Date: Sat, 24 May 2003 19:39:23 -0400
From: John Ellison <paradegi@rogers.com>
Subject: The Phantom Of Aurora - Repost Of Chapter 10

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

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

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

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

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


The Phantom Of Aurora: Chapter 10


For the first week following Stefan's departure Harry, for all his
protestations and assurances to The Gunner and his friends, was a man in
agony. He could not sleep and would not eat unless forced to. His sense of
duty brought him to the parade square every morning for Divisions, and
every evening for Evening Quarters, but he was only going through the
motions and gone were the flourishes and easy grace that had been his
trademark. When he was not on duty, or could avoid it, Harry took to his
bunk, curling into a protective ball and pulling the bedclothes over his
head. He avoided the Canteen and was never around when the teams were
chosen for the baseball games that seemed to end the day. He refused to
talk to his friends in the Gunroom. None of the other boys could understand
what was happening and none of them knew that Harry, in addition to missing
Stefan terribly, so much so that his body seemed empty, a useless husk,
incapable of functioning, was wracked with guilt.
	
A tempest of conflicting emotions raged through Harry. He could not, as The
Gunner had said he must, hold the memory of Stefan in his heart. He wanted
the boy. He wanted to feel the warmth of him, to feel the softness of him,
to smell Stefan, to hold him, to hear his soft voice. All this he wanted
and all his desires drove him to weep bitter tears, wallowing in self-pity
and self-recrimination. Harry had convinced himself that he had done
something so terribly wrong that every fibre of his being howled in
outrage. He not only had fallen in love with a adolescent boy, he had made
love to him, had sex with him, had allowed himself to be touched in places,
had touched and felt and worshiped places . . . Each memory sent Harry
further into the depths of depression.

Harry could not understand how he had ever allowed himself to be
seduced. He had never, until that morning on the jetty, been with another
boy, had never done anything with another boy - except his brother Nicky,
and then all they had ever done was beat each other off, a brother thing
and of no consequence. Harry had been in the Sea Cadets from the age of 12
and a half, had been in locker rooms and barracks surrounded by other boys
and not once had he ever so much as felt the urge to touch one of them. He
thought of himself as the average, normal male teenager, someone who played
football, hunted, fished, and swam naked in the creeks and ponds that
surrounded his father's acreage. Harry was interested in girls, or so he
thought, although he had not thus far been given an opportunity to be with
a girl. Everything about him, everything about his upbringing, told Harry
that he should not love another male, no matter if he were Stefan, or Todd,
or Cory. Emotionally he knew that he should never have allowed his
relationship with Stefan to continue. In a moment of complete frankness
Harry understood that while Stefan had taken him by surprise that morning
he should have stopped it cold. He had not. He had allowed the sadness, the
emptiness he felt, to cloud his thinking. Harry had allowed his lust, his
most basic instincts, to rule his brain. Then, to make matters worse, he
had gone and fallen in love! He had given his love to a boy and had it
returned ten-fold. Harry had discovered a part of himself that he had not
known existed and in doing so had crossed a line that in his own mind
condemned him to calumny and degradation.
	 
******

Harry's emotional collapse caused confusion and sadness in the
Gunroom. Cory and Todd, and Chris, thought that they understood what Harry
was feeling. Being gay they had gone through the same feelings of
self-loathing as they thought Harry was undergoing. It had taken all three
boys a very long time to accept themselves for themselves and they felt
that Harry would, in time, come to understand and accept his feelings. They
did not know the depth of Harry's guilt because he never told them,
refusing to respond to their questions, withdrawing further and further
into his shell. All they could do was to be supportive, to love him in
their own way, and to be there for him when he needed them. The other boys,
Thumper, Jon, Nicholas, Fred, even Two Strokes, felt Harry's pain as
well. They did not understand why Harry was acting the way he was because
they had no idea of the truth, and had never considered that Harry might be
in love.

With each succeeding day a strange, new feeling came over the Gunroom. One
of their own was hurting; one of their own needed them. The cadets could
not, for reasons none of them yet understood, turn their backs on
Harry. Each night they would lie in their bunks listening, lying awake
until they were certain that Harry was finally asleep. As often happened,
when Harry awoke in the middle of the night, sobbing, Cory was the first to
hear him. When this happened Cory would gently shake Todd awake and they
would crawl into the sobbing boy's bunk and hold him, saying nothing,
expressing with their silent embrace their love for Harry. They held him
and they listened until his sobbing subsided, sometimes resting their heads
on Harry's broad chest, sometimes feeling his strong arms enfold them. Not
once did he, or they, respond to the strong feelings that had begun to
course through them.

Unbeknownst to the boys a bond was being forged that would, before very
long, bind them all. The Twins could not, even had they wanted to, spend
every night caring for Harry. They had to maintain the fiction that
everything was normal, that Harry was merely ill. They had to ensure that
the truth never left the Gunroom, that a conspiracy of silence against all
outsiders was maintained. The other boys seemed to instinctively know what
was required of them. Harry was closer to them than their own
brothers. Whatever it took to protect him from the outside world they would
do. On the nights that the Twins were on duty, Chris and Jon took their
place in Harry's bunk. They would lie with Harry, their arms across his
chest, holding him. During the day, when Harry would steal away from the
parade square or the School of Wind and hide in the Gunroom, Fred or
Thumper would follow him. If he allowed it, they would sit with him; if he
did not allow it they would sit on their bunks, watching, waiting for Harry
to need them.

At night, after Lights Out, there was no worry that the Duty Chief might
come by and find three cadets, wearing nothing but their underpants, in the
same bed. Nicholas and Greg did rounds in the Gunroom and found plenty of
work that needed to be performed by the Duty Watchmen far away from the
Gunroom. Two Strokes, who pretended indifference, also joined the
conspiracy and only Cory knew that each night the tall, slim boy would slip
quietly from his bunk and sit on the stoop, watching, ready to act in the
event that the Duty Officer happened to wander by.
	Others, while unsure of exactly what was happening in the Gunroom,
did what they could. In the Petty Officers Mess, Mike Sunderland and
Phillip Adean, called the Assistant, deflected all queries from Willy, Jack
and Mal, glossing over Harry's absences and strange behaviour as best they
could.

Little Big Man, as a member of the Band, knew that Harry was acting
strangely. The Band Officer's tour of duty had ended and he had returned to
CFB Esquimalt. Harry, pending the arrival of the new Band Officer, should
have taken charge and supervised the rehearsals. Instead Sylvain, whom
Little Big Man loathed with a passion, took over Harry's duties, which so
pissed off Little Big Man that he sulked rudely for a week. As Mess Pariah
he knew that he would be dead a long time before anyone told him the exact
nature of Harry's illness.

The conspiracy to protect Harry extended beyond the Gunroom and the Petty
Officers Mess. Chef, who listened more often than the cadets thought, knew
from what The Gunner had told him what was going on. He did not interfere,
nor did he express an opinion one way or the other. He kept his silence and
on the two occasions that the Twins had managed to get Harry into the Mess
Hall stood over the morose boy to make sure that he ate, even if it was
only a bowl of soup and bread roll. The Gunner came by as often as his
schedule permitted, usually after Secure, a time of day that seemed to
bring out the worst of Harry's demons. This was the time that Harry would
have spent with Stefan, laughing, playing ball or just hanging out
together. The Gunner tried to make Harry believe that the hurt would go
away, and tried to make Harry come to terms with himself. The Gunner
understood Harry's pain and could only hope that Harry would gain the
perspective he needed to truly understand what had happened to him.

******

Of the cadets in the Gunroom only Greg kept his distance. He did not know
Harry all that well and he did not wish to impose. He also did not want to
speculate on the true nature of Harry's relationship with Stefan. He
suspected, of course, that theirs had been much more than friendship. He
told himself that such a thing could not happen to him, that he would never
allow his emotions to rule his head. Greg also told himself that the dread
he was feeling deep inside was not from Stephen Tyler's impending
departure, that the demons he fought nightly as he listened to Harry's
sobbing, would never consume him as they had consumed Harry, that he would
never allow the demon that was Stephen Tyler Perkins to consume him as
Stefan had consumed Harry.
	
And what a demon Stephen Tyler was! When Greg had questioned him after the
banyan the boy had readily admitted that he wanted to be with Greg.

"Are you queer, or something?" Greg asked, astonished at the boy's
frankness.

Stephen Tyler shrugged. "I've been with other boys, yes." They were sitting
together in the empty barracks and he felt safe enough to slip his arm
around Greg's thin waist. "I . . ."

"Don't say it!" exclaimed Greg. He quickly pushed Stephen Tyler's arm
away. "Guys don't do guys and you don't know what you're talking about!"

Stephen Tyler regarded Greg through hooded eyes. "Don't I?" he asked. Then,
without warning, he slid his hand between Greg's legs and felt his
package. Greg stirred emotions in Stephen Tyler that the boy had never felt
before and he intended to act on those emotions. "We're alone, PO Greg," he
hinted broadly.

"No!" Greg stood up and rushed from the barracks, his face bright red with
the shame he felt. His dick had hardened at the first touch of Stephen
Tyler's hand. As he hurried toward the Gunroom Greg felt the anger growing
in him, anger at himself for wanting to stay with Stephen Tyler, anger at
the way he felt when Stephen Tyler held him close, anger at the way certain
feelings rose in him whenever he was near Harry. He was not queer! He could
not be queer. He was just horny and a quick stop in the heads would take
care of that problem.

That night Greg had tossed and turned, the conflicting emotions robbing him
of his sleep. In the morning he had been as Zombie-like as Harry. He had
tried to avoid Stephen Tyler as much as possible, and tried to ignore the
look of hurt on the boy's face when they met at lunch, and again at
supper. At the pickup soccer game after dinner, when Stephen Tyler
deliberately weaseled his way onto the opposing team, Greg felt devastated.

After the game the boys dispersed, the Sea Puppies, under The Gunner's
watchful eye in Harry's absence, repaired to the Canteen where The Gunner's
wallet was depleted. The General Training Cadets, Stephen Tyler included,
returned to their barracks where a marathon Monopoly tournament was in
progress. Greg fussed and fidgeted around The Gunroom and generally made
such a pest of himself that Cory, who normally would have forgiven anything
short of murder when it came to Greg, snarled and told him to go and play
outside.

Greg had sulked on the barracks stoop for a while and then, despite his
misgivings, went to Barracks 6 and asked Stephen Tyler to come out for a
while. "I'm sorry," he muttered as they walked across the parade square.

"Doesn't matter," replied Stephen Tyler sullenly. "You don't like me so you
don't have anything to be sorry for."

Greg gingerly reached out his hand and touched the boy's shoulder. "You're
wrong. I do like you. I like you a lot."

"Then why did you push me away?" Stephen Tyler shrugged off Greg's
hand. "Is it because I told you that I was gay?"

Greg's cheeks puffed out and he expelled a huge blast of air. "You being
gay has nothing to do with the way I feel about you," he said
presently. They walked down onto the broad beach and Greg gestured for
Stephen Tyler to sit. They stared out at the gunmetal grey waters that
rushed past. "I pushed you away because I'm not gay," said Greg
slowly. "Being with you is, well, a lot of fun. I like you, like I said."
He turned and looked evenly at Stephen Tyler. "Liking you, though, does not
mean that I want to have sex with you."

Stephen Tyler groaned and flopped back onto the sand. "Here it comes, the
old 'boys don't have sex with boys' lecture! What's next, the sermon where
I'm going to go to hell and burn in the fires forever?" He turned his head
and looked up at Greg. "Spare me, PO Greg, I've heard 'em all."

Gregg lay back and propped himself on his elbows. "All I was going to say
was that you don't have to fuck a guy, or blow him, to show that you love
him. Love doesn't have to be all sex, you know."

"PO Greg, I've been around long enough to know that love and sex are not
the same thing. Sex I can get anytime I want. Hell, there are two guys in
my barracks who are panting to get into my undies!"


"They know you're gay?" asked Greg, aghast.

Stephen Tyler shook his head. "One does, the other doesn't. The one who
does know that I'm gay won't say anything because he happens to like what I
do to him." He snickered. "The other one suspects and has high hopes."

"Shit, man, for a young kid you sure seem to . . ."

"I'm not so young," returned Stephen Tyler. "I'm fifteen although people do
think I'm younger." This was true. Stephen Tyler looked to be about twelve
years old. His slim frame and short stature, combined with a thin, smooth
face and innocent eyes, belied his true age. "It turns some guys off."

"Don't sound so disappointed," replied Greg. "At least people won't think
you're gay. They'll think that you're too young."

"Oh, for fuck's sake!" Stephen Tyler stood up and gave Greg a disgusted
look. "PO Greg, I am not in love with you, at least not yet. I do like
you. I want to be with you but don't bust my balls over this. I'm gay, and
I like guys. That's a given and if you can't handle that then I'll just go
back to the barracks."

Greg struggled into a sitting position and ran his hands through his
short-cropped hair. "Stay," he asked softly. When Stephen Tyler was sitting
again Greg looked at the boy. "I wish I could . . . do the things you
want. I can't. I'm not gay and . . ."

"Fine." Stephen Tyler shrugged his shoulders. "We'll just sit here and
watch the ships go by." He pointed to a cluster of lights on the southern
horizon. "There's a cruise ship coming up the Strait. We can wave to the
passengers as they go by," he finished sarcastically.

"Don't be an ass, Stephen Tyler," snapped Greg. "We can still be friends."

"No, we can't."

"Why the hell not?"

"Because . . ." Stephen Tyler suddenly leaned over and embraced Greg. He
pressed his lips against Greg's and then drew away. "That is going to
happen." He stared into Greg's wide eyes and when Greg did not release him
Stephen Tyler kissed the Yeoman again. His tongue traced the outline of
Greg's closed lips and then slowly forced an entry.

Their kissing was slow, deep and passionate. Greg told himself that he was
horny and wanted to get his nut off. If kissing Stephen Tyler was the price
he had to pay . . . He felt the boy's thin hand slip under the waistband of
his gym shorts and grasp his throbbing erection. He pulled Stephen Tyler
downward until they were lying side by side on the sandy beach. He could
feel the large, thin erection in Stephen Tyler's shorts rubbing against his
leg, could hear the boy's harsh breathing as his hips began to pump in sync
with his hand as he masturbated the teenager.

"Does it feel good?" asked Stephen Tyler between kisses.

"Yes, dammit," gasped Greg as his testicles shrivelled into a tight knot
between his legs. "Don't stop! Please, don't stop!"

Stephen Tyler felt Greg's penis jerk and then a thick stream of semen burst
out of the classic slit on Greg's curving mushroomed head. Greg's body
jerked and Stephen Tyler could hold back no longer. His body stiffened and
he felt his penis give a huge, overwhelming throb.

They lay together, each boy emptying himself of his hot, thick juices,
twitching and moaning until finally Stephen Tyler rolled away. He was
gasping for air but managed to blurt out, "Jesus, PO Greg, that felt good."
He snickered loudly. "I haven't had a dry rub like that since Boy Scout
camp!"

******
	
In the ensuing days Greg maintained the fiction that he was only doing what
countless other boys had done before him. He and Stephen Tyler met nightly
for a massive make out session, usually on the beach, sometimes in Greg's
office after the officers and civilian staff had gone home. It was private
and the door could be locked. They would neck and kiss, deep, open-mouthed,
tongue-duelling kisses. Stephen Tyler would slip his hand down the front of
Greg's shorts, or bell-bottoms, or whatever he happened to be wearing, and
masturbate him as he humped his own impressive erection through his shorts
against Greg's leg. When they were finished they would kiss and cuddle and
then go on their way. If Stephen Tyler met one of the two other cadets he
first spoke of Greg never knew, because he did not ask and Stephen Tyler
never said, one way or the other, what he did, or whom he was with after he
left Greg.

Greg tried to convince himself that his relationship with Stephen Tyler was
based solely on sex. He needed to get off; Stephen Tyler wanted to help him
get off. He rationalized that he was only doing what Harry freely admitted
to doing with his brother and that did not make either of them queer. What
Greg could not convince himself of was that like it or not, he was falling
in love.

He had to be. When he was not with Stephen Tyler he felt, well, lonely. He
missed the boy's constant chatter - Stephen Tyler was, if such a thing were
possible, as mad a chattering Munchkin as Stefan had been - and Greg missed
feeling the warmth of the boy's body against his. He missed feeling the
boy's skin whenever they played soccer, or swam. He missed just having
Stephen Tyler around, and when Stephen Tyler had gone off for his four days
in the wilderness for the orienteering part of his training, Greg had moped
and been out of sorts for every day that Stephen Tyler was away, so much so
that he had, on Stephen Tyler's return, made sure that the boy would have
ample free time by juggling the Duty Rosters.

Whenever he had a free hour or so Stephen Tyler always made a beeline to
wherever Greg was. He accepted that Greg was not about to allow himself to
fall in love. That he was falling in love with Greg was not a
question. Stephen Tyler's only regret was that Greg would only allow so
much, and refused profanely to go beyond a certain point, and during the
course of their relationship not once did Greg touch him other than through
his shorts. In point of fact not once did Greg even reach down and rub
Stephen Tyler's erection. Stephen Tyler sensed that his lover was going
through a traumatic time. He wanted to be loved, he wanted to be made love
to, but his iron-like discipline would not allow him to make love back, to
return the love that Stephen Tyler gave him.

Stephen Tyler wanted desperately to feel Greg's long, slim cock in his
body. This was not about to happen and Stephen Tyler, fearing that Greg
would reject him outright if he made such a suggestion, did not ask, just
as he did not raise their relationship to a higher level. He would have
loved to taste, just once, Greg's wonderful, pink, throbbing penis, to
smell, just once, the musk and scent that he knew lay under the thin layer
of cotton that covered Greg's privates. Sucking and fucking were not
allowed, period. Boys who did that were queer. Greg was not a
queer. Jerking each other off was just two guys helping each other
out. Giving yourself a dry rub against another guy's legs - without any
actual skin touching skin - was also in the same category, and
permissible. Kissing was permissible only because it was a prelude to
getting off; a part of what Greg called "messing around". In the end
Stephen Tyler accepted that Greg was a very confused, angry and frustrated
young man, just as, in the end, he was happy to see his course come to an
end. If Greg did not want him for who he was, for what he was, then
fine. There were plenty of fish in the sea, each one of them easier than
hell to catch.

Greg's confusion was heightened on the one occasion that he had helped out
with Harry. The Twins had been on Duty. Chris and Jon had been detailed off
somewhere, Thumper and Two Strokes had been seconded to help the Bugle Band
learn a new marching routine and Val, Tyler and Nicholas had been summoned
to the Head Shed for a meeting about the upcoming parade in Victoria. That
left Greg to stay with Harry. He had, as the other boys had done, lain down
beside Harry and held him. Harry had reached down and taken Greg's hand in
his and a lighting bolt of something Greg could not describe had ripped
through his body. His mind reeled and he felt an almost irresistible urge
to reach down and slip his hand into Harry's underpants, to feel the thick,
soft piece of flesh that he knew was there. Greg had felt a surge of warmth
course through him and suddenly he wanted to be with Harry, to hold him, to
make love to him. He felt his penis stiffen and pulse, and suddenly he
needed Harry's warmth, he needed Harry's . . .

He had rolled from the bed, frightened beyond belief at what he felt. Greg
thanked God that Harry had fallen asleep and had never felt him pushing his
erection against him. He had hurried in the showers and turned the cold
water on full blast, determined that from now on, no matter what the others
said he would not comfort Harry, he would not sleep in the same bed with
Harry. Harry could be his friend. Greg would never allow Harry to become
his lover.

******

When Stephen Tyler's time at AURORA came to an end his leave taking of Greg
was calm and emotionless. They had spent some time together the evening
before and that was enough. Greg had come by the barracks to help Stephen
Tyler pack, but everything was ready. They walked together to the
bus. There was no hugging, no kissing, and no tears. Stephen Tyler shook
Greg's hand and thanked him for being so considerate to him. Not many guys
were, if the truth were told. And while he knew Greg had used him, as the
others used him, Stephen Tyler was not one to hold a grudge or indulge in
recriminations. Greg was the way he was so there was no point in trying to
change him. He had his life to get on with and if Greg could not, or would
not, be a part of his life, then that was Greg's problem. When Greg asked
him what he planned on doing when he got home Stephen Tyler smiled
coyly. "I'm going fishing," he replied and boarded the bus.

Greg watched the bus make the turn onto Comox Road. He did not understand
Stephen Tyler's cryptic remark nor did he understand why he felt so alone,
or why he felt a void forming deep within him.

******

The Phantom knew what was going on with Harry. He could not help but
know. The Gunroom cadets talked of nothing else. The Gunner huddled with
Chef constantly in the galley, all conversation ceasing whenever he, or
Ray, or Sandro happened to pass their table. There were other signs as
well. When Harry appeared on the parade square he was listless and
obviously not interested in what he was doing. He had stopped participating
in the games, and avoided the Swimming Beach. Dark circles had appeared
under the Twins' eyes, obviously from lack of sleep. Nicholas fretted and
was short with his Signalmen. Chris, the kindest of creatures, was snappy
with his students. Jon, a quiet, almost fey boy, suddenly developed an
inexplicable interest in Queen's Regulations and Orders (Cadets) and became
as big a jerk as Two Strokes, who took to wandering about with a notebook
in his hand, kicking ass and taking names. Even Thumper, sweet, innocent,
inoffensive Thumper, was off his feed. Greg alone seemed unaffected by what
was happening with Harry, which The Phantom thought had more to do with
Stephen Tyler Perkins than with anything else, and although he did not feel
comfortable with their relationship he had a feeling that it would not end
as emotionally as Harry's had with Stefan.

The Phantom watched, listened, and for four days mulled over what he had
heard and seen. Harry's collapse had affected every one, even The Gunner,
who seemed during their noon hour lessons to be distracted and not quite up
to par, and when he let slip that Harry was ill, to the point that it might
become necessary to send him home, The Phantom decided to act.

He waited until the dinner hour on Friday, when all the cadets gathered to
pick at their food and stare morosely at one another. Harry was nowhere to
be seen and what snippets of conversation The Phantom could hear led him to
believe that the hulking teenager was alone in the Gunroom. He quickly
spoke to Chef, begging a few minutes off. When The Phantom told Chef
pointedly that he was going to see Harry, Chef nodded. "Be gentle, lad, and
kind. Try to understand that at a time like this a man, well, sometimes he
can't cope," was Chef's parting advice.

The Phantom found Harry sitting on his unmade bunk staring off into space,
wringing his hands and with his shoulders slumped. Harry barely noticed The
Phantom when he sat down beside him. When he did notice The Phantom he
regarded the boy with bleary, bloodshot eyes. "Go away, Phantom," he said
with a low groan. "Just go away."

"No." The Phantom shook his head and stared at Harry angrily. "It's time
you smartened up." He waved at Harry's body. "Look at you. You're a
mess. You'd didn't shave this morning. Your underpants are dingy! You're
dingy!"

A look of pure hatred crossed Harry's face. "I'm warning you," he snarled
in a low voice. "Leave me alone! You can't know how I feel, what I feel. Go
away, fuck off, or I swear I'll . . ."

The Phantom stood up quickly and faced Harry. "What? You'll hit me?" He
stared Harry down. "Go ahead. Hit me! Beat the shit out of me. Do whatever
it takes but get the fuck up and straighten up!"

Harry raised his fists, and then lowered them. "Phantom, please, you don't
understand. Nobody understands!"

The Phantom knelt before Harry and took his hands in his. Harry could never
know that The Phantom did understand. Unlike Harry, who had had his love
returned, he had not. The Phantom had declared his love for The Gunner, he
had kissed The Gunner, and been rejected. Harry had known love, and lost
it. The Phantom had declared his love, and never found it. He knew exactly
how Harry felt.

"Harry, listen to me, please," began The Phantom, his voice soft. "Stefan
is gone from your life, now. But, Harry, he loves you, and he will always
love you. This time was not the right time, but Harry, you have the rest of
your life, Stefan has the rest of his life, to be with you. Do you really
think that Stefan would ever leave you forever?

"But I want him now! I need him now!" Harry raised his hands and looked
pleadingly at The Phantom. "I can't have him, Phantom. How do you know that
he won't find someone else? How do you know . . .?"

"I don't know that, Harry, and neither do you!" The Phantom resumed his
seat beside Harry and put his arm around the boy's quaking
shoulders. "Harry, I saw the way Stefan looked at you. I heard the way he
spoke to you. It was not the words; it was the tone, the softness, and the
love in his voice that I heard. He loves you with all his heart and you're
betraying that love right now!"

"I am not!" Harry flared. "How can you say that?"

"I can say it because you've thrown away everything that Stefan fell in
love with! He fell in love with a loud, brash, crude, rude teenager. He
fell in love with a guy who had flashing eyes and a wonderful smile. He
fell in love with a man, Harry, a man! He fell in love with you, Harry, not
some whining, whimpering bag of wind who breaks down, abandons everything
he is, abandons his friends, throws away the love they have for him,
because he can't have what he wants." The Phantom's green eyes
hardened. "Not too long ago I said that I would sail with you. I would sail
with the Harry I knew, I would be at your side even if we stormed the
fucking gates of Hell!" He snorted, his sound full of disgust. "But this
Harry? Never!"

