Phantom of Aurora by John Ellison
Chapter 11

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As the band thumped out the nautical air the cadets clambered up the ladders and onto the jetty, there to begin the age-old ritual of all sailors being welcomed home from the sea. There was much handshaking and back slapping as the cadets greeted each other, the officers, and The Phantom's parents. Then came the obligatory photographs.

Everyone seemed to have a camera of some description and the crews were photographed as a group, then as an individual crew, always with the underwear dressed whaler masts as a backdrop, then with the Commanding Officer, then with Number One, then the officers as a group, the constant clicking of cameras sounding like a convention of very drunken crickets.

Once the photographing had finished individual groups broke off, greeting their friends. Sandro, Joey and Randy thumped The Phantom on the back and his butt. It was impossible to answer the questions that came thick and fast. The Phantom broke away and went to where his parents were waiting patiently to greet him. They both embraced him. "Jeez, Mum, Dad, I've only been away two days, not two years," The Phantom exclaimed as he tried, but failed, to wriggle free.

His mother held him closer and kissed his cheek. "Phantom you look, so, so dishevelled!" Mrs. Lascelles smiled as she stroked her son's face.

Taking the path of least resistance The Phantom returned his mother's kiss and said with a laugh, "Well, I have been away sailing for two days, and we slept on the beach, but we did stop at Miracle Beach for a shower. Of course we only had so much clothing with us and there was no place to wash what we had, except Powell River and Two Strokes, I mean, Roger, he took all our clothes to a Laundromat and washed them for us, but we didn't have an iron."

"Phantom, stop while you're ahead," Chief Lascelles said, laughing. "Unless you want to explain to your mother exactly why your underpants are flying in the breeze."

"Oh, that. Well, we wanted to look good coming in, so we decided to Dress Ship." The Phantom managed to free himself from his parents embrace. "In the Sea Cadets you have to make do with what you have."

The Phantom's father put his arm around his son's shoulder and walked him back to where the whalers were tied alongside. "I thought you weren't a Sea Cadet?" he asked quietly, his eyes filled with hidden laughter at his son's enthusiasm and happiness.

"In a way I'm not, but in a way I am." The Phantom leaned and whispered, "I'll tell you later," The he grinned. There were certain details of his induction into the Sea Cadets that he thought it best his mother did not hear about. "Right now I have to help unload and square away the boats." With that The Phantom clambered down the ladder and into the whaler where he began helping Cory to pass the jumbled gear up to Todd.

Ray, much to his embarrassment, was enveloped in Chef's huge arms. Chef, who was dressed in a pair of shorts so huge that they looked like a circus tent, and a slightly soiled singlet, demanded to know how Ray was, what he had done, and what the hell is that? Ray looked down at the fading, very minor burn mark. "I dropped a roasted potato on my leg," Ray said hurriedly, thinking it wise not to inform Chef that he'd been naked when he dropped the potato. "The Gunner put some stuff on it. It doesn't hurt."

Chef looked at him doubtfully. "I don't know, Ray. Maybe you should see Doc."

"Christ, Chef, it's only a roast potato burn. It could have been worse!" Ray grinned impishly. "I could have dropped it on my crotch."

"A fate much to be avoided!" agreed Chef, wincing. "Good job you had your shorts on."

"Uh, yeah, Chef, good job I did," Ray lied. "So, how did the Makee-Learns work out? Not too much damage?"

Before Chef could reply Randy, Joey and Sandro joined the pair. They all had a group hug. "Nice tan, Ray," said Joey as he ran his hand up Ray's arm. "You look real good."

Ray chuckled and ruffled Joey's hair. "So did you and Randy when you waggled your wieners at us as we passed the beach. You two barracks stanchions shouldn't go around waving your wieners like that. You might get them all sunburned and there's nothing worse than a sunburned wiener."

Both Joey and Randy blushed and squirmed. "Well, Jon said we could do it, and he did it, too," replied Randy with a giggle.

Harry, who had overheard the conversation between the cooks, turned to Jon, who had come up from the beach. He gave Jon a cuff. "What are you doing, showing your dick to them innocent children?" he demanded loudly. "You trying to corrupt them?"

Jon opened his mouth to reply but before he could utter a syllable Two Strokes interrupted. "Corrupting the Sea Puppies is Harry's job!" he hooted loudly.

Harry's hand hovered over Two Stroke's crotch. "What did I tell you?" he threatened.
"Gunner says my dick is safe. You can't rip it off." Two Strokes smiled smugly.

"He didn't say anything about your tiny balls!" growled Harry, a dangerous glint in his eye.

Two Strokes flushed and took off at a rate of knots to help with the unloading.

Mark and Tony greeted Tyler and Val with great glee. Both the American boys were wearing tight, beige, USN swimming shorts, and chest hugging white T-shirts. "How was it?" Tony asked Val.

"Oh, man! It was great. I mean, just great," enthused Val. "From almost the time we left we never had . . ."

Tyler coughed a warning. "Say, Mark, why don't you and Tony come alongside after we finish here?" he interjected quickly. He looked pointedly at his roommate. "We can tell Mark our war stories in the Mess."

"Hey, that's a good idea," agreed Val. He gave a quick sideways glance at the crowd, understanding Tyler's warning. There were certain things best related in the dark of night, or behind closed doors. He looked at the two Americans. "Come down to the Gunroom. We shouldn't be too long."

"You still have some of that Italian champagne?" Tony asked Val, referring to Val's bottle of grappa.

"About half a bottle," replied Val. He grinned widely. "Enough for a couple of good war stories."

"How about we give you guys a hand, then we can all go to the Mess together," Mark offered. He had seen the looks passing between Tyler and Val and was dying to know just what deviltry had gone on.

"Ah, no need for that," said Tyler jumping into the whaler.

"No problem, guy. Besides, I want to talk to you about your new uniform." Mark joined Tyler in the boat and began handing up some sleeping bags to Tony. "I told my mother about your new duds and she wants to know if maybe you'd let me have my picture taken wearing it."

"I guess it's okay. It's okay by me. Uniforms I loan out. You supply your own underwear. Briefs or boxers, your choice."

******

The Gunner's hand was shaken enthusiastically and his back slapped by Father, who wanted to know all the details. "You look wonderful, and the lads look as if they've just returned from a successful rape and pillage, all smiles and suntans." The Commanding Officer was positively bubbly.

