know what I will do but anyway it has been good for me to have been able to talk about it with you, to open myself to somebody. AndÉ I will keep you informed, if it doesn't annoy you to listen to me about such matters." "No annoyance at all, Tom." When Tom came back from the town and gave him all the materials for the infirmary that the boy asked and that the captain approved without any problem, Tom simply said to him, with a shy smile, "I couldn't yet decide for myselfÉ I probably need some more timeÉ" "Nobody is running after you, Tom." the boy answered with a smile. Some days had elapsed after this conversation, and Augustin was talking of this and that with his friend Isidro, when all of a sudden the alarm sounded. It had never happened before and therefore the two boys looked at each other, surprised. They were about to leave the infirmary go and see what was happening, when they saw that all the mercenaries were running to their dorms and coming out in full fighting gear. Augustin asked Big Jim, who was running in their direction, "What's happening, Big Jim?" "A guerrilla attack. They are coming here." "Are they many?" Isidro asked with a worried expression. "It seems they are about three hundredÉ possibly more." "Fucking shit!" the boy exclaimed and ran to fetch his weapons. Augustin remained for a moment lost and confused, at the edge of the wide courtyard, asking himself what he had to do. Rueben ran past near him and yelled, "Go back to the infirmary to care for the wounded mates!" "But what should I do? I don't knowÉ" the boy yelled back. "They surely know what to do. Help them and stay with them!" Augustin ran back to the infirmary dorm. There were only seven men, and almost all of them were sitting on their beds, looking tensely towards the door. As Augustin went in, a chorus of voices asked him, "A rebels' attack, right? Do you know how many they are?" "It seems they are about three hundred, if not moreÉ" the boy informed them. Then added, "Rueben told me to stay here with you, and you would tell me what I have to do." "First of all we have to bar all the external windows, hurry up!" two of them who could get off the bed said to him. Together, they shut the windows with heavy metal shutters and one of them lit a lantern to see better as the little light coming from the window towards the yard was not enough. "And now?" Augustin asked. "Let's move all the beds far away from the external wallsÉ and let's put all the unused mattresses on the upper beds of the more seriously wounded men." "Why?" the boy asked while anyway carrying on at once the instructions he received. "We don't know how they are armed. If they bomb us or throw grenades and so make the walls or the roof crumble down, this will shelter themÉ at least for some time." "Right." Augustin said, busying himself. "Then go and retrieve some submachine guns and grenades and bring them here. If they manage to enter, we have to do our best to stop them and to defend ourselves, as we cannot go to the fight." "All right!" the boy said and soon after he was back with four submachine guns and two sacks full of hand grenades that he gave to the two men who were standing up. Another of the wounded men tried to get off the bed, but Augustin, with a commanding tone that surprised even him, barked, "Stay down!! Don't move from there until I order you to do so!" "But IÉ" the man tried to protest. "Even though I am ten years younger than you, here in the infirmary the one who is in command is me!" the boy dryly answered. "The boy is right, here he is in command and we have to obey him." another of the man said, looking with an admiring expression at Augustin who was showing an unexpected and unsuspected grit. Soon were heard shots that seemed to come from everywhere. Augustin looked out of the inside window and could see the mercenaries in place - yet still none of them were shooting, therefore the shooting noise, even though it seemed close, was coming from outside the corral, from the attackers. "Why do our men still not shoot?" he asked turning towards one of the men. "Because they saving their shots; the guerrillas shoot even if they are still too far. Not our men." "To save the shots? Do you mean we don't have as many of them?" "Many or not, it would be idiotic to waste them." "But then, why those outside are wasting theirs?" "Possibly to give themselves courage. Or to scare us, who knows; but they cannot scare us, we are not soldier of the regular army - we are not ones who fight only because he has to, like the men of the regular army. They will never be good soldiers." Augustin looked again, through the courtyard, at the mercenaries, each ready at the place assigned to him, standing still, like lead little soldiers. He couldn't see where Neil wasÉ he would have liked to