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). Please e-mail me at my home address: paradegi@rogers.com
I apologise to my readers for the delay in posting. When this chapter was written my editor felt that additional work was needed. Upon reflection I had to agreed! Six edits later and the follow is the result.
As you read this chapter I have mentioned the 3 survivors of HMS HOOD. The names are historically accurate, as is the name of the destroyer that rescued them. I cannot emphasise to any budding authors out there that if you are going to write, do your research.
The Boys Of Aurora: Chapter 20
Matt Greene slammed closed the last of the long row of wooden lockers containing the .303's that the Guard had used for this morning's practice. Finally, he was finished. Every rifle bolt, every web belt, every scabbard and bayonet was safely under lock and key. He signed off the Orders Book and locked the Armoury. It was well past time for him to be in the Mess Hall. As he walked from the Drill Shed to the Mess Hall, Matt was in turmoil. His spirit felt lower than the lowest piece of whale shit that had ever littered the bottom of the Pacific Ocean. He was angry with himself, angry with Todd and, if the truth were told, angry at the whole world. Last night he had allowed his jealousy to overcome him, had gone sneaking into the night, and spied on the boy he now knew that he loved. He had, by his actions, lowered himself to the level of his brother.
After watching Todd and Harry leave the Gunroom, Matt had waited until Lights Out and then, reluctantly, had returned to his own Mess. He had lain awake in his bunk, peering through the window at the rain, wondering with growing anxiety whether Todd and Harry had returned. With every passing minute Matt grew more certain that Harry and Todd were in each other's arms. Todd, his wonderful, glorious, dreamed-for Todd, was with Harry in the School of Wind, and Matt could not sleep until he was sure that they had returned to their bunks.
Matt had no idea how much time passed before he jumped down from his bunk. He knew that Todd and Harry were up to something and his imagination raced with ever-wilder scenarios. Harry and Todd were together and Matt could not stand it! He loved Todd, and he wanted him! Stealthily avoiding the Duty Watch (which was, unknown to him, firmly ensconced in the Guard House, out of the wet, and with no intention of stirring until they absolutely had to) Matt had stolen from his barracks, skirted the Mess Hall and made his way to the School of Wind.
As Matt expected, the doors to the school were locked and the front of the building was dark, with no sign of life. He decided to check around the back of the building and as he turned the corner he could see a pale gleam of light about halfway down. As quietly as he could Matt moved stealthily down the long side of the wooden building.
Crouching below the open window he waited, listening, the rain beating against his body, soaking his thin T-shirt and gym shorts. Slowly, ever so slowly, Matt raised himself up and peeked into the room and what he saw caused him to jam his fist into his mouth to keep from crying out.
They were in a lounge of some kind, lying on the settee, naked. Harry's bulk was sprawled across Todd's lighter body. Todd's legs were wrapped around Harry's waist, his arms gripping Harry's torso, and his face was buried in Harry's neck. As Matt watched Harry's hips moved with slow, rhythmic thrusts. With his fist jammed into his mouth Matt heard the soft groans of pleasure as Harry slowly approached his climax.
Matt tried to close his eyes, not wanting to see, not daring to see, as Todd began breathing heavily, his embrace tightening as Harry's body drove him closer and closer to the edge. As Matt watched Harry's body stiffened and he thrust upward, throwing his head back. Harry's eyes were tightly closed, and he moaned loudly as his quickly thrusting hips signalled his orgasm, his body convulsing as each wave of semen pulsed from the Pride, filling Todd's spasming body. Harry collapsed on Todd, murmuring softly. For a long while they lay on the settee, holding each other.
Matt took a step backward, his eyes wide with horror, clasping his hands over his ears and blocking out his hearing the murmured words of endearments. His worst fears had been realised. He would not, could not, stay any longer.
Turning, Matt began running, his feet beating a steady beat on the gravel pathways. Oblivious to his soaked clothing, he hurried into his barracks and climbed into his bunk. He pulled the bedclothes over his wet body, and cried softly.
"Oh, Todd," he groaned. "What have I done? What have I done?"
In the galley The Phantom left off supervising the Sea Puppies, who were noisily chattering away as they washed the Admiral's plates and the Minton service. He looked around and saw that everybody was busy. Two Strokes, Cory, and Todd were industriously polishing the silver service plates, Mark and Tony were plying soft cloths, polishing the crystal glasses, while Tyler and Val were busily folding napkins.
The Phantom watched as Matt entered and looked around the humming galley. Appearing even more upset than he had been while serving at breakfast, Matt watched intently as Cory and Todd chucked shit at Two Strokes, whom they accused of molesting the silver. Matt fought back a gasp of pain and turned on his heels, leaving the galley. The Phantom hurried after him, catching up with the boy as he was about to enter his barracks. "Matt, stop!" he ordered.
Matt turned, tears of humiliation and shame coursing down his face. "I can't . . . I can't go back, Phantom," he stammered, "please, don't make me go back."
"All right, Matty, you don't have to go back," replied The Phantom softly. He reached out and took Matt's hand. "What's happened, Matty? Why are you so upset?"
Matt shook his head. "I can't tell you, Phantom. Please, don't . . ."
"You don't have to tell me anything you don't want to tell me," said The Phantom as he began to guide Matt away from the barracks. "I just don't want you to make a spectacle of yourself."
"Where, where are we going?" asked Matt, dazed.
"Where we can sit and you can calm down," replied The Phantom as he led Matt into the small copse of trees behind the barracks. They stopped just as the trees gave way to the broad, sandy beach. He pushed Matt into a sitting position and sat beside him, staring out at the harbour, waiting until Matt's sobs diminished and finally subsided.
Without warning Matt laid his head against The Phantom's shoulder and his arm encircled his waist. The Phantom realized that whatever it was that was bothering the handsome young boy, it was devastating and tearing him to pieces. He returned Matt's embrace, holding him closely.
Finally, Matt spoke. He embraced The Phantom closely, needing to be held. "Oh, Phantom," he groaned, "I did something so bad, so bad." He began weeping again.
The Phantom stroked the back of Matt's head. "Now, now, Matty, it can't be as bad as all that," he said soothingly.
"It is, it is," insisted Matt through his tears. "I betrayed . . . I did something so terrible that Todd will never, ever forgive me if he finds out."
The Phantom was not unaware that Matt held very deep feelings for Todd. He was, however, surprised at the depth of those feelings. "I think you underestimate him, Matt. He loves you, you know, and . . ."
Matt pulled back and glared at The Phantom. "No he doesn't," he snapped. His humiliation and shame overtook his reason. "He loves Harry! He was with Harry last night! I heard them, I saw them together, I saw them . . ." He flung himself on The Phantom, weeping bitter tears. "I . . . I spied on him . . . I followed him . . ."
"Ah," said The Phantom, exhaling slowly. Now he understood why Matt was avoiding Todd. He looked with kindness at the weeping boy, holding him closely. "You saw Todd and Harry together?" He felt Matt nod his head. "You saw them . . . making love?"
Again Matt nodded his head. "I spied on them. They were in the School of Music, and Harry was . . ." he stopped speaking abruptly, his sobs echoing in the still air.
The Phantom shook his head and rested it against Matt's curls. "Shh, now, Matty, don't do this to yourself." he slowly pushed Matt away and held him at arm's length. "You must calm down, Matty. Will you do that, for me?"
Matt wiped away his tears and ran the back of his hand under his nose. He nodded and laughed quietly. "I'm a mess, Phantom."
The Phantom nodded his agreement. He pulled off his shirt and then his T-shirt, and held the thin cotton garment shirt to Matt's nose. "Blow," he ordered.
Matt blew his nose stentoriously. "I'm such a jerk, Phantom. I'm a sneak, and a jerk," he whimpered with a loud sniff.
"No, you're not," replied The Phantom pulling the quaking boy to him. "You're just ashamed, and upset."
Matt snuggled against The Phantom's bare chest. His skin was warm, and he smelled nice. Matt nestled happily against the boy. "I'm as bad as Paul, Phantom."
The Phantom gave Matt a hard squeeze. "Don't ever think that, Matt, don't you ever think that!" Matt started to protest. The Phantom would have none of it. "Matt, listen to me! You are nothing like him! You are a kind, warm, caring young man who knows what love is. Paul will never know that!"