"Everything went great," replied The Gunner. There were certain details of the trip that wild horse would be unable to drag out of him, certain details that neither Father nor Number One needed to know, especially the overall suntans they all had! "No trouble at all, fair winds and following seas all the way out, and all the way back." The Gunner smiled inwardly. There were times when just a little information went a long way.

"Good show!" laughed Number One. "The lads here had a wonderful time. Chef has practically lived here, and his two Makee-Learns performed yeoman service. The lads spent the day in town yesterday, civvies, no uniforms, and had a super time. No one got arrested."

"That we know of," interjected Father with a smile. "At least we've had no request for bail money and Fred assures me that all the cadets are on board."

"Last night the boys held a Sod's Opera. Absolutely no one was safe, not even you," Number One informed The Gunner with a wide grin.

"I expect they took the mickey?" asked The Gunner, arching an eyebrow. In a Sod's Opera no one, and no thing was safe.

Number One nodded. "They did, yes, but they were not cruel. Mostly marching about in hobnailed boots - wherever they found them I don't know - and issuing orders to each other. I must say that Fred does a passable impression of you!"

"I shall remember to mention it to him," replied The Gunner dryly, a smile playing at the corner of his lips. Sod's operas could be painfully cruel and horribly accurate. From the sound of it he had gotten off easy.

"Count yourself lucky, Stephen," Father said with a smile, exposing his tobacco stained dentures. "Nigel came in for the worst of it," he said, confirming The Gunner's suspicions. He began to laugh. "The boys had him down pat and my lady wife was laughing so hard I thought she'd wet herself."

"Father!" Mrs. Commanding Officer was clearly not amused.

"Well, you said it, my dear, not I," replied the Commanding Officer calmly.

"Still, it was fun and, all in all, the lads acquitted themselves well. I was most impressed with Fred, Jon, and young Ryan," put in Number One. "They were all mainstays. We did not miss the chiefs at all."

Number One was not an easy man to impress. He turned and looked at Father, who nodded. Number One smiled at The Gunner. "I think we had better start thinking about setting a promotion board for them."

The Gunner nodded, wondering if promotions had been a part of the Commanding Officer's secret plan and if ducks were being placed in a neat row. "Harry, and the Twins as well, I think." He rubbed his chin reflectively. "I would also like you to consider Stuart and Ray, and a few of the others."

"What say we repair to the Wardroom and discuss it? We will swing the lamp and then chat about promotions." Father waved his hand in the general direction of the Wardroom. "Where are Phantom's parents? Oh, there they are. Number One, go and fetch them, please, and ask them to join us."

The Commanding Officer gave his wife his arm and as they strolled toward the Wardroom he turned to The Gunner. "I suppose I shall have no one to blame but myself if I promote the Twins and Harry. They'll be wanting Number 11 uniforms, and where we shall ever get one big enough to fit that moose Harry, I'm sure I don't know."

"Not to worry, sir," replied The Gunner with a sly smile. "I have friends in low places."

******

Eventually the jetty was cleared as the whalers were unloaded and the crews carried the gear back to Stores, the Ropewalk, or Boatswain Stores. Val and Tyler, together with Mark and Tony, had lumbered off, laden with sails and masts. Todd, as loaded down as miner's pack mule, carried as much of the small bags and carryalls as he could manage to the Gunroom. The band had packed up and retired to the School of Wind, taking Harry with them. The other cadets went off to the swimming beach, or to the canteen.

Cory was alone, squaring away the loose lines that always seemed to be overlooked when he heard a hearty voice. "Hi. Need some help?" the voice asked. Cory looked up to see a young man standing on the jetty.

Looking down at Cory was a young man with a long, oval, firm-jawed face set with flaming sapphire eyes. His black hair curled invitingly over his high, wide brow. His smooth, broad, muscled chest was set with two tiny light brown nipples centred in pale pink aureoles, and tapered to a firm waist. His well-muscled legs and thighs descended from a pair of wide, dark blue, shorts.

Cory noticed that the boy's shoulders and arms were liberally sprinkled with freckles. The boy was handsome, though not spectacularly so, and while his features were soft they gave evidence of total masculinity. His body, while hardly muscle bound, hinted at a contact sport, soccer, perhaps, baseball, if his smoothly muscled legs were any indication. Football? A quarterback?

"Uh, um, no, I'm fine, thanks," mumbled Cory. He quickly averted his eyes and tried to concentrate on the piece of line he was coiling.

The boy smiled, revealing quite good teeth. "Hell, I don't mind. I don't have anything else to do." He was squatting down with one hand extended, preparing to jump into the whaler.

Cory chose this moment to look up and gasped. The young man was not wearing any underwear and Cory found himself looking directly up the legs of the boy's shorts, made even more revealing by the boy's wide spread legs. Directly in Cory's line of sight was possibly the most magnificent set of upper deck fittings he had seen in a long time, almost, but not quite, as good as Todd's and much better than anything Greg or Nicholas possessed.

From a small forest of curling and whirling, black, soft pubic hair was a magnificently circumcised, four-inch shaft of smooth, tan and pink skin, unmarred and ending in a classic helmet as crisp and pink as a prairie rose. Hanging exactly as low as the stranger's sterling penis was a smooth, velvet, hairless sac containing two perfectly shaped oval testicles.

Cory was so stunned that he began to walk backward across the thwart, uncoiling the rope he was holding, and not paying attention to what he was doing. His heels hit the gunwale and he lost his footing. He fell into the harbour with a resounding splash.

"Jesus!" the young man exploded as he leaped nimbly into the whaler. Within seconds he was reaching out to help Cory pull himself into the whaler. "Christ, man, are you all right?" The boy smiled a warm, slightly crooked smile.

Cory's knees buckled and the boy helped him to sit down. "I'm okay, really," Cory gulped. "Just let me catch my breath."

The young man sat beside Cory and gave his shoulder a thump. "Be hell if you spent two days at sea and then came back and drowned in the harbour!" He laughed quietly.

Cory nodded. "Yeah, it would be a pisser at that." He smiled shyly. "Thanks for your help."

The young man held out his hand. "My name is Nathan. Nathan Berman. I'm not Jewish, by the way."

Cory would not have cared if Nathan had professed to being a Druid. He shook the proffered hand. "Cory Arundel. Thanks again"

Nathan stood up and headed for the ladder leading to the jetty. "You're soaking wet. Come on over to the cutter. I'll lend you some dry clothes."

