Phantom of Aurora by John Ellison
Chapter 6

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A look flashed between the Twins and they stared at Chris, who was beginning to sweat and wring his hands nervously. "I mean it," he said slowly. Chris matched their gaze and shrugged slowly. "I would like to experience everything." He swallowed hard. "I want to get fucked."

The Twins again exchanged a glance. Cory nodded. A message had been passed. Todd reached out his hand and ran his fingers down the contours of Chris's smooth face. "What you are asking for is a big step, Chris," he said with a soft smile. "Are you sure that you would not rather wait for someone special?"

Chris shook his head. "Todd, there is no one more special than you and Cory." He took Todd's hand and gently kissed his fingers. "We have been through so much together, you, Cory and I. You have taught me so much and I want you to teach me more." Again he shook his head. "I want you to be the first." He glanced at Cory. "And you as well, Cory."

"Todd will be with you first, Chris," Cory said. He held out his arms and drew the trembling boy to him. He embraced Chris and then kissed him tenderly. "The first time is so special that only two people can be there. We love you, Chris, and we will not cheapen our friendship or our love for you." He released Chris and backed away. "Todd will help you undress. Enjoy the moment, Chris."

Cory unlocked the door and left the small office, returning within minutes with a pile of blankets in his arms. These he laid on the deck, blanket upon blanket, forming a comfortable barrier against the scarred, splintered, wooden deck. When he was finished, he kissed first his brother, then Chris. "I will see you both, later." With a slight, loving wave of his hand, he was gone.

******

With slow, deliberate, almost ceremonial motions Todd began his act of worship. He motioned for Chris to sit on the desk, bent down and unlaced the young cadet's boots. As he removed first Chris's boots, then his grey woollen socks Todd saw that the slight, fine-featured boy was trembling. "Don't be afraid, Chris," he murmured as he pulled Chris from the desk. He reached down and unbuckled the brass buckle of Chris's belt, then pushed down the zipper of the boy's bell-bottoms.

Chris was panting with nervousness and eager with desire. The deep pink head of his erect penis peeked shyly from the slit in the boxer shorts he was wearing.

Todd continued to undress Chris and gently pushed down Chris's underpants. He saw a delicate, clear drop of precum marring the smooth lines of Chris's curving glans. Kneeling, Todd pushed Chris's boxers down to his ankles and leaned forward.

Chris gasped as Todd's mouth, his warm, wet mouth, engulfed the head of his penis. His knees bent as a small wave of ecstasy coursed through his body as Todd sucked delicately on his erect member. He thrust his hips forward, trying to put as much of his quivering penis into Todd's mouth as possible.

Smiling inwardly, Todd continued to suck on Chris, while at the same time running his hands up and down the boy's legs, then across his firm, round backside.

Chris began to moan softly as orgasm approached. He growled and rose up on his toes, throwing his head back as his eyes rolled wildly. "Ungh . . . Todd . . . AHHHHH!" he moaned loudly as his orgasm overpowered his senses. He thrust rapidly as his penis pumped stream after stream of his thick, warm semen into Todd's waiting mouth. When he could give no more, Chris mewed softly and fell back against the desk, his legs splayed, his penis softening rapidly.

When he regained his breath Chris looked down at Todd, who was on his knees, looking up at Chris's flushed, sweat-beaded face. "That was great, but I thought we were going to fuck," he complained, a look of confusion on his face.

Todd grinned and stood up. He reached out and pulled Chris to his feet. "You were too tense. You needed something to take the edge off," he said slowly as he pushed Chris's gunshirt over his head. "When you make love to another boy, the idea is to make love. Your first time should be a wonderful, glorious, thing." He neatly folded Chris's clothing and then began to strip. "It is very easy to get fucked. Dogs fuck. Caring men can make love." Todd cocked his head and grinned at Chris. "There is a difference, you know."

Chris slowly nodded his understanding, his anxiety of the unknown replaced by hopeful anticipation and excitement. He returned Todd's grin. "Show me the difference?" he asked with a growl.

******

Cory left Boatswain Stores and walked back to the Staff Barracks. Todd had been right, of course. Chris's first time was supposed to be a wonderful experience, an experience that could be shared by only two people. A threesome was definitely not on the cards. Besides, Todd was the much better lover, and preferred to be on top while Cory enjoyed being on the bottom. Chris was about to experience the best and Cory knew that his presence would have been an intrusion.

The heat of the day had hardly been lessened by the cool of the evening. The air was muggy and the Gunroom, for all that every window was thrown wide open, was oppressive. Harry and Nicholas, stripped to their underpants, were going through the motions of a dispirited game of Double Solitaire. John and Fred, also in their white underpants, were griping their way through a game of chess. Alfie was sound asleep, lying on the top of his bunk. From the look on his face he was obviously having a very happy dream, confirmed by the purple head of his erect penis, which poked boldly above the wide elastic band of his blue-striped boxers.

On the other side of the Gunroom, Thumper was curled into a ball under his covers, grunting and snuffling, apparently unable to wait until Lights Out when he could repair to the heads. Two Strokes was nowhere to be seen.

Not interested in watching Alfie have a wet dream or listen to Thumper spanking the monkey, Cory returned to the stoop and sat down. He was idly speculating on which of the galley hands - Ray or Sandro - would be interested in a little private time with him when he heard Two Strokes' complaining voice. He looked up and saw the skinny Regulating Petty Officer coming down the path. Three cadets, each of whom was carrying a kit bag, trailed the Crusher. "Where in hell is Todd?" demanded Two Strokes without preamble. "He's never around when he's wanted!"

Two Strokes, who was marginally less obnoxious than Little Big Man, was not one of Cory's favourite people. His remarks of the night before had only confirmed Cory's low opinion of him.

"The last I saw of him he was in Boatswain Stores with Chris," replied Cory truthfully.

"Yeah, well, I have three lost little lambs for him." Two Strokes waved his arm in the general direction of the three new cadets. "Goofy fucks missed their flight and just now got here!"

Cory regarded the three new arrivals. One was slim, with a vulpine face. The other two were taller than the first cadet, and heavier set. All three looked angry.

"I don't have time to go hunting up your brother!" snapped Two Strokes. "They're gunners so they're on your slop chit. You can log them in!" With that he wheeled and stomped into the Gunroom.

Dumfounded, the three cadets stared after Two Strokes. "What's biting his ass?" asked the tall, thin cadet.

The imp in Cory rose to the fore. "Don't mind Two Strokes," he said with a slight, leering grin. He held out his hand for the travel orders each cadet carried. "He hasn't been laid in a year and he's horny," he said as he leafed through the first set of orders. He did not see the look that passed between two of the three cadets. "So, you're here for your Gunnery III Course?" The three cadets nodded. "Which one is Leading Gunner Ryan?" The thin cadet raised his hand. Cory nodded. "Leading Gunner Peters?"