"I shouldn't have spied on Todd and Harry," exclaimed Matt, a pained expression on his face.
"No, you should not have," agreed The Phantom quietly.
"I . . . ah, hell, Phantom, it's just that I love him so much!"
The Phantom considered this a few moments. "Are you sure, Matt, are you really sure? After all, you are . . ."
"Don't say it, Phantom," rasped Matt. "Don't say that I'm only fifteen and don't know what love is. I do!" He reared back and beat his fists against The Phantom's bare chest. "I know what it's like to be in love. I know! I know!"
The Phantom grabbed Matt's wrists and held them steady. For a slight, not very muscular boy, Matt could sure pack a wallop. "Okay, Matt, I believe you."
Matt sat back and hugged his knees. He cocked his head and a small tear formed in the corner of his eye. "I know what love is, Phantom. I know what being in love is like. I was in love, once."
The Phantom's eyes opened wide. "You were?" Matt was hardly out of diapers and he'd been in love?
"Don't look so shocked, Phantom," replied Matt evenly. He stared straight ahead. "I was in love. I'm not some virgin boy infatuated with an older boy." He laughed caustically. "In a way, Paul is right. I might not be queer bait, but when I was twelve I was gay."
"Matt!"
"Phantom, I've had sex with another boy," confessed Matt calmly. He smiled, remembering. "I was totally, completely in love with . . . with another boy. He loved me, with all his heart and soul. He would hold me and I felt warm, and safe. He would hold me against him and it was like a . . . I don't know, like he was me and I was him." He smiled warmly at The Phantom. "Todd makes me feel the same way. When he held me, that night I blew up at Paul, I knew then that I was truly in love with Todd."
"Have you ever thought that, well that you're just lonely for this other boy, and sort of transferring the love you have for him to Todd?"
Matt shook his head slowly. "That's not possible, Phantom. You see the 'other boy' is dead."
The Phantom paled. "Oh, God, Matty, I'm sorry. I didn't mean . . ."
Matty snuggled up against The Phantom, enjoying his warmth and scent. "You couldn't have known, Phantom." He moved his arms, embracing The Phantom's waist. "Nobody but me knows that he's gone."
"What about his parents?"
"They don't know, and I don't intend to tell them. They threw him out. They didn't want to have anything to do with him after . . ."
"I don't understand, Matty. How could they not know? Didn't the police go to their house, to let them know?"
Matt shook his head. "He changed his name and moved to the States. He never let on who he really was." Matt sobbed quietly. "He wrote me every month and told me what he was doing, and that he loved me and wanted me to be with him. Every afternoon I'd go to the Base Post Office to pick up the mail - it was one of my chores - which is why my parents never knew that he was writing to me. When there was a letter from him, it was like Christmas!" He began to wring his hands. "He was driving a big rig, and in the last letter he wrote me, he said that he was saving his money and that soon we'd be together. Then the letters stopped."
Matt's hands gripped The Phantom's thighs tightly. Whoever the boy had been, Matt had truly loved him. "But there was one more letter, wasn't there?" asked The Phantom gently.
Matt nodded. "For a long time I waited and waited for the letter from him. I didn't know what to think, what to do. Then, about six months later, I got a letter, but not from . . . him. It was from one of his trucker buddies who'd found my name in a letter I'd written to him. The trucker buddy wrote and told me that Mar . . . that he was killed in an accident. His truck jack-knifed and blew up."
"Oh, Matty, how horrible. How did you ever manage to keep the secret?"
Matt raised his head and looked into the Phantom's eyes. "When you live in a house like mine you learn how to keep secrets."
"A house like yours?"
Matty lowered his head and rubbed his cheek against The Phantom's chest. He took a deep breath and sobbed. "I was in love with my brother, Phantom. I was twelve. He was 20, and I was in love with him." He hugged The Phantom tightly. "He was in love with me! He cared for me, he loved me, and he protected me from Daddy and Paul. I'd crawl into his bed and he'd put his arms around me, and I knew that I was safe, that no one could ever hurt me."
The Phantom rubbed the back of Matt's close-cropped head. "You poor guy," he murmured, wanting to cry.
"Oh, no, Phantom," replied Matt, his blue eyes sparkling. "I was the happiest guy on earth when I was with Marcus."
"That was his name?"
"Yes," said Matt with a slight nod of his head. "He was my mother's son from her first marriage. He hated Daddy and Daddy hated him. Marcus wouldn't listen to all that Nazi bullshit Daddy spouts. Every time Daddy would get on his high horse Marcus would laugh at him. Marcus was bigger than Daddy and once, just before he left, Marcus and Daddy got into a fight. He rang Daddy for eight and the MPs came and hauled Marcus off to the stockade." He sobbed and buried his face in The Phantom's chest. "They had the fight because of me!"
"You? Did your father catch you and Marcus, you know . . ."
Matt shook his head vigorously. "No, we were very careful, Phantom, and I always went to him after everybody else was in bed." He shook his head. "Daddy didn't know about Marcus and me. Paul didn't know."
"So, why did they fight?"
"I wouldn't follow the party line. I wouldn't be another Paul," spat Matt. "Daddy tried to make me go to the meetings, like a good little Nazi. One night I just wouldn't do it! I kicked up a fuss and he whaled the tar out of me with a belt. Marcus came in and saw what Daddy was doing and they had the fight. Marcus went to jail and the next week he left."
The Phantom did not know what to say. Matt had obviously loved his half-brother deeply, loved him with a love that transcended brother love.
"Marcus showed me what love was all about, Phantom," continued Matt quietly. "I wasn't just his little brother, you see. I was his lover, and he was mine. It wasn't all sex, Phantom, although there was sex. Most of the time he was just there for me, to hold me. It was like I was the only person in his life. He never forced me to do anything." He looked up at The Phantom and smiled wanly. "I started it, Phantom."
"Yes, but he finished it, Matt," replied The Phantom, trying not to sound judgmental. While he understood that brothers sometimes had sex with brothers, deep down he did not approve of an adult having sex with a prepubescent boy.
"Don't be too harsh, Phantom, please," pleaded Matt. "Don't blame Marcus for what we did together. I knew exactly what I was doing and he, well, at first he was, I guess kind of dazed, and very scared in case anyone found out. I wanted him to make love to me, and I wanted to make love to him." He shrugged. "Not that we did anything so bad. When we first started being lovers, it was just jerking each other off. Marcus was very . . . gentle. He never asked me to do anything and never forced himself on me." Matt laughed a long, sad laugh. "I think I shocked him all to hell the first time I sucked him off. Then he did me and, well, we both liked that a lot so that's what we did, but not every time we were together. A lot of times it was just rubbing each other, holding each other, you know."
The Phantom didn't know, but said nothing.
"We never fucked, Phantom. I wanted to but Marcus wouldn't do it. He said that we had to wait until I got older, a lot older, when, and if, I was sure."
"Matty, he knew that making love to you was a big step, a very big step. The first time should be something wonderful." The Phantom was remembering the first time he'd made love, smiling slightly at the memory of . . . Todd.
Matt seemed to ignore him. "The first time we were in bed together I woke up in the middle of the night and Marcus was holding me, tight. He was hard. I could feel him nestled into my butt crack and he was nuzzling my neck. I reached around and I felt his dick. The head was sticking out of the top of his underpants, so I felt it. It was warm, and a little sticky. I liked it, so I played with the head of his dick and before very long he moaned and squirted."
"Did he wake up?"
Again Matt ignored The Phantom. "The next morning, Marcus saw the cum on his belly, and on me. He went ape! He told me I couldn't come into his bed again." Matt's arms became a vise as he squeezed The Phantom's waist. "I told him that what had happened was my fault, and that I loved him, wanted him. I snuck into his bed every chance I got. I loved him, Phantom, I loved him and he's dead!"
"Matty, stop . . ."
"No, please, please . . ." moaned Matt. "Please, just hold me, just hold me . . . Just hold me, Phantom, just . . ."
The Phantom held Matt until his breathing returned to normal and his body relaxed. Matt refused to release The Phantom and continued to hold him tightly. "Matt, I'm not Marcus," said The Phantom calmly.
"I know, Phantom," replied Matt. He pulled away from the other boy and sat up. He hung his head. "I'm sorry, Phantom. I just felt, so . . ."
