Recoil - 1. Chapter 1

Fort Riley, Kansas, United States of America
October, 2018

Second Lieutenant Arthur Andrus was understandably nervous. The invitation to the home of his commanding officer was more than a courtesy: it was a command performance. He could no more refuse this social offer than he could refuse a direct order—not if he expected to make a career of the Army. He did hope to do that. He had worked hard in his ROTC classes. He was a member of the first generation of officers commissioned immediately after high school graduation; he had a lot to prove.

The invitation to dinner called for civilian clothes. His civilian wardrobe was sparse. He selected corduroy slacks, a short-sleeved pullover shirt, and loafers. I hope this isn’t too informal, he thought. But Colonel Eck did say that it was a family dinner. Desperately concealing his nervousness, he knocked on the door.

“Oh, hello. You must be Arthur,” the woman said. “I’m Beth. Oh, I know, you’ll want to call me Mrs. Eck. All the lieutenants do.” She smiled and then added, “Whatever you’re comfortable with is okay.”

Nothing in her manner suggested she was surprised to see a lieutenant who was 18 years old, rather than a 22-year-old college graduate. The war has consumed so many soldiers, she thought. Now, children are leading children, and soon, my own son… She pushed this thought aside, smiled, and gestured for Arthur to come in. “Bob … you probably ought to call him ‘colonel’ … and Kevin are in the den. Down there.”

Somewhat overwhelmed by the woman’s energy, Arthur followed her gesture, and went down the steps into the basement of the split-level house. She went up the other steps—toward the kitchen, Arthur thought. He paused for a moment while his eyes adjusted to the only light in the room: the flickering television screen that carried the faces of Armed Forces Network newsreaders.

“Come in, Lieutenant.” The familiar voice of his commanding officer was oddly comforting to Arthur. It represented normalcy and tradition, custom and ritual that helped him cope with an uncomfortable situation. “Kevin, turn on that lamp, will you? This floor is a damn minefield…”

“Good evening, sir,” he said, looking in the direction from which the voice had come. “Thank you for your invitation.”

A lamp flashed from the corner and Arthur understood what the colonel had meant by a minefield. The floor was strewn with models of—war machines, castles, horses, tanks, soldiers…medieval and modern warfare—Arthur thought. He stepped over the models and shook the colonel’s outstretched hand. “Sit, sit,” the man said. “Cocktail? What would you like?”

What are you having? Or, whatever you’re having…or…what? These thoughts flashed through Arthur’s mind for only an instant before he found the courage to say, “I was raised on bourbon and branch, sir.”

“Probably could have guessed that,” the colonel said. “You’re from Kentucky, after all.”

Been reading my records, Arthur thought. I guess that’s a good thing. Aloud, he said, “Yes, sir. I grew up in horse country, and never left the state until I came on active duty, and…” Talking too much, he thought, although the colonel didn’t seem to notice.

From the gloom that still marked two corners of the room, a figure materialized holding a glass. “Bourbon and branch. I hope Woodford’s okay,” a clear but firm tenor voice said. Jolted from his own thoughts, Arthur looked at the figure, now illuminated. This must be the colonel’s son, he thought.

“Uh, yes, thank you,” Arthur replied, and accepted the glass. His eyes rested for a moment too long on the boy. Cute, he though. He pulled his attention back to the room.

“To the Infantry.” The colonel offered a toast.

“To the Infantry,” Arthur replied.

“To the Armored Cavalry,” the boy’s voice echoed as he raised his glass with the others.

The colonel spoke. “Kevin, if you’re going to drink my scotch, you’re going to toast the Infantry!” The man’s voice was a mix of sternness and humor.

“It’s not your scotch,” the boy replied. “It’s your bourbon, and, anyway, the lieutenant won’t let you bully me just because I don’t agree with you.”

“You see what I put up with,” the colonel said. “Boy’s just turned 18; he’s in his senior year of high school. He’s suddenly decided he has a mind of his own, and has been badgering the Army recruiter to guarantee that he’ll be a tank driver.”

“Sir, General Patton was a tank driver,” Arthur said. “And despite the stories surrounding his death, he was an incredible leader…”

“You see, father,” Kevin said, “I told you he was okay.”

They discussed me? The colonel and his son? Arthur worried this thought in his mind for a moment before the colonel spoke.

“Lieutenant, I didn’t ask you to my home to take my son’s side in what has become a long-standing family argument.” Arthur looked at the colonel. The smile on the man’s face, as well as the tone of his voice, reassured the young man.

“Sir, I don’t want you to think I’m not loyal to the Infantry, but I certainly wouldn’t want to go back to the early days of World War I. I’ll cheer the loudest when armor goes in to open the way for us ground-pounders.”

“This is what I told you about,” Kevin interjected. “Sorry, lieutenant, but you’ll want to see…” The boy seized the TV remote and thumbed the volume button. Pictured on the screen was an armored vehicle about the size of a short school bus—although there were no more school busses. There was no gasoline for their operation.

The newsreader’s voice filled the room. “… Urban Assault Vehicle. It is the latest in a series of light, fast, and agile, yet heavily armored vehicles developed for the increasingly urban nature of America’s wars, while being capable of maneuvering over sand dunes, snow, and mountainous terrain. The first shipment will reach Fort Riley, Kansas, tomorrow. It will become the infantry’s primary battlefield support and transport.” The screen dissolved to a shot of a freight train traveling over empty prairie. Flatcars held what might have been UAVs: lumps about the right size were covered with sheets of canvas. Soldiers holding rifles and anti-tank rocket launchers rode each car; a Cobra helicopter could be seen providing air cover.

The newsreader continued, but Arthur was no longer listening. His company would be the first to receive the UAVs, and he’d received hours of classified briefings on their capabilities. The announcement triggered the thoughts he’d been having about them. I hope these things live up to their promise. We need something to give us an edge. The war that Bush I started is still going on, 28 years later. We’ve been in and out of Iraq so many times I’ve lost count. Now, we’re fighting in Turkmenistan, Uzbekistan, Tajikistan, Kyrgyzstan, and half-a-dozen new “stans” that have sprung up as theocratic “republics” in the past decade or two. It’s consuming the American economy: there’s no gasoline for civilian vehicles, electricity is rationed, and all the big cities are under martial law because of food riots.

Colonel Eck wasn’t paying attention, either. He would be responsible for integrating the new vehicles into his infantry regiment. I hope these things live up to their promise. The steel was mined from garbage dumps; the molybdenum was taken from Africa by the Dutch, who’ve re-established their colonial empire; the rubber for the tires is recycled. It’s made of the best stuff we could find—or steal.

The report concluded; Kevin pressed the mute button on the TV remote and stepped to where Arthur was sitting. “It’ll never replace a tank!” the boy said. He reached for Arthur’s glass. Their hands touched briefly, and Arthur felt a slight shock. Static electricity…dry air… “Ready for a refill?” the boy asked.

“Um, I don’t…” Arthur began.

“Oh, come on,” the boy said. “You’re, what? A hundred seventy pounds? Another shot of bourbon won’t affect you. Trust me…there won’t be any more after we’re called to dinner.”

Arthur let the boy take his glass, and was happy to see that the colonel handed his glass to his son, as well.

“I didn’t invite you here to test you, son,” the colonel said. “We’re both off duty. Major Williams has the call, and you have a solid NCO in charge of your company tonight. If it were different, I’d think differently, and I’d not be drinking—at all. Do you understand?”

“Yes sir, I do,” Arthur replied. “My father is a doctor. He likes his bourbon. When he’s on call, he never drinks. When he wants to have a drink, he makes sure there is someone to take his calls. He never drinks to excess, but he does, sometimes, have more than one…and one or two more than that on Kentucky Derby day…”

“Hooray for him,” Kevin said. “Moderation is for monks.” He handed a glass to his father and then to Arthur. “Cheers,” he said, raising his glass toward Arthur.

Arthur clinked his glass against the boy’s. “Cheers.”

*****

Dinner was hearty, substantial, and plain: meat and potatoes, white bread, a salad of lettuce and tomatoes. It was better than the food in the mess hall, but perhaps not as good as the food in the officers’ club. Nevertheless, it was the best meal Arthur had eaten since reporting to Fort Riley. The colonel’s wife was an excellent hostess. She actively steered the conversation in a way that revealed a great deal about Arthur’s life without, however, seeming to pry. The colonel’s demeanor was significantly different from that to which Arthur was accustomed. He didn’t defer to his wife as much as make it plain that the dinner table was her territory, one in which he was a supporting actor. The boy, Kevin, quipped constantly. His remarks were pertinent and penetrating, and seemed to be made with no reservations.

Arthur was utterly surprised when dinner was finished and the colonel excused himself. “I rise at 0400 daily,” he said. “At my age, I need a bit more exercise than you youngsters. Kevin,” he turned to his son. “Offer the lieutenant an after dinner drink, and call for a staff car when he’s ready to leave. Lieutenant? I’ve enjoyed your company.”

Arthur stammered his thanks to the colonel and to the colonel’s lady, and followed the boy back to the basement den.

“It’s okay, really,” the boy said. “I can tell that you’re puzzled. It’s just like Dad said. He gets up at 0400, every day…unless he has to get up earlier. He’ll be in the gym by 0430. And he does this with everyone. I’ve kind of become his after-dinner host…I hope you don’t mind? I mean, you haven’t sucked up to him once…most of the guys do…I can tell…anyway, I figure you won’t mind not having a chance to suck up some more…I mean…”

“Um…”

“Kevin, you call me Kevin,” the boy said.

“Kevin, no, I don’t mind, and I understand. Truly, I do. When I was 15, I wanted very badly to become a track star, and I got up early every morning and ran for miles before school. I hope that when I’m your father’s age I’ll have as much gumption as he does.”

“Are you sucking up to me, telling me how great my father is?” Kevin asked. “ ’Cause if you are, it won’t do any good…”

“What? Where the f…” Arthur stopped speaking abruptly. “Where did you get that idea? Frankly, I don’t care what you think about me, and I only care what your father thinks about me on a professional level. I appreciate this evening, and I understand he might want to know how I handle myself in a social situation, but other than that, I don’t expect anything out of tonight. I’m not going to suck up to him, and I’m damn sure not going to suck up to you.

“You’re an okay kid, but even if you are the colonel’s son, you’ve got nothing on me.”

There was a long pause. “Oh,” Kevin said. There was another long pause. “You really mean that, don’t you?”

“Yeah, I do…uh….”

“Kevin, you call me Kevin,” the boy said.

“Yeah, Kevin, I really mean it,” Arthur said. “Why are you surprised?”

Kevin stood silently for a moment. He looked directly at Arthur. “You…you’re the first one who…who didn’t try to…to use me…to use me to get to my father.” As he continued to speak, his voice grew stronger, brighter. “Everybody had an angle. They wanted to take me hunting; they wanted to take me to the range and show me how to shoot assault rifles; they wanted to take me to the test track to drive the new vehicles; they wanted to use me to get to my father. You’re the first one who didn’t…and I believe you…”

The boy threw his arms around the startled lieutenant. “Arthur,” he said, “will you be my friend? A real friend? Please?”

“Kevin, I don’t…what do you think you’re doing?” Kevin’s hands had slid down Arthur’s back and were now clutching his buttocks. The boy’s strong grip drew their bodies together tightly. Arthur felt his penis swell painfully in the confines of his pants. He was conscious of the smell of Aqua Velva.