Harry's unshaven jaw dropped. No one, not Cory or Todd, not Tyler, not Val,
none of his friends, had spoken to him the way this . . . civilian had! He
began stammering angrily, his pain, and his hurt, forgotten by the
insult. "How dare . . . who the hell do you think you are?" he demanded
loudly.

"Your friend," replied The Phantom calmly. "Someone who cares about you,
who loves you, and who, like all of your other friends, cannot stand idly
by and watch you destroy yourself. You've laid a guilt trip on yourself
Harry, a guilt trip that Stefan doesn't feel, that nobody else but you
feels!"

Harry's face reddened. "I did things I shouldn't have done! I let Stefan
. . . we fell in love! It shouldn't have happened!"

"Unfortunately, it did," returned The Phantom coldly. "You slept with a
thirteen year old boy! That was wrong. I'm not judging you for doing it. I
can understand how it happened, why it happened. You are beating yourself
to death because of it. Frankly, I think you're a fool."

"What?"

"Is Stefan acting this way? Has he withdrawn from the world because he
can't be with you? Is he sitting at home, ignoring his friends, ignoring
his job, his duty, refusing to believe that you are never coming back into
his life?"

"How the hell would I know?" growled Harry. "He's in Edmonton!"

"And if he knew what you've done to yourself he'd stay there!" growled The
Phantom back. "What would Stefan think if he saw you now? In this state?"

"You're a bastard, you know that?"

"And you're . . . What I see is not the Harry I knew! What I see is not the
Harry I want to sail with. What I see is not the Harry that Stefan fell in
love with!"

"Bastard!"

"Perhaps. But a bastard who faces his troubles, who goes on and does what
is expected of him, who would never allow himself to be reduced to such a
state that he's within an ace of being sent home!"

Harry stared disbelievingly at The Phantom. "That's not true! It can't be
true! The Gunner would never allow it!"

A mirthless chuckle arose from The Phantom's throat. "Harry, The Gunner
can, and will, do it! Tomorrow there is a fresh crop of Sea Puppies rolling
in. You're their Sea Daddy. They expect to see their Sea Daddy when they
get here." He waved his hand toward the outside. "Out there is a Band, the
best damned band in the bloody Sea Cadets! You're their Drum Major, their
leader. There isn't going to be a Band Officer out for another two
weeks. Who but you is going to lead them? Sylvain? Or maybe Little Big Man?
He's Sticks, isn't he? He's supposed to take over from you if you can't do
the job, isn't he?" His tone softened. "Harry, you made a mistake." The
Phantom saw the look on Harry's face and held up his hand. "Not the mistake
of falling in love. That was not what I meant."

"I made the mistake of showing that love. I molested a boy!"

"No!" The Phantom shook his head emphatically. "Nobody molested anybody!
You let your emotions get the better of you and you acted on them. That was
the mistake. No matter how much in love you were and are, sleeping with
Stefan was wrong." He sighed heavily. "I consider myself your friend,
Harry, and as a friend I didn't tell you before what I thought and felt. I
made a mistake as well, you see. I should have told you what I thought. I
didn't, and I'm sorry."

"I didn't, we didn't," blubbered Harry. "I don't want you to think that I
did . . .we never did that! Never! I would never hurt him."

The Phantom knew what Harry was trying to say. "Harry, maybe by not going
all the way with Stefan you showed how much you really love him. You held
back, and I suspect he held back. When the time is right, when you are both
sure, then perhaps you will make true love to him."

Harry wiped the tears from his eyes. "You're a good friend, Phantom. I
didn't mean it when I called you a bastard, and I would never hit you." He
looked sideways at The Phantom. "You don't have anything to be sorry
for. It was my mistake, my doing, and I have to live with it. I probably
wouldn't have listened to you, anyway."

"Probably not," conceded The Phantom. "But, still, I should have said
something. We all should have said something. Our mistake in not doing so
compounded your mistake."

Harry groaned. "What a wuss I am! All I've been thinking about is me! I
didn't think about you or the other guys. I let them down. I let The Gunner
down, I let you down."

"Harry, knock it off," said The Phantom sharply. "You start thinking that
way and we'll be right back to where we started from! It's over. It's time
you realized that your friends need you, and you need them! It's also time
that you got back to business." He stood up and opened Harry's locker. He
pulled out a pair of clean underpants and Harry's towel and shaving
gear. "It's time, Harry. What do you say?"

"The other guys . . .?" He looked pleadingly at The Phantom.

"Have been with you, have held you, and will go on doing it. Remember what
they did for you in the days ahead. They'll stand by you. And so will I."

Harry's face brightened. Then it hardened. "I stink!"

"Harry, not again!"

Harry laughed softly. "No, I really do stink. I smell like a cesspool!"

The Phantom joined in Harry's laughter. "Well, maybe like somebody who
hasn't showered in three days. Hardly a cesspool. Here, go shower, shave,
and come eat your lunch." He handed the clean underpants and shaving gear
to Harry who quickly stripped off his soiled briefs, giving The Phantom a
clear view of his outstanding upper deck fittings. "Whew," The Phantom
exclaimed, his voice full of admiration, "no wonder Stefan fell in love
with you!"

Harry looked down at his genitals. "Now Phantom, don't get any ideas! I
might have the finest parts you'll ever see, but I'm spoken for!"

"Yes, Harry, you are," replied The Phantom. "And one day I hope that
everything you want will be yours." He gestured impatiently. "Now hurry up!
There's things to be done, and if I don't get my ass back to the galley
Chef will be wanting my balls for bookends!"

Harry laughed and grabbed The Phantom. "Walk me to the showers," he asked
loudly as he pulled The Phantom along.

"Harry, I am not going in there with you!"

"I didn't ask you to," returned Harry. He pointedly looked back at The
Phantom's behind. "You know, you have a nice ass. It's too bad you've never
been a cadet. Man, you could fill out a set of bell-bottoms with that ass!
Every girl in miles would be wantin' to strip 'em off you!"

"And if they knew what you had hidden in your bell-bottoms they trample me
to get to you!" retorted The Phantom. "Now, let me go." Harry did and as he
straightened his clothing The Phantom smiled weakly. "We are all capable of
making mistakes, Harry. I think one of my biggest ones was when I didn't
join up when I had the chance."

"You had a chance to join?"

The Phantom nodded. "The Corps here in Comox is always holding open house,
always looking for recruits. I was too busy doing other things, and, well,
my dad is ex-Airborne and I thought that I'd got enough military at home."
He shrugged. "Anyway, it's all water under the bridge. It's too late now."
He pushed open the door leading to the barracks yard. "Now, shower, change
into the rig of the day and get over to the Mess Hall. I'll save you a
piece of chocolate cake." With a grin he was gone.

Harry stared for a long time at the door then nodded slowly. "Sometimes,"
he thought as he went into the washplace, "Sometimes it's never too late."
Then he added, "Or, as an old chef might say, be careful what you wish for
because you just might get it!"

******

The arrival of five new officers was not at all surprising. Sea Cadet
officers came and went with a regularity that astounded and dismayed The
Gunner, who was accustomed to officers serving three-year commissions,
sometimes staying on for longer periods. He did, however, understand the
problem the Sea Cadets faced when it came to officers. While hardly a dying
breed, Sea Cadet officers had a tendency to be few and far between,
especially in the summer training months. With rare exceptions all the
camps where training was conducted were staffed by officers drawn from the
Sea Cadet Corps across the country, officers who were civilians first and
Sea Cadet officers second, men, and a few women now, who were juggling
business careers, family duties, and Sea Cadet demands. Compounding the
problem was the relative lack of officers. Being a Sea Cadet officer
required a special devotion and dedication that few possessed. A typical
cadet officer was paid for 20 days training per year, and no more. It did
no good to point out that most Corps paraded the cadets once a week, with
an added "Admin Night" thrown in, plus parades (always on a Saturday or a
Sunday) so that an officer might actually work upwards of 40 days a year.

In addition to the pressures and strains of trying to deal with cadets
(fractious creatures at the best of times), family, trying to serve two
masters (since Unification cadet officers were commissioned by DND, a fact
to which the Navy League of Canada never quite reconciled itself), Navy
League Branch Presidents (many of them more Navy than Lord Louis Bloody
Mountbatten) and work, and it was no wonder that Sea Cadet officers tended
to be very young (and thus too inexperienced to know what they had gotten
themselves into) or middle-aged (and with the hide of a rhinoceros).

As a member of the Permanent Force The Gunner had seen the barely veiled
contempt that many Permanent Force members visited on Sea Cadet officers, a
"Not quite one of us" mindset that permeated almost every level of the
Navy. He considered himself to be a fair man who was never judgemental or
prejudiced against a man simply because of the cap badge he wore. As The
Gunner often expressed to his cadets, Eliot's eye had adorned the sleeve of
more than one fool, so why should the Sea Cadets be any different?

As he surveyed the new officers The Gunner thought that just the right mix
had been achieved, the young and inexperienced balancing the older, more
mature officers. What he did not know was that events would conspire
against him, that there was another kind of officer, the self-seeking,
venal officer who had his own personal agenda and who would cause The
Gunner to abandon the iron discipline that had held in check for so many
years the emotions that he could not allow himself to feel, emotions so
long repressed that when they burst forth caused him not only to lose his
temper, which was unprofessional and unforgivable, but would bring him as
close as damn it to being formally charged with Striking An Officer,
Insubordination and Conduct Prejudicial To Good Order and Discipline.

******

Of the new officers four stood out. The first was Ensign Andy Berg, USNSCC
who replaced Lieutenant(N) Dickensen, CAF, as Supply Officer. For all his
youth and nonchalance Andy was a natural when it came to handling
people. He seemed to know instinctively when, and how, to stroke Chef. He
treated all the cadets with a natural courtesy, from Tyler, the Master at
Arms and ranking cadet, to Joey Pelham and Randy Lowndes, the galley
Makee-Learns and the most junior cadets.  Andy was the complete scrounger
and wheeler dealer, who could take a couple of bottles of issue rum in the
morning and return in the afternoon with sails, cordage, and six portable
barbecues made out of halves of 45-gallon drums. He enjoyed being with the
cadets and every afternoon would help organize some sporting event,
participate, and always ended up just as dirty and grimy as the cadets
were. The cadets loved him and thought that he was a bigger kid than they
were.

The second promising young man was Sub-Lieutenant Dave Eddy, RCSCC, who
though young, was eager to learn and, more importantly, listened, not only
to what the more experienced instructors had to say, but also to the
cadets. He was one of those rare creatures: somebody who had come up
through the system as it had been designed to work. He had joined the Navy
League Cadets at the age of nine years. When he was twelve and a half he
joined the Sea Cadets, and when he turned 18 he had applied for his
commission as a Sea Cadet Officer. His appointment as Gunnery Officer was a
godsend. As an ex-Sea Cadet Gunner he had risen from Ordinary Cadet to
Cadet Chief Gunner and he was well versed in the drill and training. He was
also close enough in age to the senior cadets to understand them, and,
having been there and done that, could sympathize with them. Dave and The
Gunner got along famously for he was as much a traditionalist as The Gunner
and sat in on The Phantom's training sessions. Dave, like Andy, enjoyed
sports, with baseball and soccer being his favourite.

Balancing Andy's relative inexperience (so far as the Canadian Sea Cadets
Corps was concerned) and Dave's definite inexperience as an officer, were
the three other officers, all of whom had been around for much more than a
Dog Watch.

Sub-Lieutenant Antony ("No 'h', thanks very much") Armstrong was an
irrepressible Newfoundlander who had grown up in one of the out ports,
spending most of his life on a fishing boat. The North Atlantic was in his
blood and what No H didn't know about blocks, tackles, and the handling of
small boats hadn't been written. As Deck Officer, Stuart and Steve reported
directly to him. He spoke with Cory and conned him into teaching a fancy
rope work class. He cajoled his Boatswains into cleaning out, finally,
Boatswain Stores, and set the example by working harder than any of
them. No H and Fred were soul mates. Both hated sports and never actively
participated except as referees or timekeepers.

Wally Higman, the Engineering Officer, projected an air of languid
complacency, which hid well the fact that he was mechanical genius, fully
versed in engines large and small. He spent much of his time, an
overweight, pear- shaped young man, dressed in a loose fitting, white
boiler suit and a battered cap, coaxing dying pieces of machinery back to
life. Ryan, no slouch himself when it came to things engineering, stood in
awe of him.

The only disappointment was the fifth officer. Nigel Farnsworth was a
short, compact, sandy haired, thin-faced young man who, in the opinion of
many of the cadets, and more importantly, The Gunner, was the worst
possible example of an officer, for he had become a Sea Cadet officer not
out of duty or a sense of patriotism, but for the social cachet attached to
a Commission. In his home unit Nigel had early on learned that the real
power lay not with the Commanding Officer, but with the President of the
Navy League Branch that sponsored the Corps. He did everything he could to
keep that gentleman happy, so much so that he had been promoted to
Lieutenant in an amazingly short time. Every Sunday Nigel paraded to church
in uniform and, being a young Liberal, cultivated the local MP. His
Military ID card gave him free access to the local Reserve wardroom, and to
the Officers' Messes of the two militia units the town supported. He
"represented" the Sea Cadets at every function he could possibly, logically
attend and garnered the ensuing publicity. Nigel had an amazingly high
regard for his position as an officer and the perks that went with it. He
was condescending to the cadets, and overbearing with his fellow officers,
so much so that he had alienated them all within three days of his arrival.

Nigel blotted his copybook with Doc by complaining that the Wardroom was
not properly run, in that there were no dining facilities and no wine
list. Doc, irascible at the best of times, threatened to perform a
haemorrhoidectomy without benefit of anaesthesia and told Nigel to fuck off
and buy his own plonk, which Nigel thought insulting. He never, he sniffed
disdainfully, drank domestic wines.

He pissed off Kyle with his personal habits. Nigel might look like the
poster boy Naval Officer when he left the Wardroom but the shambles he left
behind in the washplace, which he never cleaned after using, were
unbelievable. He also insisted on walking naked from his cabin, which he
refused to share, to the showers where, naked, he shaved, clipped his
toenails and trimmed his nose hair, leaving behind ample evidence of his
activities.

Nigel infuriated Andy Berg by demanding a steward to make his bed and clean
his cabin. When Andy pointed out that there were no stewards in the Sea
Cadets, Nigel pooh-poohed him and told him that he was a Lieutenant and to
make it so. Andy replied that he was an American and Nigel could go and
fuck himself.

On the third day Nigel punched his ticket with Chef by complaining that not
only was the table set-aside for the officers without proper linen and
silver, the food was inedible, and not fit to serve to pigs. It took the
combined efforts of The Phantom, Ray, Andy and the two galley Makee-Learns
to hold Chef back while Sandro hid the cleavers. Thereafter Nigel found it
wise to lunch in town and dine in the Officers Mess at CFB Comox, which
pissed off the Base Transportation Officer who had to supply a car and
driver to take him back and forth.

Greg hated him. Nigel, as Administration Officer, was supposed to help with
the paperwork, without which no military organization could
operate. Instead he caused the whole system to bog down. He would wander
into the Ship's Office, sign whatever papers Greg put in front of him, and
disappear. If Greg saw Nigel before the office closed at 1600 he counted
himself lucky. Nigel also blamed Greg for any error, and twice caused
important reports to be late in submission by finding an error in typing
and making Greg do the whole thing over again. By the fourth day of Nigel's
tenure Greg had given up, and forged Nigel's signature on all but the least
important documents. Greg also forged Nigel's signature to a glowing
recommendation giving himself the Order of Military Merit, which was to
cause no end of grief six months later when it reached the Honours and
Awards Committee in Ottawa.

Nigel managed to piss off all of the cadets by his condescension. He
rarely, if ever, addressed them by their ranks, never remembered a name,
and was given to snapping his fingers at them and calling one and all
"boy", which infuriated Tyler and Val and all of the senior cadets, who
felt they deserved better. Matters were not improved when some of the more
daring cadets took to snapping their fingers and shouting "boy" at each
other, always making sure that Nigel's back was turned.

The Commanding Officer and Number One were fully aware of Nigel's
antics. They were also fully aware that his personnel file in Headquarters
was, thanks to his friendship with his local and very powerful Member of
Parliament, stamped with the large red letters "PI". Political
Influence. They were stuck with him, and both he and they knew it.

At first The Gunner welcomed all the new officers. It meant far less work
for him, and he could concentrate on more important things, such as
training cadets. To The Gunner, Nigel was just another Wardroom Wally, a
commissioned idiot, to be ignored. For his part Nigel thought all lower
deckers were a necessary evil, which had to be put in their place from time
to time.

On Friday morning, after Captain's Rounds, The Gunner, Kyle, Andy Berg,
Tyler and Val were in the Mess Hall enjoying a quiet cup of coffee. The
Phantom was puttering about as always, thinking about his coming foray in
the night. With the Venture cadets back, the training trip over and Harry
no longer blubbering and cluttering up the Gunroom, all his favourites were
going to be in their bunks. It had been a long week, and he had only
managed to come onto the Spit three times, when he visited Ray and Rob. He
was arranging the salt and pepper shakers for the lunch crowd, listening to
the light-hearted banter, when Nigel, in a foul mood because his morning's
ride to CFB Comox for his breakfast had not shown up, entered. He sat down
at a table in the corner, sneered, and snapped his fingers. "Boy!" he
shouted, "This table is filthy!"

"Sir?" replied The Phantom.

"Are you deaf?" shouted Nigel. "This table is filthy. Clean it!"

"But I just cleaned it, sir." replied The Phantom. "Honest." He walked to
the table, figuring it was better to just clean the fucking table all over
again and humour the prick.

The Gunner could feel the anger rising. Nobody, no matter what the rank,
had the right to talk to Phantom, or for that matter, anyone, that way. His
personal feeling for The Phantom aside, there was such as thing as
courtesy. He was about to rise when Kyle put his hand on his
thigh. "Careful, Gunner, the guy's a prick. Let me handle it," Kyle
murmured. Unfortunately, before Kyle could intervene, Nigel's temper got
the better of him.

Nigel was less than satisfied with The Phantom's answer. "Don't lie to me,
you unspeakable guttersnipe!" he snarled viciously. "Clean this table and
bring me a cup of coffee." He swung his arm, catching The Phantom across
the chest and flinging him backwards. The Phantom fell to the deck,
cracking his head loudly against a chair seat. He lay on the deck, moaning
softly.

"That fucking did it," growled The Gunner. He stood up and pushed back his
chair with such force that it crashed into the chairs behind, knocking
three of them over.

"Jesus, he's killed the kid!" Kyle turned to Val. "Get Doc, quick, and the
XO"

In four quick steps The Gunner walked to where Nigel was sitting, staring
white faced at the moaning Phantom. He reached down, grabbed the front of
Nigel's shirt and pushed him up, pinning him against the bulkhead. "Put me
down at once, you piece of lower deck trash," ordered Nigel. "Put me down!"

The Gunner drew back his arm, his heavy hand formed into a fist. Kyle, Andy
and Tyler leaped on The Gunner, pulling him off of Nigel, who crashed to
the deck.  Chef came running from the galley, a huge cleaver in his hand,
followed by Ray and Sandro and the two galley Makee-Learns, Joey and
Randy. Ray and Sandro rushed over to where The Phantom lay.

"Jesus, Jesus, Phantom," croaked Chef.  He dropped his cleaver and cradled
the boy in his arms.

"I'll have you on charges, you insubordinate cretin! Striking an officer!
Insubordination!" Nigel shrieked, struggling to his feet.

>From somewhere deep inside him The Gunner tapped a well of hidden
strength. With one great heave he flung off the officers and cadet holding
him back. His left hand flashed out, grabbing a fistful of very expensive,
tailored shirt. His right hand drew back. "Make it two charges of striking
an officer, you son of a bitch," he growled.

"Stop!" came a booming voice. "Gunner, put that man down! Now!" His fist at
the ready, the Gunner turned his head and saw Number One, trailed by Doc
and Val, hurrying into the dining hall. The officers had fortuitously been
on their way to the Mess Hall for their morning coffee when Val had burst
from the building and literally crashed into them. Number One grabbed The
Gunner's fist. "Put him down, please, Stevie," said Number One calmly. "
Put him down!"

The Gunner nodded and released Nigel, who once again fell to the deck in a
heap. The Gunner stepped back and went to where The Phantom lay, still
cradled in Chef's arms.  Doc was kneeling beside The Phantom, waving a
small vial of ammonia under his nostrils. The Gunner knelt down, clearly
worried. "Is he okay? Will he be all right?"

The Phantom snorted, recoiled, and coughed. "Fuck, that shit stinks." He
opened his eyes and smiled at The Gunner. "Hi, Gunner. Hi, Chef. What are
you doing out here?" he asked. He looked at the circle of faces surrounding
him, Ray near to tears, Sandro muttering in Russian and glaring angrily,
Tyler and Val white-faced, Joey, holding Randy's hand for moral support,
and muttering a Hail Mary. Randy, a hard shell Baptist, was whispering a
plea to God to save his friend.

"Hey!" The Phantom exclaimed, "I remember now, Nigel hit me."

"He'll never hit you again," snapped The Gunner, fire in his eyes.

No one paid attention as Number One hustled a protesting Nigel out the side
door of the Mess Hall.

"Did you deck the prick? Where is he?" The Phantom tried looking around,
and then winced. "Jeez, my head hurts." He tried to struggle to his feet.

Doc pushed him back. "Hush now, boyo." He felt the back of The Phantom's
head, then stood up. "Well, you've had a nasty crack on the head, my
boy. You'll have a nice, big bump, and no danger. I don't think you're too
damaged.  Still, we'll take you along to the surgery and check you out."

"I'm fine. Honest," argued The Phantom.

"Shut up," replied The Gunner firmly. "Here, I'll take him." He knelt down
and scooped The Phantom in his arms. "You're going to Sick Bay and I'm
making sure you get there."

Chef yelled after him. "You take care of that boy, you hear." He looked
frantically around for his cleaver, which Sandro had hurriedly stuffed down
the back of his trousers. "You go with them, Sandro. You Makee-Learns get
back to work . . . oh fuck . . ." Nobody was listening. They were following
The Gunner out of the Mess Hall. Chef trailed along.

The Gunner, with The Phantom cradled in his arms, and trailed by Doc, Chef,
Ray, Sandro, Kyle, Andy, Val, Tyler and the two Makee-learns, hurried
toward Sick Bay. The Phantom wrapped his arms around The Gunner's neck and
rested his head on The Gunner's shoulders. "Did you deck the prick, Gunner,
did you?" he asked excitedly.

"Hush, Phantom, hush. I'll tell you all about it later."

"I can walk, you know," he whispered, hoping that The Gunner was still mad
enough to insist he couldn't.

"I'll be the judge of that."

The Phantom smiled and sighed contentedly. Well, his head did hurt, and it
was a long walk.

The parade ran right into the Twins and their gun crews, and Brian and the
Guard, who were on their way to practice for the Ceremony of the Flags. In
the middle of the parade square, where the Bands were formed up for the
practice, Harry saw the commotion and rushed over. "What happened?" he
asked the Twins.

Cory shrugged. "Don't know, but Phantom's hurt bad,"

Harry turned to Val. "What happened?"

Val stopped long enough to mutter, "That bastard Farnsworth hit Phantom."

"Cocksucker!" exploded Todd. "Where is he? I'll fucking kill him."

"No you won't because I will!" Harry raised his Mace, his face contorted
with anger.

The other cadets echoed his sentiment. Val and Tyler, arms waving, tried to
calm them. Suddenly, the Voice of Doom shouted. "Cadets, Ho!" They all
turned. The Gunner had stopped and turned. "Don't make a bad thing
worse. Go about your business. Tyler, Val, Harry, take charge. Ray, Sandro,
Joey, Randy, back to the galley. Chef, take them back."

The cadets roundly ignored The Gunner and as he hurried towards the Sick
Bay half the Ship's Company trailed him.

******

In the Sick Bay The Gunner laid Phantom on the examining table. Matron and
Doc tried to shoo The Gunner into the office and out of the surgery. The
Phantom stopped them. "Let him stay, please, Matron. Please, Doc."

Doc nodded his agreement, and began examining the back of The Phantom's
head. Matron stuck a thermometer in his mouth. "I don't have to take
anything off, do I?" mumbled The Phantom around the thermometer.

"Only if you want to, dear," smiled Matron. She removed the thermometer and
looked at it. "Normal." She wrapped a blood pressure cup around The
Phantom's arm, pumped the bulb vigorously and recorded the reading.

Doc stood back and pushed The Phantom down, making him rest. "Well, he's
had a good crack, but no damage, I think. You've a hard head, my lad."

"Can I get up?" asked The Phantom.  "I gotta pi . . . I mean I'd like to go
to the heads."

The Doctor helped him sit up. "No dizziness?"

The Phantom shook his head. "Just gotta use the heads."

"Matron will take you."

"She's not going to look, is she?" asked The Phantom, aghast.

"Certainly not," laughed Matron. "Not that you have anything I haven't seen
before." She helped The Phantom off the table and guided him to the
washroom.

The Phantom turned and smiled at The Gunner. "I'm okay, really."

"Of course he is," assured Doc, putting his hand on The Gunner's back and
pushing him out the door. "He'll be fine.  I'll just keep him for a bit,
and then send him home. He's not working for the next few days." He stopped
at the door leading to the outside. "You're the one I'm worried
about. Farnsworth is just a big enough prick to charge you."

