Chapter 4
From Shane's kneeling position the trio took on the appearance of giants. They descended on him in an instant like three ravenous wolves, grabbing him under his armpits and hauling him roughly to his feet. Dazed and confused, Shane had no idea what had happened; it would take a few minutes before the fog of fear cleared to the point where he could begin to think halfway straight again. He was sandwiched between two of them, one on either wrist, towering over him as the third giant collected Shane's jeans and boxers from the floor where he had left them.
"Here, put these on," he said in a firm voice. It was not a request, it was an order and Shane knew better than to argue or try to resist. He slipped his boxers and jeans over his naked buttocks but had some difficulty with his cock. It remained stubbornly hard, dripping like a leaky tap, but he managed somehow to get it back behind covers in the end. Satisfied that he would follow instructions, the two giants who had been holding him moved slightly apart to let him finish dressing.
"Alright," the talking head continued, "follow us. No funny business or we'll beat the living shit out of you. Understand?"
"Yess. . ." stuttered a shell shocked Shane Dawson.
What other answer could he have made? Naturally, they would have beaten the shit out of him, that was their natural mode of behaviour. Following on from what they had caught him doing in that hotel room Shane had no doubt in his mind at all about that. They marched him out through the door, down the stairs and through the small lobby of the hotel where several people stared at the little party in awe. This part of town was off limits to the military and the sight of these three hulking men escorting Shane out must have been something they talked about for months afterwards. He was thrown on to the back seat of a waiting grey military car, which sped off through the darkened streets of the town toward - what? He caught glimpses of the town as they tore through but he was totally unaware of where he was, being unable to recognise any landmarks or familiar buildings.
There was silence in the car as his captors concentrated on eyes front and mouths shut. He recognised the Main Gate of the Air Force base as the sentry acknowledged the driver and let them through. They drove down one darkened street after another before finally pulling up behind a grey, barn like building with no markings other than the number 93 painted in large, black characters above the door. High up under the eaves several shaded security lights glowed but they were too far up for their light to reach ground level. Shane was hauled roughly out of the car and frog-marched into the building between his two "guides". Once inside, the glare of overhead strip lighting made him blink as his pupils adjusted from the darkness outside.
He was quickly signed in - they had already procured his name, rank and serial number - and was deposited like a bundle of lost property in a small room furnished with nothing but a table and three chairs. He was then left alone. Alone for the first time since this debacle had begun. He struggled not to break down in tears. He must try to keep calm, think clearly, work out some story which might get him off the hook. He was not to be left alone for more than ten minutes before one of the three came in and stood across the table from where he sat. The man stared at the quivering youth. Shane's mouth dried up, his cock shrank to almost nothing. His balls tingled with fear.
"You are in biiig trouble, boy." The man's quiet, sinister tone of voice sounded discouraging.
Shane knew the man was right. Although he had not had too much time to think about anything since he had been caught, he realised that he was in deep, deep shit. 'They' - whoever 'they' were - had caught him in the act of sucking a man's cock. He could not deny it. He could not cover it up. 'They' had been there. 'They' had seen it. And that flash. What was that flash? A sick feeling in his stomach told him that it could only have been from a camera fitted with a strong flashlight. He had been caught in the act and the act had been recorded on film. He could not respond to his accuser.
"Big trouble," the man continued. "This man's Air Force don't like queers. You know that. You know the code of conduct and you know that kind have no place in the Armed Forces." It slowly sunk in as Shane sat there trembling. He had been caught. Moreover, he knew the consequences of what he had done even before the man spelled them out for him.
"Sucking dick is gonna get you a DD, you know that?" Dishonourable discharge. The two most chilling words anyone could throw at a Serviceman. A one-way ticket home. The stigma associated with a discharge on the grounds of homosexual conduct with other men.
"I . . . I . . ." Shane tried to form words but they would not come. It was no use. He had been caught with his pants well and truly down.
"You like German dick? You like to gobble them unwashed cocks? You like to be a little cocksucker for all them German queer boys?" The man's voice was low and mean. Shane could tell he was enjoying his little game.
"I . . . I don't . . ." Still stammering incoherently he tried to form some sort of sentence, some kind of a statement.
"Sure you do, boy." He flung the pictures down in front of Shane. "Sure you do," he repeated more venomously, his voice full of loathing and distaste. He turned abruptly on his heels and strode out, leaving Shane with the pile of pictures and his thoughts.
His stinging eyes settled on the photographs. He could make out several shots of the taxi, taken from the rear. The driver's figure and his own were evident in the faded green and black photos made at night with a night vision camera. The cab's license number was prominent in all the pictures. Several of them showed their two heads, a few only a part of himself as he must have been slumped in the seat, several more displayed only the head of the driver as Shane went down on him. Another couple of snaps showed both of them upright again. A final shot showed the cabby dropping him off at the Main Gate. It was obviously him in this last shot, as the camera had captured his full profile. They had him! He was not going to get out of this one. He knew it. He was condemned to wear his shame home instead of the uniform he had proudly worn when he left the UK. He sat in silence, tears forming in his eyes and he finally broke down in unrestrained sobs. His life lay in ruins.