Arthur took Kevin’s forearms and pulled the boy’s hands away. “This is wrong…”

“No it’s not,” the boy said. His voice was level and calm, but not without emotion. “I’m eighteen—that’s more than the age of consent.”

“Still, it’s wrong,” Arthur said. “Your father is my commander…it’s his house…”

Kevin giggled. It made him seem younger than his eighteen years. “You haven’t said you’re not gay.”

Arthur blushed, glad for the dim light in the den. “Uh…”

“It’s too late, now,” Kevin said. “I wouldn’t believe you, even if I hadn’t felt you.” He moved his hand toward Arthur’s waist. Arthur realized that he was still holding the boy’s arms.

The boy’s hands grasped Arthur’s waist. His thumbs dug into Arthur’s tight stomach muscles. Arthur released the boy’s wrists and slid his arms around Kevin’s back. This time, it was Arthur’s hands on Kevin’s bottom that pulled them together. Arthur felt the boy’s breath on his face. Kevin’s buttocks tensed as he lifted himself on tiptoe; his lips found Arthur’s. Kevin pulled at Arthur’s shirt; Arthur released his hold on the boy and fumbled for the single button that held the shirt closed at the throat. Kevin’s lips and tongue raced over Arthur’s chest while the boy’s hands fumbled with Arthur’s belt. Arthur managed to kick off his loafers so that when his pants dropped, he was able to step out of them and kick them away. He thought he heard Kevin laugh softly when he saw Arthur’s army-issue skivvies. The skivvies followed Arthur’s trousers into the corner of the room. Kevin’s mouth found Arthur’s penis.

The boy clamped his lips just behind the head of Arthur’s penis, and ran his tongue back and forth, around and around, teasing and tasting. The boy leaned forward, and took an inch or so into his mouth. The stimulation of his tongue was now limited almost exclusively to the glans, but that was enough. Arthur’s knees wanted to buckle, and he kept himself standing only by putting his hands on the boy’s shoulders. ‘He’s strong,’ was Arthur’s first thought. ‘He’ll never take it all,’ was his second. But Kevin surprised him. Kevin jerked his face forward until his lips pressed against Arthur’s pubes and Arthur’s penis slid deep into the boy’s throat. At the same time, Kevin dug his fingernails into Arthur’s buttocks, not hard, but just enough. Arthur gasped, gritted his teeth, curled his toes, and poured his seed deep into the boy.

Kevin followed Arthur as the young lieutenant slumped to the floor. Kevin kept his lips locked on Arthur’s penis; Arthur’s tummy and legs quivered as Kevin’s tongue continued to tease him. Arthur gasped, took Kevin’s shoulders, and pulled him up until their lips met.

“That was muy bueno,” Kevin said after breaking the kiss. “You must not have had sex since you joined the Army.”

Arthur pulled the boy into another kiss, and then said, “There aren’t a lot of opportunities, you know, living in the compound…”

“There aren’t many for me, either,” Kevin said. Whether that was meant to be a hint, or not, Arthur took it as one, and unbuttoned Kevin’s shirt, and then his trousers. When the boy lay naked before him, skin glowing in the flickering light of the TV, Arthur drew the tips of his fingers down the boy’s sides, and watched his tummy muscles tighten. Kevin’s penis was already hard and moist. Arthur bent over and touched his tongue to a pearlescent drop before it could fall. Kevin quivered, and then gasped. “Arthur, please…it’s been so long…”

Driven by the boy’s pleas, as well as a deeper concern that he and the colonel’s son were naked on the floor of the colonel’s den, Arthur took the boy into his mouth. Kevin gasped again and put his hands lightly on Arthur’s head. Arthur understood what Kevin wanted but was afraid to demand, and dropped his head until the boy’s penis was deep in his mouth. He pulled back, drawing his lips tightly over the smooth shaft, and then pushed forward, again. He swallowed, massaging Kevin’s penis with his throat. Kevin gasped again. Arthur felt the boy’s body stiffen and felt him swell deep in his throat. Arthur pulled back slightly so that he could use his tongue and so that he could better taste. Kevin did not disappoint him: hot, thick, and sweet, he filled Arthur’s mouth.

*****

The next morning, Arthur took the reveille formation, and then turned his troops over to the platoon sergeant. “I’ve got to be in the colonel’s office when he gets there from the gym,” Arthur had said. “Would you take charge…and…” Arthur hesitated. “Cover for me, please?”

The sergeant nodded. “Sure, Lieutenant. Um, may I speak frankly, sir?”

Arthur nodded.

“Sir, my job is to cover for you, especially since you’re…well, kinda new to all this. But, sir? Thanks for asking. It means a lot.” The sergeant turned away before Arthur could reply, and barked commands to the troops. Arthur hurried on his self-appointed errand.

*****

Arthur was sitting in the colonel’s anteroom when his host from the night before walked in. Colonel Eck’s forehead was still beaded with sweat from the gym, although his cammies were starched and crisp. He nodded to Arthur. “Corporal Cavanaugh, two coffees this morning. The lieutenant takes his with sugar, only. Come on in.” The last statement was directed to Arthur, who followed the colonel into his office.

Arthur stood rigidly in front of the colonel’s desk. Before he could speak, the man looked at Arthur. “Please sit down. Kevin told me you were very kind to him last night. Thank you for that. He’s not had many friends. We have moved around a lot, but you certainly know that. Anyway, thank you. I haven’t seen him this happy in a long time.”

Arthur sputtered, “Sir, your son…I…I mean…”

He was rescued by the colonel. “Arthur, I knew you were homosexual before I invited you to my house. I’ve known that Kevin was gay since he was fourteen.” The colonel paused to allow Arthur to think.

“Sir, you mean…?” Arthur said.

“Yes. I mean,” the colonel said. “Come!” This last was said in response to a knock on the office door. Corporal Cavanaugh came in with two beakers of coffee. He set one on the colonel’s desk, and offered the other to Arthur. Arthur accepted the coffee, and buried his nose in it in an attempt to gain time.

The door closed behind the corporal. Arthur looked at the black liquid in his mug, hoping to find inspiration and salvation in the oily film floating on its surface. “Arthur?” The colonel’s use of his first name snapped Arthur from his trance.

“Arthur, we’re a lot of years past ‘don’t ask, don’t tell,’ ” the colonel said. “Your sexual orientation…well, that’s a part of your file. You’re not the first gay lieutenant I’ve invited to my home, and you won’t be the last. However, you’re the first that Kevin has…well, found to be a friend.”

Arthur looked up. “Are you…sir, are you sure you’re okay with this? Sir, I don’t want to hurt Kevin!”

“I know you don’t, son, and I don’t believe you will. That’s not the issue. The issue is, can you continue to work for me and can I continue to command you?”

“Sir, that’s part of why I came here…to ask for a transfer…” Arthur said.

“Where to?”

“The Seventeenth, sir, Colonel Martin’s outfit. They’re understaffed by six lieutenants; we’re down only two according to the TO—”

“When…and how…did you learn that about the Seventeenth?” the colonel asked.

“Last night, sir, after I left your home…I went to the command post…talked to a couple of guys…it’s not classified…”

“No. No it’s not.” The colonel stood and walked around his desk to where Arthur was sitting. Arthur quickly set his coffee on the edge of the desk and stood. “I never had doubts about you. I’m very glad you confirmed my opinion. Your request for transfer? Denied. There’s no way I’m going to let Colonel Martin have the best damn second lieutenant in my outfit. Now get back to your troops, and show them what you’re made of.”

“Yes, sir! Uh, sir? What would have happened if I hadn’t come here this morning?”

“I’d have told Kevin that I’d misjudged you, and asked that he not see you. I wouldn’t have invited you to my house again. And, within six months, after a decent interval, you’d be reassigned.”

The colonel smiled. “I’m glad that didn’t happen, Lieutenant.”

 

What Started This?

“Fall in, soldiers!” Sergeant Sikes’ voice crackled through the barracks. “Fall in!”

Twenty young soldiers scrambled to stand at the foot of their bunks, beside the mysterious footlockers that had been delivered earlier that day. That is, eighteen of them did. Two lay on the floor in the center of the barracks, gasping for breath. One sported a bloody nose; the other’s lip was bleeding. Both had skinned knuckles. Sergeant Sikes stood over them for a moment before grabbing one’s right forearm and the other’s left. Sergeant Sikes could bench press 300 pounds; lifting to their feet two scrawny kids, neither of whom weighed in at more than 120 pounds, was no challenge. “ ‘Fall in’ means everyone.” His voice was icy. The two boys stumbled to their positions and stood at attention. The only sound in the barracks was their heavy breathing and the occasional splat as a drop of blood hit the floor.

“What started this?” Sergeant Sikes asked. A couple of the boys, those a little smarter than the rest, wondered at the tenor of his question. “Who started this?” was what they expected to hear. And they knew that whoever was found to have instigated the fight would be punished … probably flogged. Three boys wondered why the sergeant had asked the question as he had. One dared to answer. “Name-calling, Sergeant. But it was just…” The sergeant’s voice cut off what he was about to say.

“What name, Recruit Preston?” the sergeant asked.

Preston realized that in trying to protect one of his mates from punishment, he’d opened himself to… ‘they’ll think I’m a snitch,’ he thought. ‘Fuck, how am I going to get out of this?’ went through his mind. “Someone was called a fag, sergeant. And someone objected…” Again, the sergeant’s voice cut off what he was about to say.

“That will be all, Preston.” The sergeant pressed the ‘urgent’ button on his Personal Defense Assistant. “Stand at ease, soldiers,” he said. “No talking,” he added. He glanced at his PDA. The lieutenant was less than five minutes away.

*****

“Gather ’round…on the floor…” Sergeant Sikes said. Lieutenant Andrus stood at one end of the barracks. The recruits crowded to sit on the floor in front of him.

“Fighting is punishable,” the lieutenant said. “Any slur…any name-calling that relates to a person’s race, religion, ethnicity, skin color, sex, sexual orientation…half a dozen other things…is punishable. Article 15 punishment can include confinement on bread and water, flogging, fatigue duty. I know you all were told that during your UCMJ training, even before you came to the garden spot that is Camp Funston, Fort Riley, Kansas, USA.”

Arthur paused. ‘Damn,’ he thought. ‘I hoped for a laugh. That line about Ft. Riley always works for Colonel Eck…’ He gathered his thoughts. “At this time and in this place, it is more important for me to train you to give you the best chance of surviving when you are deployed into a combat zone. We have very little time. Not enough time to call each other names; not enough time to fight with one another; and not enough time to convene a Commander’s Court to dispense Article 15 punishment.

“I cannot demand your loyalty; I can only earn that. I can demand your respect and obedience; that’s part of being in the Army. I can also demand that you be honest with me; and you can demand—yes, demand—that I be honest with you.

“Who called someone a fag? Raise your hand.”

Several of the boys jerked their heads as if they were going to look at one of their mates; all managed to halt the movement before giving away who they wanted to look at.

A boy raised his hand. “Sir, I did, sir.”

“Thank you, Recruit Martin,” Arthur said. “Who was the target?”

“Um…I don’t know his name, sir,” Martin said.

“It was me, sir,” one of the boys said.

“Recruit Jamison,” Arthur said. “Martin? Your mate’s name is Jamison. Actually, it’s Allen Dulles Jamison. After this formation, please introduce yourself to him, and apologize. Will you do that?”