As Nathan climbed up the ladder leading to the jetty, Cory frankly admired the view. Nathan had as fine a bum as Cory had seen in a while, and although he was tempted to reach out and touch, initiating an encounter, he thought better of it. The boy was obviously, by his accent, an American, and Cory had learned that Yanks could be so anal when it came to having the moves put on them.

"There's no need, really. I live over in the Gunroom and it's not far at all," Cory replied as he climbed the ladder.

"Don't be silly," said Nathan, brushing aside Cory's objections. "The cutter's right here and I have plenty of dry shorts. Come on."

Since the American was so insistent, and Cory was a little curious, he acquiesced. "So, you're American?" he asked as they walked the very short distance down the jetty to where the cutter was tied up.

Nathan nodded. "Yessir, true blue and all that. I was born and bred in Seattle." He stopped and gestured toward a wide opening in the deck of the cutter. "Here we are. Mind the ladder," he cautioned, his voice deep-toned. "It's a bit steep."

Cory found himself in a long, wide compartment lined with a double tier of neatly made bunks, with two long, teak tables flanked by metal benches filling the centre of the compartment. Against the aft bulkhead was arrayed a small tier of lockers. The layout of the berthing deck was not all that different from the YAGs.

Nathan proceeded to the lockers and rummaged in the bottom one on the port side. He brought out a towel and a pair of shorts. "Here, put these on. And here's a towel to dry off. I'll get you another one." With that he disappeared forward. Cory slid down his shorts and stepped out of them. Naked, he began towelling his golden, sun-bleached hair.

When he re-entered the berthing area Nathan stopped and stared in wonder at the magnificent, blond-haired Adonis before him. Cory's tanned body was a gold dusted wonder, his lightly muscled chest set with pale brown aureoles containing soft, small nipples. As he towelled his hair his muscles rippled and his beautifully formed penis, dusty rose becoming pale, translucent pink as it met his gloriously curving glans, swayed gently, caressing his sweet, low hanging, perfectly oval testicles. Around Cory's genitals a darker, dense, curled bush disappeared into the fine, almost invisible pale blond hair dusting his gently muscled legs.

Cory looked up as Nathan entered, his sky-blue eyes sparkling, setting his delicate, oval face alight.

As Cory smiled his thanks Nathan knew that this gloriously handsome young man standing before him was the stuff that dreams are made of, the slim, taut, golden body an object of veneration, and an act of love with him a rite of adoration. With almost priest-like deliberation Nathan approached Cory and draped the towel over his slim, perfect shoulders. Nathan's eyes shimmered.

Cory knew the look. He leaned forward and pressed his lips against Nathan's, their kiss deeply passionate. Their lips parted and their tongues met and entwined and as they kissed their hips ground together and Nathan's hands found and massaged Cory's wonderfully curved butt. After what seemed an eternity they pulled apart.

Nathan gasped. "Wow, man, I never expected that." He was wide-eyed in awe.

"We can stop, if you want." Cory did not think that he had misjudged the look in Nathan's eye, but it was always better to be safe than sorry.

"No, no!" Nathan shook his head violently. "That's not what I meant. I meant the kiss. Wow, fuck, where did you learn to kiss like that?"

Cory smiled coyly. "Here and there. You liked it, then?"

"Oh, Jesus, Cory. I have never been kissed like that before," breathed Nathan.

Cory reached down and felt the rising lump in Nathan's shorts. Then he knelt down and began licking and kissing the wonderful mound hidden under the dark blue cotton. Nathan bucked and moaned as Cory's warm lips caressed his now raging hardon. He moaned softly as the wetness penetrated the cloth. Cory reached up and unsnapped Nathan's shorts, his hand found the zipper and the shorts were an untidy pile around Nathan's ankles.

Having learned through trial and error, first with Todd, then with his cousin Dermid, followed by the boys of his youth, then Chris, Cory knew that sucking a cock was an art that no female could ever master. Only a male could gift another male with the ultimate pleasure. Only another male could know that while deep-throating was a part of the ritualistic act of veneration, the part of a man's dick above his circumcision line was a sensitive sea of pleasure that only another man's tongue and lips could navigate with the expertise needed to bring another male to screaming orgasm.

Smiling a smile that seemed to bring the sun, the rain, the moon, the very universe into the close, hot, berthing deck. Cory slowly lowered his warm, moist mouth over the deep pink head of Nathan's seven-inch, thick erection that jutted upward at an angle from his body.

Nathan's eyes glazed over as Cory's mouth descended down his silken-sheathed, granite shaft, sucking softly and slowly, turning left and right in a tight spiralling motion that caused Nathan's legs to shake and his dick to tremble as a thousand needles of delight engulfed it.

As Cory's senses savoured the muskiness that rose in small waves from Nathan's heated groin his tongue massaged the pulsing shaft and twitching helmet that filled his mouth. With one hand he cupped and kneaded Nathan's swollen balls in their tightening sac. With his other hand Cory gently stroked Nathan's tight stomach, his fingers barely tracing the treasure trail that coursed upward from Nathan's sweat-rimed pubic bush, his fingers caressing the warm flesh as they moved downward. Nathan moaned and spread his legs, allowing Cory's probing hand to find and then begin exploring with soft deftness his smooth, hairless, velvet entrance.

Nathan groaned loudly as his muscles tensed and he thrust his hips slowly forward, his hands reaching behind Cory's head as he tried to pull the glorious mouth closer.

Cory pulled back forcefully, his tongue savaging Nathan's shaft just under the ridge of his glistening, spasming, helmet-shaped glans. His hand felt Nathan's balls pulling upward.

Nathan's muscles tensed and one leg began to tremble uncontrollably as his balls swelled and pulsed, sending him toward the pinnacle of pleasure. He threw his head back, and through clenched teeth growled and moaned loudly. "Ungh, aaagh . . . JeeeeSUS . . .I'm cumm . . . cumming, man. I'm gonna cum!" he croaked.

A grin of sheer delight curled Cory's lips as he sucked harder and Nathan's enraged slit flared. A small dribble of warm, sweet nectar flowed out, tantalizing the outraged taste buds that had replaced Cory's tongue. Cory felt Nathan's dick swell and jerk as a huge flow of heaven flew from Nathan's slit into Cory's throat, to be followed by three equally large streams of teenage nectar. Cory's tongue circled Nathan's twitching mushroom, his mouth swallowing, squeezing and sucking, pulling every drop of the rich, thick, heavy, sperm-filled liquid until just a few drops of the precious fluid oozed slowly across his warm, wet tongue.