The Phantom held up his hand. "Matt, I am not Marcus, nor is Todd. Please don't confuse him or me with your brother."
Matt shook his head. "He made me feel so safe, Phantom. Like Todd does, and, if you want to know the truth, like you do."
"Me?"
Matt looked into The Phantom's emerald-green eyes. "Guys love you, Phantom. They know that you'd never hurt them and you and, well, you have this way about you. You don't see it, but I do, and I know how some of the guys feel. Simon Keppel? He's in love with you."
"Don't be silly," snapped The Phantom. He could not believe that any of the cadets - other than Ray - felt anything other than mere affection for him. "Simon is a Sea Puppy and he's barely old enough to have hair one around his dick!"
"I am not being silly," replied Matt firmly. "And nevertheless, Simon worships you. Randy and Joey? They'd walk across hot coals if you were waiting for them on the other side. You know why?" The Phantom shook his head. Matt reached up with his hand and gently stroked The Phantom's flushed cheek. "Because they feel safe with you, warm, and wanted. They know that you'll always be there to protect them." He leaned forward and gave The Phantom a short, quick kiss. "And that's how I feel as well."
"You do?" whispered The Phantom, astounded.
"Yes, Phantom, I do! You've always treated me decently, like I was somebody, somebody with feelings. Todd seems to think that because I'm only fifteen I can't possibly know what love is all about, that I can't fall in love with him, or another boy."
"And just how do you know that?" asked The Phantom cautiously.
Matt looked embarrassed. "I . . . I had a talk with Cory."
"Cory? Now, Matt, I love Cory with all my heart, but, really . . ."
Matt chuckled and shook his head. "Phantom, Cory is not as flighty as you and Todd think he is. He knows Todd, and he knows me. Cory also knows about Marcus and what happened between us. He knows about how I feel about Todd, too."
It was The Phantom's turn to be embarrassed and feel foolish. Matt was right, of course. Cory was maturing, and becoming wiser, if not older. "He can be pretty level-headed, when he wants to be," said The Phantom presently.
"He's a good friend, Phantom. In a way, he's like Marcus. You're a little like Marcus. You love people. You don't care if they're gay, or Jewish, or black, or whatever. You and Cory, you both care and that means a lot to the guys, Phantom. Joey and Randy know that you care about them. They also know that you'd never take advantage of them. You proved that the night you stayed with them, remember? The night of the big storm?"
"I remember."
"So do they, Phantom. Randy will always love you because you didn't try to fool around with him, like his big brother did. Joey feels the same way. You held them, and you made them feel safe, like a big brother is supposed to. You also explained to them about being gay. They love you for that."
"That doesn't explain Simon, and the other Sea Puppies, or whomever . . ." began The Phantom tightly. He was very embarrassed at Matt's confidences.
"Simon feels the way that Joey and Randy feel. Oh, he loves Harry - all the Sea Puppies love Harry - but Simon, and a couple more I can name, they, well, to them you're their hero. They've seen you in action. They've seen how you treat other people. They are not as dumb as everybody thinks they are and they know that you love them."
"I do, do I?"
Matt was unfazed. "Yes, you do. They know it, and they return that love. They'd do more, if they thought that you'd let them."
The Phantom did not want to go there. He had no intention of encouraging any feelings of love or affection with Simon, or any other Sea Puppy. "I do love them, but as a friend, nothing more. I will stand up for them, and fight for them, but that does not make me a hero. I'm no hero."
"Yes, you are, Phantom," replied Matt with firm conviction. "You don't know it, and you don't see it, because you don't want to know and you won't let yourself see. But Simon knows, the other boys know, what a real friend you are. They know all about you beating the crap out of Paul, and why you did it. They know all about you facing him down. They know how good you are with Randy and Joey, how you treat them and try to help them." He giggled. "To be perfectly honest with you, Phantom, there is something about you that makes a guy want to get real close to you."
The Phantom gasped and blushed. "Matty, you can't mean that!"
"Do too!" He grinned slyly at The Phantom. "To put it another way, you know how Todd and Cory like to sit on the barracks stoop after Lights Out?"
"You mean when they talk over their day, sitting there, with their hands down each others underpants?" asked The Phantom.
"I mean exactly that," replied Matt with a grin. "We all know that the Twins are not really doing anything involved with sex. It's just a part of their brother love and all they ever do, really, is hold each other's parts. Nothing happens." He leaned close and nudged The Phantom with his elbow. "If you sit on the steps of the Mess Hall, after Lights Out, I can name at least six guys who would be over in a flash, panting to get their hands down the front of your Jockeys!"
"I don't wear them," returned The Phantom testily. "I wear boxers, and besides . . ." He saw the amused look on Matt's face. "I suppose you'd been one of the first in line?"
"The first," replied Matt not taking offence at the Phantom's crack. "In a New York minute. And, just so you know, I wear briefs. White, standard issue by Kmart."
The Phantom tried hard not to giggle. "But, Matty, you have to understand, I'm not . . ." he began, about to tell Matt that he was not the type of person who went for young boys.
Matt was not thinking along that line at all. "Oh, don't worry, Phantom. We all know that you're as straight as an arrow. You aren't gay, but that still doesn't mean that some of us would not like to get our hand down the front of your boxers."
"That would sit well with Todd, wouldn't it?" The Phantom wanted to deflect the conversation from him, and return to the main point.
Matt shrugged and made a sad face. "He would be upset because his little brother was feeling you up," he returned slowly. "He'd be upset because I'd be trying to put the make on you, someone who happens to be his friend, and that I was doing something gay, which he doesn't want to believe I am." He sighed unhappily. "I'll always be a little brother to him. According to Cory, Todd will not even think about me being in love with him." He smiled. "Cory also thinks that Todd is a fool for not loving me back."
The Phantom thought about his relationship with Ray . . . "Have either you, or Cory, considered that just maybe Todd is a little frightened, that he does not want you to follow his path, that he does not want you to be gay because he knows what a terrible life being gay is?"
"Are you saying that it's all right for Todd to be gay, for Cory to be gay, and for Harry to be gay, but not me?" Matt's eyes widened and he shook his head in disbelief. "Phantom, I am gay! I've had sex with Marcus! We didn't go all the way, but we did everything else! I remember what he tasted like, every part of him. I remember his smell, everything. It's a little too late for Todd to be worried about me 'following his path', Phantom! I've been walking it for a long time!"
The Phantom could see the logic in Matt's statement. "Perhaps Todd is hoping that you're just going through a phase, you know, just thinking you're in love with him. Perhaps he loves you so much that he doesn't want you to be gay, doesn't want you to suffer the way he has. Maybe he's trying to protect you from yourself! He wants to protect you, to spare you the hurt and the pain, Matt."
Matt leaned back and rested on his elbows. "You know, you sound like Cory. He says basically the same thing." He snorted. "Hell, he wouldn't believe me when I told him that I was gay!"
The Phantom smiled. "You must admit, Matt, that you sure made a career of not being gay. You had me fooled, completely."
Matt grinned. "I learned how to play by the rules. I never fooled around with anybody except Marcus."
"That must have been the hardest part, keeping your relationship with him secret. I mean, hell and sheeit, you had Paul hovering around, and then your father . . ."
Matt sighed. "Both of them watching our every move? Yeah, we did. But we managed. I told you, Phantom, you live in a house like mine and you learn real early on how to keep your true feelings secret." He snickered. "If you close your eyes, and listen to Paul when he's off on a tear against gays, you'll hear our father. He taught Paul everything he knows."
"And Marcus taught you differently?"
"Yes. Marcus loved people. Oh, not like he loved me, but he just liked people. He was always smiling and he always saw the good side of people. Except for Daddy and Paul. He hated them."
"And they drove him away because of their hatred."
"Yes," agreed Matt. "After he left I had nobody."
"Until you came here."
"Until I came here," repeated Matt in a soft whisper. "I fell in love with Todd the first night, the night of the Wet Downs. I took one look at him and it was love at first sight. I knew then, and I know now that I want him. I want to be with him. I want him to make love to me, to love me the same way he loves Harry."
"Which he won't do, Matt." The Phantom's shoulders sagged. "Matt, you are one of the nicest boys I know. You're handsome, intelligent, and a lot of other things. But, Matty, you must understand, to Todd you are just a boy. A boy he wouldn't mind having for a little brother. He does love you, and he will protect you, if you'll let him."