“Uh, sir, that sounds like I have a choice…” Martin’s voice trailed off.

“You do, Martin. If you can’t get along with your mates, I’ll ask that you be transferred to another unit. Not as punishment, but because I want only boys who will not only get along with one another, but who will die for one another. Martin, would you die for Jamison?”

Martin’s face seemed to contort as thoughts flashed through his brain. “Sir…I…d…d…don’t know, sir.”

“Jamison? Would you die to protect Martin?”

Jamison’s answer was instant. “Tonight? No sir. Tomorrow or next week? I’ll have to wait and see, sir.”

“Good answers from both of you; honest answers,” Arthur said before abruptly changing the subject. “Bolton, you were fighting Martin. Why?”

“Because I’m gay, sir, and I didn’t like what Martin said.”

“Good point, Bolton. You and Martin…go to your footlockers.” Arthur keyed commands into his PDA. The footlockers at the feet of Bolton and Martin’s beds clicked. “Raise the lids. Remove the weapon and ammunition clip that lie on the top. Then come here.”

The two boys did as they were ordered. Arthur took Bolton’s weapon and clip. “This is the M1G infantry rifle. It is the successor to a line of infantry weapons that includes the M1 and M1 carbine of World War II, the M-14 and M-16 of the Southeast Asian conflicts, and the M23 of the early 21st century. This is the most powerful and reliable weapon ever created for the infantry. More than two centuries of knowledge reside in it.

“Insert the clip, thus,” he said. “Put the first round in the chamber by sliding this lever. The weapon will then be ready to fire.” He removed the clip and returned it and the weapon to Bolton. “Understand?” Bolton nodded. Arthur looked at Martin, who also nodded.

“Do it,” Arthur said. The boys obeyed. Their hands shook, but they loaded and cocked their weapons.

“Bolton, if you wanted to, you could kill Martin for what he said. Do you want to?” Arthur asked Bolton.

“Oh, Jesus God, no sir!” Bolton said.

“Martin?” Arthur said.

“No sir. I’m not sure I’d die for him, but I won’t kill him…”

Arthur nodded, and took Martin’s weapon. “Remove the clip…thus…remove the bullet from the firing chamber…thus…put it back in the clip…thus…Bolton?” Bolton safed his weapon. “Return your weapons to the lockers.”

When the boys had done so, Arthur pressed a button on his PDA. An image appeared on the flat-screen behind him. “Jihad means ‘struggle.’ ‘Mujahedeen’ means ‘one who struggles.’ Those who struggle for their beliefs have taken this name.

“Those beliefs include the belief that all who do not share those beliefs must be driven from lands held by them to be holy; they include the belief that all who do not share their beliefs must be killed; it includes the belief that killing those who are not of their faith will earn the Mujahedeen rewards in his afterlife.

“These people have made themselves our enemies, and we have made them ours. They, and not each other, are your enemy. It is they, and not one another, that you are to fight.

“Any questions?”

The Colonel’s Home

Arthur walked up the steps early on a Saturday morning; the door opened before he reached the porch. “Come in, Lieutenant,” the colonel greeted him at the door. “Kevin’s in the den, and he’s set up an interesting tactical problem.” Arthur followed the colonel down the stairs to the den where the flat-screen TV displayed standard topographical map symbols for a hilly, arid terrain. Kevin sat cross-legged on the floor with the keyboard of something that might have begun life as a video game console, but which sprouted cables and boxes that were unfamiliar to Arthur. The boy handed Arthur a controller and a pair of glasses. “You’re blue, and you’re attacking. Dad is green.”

Arthur took the controller and realized that the boy had replicated in his father’s den the tactical simulator unit that Arthur had trained on in high school. Arthur put on the glasses, and saw that the colonel had done the same. With the polarization of the glasses making the other person’s forces invisible, each positioned his own forces. “Ready?” Kevin asked. Arthur and the colonel nodded. The battle began.

The game moved ten-times real time; within fifteen minutes, Arthur had an epiphany. It’s Patton in Africa, he thought. The battle where… A green armored force rolled over a low hill, interrupting his thought. Secure in his knowledge of the historic battle, Arthur changed his strategy. If Kevin hasn’t put in the mean-time-between-failure of the tanks… he thought. Kevin had not included mechanical failure into his model, and Arthur’s tanks reached the pass in time to utterly destroy Green’s main column.

“Unacceptable losses!” Kevin said. “Does Green capitulate?”

The colonel nodded. “You recognized the battle?” he asked Arthur. Arthur nodded. The colonel chuckled. “You know the tanks couldn’t have traveled that far, that fast, over that terrain without losing treads and overheating?”

“Yes, sir,” Arthur replied. “But I think it’s a risk Patton would have taken. And, the breakdown figures are for average tanks—and Patton maintained his tanks well above average.”

“See, Dad? I told you he was smart,” Kevin said. He reached out and took Arthur’s hand. “Can I keep him?”

The colonel smiled. “That’s up to you and him, son. I have a tee time in 30 minutes—going to play 18 with Colonel Martin and his exec. We’ll have supper at the clubhouse, afterwards. Your mother is at the church bazaar, and will eat there. Kevin, if Arthur’s not afraid to ride with you, you may take the van to the strip for some junk food. Be home by 2100 hours, okay?”

“Gee Dad, would you take the van and let me have the Hummer? Please?” Kevin’s whine was mocking and a little insincere.

His father read the boy’s voice, and then smiled. “Not until you pull up your history grade, young man,” he said. “That’s still the deal.”

Arthur and Kevin watched from Kevin’s bedroom window as the Hummer disappeared down the street. Arthur turned, grabbed the boy, and pulled him into a tight embrace. “I’ve missed you,” Kevin said. “I’ve missed you so much.”

*****

“Your parents must love you very much,” Arthur mused. His hands moved slowly up and down Kevin’s back, pressing firmly into the muscles, first on one side of the spine and then the other. Kevin gasped as Arthur’s strong fingers kneaded away the knots. Their initial lovemaking had been frenetic, athletic, and noisy. Arthur had led Kevin to places the boy had never been before, pushing him onto the bed, lying atop him, pressing their bodies and their lips together, pushing his tongue past the token resistance of the boy’s lips, digging his fingertips into Kevin’s shoulders, and drawing increasingly desperate whimpers from the boy. Kevin had opened his eyes and had seen Arthur staring at him with an intensity that would have been frightening had it not matched Kevin’s own desire.

Kevin broke the kiss, gasped for air, and demanded, “Please, Arthur…I want you…”

Arthur knelt astride the recumbent boy; his knees were on either side of Kevin’s hips; he sat on Kevin’s thighs. Their erect and straining penises would have touched except that both were pressed hard against their abdomens. The head of Kevin’s penis lay in a pearlescent pool an inch or so above his belly button. Arthur held onto Kevin’s forearms, pinning the boy to the bed, and lowered his head slowly to lick the boy’s tummy. His tongue barely touched the boy’s penis, but he felt Kevin shudder, and tasted another drop of the clear, sweet fluid.

“Si! Madre Dios! Suck me! Por favor!” the boy cried, lapsing into the Spanglish argot that was the language of the streets—and the hallways of the public schools. “Oh! Arthur…” Kevin’s voice trailed off to a moan as Arthur’s tongue rasped against the head of the boy’s penis.

Carefully, adroitly, Arthur took the head of Kevin’s penis in his mouth. He fastened his lips firmly below the glans and sucked gently, drawing out another bead of moisture. He heard Kevin gasp as Arthur’s tongue swirled. Arthur lowered his head until Kevin’s fine pubic hairs brushed his lips. Arthur took a deep breath and pushed down until his lips were firmly planted at the base of the boy’s penis. Arthur did not realize that he had turned loose of Kevin’s arms until the boy’s hands found Arthur’s head and clasped it firmly. Kevin’s fingers ran through the bristles of Arthur’s hair, his moans encouraged Arthur.

Carefully, adroitly, paying close attention to the boy’s reactions, Arthur raised and lowered his head, massaging Kevin’s penis with his lips, his tongue, and his throat. Beneath himself, he felt Kevin’s body tense. The boy’s grip on Arthur’s head tightened; his fingers pulled painfully at Arthur’s hair. Arthur felt Kevin’s penis push deep into his throat as the boy arched his body from the bed. “Oh! Oh! Si!” Kevin cried as his penis pulsed, pulsed, pulsed, pulsed, pumping the boy’s essence into Arthur’s mouth.

*****

Now, Kevin lay on his stomach, his penis, no longer tumescent, pressed into the rough wool blanket. Arthur’s strong hands found their way to the boy’s firm bottom, and massaged the hard pillows of flesh. “Hmmm,” Kevin said. He turned his head and lifted it slightly from the bed. “Are you going to fuck me?”

Arthur continued massaging the boy. “Is that what you want?” he asked.

“Um hmm,” Kevin said.

“Uh,” Arthur began.

“Kevin, you call me Kevin,” the boy said. He laughed. “I know what you’re going to ask. Have I ever done it before, and the answer is yes.” He rolled over and took Arthur’s hands in his. “But never with anyone I liked as much as I like you,” he added. “Please? I meant it when I said I wanted to keep you…”

 

Kevin lay on his back with his legs bent at the knees and his feet nearly tucked under his butt. Arthur knelt between the boy’s legs, his penis sheathed in an olive drab condom. Soldiers still used condoms to cover the barrels of their rifles to protect the weapons from rain and dirt; years ago, someone in the Army had realized that those, too, needed camouflage. Arthur placed the lubricated tip of the condom against Kevin’s anus. He looked at the boy’s face: it was flushed with excitement, and Kevin’s eyes burned into Arthur’s. Kevin put his hands on Arthur’s bottom and pulled. That was all the encouragement Arthur needed. Pressing firmly against the boy’s flesh, he pushed until he felt his penis slide into Kevin. Kevin spread his legs slightly, and sighed as Arthur’s pubis pressed hard against the boy’s bottom. “Oh, oh, fuck, Madre Dios, oh, Arthur, oh, Arthur,” the boy moaned.

Arthur silenced Kevin with a kiss before pulling back slightly. Kevin’s hands on his bottom urged Arthur forward, and again Kevin gasped. “Oh, oh…” Arthur pulled back, and then pushed forward. Kevin’s hands on his butt continued to encourage him. Arthur felt sweat drip from his forehead onto Kevin’s chest; he pushed in, out, in, hearing the slap of flesh on flesh echoing from the walls of the boy’s bedroom. Kevin’s heels were behind Arthur’s back, now, pulling them closer and tighter together. The boy’s hands were on Arthur’s shoulders; Kevin’s fingernails bit into Arthur’s flesh. Beneath Arthur, Kevin pushed himself to meet Arthur’s thrusts. Sweat pooled on his tummy, filling his bellybutton.

Arthur’s body froze. Kevin pulled them closer together. Arthur arched his back, pushing his penis deep into the boy. Teeth clenched and toes curled, Arthur came, filling the olive drab condom.

*****

“You know,” Arthur said. He and Kevin cuddled on the couch in the den. “I know you and your father talked about me before the first visit. He wouldn’t have told you that I was gay; so, how did you know?”

Kevin snorted. “Gaydar, of course. The first time you saw me…when I handed you your drink…you looked at me too long. And, your pupils dilated.”

“You noticed that?”