Nathan groaned wildly and he went limp, his chest heaving, his flat stomach pressing against Cory's face. He cried weakly as Cory's lips slowly cleansed and massaged the ultra-sensitive crown of his shrinking penis. Finally, Nathan pulled away, his softened penis flopping downward against his descending testicles. He collapsed onto the bunk behind him, his body half in and half out, and then, rolling slowly, he lay on his side, his eyes closed, his penis glowing with the after effects of a superior blow job.

When Nathan opened his eyes he saw Cory standing quietly, slowly fisting his gold and pink hardness, his vermeil helmet glowing and leaking precum. Cory smiled as Nathan sat up and held out his arms, beckoning Cory to come to him.

When Cory did so Nathan's arms enveloped his warm, satin waist and he bent his head, plunging his nose into Cory's groin, groaning as the warmth and odours of delight almost overpowered him. Nathan kissed the insides of Cory's thighs, and he slowly rubbed his smooth cheek over and around Cory's tightening scrotum, caressing his sleek, slim, six inches of smooth, flawless penis. Nathan's mouth found the object of his desire and he slowly sucked Cory's rampant organ into his mouth, tasting the sweetness of it, it's warmth heating his tongue.

Cory began moaning and slowly thrusting his hips in and out of Nathan's anxious mouth, his balls tightening against his body. He could feel the languid movement of Nathan's tongue slowly encircling the gentle curves of his arrowhead-shaped glans, and then probing his gaping slit. Cory began ascending into the wonderful, overwhelming world of orgasm as his balls pumped a massive load of precum, sending it dripping down the underside of his dick, to be swept away as Nathan's tongue and lips caressed and fondled his trembling hardon.

Nathan whimpered and cried softly as his mouth glided up and down on Cory's wondrous organ, searching, seeking every nerve ending, and savouring the indescribable taste that filled his very soul.

Cory began tensing as his semen, heated beyond endurance, began rising, slowly boiling upward until it gushed forward, filling Nathan's mouth with the delectable cream, stream after stream of it pulsing outward as Cory thrust forward, wave after wave of ecstasy crashing over him, carrying him to the far shore and back again. When the last, final, jewel of semen had been lovingly licked and sucked from him, Cory slowly withdrew from Nathan's mouth.

As he recovered his breathing Cory had to admit that Nathan had just given him one of the best blowjobs he had ever had!

Smiling, Cory sat down beside Nathan and they embraced. Their lips, warm and moist, met. Their hands explored warm flesh, from time to time reaching down to fondle their flaccid cocks.

Nathan all but purred with pleasure as Cory's tongue explored his neck and throat, his lips lingering in the small hollow of his shoulder, and then, pulling away from Cory's worshiping lips, Nathan leaned forward and began to nuzzle and lick Cory's chest, nipping at the hard nipples, sucking softly as his mouth traveled downward, murmuring almost prayerfully as his lips found Cory's treasure trail.

For Cory, Nathan's adoration was almost embarrassing. He had at first thought that their lovemaking would be a pleasant way to spend part of a lazy Sunday afternoon, a one off, never to be repeated. But Nathan's intensity was beyond belief. His lust was intoxicating. Still, Cory realized, the berthing area of a USN Sea Cadet cutter was not the place to continue. He pulled away reluctantly. "Nathan, we have to stop now," he murmured gently.

"Why? I want you, Cory. Please, stay. Please?" Nathan begged.

Cory kissed Nathan's eager lips. "I want to, but Nathan, look where we are. There's no telling who might just literally drop in." He smiled. "Another time, another place."

"No!" Nathan cried as Cory stood up. He took Cory's hand. "I know another place. A place where no one will ever come into."

Taking Cory by the hand, Nathan led him from the berthing deck and down a short corridor that ended at a closed door. Cory read the brass plate affixed to the door. "Are you kidding?" he asked, laughing. "The Commanding Officer's cabin?"
Nathan returned the grin. "Why not. No one ever comes here unless he calls for them, and he's in Comox at some party or other and he won't be back until at least midnight. The cabin is private, and we can be alone." He ran his finger down Cory's chest and gently stroked his nipples, causing them to harden. "Please, Cory, please stay?" He opened the door and stood aside.

Cory ran his hand over Nathan's semi-hard penis, smiled, and entered the cabin.

******

In the Wardroom, The Gunner listened to the chatter as the drinks were passed and the war stories were told. He could hear Father's booming voice as he related an experience in the South China Sea to Chief Lascelles. From another corner of the room drifted the well-modulated voice of Mrs. Commanding Officer as she and Mrs. Lascelles compared notes on the struggle one faced when one's husband served in the military.

A loud laugh broke The Gunner's concentration as Andy and Kyle told carefully expurgated stories of the sailing trip to the unlucky stay-at-homes, Dave Eddy and No H. He helped himself to a drink and turned to stare out of the large window that overlooked the harbour and, because of the curve of the Spit, the Dockyard Jetty. In the distance he could see one of the cadets - from the shining blond hair and slim build it looked like Cory - squaring away one of the whalers as he talked to an equally trim young man who was standing on the jetty.

As he watched The Gunner saw Cory moving slowly backward. His eyes widened when he realized that the goofy thing was heading right for the . . . The Gunner raised his hand and started, stifling his natural reaction to shout a warning.

"Has something happened?" The Gunner reluctantly turned to see Doc crossing the room. "You look like you've seen a ghost!" the surgeon exclaimed quietly.

The Gunner returned his seaman's eye to the jetty where he saw Cory clambering out the water and into the whaler, assisted by the other young man. Doc's gaze followed The Gunner's and together they watched the two boys walk down the jetty and board the USNSC cutter. The Gunner let out a long breath of relieved air. "Cory managed to fall into the harbour."

Doc squinted his eyes. "And also managed to get out of the harbour." He sipped his drink and then pointed his finger. "And he is now going down into the cutter. All is well."

"Yes," replied The Gunner. He heard a small commotion as The Phantom, finished with helping unload the small boats, came into the Wardroom with Wally Higman.

The Phantom saw The Gunner and smiled shyly. He would have gone to stand beside the man he loved but his mother's voice called him to come and sit with her. Reluctantly he did as bidden.

Doc saw the look that came over The Gunner's face. "Come and sit with an old man," he asked quietly, leading The Gunner to the sofa against the far wall. When they were comfortably seated he looked at The Gunner. "Stephen, no matter how hard you try you cannot protect them, look after them, all of the time."
"I wasn't . . ." The Gunner began to protest.

