It is not true! It is not true!

Over and over Little Big Man repeated the mantra, squeezing his head with his hands as Matt’s words echoed again and again through his brain. He heard again the laughter of the other boys. His face burned with unquenchable hate.

“You want what you think I’m getting.”

Matt’s stinging words returned, louder, with more and more laughter accompanying them.

Little Big Man had rushed from the Mess Hall, the laughter and ridicule fading slowly as he hurried to his own Mess where he found the sanctuary of his bed. He buried his head in his pillow and screamed a silent scream.

It is not true! It is not true!

Over and over Paul Greene muttered the words to himself.

I am not a fag! I am not queer! It is not true! It is not true!

Little Big Man moved from self-denial to burning hatred of his brother. How dare he! How dare Matt, his own brother, accuse him of wanting to have sex with boys!

As he tossed and turned on his bed Little Big Man was so consumed with his own hatreds and insecurities that he blocked all remembrances of his own vile accusations, not only against his brother, but also against the Twins, and Rob, and Ryan, from his memories.

How dare he say such a thing to me? Paul asked himself. How could Matt say such a thing when I have never, ever, done anything, nothing . . .

Deep within his soul Little Big Man felt a Beast stir uneasily. A shackle loosened and the Beast began rising.

Paul’s hand dropped to his groin and under the layered fabric of his bells and underpants Little Big Man felt his penis stirring. His hand moved slowly, alternately kneading and rubbing his rising organ. An image formed in his mind. An image of a dark haired, impossibly handsome boy with emerald eyes that flashed with life formed, and then faded, replaced by images, images slowly forming of . . .

“No!” groaned Little Big Man as his hand rubbed faster. “No!” Slowly the mist cleared from his brain and the images of two slim, gloriously handsome golden-haired boys, their bronzed, perfect bodies surrounded by an aurora borealis of colour, their blue eyes sparkling with life as their hands slowly beckoned for him to join them. “No,” he groaned. “No . . .”

The images smiled and he saw that they were near images of the other, even to their genitals, slim, rose and tan perfection, except one had testicles that seemed slightly smaller than the other’s.

Little Big Man’s hand was a whirr as he rubbed faster and faster, his penis, thick and hard, threatening to break the bonds of cloth that held it close. He felt himself being transported as the feelings of ecstasy began to overwhelm him. He moaned and thrust his upper body forward, leaning down as his hand brought him closer to the edge of the precipice.

As Little Big Man pumped frantically, and his orgasm began rising deep within his groin, the laughing figures that filled his brain grew larger and larger. He began moaning, and thrusting his steely erection into his encompassing fist.

Deep within Paul the Beast roared and clawed the air, it’s claws sharp and pointed. A great trembling rolled through Little Big Man and the Beast threw back it’s head, it’s fangs bare and menacing, bellowing a silent scream as . . .

Suddenly, the light exploded and the head of Little Big Man’s penis throbbed and pulsed. Wave after wave of warm, sticky semen spurted forward, coating his belly and soaking his clothing. With each spurt of his fluid Paul Greene’s body jerked until finally, he was empty.

The figures were gone, and the Beast returned to its lair. Slowly the shackles closed, and the Beast slept.

******

At precisely 0600 Little Big Man, dressed in combats and high, tightly laced combat boots, sullenly entered the Master-at-Arms’ Office. As he expected, Tyler was waiting for him.

Little Big Man was smugly confident. At first, last night, he had been afraid and a little apprehensive. He was in shit up to his neck and knew it. Last night he had crossed a line and had, if the matter were pushed, assaulted a fellow cadet. It did not matter a damn that the cadet in question was his younger brother. Paul had tossed and turned half the night, his anger very quickly overpowering his fear. Goddamn Matt! Wasn’t it enough that he was so fucking good looking? Wasn’t it enough that he was everybody’s little buddy? Matt had it all and with a laugh and a smile he got it on silver platter! It was all Matt’s fault! Matt knew that he was not supposed to hang around with perverts. Matt knew it! He knew it was a sin!

Matt knew that he was not supposed to let guys tell him about certain things! He knew it, and he went and ignored everything he had been told! Matt was hanging around with the very people Daddy had told him not to hang around with. Fucking Matt! All he had to do was obey Daddy! It was bad enough that Matt hung around with that Jew-boy in Ottawa. He’d paid, big time for that. Daddy had whipped him good. Matt had slunk off to bed, where he lay and whined for two days.

As if it did him any good! Nobody had any sympathy for Matt, not even Momma, who told the ungrateful little bastard that it was his duty as a son to obey his father in all things. She had made no bones about it. Matt had gotten exactly what he deserved for consorting with a Jew.

As he left his barracks and walked toward the Headquarters Building, Little Big Man had convinced himself of his total rightness in doing what he had done. He was not afraid of Tyler at all. What could he do, really? The Master-At-Arms couldn’t very well let the other guys have at him. The dumb jerks would no doubt love to beat him to a pulp, but that would leave bruises, which would please Daddy no end. Sergeant Greene could trumpet all over the base that his son had been beaten for his Christian beliefs, beaten by the very people who were corrupting the nation’s morals and mongrelizing the country!