“Noticed it? I was looking for it.” The boy touched Arthur’s cheek. “When I fixed your drink, I could see you even though you couldn’t see me. I wasn’t just looking for it, I was hoping for it.”

Arthur kissed Kevin. “And that was enough?”

Kevin elbowed Arthur gently in the ribs. “No, doofus. I really figured it out at supper. You didn’t look at me enough.”

“What? You were across the table from me. I looked at you all the time. Except, maybe, when I was talking to your mother or father.”

“No, you weren’t. You looked at the salt and pepper. You looked at your plate. You looked at the pictures on the wall behind me. And…” Kevin touched Arthur’s cheek, again. “…when I caught you looking at me, you looked away too quickly. That’s when I was sure.”

 

 

War Games Umpires

Arthur tossed a bit of cloth toward Kevin; the boy caught it with no hesitation. Then his eyes widened. “Black armband; someone’s died.” Fear lit his eyes, but only for a moment. Arthur wouldn’t play with his emotions like that. But what…?

“Turn it over, doofus, and look at the other side,” Arthur said.

White letters. “Umpire?” Kevin asked. “Umpire…you mean the war games? You’re going to be an umpire?” The quarterly war games were the highlight of training at Fort Riley. They were a highlight of the soldiers’ social calendar, as well, with the losers hosting dinners at the O Club, NCO Club, and Soldiers’ Club. No matter who won, the umpires were honored guests.

Arthur showed Kevin a second black armband. “Yep, but I’ve got my own. That one’s yours.”

“Mine?” Kevin’s voice nearly cracked. “Mine? I get to umpire? But…”

Arthur’s face and voice were serious when he answered. “Kevin, boys in my class…we were made officers right out of high school. The war on terrorism couldn’t wait for us to grow up. You’re just a year behind me. Well, you’ll probably get to finish high school, since you’re probably going to be an officer. But some of your classmates—even younger kids—will be on active duty before the month is over. The draft age was just lowered to sixteen. It’ll be on the news, tonight. Your dad told me…

“I didn’t have much warning before I was commissioned. If your father hadn’t helped me—and all the other ‘baby brown bars’ in his regiment—I’d probably get killed, or be responsible for getting some of my soldiers killed. It’s not that I owe your father—although I do. It’s not that I…I love you—although I do. It’s that I have an obligation to help the next wave of soldiers, the next wave of officers. I want you to be the best damn ‘baby brown bar’ the Army has ever seen, and…”

Kevin’s kiss smothered whatever Arthur was about to say. When Arthur managed to break away to catch his breath, Kevin asked, “Do you really love me?”

“Oh, yes,” Arthur said. “I do.”

“I love you, too,” Kevin said.

This is going to be a problem, Arthur thought.

This is going to be a problem, Kevin thought.

*****

Kevin had spent the night on bivouac with the umpires. They were to be in position by 0400, which meant sleeping in fatigues, and then being wakened at 0230 for breakfast. By 0330, Kevin and Arthur were walking across the training range, guided only by starlight and Arthur’s PDA and its link to the military global positioning system satellites. “Did you know,” Arthur asked, “that until 2012 the GPS satellite signal was available to everyone? I mean, even golf courses had GPS markers, and you could tell how far it was to the hole using GPS in a golf cart.”

“Yeah,” Kevin said. “Well, not about that, but Dad told me about using GPS to find a good fishing spot.”

“Now,” Arthur continued, “the signal is encrypted. Only the military can read it. Okay…here we are.” He gestured to a copse at the end of a ridgeline. “We can conceal ourselves in the brush; there’s a gully that will keep us hidden from infra-red. Once the action starts, we’ll be masked by the tactical computer, but we’ll be able to see everything.”

“But, doesn’t your PDA tell you where everyone is?” Kevin asked.

“Yeah,” Arthur said. “But sometimes, there’s no substitute for M-1-A-1 eyeballs.”

*****

Arthur and Kevin had spread a shelter half, and lay on it, side by side in the gulley. Arthur lay on his back, looking at the stars. Kevin ran his hand up Arthur’s leg and to his crotch where the cammies bulged. “Um,” the boy said. “What have we here?

Arthur blushed unseen in the dim starlight, and then chuckled. “You know you turn me on.”

“When does this war start?” Kevin asked.

“In about an hour,” Arthur said. He rolled onto his side facing Kevin.

“Well, since I turn you on, and you turn me on, and we have an hour to kill…” Kevin said. He twisted his body until the two boys’ crotches were pressing into one another. “I’m hard, too,” he said.

Arthur kissed Kevin, his tongue finding no resistance as it pressed through the boy’s lips. Kevin gasped for breath, and then struggled to pull down his cammies. He rolled onto his stomach, and then pushed his butt into the air, kneeling on the shelter half. “Fuck me? Please?” the boy asked.

“Uh, I don’t…” Arthur began.

“But I do,” Kevin said, and handed Arthur an olive drab packet, black in the pre-dawn gloom, containing an issue, olive drab condom.

Arthur spit on his hand, and smeared the saliva on the condom. I hope that’s enough lubrication, he thought, and thrust heavily into the boy. Kevin grunted, and then sighed, and Arthur knew that he was happy. Arthur slid back until only the tip of his penis was inside the boy, and the ridge of the glans caught on the tight ring of Kevin’s anus. Slowly, Arthur slid in, again. Kevin hissed with pleasure, and then moaned as Arthur’s penis pushed over the boy’s prostate. “Oh,” he whispered. “Oh, fuck me…”

“Shh,” Arthur whispered. He felt, rather than saw, Kevin’s nod. Arthur retreated, and then pushed in, again. This time, Kevin was silent, but Arthur noted the steady deepening of the boy’s breathing. Holding tightly to Kevin’s hips, Arthur firmly, slowly, and deeply fucked the boy. His own breath caught in his throat and he threw back his head. Stars…still dark, was the incongruous thought that played through his mind as his penis tightened, tensed, and throbbed. He felt Kevin tighten around him, and knew that the boy had achieved release, too.

*****

Arthur and Kevin had pulled up their uniform trousers, tucked in their shirts, and were once again ready to observe the war games.

“You guys are really hot,” a voice said from the darkness. “And you’re prisoners of the Green forces.”

Kevin and Arthur looked toward the sound. In the weak light of the incipient dawn, they saw nothing until the figure moved. Then, they saw a soldier in a ghillie suit: a sniper. He had been less than three feet from them ever since they had arrived.

Kevin panicked; Arthur remained calm. “You’re not supposed to be here,” he said. “And you can’t take umpires prisoner.” The armbands were still invisible in the dim light.

“Oh, shit,” the sniper said. “Please don’t report me? Please?”

“What’s your name, and what’s the story?” Arthur asked.

“Corporal Billy Sumter, sir. I figured this was the best place…and I knew that if I could get to it, I could score big,” the sniper said. “The older guys…they follow the book…everything has to be just like they’ve always done it. But I figured, heck, it’s easier to get forgiven than to ask permission. So, last night, after roll call, I sneaked out. I had found this place on the topo charts. I plotted lines of sight. Did you know you could see the Blue and the Green headquarters from here?”

“No shit, Sherlock,” Arthur said. “That’s why we’re here.”

There was now just enough light to see the boy blush. “You’re just a boy!” Kevin said.

The sniper blushed, again. “Yeah. But I’m a champion. Marksman, that is. From Turnhill, Tennessee. Got recruited two years ago. My pa, he signed for me. I’m eighteen, though. That ain’t a boy where I’m from.”

“Sorry, that’s not what I meant,” Kevin said. “Uh, I’m eighteen, too…”

“Look,” the boy said, “are you going to report me or not, cause if you are, I might as well surrender to Blue Force now.”

“Tell you what,” Arthur said. “Show me your route…how you got here last night. I’ll monitor movements for the first 30 minutes of the war and decide if you could have gotten here legitimately. Only thing is, you can’t shoot anybody for the first 30 minutes. Deal?”

Relieved, the boy agreed.

*****

“He was cute,” Kevin said. “And he got really hard from watching us…I could see. How come you didn’t ask if he wanted to get together, later?”

“ ’Cause he was a soldier, Kevin. A corporal…young for that, but probably because he was a marksman. Never, never may an officer have sex with an enlisted man…”

“But he’s not in your company…” Kevin was still puzzled.

“Doesn’t matter,” Arthur said. “It breaks down discipline and…you never know. He might be under my command some day. If you ever were, I’d have a very hard time dealing with…That’s not what I mean!” Arthur grinned as Kevin stared at the older boy’s cammies, bulging again at the crotch.

 

For Always

For years, Hummers had been manufactured overseas by Opal-Fiat, but this one, at least, had been made in an American factory. The Bush-Obama economic recovery plans of the early 21st century had led to most of America’s manufacturing plants being owned by foreign companies or by China, which still held trillions of dollars of USA debt. However, the plans had at least preserved some domestic manufacturing capabilities. Kevin eased the big vehicle out of the driveway and toward the post gate. He’d earned an A in his history class, thanks in large part to Arthur’s tutoring. His father had kept his promise that the boy might drive the Hummer.

Arthur sat in the passenger seat. He wore a baseball cap pulled low over his face. He hated having to hide his relationship with Kevin; however, it was absolutely necessary. Tutoring the boy—meeting at the Post Library—was one thing. Every carrel and every table was occupied by soldiers tutoring younger soldiers and the children of soldiers. The public school system had long ago become little more than a place to hold children until they were eighteen years old; there was no longer more than a pretense that education was a part of the schools. While a little more than half of schoolchildren could read and write, it was unlikely that a schoolteacher of the mid-20th century would have accepted their handwriting, grammar, or spelling.

The self-styled education lobby was powerful enough that they controlled even the schools on military posts. The Army fought back by making it clear that tutoring and mentoring were an expected use of an officer’s free time. Arthur and Kevin looked forward to their two evenings a week, and the occasional Sunday afternoon. They sat opposite one another at a small table, and could express their feelings and desires only by occasionally brushing the back of the other’s hand, or sliding one knee across another. It was as frustrating as it was satisfying, and both boys longed for something better.

It was, therefore, a welcome event when Kevin’s father had asked Arthur to “…drop by the house on Saturday afternoon, won’t you? Mrs. Eck and I have an invitation to bridge and dinner. You and Kevin can spend the entire afternoon and evening on the Civil War.”

The colonel and Mrs. Eck had departed in the van within minutes of Arthur’s arrival; the boys were in Kevin’s room seconds later. Kevin had been wearing gym clothes; he was naked within seconds. Arthur fumbled with the buttons of his shirt while Kevin loosened Arthur’s belt and tugged down his trousers. “You have got to get something besides those camo skivvies,” the boy laughed. “I’m thinking maybe some of those really tight, low-cut, short boxer-briefs, that would show about this much of your bottom.” He drew his fingers across the lower inch of Arthur’s now bare bottom.

“You’d rather see me in briefs than naked?” Arthur asked.

“I’d rather see you in full battle armor than not at all,” Kevin said. He kissed Arthur, hard. “And, yes, I’d like to see you in sexy underwear.” Kevin paused, there was a catch in his voice when he added, “I’d like to see you wake up beside me in the morning, instead of having to leave tonight. I’d like to see you sleeping beside me…” The boy’s voice broke; he began to cry.

Arthur pulled the boy tight to him, lowered his head, and kissed the tears from Kevin’s cheeks. “I want that, too, Kevin, and someday…someday it will happen, and not just once, but for always…”

Kevin abruptly stopped crying and looked hard at Arthur. “For always?” he whispered.