"Yes, you were," returned Doc with a slight shake of his head. "Not that I blame you. We all do it. As a father I can tell you that I still try to do it. Not always successfully." He chuckled ruefully. "My sons resent me for it so I pretend to let them live their lives accordingly to their lights."

"Let them make their own mistakes and be around to help put everything back together again?" The Gunner shook his head. "While we were away I had a long talk with the Twins. I suppose in a way I tried to make them understand that they were very soon to leave the world of boys and enter the world of men."

"Now that sounds decidedly Kiplingesque." Doc thought a moment. "I seem to recall one of Kipling's works that ends with 'but men in a world of men'. 'England's Answer', I believe."

"Yes. I quoted it to the Twins."

Doc laughed. "Well, then, you do understand, a little." He gently patted The Gunner's knee. "Your job, one of them, is to lead these boys down the path that will, eventually, take them into the world of men. I think you've done that. You took fourteen boys out in two whalers and came back with fourteen young men." His eyes twinkled as he added slyly, "And you didn't even get paid for it."

The Gunner looked startled and then recovered. "I won't ask who told you."
Doc waved away The Gunner's mild sarcasm. "I have known Frank Stockman for many years." His face sobered. "Command is a very lonely position, Stephen. You must take your own counsel and you must never show favouritism. You cannot have close friends because they all too often have a tendency to use that friendship to their advantage. The Commanding Officer talks to me because I am of his generation; I know how he thinks, he knows how I think. We both thought that your speech was a bit over the top," he snorted. "Frank Stockman on half-pay, indeed!"

"Well, I had to say something," replied The Gunner weakly. "The man's son had just been assaulted." His face fell. "Doc, I know that what I did to Farnsworth was wrong. I can live with it. There is one thing, though, that has been bothering me."

"And that is?"

"I am not so sure that the whole incident was not an accident. I should hate to think that I lost my temper when . . ."

"Rubbish!" snapped Doc angrily. He turned and faced The Gunner, his finger wagging. "Now you listen to me, Stephen. Nigel Farnsworth is a rat! When I think of that . . . creature . . . being allowed to take a commission I want to burn mine!"

"Doc, Nigel being a rat, and in that I agree with you, is not the point. I assaulted him. I lost my temper."

"All right, you lost your temper," agreed Doc with deceptive calm. "What you seem not to recognize is that you went to the defence of one of your charges. You went to the defence of a basically helpless boy - for whom you care a great deal, and don't bother to deny it - and you protected him." His bony finger suddenly stabbed The Gunner in the chest. "And that, you big twit, is what you were supposed to do!"

"I was?" asked The Gunner, surprised at Doc's outburst.

"Yes, damn it!" Doc scowled and his brows lowered. "You can't know what I know about that proven prick!" Several heads turned and Doc lowered his voice. "Stephen, Nigel Farnsworth's very presence here was prejudicial to good order and discipline! Sooner or later he would have done something that would have caused a better man, or boy, a world of trouble. I can say that because I happen to know that the only reason Farnsworth joined the Sea Cadets was to further his own petty ambitions."

Doc's eyes blazed with anger. "Nigel was using the system, the Cadets, the boys, to his advantage," he all but spat out. "He wasn't here to serve the boys, as you are, as Kyle, and Andy, as all the others are. The only reason he came here was to add a nice little section to his curriculum vitae."

"I had figured that out for myself," replied The Gunner, his words low and tinged with loathing. "I've met more than a few of his kind."

"As have I," returned Doc hotly. "The ass-lickers and the boot polishers, the Captains and Admirals who go to sea by boating on Dow's Lake!" He almost spat the words. "They abound, Stephen, and we learn to live with them because we have to."

"We don't have to like it!" snapped The Gunner.

"No, and most of the time we can do nothing about it. You went to Phantom's defence and in so doing you acted admirably in the defence of the cadets, the Sea Cadets, and the Navy! You set an example, a far better example for the boys than Nigel did! He showed them a shallow, insincere man who could not have cared less about them! He proved to them all the rumours and opinions that they have about officers!"

"I am not an officer," The Gunner pointed out softly.

"And why not?" Doc was livid. "You would make a damned fine officer!"

"Doc . . ."

"Shut up! I've seen them all, and I don't like what I see! Oh, not here, not now that you quite rightly thumped Nigel and he slunk away, but elsewhere." Doc took a deep breath. "Stephen, you are a man of honesty, and integrity. You care about your job and you take to heart the responsibility that goes with your job! You don't think about yourself, or what you can gain by being here, which is what Nigel did.

"You think of the boys, and what impact you can have on their lives, on how you can teach them to be better men. You are also stubborn and pig-headed when it comes to your feelings of what is right and what is wrong. It is a measure of your honesty that you feel guilty about what you did to a man who is not fit to be in the same room with you, a man who, in the fullness of time, would have wreaked irreparable harm to something we both love. It is a measure of your integrity, your sense of duty, that you were put in charge of the sailing expedition!"

Doc saw the stunned look on The Gunner's face. "You were in charge because The Commanding Officer trusts you and trusted you to set an example for young St. Vincent and Ensign Berg. After Nigel's antics someone had to teach the junior officers, someone had to set the right examples, and that someone was you!" He squared his shoulders. "So please, spare me your blathering about feeling guilty about something you had no control over! You reacted to a situation that Nigel, whether by accident or design, caused! Forget it! It does not matter! It does not matter because now the cadets know that there is someone there for them, there is someone who will risk his career for them!

"You rebuilt the altar, Stephen, and in doing that you exonerated yourself. You committed a minor sin and have been forgiven it. God I need drink!"

Andy had overheard much of Doc's outburst, as had Number One and Kyle. He looked at The Gunner and Doc as they walked to the drinks table and poured themselves large drinks. Then he looked at Number One. "Doc is right, you know." Andy looked into his glass, as if trying to find an answer to a question that had been bothering him. "But Nigel did not strike me as a forgiving man. Has anyone considered that?"

Number One nodded. "Andy, whilst you and the others were away playing the Sea Cadet version of Cowboys and Red Indians, certain actions were taken. Tomorrow you and Kyle will be taken to Base where you will give a deposition to the Base Legal Officer. We shall try to keep the boys out of it, but if we have to, they will also give depositions."

A worried look crossed Kyle's face. "So there will be charges!"

Number One shook his head. "If there are, they will not be against The Gunner." He gave each of the men a strange look and then said enigmatically, "Nigel Farnsworth, should he be fool enough to make more of this little incident, will learn that there are powerful forces in this world, forces of which he has no knowledge, and forces that look with favour on a certain Leading Gunner." With that Number One nodded briskly and joined Doc and The Gunner at the drinks table.