The second cadet, who had a stocky build and a round, smooth face, raised his hand. Cory looked at the third, and final cadet and smiled. Now this cadet was something special, Cory mused. He looked at the file he was holding. "Then you're Leading Gunner Berkeley?" he asked, using the proper English pronunciation of "Bark-lee" of the cadet's name, rather than the common North American pronunciation of "Burk-lee".

The cadet nodded, secretly pleased that somebody other than his family knew how to pronounce his name.

Leading Gunner Berkeley, who stood just short of six feet tall, was stunning. He had a smooth, square-jawed face and a ready smile. While Leading Gunner Peters was as tall, Berkeley was well proportioned with a broad, smoothly muscled chest and a handsome smile that revealed perfect white teeth. He held out his hand. "My friends call me Kevin." He jerked his head toward the other two cadets. "The skinny one is Billy." Billy nodded and gave Kevin a sour look. "The chubby one is Chad," Kevin finished with a snicker. Chad's face mirrored Billy's.

Cory grinned and stood up. He shook Kevin's hand and then reached out to shake the hands of the other two boys. "Officially I'm Petty Officer Arundel. My friends call me Cory." He dusted off the seat of his shorts and nodded toward the line of barracks. "My brother is also here. His name is Todd and he's the Senior Gunner after the Cadet Chief Gunner." He began to lead the cadets up the path. "We'll get you settled in Barracks 8 tonight and tomorrow you can do your In Routine. If you're hungry, you can drop by the Mess Hall. There are always sandwiches and growlies left out."

"We're sorry about being late," said Kevin as he hefted his kit bag.

"The bus from Kingston broke down and we were hours late for our flight from Montreal," continued Billy. "We were put on an Air Canada flight to Vancouver."

Kevin snorted. "And, of course, when we got there, nobody knew a thing about us! We ended up taking the ferry over to Esquimalt and then a van up from NADEN."

Cory nodded his understanding. Training officers back in the home units were constantly overbooking courses. Harried Movement Officers were constantly scrambling with itinerant cadets scratching at their doors looking for transportation somewhere. All things considered the three cadets were lucky that they had not been required to walk to Aurora.

As they approached the Gunners Barracks, Chad turned to Cory. "You called Petty Officer Home 'Two Strokes'." His eyes suddenly widened. "Say, I heard a story about a cadet who was here last year and who got lucky at the banyan but he . . ."

"The very same," interrupted Cory with an evil chuckle as he heaved a sad, mocking sigh. "He has never been the same since." He indicated the barracks. "Well, guys, here is home for the next little while. Enjoy it and revel in the knowledge that Petty Officer Home sleeps in the Gunroom."

"Why is that?" asked Billy.

Kevin snickered. "He sleepwalks and likes to play drop the soap in the shower?"
Billy's jaw dropped. "He . . . he . . . does?"

Cory, who never inadvertently said anything unkind about anybody, laughed and shook his head. "No, he doesn't. Kevin is only pulling your pisser. A guy is safe in the arms of Jesus when it comes to Two Strokes." Chad looked disappointed. Cory ignored him. "Now then, in you go. You will find fresh linen in the sea chest at the end of whatever empty bunk you can find. After you've settled in the rest of the night is your own. Just remember, gentlemen, the day starts at Zero Six Dark with callisthenics at 0620." He chuckled as the three boys groaned their displeasure at the thought of having to crawl out of their fart sacks at 0600 and then jump up and down for half an hour.

"Sorry, but everybody does it," apologized Cory. "Even the instructors. And besides, your bodies are still used to Ontario time so it will feel like 0900 when you get up."

Mollified to a degree the cadets nodded. "When do we meet the Senior Gunner?" asked Kevin.

"Oh, you'll see him tomorrow morning," replied Cory airily. "He is a little busy this evening helping out the Seamanship Instructor." He stifled a wicked smile. "Todd is very good at helping out when one of the other instructors has a problem."

******

They could not utter a sound other than their moans of sated pleasure. Their harsh breathing filled the small office as their hearts thumped wildly. Chris clasped Todd to his chest and his legs encased Todd's waist. Chris had just experienced the ultimate of pleasures and refused to let the slim, golden boy leave his body. He could feel Todd's penis softening and flexed the muscles of his rectum, which sent ripples of excruciating sensitivity racing through Todd's penis.

Todd moved to withdraw, unable to tolerate the harsh pleasure that threatened to overpower him. Chris's low, growling voice stopped him. "No," he whispered harshly. "Don't leave me!" he all but shouted.

Todd's lips again found Chris's and once again he began the long, slow thrusting that would bring them both to the edge of Nirvana and beyond.

******

Cory's chin rested on his chest and his hands were cupped protectively in his crotch. He was snoring softly, sound asleep as he sat on the stoop of the Staff Barracks waiting for Todd and Chris to return. He did not hear the soft footsteps on the gravel path as the two boys made their way from Boatswain Stores.

Pausing in the shadows Todd pulled gently at Chris's hand. "It would appear that the welcoming committee is waiting," he whispered.

Chris smiled and gave Todd a quick kiss on the lips. "He'll want a full report," he said with a grin.

Todd returned the kiss. He drew back and winked at Chris. "A gentleman never kisses and tells. Cory will have to draw his own conclusions when you and he are together."

Chris looked confused. "I don't understand." A quick look of disappointment crossed his face.

Todd quickly placed both hands on Chris's shoulders. "Chris, you and Cory will be together and you will then know even greater pleasure. We will be together again, Chris. Tonight was wonderful and oh, so very special. I will cherish the memory of what we had, just as you will cherish the memory of the first time you make love to another boy."

"Which isn't going to happen if you two magpies don't shut up and let a man sleep!" Cory rubbed the sleep from his eyes and snickered. "I won't ask how your evening went. From the looks of both of you tonight was a resounding success."

Chris hurried up the steps, paused briefly to kiss the top of Cory's golden head, and went inside. "It was wonderful, Cory," he murmured over his shoulder. "It was fucking wonderful!"

Cory giggled and looked at his brother as he settled himself onto the stoop. "Well?" he asked, arching one eyebrow.

"I will only say that if Chris is as, um, exuberant in the giving as he is in the receiving you will be well pleased."

"Really?"

"Yes, really," Todd leaned forward and kissed the tip of Cory's nose. "Chris has been made love to. Now he is ready to make love." He slipped his hand down the front of Cory's boxers. "He has a long way to go to beat you, though."

Cory was undecided if he should be insulted or flattered. Todd's fingers squeezing his penis made up his mind. "Chris was good, then?" He gently pulled Todd's hand from his underpants and gave him a look. "Don't you get enough?"

"Not when it comes from you," replied Todd with a grin. "I can never get enough of you."