“If that’s what you want,” Arthur said.

Kevin choked out a “yes.”

 

Cadre

“At ease, soldiers!” The colonel’s voice rang through the silence of the auditorium. The monthly commander’s call had been last week. Another meeting of the regiment so soon after was unusual; and, given the recent resurgence of the Mujahedeen in Afghanistan, it was a little unsettling, as well. Seats clattered and boots shuffled as the nearly two thousand men and women sat. The colonel took the microphone from its stand, and walked to the center of the stage.

“The regiment has been ordered to deploy to Afghanistan in support of Coalition operations. Departure is at 0600 ten days from now: a week from Thursday. You will travel by train to New Orleans and there will embark on the USS Patriot-Oak. You will be deployed and will serve as a unit.”

The colonel paused, and then continued. “I will not be joining you. This plastic leg”—he knocked the microphone against his thigh, creating a hollow thunk—“well, it’s okay for the garden spot of Fort Riley…” he paused to allow the slight, somewhat nervous laughter to die “…but it’s not up to the mountains of Afghanistan. The good news is that Major Williams has been promoted to lieutenant colonel, and will assume command of the regiment. Change of command ceremony will occur at 1400 hours today. The following persons will remain in the theater: Major Wiley; Captains Blount and Sams; Lieutenants Andrus, Edwards, and Clark; Sergeants George, Wellington, and Sikes. All others are dismissed.”

*****

“I’m not the only one staying behind,” the colonel said to the small group who sat in the front row. He, himself, sat at the edge of the stage. “You and I, plus carefully selected officers and NCOs from the other infantry regiments will form a cadre to train a wave of new recruits: the first of the 16-year-old draftees.”

The stunned looks on the faces of the officers and NCOs gave him pause. “I know that assignment to another training regiment isn’t what some of you had in your career plans. There’s no substitute for combat, and no substitute for the Combat Infantry Badge. On the other hand, you’ll be moving up one level of command. Sergeants who have been assistant platoon leaders will be platoon leaders for lieutenants who will become company commanders. Your span of control will not increase significantly, however. Platoons will be small, not more than 20. The Army is taking very seriously the training of these 16-year-olds. That you have been selected is a mark of trust and respect, and I have the personal assurance of General Hitchcock that your careers will not suffer.”

The colonel’s voice seemed to take on an even more serious tone. “It’s nearly certain that all of you will see combat. I suspect that it will be you who will lead these youngsters to war. It’s nearly certain that if you live long enough to meet time in grade for promotion, you will be promoted. You know how severe are our losses, not only in Afghanistan, but also in the Horn of Africa, Iran, the Balkans, and Korea.”

 

 

Recruiting Trip:
Defense Highway, Kansas, 0530 Hours

Arthur kept the Urban Assault Vehicle at a steady 65 miles per hour. Its high-intensity headlights were powerful enough that he couldn’t outdrive them, even on this road. In the seat beside him, Kevin dozed. Two soldiers slept in the waist gunners’ positions just behind him.

Earlier, Fort Riley Motor Pool

Kevin had pleaded to be allowed to drive. Arthur refused. Looking around and seeing that they were alone, Kevin pressed his body into Arthur’s and kissed him. “Please? You know you can’t refuse me when I’m being cute.”

Arthur returned the boy’s kiss. “No. You may not drive. But, I will get you into the drivers’ training course. If you pass it, your license will be endorsed for the UAV.”

“See? I told you that you couldn’t resist me…” Something in Arthur’s eyes stopped whatever Kevin was going to say. There was a long silence. “You’re not sponsoring me because you love me…or because I’m cute…are you?” Arthur shook his head.

“You’re sponsoring me…because I’ll someday be…not driving…but commanding soldiers who drive them,” the boy said. Arthur nodded.

“Does that mean I won’t be in armor?” Kevin asked. It was his boyhood dream to command a tank company…to become a 21st century General George Patton.

“Probably not,” Arthur said. “Tanks take too much fuel…high-energy fuel…gasoline, diesel. The UAVs run on hydrogen. The army hasn’t bought a new tank in nearly five years.”

“I knew that. I just didn’t want to know it,” Kevin said. “There’s not been civilian gasoline for three years, and now, even the ethanol is being reserved for the military. I’m glad Dad converted our vehicles when he could.” The emergency declaration, one in a line of many, had caught a lot of people unprepared. Now, there was a waiting list for permits to convert gasoline or diesel vehicles to hydrogen, a wait of up to a year.

The sound of the bay door opening jolted Kevin and Arthur back to today. Two soldiers, equipped for desert warfare, complete with M1G rifles, entered. They weren’t in full battle rattle—the soldier’s complete complement of arms and equipment—but were equipped as if for a scouting mission. Helmets with built in night vision goggles; light field packs; canteens; and equipment belt and bandoliers, both empty of live ammunition.

“Corporal Santos and Private Casey reporting as ordered, sir,” one of the boys spoke. They both stood at attention a dozen feet from the UAV.

‘Boys…eighteen…the same age as Kevin,’ Arthur thought. “At ease, soldiers,” he said. “Weapon keys, please?”

Startled, the corporal handed Arthur the two USB keys for their rifles. Arthur inserted them into his PDA, and then returned them. Acknowledging the boy’s puzzlement, Arthur said. “You’ll be firing today…blanks and smoke grenades. You’ll find both in the ammo boxes.

“Now, stow your packs in the rear compartment, and then take seats in the waist gunners’ positions. I don’t know exactly what the recruiter wants from us…he was vague on that…I don’t know if we’ll show off the UAV first or talk first. And it may be different at different schools. We’ll be visiting three today and two more, tomorrow.

“This trip is important. Not for me, and not for you. Well, not immediately, anyway. It’s important for the Army, and it’s important for the Infantry. Even though the draft age is now 16, we want volunteers rather than draftees. Most of the boys who volunteer go into the Navy or the Air Force; we want our share. Do you know why?”

“Sir, yes sir,” the corporal said. “Volunteers—like Jon…uh, Private Casey and me—we show initiative sooner than draftees do.” He and Private Casey had racked their M1G rifles next to the waist gunners’ positions: never was a soldier’s weapon out of arm’s reach except when the soldier was in the shower, and then it was not more than 10 feet away.

‘Bright boy,’ Arthur thought. “You have the right of it, Corporal. Okay, let’s get on the road.”

Defense Highway, Kansas 0630 Hours

Arthur slowed the UAV and turned into the exit lane. “We’re stopping?” Kevin asked when the change in the vehicle’s speed woke him.

“In the plan,” Arthur said. “H-station and breakfast. You guys order what you want. Order a bacon, egg, and cheese biscuit and coffee for me, please. I’ll pay…it’s on the Army’s ticket.”

After fueling and then securing the vehicle, Arthur entered the restaurant attached to the fueling station. The boys were paying attention to their food, and did not see him. He watched them as the cashier processed his procurement card. ‘They’re lovers,’ he realized as he saw Santos and Casey trade gestures, giggles, and grins. ‘Hmmm.’

Kansas City, Missouri, 0745 Hours

“Cadet? Please call the recruiting sergeant; his number is at the top of the call list.” Arthur handed Kevin his PDA and glanced at the GPS screen. “Tell him we’re fifteen minutes out and ask for a beacon, or at least driving instructions, once we reach the school.”

‘Cadet, he called me,’ Kevin thought. ‘It’s going to be a long day.’

Kansas City, Missouri, 0830 Hours

The UAV sat at one end of an old stadium once used for football. Students filed into the end-zone bleachers behind it. Piles of hay bales sat at the opposite end of the field, where goalposts once stood. Santos, Casey, and Eck stood on top of the UAV. Loud, Tiano-rock music played through the public address system that was part of the vehicle’s psyops, or psychological operations, package. Santos and Casey had their M1G’s; Kevin held a wireless microphone.

Kevin shut down the music and began the demo by welcoming the students and introducing himself and the two soldiers. Then, “This is the model RG-1 Urban Assault Vehicle, or UAV. It can travel over 150 kph on highways or sand dunes. It is designed to support a squad of infantry for one week in any territory. It is the fastest, best armored, and safest vehicle owned by any army in the world, and it’s exclusive to the Army of the United States of America.” The students stood and cheered at that last remark, spurred perhaps by the enthusiasm in Kevin’s voice. Kevin handed the microphone to Casey.

“It’s equipped with the MTDS: a multi-threat detection system capable of detecting, identifying, and locating with pinpoint accuracy any known threat, including laser, radar and other radio frequency sources including beam-rider missiles, target designators, and laser guided weapons. It has passive and active sensors, including radar.”

Casey didn’t have to talk down to these kids. Boys in the 1950s and 1960s seemed to know, without knowing how they knew, the make and model of every American made automobile. Boys and girls of the 1990s seemed to know, without knowing how they knew, how to program video recorders and operate computers. Boys and girls of the 20-teens grew up knowing and understanding “beam-riders,” “target-designators,” and the entire vocabulary of war.

Casey handed the microphone to Santos. “The MTDS controls the AWASH: Automatic WeApon Station—Heavy: The AWASH selects an appropriate countermeasure, fires, tracks, and re-launches in microseconds, as required. Defensive projectiles available include a Gatling gun and micro-rockets that we call MikeRocks: laser-guided solid-fuel rockets with an HE warhead. MikeRocks are only 18 inches long, and have a range of about 300 yards, but are extremely effective against anti-tank missiles.”

That was Arthur’s cue. He manually fired a practice MikeRock at one of the hay bales. When the smoke and hay settled, there was a ten-foot circle of scorched grass where that pile of hay had been.

*****

It was a long day, but a fun one. They visited three high schools, and put on three shows that included rattling windows by firing blanks through the twin 50-caliber waist machine guns, and filling athletic fields with smoke from grenades fired from the M1G urban assault rifles. Bales of hay were destroyed with MikeRocks, and set ablaze with smoke grenades. After each demo, Casey, Santos, and Eck answered questions from the boys and girls in the crowd.

“One more stop, if you will, sir,” the recruiting sergeant said. He had taken Kevin’s seat in the front of the vehicle. Kevin was crowded in the gunners’ positions with Santos and Casey. ‘They’re lovers,’ Kevin realized. ‘I thought so at breakfast…Hmmm.’

“Here we are,” the recruiter said. “I can get a trolley from here to the base. I know you won’t be sorry to hear this, but a troop train came in last night, and there’s absolutely no room on base for you. Here…certificate of non-availability. That number? That’s your confirmation number at the Gateway…right there. They’ll send the bill to my office.”

“Thank you, sergeant. Where will we meet you, tomorrow?” Arthur asked.

“Here, okay?” the sergeant asked. About 0830? The first demo is at 0900.”

“Sure, but if you can make it 0730, I’d…we could talk…over breakfast. I have a couple of questions…” Arthur said. I can’t invite him to breakfast,’ he thought, ‘but I’ll bet he’d like it if I did…this way, it’s official.

“Yes, sir,” the sergeant said. Smart lieutenant,’ he thought, ‘especially for a baby brown bar. Wonder what NCO trained him.

 

Gateway Courtyard Inn, Kansas City, Missouri, 1645 Hours

“Corporal Santos? You and Private Casey are in Room 332; Cadet Eck and I will be in 330. You’re on your own for dinner…in the motel, please. I don’t like restricting you to the motel, but I must. You saw the security fencing? The concertina wire? This is not a place to be wandering around, not even for soldiers. Can I count on you?”