The Gunner scowled. "I'll take my lumps. Just take care of that kid."  Doc
cocked an eyebrow. "The boy means a lot to you, does he?"

"Yeah, Doc, he does."

The Gunner went outside to quell the building mutiny. In a few short
sentences he sent all the cadets away. He patted Chef on the back and told
him not to worry, and to please help to get the boys back to
training. Grumbling, they obeyed.

******

The Gunner met Greg, Tyler and Val on the Quarterdeck. "Is he really going
to be okay, Gunner?" asked Tyler, a slight tremor in his voice as he tried
to maintain his composure.

"We saw it all, we'll tell what we saw," said Val, his face white.

"Doc says that Phantom will be all right," replied The Gunner. He patted
Val's shoulder. "He's a little banged up, but he'll be fine." He then
turned to Greg.  "The Old Man's cabin?" he asked quietly.

Greg nodded. "He said you were to go right in."

The Gunner nodded his thanks and crossed the Quarterdeck. He knocked on the
door leading to the Old Man's cabin. Father was seated behind his desk,
smoking a cigarette. A large glass, half filled with rum, was on the desk
in front of him and in one of the chairs flanking the desk Number One,
drink in hand, sat puffing on a vile cigar.

The Gunner held out his wrists. "Go ahead. Call the MP's. Clap me in
irons. I'm as guilty as sin, and I'd do it all over again."

"Don't be so melodramatic, Stephen. Do sit down." Father waved him to the
empty chair. "And have a drink. You look like you could use one." The
Gunner accepted the hefty glass of rum and drank deeply. "How is the lad?"
asked Father, genuinely concerned.

"He'll be all right. A bad bump on the head. Doc says a day or two of rest
is all he needs."

Father nodded. "Well, that's good. He's a nice boy. My missus is quite
taken by him."

"As is mine." Number One blew out a huge cloud of noxious smoke. "She
thinks that he is quite handsome and very well-mannered."

The Commanding Officer chuckled. "My wife thinks he smells nice, which is
strange since it has been my experience that teenage boys, unless there's a
female around, have a definite tendency to pong." He laughed knowingly and
wrinkled his nose. "A teenaged boy on heat does not a sweet smelling rose
make."  The Gunner pointedly ignored the Commanding Officer's attempt at
humour. "Since I'm already in trouble," The Gunner asked briskly as he
looked at each officer in turn, "would you two please tell me how long the
vaudeville act is going to last?"

Number One glanced at The Gunner, then at Father. "Touchy this morning,
isn't he?" He took a drink. "Are you going to tell him, or shall I?"

"Oh, let me. I get so little pleasure in this job." Father smiled and
reached into his desk. He pulled out a folded newspaper, unfolded it and
placed it face down on the desk. "Nigel has decided to leave the Sea
Cadets."

"He has?" The Gunner was of the opinion that it would take a stick of
dynamite to blow the shoulder boards off of Nigel's shirt.

"Do be quiet." smiled Father. "He was, shall we say, persuaded, that while
he has friends in high places, I have friends who have friends in higher
places and that it would be to his advantage if he found a different field
of endeavour." He turned the newspaper over and pushed it toward The
Gunner. "Lower right corner."

The Gunner read the article and stared. "Jesus, Todd and Cory's father?"

Number One nodded. "Nigel was rather forcefully reminded that a Justice of
the Supreme Court of Canada just might be interested in how his sons, and
their friends, are being treated whilst attending AURORA. I understand that
his quite fond of the Twins, although for the life of me I can't think
why."

Father pretended annoyance at Number One's remark. "Some mothers do have
'em. Now, where was I, oh yes, Fred's uncle? You remember Fred?" The
Commanding Officer chuckled. "A tall lad, bum on him like a bumblebee, well
his uncle is Vice-Admiral Sir John Stephens, VC, KCMG, et cetera, a
personal friend to Lord Louis, ADC to the Queen. Also sailed with the
present Director of Reserves and Cadets. Quite fond of his nephew, I
understand. I'm sure he'd ask a question or two about his favourite
nephew's well-being, his living conditions, and those having charge over
him."

"You don't half pull out the big guns, do you?" muttered The Gunner.

"Oh, I can when I put my mind to it. Mind you, I've saved the biggest for
last." Father leaned over and winked. "The boy's father? He's not just some
dumb flatfoot pounding a beat. He's Chief of Patrol and I had it in the
strictest confidence from the Mayor of Courtenay that he's on the short
list for Deputy Chief of Police. How's that?"

"Jesus. He'll be really happy when he hears what happened to his kid,"
replied The Gunner with a shake of his head.

Father nodded. "He has already been informed. He was not happy, not at
all. It was an experience I do not wish to repeat. In the event, I promised
to bring the lad home as soon as the Surgeon allows it. We'll go together
and you can tell soon-to-be Deputy Chief of Police Lascelles how you
rescued his son."

"Hardly rescued. I almost thumped a lieutenant."

"True, true. But, my boy, never miss a chance to ingratiate yourself with
people who matter." Father raised his glass and winked. "It is so much
easier if later on you need a favour from them."

The Gunner waved the comment aside. "I'm not proud of what I did. I lost my
temper. That's unforgivable. But I would do it again, and if I see that
little fuck Farnsworth I'll finish the job."

"That won't be necessary. Even as we speak Nigel is packing his bags. The
Base Transport officer is happily arranging for him to be taken down to
Victoria. Nigel will not be back."

"Good."

"Now, then, what do we do with you?" asked Number One.

"Me?"

"You. You need a rest, and that is not subject to debate." Father gave The
Gunner a stern look. "You will take the weekend off. You are ordered to go
fishing, go hiking, sailing, go and do whatever it is you do to relax. Get
away from this place. You spend far too much time here as it is."

The Gunner had a thought. "Some of the senior cadets could use a
break. There are too few hands for too much work. They all give 110% or
more each and every day. They teach, they attend parades, they have to
stand duty watches." He shook his head. "This is supposed to be a fun time
for the boys."

"I'm aware of that," replied Father with a heavy sigh. "Unfortunately
unless and until we can convince more young officers to spend more time
here we must do what we can with what we have." He ran his hand through his
thinning hair. "I am aware that the cadets are under a great deal of
pressure. I see it every day and I am frankly not happy about it." He
glanced at Number One who nodded slightly.  The Commanding Officer
deliberately refilled all the glasses with rum. "Number One and I have been
working on something, Stephen." He pushed a glass toward the Gunner and
gestured for him to take a wet. "It will not solve all of our problems, but
it will, we hope, help to alleviate the workloads some of the boys are
labouring under." He grinned slightly. "When you get back on Monday, we'll
have a little chat, I think."

The Gunner nodded. He had long ago learned that the Commanding Officer did
not make a move until all of his ducks were in a row. When the time came,
he would make everything known. The Gunner thought a moment and then said,
"I'd like to go sailing. Take a whaler, scare up a crew, just sail, swim,
and relax. Maybe go as far up island as we can, or just where the wind
takes us."

"I take it you have a crew in mind?" asked Number One.

"Harry, Greg, the Twins, if only to keep them out of trouble, Chris,
because he's close to burn out, what with traveling back and forth to the
high school, then evening classes every night, plus standing duty watches;
Two Strokes as well. He is much too hard on the cadets and needs to get
away from them for a bit. He needs to regain his perspective. I'd want
Tyler and Val, if you can spare them. They are good cadets but need to be
reminded that carrying rank does not mean that you can't have some fun."

The Gunner thought very carefully about what he was going to ask next. He
expelled a large breath of air and plunged on. "I would also like to take
Phantom along, if the Doc says he's up to it. Nigel treated him shabbily,
and taking him might just be a way to make it up to him. I know the other
boys would like to have him and, " he cocked his head inquiringly, "it just
might be a way to smooth the waters with his folks?"

"You're learning," said Father. "A gesture of repentance and atonement. I
like it."

"It sounds sneaky if you ask me," said Number One with a smile.

"I don't recall asking," replied Father." He looked pensive. "You will have
to take an officer." He held up his hand, stifling argument from The
Gunner. "I might have my Blue Ticket but even I can't get around that
regulation. You will be with cadets and an officer must escort them. As far
as Phantom is concerned, subject to medical clearance and parental
permission, there's no reason you can't take him along."

"Good. I'll ask Kyle to come along. He's not much older than they are and
the cadets like him."

"Take young Berg, as well," interjected Number One. "He's Supply and will
have to kit you all out. Taking him along will spur him to greater effort."

The Gunner stood up. "It's settled then. When can we leave?"

"When would you like?  This afternoon?"

The Gunner nodded. "What about the rest of them? They're pretty upset, you
know. Phantom's popular with them. He gives them cake and cookies, and
extra portions of food when he thinks Chef's back is turned. He's done
other things, you know, just helping them out when he can."

Number One laughed. "We are having a huge banyan tonight. Chef has promised
steaks. Tomorrow everybody goes to town for a day of fun, frolic, and
chasing girls."

"Dear God, I hope not. I do not need 200 randy cadets running loose," joked
Father.

"Eddy, Armstrong and Higman will handle them. As will I. I think a day in
town would be just the ticket for me." Number One cocked his head, raised
and eyebrow and looked at the Commanding Officer. "Done?"

"And done," agreed Father heartily.

******

With The Phantom seated up front and Tyler in the rear for moral support,
The Gunner drove into town, followed by the Commanding Officer and Sandro,
who had to be taken into town anyway. The Phantom was agog about going
sailing. He smiled happily, his head not hurting at all.

"Just remember that your folks have to agree to your going, Phantom,"
cautioned The Gunner. "And you might as well know now, Sea Cadets, and Sea
Cadet officers, are not high on your father's list of nice people."

"Oh, they'll say yes." The Phantom rubbed his head. "It's just a little
bump, and Dad just blows up and calms right down. Besides, my Mum is pretty
cool. She'll let me, so he'll let me."

"You seem awfully sure of yourself," returned The Gunner. And, don't
forget, Doc did say you should take it easy."

"The guys will make sure of that, Gunner," Tyler assured him from the back
seat of the Land Rover. "Phantom won't have to do anything but swim and get
a suntan."

"So it's all set. For once they work and I loaf, instead of the other way
around," joked The Phantom, laughing.

"Ha, ha, ha. Very funny," returned Tyler, "especially coming from somebody
who spends half his time parked on the Mess Hall loading dock smoking
cigarettes and gossiping with the Twins."

"You two behave or you'll both be standing on the jetty waving good-bye as
we sail out of the bay," warned The Gunner as he tried to hide his grin. It
was obvious that Phantom was more accepted by the cadets that he'd
thought. "Here's your house, Phantom."

They pulled up to the driveway and had barely stopped before The Phantom
opened the car door and charged up the walk, The Gunner, Tyler, Father and
Sandro hurried after him.

"Dad, Dad, you should have seen it," shouted The Phantom as he crashed
through the front door. "It was great. Oh, hi, Mum. The Gunner was going to
kill the little bastard and it took three guys to pull him off. Ah,
gee. Mum, I'm okay, honest."

Father rapped lightly on the door and they walked into the house. They
found The Phantom in the living room, enveloped in his parents' arms,
struggling. "Geez, I ain't hurt. " he pulled away. "C'mon, guys. I'm okay,
honest. Can I go sailing this weekend?"

"Calm down, and go with your mother, Phantom," commanded The Phantom's
father. Chief of Patrol Tom Lascelle's tone was one of barely controlled
anger. "I have some words to say to these gentlemen." He glared icily at
the Commanding officer. "Go on, Phantom, go with your mother." He gestured
towards the sofa and chairs, indicating that all should take a
seat. "Please sit down, gentlemen."

Mrs. Lascelles led The Phantom by the hand toward the interior of the house
while his father listened patiently as the Commanding Officer told him
exactly what had happened. He pulled no punches and apologized
sincerely. From somewhere in the rear of the house they heard The Phantom
yelp. "Jeez, Mum, stop poking it. Now it does hurt!"

A fleeting smile crossed Chief Lascelle's face before he returned to
looking stonily at Father. "I have to be honest, with you, sir. I am not at
all happy with what happened to my boy, though I am satisfied that he was
well taken care of after the event." He stood up, approached The Gunner and
offered his hand. "Thank you for helping my boy."

As he took the man's hand The Gunner said with feeling, "I would have done
the same for any of the cadets."

"I'm not a cadet," said The Phantom cheerfully as he entered the living
room. He was carrying a tray laden with bottles of beer and cans of
pop. His mother followed behind with a tray of sandwiches she had already
prepared.

"Put the drinks down, Phantom." Mrs. Lascelles smiled at the Commanding
Officer. "I thought you might care for something to eat and drink. It is
almost lunch time."

"Yes, please help yourselves." Chief Lascelles waved his hand toward the
table where The Phantom had set down the tray.

Tyler and Sandro looked at Father who nodded. They stood up and took a
sandwich. Then each of them grabbed a beer. "Tyler, I don't . . ." began
The Gunner. Cadets were not supposed to drink alcohol of any description.

Father touched The Gunner's arm. "I think we can look the other way, this
time." He knew when to bend with the wind. There was no point in further
antagonizing their host by enforcing regulations. The two cadets grinned at
each other as they took a beer and then sat down.

The Phantom's mother put her arm around his shoulders in a warm, caring
embrace. "Phantom tells me that you would like to take him away
sailing. He's quite excited about it," she said, addressing The Gunner. She
drew The Phantom close and looked at Tyler and Sandro, a warm smile on her
face. "My son is very taken with you all. He's very proud of working for
you."

"Mum!" The Phantom, embarrassed, pulled away and went for the sandwich
tray.

His mother frowned. "Hush, Phantom. I am only telling the truth. "
Mrs. Lascelles looked directly at Father. "Phantom is not one of you. Not
officially, anyway, but in his own mind, he is. He never stops talking
about AURORA, or about the cadets. He even had his hair cut to look like
theirs. For all his whining when he put on that uniform he wore last
Sunday, I saw the pride in his eyes." She nodded towards Sandro. "You must
be Sandro. Phantom tells me that he's been invited to the service following
your Bris. I'm very glad that you take your religion so seriously. Some
people I can name don't." She smiled fondly at her husband, and then her
son, who was busily eating a sandwich.

Sandro turned a deep red. "Fuck your mother!" he thought crudely, "even a
guy's dick isn't sacred any more." He said nothing and merely nodded.

"And you are Tyler," Mrs. Lascelles said. Giving Tyler a warm smile. "The
Master at Arms. A very responsible position."

Tyler nodded. "Yes, Ma'am."

"We met, briefly, after the Church service. Phantom always speaks very well
of you and I know that you are very highly regarded and that very shortly
you will enter Royal Roads. Your mother must be very proud of you."

Tyler blushed and nodded. "Yes, Ma'am. Thank you, Ma'am," he croaked.

"Do stop calling me Ma'am," Mrs. Lascelles laughed. "You make me feel like
I'm opening a church bazaar."

Tyler grinned. He liked this lady.

Mrs. Lascelles regarded the Commanding Officer. "My father served in the
Navy during the War," she said quietly. "And both of my brothers were in
the Army during Korea. I lived the life of an army wife when my husband was
in the Airborne Regiment. I have had some experience with military life."
She reached out and took her husband's hand. "We love our son very much.
Even if he is a pain in the behind most of the time."

"Mother!"

"And stuffing himself while I am trying to convince myself that allowing
him to remain at AURORA is in his best interests," said Chief Lascelles as
he glanced fondly at his youngest son.

The Phantom dropped his sandwich on the tray. He sat down beside his
parents. "Please, Mum, Dad, don't make me leave. I like working at
AURORA. The guys are great, and the officers treat me great. Well, not
Nigel, but he's an asshole. Chef is wonderful, and I'm learning a lot."

"It was an officer who struck you, and who came very close to giving you a
concussion," his mother reminded The Phantom quietly.

"The guy is a prick, and besides The Gunner . . ."

"Phantom!" Mrs. Lascelles stared pointedly at him. "Your language! I do
hope that is not something they teach you at AURORA."

"No, I learned that all by myself. But Nigel is a pr . . ." A red blush
spread across his face. "These people are my friends. They like me, and
they took care of me. I want to be with them. Please, Mum? Please, Dad?" he
finished in his best wheedling tone.

Phantom's father stood up. "Phantom, entertain our guests." Looking to
Father and the Gunner, he continued, "Gentlemen, I would like to speak with
you privately."

They followed him out to the back garden.

******

At the pool's edge The Phantom's father took out a pack of cigarettes and
offered it to the other two men. Father and The Gunner took cigarettes and
lit them. "My wife thinks I don't smoke," said Father, inhaling
deeply. "But then, I rather think she knows and pretends to think
otherwise."

"The good ones usually do," replied Chief Lascelles with a grin. They
settled into the poolside chairs. He looked at his two visitors. "I'm a
cop," he began, "and I am also a blunt man." He continued between drags on
his cigarette. "My son was assaulted. If it had happened here in town I
assure you this Farnsworth person's ass would be in Comox Jail right now. I
can also assure you that if that guy ever sets foot in this town again, I
can guarantee he'll wish he'd ended up in Comox Jail, because I'll put him
in the hospital." He took a pull on his cigarette. He looked intently at
The Gunner. "Phantom thinks you're the cat's ass. He tells me that you're
tutoring him in your free time. Is that true?"

The Gunner nodded.

"Why?"

"Why?" The Gunner smiled slowly. "Perhaps because I happen to like him. A
lot. Just as I like the Twins, and Harry, and Greg, and Tyler, and almost
two hundred other boys."

"Including Little Big Man?" asked Chief Lascelles, a wily look in his eyes.

"You know about him?" asked Father, very surprised.

"I know. Phantom and I spend a couple of hours a day, every day,
together. We talk, or rather, he talks about AURORA, and the cadets, what
the Twins have been up to, you." Chief Lascelles indicated The Gunner, and
then chuckled. "Jesus does Phantom talk about you."

They shared a laugh and then The Gunner looked directly at him. "I could
bullshit you and tell you that I'm just doing what they pay me to do. But
it's more than that. They get to me. The cadets want guidance and they want
discipline. They want to learn, and they want to be liked. They are young
men, our cadets, Phantom included, who don't do drugs, don't mug seniors,
and don't skip school.

"I get paid to teach them how to march. I don't get paid to listen to their
hopes, and fears, but I listen. I don't get paid to point them down a
proper path, but I do it. I don't get paid to be their big brother, but I
am. I don't get paid to take the place of their father, but I do, with some
of them. I don't get paid to try to undo the damage some fathers have done
to their sons, which means I don't get paid to try to turn a homophobic
brat into a decent young man who at least respects others, but I am
trying. I don't get paid to feel sorry for Little Big Man, but I do. I
don't get paid to take swings at officers, but I did it. Not just because
it was Phantom, whom I think a great deal of, but for each and every cadet,
including Phantom who is one of them so far as I'm concerned. No officer,
or instructor, can treat any of those boys badly when I'm around."

The Gunner crushed the cigarette he had been smoking into the ashtray that
sat on the table in front of him. "Don't judge us, the others, by one bad
apple. If we didn't care about those boys, we wouldn't be here." He pointed
to the Commanding Officer. "This man has given fifty years to the Navy. For
two months each year he devotes his time and effort to making over a
thousand boys better boys, and the rest of the time? Half pay and whatever
he gets in pension."

"I say, Stevie, that's a bit much," muttered Father, embarrassed.

"It's true," replied The Gunner. "You know what else he does?" The Gunner
asked Chief Lascelles. Not waiting for an answer The Gunner continued
on. "Every Friday he makes sure a Jewish cadet gets to the Synagogue. He
takes the kid into his home and his wife, who isn't Jewish, cooks
kosher. She doesn't have to, but she does, because he's one of their
cadets.

"Andy Berg, who is an American, scrounges from dawn until dusk, making sure
that the cadets have what they need. If he ever gets caught you had better
have an extra cell for him in Comox Jail.

"Sub-Lieutenant Kyle St. Vincent is a university student who could be
making next semester's tuition, could be making twice the money back home,
just working in his father's hardware business. But he's here. He's here
because he loves the cadets and believes in them and the job the Sea Cadets
organization does.

"Doctor Reynolds, who is the man who treated Phantom, is an important
surgeon back home in Windsor. He takes two months off from being Chief of
Trauma to come here. He tells everybody that this is going to be his last
year but every year he shows up, at great cost to himself. He also believes
in what he does here, even if all he does is sit around most of the time
with nothing to do but treat chilblains and the cadet version of distemper.

"No 'H', as Sub-Lieutenant Armstrong likes to be known, paid his own fare
from St. John's to Halifax, just to get out here. Sub-Lieutenant Dave Eddy,
who is still a babe and barely older than our oldest cadet, should be
home. His mother is very ill. Lieutenant Wally Higman has exactly 6 days
after he leaves here to get ready for his regular job as a high school
teacher.

The Gunner leaned back in his chair and exhaled. "Please do not judge us by
the conduct of one officer. Do not refuse to let your son stay with us, or
sail with us, by the conduct of that one officer."

Father put his hand on The Gunner's arm. "May I speak, now?" The Gunner
nodded and Commander Stockdale looked with sad eyes at The Phantom's
father. "Sir, what happened was inexcusable. I can only apologize again and
assure you that the man will never, ever touch another boy in my charge, or
any other boy in the charge of my officers. The officer in question has
resigned and is no longer a part of the Sea Cadets, and I believe I have
enough influence to keep it that way. I'm asking you to think very long and
hard before you make a decision."

Chief Lascelles looked at both men. "That was quite a speech," he said to
The Gunner.

"Sorry. I get wound up, sometimes." The Gunner shook his head. "I just
wanted you to know where we're coming from."

"Let's go in the kitchen." Chief Lascelles stood up and nodded toward the
house. "I don't know about you two, but I need a drink." They followed him
in to the kitchen where he poured them a solid drink of rum. "Got to liking
this black stuff when I was in the army."

The three men sat at the kitchen table listening to The Phantom's mother
chatting in the living room. Her husband smiled. "If I know Phantom, he's
talked his mother around. He's quite persuasive when he puts his mind to
it. As for me, well, just so long as you remember that he's a boy, and not
a cadet."

"That's the general idea," said Father. "This whole trip is for them to be
boys, not cadets. Within reason, of course."

"Well, the pair of you have convinced me that you care about him. He can
go, so long as he's not a burden and you make damn sure nothing, and I mean
nothing, happens to him." Chief Lascelles put his drink on the table. "I'd
better go and tell him he can go."

"A hard man," said The Gunner after The Phantom's father left the room.

"Airborne," replied Father, as if that one word explained it all.

They listened as the boys whooped with glee when Chief Lascelles gave his
approval for The Phantom to go sailing. "Way to go, Phantom!" yelled
Sandro.

"It will be great fun," exclaimed Tyler. "We'll have a ball!"

"You bet. Hey, Mum can we have another beer?" The Phantom was clearly very
happy.

"Phantom, I don't think . . ."

"Oh, for God's sake, a beer won't kill them. Go ahead, boys," The Phantom's
father's voiced boomed.

The Gunner looked at Father and smiled broadly as they rose from the
kitchen table to join the others. "Well, I guess we won this one."

******

While The Gunner went home to pack for the weekend, and Father drove to his
house with Sandro, Tyler remained behind to help The Phantom pack and to
make a few telephone calls to the ship.

The Gunner picked them up and they drove back to AURORA, and then directly
to the Boatyard, where Stuart and Steve were busily readying two of the
whalers for sea. Andy and Rob were checking over a pile of sleeping bags,
blankets, portable stoves and what not, all of which Andy deemed essential
for a sailing expedition. Chef was bickering with Ray over the contents of
several boxes of food and rations. Number One was busily signing a sheaf of
papers that Greg kept handing to him. Tyler and The Phantom wandered over
to check out the action. Number One waved to The Gunner. "Almost
done. We'll have you away in just a while."

"We're only going for two nights.  There's enough gear there for a month,"
complained The Gunner as he scowled at the huge pile of equipment. "We
won't have room left even for the ship's cat!"

"The thing is designated an essential asset and won't be going," returned
Number One with a huge grin. "We've just thrown in the bare essentials." He
pulled The Gunner to one side, away from the bustle. "Now, I know you
wanted to keep the crowd down, but I have given it a lot of thought and I
would like you to take two whalers. I've made a list, and if you feel
uncomfortable with any of the cadets I should like to see go, please tell
me, and I'll change it."

"They don't know who is going to crew?"

Number One shook his head. "Not yet. They have just calmed down after that
unfortunate incident this morning. Chef and his lads put on a bang up
lunch, with enough sweets to kill them all. Most of them haven't yet come
down from their sugar high." He handed the list to The Gunner. There would
be two crews, evenly divided. Boat one would take The Gunner, Tyler, the
Twins, Harry, Two Strokes, Nicholas, and Ray.

The Gunner raised his eyebrows. "Ray? Chef can't get along without him. He
does the work of two men in the galley, you know."

"I know, and so does Chef. Which is why he insisted the lad go."

The Gunner nodded and read on. In the second boat would be Kyle, Andy, Val,
Chris, Greg, Stuart, Steve and Rob. "You do realize that if I drown the lot
you'll be in a hell of a fix.  Most of your Senior Staff are on this list."