And that would make me a hero, thought Little Big Man. A true Aryan hero who stood up for his beliefs and tried to protect his misguided little brother!

Why, he might even get to meet the True Leader! Even Daddy hadn’t met the True Leader! Not even Reverend Tumbrel, who was really a slimy, grossly overweight little man that made Paul queasy every time the slug looked at him, not even he had met the True Leader.

Little Big Man mentally kicked himself for not antagonizing the other cadets to the point where they would beat him up. Martyrs were not born! They were created, and damn, it had been a golden opportunity and he had blown it! Shit! Now all that would happen would be he’d be sent home on the first flight out of CFB Comox, which was okay as far as he was concerned.

Paul had had his fill of this nest of queers and child molesters. He could hardly wait to get home. He would sit down with Daddy, and the Reverend Mr. Tumbrel, and he would tell them everything he had not put in the letters. God, they would be pleased and he would get the promotion they’d been promising him. They would make him a Sturmscharfuhrer at the very least; maybe even let him wear the black uniform with the silver badges.

Little Big Man’s sprits lifted even higher when he recalled another promise made. Why, with luck, they might even send him to that special camp hidden deep in the Laurentians!

Little Big Man braced before Tyler and stared at him. Send me home, asshole, oh please, send me home, he begged silently. Send me home and I’ll make you the sorriest son of bitch ever born!

******

Tyler stood behind his desk, his back straight, his combat uniform (a souvenir from QUEST) impeccably ironed and starched, his combat boots spit shined, his green beret creased and moulded just so, neatly placed at the far right corner of his desk. Tyler was outwardly rigidly correct. Inwardly he was resisting with almost Herculean effort the urge to reach out and slap the smug look off the little prick’s face.

The Master-at-Arms had not had a very good night. He had had to make sure that Matt was calmed down and able to sleep. He had almost had to tie Cory to his bunk to prevent him from rampaging through the Petty Officers Mess using Little Big Man as a punching bag. He had had a flaming row with Harry, who wanted to join in Cory’s threatened rampage, and he had had words with Val over what could, and could not be done to Little Big Man!

As the level of the rum they had taken with them when they left the Mess Hall got lower and lower the argument in the Gunroom raged.

Two Strokes threatened a castration party. Chris, Jon and Fred all pulled out their Bosun knives and offered to help. Nicholas sat forming a hangman’s knot in a length of rope. Todd, white with anger, sat punching his fist into his palm over and over again.

Greg, when he had been told of what happened, had sought solace in the rum bottle. He was terrified that Little Big Man would return home and tell everything he knew - or thought he knew - about his relationship with Stephen Tyler. After three drinks he threw up all over the deck (narrowly missing Harry, who was not amused) and then crawled into his bunk, pulled the covers over his head and curled up in the foetal position, where he remained all night, moaning.

Tyler had used all his authority, all his persuasion and, he was afraid, much of his credibility, to persuade the others to let him handle Little Big Man. They did not agree with him for the most part, but they were good cadets and accepted it with as ill a grace as possible.

And now he was here.

“Petty Officer Greene reporting as ordered!” said Little Big Man loudly, louder than was necessary. Little Big Man was staring straight ahead and missed seeing Tyler’s left eyebrow cock expressively.

Tyler was icy calm. “You will lower your voice and you will address me as sir.” His voice was cold, his words razor edged with contempt.

Little Big Man swallowed. There was a very real danger in Tyler, a danger that he had never seen before. “Yes, sir, sorry sir.”

Tyler leaned forward, his clenched fists pressed against the hard wood of his desk. It was the only way he could keep himself from hitting Little Big Man. He stared directly into Little Big Man’s eyes. “I am not going to ask you to explain your conduct last night, because I am not interested in any explanation from you.”

“With respect, sir, I was only trying to protect my brother from those . . .” interjected Little Big Man. He was so sure that he was going to be sent home that he threw caution to the winds.

“Don’t say it, Greene. I warn you now, do not say it unless you want to meet Harry in the Drill Shed.”

Little Big Man, too wrapped up in himself, did not hear the implication. Had he been listening he would have realized that Tyler had not addressed him by his rank, something that the Master-At-Arms never failed to do when dealing with subordinates. Little Big Man had seen the burning anger in Tyler’s eyes and paused. Tyler was not making a threat. He was making a statement of fact.

In the same calm, icy voice Tyler continued. “Last night you conducted yourself in a totally inappropriate, unacceptable manner. From the day you arrived here you have insulted your peers; you have accused innocent people, without foundation or proof of evidence, of aberrant and heinous behaviour. You have disobeyed orders, you have shirked your duties, you have instigated fist fights and you have deliberately gone out of your way to insult and alienate every officer and cadet present on board!” Tyler straightened. “You have allowed your personal prejudices and bigotry to warp your judgement and prejudice your relationships with the other cadets to the extent that you are universally disliked, if not actively hated.”