Matt growled. "I am so tired of being the 'little brother'," he snapped. "Just once I'd like to sit on the barracks porch and have Todd put his hand down the front of my briefs. I'd like to put my hands down the front of his boxers!" He gave The Phantom a sly, sideways, glance. "And just maybe I'd like to sneak into my other older brother's bedroom and crawl into his bed!"
The Phantom looked sternly at Matt. "Well, I hope you never get the chance." Then he grinned widely. "Not that you're not a tasty morsel, for a little brother!"
Matt groaned and threw The Phantom a dirty look. "I know, I know. I'm a great, sweet, all-around nice kid, with a great body, and a super dick; I'm handsome, I'm intelligent, I'm witty and I AM ALWAYS GOING TO BE A LITTLE BROTHER!"
The Phantom nodded. He thought of his talk with Chef after the disastrous night with The Gunner, and what Chef had told him. "Matt, a good man once told me that each of us, you, me, and Todd, every man, must walk down the road of life in his own time, in his own way. Each man must find his own way, make his own decisions, and make his own mistakes."
"And that's what Todd wants for me?"
"Yes, Matt. He wants you to find your own way, in your own time, without influence from him. He'll help you walk that road, Matt, and he'll protect you when you stumble, or get set upon by highwaymen, but he won't tell you to take this turning, or that turning." He stood up and reached out his hand. "Come on, little brother, it's time that we weren't here."
Matt reached up and took the proffered hand. "Yeah, we have work to do," he said as The Phantom pulled him to his feet.
"First, though, you go shower, and put on some shorts and a T-shirt," said The Phantom as he pointed towards the Gunners Barracks.
"Shower? Not much chance of that," replied Matt.
"The water's back on so you can shower." The Phantom sniffed ostentatiously. "You do smell a little from gun oil and cordite."
"It comes with the job!" exclaimed Matt. "You think I like going around smelling like a .303, or working in the Armoury, sitting in cosmoline up to my ass?"
The Phantom chuckled. "Father had the water turned on this morning. Showers are on, hot and flowing!"
Matt looked sceptical. "Really? How did that happen? I thought he was all hot to trot over the water bills and low water pressure."
"Come on, Matty, I'll walk you over to the barracks," replied The Phantom. They walked towards the Gunners Barracks at a slow pace. "Number One got Greg to drown himself in that after shave that the Canteen Mangler has been flogging."
"Christ!" exploded Matt. "That shit is enough to gag a maggot!"
"Managed to gag the Old Man," returned The Phantom, laughing. "Smelled up his office something fierce. Greg got told to take as many showers as he needed. It was either that or they'd have to hose down the office." He shrugged. "The showers are on."
"That was pretty sneaky," said Matt, joining in The Phantom's laughter.
"Sure was. Just the sort of thing a little brother would do to a big brother." The Phantom cocked and eyebrow. "Maybe not as sneaky as taking a peek when big brother is doing something he shouldn't be doing, such as jerking off or . . ."
"Making love to his boyfriend," finished Matt. "I said that I'm sorry about that." They walked on a few more paces when Matt stopped. "And what do you know about your big brother jerking off?"
"I watched him while he did it," replied The Phantom with an evil grin.
Matt stared at The Phantom. "You didn't!"
"Sure did," said The Phantom without feeling the least bit guilty. "I had to keep up my membership in the Pain In The Ass Club, Little Brothers Division."
"What?"
"Matty, little brothers are automatically members of the Pain In The Ass Club. Spying on your big brother is almost a rite of passage." The Phantom thought a moment. "Mind you, telling on him is something else and, for reasons of your own personal health and well-being, not recommended."
"Ah, Phantom, please, I feel real bad about what I did." Matt looked stricken. "You're not going to tell on me, are you?"
The Phantom shook his head. "Nope. I think it best for all concerned that nobody else knows that you snooped and saw Todd and Harry together. Todd is pretty easy going, and for all his yapping, he does love you. I don't think, though, that he'd appreciate you seeing him and Harry doing the horizontal mambo."
Matt tried hard not to laugh. "I better keep my mouth shut!"
"Oh, yeah. Take it from me, Matty, big brothers get awfully shirty when little brothers spy and tell. I peeked and saw my brother beating off. That was bad enough. Then I went and told my Dad." The Phantom sighed and a sad look came over his face. "Brendan never forgave me for telling on him. I guess that's one of the reasons he barely stands me." He started to laugh. "Another reason is that I told the Vicar that Brendan had hair around his weenie. I was six, I think, when I did that. I don't know why I did it, I just know that I did!"
Matt gave The Phantom a strange look. "I can see where your brother would be pissed off." He made a disgusted noise. "Even I know that there are some things that you shouldn't talk about!" He straightened his shoulders. "I won't say anything to Todd, or to Harry. I want Todd to love me, not hate me."
"Todd will never hate you, Matt," replied The Phantom. "He might not speak to you for the rest of your life, but he will never hate you."
"That's a comforting thought," returned Matt sourly.
"No, it isn't," said The Phantom, his voice full of regret. "In a way, I'll always be sorry that I told on Brendan. It was a mean thing to do."
Matt agreed. "It was, Phantom, 'cause now you've lost a brother."
"Yes, I have. He's not a bad guy, really. He just holds a grudge. Forever."
"Lesson learned, huh?"
The Phantom nodded. "Yeah, a lesson learned." He chuckled. "The funny thing was, I was really impressed with what I saw. I remember thinking that I sure hoped that my dick would grow as big as my big brother's." He grinned at Matt. "I guess at 10-years old dick size is important."
"To some people, it's important at fifteen," opined Matt. Or eighteen."
"Well, Brendan sure has a whopper. Hell and sheeit, he makes me look like a pygmy!"
"Marcus wasn't too big," replied Matt. He made a small face. "I don't get off on big dicks."
The Phantom thought of The Gunner and snickered. "Me neither. Still, to some a big dick is important. Look how Harry carries on about the Pride."
"The Pride is very impressive," responded Matt.
"Well, Harry might have the Pride of the Fleet, but I'm here to tell you that Brendan has the Pride of the Mounties! Mind you, the Pride of the Fleet is much handsomer. Brendan is bigger, but not as nice looking." Making a zigzag motion with his hand The Phantom continued, "Brendan has got this vein on his dick. It looks like a lightning bolt. And the top of it is all mushed down, and the upper part gets all red and . . ."
Matt started to laugh. "Phantom!"
The Phantom joined Matt in laughing. "See? Being a little brother does have its funny side, now doesn't it?" Matt gave him a puzzled look. "Matt, what you did was wrong. What I did was wrong . . ." The Phantom smiled. "But, the world did not come to an end and we can laugh about it. Years from now, when you and Todd are together, you can tell him about what you did, what you saw . . ."
"Hold it!" Matt held up his hands. "What do you mean by that, me and Todd? Together?"
The Phantom smiled smugly and pointed to the door of the Gunners Barracks. He raised his eyebrows and grinned. "Matt, the same good man who told me about how each man has his own road to go down, in his own time, in his own way . . . you remember that?" Matt nodded. "Todd is walking down that road now. You are just starting the journey, just starting down your road, a road that can be lonely, or can be walked with someone. The decision to walk alone, or with a companion is probably the first one you will have to make."
"I will?"
"Yes, because your path will cross the path of another boy's, or, later in life, another man's. Now, the same good man also told me that sometimes, when you are walking down your particular road, sometimes a hand reaches out. Now you have to make a decision. Do you take the offered hand, or do you reject it, and move on?"
Matt thought a moment. "Like Marcus did with me?"
The Phantom smiled softly. "Marcus could have stuck to his guns, and made you stay in your own bed. He could have rejected your hand, but he didn't. He took it, and you became more than brothers. You became lovers and, for a while, you both walked down the same road."
"Until his road came to an end," replied Matt slowly. "Now I'm alone again." A dark look came over his face. "Todd's road has crossed Harry's. Harry held out his hand and Todd took it."
"Yes, he did," agreed The Phantom, "and they will walk together for a little while. They will walk the same road until the road splits into two separate roads. Then they will both have to decide. Will they follow one road, together, or will they each take a different path?"
"Will they, I mean will they each go a different way?" asked Matt.