"Flatterer!" Cory stood up and held out his hand. "Come along my insatiable Lothario. It is long past my bedtime." He helped Todd to his feet and hugged him. "I am glad that you made Chris happy."

"So am I," returned Todd as Cory released him. He yawned mightily.

"God, I'm tired!"

"I don't doubt that," replied Cory as he pushed his brother toward the door. "You have just enough time to have a shower. Alfie is Duty Petty Officer and he'll be around in about ten minutes."

Todd smiled. Alfie was so predictable when he had the Duty. He would sign the Log, have a dump, and ten minutes after the start of his watch begin his Rounds. He never varied his routine. "There's still enough time to make my favourite brother happy," offered Todd. He reached down and tweaked the head of Cory's dick.

A long, slow smile of utter lechery crossed Cory's lips. "Well, since you put it that way, I might just have a shower with you." He pressed his hand against the rising bulge in the front of Todd's work dress trousers. "Yes, I might just have a shower," he said with a giggle as he passed into the barracks.

******

The Phantom spent a miserable night in his room. He was bored and frustrated and went to bed early. He jerked off twice, once in the shower and again in bed. He could not sleep and thought of giving Jeff Jensen a call, taking him up on his offer of a Coke, or something. In the end he decided against telephoning. Jeff would have to make the first move.

In the morning he awoke, still frustrated, and grumpy. He had breakfast with his parents and then went downtown to do the shopping for the Twins. They had given him a list of everything they needed.

The Phantom was just leaving Kmart when he heard a car horn blare and Jeff's battered Ford convertible pulled to the curb. Jeff had his usual shit-eating grin on his face and his arm loosely draped around the shoulders of a stunning blond. In the back seat Robbie glowered. The blond, whose name was Melissa was, by any yardstick, a looker. She had a good set of lungs, which filled her bikini bra and her tight, white shorts showed her bikini line. Her hand rested on Jeff's leg, her fingers idly twirling and curling his dark leg hair.

Jeff was wearing dark blue running shorts and a white tank top, the tight garments accentuating his perfect body, and basket. Robbie was dressed in his soccer gear and had a face on him like a Forty-shilling teapot. Every so often he would look daggers at Melissa, obviously jealous and obviously hating the thought of her touching his Jeff. The Phantom wanted to tell the kid he had nothing to worry about. Melissa, unlike most of the Vestals who hung off Jeff's body, planned to keep her virginity a little while longer, a fact that she made known to every boy she came into contact with. She was also leaving in September for Victoria to attend the university there.

Jeff was all football jock, showing off and crowing his masculinity to the world. "What are you buying there, sport?" he asked in a hail-fellow-well-met tone.

The Phantom held up the heavy bag. "Underpants," he replied blandly.

Melissa giggled and even Robbie smiled, briefly. Then he glared at Jeff, his eyes full of hurt.

Jeff coloured. He wasn't at all sure that he should be discussing a guy's underwear in front of a girl. "Hey, Phantom, we're going to round up the gang and head up island for a swim," he announced. He thrust his thumb back at his younger brother. "I just got to drop the Squirt off, then we're history. Why don't you skip work and come with us?"

The Phantom wondered what "gang" Jeff was talking about, as he had never been a part of the Jeff Jensen Fan Club. He also wondered where "The Squirt" had come from. Jeff was being so determinedly hetero that it was bordering on disgusting.

"I have a name," snarled "The Squirt". "Let's go, Jeff, I don't want to be late for practice."

"Keep your pants on, Robbie," snapped Jeff. "I'm talking here." Judging from the look of pure hatred that Robbie flashed at Melissa, and then at his brother, The Phantom thought that "Squirt" was planning to keep his pants firmly attached to his ass for the next month.

"No, thanks," The Phantom said to Jeff. "I have to work. There is too much to do between now and next Sunday."

"Well, your loss," replied Jeff indifferently. He waved his hand and they drove off, Melissa waggling her fingers in good-bye. Robbie sat stone-faced in the back of the car.

******

Returning home, The Phantom prepared for work. He showered, dressed, and then begged a lift from his father, who threw his son's bicycle in the back of the pickup truck that was his pride and joy. As they drove through town toward the base they chattered on about nothing at all, as fathers and sons do.

As they crossed the causeway The Phantom pointed with his chin at the cluster of buildings and reminded his father of the Commanding Officer's Anniversary Parade. Chief Lascelles looked nostalgically at the whitewashed buildings of Aurora and nodded slowly. In many ways he missed the old days when he had been a part of the military, and assured his son that he would be attending.

They stopped briefly beside the parade square to watch the cadets drilling and for a brief moment The Phantom understood what his father was feeling. He gave his dad's hand a small pat as they drove on.

******

Outside the Mess Hall, The Phantom stood and looked over toward the parade square. He could not help but think that the place never really changed all that much. On one side of the parade square the Bugle Band was blaring away, playing for the Drill classes marching back and forth. On the other side the gun crews were busily stripping down their field pieces, practicing for a gun run. Down in the Dockyard the three remaining YAGs were being readied for a general cleaning and painting. Piles of bedding, dry stores and non-essential fittings lined the jetty beside each boat as the crews bustled about. For some reason, with the other two boats down in Esquimalt, the jetty looked . . . empty.

Outside the Drill Shed, the Sea Puppies were going through a series of small arms drill while nearby, outside of Boatswain Stores, Chris was demonstrating to the General Training Cadets the intricacies of tying a Bowline on a Bight.

Life in HMCS Aurora, life as a Sea Cadet went on, no matter the viscidities of God and man. Here was an ordered, structured, purposeful existence, an unfolding panorama encompassing duty, honour, Queen, Country, and for a strange reason The Phantom felt great loss that no matter what he did here he would never truly be a part of this unique thing called Aurora.

Heaving a sigh, The Phantom went into the galley.

******

As it was with the parade square so it was with the galley, nothing had changed. Ray and Sandro were glad to see him and smiled a greeting. Ray seemed tired but his smile was full of warmth and affection. Sandro was chattering away, practicing his English. Everything was normal, almost boringly so. Chef was his usual self: grumpy.

After lunch the Twins drifted by to pick up their new clothes. "I guess I'm a little conservative when it comes to undies," apologized The Phantom as the Twins examined the white and plain coloured boxers and T-shirts. "But I did get some pinstripes for Cory to wear to church. And I got you these." Laughing, he held up two sets of Royal Stuart tartan boxers. "You guys can't quit cold turkey."

"Phantom, those are great!" said Todd, joining in The Phantom's laughter as he examined The Phantom's purchases.

"Wait 'til the guys see us in these," enthused Cory. "Tyler will cream his Jockeys."

"If he does it better not be with help from you," warned Todd menacingly.

"Hey, I'm straight," returned Cory with a false smile. After a moment's hesitation he added, "For now, anyway." Then he winked at The Phantom.