“I am entitled to my beliefs, sir,” Little Big Man replied calmly. He had a duty to perform, a duty to defend the righteous beliefs of the Aryan Brotherhood, beliefs that he held sacred and so far as he was concerned superseded the claptrap and nonsense of tolerance and diversity that was preached on every Sea Cadet drill deck in the country.

“And the other cadets are entitled not to have to listen to your vitriol, your hatred or your threats,” returned Tyler, his temper so tightly controlled that the veins in his neck stood out. “Now keep silent!”

Little Big Man felt he had scored a point so did as he was told.

“Last month you were involved in an incident with other cadets,” Tyler said, his voice cold. “At the time I felt that by isolating you, by making you realize what you were losing, that you would at least attempt to mend your ways. I was wrong.”

Little Big Man said nothing. He suspected that the threat of Harry was very real and he did not wish to meet Harry in the Drill Shed, in the School of Wind, or anywhere else.

Tyler’s gaze was unwavering. “After last night I realized that the actions taken against you last month, actions, which I foolishly instigated and initiated, had done absolutely nothing. You have not, in any way, shape or form, seen the error of your ways, just as you have made no attempt to change your ways, and frankly I doubt you ever will! In a what I now realize was a misguided moment, I tried to give you a second chance, a chance to understand just what it was that you were losing.” He bent and opened the drawer to his desk and pulled out a long piece of paper. He gave Little Big Man a look of pity mixed with revulsion. “Last month I made a mistake. I made a gross error in judgement. In a way, I should thank you for that.”

Little Big Man was surprised. “I beg your pardon?”

Tyler’s smile was grim. “You are the type of person who cannot be rehabilitated. You are a bad seed, Greene. No matter how kind people are to you, no matter how they try to help you, you spit back their kindness and their caring.” He smiled thinly. “Thank you for making me see that, for helping me to realize that when dealing with people like you, it is better to cut my losses, and sever you from the Service as an Administrative Burden, than it is to extend the hand of friendship. In the long term it’s not worth my time or effort.”

Little Big Man sniffed, his nostrils wide, his lips full of contempt. What a weak, ball-less wonder Tyler was!

“Sign this,” directed Tyler.

“What is it . . . sir?”

“Your Course Report. You do not have to agree with it, you are only required to acknowledge that you have read it. If you don’t like it, put in a grievance.”

Little Big Man slowly read the report. To say that it was bad was an understatement. He had been found deficient in four of the ten categories, unsatisfactory in two (Conduct and Deportment) and marked only satisfactory in two: dress and drill.

“Your career as a Sea Cadet is over,” continued Tyler as Little Big Man read the report. “I shall make it a point to ensure that this report is not lost in some round file. You will never be allowed to return to Aurora.”

Little Big Man looked at Tyler and glared at him. “You don’t have that authority, Chief.”

Tyler gave Little Big Man a smug smile. “No, I do not. But the man who signed the Review Section does.”

What Little Big Man did not know was that after he had calmed the Gunroom, Tyler had rung the Executive Officer, explained what had happened, and taken his advice as to the punishment to be visited on Little Big Man.

Little Big Man paled slightly and turned to the back page of the report and read the signature scrawled under the hand-written endorsement. He read the endorsement and the colour drained from his face. “I’m out of the Band?” he gasped. “I’ve lost my rate?”

Tyler nodded slowly, trying hard not to show the satisfaction he felt. “The Executive Officer has had his fill of you. He’s waiting in his office if you wish to dispute his decision.”

Little Big Man fought down the urge to lash out, to defend his rights. Then he reconsidered. Persecution made martyrs. With a gesture of defiant bravado he signed his Course Report. “So, when do I leave?” he asked as he stepped back from the desk.

“Leave? Why would you ask that? You’re not going anywhere,” replied Tyler, feigning surprise at Little Big Man’s question.

“I . . . well . . . what?”

Tyler could not prevent a smug smile crossing his lips. He had, indeed, toyed with the idea of requesting that Little Big Man be sent home, Returned To Unit, as the saying went. Then he thought why should the little bastard be given the opportunity of an early return to his web to spin his lying tales? At least here in Aurora Greene would have no opportunity to plot with his father, or spread his venomous lies.

Tyler leaned forward until his nose was almost touching Little Big Man’s. “You are staying here, you little prick,” he growled low. “I do not intend to let you off so easily. Here you are, and here you stay until next week.”

Little Big Man pulled away. “I’ll put in a grievance!” he snarled.

Tyler laughed mirthlessly. “That and a buck will get you a beer in any pub in town.” He snorted. “That is if you were old enough and if there was a pub low enough to let you in.” He picked up the Course Report, folded it, and put it in his desk drawer. He regarded Little Big Man, shook his head, and sat down. “Greene, I cannot for the life of me understand you. I wish I did because then I would know why you threw away the chance of a lifetime.”

Little Big Man did not have a clue what Tyler was getting at. “What chance?” he demanded, trying not to lose his temper, and not at all interested in Tyler’s lost chances. “What chance was that? The chance to be abused and persecuted?”