“Yes, sir,” Santos said. He understood, and Arthur understood: the request, the ‘can I count on you’ was a mark of trust; trust that would not be abused.

I don’t think they would want to go out, anyway, Arthur thought. I’m sure, now, that they’re lovers, and they probably don’t get too many opportunities…of course, neither do Kevin and I.’ A thought occurred to him, ‘Do you suppose they suspect that Kevin and I…

 

Gateway Courtyard Inn, Kansas City, Missouri, 1651 Hours

The motel sported the usual placards urging guests to conserve water by not asking for fresh towels and linen every day. “We can’t help, there,” Kevin said. “We’re only staying one night. I could feel very unpatriotic about this situation…” He waited for Arthur’s reaction, but Arthur didn’t even smile.

“Okay, I’ll ask,” Kevin said. “Can I shower with you?”

“You bet,” Arthur said. Kevin stuck out his tongue, but then grinned.

Arthur turned on the water just long enough to get them both wet, and then turned it off. He filled one hand from a bottle of body wash gel, rubbed his hands together, and then began scrubbing the foam onto Kevin’s chest. Kevin locked his eyes with Arthur’s, and watched as Arthur ran soapy hands under his arms, across his back, down to his bottom. Kevin had been hard before he stepped into the shower. When Arthur soaped his bottom, and slid a finger between the cheeks, lightly touching Kevin’s anus, the boy almost came. “Wait,” he gasped, and stepped back.

Arthur took more gel from the bottle. “Ready?” Kevin nodded, and Arthur soaped the boy’s tummy and groin, being very careful not to touch Kevin’s penis. Arthur knelt, and massaged the foam over Kevin’s legs and feet, and then back up his legs to his bottom. Arthur stood. “Wash me?”

Kevin nodded, and soaped his own hands. After washing Arthur’s front, rather than trying to reach around the older boy, Kevin ordered, “Turn around.”

“Why?” Arthur asked, disingenuously.

“You know why!” Kevin said. “My arms aren’t long enough to wash your back without my dick touching you…and I’m not quite ready to cum, that’s why.”

Arthur grinned, kissed the boy quickly, and turned. Kevin’s hands made their way up and down his back, across his bottom, and then—just for a moment—between his cheeks. “You gonna fuck me?” Arthur whispered.

“You want?” Kevin asked.

“Soon as we wash off the soap,” Arthur said, and turned the water on once more—cold.

“Shit!” Kevin exclaimed. He rubbed himself briskly, using his hands as a squeegee to rub off the soap. Arthur did the same, turned off the water, and stepped out of the shower.

“You said…” Kevin began.

“Yeah, but I didn’t mean standing in the shower. Besides, you’re not hard anymore. Come on, let me dry you.”

 

Gateway Courtyard Inn, Kansas City, Missouri, 1651 Hours

Santos and Casey looked around the room, taking in the flat screen TV and the single king bed. “You don’t think…” Casey began.

Santos understood. “That the recruiter knew we were a couple? Not likely. Besides, it was the lieutenant who checked us in.”

“Oh shit,” Casey said, “do you think he…”

Santos stopped Casey’s protestations with a kiss. “He’s okay, for an officer, but I really don’t care what he thinks, or what he knows. All I care about is that I’ve got you alone in a room with a bed for the next twelve hours.”

“Well, not quite twelve,” Casey said. “We’ve got to eat…”

Santos looked at Casey. “You know that I could live on nothing but your love, don’t you?”

Casey grinned. “Maybe you can live on love, but I want a steak!”

Santos nuzzled Casey’s neck, sucking gently so as not to leave a mark. Casey was hard

“So, you’re pretty sure the lieutenant and Eck…?”

“Yeah, I’m pretty sure. I mean, Eck couldn’t keep his eyes off the lieutenant during the UAV demo; and, well, he looked really, really happy just now…”

*****

Dry, the two boys lay on the bed, embracing. Arthur felt Kevin swelling, once again. “Gonna fuck me, now?” the older boy asked. In answer, Kevin knelt between Arthur’s legs, and rolled one of the ubiquitous olive drab condoms onto his penis. He reached between Arthur’s legs and smoothed lube from the equally ubiquitous and equally olive drab tin onto Arthur’s bottom and onto the condom. Looking Arthur in the eye, the boy leaned forward. Arthur had pulled his legs toward his chest, leaving an easy target for Kevin. The boy’s penis found its target. Kevin grunted, and pushed in. Arthur grunted, released his legs to fall onto Kevin’s shoulders, and clasped the boy’s butt with his hands. He pulled; Kevin pushed; the boy’s penis sank deep into Arthur.

Kevin gasped.

“Dead cats,” Arthur said. “Dead cats.”

Kevin chuckled; the crisis was over. He wasn’t going to cum right away. He pulled back, and pushed forward again. It wasn’t the image of dead cats that kept him from orgasm; it was the knowledge that Arthur wanted Kevin to take his time, to fuck the older boy slowly, to enjoy a slow rise to climax, and then to explode with pleasure unlike the boy had known before he had met Arthur. It had taken weeks for Kevin to understood: Arthur’s love for him meant that Arthur wanted Kevin to experience the greatest possible pleasure, regardless of the role that either took in their lovemaking. “Top” and “bottom” were only technical terms, and ones that they didn’t use. In bed, they were partners, equals.

With that thought firmly in his mind, Kevin slowly, cautiously, almost clinically, fucked Arthur. ‘His pleasure is my pleasure,’ Kevin thought. ‘I’m not fucking him; we…we are making love. I can give him pleasure at the same time I take pleasure. It’s the same when he fucks me. He knows how to make me happy, how to make me cum with my dick pressed between our hard tummies…’ Kevin pushed the thought aside as he pushed deeper and deeper into Arthur. They might as well not have showered: in the un-air-conditioned motel room, sweat quickly beaded on their bodies. This didn’t slow them; they were accustomed to the heat and the humidity. Air-conditioning had been declared unpatriotic at the same time that the hydrogen liquefaction program had begun. The energy that once went into cooling USA homes and businesses now went into creating hydrogen fuel for vehicles. That thousands of elderly people and children died in overheated homes never reached the news media.

None of this, of course, was in either Arthur or Kevin’s mind. Arthur clutched the boy tightly to him, gasping as Kevin’s penis pressed against his prostate. Kevin flung his head back; the tendons in his neck were tight; his teeth were clenched. ‘Dead cats! Dead cats!’ the boy thought, but it was to no avail. “Oh, Arthur!” he cried as he slammed his body strongly against Arthur’s. Arthur felt Kevin’s orgasm pulsing through his body; he felt the boy shudder with release; he felt his own orgasm pump against Kevin’s solid tummy as he pulled the boy close, close into him.

In the adjoining room, Jon and Ricky heard Kevin’s cry. They looked at one another and grinned. “I told you so,” Ricky said.

*****

Arthur and Kevin lay, gasping, on the bed. Arthur was the first to recover. “Shower?” he asked. Kevin laughed. He bent his head and licked some of Arthur’s cum from the older boy’s stomach. “Okay, but only because I want a steak for supper. So I’ll have enough strength…” He left the rest of the sentence unsaid, but Arthur knew what he meant.

*****

Gateway Courtyard Inn, Kansas City, Missouri, 1900 Hours

Kevin sat on the banquette; Arthur sat across the table, facing him. They had been served water, no ice, and were reading the menu. Kevin looked up and then grinned. “Guess who just came into the restaurant,” he said.

“Since they weren’t here when we got here, my guess would be Santos and Casey,” Arthur said. “Don’t stare at them!”

“What do you suppose two growing boys, who had only a sandwich and soda for lunch, found to do to keep them away from food for the past two hours?” Kevin asked.

“Unless I’m badly mistaken, the same thing that kept these two growing boys away from food for two hours,” Arthur said.

“They saw us,” Kevin said. His head was lowered. “I’m pretty sure Casey blushed, and I’m damn sure Santos grinned. Do you think…”

“The only thing I think, now, is that I’m going to have a Kansas City strip, baked potato, and broccoli. How about you?”

 

Gateway Courtyard Inn, Kansas City, Missouri, 2045 Hours

“Permission to touch you, soldier?” Santos asked. Casey stood at attention at the foot of the bed, his M1G held at port arms. The night vision goggles on his helmet covered his eyes. Bandoliers crossed his naked chest. His equipment belt rode low on his equally bare hips.

“Yes, corporal,” Casey said. His voice was low. He did not flinch when Santos’s finger touched his cheek and drew a dark bar of zinc oxide under each eye. He did flinch with the memory of pain when Santos touched the tattooed rainbow arcing over crossed rifles on Casey’s right shoulder.

Santos saw the flinch. “Does it still hurt? I’m sorry…”

“No, corporal. It doesn’t hurt. And I didn’t mind the pain.” The tattoo matched one on Santos’s right shoulder, nor were the two tattoos unique. Perhaps 70% of the soldiers in their company wore the crossed rifles of the infantry. More than 25% of the soldiers wore a rainbow. Not all were gay; Casey knew at least two who wore the rainbow for the same reason many others wore a black POW ribbon. It was a symbol of solidarity, an unspoken promise never to forget a mate.

Santos snapped off the lights. Casey watched as the ghostly image in his night vision lenses stripped, and then stood close before him. “Inspection, arms!” he whispered. Casey slammed open the chamber of his M1G; Santos snatched the rifle from his hands in a practiced move. He closed the chamber, and leaned the weapon beside his own.

“Is that gun loaded,” Santos asked.

Casey knew what he meant. The World War II mantra was still recited for new recruits: “This is my rifle, this is my gun. This one’s for killin’, this one’s for fun.”

“Yes, corporal!” Casey giggled. “So’s yours, I think.”

Casey stood at rigid attention. His thumbs were pressed against his legs where the seams of his pants would have been. His heels were together and his feet spread at a 45-degree angle. His shoulders were back, and his chin was tilted slightly upward. His eyes looked straight ahead. Santos’s head, green in the artificial light of the night-vision goggles, dropped below Casey’s field of view. Casey felt, but did not see, Santos’s lips slide over him.

*****

“Si, vaquero!” Casey cried.

In the adjoining room, Arthur and Kevin heard Casey’s voice. They looked at one another and grinned. “I told you so,” Arthur said.

 

Gateway Courtyard Inn, Kansas City, Missouri, 0615 Hours

Arthur switched the TV to a weather channel. He didn’t expect to get much information: detailed forecasts were classified. Clear and cold with snow tonight was all he got. He resolved to check in with the Fort Riley command post later in the day using the secure link in the UAV. “Ready?” he asked Kevin.

Kevin faked a limp as he walked across the room. He grinned, and kissed Arthur. “I’m glad we had last night,” he said.

Arthur squeezed Kevin’s bottom. “And this morning?”

“And this morning, too,” Kevin said.

 

Gateway Courtyard Inn, Kansas City, Missouri, 0630 Hours

The recruiting sergeant was waiting at the restaurant. Arthur gestured for Kevin to join Santos and Casey, who had just been seated.

“Before you leave tonight, you can come by the recruiting station and check the weather. We have a secure phone,” the sergeant began.