know. But of course, he couldn't go outside to look or to ask. He had been ordered to stay there, inside, to care for the wounded men. That was his duty. But his big dark eyes, for the first time, were now gloomy. He abruptly turned towards the barred windows - from there came a dry sound like hail and he guessed that the first shots were reaching the heavy metal shutters. "They will resistÉ only a bazooka shot could damage them, but it would first demolish the wall - that is the real weak point" one of the men explained. He then added, "But I don't think they have a bazooka, even though one can never know. They are too expensive." "When was the last time they attacked you?" Augustin asked. "Eight months ago." "And?" "And we warded them off." "Much damage?" "SomeÉ and four dead amongst our men. But dozens of them." The mercenary dryly said. Augustin was slightly amazed at seeing how the man was talking about all that with the quiet tranquillity of one who is talking about a rain a little more violent than usual, but, was after all, not exceptional. All of a sudden it seemed that hell had broken out - the mercenaries had started to return the rebels' fire. The noise of the battle, which up until then Augustin heard only from afar, was now surrounding him from all directions. It was a continuous, deafening noise that was like the soundtrack of a plot of death where the actors had as their goal to kill as many extras as possible. Actors and extras - each man with a weapon in his hands felt like an actor, if not even the protagonist, while all the men of the opposite field were, to him, just insignificant extras or walk-ons. In fact, the so-called war theatre is nothing but this. Augustin asked himself if, when the curtain dropped, there would be applause or catcallsÉ Applause, for sure, as the winners would of course applaud, and whoever might throw catcalls would certainly be dead or, in the best of cases, have run away. A grenade thrown from outside blew up in the courtyard making the glass of the internal window behind which was the boy, tremble. Augustin thought of the tragedy of so many useless deaths. In his mind and limited experience, war seemed to be useful only to those who would increase their power and riches. There seemed to be no other winners. Augustin noticed that something was changing, as the mercenaries, who just previously were still at the places assigned to them, were now quickly moving, possibly to better counteract the attack to the corral, where it was concentrating or to where there was a weakness in the defense. A deafening rumble came from the side of the courtyard where the entrance gate was, and before the boy could interpret its meaning, the voice of one of the wounded men at his back explained the sound. "They blew up the gate, or at least they tried." "So they will come in?" Augustin asked. "They will try, but our comrades will surely not be idle. It is not enough to have blown up the gate, even if they succeeded in doing so, to have free entrance. Those who are besieged, at least in part, have an advantage on the besiegers, if there is not too big an unbalance of forces." These words also, the boy noticed, had been said with the quietness of a neutral audience member, even though Augustin knew that it was all but neutral. Then the ex-novice saw Isidro run towards the side with the gate, a submachine gun held level in his hands. He recognised him more for his slender and decidedly boyish figure than for any other trait - his friend with his delicate and almost feminine features in fact now seemed more virile. He had a hard, manly, and determined expression on his face. He even seemed as if he suddenly was some ten centimetres taller. While his companion was disappearing from his view, he started to shoot volleys of bullets straight in front of him. This, Augustin thought, could only mean that the first rebels were already entering in the courtyard. Augustin thought that it had been too long since he last checked his patients, therefore turned towards the inside of the room and looked at them. The two who could stand up were placed one behind the window looking at the courtyard, and the other one behind the door. Then Augustin moved near the beds and checked the other the men lying on them. One of them seized his hand and looked in his eyes. "Put a weapon here on my bedÉ I don't want to sell my skin without at least trying to defend myself." "You are not in a condition to fight, you know itÉ" the boy told him with severe kindness. "And we are three here to protect you." he added. "I don't give a shit about being protected!" the man determinedly answered, "It's been a while since I stopped being a kid hiding behind his mother's skirt!" "Nobody doubts it," the boy answered and, taking the fourth submachine