Tyler glared at it him. “Abused? An unwise word to use when I consider the bruises inflicted on your brother’s body! Bruises, I suspect, you helped to put there!”

“You have no proof that I had anything to do with that!” snapped Little Big Man.

Tyler nodded in agreement. “No, I haven’t. But there was abuse and, since Matt is only 15, I cannot help but wonder what the Children’s Aid Society will think about it. Your brother is a minor child and comes under the CAS mandate. There are people who will take great delight in learning just what goes on behind closed doors at the Greene house.”

At first Little Big Man was inclined to dismiss Tyler’s threat as an empty vessel. After all, why would any one from Victoria bother with something that was happening in Ottawa? Then he remembered who the Twins’ father was and for the first time he was frightened. An investigation by the child welfare agency would be a disaster. The agency could, and would, inspect the house and if they saw the basement room . . . with the flags . . . with the portrait . . .

“As for persecution,” Tyler continued unsympathetically, “you have deliberately gone out of your way, not only this year, but last year as well, to persecute two of your fellow cadets for their perceived sexuality.”

“They’re queers!” snarled Little Big Man, a note of triumph in his voice. He had Tyler there. “Everybody knows that they’re faggots and queers!”

Tyler gave Little Big Man a withering look. “Prove it!” he snarled.

“I beg your pardon?”

“Prove to me that you are right in saying that the Twins are homosexual.” Tyler would not give the little son of a bitch any satisfaction by using the pejoratives that spilled daily from his foul mouth.

Little Big Man tried to think. There had to be a time . . .

Tyler, tiring of this sordid game, spoke up. “You can’t!” he said, a gloating tone in his voice. “You can’t because the Twins have never, by word or deed done anything to you, to your brother or to any cadet in Aurora. They might talk the talk, but so do half the cadets here. They do not walk the walk! You cannot name one other cadet who has claimed, or will claim that Cory or Todd touched them or made an inappropriate move against them.”

Try as he might, Little Big Man could not name one name. He might think it, but he could not, in truth, prove it, for no one had ever complained about the Twins. “I know what I know,” he insisted stubbornly.

“Which is sweet fuck all!” Tyler stood up and pointed at Little Big Man. “Here’s what is going to happen. When you walk out that door you are an Able Cadet, General Service. You will report, every morning, at 0800, unless you are on watch, to the Chief Boatswains Mate . . .”

Dear God what a row that little bit of news had caused when Tyler told Stuart earlier on. The Buffer might project the outward appearance of the most placid, happy-go-lucky of cadets, but when aroused (in more ways than one this morning) look out!

Stuart had been in his bunk sound asleep when Tyler shook him awake. He had also been in the middle of what was proving to be one fuck of an erotic dream, involving a blonde, a redhead, both with huge boobs and gaping vaginas, a keg of vodka and Steve! Now what the hell Steve was doing in one of his dreams Stuart didn’t know. What he did know was that his body was responding to the erotic stimuli being produced by his brain and was deciding whether to increase the testosterone level and activate the semen ejection pump, or just forget the whole thing and wake up. Rolling over onto his stomach and humping his mattress only exacerbated the situation.

Being rudely awakened in the middle of a wet dream was not one Stuart’s most favourite things, nor was jumping out of his bunk with his boner sticking out of the slit of his boxers, standing straight and wet and all but winking at Tyler! He had let Tyler have it with both barrels. It was bad enough that he and to sleep in a barracks with 40 sex-starved perverts who spent half the night grunting, groaning, moaning and sighing while they thumped themselves into oblivion! It was worse that in the next barracks there were 40 more deviants who yelled, fought amongst themselves, slammed locker doors and spent half the night grunting, groaning, moaning and sighing while they thumped themselves into oblivion!

Stuart ranted that he was sick, sore and tired of being gifted with every white trash, Queen’s Hard Bargain that crawled scratching and blinking out of the bilges! He would be damned to a deep and pluperfect hell before he would go along with Tyler this time! Send Little Big Man to the YAGs. They were all fruitcakes anyway and one more nut in the batter mix wouldn’t be noticed! Send him to Sick Bay where Matron could practice sticking needles into him or Doc could use him for medical experiments, hopefully ones involving emasculation! Send him to Hull, Hell, or Halifax, but to Boatswain Stores he was not going! Stuart was having none of it. He stomped off to the showers, leaving Tyler standing in the middle of the barracks. Shortly afterward a long, drawn-out scream of anguish told everyone in hearing distance that the water was still off.

When Stuart returned Tyler had quietly, but firmly, reaffirmed his decision. Little Big Man would be working for the Deck Department, in whatever job he, Stuart, saw fit to give him.

Stuart, faced with the implacable Tyler, nodded his agreement with as ill a grace as he could muster. Then he threw his boots at Steve.

******

When Tyler had finished his litany of punishments Little Big Man left the Regulating Office and returned to his cubicle, where he was confined when not working. He sat on his bunk and mulled over everything Tyler had said to him. The restrictions placed on him were not all that onerous: dipped to Able Cadet, confined to barracks, dismissed from the Band, and working as a general dogsbody for Stuart. All in all not too bad.