Number One smiled. "I'm not worried about you drowning anybody. The weather
will be clear, the seas quite calm. The Petty Officers will now have an
opportunity to show what they can do, without the Chiefs hovering
around. Half the Crushers have been praying for a bloody war and a sickly
season since Two Strokes came on board. Besides, I've a weekend planned
that will make everyone who doesn't go forget you and the senior cadets are
not around." They walked toward the jetty, where Wally Higman and Ryan were
handing cans of gasoline down to Stuart and Steve. "Where will you go, or
have you decided?" asked the Executive Officer.

"Not really, sort of play it by ear," replied The Gunner. He scratched his
chin, remembering the waters that stretched northward. "Maybe across to
Texada Island, spend the night there, fool around in those waters, then
over to Harwood Island for tomorrow night. Maybe down to Miracle Beach on
Sunday to clean up. Then home."

"Now I know you need to get away," observed Number One.

"How so?"

Number One grinned. "You just called this place home."

******

Leaving The Phantom with Stuart, who was to show him the ropes, so to
speak, The Gunner and Tyler walked to the Headquarters Building, gave Greg
the list of the cadets going sailing and asked him to round up the
troops. Then they headed for the Gunroom, where everyone was to meet. "That
was quite a speech you gave Phantom's father," said Tyler presently.

"What . . .how . . ."

"I went into the kitchen for some ice and heard most of it."

"Tyler, I'd appreciate it if you kept that to yourself," asked The Gunner.

"Why? Are you ashamed of making it?"

"No, but if the brats find out how I really feel about them my credibility
is shot."

"What makes you think they don't already know?" asked Tyler as they entered
the Gunroom.

******

They found the Twins bickering over nothing. Two Strokes was lying on his
bunk, leafing through a skin book. Harry was sitting on his bunk, writing a
letter. From time to time he glanced at a small photograph that he had
tacked to the bulkhead above his bed. The Twins stopped their bickering and
Two Strokes quickly stuffed the magazine under his pillow. Harry looked up,
closed the writing tablet and smiled. "So, how is he?" asked Harry.

"Yeah, is he okay?" asked Todd. "Can he go sailing with you?"

"How do you know about the sailing trip?" The Gunner was not all that
surprised that the Twins would more than likely know every detail of what
was planned for them. The Twins had an espionage system that would put the
KGB to shame. They knew everything.

"Greg told us," said Cory honestly. "So, can Phantom go or not?"

The Gunner nodded. "Phantom is going, and so are you."

"Me?" Cory's eyes widened. He thought for sure that he and Todd were in the
rattle over the hymn sing.

"Yes, and Todd, and Two Strokes, uh, sorry Roger, and Harry."

"I'm going? But I get seasick," complained Harry, pretending to retch. The
Gunner did a double take. That sounded like the old the Harry.

Todd whispered. "He got a letter from Stefan. He's been grinning like a
loon since he read it."

The Gunner gave Harry a firm look. "I'll buy you some Mother Sill's. You're
going."

The other cadets came in and when The Gunner told them that they were all
on the list they high-fived and hooted. They groaned when he told them they
all had to go down and help load the whalers, then trooped down to the
jetty where, under "No H's" direction, they began loading the whalers. The
Phantom grumbled loudly because they would not allow him to exert himself
in any way. When The Gunner went off to his office to get some gear Tyler
motioned for The Phantom to follow him.

"Where are we going?" The Phantom asked as Greg fell in step beside them.

"The Ship's Office. You have to sign some papers to make you legal." For
some reason Greg had a silly grin on his face.

"I am legal, well, almost," replied The Phantom.

"Yeah, in three or four years," retorted Tyler with a snort. "Not that kind
of legal. You have to sign some papers; otherwise you can't go with
us. It's just routine paperwork. Any civilian who goes out with us has to
sign a waiver."

"Well, okay then."

In the Ship's Office they found the Twins and Ray. Ray held a paper bag in
his hand. Sub-Lieutenant Eddy was standing behind the office counter, a
small line of papers neatly placed along its length.

"Okay, Phantom," smiled Sub-Lieutenant Eddy, the light shining off his
braces, "all you have to do is sign these papers." He indicated the
documents. "Once you do that, there's a couple of things to do, and then
you can go with the troops."

The Phantom eyed the papers suspiciously. "I don't know, maybe you should
get my Dad to look at them. I'm only 17 and maybe . . ."

"Just sign the damned papers." Rob had entered the office, a small pile of
clothing in his arms. "Unless you really don't want to go."

"Yeah, Phantom. Sign the fucking papers," ordered Tyler. "Jeez, fucking
civilians."

The Phantom got all huffy and, without reading them, signed the documents.

"There, satisfied?" he asked as he signed the last piece of paper.

"Not quite," smiled Sub-Lieutenant Eddy. He pulled out a bible and placed
in on the countertop. "Place your left hand on the bible and raise your
right hand, please."

"Huh? What are you guys up to?"

"Just do it, Phantom." Ray guided his left hand to the bible. "Now raise
your right hand like a good boy."

Sub-Lieutenant Eddy, grinning broadly, raised his hand. "Now, then,
Phantom, repeat after me. 'I, state your name . . ." The Phantom repeated
the words, stating his name. "Do solemnly swear that I will bear true
allegiance to Her Majesty, Queen Elizabeth the Second, Her heirs and
successors . . ."  The Phantom continued making his oath, wondering all the
while what the hell this had to do with a waiver to go sailing. "So help me
God." he finished.  Sub-Lieutenant Eddy reached out and shook The Phantom's
hand. "Congratulations, you are now a member in good standing of RCSCC
AURORA."

"There is no RCSCC AURORA," said The Phantom.  "What the hell are they up
to now?" he thought.

"There is now," said Greg. "Nigel signed the papers before he left."

"He did?"

"Yeah, only he doesn't know it."

The other cadets crowded around The Phantom, shaking his hand and slapping
him on the back. Except for Cory, who couldn't resist, and slapped him on
the behind. "Will you guys tell me what the fuck is going on?" he demanded,
when they finally released him.

"Well," began Tyler, "remember when you said you weren't a Sea Cadet?"

"Yeah?"

Tyler grinned. "Harry mentioned it to me, I mentioned it to the boys, who
agreed with Harry. We decided that you were good enough to be a Sea
Cadet. Greg took care of the details." He slapped Greg on the back. "What
this guy doesn't know about forms and how to get around the Regulations."
Tyler shook his head in wonder.

Greg smiled an "aw, shucks, guys." smile. He held up the papers The Phantom
had signed. "This is your application to enrol in RCSCC AURORA Sea Cadets,
duly witnessed by Nigel."

"What the . . .there is no AURORA Sea Cadet Corps," insisted The Phantom.

"Of course there isn't," agreed Greg. "Base always gives us a hard time
when we take civilians with us, something about insurance and liability,
so, rather than fuck around I made up RCSCC AURORA. I signed Nigel's name
to all the paperwork. Now Base thinks you're a real live Sea Cadet, from a
real Corps and Monday, when the Base Orderly Room opens some clerk will
file it all away, nice and neat. Unread and forgotten the minute it goes
into a file folder. No names, no pack drill. It's all very simple." He
picked up a second piece of paper. "This is your Oath of Allegiance, signed
by you and witnessed to by an attesting officer, who, being a mere Subbie,
follows orders from his superior officer, Nigel." He grinned and bowed to
Sub-Lieutenant Eddy, who bowed back.

"Being a SLUT, I'm expected to make mistakes," Sub-Lieutenant Eddy said,
laughing. Seeing the look on The Phantom's face, he
explained. "Sub-Lieutenant under training. I am a text book case of once
there was a Subbie who was so stupid even the other Subbies noticed."

"Oh no, sir," argued The Phantom. "You're really quite smart. The Gunner
thinks so, and so do I."

"Well, well, high praise indeed. Will you testify at my court martial if
this clown gets caught?"

"Not to worry, sir," Greg assured the young Sub-Lieutenant. " I never get
caught." He waved the last piece of paper at The Phantom. "This appoints
you a Chief Steward, acting, unpaid, non-substantive."

"There are no stewards in the Sea Cadets," returned The Phantom stubbornly.

"There is now. Not only are you it, you're the senior it," laughed Rob.

"They figured since you had the uniform anyway . . ." said Sub-Lieutenant
Eddy.

"Shit. He outranks us," grumbled Todd.

"Everybody outranks you two clowns," retorted Greg.

"Hey, Tyler, this means he gets to sleep with you," Cory said. Then he
realized what he had just inferred and grinned sheepishly. "In the Mess, I
mean, not actually sleep with you. He's not like that and . . ."

"I know what you mean," Tyler stopped him. "At least with him I'd keep my
virginity, which is more than I can say for you. Or Todd."

"Oh, Tyler, how unkind." Cory feigned great hurt. "We're straight, you
know."

"As a dog's hind leg," thought Dave Eddy. "Okay, guys, I'm out of here. Be
gentle with him."

"What's that supposed to mean?" asked The Phantom as the officer left the
office.

"Well, since you're a Chief now, you need a uniform." Todd reached out and
pulled The Phantom's tee shirt over his head.

"Hey, what are you doing? I have a uniform . . ."

"Your sailing uniform. Now hold still. Doc said you couldn't do anything
strenuous and you can't get upset." Todd handed the tee shirt to Cory. "So
we're going to help you get dressed."

"I don't need any help. Hey, leave my jeans alone. I can undress myself,"
protested The Phantom loudly.

"No, you can't, so shut up," said Ray as he undid The Phantom's jeans and
pulled them down. "Hey, nice boxers."

"They come off, too," said Greg.

The Phantom felt two hands pulling down his blue-striped boxer
shorts. "Hey, not my underwear. Nobody said anything about taking off my
underwear!"

"We're going sailing. You don't wear underwear when you go sailing." Todd
yanked down The Phantom's underpants. "Step out of 'em, Phantom."

Next he lost his shoes and socks. The Phantom was blushing
furiously. Except for his watch, he was naked.

Todd admired The Phantom's slim, tanned body, and smiled at the sight of
his low hanging, well-formed balls, and slim, sleek, circumcised cock. Todd
grinned at Cory who forgot all about being straight. Cory sighed wistfully
as he gave The Phantom a frankly admiring look and said, his eyes gleaming,
"You got a nice set of works, there, Phantom."

"You shouldn't look at another guy's parts," protested The Phantom.

"Why not if they look nice?" returned Cory, grinning, and suppressing the
urge to reach out and touch.

"And you're supposed to be straight?" sneered Ray. "Here, Phantom, step
into these." He drew a pair of issue navy blue shorts up over The Phantom's
legs and thighs, covering his nakedness.

"Now your gunshirt." said Tyler, pulling the shirt over the blushing
Phantom's head. It was stiff with starch and scratched his nipples as Tyler
pulled it down and tucked the gunshirt into The Phantom's shorts and
straightened it.

Todd, as mesmerized as his brother made a small suggestion. "Fix your dick
and balls the way you like them."

The Phantom grimaced and made the necessary adjustment. "Satisfied? Am I
finished?"

"No. What's your shoe size?" asked Rob, all efficiency. The Phantom told
him and Rob went off to fetch a pair of soft soled boating shoes.

"Are you guys finished now?" asked The Phantom impatiently.

"No, you need a hat." Todd took the paper bag that Ray had brought in and
pulled out a white peak cap. He slipped in on The Phantom's head. It fit
perfectly.

"Hey, this is a real Chief's cap," exclaimed The Phantom. "It looks new."

"It is," replied Ray, a sneaky smile on his face.

"So, where did you get it?" asked The Phantom as he admired the sparkling
white cap and the exquisite workmanship of the gold wire badge. "Number One
only brought one each for Tyler and Val."

"We stole it from The Gunner. He doesn't know about it, yet. So lie if he
asks you where you got it," said Ray.

"I couldn't lie to him if he asks me where I got it," protested The Phantom

"We can, so don't say anything if he asks. We'll think of something to tell
him," replied Todd with a laugh. "We always do."

"Hey, Phantom," began Ray as he slipped his arm around the boy's
waist. "Now that you're a Chief you won't forget about us lowly Able
Cadets, will you?" He laughed and gave The Phantom a squeeze. "Most Chiefs
forget about the little guys who knew them when."

"Don't worry, Ray, I'll never forget the little guys," he said, returning
Ray's laugh." Then The Phantom smiled. Especially you. He turned to the
other cadets.  "Now can we go sailing?"

"Hey, why not." grinned Todd. "You're the Chief."

******

Shortly after 1500 the two whalers tacked out of Comox Harbour and into the
Strait of Georgia. The gear, including the "special rations" Chef had
insisted on putting aboard, was neatly stowed. The sails, outboard motors
and other gear had all been checked and rechecked. Chef had given strict
instructions to The Gunner that no harm was to come to Ray. "If that kid
don't come back, don't you," he had yelled.  "And I mean it."

They all looked very prim and Pusser, each cadet properly dressed in navy
blue shorts, regulation gunshirt and caps with chin stays down as required
by Queen's Regulations. Even though they could all swim like demons, they
all wore life jackets, as required by regulations. The Gunner and the two
officers wore a Royal Navy officer's safari shirt, and white shorts. The
Gunner wore Andy Berg's extra cap, an ancient Chief's badge from his
collection replacing the US Navy emblem. He been forced to borrow Andy's
spare cap as the brand new one he had kept in his office had mysteriously
disappeared. Like the cadets, The Gunner and the two officers were
barefoot.

As the whalers passed the southern point of Goose Spit a group of cadets
who had been sunbathing on the beach jumped and waved at the passing
boats. Then they bent over and mooned the sailors, spreading their cheeks
and laughing.  The Gunner turned the tiller of his boat and set a course of
east, a little north, heading for Texada Island, a distance of just over 18
miles.  When Goose Spit was well behind them Tyler reached under the seat
and pulled out his peak cap. "Okay now, Gunner?" he asked.

"Sure." The Gunner smiled. "I'm surprised you didn't wear it coming out."

"Can I wear it going in?" asked Tyler.

"Sure." The Gunner nodded to Nicholas who grinned and waved to the boat
behind. Then he bent a small bundle of cloth to the halyard and hoisted it
to the masthead. Nicholas pulled and the White Ensign unfurled, flapping
and snapping in the breeze. From behind them a loud cheer arose from the
following whaler. The Gunner looked aft and saw the Ensign flying from
Kyle's boat. As he watched Andy rose slowly to attention and then gravely
saluted the flag.

******

For a long time The Gunner stared at the flag, a blood red Cross of
St. George on a white field with the Union Jack in the canton, and wondered
just how many sailors in the new, unified Armed Forces knew the
significance of the old rag, knew the depth of emotion that it evoked in
the hearts of the men who had served under it, Canadian boys who became men
in the shadow of the White Ensign. He wondered if the young, Canadian
sailors would ever know that the same flag had flown from the jack of
Nelson's HMS VICTORY and had covered the cask of brandy that contained the
great Admiral's body on his last voyage home to England. The Gunner looked
to seaward, remembering, and saw the Battle Ensigns streaming from the
yards as Beattie's battle cruisers steamed to glory; saw the White Ensign,
torn and stained as it snapped in the wind, nailed to the staff by Fogarty
Fegen when Jervis Bay made her fatal, desperate charge against the German
raider, ADMIRAL SCHEER, and saved her convoy; saw again the White Ensign as
it dipped defiantly beneath the waves as HMCS ATHABASKAN went down, all
guns firing, spitting in the eyes of the E-Boats that had sunk her. He
looked aft and saw Andy, who nodded slowly. Andy knew, as these boys did
not, what the flag meant. Andy knew that men still lived who would have
chosen death rather than the dishonour of striking that flag, just as The
Gunner knew that men still lived in whose hearts the White Ensign still
flew proudly.

******
	  
Cory, Todd, Tyler, Two Strokes, and Ray looked up at the flag snapping and
swirling in the strong breeze. Nicholas dogged the halyard and
saluted. Seated beside The Gunner, where he planned to stay the whole trip,
The Phantom looked up at the flag and felt a slight tremor course through
his body. "It looks good, Gunner," he murmured. "Too bad the politicians
took it away."

The Gunner harrumphed and smiled weakly. "Well, now you can tell your
grandchildren that you sailed under the White Ensign."

Tyler, who was seated on the other side of the tiller, grinned. "My Dad
sailed under the White Ensign. He keeps one in his den. He won't let Mom
clean it.  Nobody, I mean, nobody, touches it."

"The flag means a lot to a great many people." The Gunner gazed sadly up at
the Ensign. "In the old days it was treated almost like a sacred
relic. When it came down after Evening Quarters the Bunting Tossers would
wash it by hand and then iron it." He scowled "Not like today when all they
do is pull down the flag and roll it up." He looked at Tyler and The
Phantom. "You guys are probably the last of a long line of sailors who can
truthfully say they sailed under the White Ensign."

"Hey," brightened Tyler. "That means I'm one up on my Dad."

"How is that?" asked The Phantom.

"Well, we're in a whaler, under sail, with the White Ensign flying, right?"

The Gunner nodded. "So?"

"Well, Dad was in a frigate. Never sailed in a small boat like this in his
life." Tyler thumped his chest. "Wait until I tell him I really sailed
under the White Ensign." He laughed uproariously.  "He'll shit a brick."

******

The sea was calm and the wind kind. The cadets loafed, tended the sails,
chatted, and generally relaxed. Before very long the life jackets were
stowed under the seats. Their gunshirts came off, then their
caps. Everybody wanted to get a good tan. The Gunner reckoned that they
were making a good five knots, rolling along, heading for Texada.

"Thanks, Gunner, I'm really enjoying this," said The Phantom
earnestly. "I've never been sailing before."

"Figured," replied The Gunner with a grin. His face became a look of
concern.

"How's your head?"

"Aw, it's okay. I really am okay." The Phantom reached down and squeezed
The Gunner's hand. "Honest, I'm okay."

The Gunner nodded and smiled.  "No pangs of conscience about wearing a
stolen cap?"

Tyler squirmed uneasily in his seat. "I, um, I think I'll go forward and
see how the Twins are doing."

"They're doing fine. I can see them from here," replied The Gunner
casually, causing Tyler to remain in his seat, struggling to think of
something, anything, that would give him a way out of this embarrassment.

The Twins were laughing and joking in the bows of the whaler. Harry was
stretched out athwart ship, snoring loudly. Nicholas, Two Strokes and Ray
were ranged along the port side, adding weight in case the boat heeled in
the wind. They were idly making ropes ends from some gash rope they had
found.

"How did you know . . ." squeaked Tyler. "I'm . . ."

The Gunner held up his hand. "Well, two and two usually makes four. I had a
spanking new cap that went missing from my locker. Now I see a spanking new
cap on Phantom's head. I think I can make the connection, and I do not want
to know how he got it." He grinned.  "Looks good on him though."

"Can I keep it?" asked Phantom, glad that he wasn't going to be yelled at.

"Sure. I can always get another. In fact, I know a guy down in Esquimalt
who . . ." He was interrupted by a shout from the bows.

"Hey, Gunner, watch this," yelled Cory.

The Twins stood up, dropped their shorts and the two naked boys dove
overboard, one to port, one to starboard, disappearing under the slate blue
waters. When they surfaced they struck out, swimming strongly in the
current, two lithe young men using strong overhand strokes as they quickly
pulled ahead of the whaler. The Twins raced ahead and stopped, treading
water, perhaps 100 yards ahead, bobbing in the current.

"Jesus Christ!" exploded The Gunner. He recovered quickly. "Nicholas, Two
Strokes, take in all sail. Harry, wake up!" he bellowed. "Tyler, start the
outboard. Phantom, take the tiller, steer right between those two idiots."

The Phantom pushed Tyler forward. "Go, I can do it," he snapped, turning to
push the outboard motor that was shipped in the motor well behind him into
the water. He clawed at the starting cord and pulled sharply.

The Gunner hurried forward and draped himself over the port bow, yelling at
the Twins to hold on and not move. Harry grabbed a life jacket and hurried
forward. The other cadets reefed in the sails, and draped them over the
mast. From aft the sound of the outboard motor sputtering to life broke the
still air.

With the keel down the whaler moved sluggishly forward. Tyler, satisfied
that The Phantom knew what he was doing, rushed forward and draped himself
over the starboard bow. The other cadets ranged themselves down the sides
of the boat, leaning far outboard. From behind they could hear the rough
sound of Kyle's boat's engine being started.

"Grab my arm, Cory," yelled The Gunner. "Grab my arm as we go by." He
turned and looked aft. "Phantom, cut to quarter speed."

Phantom, who knew outboards, did as he was told. Tyler waved his arm and
yelled at Todd. "Swim toward us."

"Stand by!" yelled The Gunner as the Twins swam toward the
whaler. "Phantom, stop engine." The engine sputtered and stopped.

As the boat slid forward hands grabbed the two swimming boys, who were
quickly hauled into the boat.  They stood in the bows, lips blue, their
genitals shrivelled and wrinkled, shivering from the cold.  Ray dropped a
blanket over each of them.

"Should have let 'em swim," muttered Two Strokes. "Any luck they'd have
drowned."

The Gunner heard him. He rounded on Two Strokes. "Don't you ever let me
hear you say such a thing again!  Do you understand me, Roger?"

"Yes, Gunner." Two Strokes was stunned. He had never seen The Gunner so
angry, in such a rage.

The Gunner pointed aft. "Good, now go aft and bring me my carryall bag."

Two Strokes hurried aft to find the bag.

"Kyle's coming alongside, Gunner," murmured Harry.

"Wave them off!" snapped The Gunner curtly. He glared at the Twins, who
cowered fearfully under their blankets. Tyler and the rest of the cadets
sidled aft, leaving the Twins and The Gunner in the bow. Two Strokes handed
the small bag to The Gunner who opened it, reached in, and brought out a
bottle of Pusser rum. He cracked the seal and handed the bottle Todd. "Take
a drink." The Gunner's demeanour was deadly calm, but his eyes
blazed. "Both of you take a drink.  It will take the cold out of you."

The Twins took the drink, each turning a bright red as the over-proof rum
coursed through them. Cory handed the bottle back. The Gunner replaced it
in the bag and told Two Strokes to go aft. Then he sat down and buried his
head in his hands, breathing deeply. When he had recovered sufficiently, he
stood up and faced the Twins. He was very angry and fighting to keep his
temper under control. "Whatever possessed you to do such a thing?" he
demanded.

"Well, we were hot, and we thought a swim would . . . " began Todd.

"If you want to go swimming you fucking ask ME!" bellowed The Gunner.

"We're sorry, Gunner," said Todd meekly, truly repentant. "But, we are good
swimmers and . . ."

"You are good swimmers," The Gunner mimicked cruelly. "You know you're good
swimmers, I know you're good swimmers. But the tide doesn't! The sea
doesn't!" He gestured angrily. "Put your shorts on. Don't put your shorts
on. I don't give a fuck. Just sit there, and keep silent. Don't open your
mouths until I tell you to. I have to decide what to do with you two little
bastards." The Gunner turned to go back aft, then turned around and looked
at the two frightened boys. "Don't you two realize what you just did?" he
asked quietly. "You could have been caught in the current and if there had
been an opposing wind there would not have been thing one I could do about
it. What if there was a deadhead floating out there, and smashed into one
of you? Did you stop to think about that?"

"We're sorry, Gunner, really sorry.  We just didn't think," replied Cory,
almost in tears.

"That's your problem, the pair of you. You don't think. Every time I get to
thinking that you two are the best cadets I have, the best I have ever seen
before, and ready for promotion to Chief, you two pull some bonehead stunt
like this. I brought you two along on this trip because you are the best of
the best. Every cadet in this boat, and in the other one, is the best of
the best. At least I least I used to think so. Jesus, you two piss me off!"
The Gunner stomped back aft, leaping from thwart to thwart, kicking life
jackets and gunshirts out of his path.

The Phantom said nothing as he turned the tiller back over to The
Gunner. Tyler began cleaning the outboard, and wiping up the small trickle
of gas on the deck plate, looking busy and avoiding The Gunner's wrath.

The other cadets hoisted the sail, and the whaler picked up speed as the
sail took the wind. They busied themselves cleaning up, stowing the life
jackets.  Presently the peak of Mount Pocahantas, at 1400-odd feet the
highest point of land on Texada Island, came into view.

The Gunner was lost in thought when he felt a slight squeeze on his
hand. The Phantom nodded his chin forward. The Twins, still draped in their
blankets, were gingerly picking their way towards the stern.  They sat on
the thwart directly in front of The Gunner. "What do you two skates want?"
he demanded. He had cooled down, and was not all that angry with them
anymore. But they didn't have to know it.

"Gunner, we're sorry for what we did . . . " began Todd.

"And we mean that, honest . . ." continued Cory.

"We know we did wrong . . ." Todd went on.

"So, we'd like you to know, we would never, ever, do anything to hurt you,"
finished Cory, tears in his eyes.

"You hurt yourselves, not me."

"Yes, we hurt you. Not physically. You trusted us, and we let you down,"
said Todd. "We hurt you in here." He touched his firmly muscled chest.

"We want you to know, that whatever you decide to do to us, it's okay."
Cory looked pleadingly for forgiveness. "You can hit us, if you want." He
handed The Gunner a rope's end.

The Gunner looked at the Boatswain Beater. "I'm not going to hit
you. Certainly not with this." He threw the length of rope overboard. "I
can't hit you, even if I wanted to. It's against Regulations to hit a
cadet. Besides, you are both much too big to spank. Which is what you both
deserve."