gun they had there, and putting it on the wounded man's bed. "Good." the patient sighed, putting his hands on it and almost caressing it. A new loud rumble made the glasses clink and the furnishings rattle inside the infirmary. After he ended his fast tour to check all the patients, Augustin went back behind his window. Outside, the scene wasn't changed so much. Yet, after a few minutes the boy could see the first rebels advance into the courtyard. The sound of glass being broken came from the other window near his. He turned to look - the mercenary who was behind it had smashed the glass panes, and hiding behind window jam, started shooting short volleys towards the courtyard. Augustin looked outside again and saw that some of the attackers were lying on the ground, their clothes stained with blood. Instinctively the boy would have run outside to rescue any of them that were wounded, he didn't care if they were guerrillas or mercenaries. But he understood it would have been senseless to go out in that moment and would be uselessly risking his life. He therefore kept still behind his window, even though reluctantly. Time was passing almost without the boy being really aware of it, almost as if it stopped flowing. At times he could see some of the rebels run in at the attack and then, unavoidably, fall down riddled with bullets. At times he could see his comrades go towards the access gate to repel the attack. He didn't yet see any of his companions fallen nor any apparently, wounded, but he could feel that there had do be some. Suddenly, and for the first time, he felt his blood chill. He caught sight of his Neil, on the opposite side of the courtyard, as he was slowly drawing back, his submachine gun level, shooting from time to time short volleys in precise directions. He understood that the man had to have in front of him several adversaries who were chasing him closely. He could distinguish the traits of the mercenary's face - he was calm, relaxed, serious but not scared in spite of the fact that he had to slowly step backwards. Suddenly, Augustin, from the corner of his eye saw two shadows behind Neil. He looked and saw that they were two guerrillas who were aiming at his man. The brain and the body of Augustin reacted instinctively, before a thought of a coherent plan could take shape in his mind. The boy jumped into and through the window, breaking it with all his body weight and landing who knows how, on his feet in the courtyard. A submachine gun tight in his hands level in front of him, he ran shouting at full voice towards Neil, and started shooting, mowing down the two guerrillas who were at his back. At his scream, Neil turned to look at him and an expression of incredible amazement appeared on his face. But by so doing he lost sight of the enemies he had in front. Augustin became aware of the new danger that was approaching his man, rapidly moved his weapon and shot towards the rebels that Neil had in front. Augustin never shot before, not even just in play, never trained, and yet it seemed almost as if a hand guided his weapon and all his shots hit the goal with incredible precision. Neil shouted at him to hide and protect himself and then he started to shoot again, this time to protect the mad run of his boy, until finally Augustin was at the side of the man. They looked for a moment straight into each other's eyes, then looked again around the courtyard. It seemed that there weren't any more rebels standing. Augustin looked towards the gate - it was half destroyed, in pieces, but it was still hanging, rickety, from the hinges. He then became aware that all the shots were now coming from another part of the wide courtyard, but that the shooting had remarkably diminished. Behind the gate some indistinguishable figures appeared, but they fell almost at once. The mercenaries placed on the wall readily shot at them. Augustin was feeling his brain empty, or to better say ablaze, like it was flaring up in a wild fire, but he was unable to catch in it a coherent thought, All his muscles were tense to spasming and yet incredibly mobile - it was almost as if another brain, another will not his own, was in control and directing them. And with a sudden synchrony all the sounds ceased at once as if by magic. It lasted just a few seconds; then, from dozens of throats raised a joyous and triumphant roar - the surviving rebels were hurriedly retreating, running away, abandoning the field and their dead men. Only then did Augustin receive back the full and conscious control of his body. Convulsively holding his now silent weapon in his hands, with such violence that his knuckles ware white, he slowly let himself glide down to the hard earth surface of the courtyard, and burst into an unrestrained weeping. Neil at once crouched near