Little Big Man didn’t even have to shift his gear over to the Boatswains’ Barracks. Tyler had made it quite clear to him that he had no intention of inciting a mutiny by shifting him to either the Boatswains or the Band barracks. That last thing the Master-At-Arms needed were 80 or more disgruntled cadets whistling all over the place.

Little Big Man was not all that distressed at the punishments inflicted on him. He was a True Aryan Man, Ein Zutreffender Mann. There would be more punishments, more pitfalls before the Brotherhood triumphed. He was not afraid. The enemies of the Brotherhood might be legion, but in the end the forces of good would be triumphant. He stood up, opened his locker and began dragging out his soiled clothing, gunshirts, T-shirts, underwear and socks. He really had to do a laundry but with the water off he doubted that he’d be able to, at least not any time soon.

He returned to his bunk and began bagging his laundry, thinking about what Tyler had said about the child welfare people. He’d been wrong to dismiss Tyler’s words as an idle threat. On reflection he realized that there was one man who could report any abuse: Justice Arundel. As a Justice of the Supreme Court he had to spend a large part of his time in Ottawa. And he had influence. Look what had happened to Lieutenant Farnsworth when he had accidentally bumped that faggot, Phantom! Busted, forced to resign his commission. Little Big Man could see the dark hand of the Twins, and their father in that little evolution!

Damn, those fucking Twins would make sure that their father knew all about Matt’s bruises! If anybody could make good on Tyler’s threat it was the Twins! He pounded his bunk in frustration

Rolling some socks into a tight ball, Little Big Man threw them angrily in the laundry bag! Damn, Damn. He would have to talk fast and loose when he got home. Daddy could not, must not, touch Matt while the family was still in Ottawa.

Still, Little Big Man thought, relaxing, there was time. Matt would not be leaving for home for another week. As he threw some wrinkled gunshirts into the bag Little Big Man nodded slowly. He would reopen the letter he had written the day before and give Daddy a heads-up. He wouldn’t say much as it wasn’t wise to put too much on paper. He would report Matt’s conduct of last night. That went without saying, just as he would report the injustices done to him by Tyler and the Executive Officer.

The more he thought of it the more pleased Little Big Man became. By not sending him home Tyler was doing him a huge service. Daddy would not have been pleased to see him sent home in disgrace, or lose a week’s worth of opportunity. Last night Matt had dug the first spade full of dirt for his own grave. This was good; this was very good. Little Big Man began humming the Horst Wessel Liede. Humming softly, because he never knew who might be listening and recognize the Brotherhood’s anthem.

By not sending him home, and assigning him to the Boatswains, Little Big Man reasoned that Tyler had done him an even greater service. The Boatswains worked everywhere, the Dockyard, the Boatswain Stores, the Drill Shed. He might be a dog’s body or slavey general, but he would no longer be cooped up in the School of Wind, or out on the parade square. He would more or less have free run of the ship. He could monitor Matt’s every move. He could keep an eye on the deviants. With luck he would find the proof against the Twins. They were faggots and like all faggots they would put the moves on the wrong guy and when they did, he would be waiting.

Thank you, Tyler! Little Big Man thought triumphantly as he tossed some dirty socks into his kitbag. He glanced at the sealed envelope - the letter he had neglected to post - sitting on the lower shelf of his locker and smiled. Tonight he would expand on his report, and try to think of a way to deferentially tell Daddy to cool his jets for a while.

Yessir, Paul agreed silently to himself, all he had to do was sit back and watch and wait and then, when he got home, he’d fill Daddy in, chapter and verse and then Matt would pay. They would all pay and . . . A huge, dark shadow loomed over him and he looked up to see the scowling face of Mike glowering at him.

“AND JUST WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU THINK YOU’RE DOING, YOU IDLE SHOWER OF SHIT?” bellowed Mike.

Little Big Man did not know what was biting Mike’s ass, and he was in no particular hurry to find out. “Just folding my laundry, Chief Sunderland,” he replied warily.

Mike seemed to swell with anger. He had been minding his own business, trucking along to breakfast when Tyler had cornered him and told him that not only would this little piece of shit not be moved out of the Petty Officers Mess, he, Mike Sunderland, Chief Physical Training Instructor and a cadet with six years experience, would have to keep an eye on him!

Mike was not pleased. He and the Phillip, called The Assistant, while not in love, were making love whenever they could. For the first time in his life Mike was getting his end wet on a regular basis, God Damn it, and this little prick had to be watched!

Which meant that if he were watching Little Big Man the little bastard would be watching him! To make a bad situation worse Little Big Man was confined to barracks when he wasn’t working and would be underfoot and watching every move the other guys made; an unwanted, malevolent evil bird of prey who would take great delight in reporting so much as a sideways glance or a misplaced hand to his Daddy, for fuck sakes! Or worse, shoot his mouth off all over the Mess Hall, like he did last night!