The Phantom rubbed his chin and nodded. "They will each return to their own path because no matter how much Harry tries to tell himself that he's in love with Todd, he knows, and Todd knows, that somewhere down Harry's road there is another boy waiting for him."
"There is?"
"Yes. The only true love of Harry's life is not Todd."
"You could have fooled me," said Matt tartly.
The Phantom chuckled dryly. "They're infatuated with each other, Matt. Don't confuse infatuation with love. Sooner or later both Harry and Todd will realize that while they do love each other, and do enjoy sex with each other, they are not in love with each other. Harry's true love is waiting for him further down the road. As for Todd, well, his true love is also further down the road, waiting for him, with his hand out."
Matt gave The Phantom a puzzled look. "And just who is going to be attached to that hand?"
The Phantom pretended to be amazed at Matt's question. "Why you, of course!"
"Me? But, Phantom you just got through . . ."
"I never said that you and Todd would never be together, Matt," replied The Phantom, dismissing Matt's protest. "Just as I never said that certain big brothers can't use their guile and general, all-around sneakiness, to help a little brother out, maybe change some road signs, a few bumps, perhaps two highwaymen, in the road."
"You're going to help guide Todd to me?"
"Bloody aye!" affirmed The Phantom.
"And just how do you plan on doing that, may I ask?"
The Phantom rubbed his chin, thinking. "Haven't a clue," he admitted truthfully. "And it's going to take some time, but I'll do it."
Matt shook his head doubtfully. "Phantom, as much as I want to believe you, I have to tell you, from what I saw, Todd and Harry are serious about each other."
"Of course they are," agreed The Phantom. "That, however, will change. I told you, when they both realize that while they do care a great deal for each other, they will also realize that they are not destined to be together as partners. You and Todd are meant to be together. Todd just doesn't know it."
"And Phantom Lascelles is going to make him see the light?"
"Of course," replied The Phantom with firm, calm, conviction. "It's going to take a while, and a lot of thought, but it will happen. It won't happen right away, but it will happen!" He gestured toward the barracks door. "Now, go and shower, change, and get back to the galley. As the Assistant Chief Steward you have a lot of work waiting for you." He winked. "I also have to start thinking about how I am going to catch me a monkey."
"A what?"
"A few years ago, an Indian man, the father of my best friend, taught us how to fish, and hunt, to live off the land. He taught us that when you're out hunting, going after that prize buck, or fishing for that Derby winning fish, you take your time, you study the beast's habits, you get to know all about the thing, and then you go after it. He summed it all up by saying 'slowly, slowly, catchee monkey'. I am going to think about catching a monkey."
Matt opened the door to the barracks. "A blond-haired, blue-eyed monkey?"
"With a killer smile, a great body, and a brother who will help me set and bait the trap," finished The Phantom with a loud snicker.
Matt grinned. "Poor Todd! You and Cory together."
"Just remember, Matty, what I said," replied The Phantom as he turned and walked away. "Slowly, slowly, catchee blond-haired monkey!"
The table glowed with crisp, white linen, sparkling silver, and crystal shimmering in the soft glow of the shaded candles. Arrayed in all their primped, showered, freshly barbered splendour, the stewards waited in a long straight line. The Phantom, his blue collared and cuffed white jacket adorned with gold buttons and small, bullion and crimson crowns, nodded as the guests (including Ray, who, as Cadet Chief Cook, was entitled to attend the Dinner and threatened with Chef's cleaver if he didn't), filed, two-by-two into the improvised dining room and took their places at the long, spectacularly appointed table. In their appointed corner of the improvised dining room, starched, shorn and shaved, the band thumped away at The Roast Beef of Old England, playing the guests into dinner.
Behind The Phantom Chef and Sandro, tall white hats on their heads, beamed. Behind them, grinning, stood Randy and Joey, and the Litany, each boy buffed, barbered, showered and scrubbed to within an inch of his life. Behind them, in the galley, ten of Harry's Sea Puppies, each one of them equally scoured, peeked through the serving hatches.
As the guests found their places and waited for the opening ritual of a Mess Dinner, The Phantom glanced at The Gunner, who was bursting with pride. He was wearing a white shell jacket and around his neck was a Sommelier's chain - actually two gunner's chains doubled - and a silver tea strainer that Chef had nicked from the Windsor Arms Hotel in Toronto. The Gunner returned The Phantom's glance and his eyes sent a special message: WOW!
Beside The Gunner stood Kyle, pressed into service as Assistant Wine Steward and wearing a plain white steward's jacket, his cheeks glowing with love and pride as Andy, resplendent in his new mess jacket, marched by with Val.
Tyler could scarcely believe the table. Ranged down the length of it were silver candelabra, each holding five red, shaded candles. Between the candelabra were magnificent, almost breathtaking floral arrangements; placed strategically along the table were smaller pieces of silver piled high with fruit, to add colour; at each place was laid a sterling silver service plate and matching side plate, the plates flanked by an array of blindingly polished silver knives, forks and spoons. At exactly one inch above the dinner knife stood an array of crystal glasses, five at each place setting: sherry, white wine, red wine, champagne flute and water. Before each place setting, set in a small, silver holder, was a menu card, handsomely engraved in deeply incised Palace Script. On each of the primly folded, starched napkins was a small card bearing, in Chef's neat copperplate handwriting, the diner's name.
Val glanced across the double table at Tyler, whose eyes were all but bugging from his head, his senses overwhelmed at the array of silver dishes holding nuts and olives, the silver salts and pepper casters set above each place setting, and at the small treasure of silver and gilt plates, urns and bowls arrayed on the table behind Tyler's chair. Val mouthed "Holy Shit!"
Father cast his eyes over everything, wondering silently at the amount of work that it had taken to produce such a spectacle. He'd not seen anything like it since old Admiral Sturdee's heyday, or at least since the old King died. Even the plates and silver reminded him of the old days, when an officer dined well. Why, this could be the Admiral's table . . . Which was, of course ridiculous, as everybody knew that all that went up in smoke when the Admiral's House in PRINCE CONSORT burned down.
Cory, who had dined in splendour every Sunday for years, gasped at the sight. He was so stunned at the glorious array that he failed to notice that standing to his left was Chief Sean Anders, the YAG Squadron Chief Petty Officer.
Todd was awed to the extent that he forgot that he was miffed at not being seated next to Harry, after he had gone to all the trouble of sneaking into the Mess Hall and rearranging the place cards, which The Phantom, who had a seating plan, promptly switched back.
For The Phantom the small gasps, smiles, and nods of approval made everything worthwhile.
The Phantom thought about all the hard work that had gone into this Dinner. Everybody had manned the pumps, including Chef, who if anything, worked harder than all of the cadets put together. Grinning, The Phantom shook his head. There had been moments, though, when The Phantom despaired of ever getting the Dinner off the ground, usually when Chef was being his obstreperous, cantankerous self. Chef's tantrums and moods (he had alternated between Falstaff, Buffoon-In-Ordinary to Prince Hal and Marie Antoine Careme, temperamental Chef to Tallyrand, George IV, Tsar Alexander I and Baron James de Rothschild), had led to an incipient mutiny (caused by Chef's Imperial Ukase that everybody needed a haircut, and put down quickly by the judicious application of a wooden spoon to sundry Sea Puppy bottoms), and a near riot when the integrity and honesty of the Chief Cook were called into question over the lottery Chef was forced to hold when he announced that only ten Sea Puppies could stay behind to help (all 38 wanted to stay).
In the end, however, everybody pulled together, which made the Dinner work! Between them Chef, The Phantom and Tyler had forged a team, and it was amazing what teamwork and willing hands could accomplish. Before Stand Easy, The Phantom had been alone. Within two minutes of the last bugle note fading the dining hall looked like Brighton Beach on Bank Holiday Monday. Harry, who was busy rehearsing the Band for tomorrow's parade, had sent over his Sea Puppies; the Twins and Two Strokes sidled in and set to polishing the silver. Tyler, with Val, Mark and Tony in tow, wore their rank well. They grabbed tea towels and began to polish the 190 crystal glasses that would grace the table.
Nicholas, for once without Andre grafted to his hip (he was at Band practice), but with all his Signalmen, arrived and began fussing and clucking over the placement of the signal flags and pennants that would decorate the decidedly shabby partitions.