"Well, whatever you decide. We'll take it," said Todd,

"That's very magnanimous of you," replied The Gunner dryly.

The Twins stood up and wrapped the blankets tighter around them. "One other
thing . . ." began Todd.

"Thank you," finished Cory.

"For what? I yelled at you, I called you names, I swore at you, and now I
have to think up a way to punish you."

"We know. But, if you hadn't been worried about us . . ." said Todd.

"You wouldn't have yelled at us . . ." continued Cory.

"Or called us names . . ."

"Or swore at us." Cory was sobbing.

"Don't. Please don't cry," asked The Gunner.

"If they keep this up I'm gonna cry," muttered Two Strokes. "Fuck me!"

Harry reached over and grabbed Two Strokes by his crotch.  "One more word,
you little worm, and I'll rip that two inch thing you call a dick
off. Understand?" Two Strokes nodded, grimacing in pain. "Good." Harry
released him. "Prick."

Todd put his arm around his brother. "You've never hurt us. You've never
called us queers, or fags, like some have. You've always been after us to
be the best. I know you're angry with us, and disappointed in us. But I
also know that deep down you care for us, really care. That means a lot to
us. More than you can ever know."

The Gunner was very embarrassed. He did not doubt the Twins
sincerity. "Look, Todd, Cory, you have both got to stop and think of the
consequences before you go off and do something like this. Look what
happened when Nigel hit Phantom. Remember what it did to all of
you. Remember how upset you were, how upset the other cadets were?"

Todd was sniffling now. "I know.  Phantom means a lot to us."

"Well you two fucks mean a lot to m . . . .the cadets. So try to understand
what would happen if I had to return to AURORA and tell them that you were
hurt, or worse, dead. Think about that. Think about how the lives of others
would be affected."

Todd bowed his head. "Thanks for loving us," he murmured.

"Go on, get forward, the pair of you. Think about what I've said."

The Twins stood up and helped each other forward.

"Ready about, stand by," The Gunner bellowed as he watched the two
chastened boys move forward.

The cadets ducked as the boom slowly moved to windward and the whaler
heeled over, the bows pointed toward Texada Island.

******

They turned north just off of Gillies Bay, and cruised toward Favada point,
admiring the scenery, waving to the few people walking along the shore. It
was getting on toward dinnertime, the sun setting relentlessly to
port. South of Crescent Bay they turned shoreward, heading into a small
cove.  The Gunner called out to Todd to swing the lead.

Todd threw off his blanket. He and Cory had not bothered to put on their
shorts. Naked, Todd dug into the boat bag and hauled out the lead line, a
long length of rope with a heavy lead weight attached to it. He stood on
the bow and swung the lead, one, two perfect circles, and let fly. As the
whaler moved forward he waited until the line was up and down, then hauled
it in. He looked at the markings. The watermark was halfway between the
piece of white duck and red bunting woven into the hemp line. "And-a-half-
five!" Todd shouted. "Sand on the tallow."

The Gunner nodded. The depth was right, about 35 feet, with a sandy bottom
and the sea dead calm thanks to the encircling arms of the cove. He called
out to the Twins to let go the anchor. When the whaler had stopped and was
swinging slowly in the current, he called Kyle's boat alongside. When both
boats were secured, the sails reefed and the gear stowed, he gave the okay
for swimming stations.

Almost immediately there was a flurry of activity as the cadets dropped
their shorts and buck-naked dived into the water. Out of the corner of his
eye The Gunner saw a flash of red as Andy Berg stripped off, downing his
shorts and briefs. The cadets from the other boat swarmed across, a band of
rowdy pirates, and leaped into the water.

The Phantom dropped his shorts and laid his cap gently on the bench. "Watch
my hat, please," he said and then leaped into the water, cannonballing a
huge wave over the stern of the boat, drenching The Gunner.

The cadets, Kyle and Andy, swam about, skylarking, laughing, splashing each
other, yelling and hooting. "Hey, Gunner, come on in." shouted The Phantom,
fending off Nicholas, who was hell bent on ducking him.

"How's the water?" The Gunner shouted back.

"Dick shrinking cold!" yelled The Phantom with a huge grin.

Andy Berg paddled sedately by, his white butt just above the water. A long,
ugly, purple-red scar slashed his right butt cheek. "Come on in,
Gunner. It's great!" Andy called.

"No way! Somebody has to watch out for sharks," returned The Gunner. There
was no way he was going in there, not with 15 naked young men splashing
about.

"Sharks? What sharks?" yelled Andy. "The water's too cold for them."

The Gunner was paying so much attention to Andy that he neglected to keep
an eye on the others and did not see four sleek, wet, naked bodies creep
over the port gunwale. Without warning he was grabbed from behind. Eight
strong hands quickly stripped him of his shirt, shorts, and underwear,
lifted him high, and threw him, arms and legs wheeling and kicking, into
the sea.

When he surfaced, sputtering and coughing, The Gunner saw the Twins, Harry
and Greg, four slim, handsome boys, standing on the thwarts, laughing their
heads off. Harry saw The Gunner's look and waggled his eyebrows,
grinning. They all cannonballed into the water, almost sinking The Gunner,
who waved his fist at the boys, and was about to yell something dirty at
them when The Phantom appeared from out of nowhere and leaped on him,
pushing him under. When The Gunner surfaced The Phantom put his arms over
his shoulders, their faces close.  The Gunner could feel the boy's body
against him. The Phantom smiled and gave The Gunner hug. "I still love
you," he whispered. Then he swam away, turned and then dove deep. The calm
waters of the cove roiled as The Phantom, legs churning, suddenly broke the
surface of the water and leaped high, a sleek, golden-bronze and pink
dolphin of a boy, punching the air. "Jesus, Gunner, I feel good." Then he
swam off to terrorize Ray.

As the sun sank lower in the western horizon they resembled a pack of
playful otters, jumping, swimming, diving; the swimmers, Cory, Todd, Kyle,
Rob, and The Phantom, slim, trim, racing each other and arguing hotly over
who had won and who had lost.

Twice The Gunner climbed back into the whaler and twice he was threatened
with a fate worse than death if he didn't get back in the water. Stuart and
Steve, two dark haired boys of prey, stalked The Gunner, and threw him back
both times. Finally, on his third try, The Gunner was allowed to rest, and
stay in the boat. He was, as Harry put it, an old man, and needed his
rest. The Gunner threatened to give Harry a good hiding. Harry gave The
Gunner a Bronx cheer, bent his body until only his tight behind was above
the water, and wiggled his backside. Then he surfaced and grinned widely.

The Gunner shook his head and helped Val into the boat. Kyle and Tyler
followed. They lay back on the thwarts, magnificent in their nakedness, the
rays of the dying sun slowly evaporating the of water that beaded their
smooth, tawny skin and darkened Tyler's copper curls. As they watched the
other boys cavorting in the water Val turned to The Gunner. "Gunner?" he
asked idly as he stretched slowly.

"Yeah?"

"You ever going to forgive the Twins?"

"Yeah. Right after I kill them."

Tyler turned his head and smiled. "Can we feed them before we kill them?"

The Gunner looked shoreward, the trees and beach growing dim in the
gathering dusk. "Which means you guys are hungry. Let's call them in. It's
time to move and find a place for the night."

******

Using the outboards they moved the whalers north, into Crescent Bay where
they found a wide, sandy beach. As the whalers grounded in the swallowing
waters Harry and Two Strokes leaped out and hauled the thick, woven line
they would need to secure the boat ashore. Stuart and Greg followed suit,
leaping into the surf to carry their line ashore.

Once the whalers were secure everyone fell to and unloaded the
supplies. Sleeping bags, blankets, boxes of food, cooking utensils were all
piled on the beach where Val, Kyle and Andy Berg sorted the whole lot
out. The Phantom scrounged around for rocks to build a fire pit. Steve, Rob
and Ray went a short way into the woods and foraged for wood and brush with
which to build a fire.  The Twins, without complaint, dug a latrine and
rigged a screen to shield it.  While the cadets made their camp, spreading
out sleeping bags and blankets in a rough circle around the unlit fire, The
Gunner, Kyle and Andy Berg flashed up the Coleman stoves and began cooking
the hamburgers and hot dogs they and the cadets would all eat for
supper. In the picnic chests were fresh salads, and what seemed to be a
year's supply of pies.

At the Gunner's insistence he and the two officers donned their shorts. He
was not, The Gunner said, about to place his most personal parts in harm's
way from spattering hot grease. The cadets, none of whom had put their
shorts back on, howled, but The Gunner prevailed. Stuart and Nicholas
opened one of the boxes containing Chef's special rations. "Hey, beer!"
whooped Nicholas.

The Gunner and Kyle looked into the box and saw neatly packed cans of beer.

"Can we have one?" asked Stuart.

The Gunner looked at Kyle, who grinned back. "Two each?" Kyle suggested.

The Gunner nodded. "One before supper. One later on."

"Oh, great. Can I have one now?" Nicholas dug into the carton. "Ah, shit,
they're warm."

"Stick the cans in the water," advised The Gunner. "The beer will cool down
quick enough." He returned to helping Kyle and Andy cook the food.  As
Nicholas and Stuart loaded up and carried the cans of beer to the water's
edge the relative calm was broken by a snarl and a muttered oath. Everyone
turned.

The Twins had been bickering quietly since their impromptu swim, arguing
about everything from who was responsible for their latest bonehead play to
the depth of the latrine they had just dug. Cory had snapped at Todd, who
snapped back, and the battle was on.

Totally indifferent, the other cadets watched as the Twins rolled about,
snapping and growling, threatening each other with an untimely, and very
grisly, death, cursing at each other, until they rolled very close to the
campfire that The Phantom had just lit. Harry, Tyler, Val and Rob sauntered
over and separated the combatants.

Twisting and squirming and loudly threatening havoc and revenge on all and
sundry, the Twins were carried by their arms and legs down to the water's
edge where they were swung back and forth and flung into the sea. They sat
in waist high water, their teeth chattering, cursing and hurling threats at
the other cadets, who jeered and threw stones and the odd seashell at
them. Finally, after giving their heartfelt parole to behave, the Twins
were allowed to leave the water and sit by the fire. The Phantom and Chris
draped blankets over their shoulders.

"Thanks to you, Todd, my dick's so shrivelled it is never going to come
down," whined Cory loudly.

"Come on, Cory, you promised to be good," said Chris.

"Fuck you."

"Not with that attitude," snapped Chris. Then he leaned over and whispered,
"Or with your dick."

The Phantom rolled on the sand and laughed so hard he came close to wetting
himself. Cory retreated into his blanket, a very pink, very blond picture
of pouting teenager.

When the food was ready everyone dug in, for they were healthy young men,
who, after an afternoon of strenuous sailing, swimming, and work, needed
sustenance, particularly Harry, who was sunburnt, smelling of salt and
fresh air, his hair a mess, and, after an afternoon on the sea and swimming
in it, ravenous, so much so that when he tried to snag a fourth burger Kyle
had reached out and slapped him on his bare behind with a hot
spatula. "Give the others a chance, you big ox," he growled in mock
anger. "The others are hungry, too."

Harry yelped, dropped the hamburger, and danced about, holding his smarting
behind. "Abuse of power! You all saw it," he yelled, pointing at
Kyle. "Child abuse, Gunner, child abuse!"

"Balls," replied The Gunner unsympathetically. "You're not hurt so sit down
and be quiet."

Harry turned and pointed to his butt. "Oh, yeah? Well, look at that."

The Gunner looked and told Harry that except for a small red mark that was
probably a fleabite, he could see nothing. Harry insisted that he had been
grievously assaulted. "Well, if it will shut you up, there's some ointment
in the First Aid kit. I'll put some on that flea bite and make it all
better," offered The Gunner.

"Just so you don't try to kiss it all better."

Harry took off running, The Gunner chasing him. As they reached the waters
edge

The Gunner made a flying leap, connected, and both of them disappeared
under the water, surfacing almost immediately, grappling in the shallow
water. They wrestled, Harry, stronger and younger, seeming to have the
upper hand and The Gunner, older but sneakier, seemed to be holding his own
when without warning a gurgling sound rose from his throat. He clutched his
chest and went suddenly limp. Harry turned white. "Holy shit," he yelled,
calling for help. He grasped The Gunner under his arms, dragging him
ashore, in the process pulling his shorts down and off. Harry was genuinely
worried and wrung his hands. He was almost in tears as the others gathered
around, worriedly shaking their heads, staring at the prone body lying at
his feet. Suddenly The Gunner moved, and Harry was on his back, his feet
knocked out from under him, solidly pinned by The Gunner.

All of the cadets heaved a sigh of relief as their silent fears gave way to
raucous amusement.

Harry was so surprised that he barely moved when The Gunner sat on his
chest.  "Okay, you win," he rumbled. "Besides, those big balls of yours are
crushing my chest."

"Leave my balls out of this. You're not moving until you've learned your
lesson."

"What lesson is that, old man?" Harry grinned.

"That old age and treachery will overcome youth and enthusiasm and to prove
it you've got to say 'Please forgive me, because I'm a dumb jock'."

"No way, old man. Tonight you die," responded Harry with what he hoped was
a menacing leer.

"You think so?" The Gunner smiled an evil grin. "How about if I just turn
you over to the Twins and let them have their way with you?"

Todd and Cory yelled and clapped and Greg crowed, "The Twins get lucky
tonight!"

"Be gentle boys, he's still a virgin," laughed Tyler.

"Not after the Twins get through with him," shouted Nicholas.

"You wouldn't dare!" sputtered Harry.

"Want to bet?" The Gunner waggled his eyebrows and twisted Harry's nose.

"Ow, that hurts!"

"That's for calling me an old man," returned The Gunner with a leer. "So,
what's it to be? The Twins or . . ."

"Okay, Okay. Please forgive me, Gunner, for I'm a dumb jock," whimpered
Harry. He grinned fetchingly and waggled his eyebrows.

The Gunner twisted Harry's nose again and made a honking noise. "Wrong!"

Tyler and Val knelt down and smiled lasciviously at Harry. "Hey, Val, I've
always heard about sloppy seconds. What do you think? Sloppy thirds after
the Twins are finished?" Tyler said, smiling evilly and nodding toward
Harry.

"Holy Jesus, Lord, protect this poor Sea Cadet's virgin ass," moaned
Harry. "Please forgive me because I'm a dumb jock."

"Not so dumb," replied The Gunner, helping Harry to his feet.

"You wouldn't have really done that, would you?" asked Harry as he brushed
the sand from his bare bottom. He looked askance at the Twins, who leered
back and licked their lips.

The Gunner saw Harry's look and winked at Tyler. "Let the Twins at you?
No," he replied soothingly. Then his face broke into a wide grin. "Now, Val
and Tyler . . ."

Harry, his eyes wide with horror glared at Tyler and Val, who grinned and
postured. Harry was about to retaliate when he realized that he'd been
had. He whirled and grabbed The Gunner in a bear hug and swung him
around. "Thanks, old man. Thanks." He kissed The Gunner on both
cheeks. "Thanks."

The old Harry was back.

******

Once the debris from supper had been cleared away and buried they all
settled around the campfire, drinking their beer ration, talking about
everything, talking about nothing. Underneath the blankets that draped
their shoulders they were all naked, Kyle and Andy having been threatened
with mutiny, held down, and their shorts forcibly removed. The Gunner's
shorts were hanging on the gunwale of his whaler, where he had put them to
dry after his wrestling match with Harry.

They were all completely uninhibited, as if lying around the campfire, on a
lonely beach, naked, was the most natural thing in the world. Even Cory had
become bored with checking out the guys, and The Gunner. Having seen them
all, and, since they all looked the same, the only difference being their
length and girth, from Val and Tyler's classic beauties to Steve's neatly
crowned, thick, two and half inches, he went about his business, although
every so often his eyes would slide over and he would gaze at The Gunner,
who, truth be told, was not much bigger than Cory himself was. Still, Cory
sighed contentedly, and carried on with whatever he was doing.

As the night darkened and the clear sky filled with stars, one by one the
cadets lay down on their sleeping bags, which they were all using as
mattresses, rolled themselves in their blankets, and drifted off to
sleep. Kyle, after sampling The Gunner's liquid fire, soon followed their
example.

The Phantom, who had spread his sleeping bag and blankets beside The
Gunner's, said goodnight and lay down, closed his eyes, and was soon fast
asleep.

Andy looked at the circle of sleeping bodies. Then he looked at The Gunner,
who had drawn his knees up and was smoking a cigarette, staring into the
fire. "Now that's a thousand yard stare if ever I saw one," he murmured
quietly as he sat down beside The Gunner. "Usually seen after receiving a
letter from home, sometimes seen after too much time in the boonies, or
thinking deep thoughts."

The Gunner smiled and offered Andy a cigarette. "Just thinking."

"About Phantom?" Andy lit his cigarette.

The Gunner looked at him quizzically. "How's that?"

Andy threw a piece of driftwood on the fire, causing sparks to
fly. "Phantom is in love with you. I can see it in his eyes when he looks
at you. I can see it in his body language when he's near you. I suspect
that sooner or later the others will twig on it. Phantom wants to be
you. He wants to be a part of you. He wants to be with you. He wants to
think like you, talk like you, be you." Andy blew out a perfect smoke
ring. "He's in love with you. You, on the other hand, love him. You love
him the same way you love the other boys." He waved his arm, indicating the
sleeping cadets. "You love him, and you're trying your damnedest not to
fall in love with him."

"I didn't know you were such an expert on the subject," replied The Gunner,
his words tinged with sarcasm.

"I'm not, quite. I am merely relying on my observations over the years. "
Andy chuckled caustically. "I think we both hide out real selves very well
and I think, like you, that we have both had a lot of practice doing it."

The Gunner took a drink of rum and handed the bottle to Andy. "A man of the
world, at the ripe old age of 22, 23?"

"Twenty-six, actually, but who's counting?" Andy took a drink. "Fuck, this
shit is strong." He helped himself to another cigarette. "That's me, Andrew
Frederick David Berg, man of the world, clean cut, clean living,
All-American boy. I shall look forever young. It's my genes, you see. I am
forced to hide my portrait under my bed and I shall never grow old!" He
laughed and gave a mock shudder of despair. "In reality, underneath this
magnificent, manly, totally naked, exterior, I am in actual fact 126 years
old.  Especially after a day with your pirates."

"I kind of think the that the boys are your pirates as well," replied The
Gunner, thankful that Andy had moved away from the secret they both worked
hard to conceal,

Andy smiled. "I suppose so. They do grow on one."

"Like a fungus. Try a month of them.  I'm 26 and I feel at least 150 most
days."

"And you've loved every day of it. Admit it, Gunner. You love it."

"Okay, I admit it. And you don't?"

"Of course I do," replied Andy with a smile. "I love every one of those
little bastards. I love my boys back home in Seattle. Mark, and Tony,
Shawn, Tim major and Tim minor. All of them."

"As opposed to being in love with them?" asked The Gunner.

"That's right."

"So tell me, Andrew Frederick David Berg, man of the world, All American
boy, etcetera, etcetera, have you ever been in love?" The Gunner asked with
heavy emphasis.

Andy's eyes softened. "Once, a long time ago. He's dead."

The Gunner started, surprise registering on his face. Andy? He recovered
quickly. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to pry . . ."

"Don't be sorry. You couldn't possibly have known. No one knows. Not my
family, not Kyle. Nobody." He reached for the bottle. "I was 17. We met in
Parris Island."

"You were a Marine?" This also surprised The Gunner. He had assumed that
Andy was, if anything, ex-Navy, an assumption that he thought confirmed
when Andy had saluted the White Ensign.

Andy detected the note of surprise in The Gunner's voice. "Yes, Gunny, I
was a Marine." He snorted loudly. "Andrew Frederick David Berg, Yew-nited
States Murine Corpse. Bravo Company, 1st Battalion, 26th Marines. Semper Fi
and hoo-rah." He drank deeply. "I'm beginning to like this shit. Where was
I?"

"Boot camp. United States Marines Corps," muttered The Gunner.

"Oh, yeah." Andy seemed to think a moment. "I joined the toughest, most
macho outfit because I thought it would make a man of me, change me from
being what I was, which was a scared, gay boy, into a man!" He laughed
mirthlessly. "I was doing well, scared shitless, but sure that when all was
said and done I would be a straight arrow!" He shook his head. "Then I got
off the bus and there he was, a poster boy Marine. He was a big, dumb, farm
boy from Minnesota. He was also the sweetest, kindest, most loving man I
have ever met." Andy's voice was very low, his eyes far away. "We fell in
love. And I mean in love, all the way." He sighed sadly. "I won't bore you
with the details. It's enough to say that we expressed our love in every
way two men can. Then the dumb fuck had to go and get himself killed. Can I
have another cigarette?" The Gunner handed Andy the pack. Andy had a demon
to exorcise. He gave The Gunner a sideways look. "No howls of indignation
and shock?"

The Gunner shook his head. "I'm Navy and it has been my experience that
Marines - Royal or United States - are very strange creatures." Not
including a certain handsome young U.S. marine Lance Corporal willing to
take a certain Leading Seaman Gunner on a special tour of the Charlestown
Marine Barracks and . . . The Gunner suppressed a grin and returned to the
present. "What happened?"

"He was Alpha Company, and shipped out about a week ahead of me. We had to
wait for some Gunnery Sergeants.  Anyway, out he went, for Khe San.  He
made it, damn it. He died there."

"And you?"

"I got off the plane in Saigon and right into the opening stages of the Tet
offensive. The next thing I knew I was in Hue, where a bunch of little men
in black pajamas were trying their best to shoot my ass off."

"From the look of that scar they almost succeeded," said The Gunner,
pointing to the angry slash of wrinkled flesh deforming Andy's firm butt.

"That came later. A mortar. Theirs? Ours? Who knows?  One minute I was
standing in the middle of some broken down square, in some butt fuck ville,
the next the Gunny was ripping my pants off. For a minute I thought he'd
fallen in love with me and wanted to have his way. Then he was packing my
ass with a field dressing and screaming for the medic. Six weeks after
that, which I spent in a hospital having my ass stuck full of antibiotics,
I heard . . ."

The Gunner took the bottle from Andy. "Too late to mourn."

"Oh, I mourned. I got drunk for a week, which proved nothing, then went out
and tried to kill a whole lot of gooks. Then I went home, which, if
anything was worse."

"How so?"

"Vietnam vets in general, and Marines in particular, were not very popular
in 1970. Still aren't as a matter of fact. I got off the plane in San
Francisco and two blond haired bimbos spit on me and called me a baby
killer. I will remember the hate I saw in their eyes until the day I die. I
will also remember those two cunts until the day I die. Then I went home,
to Brooklyn. My sister was into the antiwar movement, and wouldn't speak to
me. My brother was also antiwar. He spoke to me all right. He slagged the
war, the Marines, me, every chance he got. So I punched him. Broke his jaw
in three places. I left. I haven't been home since. You going to hang on to
that jug?"

The Gunner smiled and passed the bottle over. "Andy, you don't have to tell
me these things."

"Why not? We are lying on a beach, naked, getting spiffed." He chuckled. "I
have just told you that I was once in love with another man which would, in
the normal course of things, lead you to think that I might be not as
straight as you would expect a Marine to be." He cocked an eyebrow. "We
hardly have any secrets now."

The Gunner laughed. "I guess not."

"Anyway, I finished my time in Camp Lejeune, took my discharge, then
shipped out on a freighter and bummed around Europe. Got drunk, had sex,
did drugs. Two lost years, Gunner. I finally sobered up, figuring I had
everything out of my system, all the hatred, all the anger."

"Except for . . .?"

"Marty. His name was Marty. Yeah, I got everything out but Marty. Pisser
isn't it."

"No.  You still have him. You just got rid of the anger you had for
him. Deep down, you never forgave him for getting killed. Now you have."

Andy smiled sadly. "Now I have."

The Gunner stood up and helped Andy to his feet. "Come on, old son, time
for bed."

"Time for bed." repeated Andy. "Sheesh, I think I'm pissed."

"I know you're pissed." The Gunner lowered Andy to his bed, turned him on
his side, and spread his blanket over him. He patted Andy's head, caressing
the soft curls. "Sleep well, Marine."

"You too, Sailor."

The Gunner banked the fire and then did a walk about, checking on the
cadets. The Twins were sleeping side by side, their arms entwined. Two
Strokes slept beside Cory, his arm across Cory's back. On the other side of
Todd Chris lay snuggled closely against him. Tyler and Val, each encased in
their own blankets, slept back to back. Harry and Greg were together,
Greg's head resting against Harry's shoulder. Harry lay on his back,
snoring softly, his hands folded over his stomach. Nicholas and Stuart lay
together, Stuart's arm around Nicholas' waist, his nose buried in his
Nicholas' shoulder. Steve and Ray were also together, snuggled close, and
spooned together. Beside Ray was Rob, curled into a compact ball, his butt
almost touching Ray's crotch.

The Gunner pulled up a blanket here, added one there. They were all dead to
the world, and no one moved.  He had a final cigarette and went to bed. The
Phantom had spread their sleeping bags and blankets into one bed. The
Gunner lifted the blankets and lay down. As gently as he could he pushed
his arm under The Phantom's shoulders, holding him.