him, sustaining him and asked, his voice full of worry, "Are you wounded?" "YesÉ" "Where?" Neil asked, now really worried. "In my soul." the boy moaned. Then, sobbing, added, "I killed two, three, four menÉ I killedÉ I killedÉ" he repeated in a soft, low voice. Neil said nothing, but with a determined gentleness took the submachine gun from the boy's hands and put it on the ground. He then took the boy's head between his big and strong hands and made him lean against his chest, in a protective gesture. Both were blind and deaf to all that was happening around them. The mercenaries were flowing into the courtyard, closing their ranks in silence, waiting for orders, Captain Sanders took his place in the courtyard and started to give fast orders. The men rushed to comply. Neil made the boy stand up. The boy shook himself, looked around, dried his eyes and, again master of himself, said, "Leave me, I have to care for the wounded men." "I can give you a handÉ" Neil offered, still worried for the boy. "Only if the captain tells you so." "Thank you, Augustin, you saved my lifeÉ" Neil said. "I know." the boy dryly said and with a fast and determined pace he went to the infirmary, his body and head straight. When he entered the room, one of the mercenaries welcomed him saying, "You really have plenty of guts, boy!" Augustin looked at him seriously, then said, "It's not having guts, that, it's just instinct." "Instinct? Instinct makes you do what you have to save your skin, not to save that of another without caring about yourself." "But Neil is not another to meÉ he is part of me." Augustin murmured, more to himself that to the companion. ÒAt least three of them shot at youÉ it seemed you were flying between one bullet and anotherÉ I saw everything from here." the man insisted. The wounded men were flowing into the infirmary. Augustin, helped by the others, replaced beds to receive them, and at once started to do his job, taking care of them. When he could take a moment to draw a breath and looked out of the door, the courtyard was empty, all seemed to be back to normalcy, except for the pieces of the gate hanging from the hinges. It was almost as if nothing had happened, but for the wounded men in the infirmary and the acrid smell of the gunpowder that was still permeating the air. Augustin asked himself to what end had the corpses of the rebels come, but he also felt grateful he could not again see the lifeless bodies of the men he had killed. The men that he had killed. That he had killed. Killed. He went inside again, still having much work to do - he had to take care of his patients. He drew a deep breath and promptly resumed his job. When he could have a break again the boy looked outside and saw that at the center of the courtyard the men were laying out the bodies of the comrades who died in that clash. He went out and passed amongst the improvised and Spartan platforms holding the bodies. He saw that amongst them there was also Tom. The man had a serene expression, almost as if death seized him in his sleep and not in the fight. The boy prayed that he hadn't suffered. Then, inside his mind he said him, "You could not resolve your doubt, my friend, you didn't have time, and now it has no more importanceÉ" He was thinking these words, when one of the mercenaries came near him and handed him an envelope, "We found this in his pocket. It's addressed to youÉ" Augustin took it - the envelope was stained in a corner with blood, Tom's blood. On it was writen his name "4 Augustin". He opened it, took out a small card evidently written in haste, and read it. "Augustin, "If you are reading this card, it means that I am deadÉ and that I can now finally and totally open my heart to you. "I lied to you, forgive me. It is not true that I fantasized about mature men. It is not true that I started this just before meeting you. In reality I started to fantasize a little after I met you. "I fell in love with you, though I couldn't think it was possible. But, out of respect towards you, and loyalty towards Neil, I could not tell you. "All the rest was true. Talking with you, even though telling you these lies, it did my heart good anyway. Thank you. "I would have liked to give you a flower one day. It will be possible no more. "FarewellÉ If God exists, someday we will meet again. Take care. "Tom" "Farewell, Tom, rest in peaceÉ" the boy whispered him. ----------------------------- CONTINUES IN CHAPTER 13 ----------------------------- In my home page I've put some more of my stories. If someone wants to read them, the URL is http://andrejkoymasky.com If you want to send me feed-back, or desire to help revising my English translations, so that I can put on-line more of my stories in English please e-mail at andrej@andrejkoymasky.com ---------------------------