Stuart and Steve, not to be outdone by mere Bunting Tossers, arrived with bales of rope and set about decorating what they could with Turk's heads, Double Matthew Walker's, knots, bends and hitches.
The Gunner, came in just after lunch, smiling a secret smile, and set to work, marvelling at the quality of the wines that Chef had stolen from Phantom's father's cache. Chef, for all his buffoonery and Common Man nonsense, was a discerning and expert connoisseur when it came to fine food and wines. The Gunner very quickly realized that serving 38 people alone was above even his abilities and went off to find some help, returning with Kyle, who was about to be shown the intricacies of decanting fine wine. Kyle was secretly pleased that The Gunner had asked him to help out. He was even happier at being near Andy. Despite the distractions and loud explosions of outrage from the galley, The Phantom managed to direct traffic and keep the flow of silver, china and crystal moving smoothly. Once the tablecloth had been laid Randy and Joey - the lightest and smallest of the cadets - were hoisted onto the table to place the candelabra, which were so heavy that it took both of them to lift and place one piece of silver.
For Randy having The Phantom lift him onto the table was icing on the cake, another definite plus in what was turning out to be a red-letter day for him. He loved Phantom, and feeling his warm, strong hands around his waist was wonderful. Even more wonderful than being in the galley heads watching Nathan take a pee. Nathan, who had been detailed off to wash Mark's land yacht, had sloped into the heads while Randy was doing his business, pulled down the front of his shorts, and . . . Randy almost swooned at the sight of Nathan's tackle. Nathan, totally oblivious to the lustful stares of the young red-haired boy, finished, washed his hands, and left the heads, leaving a gasping Randy staring after him.
In a way, Nathan had become a hero, and not because of his finely proportioned penis. He had weathered one of Chef's tantrums and managed, quite by accident, to gain the portly man's approval. Chef had been in his element, alternating between Falstaff with the Sea Puppies, laughing with them, threatening them, and then bribing them with cake, cookies and assorted pastries; and Careme with Ray, Sandro and the Litany. Perfection was something he took for granted. The boys were doing their best and just needed a little poke from time to time, which caused only a few little tantrums over the food preparations. What ignited a tantrum of astronomical proportions were the floral arrangements that had been delivered by the Comox florist.
It was not the flowers themselves. Every bloom and fern was perfect, and nicely arranged. What set Chef off were the containers. They were silver-coloured, and looked decent. Unfortunately they were also plastic. Equally unfortunately Killian had chosen the moment to walk by carrying one of a pair of round plateaux mirrors that had been made in England 1815. The Phantom planned on using this piece of silver, and several others, as a base for the flowers. Chef looked at the magnificence of silver and glass in Killian's hands, then looked at the floral arrangements.
PLASTIC!
Chef turned white! Chef turned red! Chef puffed up! The Sea Puppies drew back in fright and Ray hid the cleaver. There followed a volcanic eruption accompanied by sulphurous oaths, most of which the Sea Puppies had not heard before, even though Harry, himself no slouch in the oath department, was their Sea Daddy. Chef's command of swear words was impressive and Evan de Courcy told Simon Keppel that they really had to try to remember them, if only to impress Harry.
The Gunner, at the first bellow, had come running and managed to calm Chef down. Chef allowed himself to be placated. He would not, however, disgrace Phantom's table with plastic! The Gunner, who didn't know a begonia from a bunion, was in a quandary. Flowers were definitely needed. It would not be a proper table without them. He was about to place a stinging telephone call to the florist when Nathan, who'd been visiting the heads (and unknowingly giving Randy his thrill of the month), came sloping into the galley.
The Gunner looked at Chef, who looked at Nathan and before he knew it Nathan had been appointed Ship's Florist. He was directed to a small pile of a dozen or so silver tureens and bowls, and told in no uncertain terms that his testicles were in great danger if he did not convert those bowls into acceptable floral arrangements.
Nathan, the safety of his testicles firmly in mind, set to work and, much to everyone's surprise, including his own, he managed, with a little floral foam and luck, to convert the white and gold roses, blue peonies and greenery into quite acceptable, low-keyed arrangements. Chef was so pleased that not only did he give Nathan a kiss on both cheeks and a pat on his bum, but stood him to a beer!
At 1530 everybody took a much need break and then, after the Forenoon Watchmen had eaten, went back to work. First came the silver service and side plates, then the occasional pieces of silver piled high with exotic fruits, then the silver flatware and flowers. At 1730, while the rest of the Ship's Company was eating dinner Chef, with The Gunner and The Phantom, inspected the table. Chef had reverted to his Careme mode, and nothing less than perfection would satisfy him. He idly waggled his wooden spoon behind his back as he made his inspection. The Gunner, his eyes wide in amazement at the table, and the side tables adorned with fruit-filled bowls and presentation silver, could scarcely contain his enthusiasm. The Phantom followed Chef nervously and almost fainted when Chef, finished his inspection, turned and before returning to his galley muttered, "BZ, Phantom, BZ!"
The Phantom was so stunned at receiving a "Bravo Zulu" - the ultimate of Naval accolades - from Chef that he had to sit down.
Before sending everybody off to shower, shave and change, The Phantom called his stewards into the galley lounge for a short meeting. He took the precaution of opening the windows and made a mental note to speak to Randy and Joey about investing in a can of air freshener. Really, the place reeked of fresh ejaculate! He must talk to those two.
When the stewards were gathered The Phantom took them through the Dinner, trying as best he could to allay any nervousness. "First of all, guys," he began, "you will make mistakes. That can't be helped. Hopefully any mistakes you do make will be little ones that nobody but you, and I, will notice." He held up a folded napkin. "Always carry a napkin folded in half. Except for the fish, the pudding and the dessert services, all the plates will be hot, as will the silvers. I don't want to see any of you being burned!"
The Phantom gestured to Kieran, Nick and Chad. "You three will have the first service, which means you will be looking after the Commanding Officer, Tyler, and the four diners to their right and left. Do not worry about anything. Tyler is a good head and Father will never complain, even if you drop the soup into his lap, which please don't because it's going to be hot!" When the laughter subsided he continued. "The first course will be soup, which will be pre-poured into the bowls. Remember, the soup plates and bowls will be hot so be careful how you place them on the service plate. Each service can work in tandem for the soup course, and for the fish course. There are no sauces to worry about."
Each steward had been given a menu and each boy studied the printed card carefully. The Phantom read off the dishes. "The first course is Consommé Royale, followed by Saumon Ecossaise, which is really smoked salmon with capers and red onions. The third course is Sorbet Princesse de Galles, which is nothing more than frozen water, sugar and champagne." He looked up and grinned. "Chef is a great believer in lots of booze. He's also made enough food to feed everybody so please, watch the sorbet when you eat it. And please, keep it away from the Sea Puppies. I do not need Harry bellowing at me if his Puppies get into the sauce!"
"We are going to eat?" asked Kieran, the tallest of the stewards. "I missed lunch and only managed to grab a quick sandwich when the First Dog Watchmen had dinner. I'm so hungry that I could eat a Sea Puppy!"
"Well don't!" returned The Phantom with a grin. "They're young, but they're tough. It would also upset Harry." He joined in the general laughter and then went on. "Don't worry, there's tons of food and you'll be eating exactly what the guests eat, only not at the same time."
"Do we get wine with our dinner?" asked David.
The Phantom thought a moment. "I don't see why not. Just take it easy and remember that you have a parade tomorrow. No hangovers on parade, please."
The stewards nodded in unison.
"Now then, gentlemen," continued The Phantom, "when you clear the sorbet you also take away the service plate and lay the dinner plates. Once the plates have been laid you go into the galley and the number one of the service picks up the silver tray holding the main course, which is Beef Wellington. Number two will take up the vegetable dishes . . ." he looked at the menu. "Pommes Parisienne, green beans, cauliflower and carrots. Number three will take up the sauce bowl, which is a Madeira sauce, which is a strong wine and Bob's your uncle if Harry gets loose!" Again there was laughter. "Remember, all you do is present the dish to the guest. He serves himself and hopefully they won't make pigs of themselves."
"They will," grumbled Aaron. "Have you seen Cory pack away the groceries?"