The Phantom, who was wondering how long this straight arrow routine would last, smiled broadly. Cory would always be Cory.

"Did you get the shorts?" asked Todd.

The Phantom nodded and handed him the largest pair of blue gym shorts he could find. "Who the hell are these for?" he asked. The shorts were much too large to fit either of the Twins.

"Harry," replied Todd simply.

"You heard what happened at PT yesterday?" asked Cory.

The Phantom nodded. He had heard, from just about everybody, including the ship's cat, who had been on PT Parade, and had listened as the cadets laughed about Harry flashing Kyle and Dirty Dave the Deacon. He had also listened to the awed expressions whenever the size and girth of Harry's genitals were mentioned.

"We're going to give those shorts to Harry," continued Cory. "He has got some great upper deck fittings but we have cut down on the temptation factor. These will do the trick just fine." He looked thoughtful. "Now, if we can just convince him that he must wear a jock!"

Todd groaned. "Cory!"

"Well we must," insisted Cory. "You saw him waving his dick all over Creation this morning. It was a sight!" He waggled his eyebrows at The Phantom, who blushed. "Look at Phantom," he crowed. "He's blushing."

"You'll be hurting in a minute," threatened Todd. "Not everybody is mesmerized by the sight, or the size, of Harry's parts!"

"It's all right, Todd. Cory is just being himself," said The Phantom, secretly wishing that he had been there to see Harry's well-endowed parts. "It's difficult to change overnight, Todd."

"See, Phantom understands," said Cory with a self-righteous sniff.

"I wish I did," replied Todd, shaking his head.

******

Shortly before 1500 the Executive Officer returned from Esquimalt. He arrived riding in the cab of a huge DND deuce- and-a-half, which was filled to the gunwales with white uniforms, gym gear, and two sets of Chiefs uniforms.

A work party was hastily organized and the truck unloaded. When everything was safely stored Number One announced that he was taking three days leave, which left The Gunner holding the can. In an uncharacteristic display of his displeasure, The Gunner grumbled and stomped gracelessly to the Headquarters Building where he began to work on Routine Orders.

Greg, the Ship's Writer, who was a tall, dark haired young man with a quick and easy smile, helped him. Greg was new to the ship, having come on board only the day before.

The Twins drifted in and weaseled their way into another reprieve. "It's so hot in the barracks, Guns," whined Cory dramatically, at the same time giving Greg the once over.

"Yes, it is," confirmed Todd, poking Cory in the ribs. "It's ever so hot and everybody has to take more showers just to help cool off, and you know how they're always going on about us using too much water."

"Yes, you can go swimming," replied The Gunner firmly. He knew exactly what the Twins were whining about and just to let them know that he was wise to their tricks he added, "And for your sins you can report to Clothing Stores at 1800 and help them get their act together."

Both Twins groaned. They didn't mind working in Stores. At least the place was clean. They did mind having to work with Little Big Man's cronies, Rob and David.

The Gunner, who knew what had transpired outside the galley the day before, reassured them. "Both Rob and David have been spoken to. They will give you no trouble." He signed the piece of paper Greg put in front of him. "As for Little Big Man, he's suffering from ill health. He just doesn't know it yet. One more incident and he's on his way home." He smiled grimly.

The Twins nodded their thanks.

At that moment Greg dropped the file folder he was holding and bent over to pick it up, the white drill fabric of his bells stretching across a perfectly formed butt. His briefs lines were clearly visible. Cory gulped. He was an ass man, and a sucker for a well formed behind. Even Todd, who was normally much less obvious than Cory, cast an admiring glance Greg's way.

The Twins' ogling was not lost on The Gunner. He gave the pair of them the eye and nodded towards the door. They smiled weakly and fled the office.

Greg leaned over The Gunner and put yet another piece of paper in front of him. Greg's scent, a mixture of talcum, starch, and clean teenage boy assailed his nostrils. Jesus, he thought, fighting to control the tingling that seemed to have replaced his dick, I have got to get out of this place!

After signing off everything Greg put in front of him, The Gunner went over to his office, changed into his swimming gear and rounded up the Sea Puppies. He then led the long, chattering line of Sea Puppies past the galley and on to the beach where the Chief PTI and The Assistant took over. After settling himself on a more or less isolated patch of sand, where he could keep an eye on things, The Gunner watched the New Entries being put through their swimming tests. The Twins strolled up and spread out their towels beside him, Cory placing his towel as close as The Gunner as he dared.

The Gunner sat with his arms around his knees, knowing full well that Cory was surreptitiously casting glances his way. He tried not to notice that Cory had boned up and that the tip of his smooth, pink, helmet was peeking past the edge of his swimming shorts. To make matters worse the 38 New Entry Cadets were laughing and splashing, roiling the calm water. In front of him the 13 and 14-year-old boys cavorted, showing off their smooth, hairless, pink and brown bodies, every one of them clad in a tight, brief-like swimming suit, which tightened their butts into perfect, taut little orbs, and compressed their little boy parts into compact bumps between their hairless legs.

He continued to supervise the boys, answering their questions, trying to appear and act as normal as possible, thankful that his baggy shorts hid his semi-hard penis. He groaned silently. I just have to get of out this place!

******

After Swim Parade The Gunner returned to his office, changed, and checked in with Clothing Stores. Rob and David were getting themselves organized so he left them alone. He was a great believer in not fixing anything that wasn't broken. Both cadets were very competent and needed little, if any, supervision.

He warned them that the Twins would be coming in to give them a hand and that there was to be no nonsense. Finally, he climbed into his Land Rover and drove along the roadway, only to see The Phantom plodding along, pushing his bicycle. He pulled alongside the boy and stopped. "Got a problem, Phantom?" he asked through the open passenger side window.

The Phantom smiled shyly and nodded. "Just a flat tire. I'll fix it when I get home."

"Are you planning on walking into town?" The Phantom nodded. "Not on my watch. Chuck your bike in the back and get in. I'll drive you home."

Not believing his luck, The Phantom hastily stowed his bike in the large, open back of the Rover and climbed into the vehicle, sitting beside the man he loved, separated only by a large, square, brown leather briefcase. He quickly told The Gunner where he lived and they set off, chatting idly.

The Phantom was thankful that he was wearing loose fitting sweat pants. The baggy cloth hid his erection, which stretched thickly along the inside of his pant-leg, and as much as The Phantom wanted to reach down inside his boxer shorts and adjust himself he dared not, for fear that he might explode. He sat contentedly, drinking in the scents of the man he was falling desperately in love with, the mixed odours of tobacco, sweat, a faint hint of a pleasant aftershave, the special sweetness that was unique to every man and boy.

Barely ten minutes later they pulled into the driveway of The Phantom's house. The Phantom quickly slid out of the car, adjusting himself as he did so. He thanked The Gunner and retrieved his bicycle.