The Phantom squirmed and snuggled as close to The Gunner as he could. He
turned on his side and stretched his arm across The Gunner's muscular
chest, and rested his head on The Gunner's shoulder. He crooked his leg,
resting it across The Gunner's, who could feel The Phantom's soft, warm
penis pressing against his thigh.

The Phantom sighed. "You smell like the sea. Salty. But nice," he
murmured. "And rum."

"You should be asleep."

"I will be, soon."

"Nothing is going to happen, Phantom," he whispered.

The Phantom nuzzled The Gunner's shoulder, and then put his head on his
chest. "I know." he said sleepily. "I told you, I'll take what you give
me. All I want to do is sleep with you.  Nothing else." He squeezed The
Gunner tightly.

The Gunner turned his head and kissed The Phantom's forehead. "Goodnight,
Phantom. Sleep well."

"'Nite, Gunner. I love you."

"And I love you, Phantom," he whispered softly. "And I'm falling in love
with you, dammit.""

******

When he opened his eyes The Gunner found that it was well past sunrise. The
Phantom had not moved during the night. He was sleeping soundly, his arm
still wrapped tightly around The Gunner's chest. As gently as he could The
Gunner tried to extricate himself from the boy's grasp. The Phantom moved
and held on tighter. "No, don' . . .want you to stay with me . . ." he
mumbled.

The Gunner leaned his head down and whispered. "Phantom, I've got to get
up. Nature is calling me."

The Phantom giggled, then raised his head and pressed his lips against The
Gunner's. Despite all his misgivings The Gunner melted and returned the
kiss passionately. Then he pulled away as gently as he could.

The Phantom rolled on his back, his arm outstretched. He watched as The
Gunner crawled out of their makeshift bed. "Gunner?"

"Yes, Phantom?"

"I love you."

The Gunner knelt beside the boy. "And I love you, Phantom. But not the way
you want me to. Not yet."

The Phantom reached up and caressed The Gunner's unshaven face with the
back of his hand. "That's okay." The Gunner smiled, stood up and was about
to go to the latrine. The Phantom's soft voice stopped him. "Gunner?"

"Yes?"

"Can I sleep with you again tonight?"

"Yes, if you want."

"I want. Now go piss." The Phantom giggled, and turned on his side.

The Gunner smiled, went to the latrine, and then found his shorts. In the
interest of safety he put them on and fired up the stoves. Before very long
the bodies began to stir, lured from their sleep by the tempting odours of
frying bacon, sausages and eggs.

One by one the cadets crawled out of bed. The Gunner made them all run into
the water where they splashed about, washing the sleep smell from their
bodies. Kyle put on his shorts and went over to help with the cooking. Andy
slept noisily on, as did Harry. No one would go near him and he could sleep
until he woke up.

The Phantom got up, visited the latrine, then went into the water and
splashed about. He was happier than he had ever been in his life. He had
spent the night as close to a man as it was possible to get. He had not
woken once, feeling sure and content, safe in the warmth beside him. Ray
joined him and they chattered and laughed, splashing each other.

Ray had brought a bar of soap and insisted on washing The Phantom's back
and as he felt Ray's soft, strong hands on his body The Phantom realized
that, in a very special way, he loved the dark-haired young cook very
much. He also realized that Ray deserved more than an anonymous blowjob in
the middle of the night. So did Tyler and Val.  So did Brian and
Dylan. They were all good friends, and they deserved better.

"You've gotten quiet, Phantom," said Ray.

"Just thinking."

"About?"

"Oh, just thinking." He stood up and took the soap. "Your turn now." As he
massaged the soap into Ray's skin he made a decision. He would visit Ray,
he would visit all of them, once more, and once more only, to say
good-bye. When they had finished washing The Phantom and Ray found their
shorts, put them on and went to the cooking area. They shooed The Gunner
and Kyle away.

"I would have thought that you two would be the last two to want to cook,"
protested Kyle. "You do it every day back in AURORA.

"That's work. This is fun," responded The Phantom. "Go get cleaned up."

The Gunner and Kyle washed in the sea, then, after The Gunner drew some hot
water from the pan simmering on the stove, they sat by the shore,
shaving. The Gunner used an old, ivory-handled straight razor. Kyle had a
battery-operated shaver. When they were finished shaving The Gunner held up
his shorts. "I don't suppose there's any point in putting these back on."

Kyle shook his head. "I have the feeling the troops are going to prolong
this production of Lord of the Flies as long as they can. They are having
the time of their life and wearing clothes is not part of the equation."

The Gunner looked around. Except for The Phantom and Ray, everybody else
was naked. Harry, Nicholas and Tyler roared by and jumped into the
water. Andy, looking like death, grumped by and belly-flopped into the sea.

"He looks as rough as a badger's asshole. That is one hurting Bootneck."
Kyle said as they watched Andy floundering about.

"He should hurt," replied The Gunner. "Better go get him some medicine."
The Gunner went over to the cooking area and put two packets of instant
coffee in a cup. He filled it about half full with boiling water, then went
to his overnight bag and dug out the rum, filled the cup to the brim and
then carried the warm mixture to the beach where he and Kyle waited for
Andy to drag himself ashore.

Andy flopped down beside Kyle, groaning. "Fuck, man, I hurt." He moaned
loudly.  "There are parts of me hurting I never knew could hurt."

"Serves you damn good and right." Kyle was totally without sympathy for his
friend. "That's what you get for sitting up half the night sucking on the
rum bottle."

Andy fixed Kyle with a jaundiced eye. "How would you like to suck on my big
circumcised dick?"

"Circumcised it might be. Big it isn't," scoffed Kyle.

"You two behave yourselves," said The Gunner, handing the cup to
Andy. "You're as bad as the Twins. Here, Andy, drink this."

"What is it?" Andy sat up and took a tentative sip of the potent coffee.

"Christ, man, are you trying to kill me?"

"No, cure you. Hair of the dog."

Andy took another sip of his coffee, shuddered, gagged, and then belched
loudly.

"You know, Kyle, I think Kipling had him in mind when he wrote Soldier and
Sailor Too."

"What's that?" grumbled Andy.

"A poem, you ignorant savage," responded Kyle. "About the Royal Marines."

"Is it dirty?"

"Of course not," laughed The Gunner. "Actually, it's high praise." He
thought a moment and began to recite Kipling's classic. "We've fought'em in
trooper, we've fought 'em in dock, and drunk with 'em in betweens,
              	  When the called us the seasick scull'ry maids, an' we
called
                    'em the Ass Marines;
              	  But when we was down for a double fatigue, from Woolwich
to Bernardmyo,
  	              We sent for the Jollies - 'Er Majesty's Jollies -
soldier an' sailor too!
  			  They think for 'emselves, an' they steal for
'emselves, and they never ask what's to do.
  			  But they're camped an' fed an' up an' fed before
our bugle's blew.
  			  Ho! They ain't no limpin' procrastitutes -
soldier an' sailor too."

"I prefer this verse," said Kyle with a grin. "You may say we are fond of
an 'arness-cut, or 'ootin' in barrack-yards,
							    Or startin' a
Board School mutiny along o' the Onion Guards;
							    But once in a
while we can finish in style for the ends of the earth to view,
							    The same as the
Jollies - 'Er Majesty's Jollies - soldier and sailor too!
							    They come of
our lot, they was brothers to us; they was beggers we'd met and knew;
							    Yes, barrin' an
inch in the chest an' the arm, they was doubles o' me an' you;
							    For they
weren't no special chrysanthemums - soldier and sailor too!"

Andy stood up and wordlessly handed the cup to Kyle. He walked over to his
whaler and climbed in. He made he way forward and sat in the bows, staring
out into the Strait. Presently he buried his face in his hands and his
shoulders shook.

"He can make his peace, now," murmured Kyle. "With Marty, and God."

"You know about Marty? He told me you didn't."

Kyle smiled sadly. "He was very drunk, Gunner. After you put him to bed he
cried a little bit, and called for Marty. Then he put his arms around me
and asked me why I'd gone and gotten myself killed. I sort of figured it
out."

"You going to help him out?"

"If he lets me."

"Do it, Kyle. Do it."

******

Kyle rolled on his stomach and nodded toward the cadets bustling about,
breaking camp, filling in the latrine, and banking the fire. "So, then, my
Captain, are you going to tell me how you learned your Kipling?"

"Oh, it's not all that interesting, really." The Gunner was deliberately
vague.  Kyle sat up and looked him straight in the eye. "That, my friend,
is bullshit. I know you well enough to know that it is all that
interesting, so spill."

"How did you learn Kipling?"

"Don't change the subject. I'm an English major, it's part of my course.
Spill, Gunner."

The Gunner looked sheepish. "Well, if you must know, a long time ago I was
a very young and innocent Gunnery Rating."

"Spare me the biography."

"Do you want to hear the story or not?"

"Yes." Kyle sighed theatrically and rolled his eyes.

"I was in the old Rusty Guts. We were on the South American Cruise. On the
way down we did the Crossing the Line thing, you know, Neptune, his wife."

"What's that got to do with it?"

"Nothing. Harry says I'm old so I'm allowed to spin a dip."

"Get on with it."

"On the way back we had a Sod's Opera."

"Okay?"

"Well, one of the Stokers was a whiz at Shakespeare. He found a pair of
tights in the toy box and had the tailor fix him up a doublet. He was going
to quote Hamlet. Me, not to be outdone, decided to go him one better. I
mean Shakespeare is all right for the Wardroom, but the Lower Deck?" He
shook his head firmly. "Kipling, thought I, full of innocence."

"Sooo?"

"Sooo, I dressed up like Shirley Temple and recited If.  Then I sang On the
Good Ship Lollipop."

Kyle laughed so hard the tears rolled down his cheeks. He clutched his
sides, exploding every time he looked at The Gunner. "I can't believe you
did that," he howled. "Shirley Temple? If?"

The Gunner assumed a noble air. "Actually, I wasn't all that bad, and two
Subbies proposed afterwards. I had to refuse, of course."

Kyle burst out laughing again. "Why do I believe you?"

"It's true. Every word of it." insisted The Gunner. "I've been hooked on
Kipling ever since."

Kyle settled down, snorting and chuckling every time he thought of The
Gunner in blond curls. "When I was 13, and my brother 14, we crashed the
Princess of Wales Regiment's Fancy Dress Ball."

"You did?"

Kyle nodded. "We went as the Dolly Sisters."

"You what?"

"The Dolly Sisters. We saw their picture in an old magazine."

"So what happened?"

"The RSM was drunk and fell in lust with us. He chased us around the
Armoury twice. He got sacked and my father took a strap to us."

The Gunner collapsed. He rolled with laughter, ending up in the surf.

"Don't tell Andy," Kyle gasped, trying to catch his breath. "He'll get
upset. He's so much of a butch Marine he'd never get over you as Shirley
Temple and me as a Dolly sister."

******

When Andy returned he did a most un-Marine-like thing. He hugged both
men. "You bastards touched a chord."

"We know.  That's why we did it." Kyle punched Andy's shoulder and then
placed his hand on that shoulder. "Now you move on, my friend."

"Speaking of which . . ." began The Gunner.

"Ah yes, so what do we do now, my Captain? Swim? Sail?"

"I thought we'd stay in these waters, maybe go around to the east side of
the island, check out Van Anda, find someplace for lunch, then up to
Harwood Island for the night. Sound good?"

Kyle agreed. He nodded towards to cadets. "Not that the boys will care.  So
long as they're fed and don't have to put their pants back on, they're
happy."

"Which reminds me. How's the food situation, Andy?"

"Good, Gunner. We have loads of hamburgers and hot dogs with buns and
fixings. That should do us for lunches. We also have steaks for tonight,
with baked potatoes."

"Chef is under the misapprehension that give a kid a hamburger or a hot dog
three times a day and he's as happy as a clam," complained Kyle.

"Well I'm no kid and hamburgers and hot dogs do not cut It.," replied The
Gunner. "How 'bout we boogie on over to Powell River, have lunch there,
maybe pick up some supplies. I like sour cream with my baked potatoes."

"That will take money," said Andy.

"And the way Harry eats, lots of it," put in Kyle.

"So, we'll find an all-you-can-eat restaurant. Don't worry about money. I
stopped at the bank before we left. If all else fails, there's also
American Express."

"Always prepared, huh Gunner." Andy, who was perpetually broke, was
impressed.

"That's me, Young Canada, true blue, clean cut, All-Canadian boy. With
money."

"My kind of man." Kyle also had a cash flow problem.

The Gunner stood up. "Come on you two, let's get the savages rounded up,
and into their pants."

Andy feigned utter terror. "You handle the Twins. Parris Island never
trained me for them."

"Coward! I thought you were a Marine!" declared The Gunner.

"I am. A smart one."

******

When the shouting and tumult subsided, and the cadets dressed as decently
as anyone dared to hope, they shoved off. They sailed northward around
Blubber Bay, turning slowly south at a casual rate of knots. As they passed
Blubber Bay the ferry to Powell River pulled out, and the boys all
waved. Ray had his camera, as did Todd, and they busily snapped away at the
passing boat, then at the shore.  Just off Van Anda they called Kyle's boat
alongside and agreed on a whaler race. They shipped the masts, raised the
keels and, sweeps at the ready, and took off pulling hard at a blast from
Val's gunner's whistle.

It was a near run thing, with Kyle's whaler ahead most of the way to the
finish line, which they had agreed would be Raven Bay. Harry, as stroke,
exhorted his crew, willing them on. The Twins pulled their hearts
out. Phantom, who was supposed to resting, sat behind Ray, grunting and
groaning with each pull of the oar. Two Strokes, as bows, and behind
Phantom, cursed and strained every inch of the way. Tyler and Nicholas,
both strapping young men, were mid-strokes, and worth their weight in gold,
pulling with long, steady strokes to Harry's loud roars of "Stroke,
Stroke."

In the other boat Kyle was stroke, having won more than one regatta in his
time. He set a brisk pace from the get-go, and his crew gave it their
all. When Raven Bay was abeam the Gunner's boat was leading by one
length. His crew upped oars, the winners.

When Kyle's boat drifted alongside the cadets and Andy seemed very quiet,
seemingly dejected at their loss. The Gunner, magnanimous in victory, stood
up and doffed his cap, bowing low. An egg smashed against his head. He and
his crew were well and truly ambushed.

Eggs, buckets of water, leftover breakfast sausages, went sailing into the
victors, who retaliated as best they could, laughing and yelling at the
other crew. By the time the attack was over, and Kyle's crew finally out of
ammunition both crews were a mess, and the boats covered in egg. There was
nothing else to do but pull into the beach at Raven Bay, where everybody
stripped off, cleaned the boats, chased each other, and generally had a
hell of a good time. The Gunner prayed that there were no hikers with
binoculars up on Comet Mountain, which overlooked the beach.

While the other cadets repaired the damage from the ambush, The Gunner
called the Twins aside. It was time to talk. They settled themselves just
at the edge of the beach. They sat cross-legged in front of The Gunner,
nervously awaiting their fate. The Gunner sat in front of them, his arms
around his drawn up knees, never considering that the Twins as well as he
were naked. "Okay, gentlemen.  Now we talk."

The Twins nodded.

"And please, spare me the Frick and Frack routine. This is serious."

The Twins nodded again.

"First, I am no longer angry with you, though I have every good reason to
be. To be honest, I can't stay mad at you." He held up his hand before
either one of them could speak. "That does not mean that I have forgiven
you. Not by a damn sight. Now, Todd, talk to me."

Todd looked at Cory, who nodded. "Gunner, I, we, are sorry. I know you've
heard it all before," Todd said softly, his voice full of truly felt
emotion.  "This time we are, truly sorry."

Cory agreed wholeheartedly. "For everything. For making you yell at us, for
not thinking. For a lot of things."

"Including groping me?"

Cory blushed. Todd put his arm around his brother's shoulder. "Cory's
. . ."

"I can speak for myself, Todd." He looked at The Gunner.

"I am truly sorry about that. I shouldn't have done it.  Just like I
shouldn't have groped Phantom, or Val, or Tyler. There are a lot of things
I shouldn't have done."

The Gunner nodded. "Cory, everybody knows you and Todd are gay. Nobody
cares. It has no bearing, at all, on the work you do, and the way you do
it. You don't have to go around pretending to be Butch Cassidy and the
Sundance Kid, just as you don't have to play Nellie Grey. Just be
yourselves." He motioned them to come forward.

They scooted forward and sat beside him. He put his arms around their
shoulders. "Boys, just be yourselves. Don't pretend. You're damned handsome
boys. You have pride, you have presence and you are a hell of a lot smarter
than I will ever be. You have brains, and talent. All I'm asking you to do
is use those brains and that talent. Start to realize that people, all your
friends, the junior cadets, me, rely on you two. You are two links in the
AURORA cable. You must always remember that, and be ready to bear the
strain. You two, along with Harry, and Val, and Tyler, and yes, even Two
Strokes, all the senior cadets, are the strength of AURORA, the strength of
the Sea Cadets, and maybe, one day, the Navy." He paused, thinking. "Just
as you rely on me, I rely on you. A lot of people rely on me to do the
right thing. A lot of people rely on you to do the right thing. Do you
understand what I'm getting at?"

"That ye may talk together, brother to brother's face. Thus for the good of
your peoples, thus for the Pride of the Race." Cory could quote Kipling,
too.

"You know that poem?" asked The Gunner.

The Twins nodded in unison. "We go to St. George's Academy. The English
master is queer for Kipling," said Todd.

Despite himself, The Gunner laughed. He quoted the next part of the
poem. "Also, we will make you promise. So long as The Blood endures, I
shall know that your good is mine: ye shall feel that my strength is
yours."

Cory reached up and stroked The Gunner's face. "In the day of the
Armageddon, at the last great fight of all, That Our House stand together
and the pillars do not fall."

Cory whispered the words.

"Now do you understand what you mean to me?" asked The Gunner, his voice
filled with the emotion and love he felt for the two boys. "I don't expect
you to be perfect. Nobody is, certainly not me. You make mistakes. I've
made mistakes, and I'll go on making them. Cory, Todd, you are part of my
house, my pillars." He Gunner remembered another part of the poem, but did
not quote it. "Cory, I know how you feel about me. In my own way, I feel
the same about you. I do love you both, in the way that I love Harry, and
all the rest of them. You're my cadets, all of you. Even if I wanted to
love you the way you want me to love you, I can't. Not so long as you are a
cadet. You and every cadet rely on me to treat you right. I cannot, will
not, ever, abuse the trust your parents placed in me, the Sea Cadet
organization and the Navy placed in me, the trust you place in me, by
loving you back. Can you understand that?"

Both boys nodded.

The Gunner hand traced the outline of Todd's firm, square-jawed, handsome
face, then Cory's finer, more refined features. "I'm speaking as bluntly as
I can because I want you two know exactly how I feel. I want you both to
trust me, to know that I will never hurt either of you. I want you two to
grow up, to have fun, to be yourselves. I'm not saying don't take risks,
what I am saying is don't take stupid chances. You might as well learn the
difference now. Understand the consequences of your actions."

The Twins put their arms around The Gunner's waist, their arms touching.

"Use the talent God gave you," The Gunner said earnestly. "Use the brains
He gave you. Maybe you will do great things.  Maybe you won't. I can't
predict the future. But stay your course, do what is right, always, and
never be afraid of what you are. Don't back down when you're right. Admit
it when you're wrong, and there will always be someone to stand up for you
at your court martial." He kissed both of them on the tops of their heads.

"Now must ye speak to your kinsmen and they must speak to you, After the
use of the English, in straight-flung words and few.  Go to your work and
be strong, halting not in your ways, Balking the end half-won for an
instant dole of praise.  Stand to your work and be wise - certain of sword
and pen, Who are neither children nor Gods, but men in a world of men" The
Gunner held the Twins close. "Now go and be boys. All too soon you're going
to have to be men in a world of men."

They stood up and started walking towards the whalers. "Are we forgiven?"
asked Cory.

The Gunner smiled after then. "Yes, you are forgiven," he said. The he
assumed a hard air. "Mind, I still think a good spanking would do you a
world of good."

******

Just before they pushed the beached whalers back into the waters of the
sound Andy coughed delicately. "What?" The Gunner looked at the two
officers. Andy pointed first at The Gunner, then at Kyle, then at
himself. The Gunner laughed uproariously and waved his arm. "Jesus, we must
really be out of it."

"We are. Our pants," chuckled Andy. "Don't you think it might be a good
idea to put some clothes on? It's Saturday and the boaters will be out in
force. Not to mention the cruise ships."

"You got that." The Gunner's face fell. "Jesus, with my luck some
well-meaning soul will see us and the next thing I'll know I'll be in the
glasshouse for corrupting the morals of minors."

Kyle snorted. "Most of them can teach you a lesson or two in corrupting
morals."

As their issue shorts and gunshirts were egg splattered and grease stained,
the cadets, with much grumbling, cleaned into an eclectic, and colourful,
collection of gym shorts and swimming trunks. They muttered and sputtered
about having to wear their shorts, complaining about how constricting
clothes were, until The Gunner told them to shut up or he'd make them swim
to Powell River. Andy and Kyle were just as bad.  Andy dug out a pair of
fluorescent blue running shorts. Kyle wore his old soccer shorts, which
sagged in the ass and hung down below his knees. The Gunner relied on his
old faithful, baggy, khaki and dull, shorts. "We are a sight," was all he
said as they boarded the boats and pushed off.

Once they were on the water, with the keel down, and the mast stepped, they
sailed up the Sunshine Coast, enjoying the magnificent scenery. Since it
was Saturday the boaters and sailors were out in force. Along the shore
young boys and girls paddled kayaks and canoes. Sailboats, powerboats and
tourist launches abounded.

The cadets dug out their cameras, happily snapping away at the other boats,
taking pictures of themselves, hooting and carrying on and ogling any
pretty girl that came within their view. And there were plenty. Every
yacht, kayak, canoe, and bumboat afloat seemed to have at least one
scantily clad young woman on board.

Kyle manoeuvred his boat until it was about fifty feet abeam of The
Gunner's. He sat sedately at the stern, while the rest of his crew, Andy,
Chris, Steve, Rob, Stuart, Greg and Val were seating along the starboard
side, acting as a counterweight as the boat heeled in the wind. Kyle
saluted The Gunner as their boats came abreast. Then he shouted. "Ship's
Company! Ship's Company, Ho!"  Kyle's crew stood up. "Ship's Company
. . . down shorts!" bellowed Kyle.

"They are not going to do what I think they're going to do, are they?"
gasped Tyler.

"Yes they are!" hooted The Phantom. "Where's my camera?"

Kyle's crew pushed down their shorts and stood, bums bared.

Cory shook Todd, who had been staring at the coast. Harry, who was lolling
about, doing nothing, took one look, and started laughing. Ray and Nicholas
ripped their gym bags apart, looking for their cameras.

Kyle's voice carried over the water. "Ship's Company. Bend . . . Over!" His
crew bent at the waist, mooning The Gunner's crew. The snickering and
giggling of the cadets almost masked Kyle's next order: "Ship's Company,
Spread . . . Cheeks!"  Fourteen hands reached around and spread seven butt
cheeks, revealing seven puckered, brown butt-holes. Harry laughed so hard
he fell off the seat, and thrashed around in the bottom of the boat, trying
to get up.

The Breeze carried Kyle's next order: "Ship's Company, Release
. . . Cheeks!"  The Gunner stared slack-jawed in disbelief, barely
conscious of the camera shutters clicking.

Kyle, who had been watching the reaction of the cadets in the other whaler,
and seeing the look on The Gunner face, grinned hugely and ordered: "Wiggle
. . . Bums!" Seven bums wiggled in unison. Nicholas joined Harry in the
bottom of the whaler.

Triumphantly, Kyle smiled and gave his final order: "Ship's Company
. . .Ho!" The cadets stood up, pulled up their shorts, turned about, gave a
stiff armed wave and smiled broadly. Then they sat down as if nothing at
all had happened, totally oblivious to the hooting and hollering coming
from The Gunner's boat.

While the Twins, Two Strokes and Ray struggled to resurrect Harry and
Nicholas from the bottom of the boat, The Gunner turned to Tyler. "I do
hope, Tyler, that no one else saw that," he gasped, failing to choke off
his laughter.

Tyler looked around. "Nope. Nobody closer than about a half mile aft."

"There is a God," breathed The Gunner thankfully. He turned to The Phantom.
"Phantom, don't you dare blame me when your mother sees those pictures! I
will never be able to explain all those bare bums."

"Don't worry. I'll protect your reputation." The Phantom snickered. "Such
as it is."

"Phantom?"

"Yes, Gunner?"

"Don't be cheeky."

******

As they sailed toward Powell River the argument raged. They had to
retaliate. Their honour demanded it. They had pulled their whaler to
victory, and been ambushed. Now they had been mooned, big time.

"Worse than that," said Harry. "They showed us their assholes!"

"They didn't have to take their shorts down to do that," muttered Two
Strokes.  Harry's hand hovered over Two Stroke's crotch. "What did I tell
you?" he warned.

Two Strokes' held up his hands. "No offence, Harry. From now on, I'm a
tomb."

"That's not all you are."

The Phantom had left his seat beside The Gunner to join in the
argument. "Well, we can't very well repeat it, can we?" he asked, then
pointed out, "Once something like that is done, it's done." The others
nodded. "And standing up and waggling our dicks at them is out."