"Now what in the hell is that supposed to mean?" asked Kyle when Number One was safely out of earshot.

"I'm buggered if I know," declared Andy. "Hell, I'm still trying to figure out what Doc meant when he said that The Gunner had rebuilt the altar!"

"Oh, that! That is a reference to Kipling's poem 'The Song of the Old Guard'." Kyle saw the uncomprehending look on Andy's face. "Jesus, didn't they teach you anything in school?"

"Of course they did. Just not Kipling!"

"Well, my ignorant man, the poem's premise is that no matter how down things are, or how bad things become, the Old Guard is always with us, and sooner or later the Old Guard will rise to the fore again.

'A common people strove in vain to shame us unto toil,
but they are spent and we remain,
And we shall share the spoil'."

Kyle snickered. "Of course Kipling was nattering about the reform of the British Army after the Boer War. He was trying, I think, to get across the idea that while there are people who will try to tear down the old ways, the old values, there is always the Old Guard, uncompromising and unafraid, which will always be there to come to the defence of the Realm because it is the right thing, the only thing, to do."

"Or, like a spider waiting for the fly, bide their time until the ones who brought them down stumble into a web of their own making."

"Perhaps," agreed Kyle. "Or the members of the Old Guard could just be the only people who have any integrity and honour, the . . . power, to restore the old values and ways."

"The Old Guard dies, but it never surrenders?"

Kyle nodded his head. "The Old Guard never dies, never surrenders and is always with us. It might be down but all it takes is someone to rebuild the altar of their faith. And then . . .

"'Our doorways that, in time of fear, we opened overwide,
Shall softly close from year to year, Till all be purified'."

He thought a moment. "The stanza ends with,

"'The Lord shall winnow the Lord's preferred - And, Hey then up go we!'"

"So, the Old Guard will look after The Gunner, then?"

Kyle nodded. "The Gunner restored the faith of the cadets in us, in all of us. The Old Guard will look after him."

"That is what Doc meant, then?"

"Yes, I think so. The Gunner rebuilt the altar and he will always, until Armageddon breaks his sleep, strictly keep the integrity of the Ark."

They did not hear Number One return or see him stand behind them as they talked. Kyle felt a hand on his shoulder and turned. Number One looked at him. "You understand then?" He squeezed Kyle's shoulder.

"'Our altars which the heathen brake,
Shall rankly smoke anew,
And anise, mint and cummin take
their dread and sovereign due.'"

Kyle nodded. And looked at Andy in a new light. He had not - then - understood why the American Marine had saluted the White Ensign with such solemn dignity. Now, as he remembered Kipling's words calling the members of the Old Guard to prepare the candlesticks and bells, the scarlet, brass and badger's hair, all the symbols wherein their honour dwelt. To many the White Ensign was simply an old flag, a piece of coloured bunting. But not to The Gunner, for in that Flag his honour dwelt and Andy's salute had been the mark of one warrior saluting the talisman of another. Now Kyle understood.

******

The cabin was small, and economically furnished and arranged. Its most commanding feature was the Captain's bed, which was much wider than the normal berths usually fitted. The bed was, as close as Cory could judge, four feet wide and over six feet long. It looked very comfortable. Just forward, beside the small fitted bed table another door, open, revealed a small, private head.

Nathan turned the lock in the door and pulled Cory down on the bed. "See? It's very private." He kissed Cory's forehead, then his eyes, and then his nose. "You will stay, won't you?"

Cory smiled and nodded slowly. Nathan's intensity was overpowering. "I'll stay a while," he said with a small, heart-stopping laugh.

******

They lay together, bodies close, their arms and legs entangled, groins grinding as their lust rose. Nathan positioned Cory on his stomach, spread his legs and knelt between them. His tongue, long, very warm, and very moist, began a journey that sent shivers of overwhelming joy through Cory's willing body. Nathan licked his way up Cory's spine, then down again. His tongue softly explored the twin, curving golden orbs of satin skin that formed Cory's ass.

Cory felt Nathan's fingers caress his small, puckered hole, penetrate, then withdraw, replaced by the pointed hardness of Nathan's awesome, talented tongue. Cory arched and moaned as Nathan enthusiastically licked and sucked his love hole, transporting him into the realm of Nirvana. He began thrusting his hips, sliding the underside of his hard, enraged penis across the smooth surface of the blanket covering the bed.

Nathan snuffled and licked, stopping when he heard Cory's heavy panting. He wanted Cory in a way that he had never wanted another boy, and he wanted Cory to experience a life-shattering orgasm. But not just yet. He moved and lay beside Cory, his hands slowly caressing Cory's warm, perfectly shaped melon butt. His mouth found Cory's ear and he began nipping and licking, breathing slowly into it. The he whispered the question that Cory's was waiting for. "Cory, can we do it? Can I make love to you? Please?" Nathan murmured.

Cory nodded. His half-closed eyes looked down at Nathan's firm, thick erection. "Do you have any Vaseline?"

"Wait one minute." Nathan jumped from the bed and while he rummaged in the Captain's medicine cabinet for something to use as a lubricant, Cory positioned himself, pulling the pillow out from under his head and placing it beneath his hips. He spread his legs and pulled his knees back as far as he could. He was too far-gone in rapture to care where he was. He wanted to feel Nathan in him.

"Found some," Nathan gasped as he crawled between Cory's legs. He massaged a generous portion of Vaseline onto his cerise and tan erection. He leaned forward to lick and suck Cory's flaming cock as his finger slowly lubed Cory's entry. Nathan asked if he should use anything. "There are some rubbers in the cabinet," Nathan groaned as the head of his penis became electric with desire. "Do you want me to use one? I'll do anything you want."

Cory shook his head. "I don't like them. Just do it, Nathan, do it now," he
groaned.

Nathan, on his knees, moved forward, bending his blood-flooded organ down, moving slowly until the engorged head of his penis touched Cory's gaping rosebud. Nathan pushed into him, Cory pushed back, spreading his arms, waiting to embrace his lover.

Groaning, Nathan felt a surge of electricity pass through him, a surge so powerful that it set his body to trembling. He felt his stomach and pubes touching the heated warmth of Cory's body and he began to thrust slowly, withdrawing, then thrusting forward, the head of his penis brushing against Cory's sensitive prostate and sending him into an Elysium of riotous sensuality.

