Date: Wed, 28 May 2003 18:22:01 -0400
From: John Ellison <paradegi@rogers.com>
Subject: The Phantom Of Aurora: Chapter 16

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

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

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

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

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


The Phantom of Aurora: Chapter 16


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

******

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Phantom nodded.

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

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

Ryan shook his head. "No."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Oh, Ryan," breathed The Phantom.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

******

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

The Phantom nodded and left.

"Well?" asked The Gunner.

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

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

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

"So he's not being sent home?"

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

"There's no cure?"

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

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

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

"Pardon?"

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

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

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

******

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Sir?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Phantom?"

"Yeah?"

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

"But . . ."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

******

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

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

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

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

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

******

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

******

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Brian started laughing loudly.

"What?"

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

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

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

******

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

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

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

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

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

******

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

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

******

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

******

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

******

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

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

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

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

"Can we do it again?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

******

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

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

"About?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Good, huh?" Harry grinned.

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

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

******

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

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

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

"How so?" asked Todd.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

******

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The examinations had begun.

******

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"What?" asked Cory, puzzled.

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

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

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

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

"Beer?" asked Todd hopefully.

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

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

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

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

"Bet your ass, boychick!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Yeah?"

"You're next."

"I . . . WHAT?"

"Next," laughed Ray.

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

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

******

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

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

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

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

"May I ask why?"

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

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

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

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

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

******

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

Todd waited patiently for the first question to come.

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

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

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

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

"Everybody?" asked Andy.

"Yes, sir, everybody."

"Including people you dislike?" asked Kyle.

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

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

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

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

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

"A debt?" asked Kyle.

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

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

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

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

"I take that as a compliment, sir."

"I thought you would," replied Dave dryly.

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

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

"The Permanent Force?" asked Andy.

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

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

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

******

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"We're promoted?" asked Harry.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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