"Why? I happen to think I have a very nice dick," Harry pouted.

"You do, Harry. Your dick is very nice, indeed," agreed The Phantom. "But
they've seen it. We all have. We've seen every dick in sight, so there's no
shock value."

"Yeah, we did check each other out," admitted Nicholas.

"I didn't," sniffed Two Strokes.

Harry's hand moved ever so slowly toward Two Strokes' crotch. "I thought
you were a tomb?" he growled menacingly.

Ray spoke up. "So whatever shock value we had we blew when Two Strokes
dropped his drawers."

"What's so shocking about his two inches?" asked Tyler.

"It is not!" exploded Two Strokes. "It's almost the same size and shape as
The Gunners." He paused for effect. "Only my knob doesn't have any
wrinkles."

The cadets fell all over themselves with laughter. "So you did look! Two
Strokes, you pervert!" roared Harry.

"There's hope for you yet."

"Fuck off, Harry," returned Two Strokes, his face red with the
embarrassment of admitting that he had looked. "I only looked because
everybody else was looking. Besides, you never checked out the other guys
on the football squad?"

Harry took no umbrage at Two Strokes' statement and nodded sagely. "Of
course I have. A guy's gotta check out the competition, you know. Mind you,
some of the other guys were pretty ugly, not like me at all and . . ."

"Would you two please shut the fuck up!" Todd waved them all to
silence. "Harry, you have a very nice dick, the Pride of the Fleet and no
danger. Two Strokes, you and The Gunner have twin dicks. You have a very
handsome dick, a dick any man would be proud to own." He folded his arms
and looked at each of them in turn. "No more talk about dicks, case
closed. We all have wonderful, glorious, magnificent dicks. We are all
brothers of the ring and we own dicks that are the envy of millions, from
Newfyjohn to Squibbly. NOW SHUT THE FUCK UP!"

"My, he do get pouty," opined Harry.

"Harry, I have an idea. Do you want to hear it or not?" asked Todd
patiently.

Harry waved for him to go on. "Fill your boots."

"Thank you, Harry," Todd replied with exaggerated patience. "Now, they're
sitting over there, sailing along, wondering what we're going to do,
right?" Everyone nodded. "Well, we're going to do nothing." The other boys
exploded, yelling about revenge, and getting even. Todd calmly held up his
hand. "You didn't let me finish. We aren't going to do anything. Yet." He
smiled smugly.

"Huh?" Tyler looked at Ray, who looked at Cory.

"Don't ask me," shrugged Cory. "When he's being devious I leave him alone."

"Phantom, how many pictures did you take of them when they mooned us?" Todd
asked.

"About half a roll. I got a good one of them spreading their cheeks, too."

"Cory?"

"About the same. I have to buy some film in Powell River."

"Hey, I got some great ones with a wide angle lens," offered Nicholas.

"I took a few," said Ray.

There was an evil glint in Todd's eye. "Now we have ammunition. Here's what
we're going to do." They all bent forward, heads touching, as Todd outlined
his plan.

Two Strokes was impressed. "Jesus, Todd, you are evil. But, hey, the place
will be crawling with civilians and brass."

"So? What can they do to us?" Todd grinned widely. "We do it on the morning
of the final parade. When the officers wake up the deed will already be
done! By the time they find out it will be too late!"

"That is sneaky and devious and totally becoming you!" Two Strokes grinned
in admiration. "Let's do it."

When the conference was finished Tyler and The Phantom returned to the
stern of the stern and took their seats beside The Gunner. "What was that
all about?" he asked.

"Revenge," said The Phantom simply, but with a wicked look in his emerald
eyes.

"A dish best eaten cold," finished Tyler, his deep blue orbs flashing.

The Gunner saw the strange looks in both teenagers' eyes and raised his
eyes. "Sweet Jesus!" he thought with foreboding. "Is someone in trouble
now!"

******

Rather than trust to luck, wind, and tide they downed sails and approached
Powell River under power, the outboard motors putt-putting as they cruised
offshore, past the long stone breakwaters and ferry dock.  Cory, who was
posted as lookout, shouted and pointed to a small gap in the stone walls
protecting the sandy shore. The Gunner signalled to Kyle and they pointed
the bows of the whalers toward the gap.

They tied about alongside of an L shaped jetty. On shore a woebegone metal
shed announced that this was the site of RCSCC MALASPINA's boathouse.  The
area was deserted.

After securing the whalers and their gear they trooped into town and found
the Powell River House, a long, low, wooden building offering what was
advertised as the finest buffet lunch on the Sunshine Coast. It was also
the most expensive, as The Gunner was soon to find out.

The Restaurant Manager clasped his hands in glee. There were only six
people in the long, high, wood-panelled, Victorian dining room.  He counted
heads as the horde descended. They were Navy, by the look of them, even if
a bit scruffy. The distinctive, hard, round caps the younger ones wore were
always a dead giveaway. They did look a trifle young, however, to be
Regular Navy. Not that he cared, 18 more people eating would raise the
profit margin nicely.

The cadets, followed by The Gunner, Kyle and Andy, formed a small, ragged
line and approached the huge, square, food laden buffet tables. Their
mouths watered at the array of comestibles: prime rib, two kinds of ham,
chicken, turkey, hot dishes hidden in silver chafing dishes, cold salads,
rolls fresh from the baker's oven and, arranged on a separate table, duff:
cakes, pies, tarts, a cornucopia of sweetness. Harry licked his lips and
groaned. "Food," he moaned. "Real food. Look, Greg, roast beef. Look at the
duff. Sacher torte, cream cakes and, oh, God, double chocolate layer cake!"
Harry grabbed Greg's arm. "Chocolate cake," he moaned. "I'm gonna cum!"

"Oh, no you're not!" Greg quickly pulled away.

After being sternly warned to mind their manners, and Harry, use your
napkin and no belching, they went to the groaning tables, loading their
plates with food. Harry, as was expected, Tyler, Val, the Twins and,
surprisingly, The Phantom, were trenchermen of the first order. Kyle and
Andy were not far behind. Plate after plate of food was devoured.  The
cadets just had to sample everything. Then they attacked the dessert
table. The Twins, who ate like horses and never gained an ounce, vied with
Harry over who could eat the most chocolate cake. Nicholas and The Phantom
ate most of the Sacher Torte, while Steve and Stuart had at the Hazelnut
Cream cake.

When they had all eaten their fill and The Gunner settled the bill, the
cadets asked if they could go up to town. They all needed something, from
fresh rolls of film to tooth paste. Being boys they had packed in haste and
almost every one of them had left something vitally important behind at
AURORA.

When the cadets dispersed The Gunner and Kyle went into the bar for a
post-luncheon drink, and a little peace and quiet. Andy, with most of the
Gunner's cash in his pocket, along with Ray and The Phantom, went off to
restock the food lockers. The Gunner had just settled in to enjoy his beer
when he was called to the lounge by the desk clerk.  He found Two Strokes,
a large green plastic bag, full of something, at his feet, waiting for
him. "What can I do for you, Two Strokes?" asked The Gunner. He looked
sheepish. "Sorry, Roger. No trouble, I hope."

Two Strokes shook his head. "Can I have some money, please, Gunner?"

"You broke?"

Two Strokes nodded. "I need some money to do the laundry."

The Gunner looked at the thin-faced boy. "What laundry?"

Two Strokes pointed to the green bag. "I gathered up all the gunshirts and
shorts. They're pretty scuzzy. I have your whites, and Andy's and Kyle's. I
got them out of your kitbags " He ducked his head. "I didn't take anything
else, honest."

"Nobody said you did. And why are you suddenly the ship's laundryman?"

Two Strokes looked at The Gunner and grinned crookedly. "It needs to be
done, so I'm doing it. No big deal."

The Gunner returned the grin. "I'm surprised.  No offence."

"None taken. I'm surprised too." Two Strokes hefted the bag onto his
shoulders. "The guys are all right. I used to think they didn't like
me. Now I know differently. So, I'm just returning the favour. No big
deal."

"Bigger than you think," thought The Gunner, "and one step closer, Roger,
one step closer." He handed over a $20 bill. "You're not as bad as you let
on, Roger. The guys never disliked you. What you're doing is very
considerate of you.  The guys will appreciate it."

"Even Harry?"

"Even Harry."

"He keeps threatening to rip my dick off," complained Two Strokes.

The Gunner hid his smile. "I'll speak to Harry. Your dick is safe."

Two Strokes laughed and took the offered bank note. "I'll bring back your
change."

******

Harry and Greg decided, since neither of them needed anything from the
shops, to walk off their lunch. They walked down to the ferry dock, a huge,
long, pile, which was empty, and would be until 1700 when the boat from
Comox and Texada pulled in. They sat on adjoining bollards, watching the
passing parade of boats. Then Harry reached into the pocket of his shorts
and pulled out a small envelope. He fished the letter out and began to read
it, smiling.

Greg spoke quietly. "The kid okay?"

"Yeah."

"You'll see him again, Harry. One day," said Greg kindly.

Harry nodded and folded the letter. He replaced it in the envelope. "Nope."

"What did he do, send you a Dear John letter? Typical . . ." began Greg,
misreading Harry's look.

"Greg, if you ever, ever, dare to speak badly about my Stefan, I'll . . ."
Harry kept his temper under control. "It's not a Dear John letter. "

"Harry, I didn't . . . shit man, I'm sorry. I know what he means to you."

"No, you don't. Nobody but The Gunner knows. And I mean to keep it that
way." Harry's look brooked no argument. "What is between Stefan and me is
between Stefan and me. Nobody else. What happened between Stefan and me is
between Stefan and me. It's nobody else's business. I love you and all the
other guys. You all helped me when I needed it and I'll never forget. You
and the others, Cory, Chris, Todd, you're my brothers. But Greg . . ."
Harry looked directly at Greg.

Greg returned the look. Point taken.

"Whatever happened between Stephen Tyler and you is nobody's business,"
Harry continued, the softness returning to his voice.

"Nothing happened," responded Greg sullenly.

"Your loss. Not mine." Harry stood up and started walking back toward the
town. "And that makes you a bigger fool than I thought you were," he
shouted over his shoulder.

"Harry, for Christ's sake." Greg jumped up and ran after him. "Harry, come
on, for fuck's sake, stop, please!" Harry ignored him and continued to walk
down the jetty. "Harry! Harry, if you're really my brother you'll stop,"
Greg shouted.  Harry stopped, turned around and walked to where Greg was
standing. "Okay, I'm back."

Greg put his hands on Harry's shoulders, his body trembling. "Harry, as God
is my witness, I didn't mean anything, I didn't. What you had, what you
still have, with Stefan, fuck man, I wish I . . . Harry, what you have is
wonderful. I mean that, truly. I wish I could have had . . ." He took his
hands down and sat on a single bollard.

Harry sat down beside Greg, their butts touching, and pushed Greg a
bit. "Don't take up all the room, asshole," he growled playfully.

Greg laughed. "They don't make them for two, especially when one of the
asses is as big as yours."

"I can leave, you know."

"Don't, please, Harry."

Harry turned and put his arm around Greg's shoulders. "Greg, Stefan is not
something I'm ashamed of. I love him. I love him more than my life. I want
to see him again. He wants to see me. But I can't let that happen. I want
him to grow up a little more. I want him to live life a little more,
without me complicating things."

"Harry, man, don't . . .shit, you went through hell. I know because I was
there."

Harry nodded. "Yeah, I did. But Stefan did not do it. Stefan did not make
me go through hell." He thought of The Phantom sitting on his bunk and
giving him a dose of the medicine he needed, giving him the harsh truth and
hard love he needed. "I put myself through hell. But now I know I can
handle his not being with me. I know I can handle Stefan just being on the
fringes of my life. I'll write him. I'll call him. And I'll try and make
him understand that what we had in AURORA was something so special that
I'll cherish it to my dying day. I'll love him, and him only, until my
dying day." Harry stared out over the waters. "But, Greg, Stefan must also
learn that I am not the only person in the world who loves him. There will
be others and I know it. He's got to know it, and I want him to have the
chance to find that love. Later on . . .Greg, later on, if he still wants
me, I'll be there."

Greg hung his head. He was close to tears. "Stephen Tyler and me, we . . ."
He shook his head as if trying to collect his thoughts. "We were just two
pals helping each other out. " Harry raised an inquisitive, doubting
eyebrow but said nothing. Greg saw the look and tried to ignore it. "We
didn't too anything queer, Harry," he declared. "I am not a queer. I will
not be a queer."

Harry stared into the distance. He squeezed Greg and rubbed his head
against Greg's. "Greg, I can't tell you how to feel, or how to love. I
can't tell you anything, because I don't know myself. If you think that by
my loving Stefan I'm a queer, then, fine, so be it."

"No, Harry, no. I don't think that. I'd never think that."

"Yes, you do." Harry sighed. "You won't admit it to me, or to yourself, but
deep down you do. For what it's worth, I have never fucked around with
another guy. Oh, I fooled around with my brother, and he showed me how to
jack off, and yeah, we jacked each other a few times, but that doesn't mean
shit. There has never been another guy. Until Stefan came along I had never
done anything with anybody other than my brother."

"And I've never done anything with anybody before," replied Greg softly. "I
really don't understand it."

Harry regarded his friend a moment. "Greg, The Gunner told me that you
never know when you will fall in love." Before Greg could deny that he had
fallen in love with Stephen Tyler Harry held up his hand, stopping any
further lies. "You have to sort out your feelings, Greg. You have to decide
if you are in love, or just a guy helping a pal get his rocks off. If
that's the case then shut up about it. Like you said, I did it with my
brother. You did it with Stephen Tyler." He gave Greg an icy look. "Guys
our age fool around with each other. Nobody thinks about it, or talks about
it. It's accepted." Harry's voice hardened. "They fool around but they
don't fall in love, because if they do it's queer!"

Greg snorted derisively. "So it's all right to fool around with another
guy, but not to fall in love him? Is that what your saying?"

"I suppose, in a way, I am," agreed Harry pleasantly. "Which means, I
suppose that sooner or later I'll meet a guy who turns my crank, and I turn
his, and we'll probably end up messing around. At the moment I am not in
the market for another guy." He shrugged and nudged Greg. "However, you
never know!" he finished with a lascivious grin that hid his feeling that
Greg would more than likely find another Stephen Tyler.

Greg did not appreciate Harry's humour. "It will still just be fooling
around! It won't mean anything!" he declared.

"Perhaps you're right, Greg," conceded Harry. He was tired of Greg, tired
of the argument. "It doesn't mean jack shit anyway." He stood and stared
into the murky waters of the ferry berth. "Just remember, though, that I
did fall in love. I am in love and if I could I would spend my life with
Stefan and that, Greg, makes me queer. Someday we'll be together, and Greg,
we're going to make love. So Greg, last night you slept with a queer."
Harry stood up and motioned for Greg to follow him. "We better get
back. The guys will be looking for us."

******

When they arrived at the boathouse they found The Gunner and Kyle sitting
in the whaler, drinking beer and shooting the shit. The beer in the whaler,
The Gunner explained, was much cheaper than in the restaurant. He motioned
for Harry and Greg to have a beer. "One only. So, what were you two up to?"

Harry popped the can. "Just walked around." He shrugged. "We just sat and
watched the world go by 'cause there's not a helluva lot to do in this
burg."

At that moment Andy and the two boys came waddling down, laden with
bags. Andy handed a brown paper bag to The Gunner. "You wanted sour cream.
Do you know what I had to go through to get sour cream?"

"All the way to the dairy," snickered The Phantom. "Three blocks, tops."

Andy glared at The Phantom. "I'm telling this, if you don't mind, twerp."

"Aye, Aye, sir," The Phantom grinned then jumped into the whaler. Ray began
handing him down the bags of groceries.

"Sorry, Gunner," said Andy as he handed The Gunner the very small amount of
change left from the shopping money. "But our boys do have to eat."

The Gunner handed him a beer. "Yeah, but why so much?"

Cory, Todd and Chris walked around the corner of the boathouse. Each had a
small bag containing their purchases.

"You guys behave yourselves?" asked The Gunner.

"Yeah.  Cory was good," said Chris.

"Me? He was taking about you . . ." began Cory hotly. Then he remembered
their talk with The Gunner. "I was the soul of discretion. You can rely on
me, Gunner."

"I plan to," replied The Gunner dryly.

The Twins clambered into the whaler and help stow the food.

"Hey, Gunner, look what I bought, said Chris as he held up a small pocket
book.

"What is it? A book?"

"Yeah. Ammunition, just in case."

"Well, what is it?"

"Kipling!"

Before The Gunner could reply Tyler, Val, Stuart and Steve showed up. As
the walked past The Gunner each held up a small book. Kyle started to
laugh. "Kipling. Looks like you're busted, Gunner."

******

It was just gone five when they sailed into a small cove on the north end
of Harwood Island, a thickly wooded, uninhabited part of the Sliammon
Indian Reservation. The island was a great tourist attraction and during
the season kayaking tours came out from Powell River, 18 miles away, to
visit, see the wonderful flora, and barbecue fresh caught salmon.

The cadets pulled the whalers as far as they could up the wide, curving,
beach and almost before their feet touched the white sand of the beach they
began stripping off their shorts. Naked, the cadets formed a long line and
unloaded the boats, bringing ashore their sleeping bags, blankets, the
food, and the beer, which Nicholas took charge of and put to cool in the
water.

Because the tourists visited the island almost daily, there were weather
beaten, grey wood privies, three holers, one for men, one for women, which
meant that the Twins did not have to dig a latrine. There was a large,
rustic barbecue, complete with grills for the steaks.

The Phantom gathered stones for the campfire and The Twins, Chris, and Two
Strokes carried wood from the huge pile of firewood that stood near the
edge of the forest that covered the island.

Once the camp had been set up, the sleeping bags and blankets arranged, the
cadets relaxed, sunning on the beach, while The Gunner, Kyle, and Andy, got
the barbecue going. "Well, at least we won't have to listen to them
complaining about having to piss in a pit," said Andy, adjusting his
shorts. He, like The Gunner and Kyle, refused to remove anything until the
cooking was done.

"Or fighting over who used the last of the toilet paper," remarked The
Gunner.

"Definitely a major catastrophe if that happens."

"There's some in the outhouse," replied Andy.

"Good, because we forgot the bum wipe when we shopped," Kyle grimaced. "I
ain't using a leaf!"

"Can't blame you there," said Andy with a dirty chuckle. "Those things are
fuckin' sharp!"

The Gunner laughed. "You know, you two have been around the troops too
long."

"Well, you did say they'd grow on me like a fungus," retorted Andy. He
turned and called out, "Hey, Phantom, Ray, somebody. You want to give us a
hand here?" The boys ran over and Andy had them wrapping the largest
potatoes he could find in tin foil. "Phantom, light that funeral pyre
you've built and chuck these in. If we start them now we'll have fresh
baked potatoes in an hour or so."

"Okay, Andy. But I need some fire."

The Gunner handed him his Zippo and The Phantom, followed by Ray, who was
carrying a huge armload of wrapped potatoes, went to the campfire. Nicholas
sauntered up and handed each of them their beer ration. "It's nice and
cold.  Enjoy." he walked back to the beach where he joined Stuart and
Steve.

The Gunner and the two officers sat beside the barbecue pit, enjoying their
beer, watching as The Phantom and Ray arranged the potatoes and lit the
wood piled in the centre of the circle of stones. "Phantom is having the
time of his life," said Kyle with a grin. "For somebody who's supposed to
be resting, he sure is active."

"I hear he more than pulled his weight in the whaler race," said Andy as he
took a drink of beer.

"They all did," replied The Gunner. "They're all of them going to remember
this weekend for the rest of their lives."

"Me too." Kyle laughed heartily. "Never, in my wildest dreams did I ever
think I would spend a weekend like this. Sailing, swimming, totally naked
most of the time." He looked at Andy and The Gunner. "But I would not, for
all the gold in Ottawa, change one thing."

"You're just as big a kid as they are."

"I am so." Kyle downed his beer. "I am also totally happy. This has been
the greatest experience of my life." He waved towards the cadets. "And
theirs. Look at them. Totally relaxed. No fights, well, except for the
Twins, but that's natural to them, just totally uninhibited boys. But
changed boys." He nodded toward the small group of cadets gathered around
the roaring fire. "Two Strokes went out of his way to do our laundry. He
would never have done it before. Todd is starting to be a real
leader. They're up to something, you know."

The Gunner nodded. "I know. I'm almost afraid to find out what."

Andy chuckled. "It will be a pisser, if I know Todd. Anyone for another?"
He got up and walked down to the water's edge.

"He's changed, too. The veneer is gone. Now it's solid oak," said Kyle,
gazing at his American friend, who was chucking shit at Nicholas for having
an extra beer. Kyle turned his head and looked at The Gunner. "You've
changed as well."

"I have?"

"Gunner, you look good. You've lost that haunted look you've had in your
eyes. You look young again. You laugh, you joke, and you're chucking shit
with the best of them."

"Look who's talking! My guess is that it was you who put the boys up to
that mooning party."

Kyle had the courtesy to blush. "Yeah, I did," he admitted.

"You've lost your tight ass attitude, Kyle. You've learned to relax. Just
because you're an officer it doesn't mean you can't have fun, relax, enjoy
yourself, you know."

"I know. Now I know." He looked at Andy, who was rummaging about in the
whaler. "Oh shit, he's brought the guitar."

"Good, later on we'll have a sing song."

******

Dinner was over. Andy, who claimed to be the best barbecue chef in Seattle,
had marinated, peppered and worked his magic on the huge, 1-inch thick
porterhouse steaks that Chef had provided. The steaks, along with the fresh
salad greens he had bought in Powell River, fresh rolls, ditto, and the
potatoes baked in the huge fire that The Phantom and Ray watched
constantly, followed by almost fresh pies, had provided a feast. Harry
belched in appreciation. Stuart and Steve, to uphold the honour of the
Boatswains, discharged a cannonade of flatulence, and were banished to the
lee side, just outside the warmth of the fire, while their mates drank
their beer ration. They howled, offered to do 50 pushups (refused), and
were finally forgiven. They sulked for ten minutes until Nicholas took pity
on them and handed them a can of beer. The only casualty was Ray, who
dropped his own potato on his thigh, which caused him to hop about, cursing
a blue streak. He only shut up when The Gunner slathered the burned area
with a cream he found in the first aid kit.

Once the refuse had been cleared away the cadets attacked en masse,
forcibly removing the shorts of The Gunner, Kyle, and Andy, who called them
all names and fined them one beer each. Once the pouting had subsided Andy
brought out his guitar and announced a singsong.  They could sing whatever
song they liked, no rules, except that Andy had to at least be able to pick
out the tune. As Master of Ceremonies, Andy announced he would lead off. He
tuned his guitar, and looked around the circle of lounging boys.

Most of the cadets, to ward off the night chill, had blankets draped around
them. Two Strokes was lying on his sleeping bag, his legs spread, his dick
hanging softly over his high hanging balls. The Twins, and Chris, were
sitting side by each, legs spread, three sets of almost identical tackle
exposed. Stuart, Steve, and Nicholas, were lying back on their elbows,
ankles crossed, their self-proclaimed one-eyed monsters staring back at
Andy. Tyler and Val were sitting on either side of the beer cooler, their
four inchers deeply shadowed. Ray was sitting beside Phantom, who was
sitting as close to The Gunner as he could get. Both of the boys had
nothing to be ashamed of, their pinkish-brown helmets crisply illuminated
by the firelight. And The Gunner, wrinkles and all, really wasn't all that
much bigger than Two Strokes. Kyle sat on the other side of the
Gunner. Andy sighed. That one I know. Rob, Harry, and Greg, legs spread,
lay close to the fire, warming themselves; all three could give Tyler and
Val a run for their money.

Andy cleared his throat.  Duty called. He strummed a chord on his
guitar. "Gentlemen, I have the honour of opening tonight's festivities with
the marching song of the Israeli Navy, which I learned when I was in that
lovely country, and looking at this assemblage's appendages, I feel it to
be a most appropriate song." He sang in a clear, tenor voice. "Come, ye men
with noses, come and fight for Moses, fight, fight, fight, for Israel.  Eat
string beans with gravy, join the Yiddisher Navy, fight, fight, fight for
Israel." Now for the punch line, he thought.  "One skin, two skins, three
skins, never four, You'll never find a foreskin in a Jewish man-of-war.
Come ye men with noses, come and fight for Moses,
                 				     Fight, fight for
Israel."

Andy finished with a flourish and everyone laughed and clapped. "Okay,
who's next?" he asked.

The cadets looked at one another. They all knew songs but . . . Let Kyle do
it, they thought. They looked at Kyle, who looked back. The Gunner leaned
over and muttered to Kyle, "I think they want you to set the tone."

"Anything goes?"

The Gunner nodded. He planned on singing his one, and only, dirty song.
Kyle began singing and Andy picked up the melody. "Bang on, Lulu, bang on
Lulu bang on, who you gonna bang on, when Lulu's dead and gone?" He grinned
at the circle of naked boys. "Okay guys, that's the chorus.  I'll sing a
verse or so, and every body join in on the chorus. Here we go.  "Lulu had a
baby, it was an awful shock,
  				 She couldn't call it Lulu, the bastard had
a cock!"

The cadets were laughing so hard they could barely croak out the chorus.