God Damn, God Damn, it was getting so that a guy couldn’t even have a goodnight snuggle unless the moon was down and the dogs were locked away!

Well, here was one puppy that was not going cause anymore trouble! He bent down and stared stonily at Little Big Man. “Tyler told me what you did, you little fuck!” he whispered menacingly. “Tyler is a nice guy. I am not!”

Little Big Man cringed and drew back. He really didn’t understand why Mike was acting this way. Hell, he’d never done anything to Mike at all. He’d had no reason to. As far as he was concerned Mike was a sexless, grotesque creature who was more to be pitied than laughed at. Hell, the poor bastard couldn’t even raise a morning woody half the time. “Please, Chief, I have no quarrel with you,” pleaded Little Big Man. “You’re okay!”

Mike drew back and stared at Little Big Man. “What’s that supposed to mean?” he asked.

“You’re not like the rest of them.”

Mike paused and thought about this. Tyler had told him that Little Big Man had been making some very broad and very unpleasant accusations, including accusing the senior Chiefs of going into the barracks for the sole purpose of molesting the young cadets. In fact, if Tyler was to be believed, Little Big Man thought all the senior Chiefs and cadets were queer.

Just how Tyler had come by this information Mike was not sure. Tyler had not said and Mike had not asked. Having lived with the little fucker, however, Mike believed that Little Big Man was more than capable of making such accusations. The little bastard was always accusing someone of being a queer and Mike reasoned that after having been dipped, turfed from the Band, and gifted on Stuart, Little Big Man would aim his little gun at the Chiefs. If “you’re not like the rest of them” meant what Mike thought it did, the little gun would not be aimed at him or even Phillip.

While feeling relief, Mike was not about to let Little Big Man think for a minute that he would put up with any of his bullshit. Paul Greene might not understand loyalty to one’s shipmates, but Mike did, and he was going to make damned sure that Paul knew it. He gave Little Big Man a searing glare. “And that means what?”

“You’re not one of them at all, you’re not a fag!” Little Big Man said as struggled to stand up. “I know, because I can always tell.”

Mike was trying so hard not to laugh he almost pissed himself. Wait until he told Phillip! “It’s nice to have your seal of approval,” he said with all the sarcasm he could muster. “Not that I care if I have it or not. I really don’t give a fiddler’s fuck what you think of me.”

Startled, Little Big Man drew back. Hell, all he was trying to do was be friendly, and the big moose treats him like shit!

“I’m giving you fair warning, Greene,” continued Mike, a malevolent gleam in his eye. “I am not like Tyler. I will slap you silly if you so much as fart the wrong way.” Little Big Man nodded slowly. Mike pointed toward the door. “Out there, Greene, all the guys, they’re my friends. I’m a funny kind of a guy. I stand by my friends, no matter what they are. You get my meaning?”

“Yes.”

Mike wondered if Paul did. Not that it mattered. Little Big Man was a no-hoper. He would go through life hating everybody until the day came when somebody would stomp him to death. In a way Mike felt sorry for the little git. “Good. Because they are my friends I will not tolerate one word from you. You live here, fine. You keep this entire place spotless. Stay away from the senior cadets and your brother. You keep your tongue in your head. Those are my rules. Obey them and we’ll get along fine. Break one of them, and I promise you, I’ll break your head!”

There was such intensity in Mike’s voice, and a look in his eyes, that made Little Big Man believe that Mike was entirely capable of doing exactly what he said he would do. In a way, Little Big Man was impressed. Mike did not negotiate. He spoke from strength! He pretended to be a gentle giant and he spoke like a man of steel! He wasn’t threatening. He was stating fact. What a pity it was that he chose to align himself with the Sodomites. “May I go now, Chief?” he asked respectfully.

“Remember what I said. No nonsense of any kind. Now go and get your breakfast. And Greene? When you’re on the Range today?” Mike grinned broadly. “Make sure your stay behind the firing line.”

******

The Gunner dropped The Phantom off at the galley and drove on to the Drill Shed where he had some last minute details to attend to. When he entered the galley The Phantom immediately noticed that Chef was not about. Then he remembered that Chef and Andy were supposed to be going into town so that Chef could play with the fishermen. He saw Ray, who was busy mixing a batch of pancake batter. As he approached his friend The Phantom saw that Ray was positively glowing. Ray saw The Phantom approaching and ducked his head and smiled.

“So?” asked The Phantom. He gave Ray an elbow in the ribs. “Do I give you a pass in Seduction 101?”

Ray looked quickly around the galley. Joey and Randy were busy cutting up fruit. Sandro was humming some Russian dirge and removing a pan of sausages from the oven. Ray nodded slowly and blushed. “I had a nice evening, Phantom. I had a really nice evening.”

“And Kevin?” asked The Phantom glancing around. “Did he have a nice evening as well?”

Ray chuckled. “You could say that.” He pushed the bowl of pancake batter to one side and reached up to squeeze The Phantom’s arm. “You were right about what you said I should do.”