"Cory knows how to behave at a formal dinner," replied The Phantom loyally. "Now, the only trouble you might have is a talkative guest who's so busy yapping he'll make you wait a bit. If that happens nudge him on the shoulder with the tray. A hot piece of silver usually gets a quick response. Try not to burn their uniforms as they'll need them tomorrow."
"Can we burn them?" asked Billy, a hopeful tone in his voice.
"Certainly not!" snapped The Phantom. "They are guests, after all." He consulted the menu again. "Once you've cleared the main course you put down the salad plates, and serve that. It's pre-dressed with an oil and vinegar dressing so . . ."
"We always have salad with the main course at home," advised Nick. "It makes serving it easier."
"We are not home in Gananoque, Nick," returned The Phantom gently. "At a formal dinner salad is served after the main course. It's to help cleanse the palate for the pudding."
"Oh."
The Phantom gave Nick a look. Nick seemed in a much better mood than he'd been in this morning. Obviously Chad and he had made up. "After the salad you remove the salad plate, and the side plate and crumb the table. There are small dishes ready for any crumbs. Just brush your napkins across the table. You also remove the napkins. Once the table is cleared you bring out the pudding plates, which is the Minton service, dessert forks and spoons, and a fresh napkin. The pudding is Peches a l'Imperatrice, vice Baked Alaska."
"What happened? Not enough booze in the Baked Alaska?" asked Killian.
"Probably not," agreed The Phantom, grinning. "After the pudding the entire table is cleared in preparation of passing the port and the toasts. There will be three toasts: the first will be to the President of the United States and will be given by Val. The second will be the Reply, which will be given by Andy Berg, who is the ranking American guest. The third toast will be the toast of the day, which is always given by the youngest member of the Mess, who is Andre, I think. Once the toasts are over you will bring out the dessert plates, which are the small ones with the flowers and fruits painted on them. You will put on these plates a finger bowl, and a knife and fork. Don't worry about placing the flatware. Just put the dish and bowl in front of the guest and let them worry about what to do with everything."
Matt groaned. "I've got Harry on my service and you expect him to know what to do?"
"Well, if he doesn't, you show him. You are the steward, after all," replied The Phantom sweetly. "Once the dessert plates are out you then pass the fruit, the cheese and the Lady Fingers. Once that's done everybody leaves and eats while the speeches are going on."
"Then we do the washing up," complained David.
"No, you don't. Chef has ten Sea Puppies for that, plus the Litany, so all we have to do is make sure that all the silver, crystal and china get put away."
"Then break down the tables, and the partitions, fold the flags, scrub the deck . . ." Matt smiled and shook his head. "And to think I volunteered for this!"
While The Phantom and his stewards changed, Chef wandered about the dining room, inspecting the place settings, the arrangement of the flowers, moving a plate or a piece of silver flatware a fraction of an inch, clucking and nodding to himself like an old hen with one chick. He had already made one inspection, but being a careful man felt that another look wouldn't hurt. Besides, he was bored. Everything was ready, the lads were scrubbing their grubby little bums, and all the day lacked was the guests. Sipping on his cup of medicine Chef cast one last glance over the finery before him, stood back and then bellowed, "Raymond!"
Ray, who was in the showers, contentedly washing his dangling bits and fending off the depredations of Joey and Randy, heard the bellowing and rushed into the dining hall naked, his nether regions discretely hidden under a mass of soap suds, and dripping water all over the deck.
Chef pretended not to notice that his young protégé was naked. "Tis a glorious thing young Phantom has done this day," Chef said ponderously. "The silver is gleaming like the moon over Derry Water, and the sprays of flora could have just been snipped from the Gardens of Knockanorra! Ah, 'tis a grand sight, and so it is!"
Ray, who didn't know the Gardens of Knockanorra from the Hanging Gardens of Babylon, thought that the old fool had finally taken one too many sips of his medicine and was sliding into dementia.
"Now then, Raymond, I have been thinking," announced Chef.
"You have?"
"Don't sound so surprised," returned Chef huffily. He squared his shoulders. "Think on it, dear lad, 'tis the Commanding Officer's last hurrah, so it is. I can see him now, beaming, as he surveys his final Dinner with the lads, and nods with pleasure at the gleaming of the silver, at the beauty of the sprays of flowers, the candles and the tableware, the flags and the bunting."
Ray surveyed the room and took in the wonder of it all. "It is very beautiful," he said carefully, wondering what Chef was up to now."
"Of course it is," returned Chef. "And it must be preserved for posterity."
Ray looked at the set table and shook his head. "Ah, Chef, we really can't keep everything just like it is, you know. We're closing down soon and the guys have to eat . . ."
Chef raised his eyes to the heavens - which he couldn't see because the deckhead was in the way - and raised his arms in supplication. "Ah, Lord, forgive the wee lad, for he's an ignorant colonial who doesn't know that it is the custom to photograph . . ." His voice became a low, heavy growl. " . . . to photograph the table, and the settings, and the silver!" He fixed a stern eye on Ray. "That will change by the time I'm through with you. In the mean time, fetch me a camera!"
Ray, who had absently rubbed the camouflage from his bits and pieces, stared at Chef. "A camera, Chef?"
"Yes, a little mechanism that preserves for posterity what needs preserving! Fetch me a camera!" Almost as an afterthought he added, "Colour film, if you please. 35mm lens. With a flash attachment." As he lumbered into the galley he called back to Ray. "And put on your trousers. The Twins are about and only the good Lord knows what will happen if they come upon you in your present condition."
After dressing, Ray fetched his camera. Chef glared at the instrument, muttered about f-stops and light meters and then tried to climb on a chair, to take, as he put it, a panoramic view of the table. The chair, sturdy metal and a veteran of years of abuse and sea cadet bums, groaned in protest as Chef climbed aboard.
Ray, who saw Chef weaving a bit, grumbled, "You'll never take a decent photo moving about like that. And you haven't taken the lens cap off!"
Fortunately for Ray's well being, Nicholas came in to check on his flags, and offered to help out. He walked about, taking shot after shot. When he was finished he handed the camera back to Ray, who promptly handed it back. "Chef wants a group picture," explained Ray with a sigh.
Muttering that he did have better things to do, Nicholas waited impatiently while Chef rounded up the troops. With Nicholas's assistance the cooks, stewards, galley hands and Litany were all arranged; Chef, The Phantom, The Gunner, Kyle (looking devastatingly handsome in his white mess jacket, and dragooned into being Assistant Wine Steward by The Gunner), Ray and Sandro seated in chairs, with the stewards and the Litany standing behind them and the set table as a backdrop. He noticed that Sandro, normally so dour, had a wide, handsome smile on his face, and that Nick, who was standing closer to Chad than was really necessary, had an goofy smile on his face. What Nicholas didn't know was that Chad, his hands hidden by Chef's bulk, was giving Nick's crotch a slow rub. Just as the last photo was being taken Nick grunted loudly and then hurried off to his barracks as he had, or so he told Chef, forgotten his watch.
As he was leaving the Mess Hall, Nicholas complained that half the ship was running around snapping photos. And they all seemed to have run out of film at the same time, and were borrowing film from him! What did they think he was, Black's, for cripes sake?
Down in the Dockyard, Sean Anders, who was as much a traditionalist as Chef and Sub-Lieutenant Ramseur, and prouder than piss of his YAG crews, gathered the cadets who would be attending the Dinner in front of the command YAG for a group photograph. As he arranged the other cadets on the jetty Sean couldn't help but notice that they were a damned fine looking bunch of boys, looking even handsomer in their starched, white uniforms. As he watched the cadets arrange themselves, fussing with their caps and tapes, adjusting their silks so that they hung just so, Sean had visions of them naked, on an isolated beach, uninhibited and free of all restrictions, handsome boys who . . .
Sean abruptly snapped out of his reverie. He had lowered the wall a bit, and that could never be allowed to happen. The wall could never be let down, never!
Quickly handing his camera to Lieutenant Towsan, who had been skulking about the Command YAG and agreed to act as Duty Photographer, Sean took his place in front of the assembled cadets.