      "Lulu had a little lamb, she kept it in a bucket,
 Every time the lamb jumped out, the bulldog used to
 fuck it!

The boys clapped and shouted out the chorus, "Bang on Lulu, bang on Lulu
bang on, who you gonna bang on, when Lulu's dead and gone?" Then they
hooted and laughed, Harry fell backwards, and banged his head on a rock,
which caused a minor ruckus. He was not, however, hurt, and did not suggest
that The Gunner kiss it better.

Two Strokes stood up. "I know a song."

"Go ahead. I'll follow if I can," said Andy.

"Oh, this one is easy to follow." Two Strokes formed an arch with his arms
over his head, his fingers touching. "I'm a little penis, short and stout."
He could barely carry the tune, but he soldiered on. "I've a little handle,
I've a little spout." He lifted his penis up and waved it back and
forth. "When I get a hard-on I will shout, contact little vulva, let the
semen out!"

"Two Strokes, you are a pervert!" shouted Harry through his tears of
laughter. Tyler and Val buried their faces in their arms, shaking with
laughter. All the cadets applauded and Two Strokes bowed low, effectively
mooning Cory, who threatened to bite him if he didn't sit down.

"Hey, can I sing one?" asked The Phantom.

"You know one?" The Gunner's eyes were wide with surprise. Phantom might
swear like a trooper but he didn't seem the type to know any dirty songs.

"Of course," replied The Phantom, somewhat miffed. He wasn't that innocent!
"Play, A Bicycle Built for Two, Andy," Andy nodded and began strumming his
guitar as the Phantom sang. He had a very nice, if untrained tenor voice.
Daisy, Daisy, give me your answer true;
             	Daisy, Daisy, wouldn't you like to screw?' He grinned
broadly as Stuart and Nicholas pumped the air.

"Way to go, Phantom," Stuart yelled.  "I really must beg your pardon, but
I've got a ten-inch hardon, >From beating my meat, against the seat, of a
bicycle built for two."

The Gunner collapsed in laughter. Kyle, who was trying to drink a beer,
choked, and had to have his back slapped by The Gunner. As expected, the
Twins stood up. "Now, we all know North Atlantic Squadron, right?" asked
Todd.

Everybody nodded. They'd been around and of course they knew the bloody
song.  "Just sing the chorus. We know some verses you've never heard of,"
said Cory.

The Twins started off with the chorus, which everyone sang, if a little
half-heartedly.  "The ship's dog's name was Rover,
  			 The whole crew did him over,
  			 We ground and ground that faithful hound,
 			 From Singapore to Dover."

"Aaand . . ." Cory conducted the chorus. "Away, away, with a fife and a
drum, Here we come full of rum, Looking for girlies to peddle their bums,
In the North Atlantic Squadron."

Cory sang the next verse. "Another cook, O'Malley,
                           He didn't dilly dally,
                           He shot his bolt with a hell of a jolt,
                           And whitewashed half the galley."

"Aaand . . ." The Twins swung their arms in low arcs to lead in the chorus.

"'Twas on the China Station,
 To roars of approbation,
 We sunk a junk with a load of spunk,
 By mutual masturbation."

The Twins, who had remembered every verse they had ever heard of the song,
continued on, leading them in the chorus, singing of the Second Mate, who
was a farter. They moved on to the Captain's randy daughter, who met an
untimely, if pleasant, end with eels. They poked fun at themselves by
singing about Morgan, who was a homosexual Gorgon, and rogered fairies in
Buenos Aires. When they were finished The Gunner and Kyle were prostrate
with laughter. Tyler and Val, usually the least demonstrative of cadets,
were hugging each other, their bodies shaking as they coughed and choked
through their laughter.

Stuart, Steve and Rob, sang The Sexual Life of A Camel. Greg sang My Sister
Lily and Ray, who everybody thought was as innocent and sweet as a new
lamb, sang all the verses of The Ball at Kerrymuir. Steve sang God Bless my
Underpants, which, since no one was wearing any, was not a rousing
success. He redeemed himself with a heart-rending rendition of On Top of
Old Sophie.

Finally, as the night wore on, The Gunner's turn came. He sang The Harlot
of Jerusalem, singing of Cathusalem, a prostitute of high repute, who
washed her passage out with beer and who, in a round about way, met with a
one-balled student, who had his way with her near the Salvation Army hut
and then had a knock down drag out with an Onanite.

In spite of his parents' frequent reference to their Bible, Ray failed to
make a connection. "What's an onan night?" he asked Kyle.

"Thumper."

"Oh . . . OH!"

******

They finished the singing with a rousing, arm pumping rendition of Heart of
Oak and then prepared for bed. Ray and The Phantom overhauled the fire,
banking it for the night. Harry and Greg policed the area, cleaning up the
empty beer cans and taking them to the small garbage dump just past the
privies. As they dumped the cans Greg asked if he could sleep beside Harry
again. "You going to put on some shorts?" asked Harry seriously.

"Why? I'm not cold, and I have a blanket," replied Greg.

"Well, you'd be sleeping with a queer. I wouldn't want you to take a
chance. I might try to feel you up, or maybe give you a hand job."

Greg stamped his foot into the ground. "God damn, it Harry, stop it. Stop
it now!"

"I'll stop it when you face facts. When it comes to Stefan, I'm
queer. Admit that."

Greg sighed. What Harry was saying, what he was admitting, was all
true. "Okay, Harry, you're queer. Happy?"

"And you have no problem with that?"

"It's your life. Who am I to say it's wrong? To be honest . . ." Greg
hesitated, almost afraid to say what he really felt.

"To be honest, Greg, you have to be honest with yourself." Harry sat down
near the woodpile and motioned for Greg to sit. "I get the feeling that you
want to tell me more. So tell me."

Greg took a deep breath. "Harry, when I was lying beside you, in the
Gunroom, and, yeah, last night, I wanted to . . . I wanted to reach around
and touch you.

I mean, really touch you, and hold you . . ."

"Have sex. Be honest."

Greg nodded. "Yes. I wanted to have sex with you, and for you to make love
to me."

"And Stephen Tyler?" asked Harry Gently.

"Yeah, and Stephen Tyler. He wanted to do it, but I couldn't. All we ever
did was, well, he jerked me off and I let him rub himself against me. That
was all."  "Why?"

Greg looked at Harry. If Harry wanted honesty, he would get it. "Harry,
being queer is something I'm not going to be. I see what it's like out in
the real world. Hell, I see what it's like at AURORA. Look at Little Big
Man. And Two Strokes . . ."

"Two Strokes is not so bad," interjected Harry.

"Maybe not," replied Greg, a note of doubt in his voice. "Maybe Two Strokes
is not as bad as Little Big Man, but he sure as fuck would not approve of
you and Stefan, or me and Stephen Tyler. He's not alone. People can't
understand that two guys can be in love. They can't understand that queers
exist. Or why they exist. I know what it's like out there, in that world. I
hear it every day in school. I hear it church. I read about it in the
newspapers and I see it on television. There are a lot of small-minded,
petty people out there. But they're in a world I want to live in, to be a
part of."

"So you plan on spending the rest of your life in a closet, torturing
yourself.  That's the act of a fool." Harry stood up. "We better get back."

"Harry, I am going to do everything I can not to do anything that will push
me into a world I refuse to be in. I will not live in a queer's world!
Never, not ever!"

Harry turned and looked at his friend. "Then I hope you have some friends
around to catch you when your wall comes crumbling down. And it will."

"Will I still have you? Are you still my friend?"

"Don't be stupid, Greg. I'll always be your friend. As your friend I
understand what you're saying, and what you're doing. And as your friend I
think I can tell you that you'll live to regret what you've done and will
do."

Greg's voice was hard. "Maybe I will. Maybe I won't. It's a risk I'm going
to take."

They had reached their sleeping bags and blankets. They lay down and pulled
the blankets over themselves. Greg was lying with his back to Harry, their
behinds touching. He could feel Harry's warmth, and his skin tingled. He
could feel himself stiffening. He willed his penis down, and pushed the
feelings from his mind. He would not allow it to happen. Not now, not ever.

******

The Gunner, Kyle and Andy sat and watched as the cadets settled in, and
listened as Cory had at Two Strokes. The boys were sleeping side by side
and, after the usual wriggling and positioning, seemed to have settled
down, when Cory snarled at Two Strokes. "Two Strokes, dammit, if you poke
me one more time you're going to have to marry me."

"I'm not poking you with anything," protested Two Strokes in a whining
voice.

"Then what the hell is sticking me in the ass, may I ask?" demanded
Cory. "What the . . ." He was feeling around behind him. Cory sat up,
stared at the clasp knife in his hand, and then rapped Two Strokes on the
head. "A knife!" he exclaimed. "What the fuck are you doing bringing a
knife to bed?"

Two Strokes rubbed his smarting head and snatched the knife from Cory.

"Protection. This island is uninhabited. There are animals, critters
around."

"The only critter around here is you, you half-fucked fool!" exclaimed
Cory. "Put that thing away or find someplace else to park. Go on, put it
away."  Grumbling under his breath Two Strokes put the knife under his
sleeping bag.  "And I better not feel anything else poking me in the night,
either." Cory lay back down and pulled his blanket around him.

Two Strokes snorted. "You won't live long enough for that to happen."

"Boys, go to sleep!" ordered The Gunner.

"Yes, Gunner, G'night." Both boys settled down.

Kyle chuckled. "I think I'll turn in."

Both Andy and The Gunner agreed it was time for bed. They fussed with the
fire, making sure that it was well banked, and retired. The Gunner lay down
and almost immediately he felt The Phantom snuggling against him, the boy's
arm snaking across his stomach. "How's your head?"

"My head fine. It's the rest of me is that's hurting." The Phantom moved
and rubbed against the Gunner. "Good hurt though."

"You've had a busy day. You should hurt. I know I do." The Gunner felt The
Phantom's squeeze. "Feel better?" he asked quietly.

"Yeah."

"Me too. Goodnight, Phantom."

"'Night, Gunner."

******

Shortly before dawn The Gunner awoke with a start. He could hear
movement. He raised himself up and saw Harry, Nicholas, and the Twins,
creeping about. He watched as they carried a long pole into the middle of
the camp area. Nicholas had a small wooden block in his hand, through which
he had reeved a long length of line. Cory and Todd were busily working a
rough grommet into a piece of rope, while Harry was struggling with an
equally long piece of line. "Hurry up, Harry, we need four of these
things," said Todd impatiently.

"Bite me. I'm going as fast as I can," returned Harry in a low growl.

"And where the hell is Stuart?" Todd demanded impatiently.

Stuart appeared from the darkness. "I'm right here. Don't get your balls in
an uproar, Todd!"

"Did you get them?" asked Cory. "If you did, you'll have to make a rig for
'em."

"I got them.  Boy, will he be surprised," Stuart's snicker was barely
audible.

The Gunner watched as the cadets secured the lines and block to the pole
and raised it, securing it with the stays. Cory scampered around tying off
the stays to small plastic tent begs they had pounded into the sand. With
the pole secure, they quickly bent whatever it was Stuart had got onto the
line they had worked through the block. As The Gunner watched they slowly
raised a small bundle of cloth up the improvised pole. Since there was no
wind, he couldn't see just what they had hoisted. Their work done, the
cadets saluted the small bundle of cloth and scooted back to their beds,
waiting for the rest of the camp to wake up.

The Gunner was about to get up when he felt The Phantom's arm pulling him
down. Mumbling The Phantom nuzzled the man he loved and muttered in his
sleep. The Gunner lay back, and drifted off. Perhaps an hour later, as the
sun began its slow ascent into the clear sky, he woke again. The Phantom's
hand had moved down, and was cupping him. The Gunner quickly moved The
Phantom's hand. The Phantom snorted and snuffled. "Goin' ge' up?"

"Got to, Phantom. Early start."

"Stay. Like it."

The Gunner gave The Phantom a quick kiss. "So do I, but we can't."

"Know it. Still like it."

"Go back to sleep. I'll shake you when breakfast is ready." The Gunner got
up and walked to the improvised flagpole. He looked up and saw, hanging
from the top, the soft cotton stirring slightly in the breeze, Andy's red
paisley underpants. He threw his head back and laughed heartily.

"A good fucking place for them," came a voice. "Christ, I hate those
things." Kyle struggled from his bed and stood beside The Gunner, glaring
up at the offending underpants.

"I think they're rather fetching."

"Would you wear them?" demanded Kyle.

"Not on a bet," admitted The Gunner, who believed in being conservative in
all things, including his undies.

Together Kyle and The Gunner washed and shaved, then started breakfast. The
Gunner wanted an early start.  He didn't want a kayaking tour showing up
unexpectedly. Fortunately the odours of breakfast cooking brought most of
the cadets out of their sleeping bags. Andy, when he opened his eyes and
saw where his briefs were, pretended indignation. "I'm very fond of those,"
he insisted.

"My mother gave them to me."

"Balls! You told me you bought them in a Saigon cat house!" retorted Kyle.

The cadets didn't know what was funnier, Andy's underpants waving in the
breeze, or the two officers bickering. The Gunner let them carry on until
after breakfast when he told Tyler that the undies had to come down. The
flagpole could stay, but the underpants would definitely have to come
down. "Too many tourists," The Gunner explained. "Can you imagine what they
might say if they saw Andy's drawers flying in the breeze?"

Tyler had to agree. The civilian mind could never, would never, understand
the force that drove the men in the military.

There had to be pictures, of course, it being the last day and
all. Nicholas's camera had a timer on it and he rigged a tripod of
sorts. With much cursing he and Todd, using Cory and Ray as guinea pigs,
position and repositioned the camera until it was perfectly aligned.

Under Nicholas's direction, with Tyler and Val kibitzing, they formed
themselves under the flagpole, Andy's underpants flying proudly, and took a
group photograph. Nicholas set the timer, and fiddled with the camera, then
scampered to stand beside Val and Tyler. The camera whirled and clicked
five times.

"I sure as hell hope a print of that picture never lands on the Director of
Cadets' desk. I'm scuppered for sure if it does." worried The Gunner.

"They'll never get it developed," said Kyle.

"Wanna bet?" Andy grinned. "You'd be surprised what I can get up to when I
put my mind to it."

"You really think you can get some lab to process a picture of eighteen
naked guys?" asked The Gunner. Andy was good, but not that good.

"Sure."

"A print for each of us?" The Gunner was still sceptical. Nobody was that
good.

"Piece of cake."

"I'm dead. My career is finished," moaned The Gunner in mock agony.

"If anybody asks I will simply tell them you were some beach bum we picked
up."  Andy laughed and walked away.

"He would, too," grumped The Gunner as they followed Andy. "Come on, Kyle,
time to get things organized. Next stop, Miracle Beach and showers."

******

Just before they left Harwood Island The Gunner watched as Andy's briefs
were ceremoniously lowered and presented to him by Tyler, who bowed low. As
he did so, Harry, well back, broke wind. Andy chased him, tackled him, sat
on his chest, and rubbed his briefs in Harry's face. Harry howled in
indignation. "Oh, Gawd, the smell, the smell," he yelled.  "Help, guys, I'm
dying here."

Andy cackled evilly. "That's what you get for making mock of a very
emotional and heart warming ceremony. You, Harry, have no couth."

"Andy, they are only a pair of your old underpants," replied Harry, as if
talking to a child.

"And very close to my heart. They happen to be family heirlooms," insisted
Andy deadpan.

"Yeah, made by Fruit of the Heirlooms." Andy rubbed the briefs across
Harry's head. Harry immediately began screaming rape. "Help. Tyler, Val,
help me. I'm in a world of hurt."

"Why, are my big balls crushing your chest?" asked Andy.

"Those little orbs?" retorted Harry. " Fuck, Andy, I've seen bigger balls
on a stud budgie."

Andy laughed so hard he fell of Harry and lay writhing in the sand until
The Gunner came over and helped him to his feet.

"Andy, I just had an idea." The Gunner turned. "Stuart, Steve, Val,
Tyler. Nicholas." He placed his cupped hand on the top of his head,
signalling for the cadets to come over. "Gentlemen, how would you like to
go into AURORA in style?" he asked. "What do you think about dressing
ship?"

"With what?" asked Nicholas, "We don't have any signal flags."

"But we have two first rate Bosn's, whipping twine, line, and . . ." The
Gunner held up Andy's briefs.

******

They cruised westward, heading toward Miracle Beach Park, Nicholas and
Harry busily making the lines they would need. The Phantom, under
Nicholas's direction, snickered and giggled as he sewed lengths of twine
into the donated pieces clothing. In the following boat Steve, Chris and
Stuart performed the same duty. Towards noon the whalers approached Miracle
Beach and the sailors saw the long winding beach full of bathers and
swimmers. Small boats darted about, making navigation difficult. The
Gunner, with Kyle following, tacked to the far end of the park. They
grounded the whalers just below the low dune on which stood the Ranger's
building.

After The Gunner paid 18 full admissions to the park they followed their
noses and hit the concession stands where the cadets pigged out on greasy
hamburgers, fried onions, fries, and gallons of coke. With The Gunner
grumbling about highway robbers and unscrupulous civilians taking advantage
of poor sailors, they returned to the whalers where they sorted through the
freshly laundered uniforms.

"You actually went to a Laundromat and washed our uniforms?" Steve asked
Two Strokes. "You did that for us?"

"Sure, why not? I'm only sorry I couldn't get them ironed," apologized Two
Strokes.

"Getting them washed was more than enough. We really appreciate it." Tyler
held up his navy shorts, "Besides, they're not so bad."

With their clean uniforms, towels and soap in hand they all trooped up to
the public showers where they enjoyed long, hot showers, washing away their
accumulated aches and pains, steaming away the salt and grime left by two
days in the sun, swimming, and lying on the beach.

"Well, that sure got the wrinkles out of our dicks," chuckled Greg as they
walked back to the whalers.

"Even The Gunner's," guffawed Two Strokes.

"I heard that Leading Cadet."

"But, I'm a Cadet Petty Officer," protested Two Strokes

"Don't make book on it."

******

Before they left Cory and Steve, as agile as monkeys, climbed the masts
hand over hand and slipped the grommetted lines into place. "Jesus,
Gunner," exclaimed Tyler, "Cory might look like a wimp, but Jesus, is he
strong!"

"Cory is a man of many parts. He can even recite Kipling," returned The
Gunner loyally.

"Oh, God, not another one," groaned Tyler.

They pushed the boats into the waters of the Strait and pointed the bows
south, toward AURORA. The shoreline to starboard was alive with
activity. It was a warm, sunny, Sunday afternoon and the beaches were
crowded with sunbathers, the waters swarming with swimmers of all ages. To
port, sailboats, large and small, with a few stinkpots - cabin cruisers -
crowded the waters. They sailed as close inshore as they could, wanting to
avoid the traffic to seaward. As The Gunner watched Phantom putting the
finishing touches to the lines, he sighed contentedly.

"Me, too," murmured Tyler. "This has been a weekend I'll remember forever."

"Oh, I'll remember it," declared The Gunner. "I've been bitten by half the
sand fleas and bugs in North America, I'm sunburned in parts I can't
mention in public, my wallet is as flat as the back of Two Stroke's head
and I have a feeling that I shall soon get a stern letter from my bank
manager about abusing my overdraft. And I don't even want to think about
what American Express is going to say."

"You don't mean that."

"No, Tyler. I don't. My only regret is we didn't do this sooner."

Tyler nodded. "The guys really appreciate what you did. Not everybody would
put up with us."

"Don't get all maudlin, on me, Chief. We all needed a break. We all needed
to get away for a while. I know I did. Mind you, I really didn't think that
spending most of my time in my birthday suit was part of it."

Tyler chuckled. "You know, except for when the Twins stripped off to do
that swimming exercise, I never even thought about being naked!" He leaned
forward and whispered. "I never even got a hardon all week end. Not even my
usual morning stiffy."

"Maybe you just got accustomed to the idea. Once the shock wore off, who
cared?"

Tyler gave The Gunner a flashing grin. "That's true. Then again, maybe I'm
getting like you."

"Me?"

"Yeah. Old."

The Gunner laughed and clipped the back of Tyler's head. "You like being a
Chief?"

"Sure do."

"Enjoy it while it lasts, Petty Officer."

******

They cruised slowly south, close inshore, watching the shoreline, admiring
the view, and occasionally taking pictures. As they approached the slight
bulge in the coastline that marked the thin roadway separating the swimming
area of AURORA from the waters of the Strait, The Gunner turned the tiller
over to Tyler and took out his binoculars. He scanned the shore, panning
past the buildings. "It's busy for a Sunday," he told Tyler. "There are
lots of cadets on the beach, and the Yanks are back. The cutter is
alongside the jetty."

Tyler's face lit up. "Hey, good, that means Mark and Tony are back." As
they sailed briskly past the Guardhouse two slim figures emerged and
waved. Tyler shaded his eyes and asked, "Who's that on shore?"

"Dave Eddy and Fred." The Gunner returned the wave.

Tyler reached under the seat and put his Chief's cap on. He looked aft and
waved to Val, who waved back, and then put his cap on. "You're rushing it,
aren't you?" asked The Gunner.

"Enjoying my rank while I can," grinned Tyler. "Might lose it, you know."

"Not yet. But soon, smartass."

They waved to a group of cadets sunning themselves in the beach. Jon and
the two galley Makee-Learns, Joey and Randy, were in the water nearby,
skylarking and splashing in surf. As the whalers drew near Jon said
something to the two young cadets, who nodded in agreement and before the
astonished eyes of the whaler crews they pushed down their bathing suits
and waggled their dicks at them. "Jesus, don't they think of anything
else?" The Gunner asked, his voice filled with disbelief at what he was
seeing.

"No," replied Tyler truthfully. "And look at that." He pointed toward the
beach.

The Gunner looked shoreward and saw two of the older cadets, David and
Ryan, with their trunks down, mooning him. "Jesus, help me, I'm surrounded
by exhibitionists," The Gunner groaned plaintively.

"The spirit of AURORA. Bum, balls, and dick, always ready," laughed Tyler.

Just before making their turn into the harbour they downed sail and started
the outboards. They would go into harbour under power. The cadets put on
their gunshirts, then their caps, chin stays down.  Their life jackets,
until now serving as cushions and pillows, were reluctantly donned. Cory
and The Phantom took their places amidships, waiting for the word to Dress
Ship. As they passed the southernmost point of Goose Spit the Gunner gave
the order and both boys moved, Cory forward, The Phantom aft, where they
secured the lines.

The bars and restaurants that lined the shore were full of tourists and
townsfolk who laughed and pointed as the two whalers crossed the
harbour. Many of them had cameras and snapped away. The cadets returned the
waves and laughed and took their own pictures as The Gunner looked over his
head, admiring the cadets' handiwork. Two lines stretched fore and aft,
each carrying, in place of the usual signal flags and pennants used for
Dressing Ship, the collected underpants of the crew.

They had all contributed, with boxers predominating. In The Gunner's boat
his baggy, white, Kmart specials paled against Tyler's vibrant, red tartan
boxers, which had been a gift from his Mother; he had never worn them,
preferring the snugness of his tighty-whiteys. He had thought to sleep in
them but as everyone had been naked much of the time, he had forgotten all
about them until contributions for Dress Ship were called for. Next to them
flew a pair of Ray's white briefs (one of four he had contributed. As a
cook, he knew the value of clean underwear and always came prepared). Next
to Ray's conservative briefs Cory's black and white pinstriped boxers,
which he insisted he had included in his kit in the unlikely event they
attended church somewhere along the line, snapped in the breeze alongside
Todd's vivid, emerald green, sleeping boxers. Two Strokes' ribbed grey
jockeys separated Nicholas' drawers, navy blue patterned with varicoloured
signal flags, from a huge pair of underpants donated by Harry, which were
deep blue, with yellow happy faces on them. Close hauled, in the place of
honour, were The Phantom's blue and white striped boxers.

The Gunner looked aft and saw that Kyle's boat was just as colourfully
decorated as his. Kyle had contributed a hideous pair of mustard yellow
boxers, which were almost as tasteless as Andy's red paisley briefs. Val,
not to be outdone by Tyler, had donated a pair yellow, blue and green
tartan patterned boxers. Chris had chosen a pair of Cory's borrowed boxers,
red, green and blue stripes that contrasted sharply with the tighty whiteys
rigged on either side (Greg and Steve were diehard briefs men), while Rob's
puke green issue drawers flew next to a pair of green and red tartan boxers
belong to Stuart, who insisted that this was the Stuart Tartan and who, as
Chief Boatswains Mate, had made certain that they flew in the place of
honour.

As the ferry for Texada and Powell River pulled away from its pier the
Captain sounded it's horn, a long, throaty sound echoing against the
tree-lined shore. A forty-foot cabin cruiser passed slowly by and tooted,
the passengers on the stern saluting with their drinks the underwear
snapping in the breeze and the White Ensigns streaming from the
sternposts. The Gunner acknowledged the salutes and panned his glasses over
the crowd on the jetty. Most of the cadets were wearing shorts, negative
tees. He saw a flash of white drill and knobbly knees. The Commanding
Officer and Number One were waiting on the jetty. The sun flashed off of
polished brass as a pickup band played A Life On the Ocean Wave. The Gunner
turned to The Phantom. "Your folks are on the jetty."

"Hell and sheeit," drawled The Phantom. "Looks like we're home."