The Phantom watched as The Gunner slowly drove away and then put his bike in the garage. He all but floated into the house, up the stairs, and into his room where he lay on his bed, fully clothed, gently stroking just his most tender spot, savouring The Gunner's odour that still lingered in his nostrils. Before he knew it his testicles tightened and his penis swelled. He groaned as his orgasm overwhelmed him, his pee slit expanding and ejecting stream after stream of his seed into his shorts.

He lay, massaging his cooling semen into his flesh, revelling in the delicious afterglow; his eyes closed, his mind and body at rest, and drifted off to sleep.

******
The next morning, after Divisions, the musicians and buglers, directed by Harry and Sylvain, lined up in a ragged queue outside of Clothing Stores, waiting to be issued new Class II uniforms.

Rob, assisted by David and Ryan, had it all figured out. The Temporary Loan Cards were ready; the neat piles of uniforms were ready. Unfortunately the cadets were not. André, the first boy in line, had not a clue what his clothing sizes were.

"Well, fuck, look in your pants," instructed Rob. "There's a tag inside with an 'N' size on it. Just look."

André unzipped and opened his pants wide, revealing his black, white-banded Jockeys. "There you go," he grinned. "Take a look."

Rob glared at him. "You look, you French twit! I am not looking in there! God only knows what I'd see!"

André glanced down and told Rob the size. David took a neatly folded pair of white drill bell-bottom trousers from one of the pre-sorted piles behind the counter and handed them to Rob, who placed them on the counter. "What's your jumper size?" he asked.

André shrugged. If he didn't know what size bell-bottoms he wore how did they expect him to know his jumper size?

Rob sighed heavily. Why he had ever allowed himself to be talked into becoming a Storekeeper he'd never know. He should have put in for Pecker Checker. At least everybody knew that size! "Go and look in your jumper," he said patiently. "And tell those jerks outside to make sure they know what size bells they wear."

Several minutes later the Matron walked by on her way to Sick Bay and almost fainted at the sight of sixty-odd boys, their uniform trousers unzipped and spread wide, gazing intently at their crotches.

******

Once the initial confusion was settled, each cadet was issued with a new pair of bell-bottoms, a new jumper, a large square of black rayon material, a pair of beige-white gaiters and, as an afterthought, a new RCSCC cap tally.

The grumbling that ensued when the cadets learned that the new uniforms had to fitted and washed, then ironed, was loud and long. Nor were they pleased that the rayon cloth had to be folded and ironed into silks, the new tallies bent on caps, and the gaiters washed and bleached to white perfection.

Tyler spoke to Val, who spoke to Harry, who yelled at the Twins, who muttered and grumbled at the Gunroom crowd. Operation Warm Fuzzy would commence at 1600 and continue through the Dogs and First Watch and the senior hands, who would help out as much as possible, would visit each barracks.

The Twins, in addition to having to finish their extra duties, were also Middle Watchmen and they complained loudly about all the extra work! They could hardly be expected to do three things at once, now could they! Harry told them it was penance for their sins and to get on with the grunt.

The Phantom reported for work and carried on in his usual, efficient way. He was still in a daze after being driven home by The Gunner the night before, so much so that he nearly fouled up his tire repair as he spent much of the morning fantasizing that he was in bed with The Gunner. He was rudely awakened at lunch when Alfie, who had been loading his plate with salad, suddenly vomited all over the fresh vegetables and fell to the deck writhing in pain.

Doc Reynolds was hastily summoned. He shooed away the curious boys surrounding the moaning Alfie and made a quick, competent, examination. His diagnosis was appendicitis and he ordered Fred to find The Gunner and have him bring his car around. Alfie was wrapped in a warm woollen blanket and cradled in the Matron's heavy arms, then driven by The Gunner to St. Joseph's Hospital in Comox where the Doc's diagnosis was confirmed. Alfie underwent emergency surgery. He would spend a week in hospital and then be sent home.

The pall that had settled over the Gunroom was dispelled when The Gunner put in an appearance and told the assembled cadets that Alfie was out of danger. After ordering Alfie's gear to be packed up he agreed to help with Operation Warm Fuzzy.

After dinner The Gunner drove the Master-At-Arms, the Cadet Chief Gunner and Thumper into town where they visited Alfie who, while still a bit groggy, was alert and smiling. He showed them his incision. Thumper looked at it and snorted. "What's the big deal?" he sniped. "My circumcision scar is bigger than that!"

Alfie laughed so hard he ripped a stitch, which earned his visitors a stern lecture from the Charge Nurse. Much chastened and humbled they returned to Aurora to commence Operation Warm Fuzzy.

******

In the absence of the Executive Officer many of his duties fell to The Gunner, including the role of Duty Officer, which meant he would be on Duty until 0800 the next morning. He hoped the bunk in the guardhouse was comfortable.

At 1800 The Gunner began his first set of rounds, visiting the New Entry barracks first. Here he found the cadets in various stages of undress, some in briefs and socks, others clothed, some wearing nothing but a towel as they came from, or went to, the showers. At one end of the long table that dominated the centre of the Mess, Jon and Stuart were patiently ironing cap tallies. At the other, in a cloud of steam and spray starch, Nicholas was demonstrating the best way to iron bell-bottoms.

"I hope you know how to tie a tally," The Gunner said to Stuart, who assured him that he did, indeed, know how to tie a cap tally. "No butterfly bows," warned The Gunner. He turned to face a small, fair boy, clad only in a new, white jumper and thin, white briefs. In the boy's hand was the square of rayon fabric.

"Please, sir, what do I do with this?" the boy asked.

The Gunner realized that no one knew how to make a proper silk so he called the boys together and demonstrated folding the 50-inch by 12-inch fabric into one long, inch wide silk. When the large piece of cloth was one long strip, he ironed it and then pinned it together. He draped it around the young cadet's neck, then told him to zip up his jumper.

The cadet, whose name was Peter Weiss, fumbled with the stiff zipper so The Gunner reached down and helped him zip up. A small jolt of electricity passed through The Gunner as he fitted the zipper together. Quite by accident he had brushed the back of his left hand against the soft, warm, little penis hidden under Peter's thin briefs. The Gunner could hardly have helped himself. The tight fitting jumper extended halfway down the cadet's smooth thighs, ending just below the little bulge in his underpants.

As he removed the silk and fitted Peter's lanyard around his neck The Gunner felt beads of sweat popping out on his forehead and as he looped the new-sewn silk through the lanyard his hands shook slightly as they brushed against the smooth, warm flesh of Peter's bare chest.

After the lanyard and silk had been fitted and tied loosely with the tapes sewn into the jumper, The Gunner adjusted the length slightly. He checked the width of the tape that hung below the tied tapes, and demonstrated, using three fingers, exactly how wide the "Duff Bag" should be.