In the School of Wind, Sub-Lieutenant Ramseur, miffed that he'd been detailed off as Officer of the Day when Kyle had been shanghaied into wine service, gathered the quintet in the Unwinding Room. Harry was summoned to join them and the young officer snapped away with his Hasselblad. His appointment to AURORA as Band Officer was, in his mind, a great honour. The Band was the best he had ever served with and he wanted to preserve the memory. He told the young musicians that being chosen to play at the Dinner was something they should all be proud of and that while he never doubted for a minute their competence, he did warn that it might be best - this to Young Brown, who was leading the small group - to remember that it was all well and good to blow fortissimo on the parade square, it was quite another thing in an enclosed space, such as the dining hall. The idea was, the young officer advised, to provide background music to complement the dinner, not pump and thump the dinner guests out of their shorts! It had been his experience (he had attended one mess dinner before coming to AURORA) that a mess dinner was a time of reminiscing and remembering, and that some diners would not appreciate having to yell over the band if it played too loudly for normal conversation. Less was best, thank you.
Harry, who had never attended a mess dinner, had to agree with his nominal superior. He would have a quiet word with Young Brown. Normal dinners in the mess hall were loud enough without a band, and half the time he couldn't hear himself think for all the noise and chatter. That he contributed largely to the noise with his laughter and bellowing never occurred to him.
As Harry rose to return to the Gunroom, Sub-Lieutenant Ramseur turned to him and observed that something really should be done about the strange odours in the room.
Harry nodded noncommittally, thinking that if the tall, well-built young officer didn't look out he might be adding his contribution to the strange odours, especially if Cory found out what was under all the starch and cotton uniform. George Dodson Ramseur was tall, muscular, with dark blond hair, dark, penetrating eyes and a beguiling smile. As he left the School, Harry wondered if he should interrogate Mike, who came from the officer's home unit, and find out if Sub-Lieutenant Ramseur would meet with Cory's approval. Harry felt that he owed Cory a favour, for being so understanding about Todd and him. Then, as he approached the Gunroom, Harry thought, no, better not go there. Cory could be damned touchy at times and Harry had seen what had happened when Todd interfered in Cory's ill-fated relationship with Nathan. He would think of something else to make it up to Cory.
In the Gunroom, Father was in his element. He was witty, charming, a perfect example of a Commanding Officer. He complimented the cadets, whom he referred to with increasing frequency as "My Chiefs and Petty Officers," on their dress and on the wonderful thing they had organized. He was unfazed as the cameras came out, and his only caveat was that the boys not take any pictures with bottles of booze blatantly on display - not that there would be any, of course. Cadets, as everyone knew, were not to consume alcohol of any description, and if the powers that were saw evidence of forbidden consumption, well, he'd be for it.
It was not that Father condoned, per se, the senior cadets sipping the old be joyful. He knew that, according to regulations, he should have put a stop to any drinking on the part of the cadets. Several things stopped him. First, and most important, was the fact that this Dinner of Tyler's had done more to bring together the cadets of the Gunroom and the YAG Squadron than anything before. They were finally a close-knit, unbreakable team because of it. That 30-odd disparate boys, simply by working together on such a project, could form such a team was not to be ignored. The boys had come together and he'd be damned if he'd break apart this wonderful thing that they had become!
As he watched his Chiefs and Petty Officers, a sudden thought struck Father. He could never explain why he thought it, but he did. He realized that in time of real crisis, each and every one of these young men - he really had to stop thinking of them as boys - could be called to the Colours. They would be asked to put their lives on the Altar of their Country and nobody was going to check their Station Cards to see if they were stamped "G", "T" or "UA", just as nobody had stopped to check Station Cards back in 1941. Father, a very senior Lieutenant then, had stood on the cold, windswept jetty and watched as HMS HOOD sailed from Scapa Flow to meet Bismarck. It occurred to the old Commander now that not one of the three survivors of that horrible day would have been allowed a drop of alcohol! The oldest survivor, Lofty Tilburn had just turned 20! Ted Briggs had been 18! And, dear God, the senior survivor, Midshipman Dundas, had been 16 when he kicked out the starboard side window of HOOD's Compass Platform and swam away from the sinking battle cruiser!
Father's tired old eyes scanned the laughing young men. He would say nothing. This was their night. Like the Commanding Officer of HMS ELECTRA, the destroyer that hove into view and picked up the three survivors of HOOD, he would put his telescope to his metaphorical blind eye. There would be no checking of Station Cards tonight.
Because they liked the old man, the cadets acceded to his wishes. Cory, Todd, Nicholas and the others took great care with their picture taking. Father posed - he was, despite his rough and ready exterior, very photogenic - with all the cadets individually. He told Tyler that he had thought of laying on the Base Photographer, but had thought better of it. He did not need a stranger wandering about the place taking snaps that could come back to haunt them all. He did, however, want a formal portrait of himself with the lads, with his Chiefs and Petty Officers. As he told Tyler, careers were built on memories and often times an old sailor was left with only those. Could Tyler make it so?
Tyler could. He summoned The Phantom from the Mess Hall and, as the Gunroom was not deemed to be a proper venue, being stark and utilitarian, everybody trooped over to the Wardroom and gathered in the hastily rearranged lounge. Sub-Lieutenant Ramseur, who had followed Harry from the School of Wind and was moping in his cabin before going on duty, was pressed into the role of Ship's Photographer.
The Phantom stood by the door of the Wardroom, reluctant to be included as one of the group. He was, when all was said and done, essentially a civilian, and did not want to intrude. Tyler, the words he had spoken only this morning still fresh in his memory, had other thoughts. He walked purposefully to where The Phantom was standing, nodded expressly, snagged The Phantom's arm and guided his brother along side, to stand beside him with all his other brothers.
The cadets beamed, Father's eyes gleamed with pride, and a new photo was added to the small album of memories that each cadet would take home with them.
Shortly before 1900 Young Brown and his quintet showed up, dressed to the nines in their best Number One blue uniforms. They set up their music stands and began tuning their brass instruments. Satisfied, they thumped out a spirited, if a trifle off key, rendition of Heart of Oak. The last note had barely died when Kevin, who had been serving hors d'oeuvres in the Gunroom, appeared in the doorway. Tyler and his guests were on their way. Young Brown nodded to his musicians and they broke into The Roast Beef of Old England, the traditional tune used in military messes to announce dinner.
The band continued playing until all the guests were standing behind their chairs, waiting for Tyler to begin. Young Brown, his eye firmly on Tyler, saw him nod and signalled for the musicians to finish the tune.
When silence filled the dining hall Tyler surveyed the assembled guests. He tapped his gavel lightly on the table in front of him and began the Dinner, a dinner replete with symbolism and rife with tradition. "We will begin, gentlemen, with our tribute to departed shipmates and those who have gone before." He nodded to Sean Anders, YAG Squadron Chief.
Sean held in his hands a small piece of paper. On it was written a reprise, by Commander Harold Agar, RCN, of McCrae's "In Flanders Fields". Sean cleared his throat. "On all the oceans, whitecaps flow; there are no crosses, row on row; they who sleep beneath the deep, sleep in peace, our country is free."
Each of the thirty-eight guests, the five bandsmen, and the stewards, bowed their heads. In the galley, Chef, Sandro, the Litany, Randy, Joey, and the ten Sea Puppies (who had been told of what was to happen), bowed their heads, listening to the silence.
After a minute's silence Tyler nodded to Tony, who had committed his part of the ceremony to memory. He began to recite the fourth verse of Binyon's poem, "For the Fallen."
Tony's voice was low, and filled with emotion. "They shall not grow old, as we that are left grow old; Age shall not weary them, nor the years condemn. At the going down of the sun and in the morning, we will remember them."
Tyler repeated the last line and tapped his gavel again. He nodded to Dirty Dave the Deacon and, in keeping with tradition, which held that there was no rank in the Mess, asked Mister Montgomerie to say Grace.
Dirty Dave, a veteran of many Mess Dinners, knew enough to keep it short and, mindful of Father's "No Popery" restrictions, kept his Grace as Low Church as possible. "We ask God's blessing on the food we are about to eat, and pray that He will make us truly grateful."
"Amen," intoned Tyler. "Gentlemen, pray be seated."
Matt, Chad, Aaron and Killian rushed forward, each boy holding a large silver basket of rolls. Young Brown flipped a page in his copy of Music for Mess Dinners and looked at the musicians. "Right, Number 65." He raised his hand and on the downbeat the quintet began to thump out I Am The Very Model Of A Modern Major General, heavy on the tuba.
Tyler's Mess Dinner had begun.