Cory's mind reeled as Nathan's hardness ravaged the nerve endings and fabric of his tunnel. He bit his lip trying to stifle the screams of pleasure that his mind produced but his voice could not make.

As Nathan increased his thrusting, his cock on fire with lust, each movement an ever-ascending crescendo of ecstasy, he moaned loudly, grunting as he thrust, muttering louder and louder, as his orgasm threatened to overwhelm his entire body. "Aaagh, fuck, man, Ungh, God, man, this is sooo good," Nathan moaned. He began thrusting deeper, growling through clenched teeth, "Ungh, Jesus, you're tight. Ungh, aaagh, fuck, yeah, take it, take my big dick!"

Breathing heavily, straining to prolong the pleasure that raged through his body, Nathan clenched his ass muscles as his dick found the mound of pleasure deep within Cory's flushed body.

Cory pushed back to meet Nathan's thrusts, grunting as wave after wave of indescribable ecstasy crashed with titanic force, rippling outward from his crotch.

Nathan, completely lost in lust, fell forward, his lips locked against Cory's as he thrust strongly. He mumbled and growled low with each massive thrust. "AAAGH, yeah, fuck, take it!" he commanded through half open lips. "Take it all, baby . . . take my dick!"

Pulling back his head back Nathan buried his face in the valley of Cory's shoulder, growling, "Feel my dick in you, sweet cheeks . . . aaagh." As his orgasm began building Nathan's hips moved faster and faster. "Fuck me . . .Oh, yeah, fuck, fuck, it feels sooo good." He could feel his balls tightening and the intense pleasure building deep within him. He was close, sooo close. "That's it, bitch," he groaned. "Gonna fill your hole with my cum. Take it all, yeah, take it bitch. Squeeze my dick with your ass, yeah, come on, baby, come on, make me cum up your ass, bitch."

Nathan threw his head back and closed his eyes as the first harbinger of his orgasm trembled through him. He was so engrossed as the tidal wave of pleasure began crashing over him that he did not see Cory draw back his legs until his knees almost touched his chest. He did not see that Cory's face was suffused with anger, all feelings of desire gone.

Cory's feet kicked forward and Nathan flew off of him, crashing into the after bulkhead and sending the wood framed binnacle fixed to the bulkhead crashing to the deck. Nathan lay there, stunned, his magnificent set of upper deck fittings rapidly becoming nothing more than a piece of shrivelled, wrinkled, flesh between his legs, a long, cloudy rope of semen trailing from his shell-shocked helmet. "What the fuck did you do that for?" he screamed, struggling to get up.

As swift as an enraged cat Cory pushed Nathan back, his strong arms pinning Nathan to the bulkhead. Cory leaned forward, his face an inch from Nathan's. "I am many things, you cocksucker, but I am not your bitch!" he hissed dangerously.

"What the fuck's the matter with you?" demanded Nathan hotly. "I didn't mean anything by it. It's just cum talk. A lot of guys are into it. A lot of guys like it!" His face was twisted into a mask of fury. "They like it!"

"I am not a lot of guys," replied Cory coldly. He climbed off the bed and made for the door.
"Can't take a man's dick?" Nathan snorted. "Fucking faggot cocksucker!"

Cory's fist crashed against Nathan's jaw. Nathan was so stunned by the force of the blow that he could barely function. Cory glared icily at Nathan, his blue eyes on fire. "You would know about cocksucking," he snarled venomously. "You were on my dick quick enough."

"Well, just fuck off, then!" snapped Nathan, almost mad with rage. "Who needs you, anyway? Fucking faggot butt fucker." He struggled to his feet. "Just who the fuck do you think you are?"

Cory's hand flashed out and seized Nathan's neck. "Who do I think I am?" he whispered dangerously. "I don't think, I know, Nathan, I know exactly who I am and what I am!" He squeezed Nathan's neck ever so slightly. "I am Cory Albert Victor William Louis Francis Leveson-Arundel. I am a Cadet Petty Officer in the Royal Canadian Sea Cadets. I am a student at St. George's College."

Slowly pushing Nathan downward to the deck, Cory continued, his face suffused with anger. "I am many things, Nathan, but I am not now, nor will I ever be, your baby, your sweet cheeks or your BITCH!" He reached down and shoved his soft penis and heavy testicles in Nathan's face. "You see these?" he asked heavily. "These are the mark of a man."

Cory released Nathan and stepped through the door. Then he looked back, his eyes blazing. "Which is something you will never be!"

******

Mark and Tony were walking down the jetty when they saw Cory storm up the ladder from the after berthing deck. He brushed passed them so incoherent with rage that he did not see them.

"Do we really want to go down there and find out exactly what Cory was doing on board the cutter?" asked Tony. Up until now he had been in a very good mood. They had helped Tyler and Val and, with a promise to return shortly, had decided to return to the cutter to pick up some vital supplies which both had stashed in their lockers.

As they passed the Drill Shed they had slipped inside and had a quick cuddle. A very quick, but very nice cuddle which, with the rest of the crew ashore they had hoped to be able to continue on board their boat.

Mark watched as Cory disappeared around the corner of the Ropewalk. He sighed heavily. "Well, Tony, if we want those jugs we have to go down below. And if we go down below we'll more than likely find out what Cory was doing on board."
Somewhat reluctantly they climbed on board the cutter and descended the ladder leading to the berthing deck. They found Nathan, naked and despondent, sitting on the deck, his head in his hands, his elbows on his knees.

"Well, well, well," chortled Mark. "And what do we have here? Could it be that our resident anti-Semite has come to grief?" He knelt down and poked Nathan's forehead. "What happened, Berman, somebody object to you trying to burn a cross on the parade square?"

"I am not an anti-Semite," protested Nathan hotly.

"Balls!" retorted Tony calmly. "Old 'Nathan-I-am-not-a-Jew' Berman not an anti-Semite?" His voice was heavy with disdain. "Give me a break, Berman! If the Hitler Youth was still around you'd be prancing around Seattle in short pants and a brown shirt."

"Fuck off, Tony. Just fuck off, go away, and leave me alone," Nathan groaned painfully.

"That's Chief Petty Officer Valpone to you, asshole," returned Tony, his words razor sharp.

"And Master Chief Mark van Beck," put in Mark with a scowl.

Nathan raised his head and looked at them. His eyes were red, and there was a large bruise forming on his chin. "Will you please, please, just go away and leave me alone?" he begged.