The Phantom leaned against the counter and crossed his arms. “It worked out the way I said it would? You managed to talk him into taking a shower with you?”

“It didn’t take any talking. Anyway, Randy took care of that for me, although he didn’t know it.”

The Phantom looked perplexed. “Randy?”

“When Kevin said that he needed to have a shower, Joey told him he couldn’t because the showers were off. Then Randy asked me if Kevin could use our showers.”

“And of course you said no.”

“Of course I said yes!” Ray rolled his eyes and smiled broadly. “Ain’t no flies on me, Phantom!”

The Phantom laughed heartily. “I never thought there were!”

“The Brats think that Kevin is the cat’s ass,” continued Ray. “They were giving him the once over and asking to touch his dick when I walked into the showers.”

“Dirty little buggers!”

“That’s exactly what Kevin called them!” Ray bent double with laughter. “Not to worry, though. I smacked them both on the ass and told them to go and sin no more.”

The Phantom made a mental note to speak to both Joey and Randy. After the Range Shoot all the cadets were scheduled to make use of the base swimming pool. He had a vision of two hundred naked cadets being inspected by two horny Brats. A talking to was definitely in order! “Then what happened?”

Ray launched into an expurgated version of his adventure. “ . . . So I cadged two beers from fridge and we went into Chef’s office and then we . . .” he was saying when a stricken look came over his face. “OH FUCK!” Ray wheeled and hurried into Chef’s office, The Phantom hot on his heels.

“What’s the matter with you?” asked The Phantom as he walked into the office.

“I forgot the beer bottles! And I left the fan on,” explained Ray. He turned off the fan and snatched up the bottles of now skunky and flat beer. “All I needed was for Chef to come back and find . . .”

“Shot stains on his sofa!” interrupted The Phantom.

“What?”

“Shot stains, but not to worry.” The Phantom pointed to the stained cushions, and then turned them over. “There you go, Chef will never know you were in here.” He sniffed ostentatiously. Despite the open windows there was a faint, lingering odour of sex. “Better yet, leave the fan on. It smells awfully spunky in here!”

Ray grimaced and turned on the fan. They left the office and returned to the galley where Ray disposed of the leftover beer. The Phantom could not resist teasing him. “From the look of that sofa I kind of think you guys did more than talk about the weather!”

“We fucked,” Ray murmured. He stared at The Phantom and nodded toward the dining room. “Come on, I’ll help you with the tables.”

“They’re already done. I did them before I left last night.”

“Then we’ll go out to the loading dock and you can have a smoke!”

Wondering what this was all leading up to The Phantom followed Ray out to the dock. “Okay, Ray, what’s going on?” he asked. “What really happened?”

“We fucked!” repeated Ray. “We didn’t make love, we fucked.”

“Oh.”

“Is that all you’re going to say?” Ray sat down on the edge of the loading platform and stared moodily into the distance.

The Phantom sat beside him. He coughed delicately and then looked at Ray. “I take it your first, um, fuck, was not all you thought it might be.”

Ray snorted. “Not really. It was the second one that was out of this world!”

The Phantom’s eyes bugged and he stared at Ray. “The second time? How many times did you guys do it? No, wait, don’t tell me . . .”

Ray smiled shyly. “Phantom, we did it enough times for me to know that I liked it and that I want to do it again.”

The Phantom thought a moment. “But not with Kevin.”

Ray shook his head fiercely. “Of course with Kevin, you ninny!”

“Well then, what’s the problem? For someone who lost his virginity last night, with a guy he wanted to lose it to, you sure as hell don’t look or sound enthusiastic about it.”

Ray shook his head again. “It’s not that at all, Phantom.”

The Phantom realized that Ray’s had something that he wanted to get off his chest. He slowly reached behind Ray and slid his hand down Ray’s back and onto his butt. “Come on, tell me.”

Ray looked at his friend and nodded slowly. “Phantom, last night I did lose my virginity. I got fucked by a guy, and I fucked him.” He could feel The Phantom’s hand coursing small circles on his bum. He looked back and grinned. “You better hope the Brats don’t come out here and see you doing that. They’ll want a turn.”

“Or Sandro. He’d faint, I think.” The Phantom pulled his hand away. Ray promptly reached around and placed it back against his behind. Ray scratched his chin and gave The Phantom a, for Ray, very dirty grin. “I wonder if we should try to get Sandro laid. He’s too nice a guy and . . .”

“I thought we were talking about you getting laid.”

Ray giggled. “Yeah, well I got laid, all right. And it was good. Except for the first time.” He began to drum his feet against the side of the loading dock. “Kevin was just as clueless as I was, Phantom . . .”

“He’s only 15, Ray.”

“I know, and to be honest, it showed.” Ray reached up and put his hand on The Phantom’s shoulder. “We had a pretty good idea of the mechanics of it, and after a couple of false starts he finally managed to get his dick in me.”

“Well, that’s a pretty good start, if you ask me,” replied The Phantom dryly.

“Yes, I suppose so. The only problem was, he was so excited that he was only halfway in when he squirted.”