"What's this?" asked Peter in a soft, high-pitched voice, as he fingered the almost square piece of cloth held in place by the jumper tapes.

"That, my son, is your Duff Bag." Seeing the quizzical look on Peter's face The Gunner continued. "I imagine that in the long ago times a sailor would keep a piece of something sweet in there, to hide it from his messmates. Duff is anything sweet, usually dessert." He smiled warmly.

Peter smiled softly back. "Now all you have to do is sew the silk together and you'll be all set," said The Gunner, breathing a silent sigh of relief now that this particular ordeal was over.

"Don't worry, Gunner," said Jon. "We'll look after young Peter. We have a dhobey parade in a little while so everything will be nice and tiddly, but I'll show him how to sew up his silk before we go over to the laundry." He smiled a crooked smile.

The Gunner groaned inwardly. Another slim, handsome boy to worry about! I just got to get out of this fucking place! And why do three quarters of them have to be blonds?

******

The Gunner carried on with his rounds, visiting each of the barracks in turn. Each barracks was essentially a mirror of the other, a whirling hurly-burly of half-naked cadets who were busily putting their uniforms in order, ironing, sewing, and polishing boots. He wondered why, after walking through all the barracks, the cadets thought it necessary to strip down to their underwear the moment they entered their sleeping quarters. He noticed that boxer shorts, plain colours, stripes and tartans, particularly among the older boys, were making inroads against the ubiquitous tighty-whiteys that the majority of the cadets wore. He also noticed with pleasure that there was a senior cadet in each barracks, offering help where and when needed.

Continuing his rounds The Gunner entered the Staff Barracks, inspecting the Petty Officers Mess first. The room was deserted except for Little Big Man, who was primly attired in blue, issue gym shorts and a white T-shirt. Little Big Man was sitting on his bunk industriously polishing his boots and barely acknowledged The Gunner's presence, smiling thinly and without a hint of warmth as The Gunner passed on into the Gunroom.

The Gunroom denizens were as busy as the other cadets. They were also, for the most part, just as underdressed as their juniors in the other barracks. He noticed that high fashion, at least in underwear had made its way to Aurora, the Twins surprisingly leading the cadet haute monde. They were each wearing a pair of vibrant red and gold tartan boxers. "Are you two expecting Bonnie Prince Charlie to call?" The Gunner asked them, and then moved on to where Harry was sitting.

The Twins grinned, bowed low and, as The Gunner turned to sit down Cory stuck out his tongue.

"I saw that, Cory!" said The Gunner as he sat beside Harry and watched the vibrant activity all around him.

The Gunroom was as a scene of organized chaos. Two Strokes, a steaming iron in hand, was busily forming the pieces of black rayon fabric into silks. Val and Tyler were standing on the bench, bare-chested, wearing their new straight-leg white trousers. Chris and Fred were busily folding up the unfinished hem of Val's white trousers, while the Twins were attending to Tyler. Harry, never the trendsetter, was all but naked, wearing a thin pair of slightly rump-sprung tighty-whiteys. The Gunner, who had heard about Harry flashing the PT parade, could not fail to notice that the cotton fabric covered a lot of pink flesh. Unaware of The Gunner's casual inspection, Harry was industriously sewing the freshly ironed silk ends together, forming them into a loop.

Nearby Thumper was carefully putting large stitches in a pair of new white bell-bottomed trousers, adjusting the hem as he sewed.

As The Gunner watched the activity Cory finished pinning the hem of Tyler's trousers and told him to hop down and strip. Tyler did as he was told and unbuttoned his trousers, stepped out of them and handed them to Todd. Val quickly followed suit. Both boys stood there, wearing nothing but tight, white briefs.

Cory and Todd were momentarily awestruck. Chris, on his knee, and barely inches from Val's tight, well-formed basket, felt his heart skip a beat. Two Strokes, and Fred, together with Thumper and Harry, paused to frankly admire the two senior cadets.

By any definition the Master-at-Arms was a superbly handsome, magnificently proportioned young man. His broad, chiselled face was set with two sparkling, steel blue eyes, a narrow, aristocratic nose, and thin, wonderfully formed lips. His narrow eyebrows perfectly matched in colour his curly, copper-coloured hair. Tyler had a broad, hairless chest, with two pink nipples in light brown, barely perceptible aureoles set in tightly defined abs.

Tyler's chest flowed and tapered gradually to his slightly formed waist. His perfect peach-like butt arced down to his well- muscled thighs, creating fine calves and ankles. His legs, from just above his ankles to just under the curve of his behind, were faintly dusted with light copper hair, which disappeared under the elastic band of his briefs.

Under the thin fabric of his underpants it was readily apparent that God had blessed Tyler. Clearly outlined, faintly pink under the cotton fabric his five-inch, soft, thick, cleanly circumcised, perfectly proportioned penis lay tight against his thigh. At the base of this wonder his large testicles rested snugly. Small tendrils of dark red hair curled deliciously from under the tight elastic leg bands of his canteen-purchased briefs.

While Tyler's smooth, tanned pinkness bespoke his English heritage, Val's light olive skin and smouldering brown eyes proclaimed his Sicilian ancestry. Val was as tall as Tyler, though not as smoothly formed. His chest was firmly defined and his arms and legs, though thinner than Tyler's, were muscular. His smooth oval face and thin nose gave hint of a Norman forebear. His hazel eyes were framed with long, dark lashes and browed with thick brown hair, which matched precisely the short, neatly combed hair on his head. His skin had tanned to a delicious darkness that his white briefs contrasted to perfection.

Unlike the other Senior Cadets, Val had hair on his chest, a small patch of dark, curly hair that carpeted his slightly depressed breastbone. Where Tyler had a deliciously defined treasure trail of bright red, coarse hair leading to his small slash of a navel, Val boasted a small, almost invisible curling trace peeking from the band his briefs and rising in delicate swirls that circled his navel, not quite an inny, yet not an outy, a cute button nestling in the soft hair surrounding it.

The Cadet Chief Gunner was wearing a pair of Jockeys so old and worn that it was apparent that while he was not as generously endowed as Tyler, his soft, circumcised penis was well made and well proportioned. His light olive, slender shaft, which ended in a pale pink, neatly defined helmet, hung down over his small, smooth-skinned testicles, which rested snugly against the base of his penis. Around and above Val's genitals his pubic bush, a V-shaped patch of unruly, black hair darkened the thin fabric of his underpants and stray, curly dark hairs peeked tantalizingly from the leg bands of his underpants.

In another age, Val Orsini, the Cadet Chief Gunnery Instructor, would have been a Raphael St. George, or his lithe, muscular figure could have graced a frescoed panel in the Sistine Chapel.