“Thanks,” Arthur said. “I saw the local forecast, and figured I’d better get more info before we headed west. There’s a secure satellite link in the UAV; if I can’t get through on that, I’ll take you up on your offer.”

“Secure satellite? I hadn’t heard.”

Arthur and the sergeant spent the next 45 minutes discussing the capabilities of the UAV and plans for the demos later in the day. Arthur was right about the breakfast. The sergeant was likely on basic rations, and he appreciated the chance to eat on the economy for a change. The best food went to soldiers deployed in war zones; next best, to soldiers in training; next to soldiers who held non-combat assignments. The hotel offered the best of all worlds, where money and military perquisites came together to create Denver omelets, home fries, biscuits and gravy, and Spam.

Many men had come home from World War II after years of eating a compressed pork product called, ‘Spam.’ Some swore never, never again to eat it. Others found it to be a comfort food, and a cult had grown up around it. Pork shoulder and, well, other things, as well as a great deal of patriotism went into the making of Spam. It had a resurgence in the early 21st century, and then, when war became the only driver of the American economy, another resurgence in the late 20-teens. Now, “spam-burgers” were as traditional as hot dogs on the 4th of July, and “Spam and eggs” was a soldier’s Sunday brunch.

*****

“Looks like we’ll get home tonight,” Arthur briefed the others. “CP says the storm won’t hit Fort Riley until 2100, and we’ll easily make it by 1800. They said to come on in. Everyone set?” The boys nodded, and Arthur started the UAV’s main turbine and rolled out of the parking lot.

“I want you to know,” Arthur said once he reached the defense highway. “You all did a fine job these past two days. Sergeant Ledbetter thinks so, too. He said he’d send an email for your files; I’ll send one, too.”

“You can’t do that,” Kevin said before he realized the implication. “Um, I mean, uh, the school computer system is down,” he finished somewhat lamely.

“It’s okay, Kevin. I’m pretty sure Santos and Casey have figured out we’re a couple. Am I right?” He glanced in the mirror that gave him a view of the crew compartment. It wasn’t a rear-view mirror; two bulkheads separated the driver from the traffic behind him, and the rear view was a closed-circuit television.

“Uh, sir, yes sir,” Santos said. He glanced at Casey, who nodded. “Sir? You figured out us, too?”

“Yeah, at breakfast the first day. You okay with this?”

“Permission to speak freely, sir?” Santos asked.

“Um, I’m pretty sure we both have been,” Arthur said.

Santos coughed, cleared his throat, and continued. “An officer and a cadet, sir, uh…” The boy couldn’t frame the question he wanted to ask.

Arthur looked at Kevin, who grinned and nodded. He knew Arthur’s question.

“Kevin and I met and began our relationship in his father’s house. In fact, it was on the floor of his father’s den, and it was with his father’s knowledge. The next day, we received his father’s permission—actually, his father’s blessing—to continue. I knew then, that Kevin was a high school ROTC cadet, but never expected to have to deal with him officially. Or, if that ever happened, we’d be able to deal with it. His father is a colonel, and could get one of us a transfer, if that were what it would take.

“We found out about this assignment—that we’d be together—the afternoon before departure. There just wasn’t enough time…” Arthur’s voice trailed off as he signaled a lane change.

“And why can’t you send an e-commendation for his file?” Casey asked.

“It just wouldn’t be fair,” Kevin said. “And, if anyone ever put two and two together, it would poison my entire file, and Arthur’s too.

“Holy shit,” Santos said. “I never would of thought of that.” His voice was barely audible over the hum of the tires and the whine of the turbine.

*****

“Please be careful,” Arthur said, and then laughed. “I don’t want the motor pool guys finding French fries under the seats.” He thought, ‘French fries. A few years ago, we called them Freedom fries, because we caught the French conducting industrial espionage. Again. Then, the French got control of the oil fields off the shore of Guiana and we were friends. Again. And we’re back to French fries.’

The comm console between the seats buzzed. Kevin looked at the display. “Secure link,” he said. “Uh, maybe Rick…uh, Santos should answer.”

“Yes, please,” Arthur said. Snow and night were falling. The high-intensity headlights were useless in the face of the snow. He’d turned on the infra-red heads-up display, but the roadway wasn’t warm enough to show much contrast. He’d slowed to 40 kph, and was considering firing up the radar when the active collision alert system alarmed. Arthur braked carefully, and rolled to a stop ten yards from a tangle of scorched metal that blocked the road.

“Sir, CP says the storm moved faster than they expected, and that we should plan to stop at first op.”

“Well, that’s OBE,” Arthur said. Tell them we’ve encountered an accident scene; give our coordinates. Tell them the road is blocked, that we’ll render aid and report as soon as possible.”

After Santos relayed that information, Arthur continued. “Santos and Eck will stay in the crew compartment. Let no one in unless accompanied by Casey or me. Password is Armor. Duress word is Infantry. Casey, you’re with me.”

Twenty minutes later, Arthur and Casey were back in the UAV. Casey was visibly shaken. “Dead…they’re all dead,” he said. He nearly fell into Santos’s arms. Santos looked at Arthur, who nodded. Santos hugged Casey and whispered softly to him.

Arthur switched off the main turbine. A smaller, auxiliary turbine supplied power and heat. He picked up the secure link. “CP, this is Romeo Zero One.” When the link was established, he reported. “Tractor trailer, jack-knifed, blocked the highway. The tractor has broken lose, overturned, and burned. The driver is dead. A van was involved. The van burned. Four bodies in the van. No sign that anyone got out of either vehicle. We are now in blizzard conditions. Wind is 80 kph and gusting; snow is still falling; flakes are small. Temperature -4 C. We have enough hydrogen to operate the auxiliary turbine for 72 hours, main turbine for about six hours. I recommend we hunker down, sir.”

The voice from the CP, flat and mechanical from the electronic encryption, told Arthur what he wanted to hear. “Your command, your call, lieutenant. We will notify civilian authorities, and tell them to look for you when they get the plows out. I’ll notify command and Colonel Eck.” There was a pause before the voice continued. “Arthur? It’s Major Williams. Bravo Zulu.” There was a click as the circuit broke. Arthur hung up the phone. He had not recognized the encrypted voice of Col. Eck’s deputy. ‘He doesn’t work the CP,’ Arthur thought, and then realized that he had gone there because he knew Kevin and Arthur were out in the storm.

*****

Arthur moved the UAV into a position protected somewhat from the wind—and snowplows—by the wreckage. He dropped the shutters over the wheels and the armor over the windshield. All systems were shut down except for the satellite phone and the piezoelectric heater. The aux turbine spun at minimum rpm, just enough to power those items and one light in the personnel compartment.

“I don’t suppose we have any French fries left,” Kevin said.

“No, but we do have MREs,” Santos said. “Uh, sir, an officer has to authorize opening them.”

*****

The canvas bench seats—there was one on each side of the compartment—were designed both to hold four seated soldiers and to double as stretchers. Above the seats, two more stretchers were folded against the wall. Arthur demonstrated how to lower the upper stretchers—or bunks—and then folded them back. “Kevin and I will be, uh, using one of the lower seats for a while. Later, we’ll fold down the upper stretcher, and Kevin will sleep there. Lights out in five minutes. Can you two operate in the dark?”

Santos and Casey looked at one another, and grinned. “Sir, yes sir!”

It wasn’t completely dark. There was a blue LED over the tiny compartment that held a chemical toilet. The howl of the wind made the boys glad of each other’s company, but was not loud enough to cover entirely the sounds of sex or, later, to keep them from falling into an exhausted sleep.

*****

The chime of the alarm on his PDA woke Arthur. He shut it off and rolled out of the stretcher-seat-bunk. Let them sleep, he thought. He dressed quietly and went into the crew compartment. There, he activated the external cameras and looked around. Snow had drifted in the lee of the UAV, but Arthur had parked so that the nose was clear of drifts. At least, we can get out of here, and back on the road, he thought. He opened the secure link to the command post. “Romeo 01, sir. We’re awake. The storm has abated, here. No wind, no snow falling. I believe we can move from our position, but I have no intel on the road ahead or the availability of h-fuel.”

“Stand by, Romeo 01…The tractor trailer that was wrecked. Are there any identifying numbers?”

“Uh, yes, sir.” Arthur fumbled for his PDA. “Milton Transportation out of Ames, Iowa. Trailer number 337418. The cab was burned too badly to get much, but the last three of the license plate were Fox Yankee India, sir.” Sure glad I took that info down, then, he thought.

After a minute of silence: “Orders, Romeo 01. That trailer is carrying molybdenum to the armor factory in Denver. Value in excess of a million dollars. Someone in Denver leaked the intel on the shipment. We have word that at least one band of thugs is looking for it. Make no mistake: they’re not stupid, and they’re armed. You are to guard and defend the trailer until relieved. We’ll have someone to relieve you before nightfall. They’re prepping a couple of Cobra-5’s if you need close air support, but we’re in whiteout conditions here, and I don’t know when we might be able to launch. Understand?”

“Yes sir. I have my sidearm and two clips. Other than that, we have no ammunition remaining after the demos except blanks for the 50-cals and blanks and smoke grenades for the M1Gs.”

“Actually, lieutenant, you do. I’m sending the unlock signal, now.”

A “holy shit!” came from the rear compartment; Arthur hoped the CP hadn’t heard.

“Use of deadly force is authorized,” the CP continued.

“Sir, I’ve got an ROTC cadet on board,” Arthur said.

“Enlist him—in the reserves—is that clear?”

“Yes, sir,” Arthur said. The link went dead. If I enlist Kevin in the reserves, he’ll be able to finish school and get his commission…that must have been Major Williams; he’d know…he’d understand.

“Sir? Sir?” It was Santos. “Sir, I swear we didn’t touch anything! It just opened, sir. A compartment in the floor. Sir, it’s got M1Gs, ammo, belts of 50-cal shells, grenades, and I don’t know what all…”

“I know,” Arthur said. “We’ve been ordered to protect the trailer against an anticipated attack by bandits. First, you and Casey remove the blank suppressors from the 50-cals and arm them. Round in the chamber and safety on. Then, load your M1Gs and two extras. Full clips; no round in the chamber; safety on; full bandoliers; antipersonnel grenades in the sling. I will arm the defensive systems. I’ll brief you as we work.

“Kevin, think carefully: Do you swear to support and defend the constitution of the United States of America and to obey the lawful orders of your superiors, and do you take this oath of enlistment in the Reserves of the Army of the United States for the duration of the current hostilities, and of your own free will?”

Kevin did not hesitate. “Sir, yes sir!”

“After Santos and Casey have loaded the M1Gs and the 50-cals, give me an inventory of what ammo remains. You can count and eat at the same time…and listen.”

While the boys worked, Arthur briefed them on the situation and anticipated threat. “The good news is that they probably won’t be expecting resistance. The bad news is that the UAV can cover only two sides of the target. Santos and Eck will select the best defensive positions on the west side. Consider using the cab and van for cover; consider positions on top of the trailer. Plot protected paths between positions, and plot a protected escape route back to the UAV…” Arthur set up a display on the battle computer.

*****

The attack, when it came, was unexpected, well executed, and vicious. They spotted the UAV, Arthur thought as the first anti-tank missile was detected by the MTDS and intercepted by a MikeRock fired from the top turret by the AWASH. I didn’t think that snow bank would hide us for long. “Santos, Eck, we’re under attack; stay hidden unless they get within 100 yards, then fire. Casey, fire at will.” Arthur glanced at the CP link. It flashed, Munitions Expended. The CP’s Ack on the screen was all Arthur needed. They know we’re under attack; that’s all they need to know, now.