“Bummer.”

“He’s also big! I mean he is BIG!” said Ray, his eyes widening. He frowned slightly and continued, “It hurt like hell at first, but then it got better.”

“It must have since you did it again.”

Ray smiled, looking for all the world like the cat that had found the cream jug. “Yeah, we did,” he confirmed happily. “The second time he went slow, and gave me time to get used to him in me. Then he was real gentle, better than I expected. Much better. I felt sensations I never knew existed. It was so good that every time he pushed into me I had to bite my fist to keep from screaming.”

“He found your prostate. Believe me, it’s the most wonderful feeling in the world when that happens.”

“Oh, I know,” agreed Ray with a grin. “And I believe you’d know.” He knew that The Phantom would never, under any circumstances, discuss his sex life, so he continued on. “Kevin surprised me, he really did. I half expected him to be like a dog fucking a football, all speed and no control.”

“Why would you think that? Okay, he’s only 15, and it was his first time and all, but that doesn’t mean that he doesn’t know what to do and you did say that you’d done it twice!”

Ray held up his hand. “Hear me out, please, Phantom.” The Phantom shut up and listened. “The reason I said what I said is that I guess I was too influenced by listening to some of the other guys bragging. You know, they claim they fucked a girl and it’s all about how they plowed it into her, or shagged her ass off, or how it was mind blowing when they came. It’s all about them, not the girl. It’s all about them getting their rocks off and how much pleasure they get. They never mention how she felt about it, except to brag about how grateful she was that they had fucked her!”

The Phantom said nothing. He knew exactly what Ray was talking about. He’d heard the local studs bragging.

“Phantom, Kevin was so damned careful, so gentle.” Ray’s voice was low and warm. “It was as if he wanted me feel all the wonders he was feeling. He wanted me to have as much pleasure as he was able to give me.”

“That’s the way it’s supposed to be, Ray,” replied The Phantom dreamily. The Gunner was so bloody kind, and considerate, careful to please him every time they made love. While he, sometimes . . . It was then The Phantom realized what was bothering Ray. “Kevin was making love to you.” He rubbed Ray’s back and sighed. “And that is exactly what is bothering you, isn’t it.”

Ray stared into the distance, not seeing the Dockyard or the town of Comox across the harbour. He was remembering last night. “Phantom, Kevin made love to me. He made love to me so well that I creamed myself without even touching my dick. He did everything he could to give me pleasure and I . . .”

“Fucked him,” finished The Phantom.

“Yeah. I fucked him. He makes love to me, and I fuck him! I am such a shit. I didn’t think about him. I just stuck it in him and pounded away.”

“And now he’s told you that it’s finished?”

“No, not at all. He wants to be with me again. He asked me if last night was just a one-night stand and I told him only if he wanted it to be. He told me he didn’t”

It seemed to The Phantom that the relationship between Ray and Kevin was one-sided. From the sound of it Kevin was falling in love. “Ray, he liked what you did to him. Okay, you weren’t as, oh hell, considerate as he was, but he must have enjoyed it or he wouldn’t be asking for more.”

“Oh, he enjoyed it. I found his prostate, twice. He’s a moaner, and not a screamer! Not that his being a moaner is any consolation. He was so loud I thought he’d wake the Duty Watch in the guardhouse!”

The Phantom laughed so hard he almost fell off the loading dock. “Ray!”

“What!”

The Phantom regained control. “Well, it’s just that you come across as such a nice, sweet, gentle guy and then you throw out a zinger like that.”

Ray shrugged and grinned. “I hang around with jocks.”

The Phantom returned Ray’s grin. “So then, Kevin’s moaning aside, you did enjoy your time with him.”

“Yes, very much.”

“But not enough to want to continue a relationship with him.”

“I didn’t say that, Phantom.”

“What exactly are you saying, Ray?” demanded The Phantom, trying not to be too hard with his friend. “Do you want to carry on with Kevin, or don’t you? If you don’t, then tell him. If you do, then tell him.”

“What I want to tell him is that I do not want him to get too serious,” returned Ray, his tone firm. “In a week he’ll be on his way home to Hamilton. I’ll be going home to Ottawa. I am not serious, Phantom. I like the sex. I like Kevin, but I am not in love with him.”

“In other words he’s a late term summer romance?” questioned The Phantom. “When it’s over, it’s over? No recriminations, no expectations?”

“Yes. I’ll remember him fondly. But that is all I will do.”

“Then tell him,” stressed The Phantom. “Tell him exactly how you feel. If he breaks it off he breaks it off.” He stood up and nodded toward the dining room. “We better get back, Ray”

“If Kevin’s there will you cover for me while I talk to him?” asked Ray.

“Sure.”

“If he does say we’re finished will you let me find your prostate?”

The Phantom stopped dead in his tracks, then turned to look at Ray. “My, you did enjoy last night, didn’t you?”

Ray raised his eyebrows and nodded as The Phantom turned again toward the dining room. Ray looked at his friend’s retreating back, then smiled as he followed him into the building.