The two boys looked at Nathan, shrugged, and walked to their lockers. Mark had a jug of rye hidden away, more loot from his father's drinks cabinet. Tony had brought along a bottle of his father's homemade grappa and wanted to compare it with the 'Italian champagne' Val's father made.

Nathan pulled himself together and stood up. His back was aching and his jaw felt as if it had been shattered. He walked to his locker, opened it, and looked at his reflection in the small mirror affixed to the door, gingerly examining his face.

Tony nudged Mark, who looked over and grinned. "A bruise on his chin! And, dare I say it? A hickey on his dickey?" laughed Mark.

"Good old Nathan. Never met a fist that didn't hit him," guffawed Tony.

Nathan snatched a pair of boxers from his locker and angrily pulled them on. He slammed the door of his locker closed and stomped to the mess table, sat down and buried his face in his hands.

Mark and Tony sat down on the opposite side of the table, facing Nathan.

"Methinks that Mercer Island's answer to Baldur von Shirach tried to put the moves on a certain blond-haired, blue-eyed, Canadian laddy," opined Mark, grinning broadly.

"You can't mean that slim, not bad looking young lad who just went down the jetty muttering about some hairy-assed, no good Yankee?" asked Tony archly.

"He's beautiful. And it's not like that!" moaned Nathan. "Please, Mark, Tony, it wasn't like that."

"A classic case of coitus interruptus, I think," snickered Mark unkindly.

"More like get that biggus dickus outa meus, if you ask me," returned Tony crudely.

"Tony, how unkind." Mark leaned forward and tapped Nathan on the top of his head, getting his attention. "So, tell us, hotshot, you tried to put the moves on Cory and got clocked for your effort, didn't you?" he asked, laughing.

"It wasn't like that at all," whined Nathan.

"Bullshit." said Mark slowly. "We see Cory storming off, and come down below to find you with your dick hanging low, looking like somebody fucked your pet sheep, and nothing happened?" He grinned at Nathan. "But, no matter, because this time, Nathan, my dear, you pissed off the wrong guy. All your daddy's money, all your Uncle Nate's political friends can't help you now."

Tony nodded sagely. "Nathan, Cory Arundel is one of the odds on favourites around here. He sits at the right hand of Gunner Winslow. You piss off Cory you piss off the Gunner, and, boy, if you piss off The Gunner . . ." He grinned at Mark. "You piss off God!"

Nathan moaned.

"Cory also has a twin brother," continued Mark. "He's bigger, and meaner, and he has a big fist when it comes to his little brother. He's very protective, I hear." Mark stood up and looked at Tony, his eyes bright with amusement. "His name is Todd and he sits at the left hand of God."

Tony joined Mark by their lockers. They took their bottles out and put them into Mark's black leather carryall bag. "You have fucked up big time, Nathan," said Mark, not unkindly. "You are in deep, deep shit when Todd hears about this."
"Not to mention the other cadets in the Gunroom." Tony walked towards the ladder.

"We're going to a party. You're not invited," said Mark coldly. "Don't wait up."

As they started to climb the ladder to the deck Nathan spoke. "Will he be there?"

"Who?" Mark asked. He did not particularly care for Nathan and was enjoying his discomfiture.

"Him." Nathan looked at them imploringly.

"I think he means Cory." Tony shook his head, stifling his laughter.

"Oh, Cory. Yeah, he'll be there. He lives there. Shall I give him your regards and invite him back for a rematch?" asked Mark.

Tony chuckled, and went on deck.

Nathan stood up and walked to his bunk. He climbed in and put his arm across his eyes. "Never mind," he all but sobbed.

Mark shrugged and joined Tony on deck. As they walked down the jetty Mark turned to Tony. "You know, for a guy who just got punched out, Nathan sure is acting awfully goofy about the guy who did the punching."

"That's because he's been hit with the thunderbolt," replied Tony sagely.

"Fuck off, Tony. Nathan got hit with Cory's fist."

"And with the thunderbolt," insisted Tony. "Trust me, I know. I'm Italian, and we always know when a guy get hits with the thunderbolt," he finished gravely. Then he laughed uproariously. "Nathan is in love with Cory. He can't help it. He's been hit with the thunderbolt." Tony was choking with laughter.

"Poor Cory." Mark shook his head, and then joined Tony in laughing.

******

Cory stomped around the Spit for the better part of an hour, avoiding the other cadets, bringing his emotions under control. He had never been angrier in his life. He hated being treated like a piece of meat; hated being called baby, or sweet cheeks, or bitch. He had hated it ever since he was eight years old. At the same time he hated himself for feeling the way he felt about Nathan who, unknowingly, had been the first boy, except for Todd, to ever turn him on like that.

He wandered by the swimming beach, which was crowded with the new crop of General Training Cadets, Sea puppies, American cadets, and Ray, with Sandro and the Makee-Learns. Cory decided to go back to the Gunroom and as he passed the Wardroom he found The Phantom sitting quietly outside, smoking a cigarette. The Phantom smiled a guilty smile as he saw Cory.

"You won't tell, will you?" The Phantom asked when Cory sat down beside him.

"No. If you want to kill yourself with those things, go ahead." Cory grinned at The Phantom. "Hiding out?" he asked.

"I have to. My folks don't like me smoking." He took a drag of his cigarette and looked fondly at Cory. "We had a good trip and I'm glad I went."

"Me too." Cory looked at the Phantom and saw a true friend. "You're an okay guy, Phantom."

"Thanks, Cory, I'm all trembly, now," replied The Phantom flippantly.

"Phantom, I mean it," said Cory, a serious look on his face. "No civilian I know would have done what you've done."

"I haven't done anything except run around naked for two days," replied The Phantom.

Cory cocked an eyebrow. "And Harry?"

"What about Harry?" The Phantom squirmed uneasily. Could Cory know that he had talked to Harry?

Cory knew. "I don't know what it was you said to Harry, but I know that you left the Mess Hall and went to the Gunroom. I also know that Harry was full of piss and vinegar and eating chocolate cake not an hour later!" He shrugged knowingly. "I also know that you managed to get Harry back on track, which is more than the rest of us were able to do."

"I just talked to him," replied The Phantom. He was terribly embarrassed. He hated having his good deeds exposed to the light of day.

"Have it your way," said Cory. He sensed The Phantom's embarrassment and would not pursue the subject. He also would not forget. "Well, at least we can both say that we sailed together. I hope we can do it again."

The Phantom laughed. "Only if you don't strip me naked in the Ship's Office!"