Each of the other boys, in his own way, was stunned at the male beauty standing before them. Two Strokes, who never joined in the homoerotic bantering that was part of Mess life, would have suffered torture and death before admitting to the feelings that flashed through him. Chris, Fred and the Twins stared in open admiration of the visions before them. Even Harry, who was himself a handsome youth, felt a pang of jealousy.

The Gunner was just as stunned by the beauty of Val and Tyler, but managed to recover quickly. Glancing at their near nakedness, he snorted and then smiled broadly. "You guys are really not helping my reputation. Everywhere I go today I end up in a room full of boys in their underwear."

The Gunner's laughing remark broke the sexual tension. The cadets chuckled and quickly returned to what they had been doing.

"We're just getting fitted for our new duds," explained Tyler, relieved that he was no longer the object of everybody's close scrutiny. "Our tailors assure us that they are the best."

Todd and Cory grinned. Todd held up Tyler's trousers, then sat down and began to sew. Cory took Val's trousers and joined Todd.

The Gunner looked at Cory and Todd as they expertly hemmed Tyler and Val's trousers. "You should wash those trousers when the Twins are finished," he advised Tyler and Val, trying hard not to notice the way Val's genitals swung gently as he walked about the Gunroom. "That way the thread will be the same colour as the rest of the trousers."

Leaning over, The Gunner watched Harry sewing the black silks. He picked up one of Harry's finished product and scrutinized it carefully. "Nice job, Harry. Do you darn socks?"

Harry grimaced and motioned for Two Strokes to come over. He draped a length of cloth around Two Strokes' neck, measuring by eye the correct length, then pinned the ends together. "Got to make sure he has a good Duff Bag," he said as he used three fingers to measure the bottom part of the silk. He made a minor adjustment, and then removed the cloth from Two Strokes' neck. He trimmed the cloth then began sewing, his needle, tiny in his huge hand, making small, precise stitches.

"Harry," said The Gunner in true amazement. "You are truly a Renaissance man. You wax philosophical, you toss the Mace with a grace I have not seen this side of the Royal Marines School of Music, and you can sew. If you tell me you can also cook, why, you would be the man of every girl's dreams."

"I can cook, and I don't need a girl," growled Harry. He flashed The Gunner a wicked grin. "All I need is a sheep."

The Gunner choked with laughter. "Harry, if I didn't know any better I'd swear you were related to those two skates." He waved towards the Twins.

Cory groaned loudly and pretended to shudder at the thought of Harry being related to them in any degree. Todd made a horrified face and then laughed aloud. "Please, Guns, don't gift him on us," he moaned as he rolled his eyes. "We have enough trouble with the relatives we have."

The Gunner laughed again and then called to Tyler. "Well, Chief, it looks like you're O.K. in the pants department. How are the jackets?"

Both Tyler and Val disappeared into their cabin and emerged buttoning their starched, white, high-collared jackets. When they were finished The Gunner motioned them to turn and watched as they revolved slowly. He studied the two teenagers with critical detachment. The tunics fit both cadets to perfection, the sleeves exactly right, the bottom of each jacket just covering their smooth, round, brief covered bums. "A very good fit," he said, nodding his approval. "Now all you need are your buttons and crowns."

Val and Tyler exchanged an uneasy look as they unbuttoned their jackets. "We have a bit of a problem, there, Gunner," said Val as he removed his jacket and placed it on the table.

"What sort of a problem?"

"Well," began Tyler, colouring slightly. "We don't know how to put the buttons on. We don't have a manual."

How long, Oh Lord, how long, moaned The Gunner inwardly. Is nothing done anymore without some How To book? Why, in his day it was if the printing press had never been invented and . . . But then, different times, different ships, different cap tallies. He turned and smiled at Tyler. "I know how to fit them. Get me your buttons and the crowns. I'll also need a small ruler, a pencil, and a pair of scissors, manicure type if any of you have them."

Harry passed over a superb pair of gold and ivory embroidery scissors. The Gunner glanced at them, and then at Harry, who smiled enigmatically.

Val returned from his cabin with two small envelopes, which he emptied on the table in front of The Gunner, who examined first the gold coloured plastic buttons, then the crowns. He sighed, and then spoke softly. "Well, the buttons are fine, just right, in fact. Unfortunately they've given you the wrong crowns. These are King's Crowns. You want Queen's."

"What is the difference?" asked Chris, sitting down beside Harry. "Who would know the difference, anyway? A crown is a crown!"

"I would," said Val.

"As would I." Tyler picked up one of the small brass crowns backed with crimson cloth. He studied the small artefact. "We could not possibly wear these because we are not entitled to wear them."

The Gunner nodded his head sagely. "Which explains, Tyler, why you beat out 23 other Cadets for Master-At-Arms and you, Val, triumphed over 116 other senior Chiefs."

Both cadets beamed. They knew of course that they had been selected over quite a few others, and not a few senior, cadets. They did not know the numbers.

The Gunner turned to Chris. "The difference, Chris," said The Gunner, "is that the King's crown is modeled after the Imperial State Crown. Her Majesty's is modeled after St. Edward's Crown. The crown is changed at the beginning of every new Reign. When the old King died in 1952 his Crown" - he held up a button embossed with a miniature Imperial State Crown - "was replaced by this." He picked up another button, this one bearing the miniature of St. Edward's Crown. "Sort of like changing your cap tally when you leave one ship and sign aboard another one."

"So what do we do?" asked Tyler.

"Never fear, Gunner fix." The Gunner reached into the pocket of his trousers and withdrew a ring of keys. He handed them to Chris. "In my desk there is a large cash box. Inside there are two jewellers' boxes. Would you fetch them, please?"

"Sure, Gunner," said Chris. He took the keys and hurried from the Gunroom, smiling happily, his faux pas over the crowns forgotten in his realization of the trust that The Gunner had just shown in him.

The Gunner watched the smiling boy leave. Sometimes, he thought pensively, it takes so little to make them happy. He hid a frown, wondering if there was an attraction for him behind Chris's happy smile. He certainly hoped not. He had all he could handle with the Twins and The Phantom. He turned to Val and Tyler. "While we are waiting for young Christopher to return, watch and learn as I make for thee a grommet."

He smoothed the wide sleeve of one of the jackets. "First you find the centreline. Then you measure three inches from the bottom edge of the cuff."

With an expert eye The Gunner made the measurement and marked the centre of the sleeve of the jacket with the pencil, marring the white drill with a small dot of carbon. Using the scissors he carefully pushed the point through the fabric and made a small, round, ragged hole. He then borrowed a needle and white thread from Harry and began lining the edges of the hole with neat, almost dainty stitches. Five minutes later he held up the sleeve and showed the small, perfectly formed and reinforced grommet. "That gentlemen, is a grommet."

The Gunner next fitted one of the gold buttons into the grommet and dogged it in place with a small metal toggle. "Now comes the hard part."