Shane must have sat there for an hour before the door opened again and an officer in Naval uniform came in. He was about forty and from the amount of gold braid on the peak of his cap and the rings on his jacket sleeves, he was at least a Commander. He was dishy with it. He pulled up a chair across the table from Shane, gave the pictures a glance then laid an eight-by-ten glossy print down beside the pile. Shane's eyes were immediately drawn to it and he saw the awful truth in front of him. The picture had been taken through a partially opened door and showed clearly what he had been busted for. There he was in all his glory, on his knees with the cabby's cock halfway in his mouth, his hand grasping the base of the man's substantial shaft as his lips closed tightly around the man's broad circumference. Shane's T-shirt did not cover the lower half of his body and his rigid erection betrayed the fact that he was fired up by what he was doing. He fought an urge to vomit as the damning evidence was laid before him.
"Son," the officer began in a stern voice but with a softer tone, "you do realise that you are in a heap of trouble, don't you?" Shane's head hung down but he said nothing. "You do realise that, don't you?" the interrogator repeated, more emphatically.
"Sir! . . . I . . . yes, Sir!" He lifted up his head and looked the officer straight in the eyes, finally getting the words out. The officer seemed to relax a little, took off his cap and placed it on the table where it would not hamper his interrogation. He gazed at the pathetic young man almost sympathetically then duty took over again.
"Homosexual behaviour is not allowed in the military. You know that. More importantly, your work is very sensitive in its nature. We are constantly watching for perverted sexual behaviour among young men in your age group. Your work is so tricky and difficult that we have to. Homosexuals are such easy targets for enemy government agents or political groups trying to penetrate the Intelligence apparatus of NATO that we have to keep an eye out for these kind of things. The Stasi (the East German secret police) would turn you in instantly if we didn't. They would blackmail you into working for them, to tell secrets, whatever. For the safety of Europe and, indeed, most of the civilised world, such things cannot and must not be allowed to happen. That is why you and I are here. To protect the Allied governments and NATO from breaches of security committed by your kind. The security of Western Europe cannot be jeopardised by anyone or anything. If it is we have failed in our mission. Understand?"
"Yes, Sir! I understand, Sir!"
Shane truly did understand. He understood the workings of Intelligence and Security very well. The work his mates and he were engaged on and the information they processed every day was sought after by every foreign government in the world, friend or foe. Theirs was what was known as "a protected job", watched over by the Office of Air Force Intelligence (OAFI) and it was dawning on Shane that he knew now where he was. OAFI shadowed everyone, from the General commanding the entire set-up downwards, but those who worked in Intelligence were tracked most especially, for two reasons. First, because of the nature of their work. Secondly, their proximity to East Germany and the Soviets. Most of the civilians around town were German, most of them had been born and raised there, but a growing number were of indeterminate origins, probably wartime refugees from Eastern and Central Europe. More significantly, a number were Soviet plants or sympathisers. Whatever their background, they all mingled with the young Servicemen in the stewpots that passed for bars around the town centre. Some of them more than 'mingled' and that is what the OAFI boys were looking for.
As his interrogator explained, OAFI had the town wired, top to bottom, port to starboard. Their mission was to find out everything that went on at every point of the compass. They achieved this through a series of informants: locals on the payroll who became their eyes and ears. They were looking for the careless man in uniform, the indiscreet out-of-town visitor who bragged too much, the suspicious pairing of military man and well dressed civilian visiting one of the lower grade local hotels. Using the information gleaned in this way, OAFI set their traps and, according to this officer, the hit rate was an impressive 90%. More than anything, they shadowed the younger military men because they were considered to be at particular risk, being of impressionable ages. The average age of Shane's team was 18 years old, this being their first real time away from home. Mix that with the natural randiness of young men cooped up with little or no chance of sexual release, with the liberality of the place and trouble was sure to explode - at least a few times. For OAFI, once was too much.
They had been informed about Shane by the second cabby, the one who had backed his cab into the alley. He had given them a description of Shane, told them where he picked him up and, more importantly, the base he took his fare back to. When OAFI learned that, it was a total red flag to them as the location was where the Air Force Intelligence base was located! Shane learnt that the third cabby, the one who had obviously set him up, had been trolling for him that night, instead of the other way round. An agent had tailed him and positioned the cab by means of a walkie-talkie to respond to Shane. The agent had tracked them to the quarry where he had taken the night vision assisted pictures, which in turn provided OAFI with the initial proof of Shane's sexual leanings. With these photos in hand and setting up the intricate stratagem of the cabby and Shane spending the night together, the agents had no trouble making a compelling case against Shane. It had simply been a matter of feeding him beer in the seedy hotel after that, the concierge being paid handsomely for her part in the operation. Both the concierge and the cabby had gained in this. Moreover, he had got a good blowjob as a bonus. Shane had wondered they had contrived to disregard the cabby's double-dealing. As if they even cared! It was out. Shane's secret was a secret no more. As the officer explained to him, this would go down in his permanent record of service. He would be discharged under less than honourable conditions (for which read 'Dishonourable Discharge', or DD) for medical reasons. "It will be noted," the officer continued in his dry, unemotional voice, "that you are homosexual and have been caught participating in or initiating homosexual relations with another male." With that, he stood up, gathered his documents together, picked up his cap and strode out of the room to leave a shattered young airman alone with his thoughts once more.
Next: Chapter 5
Laurie, 19/03/17