He began measuring again, placing a loose button on either side of the fitted one. "Each button has to be two inches centred on either side of the centre button." His measurements complete he again pierced the fabric. "See, easy as pie." He hand the jacket to Val, who promptly handed it back.

"Gunner, I can't sew worth a shit," confessed Val, blushing.

"And my mother did all my sewing." admitted Tyler.

The Gunner pretended disgust. "When I was your age I could sew so well I could build you a new pair of bell-bottoms and a jumper. Jesus, what is my Navy coming to?" He picked up the jacket and began forming another grommet. "I guess I have to do everything myself," he said with an exaggerated sigh.

Fortunately for Val and Tyler's egos Chris entered the mess and placed two oblong, navy blue and gold leather boxes on the table. "These what you want?" he asked The Gunner as he returned the keys.

"Exactly." The Gunner handed one box to Tyler, one to Val. "You can wear these."

Tyler opened his box and saw that it contained, nestled tightly in thick, tufted satin, six gold buttons and two gold and crimson Queen's Crowns.

Val read aloud the inscription written in black lettering on the cream satin lining the top of the lid, "Garrard & Company. Goldsmiths and Crown Jewellers to HM the Queen and HM The Queen Mother." He whistled loudly.

The box in Tyler's hand bore the same inscription. He examined the contents closely and his eyes widened. "Holy fuck, Gunner," he ejaculated profanely. "These things are real gold!"

Ignoring Tyler's oath The Gunner replied quietly. "They had better be or there is a three-ringer who's going to be mighty pissed off."

"May I ask where you got them?" asked Tyler. He sensed that the gold insignia meant a great deal to the man sitting and sewing diligently.

"No big deal." The Gunner shrugged. "When I graduated Whale Island my Term Lieutenant shocked the shit out of me by giving me one set. When we switched over to the green uniform the Command Chief Gunnery Instructor gave me the other. He said even though I wouldn't be able to wear them I should keep them to remind me of what a Chief should look like when I got up there."

Tyler sat down beside The Gunner. "We couldn't possibly wear these. I mean they are your history."

The Gunner was feeling decidedly uncomfortable. Tyler and Val were wearing only their briefs. He could feel the maleness their bodies exuded, and he tried desperately not to look at the smooth bulges hidden by the cotton. He concentrated on forming a new grommet. "They're not doing me any good mouldering away in some drawer. You wear them. In fact, keep them. One day, when another cadet or sailor comes along who you think deserves them, pass them on." He pricked his finger and swore under his breath. Then he had an idea. He looked up at Val. "Tell you what, I'll trade you for a sip of that white lightning you keep hidden under your clean undies in your locker."

Val's jaw dropped. "How did . . . how did you know?"

"Who do you think inspects this hole before the Captain does?"

The Gunner grinned and pointed his thumb at his chest. "Me does." He laughed uproariously a Val's discomfiture. "Don't worry. I shall never tell. Nor will I tell about the bottle of Johnny Walker Black that Tyler keeps hidden under his dirty socks and underpants in his laundry bag. Or . . ." He thought a moment. "Ah, yes, the bottle of brandy in Two Strokes' kit bag, wrapped in two gunshirts, or the jug of black rum that Thumper keeps in his kit bag."

He stared down at the Twins who sat with hunched shoulders, busily sewing. "And, lest we forget, the two forty-pounders of vodka that a certain set of fraternal twins keep hidden in their sea chests, in shoe boxes, under their civvy clothes. Did I get them all?" The Gunner asked no one in particular. He heard Harry snuffling and coughing as he plied his needle in a silk and looked at him. "I have not forgotten you, Harry me lad. I also have not forgotten the bottle of Mother's Ruin you have hidden away in your locker. It's no wonder you never wear your jock, not when you've got it wrapped around a bottle of gin!"

Val sat down, stunned. "However did you find them?"

"I looked." The Gunner looked at the assembled cadets. "Guys, as long as you're discreet, I personally do not give a fuck. You are all trusted. If you weren't, you wouldn't be here."

Shaking his head Val stood up and went to get the grappa. He placed the bottle and a clean glass on the table.

The Gunner held the bottle up and studied it. "Must have been a good party. By my eye measurement this was full a week ago."

"We sort of had to celebrate Cory's victory," explained Tyler, a sheepish look on his face. "We had a small party."

"From the state of a certain moose-like Drum Major this morning and the fact that this bottle has a serious evaporation problem, it seems to me that you had a large party," opined The Gunner. "Never mind, the little git deserved a drink after hitting that homer." He waved the bottle at Val. "So, then, boychick! Where are the glasses?"

Glasses and mugs appeared as if by magic.

"One short - very short - snort apiece, and cut it with water," ordered The Gunner.

The cadets crowded around Val who poured each of them a small drink. He poured The Gunner and Tyler an even larger drink. Drinks in hand the cadets returned to their work. Val and Tyler sat and watched as The Gunner's needle worked its way around the next grommet.

"Where did you learn to sew?" asked Harry, casting an admiring glance at The Gunner's stitching.

"An old Chief taught all of us new recruits when we were in CORNWALLIS. Back in the dawn of time we didn't have anyone else to do our sewing. It was either learn or walk around with your ass hanging out if you ripped your pants. Where did you learn, Harry?"

"You'd laugh if I told you."

"No, I wouldn't," said The Gunner as he finished the grommet. "Almost every sailor knows how to sew. We had to learn." He smiled tightly. "No Moms at sea, Harry."

Harry nodded and picked up the other jacket. He began sewing a grommet, his needle slowly forming neat, exact stitches.

"I learned from the old Chief," continued The Gunner, his voice tinged with nostalgia. "He was a fine old duck. He joined the RN in 1913 as a boy seaman, went through the First War, came out here and joined the RCN, went through the Second War, then Korea. After that he looked after the young recruits. He was a father figure, if you know what I mean. He scolded us when we needed it, and gave us a shoulder to cry on when we needed one. He taught us a lot about looking after ourselves, and each other."

The Gunner put down the jacket he was working on. His eyes clouded as he remembered. "Looking back, now, we were awfully young. I was just past 17 when I joined the RCN. Most of the other guys were 18 and a bit. We were all homesick and lonesome, very much like the young cadets who come here for the first time. The old Chief, he was just there for us. He took us all under his wing, yelled at us, praised us, and, like I said, listened to our problems.

"At Christmas he had all the guys who couldn't get home, and, well the guys who had no homes to go to, over to his house. His wife and daughters cooked up a bang-up dinner. They were great cooks. Between the Chief, his Missus, and his daughters, they turned out some pretty good matelots."

Picking up the tunic, The Gunner began sewing again. "I see Operation Warm Fuzzy is up and running," he said casually, referring to the presence of the senior cadets in the barracks earlier.

Tyler nodded. "There will be no little cadets crying themselves to sleep