Arthur fired up the main turbine and prepared to maneuver, before taking position at the second 50-cal gunner’s position. Casey’s first burst of three rounds shook the UAV. “Whoa! That’s not like blanks!” Casey exclaimed. Another burst of three, and “Got one, sir. Snowmobile. Uh. Overturned and burning…” The boy’s voice trailed off.

Arthur glanced at the boy. “You okay?” he asked.

Casey looked back at Arthur, but only briefly before turning his eyes back to the sights of his 50-cal. “Sir, yes sir. Sir, there are more…three of them. Another missile!” Where do they get them?”

Arthur’s reply was lost as the automatic missile defense system fired, again. “Intercepted, sir.” Casey’s voice reflected his excitement.

I don’t know where they get them, Arthur thought. Black market, for sure. Some stolen from depots in the USA; some stolen from overseas and smuggled back into the country. Some sold to former allies, now enemies.

“Two tracked vehicles approaching, sir.” It was Santos’s voice. “Pulling trailers. Looks like they plan to loot while the others keep you distracted.”

“Roger,” Arthur replied. Casey fired another burst. “Second snowmobile down, sir.”

“We’re under fire, sir,” Santos’s voice through the comm link. “Don’t think they see us…trying to draw us out…”

Another burst from the 50-cal. “Got another, sir. Uh, sir, this is too easy.”

“I was thinking the same thing,” Arthur replied, and pressed the comm link. “Report, Santos.”

“One hundred fifty yards and closing, sir. They’ve stopped firing.”

The 50 sounded once more. “Got the last one, sir. Um, someone crawling out; has a weapon.”

“Sir…” Santos’ voice was punctuated by the characteristic double crack of the M1G. “We’re…taking fire…one hundred yards…returning fire…”

“Casey, hang on!” Arthur ordered as he lunged for the driver’s seat.

“Roger, sir! Yeeh-hah!” Casey replied as Arthur kicked the turbine into combat mode. The UAV disappeared in a cloud of snow, and then came to a rest on the west side of the wreckage.

“Casey, cover fire; Santos, Eck, into the UAV.”

“Got ’em, sir…sitting ducks…” Casey crowed. Arthur saw two plumes of fire which blew outward and then were extinguished as the hydrogen tanks of the two heavy, tracked vehicles exploded.

“In, sir!” Santos reported. “Door secure.” Arthur didn’t acknowledge, but wheeled the UAV to the opposite side of the wreckage and scanned the terrain. Santos was already in the second 50-cal position, and Kevin was crawling into the right seat.

Arthur glanced at the boy. His face was pale. Not surprising…wait! Arthur thought. “Kevin…your arm…you’re bleeding.” The boy looked at his left arm in surprise. Blood was soaking the sleeve of his cammies. “Oh…” He fainted.

*****

The battle was over. Only after Casey had bandaged Kevin’s arm, and Arthur had swept the battlefield with infra-red and radar, did he have a chance to look at the battle computer, and the clock. Less than 30 minutes, and at least half of that was tending Kevin’s arm. Fifteen minute battle…how many dead? Arthur’s thoughts were interrupted by the CP link.

“Romeo 01…report.”

“Sir, four snowmobiles and two larger, tracked vehicles with trailers destroyed. At least five enemy casualties. One may have crawled away, but does not show up on IR. One soldier wounded, first aid provided. If we can’t get out of here before dark, request med-evac. Two Mike-Rocks expended. They worked, sir. Knocked out some sort of anti-tank missile. Probably shoulder fired, since they came from the snowmobiles. Five hours of hydrogen for the main turbine remain.”

“Standby, Romeo 01. Cobras will be there in one hour.” There was a pause, and the CP voice resumed. “Who was injured, Arthur?”

“Kevin, sir, but he’s okay.”

“Thanks, Arthur. I’ll tell his dad.” It was Major Williams again, for sure.

*****

“Arthur, you told me no sex between officers and enlisted.” Kevin’s voice was subdued, but Arthur could hear the anguish and tears that modulated it. They were alone in Kevin’s hospital room. It was a private room. Not because Kevin was the son of a colonel, but because he was a wounded soldier. The purple heart he’d received that morning was still pinned to his pillow.

“Yeah, I know,” Arthur replied. “I thought about that before I offered you the enlistment oath—I should have said something, made sure you knew…”

“Oh, no!” Kevin interrupted. “I heard what you said. You told me to think carefully. I did. I didn’t think about maybe having to leave school and not getting commissioned. All I thought about was that I would lose you…but…well, I knew you’d thought of that, too, and that you were doing what was best for me…you were, weren’t you?”

“Yeah. For you, for Casey and Santos, for the guys who wouldn’t be wearing body armor if the molybdenum got stolen. And, I had to arm you. If the worst had happened, and you had to fire a military weapon…the only way was for you to be a soldier…” Arthur’s voice trailed off.

Kevin nodded. Use of a military weapon by anyone not a soldier was a felony, punishable by prison or, depending on circumstances, death. Sure, he could have argued circumstances—if he had lived—but there would always be a blot on his record.

“Besides,” Arthur continued, “if you hadn’t been part of the action—and a part of our victory—you’d never have forgiven me.” Arthur stopped talking when he saw the stricken look in Kevin’s face.

“Do you really think that?” the boy whispered.

“Would you not?” Arthur’s voice was as low as Kevin’s. There was a long pause.

“You’re right,” Kevin said. “It’s easy to say I’d have forgiven you, but that’s ’cause I love you so much. But, I really don’t know. I can’t know, can I?” The boy reached out and squeezed Arthur’s hand. “Thank you for making sure I didn’t have to wonder…”

The door opened. Arthur immediately stood. Colonel Eck walked in, followed by Mrs. Eck. They’d been present for the Purple Heart ceremony that morning, but had left immediately after.

“Good morning, sir; ma’am,” Arthur said.

“Oh, Arthur, I thought we’d agreed you’d call me Beth.”

“Uh, yes ma’am. Good morning, Beth. Uh, I’ll be in the waiting room, sir, if I may be excused?”

Colonel Eck looked and saw that his wife had closed the door behind her. “I’d like you to stay, Arthur, if you will,” the colonel said.

*****

Mrs. Eck had fussed over her son, to his chagrin, and over Arthur, to his acute embarrassment. “Well,” she said, “I know you boys have things to talk about. I’ll visit Mrs. Buchannan. She’s just had twins. Give me a call when you’re ready to leave.” She pecked her husband on the cheek, and was gone. A faint scent of lavender trailed behind her.

The colonel sat on the foot of the bed, and gestured for Arthur to sit in the chair he’d pulled to Kevin’s bedside. “You two haven’t had much time to think about it, but I know you have thought about it. Any ideas?”

Arthur knew exactly what the colonel meant. “Reassignment, sir, and definitely no more recruiting trips.”

“Kevin?” the colonel asked.

“Arthur has to stay here, Dad; he’s too important to the baby battalion… uh, the Future Corps. Can you get me assigned to Fort Knox?”

The colonel looked from one boy to the other. Finally, he spoke. “Kevin, I’m so proud of you. Arthur, I could not be more proud of you if were you my son, too.

“I was thinking of something less drastic, however. First, Kevin is right. Arthur is important to the baby battalion. Second, you’re both important to the recruiting program. I read Sergeant Ledbetter’s e-coms. He said that the synergy among the four of you was what made it so successful. He’s already signed up thirty of what he calls ‘top quality volunteers’ and has more, scheduled for testing. And, he wants you to come back. I spoke to him this morning, and he assured me he wasn’t blowing smoke.

“Third…Arthur? Why shouldn’t an officer and an enlisted man have an emotional attachment?”

Arthur was a little put off by the colonel’s words. Emotional attachment. He didn’t say sex. Why? Oh…Oh!

“Sir, uh, before I answer, I think you should know…I’m not emotionally attached to Kevin. Sir, I love him…I love him so much…” Arthur squinted his eyes and wrinkled his nose as he fought off tears.

“I know, son,” the colonel said. “I know he loves you, too. He has told me…and I can see it when you two are together. Hell, I can see it, now. So, answer the question.” His voice was gentle, but firm, an iron fist in a velvet glove.

“Sir, because it might lead to undue favoritism, reluctance to send someone into harm’s way. If it were known among the troops, it would be construed that way, even if it weren’t true.” He paused. “I think that’s all, sir.”

The colonel nodded. “I think that covers it, too. Yesterday morning, you sent Kevin from the relative safety of the UAV into the snow with nothing more than concealment to protect him from a force of unknown strength and composition. Did your emo…did your love affect your judgment? Don’t answer too quickly.”

Arthur thought. Then he spoke. “Yes, sir, it did. I knew Kevin would be in danger, in greater danger, but I figured the best chance for him would be the best chance for all of us, and that best chance for all of us would be the best chance for him. Casey was qualified on the 50-cals; Kevin wasn’t. I was the only qualified driver. Santos had shown himself during the recruiting demos to be a sharp soldier. There was only one way to split us up that made sense. If that makes sense, sir.”

Now it was the colonel’s turn to pause. When he spoke, his voice was low and measured. “You think well and deeply, Arthur. You think quickly and correctly. Major Williams and I reviewed the battle computer record, and interviewed Santos and Casey. Arthur, I don’t believe your love for my son clouded your judgment, nor that it will. You and Kevin will stay together here at Fort Riley. You will continue to command recruiting trips in which he will participate. You must, however, be circumspect. Does anyone know or suspect?” Before the boys could answer, he added, “Besides Santos and Casey, that is.”

Kevin’s mouth opened in an O. Sweat beaded on Arthur’s upper lip. The colonel saw both, and grunted. “They didn’t betray you—at least, deliberately. But, they’re both pretty transparent. And, they think that you two are pretty damn special.”

 

 

Recruiting Trip II

The UAV sat in the end zone of the former football field. Bales of hay were set up at the other end. Tiano-rock music played from the psyops speakers. Kevin, Ricky, and Jon stood atop the UAV. Everything was normal, except that the fire department wasn’t there. The bleachers of this field were wooden, and the demo could not proceed without the civilian fire department trucks parked and ready.

It didn’t take long before the students’ attention span was exceeded. Several left the grandstand, ran to the field, and began dancing to the music. Soon, most of the school’s student body was in the field. Ricky caught the eye of one of the girls closest to the UAV and gestured to the ladder. Within seconds, they were dancing together on the roof of the UAV. Another girl climbed atop the vehicle and began dancing with Jon. Then, a boy wearing a T-shirt emblazoned with an American flag whose stripes, rather than red and white, were the colors of the rainbow, climbed the ladder and stepped toward Kevin.

Kevin didn’t hesitate. He stuffed the wireless microphone in his pocket and took the boy’s hand. Kevin didn’t feel it when Casey pulled the microphone from his pocket. Casey punched buttons on the remote control that was part of the microphone. The music changed from Tiano-rock to a sultry tango.

I’ll get you for this, Casey, Kevin thought. He pulled the boy into the close embrace the dance called for. The cheers from the crowd caught his attention, and he looked around. He and the boy were the only ones dancing. Ricky and Jon, and the two girls, were standing at the back of the UAV, leading the cheers and applause. “Come on,” Kevin said to the boy. “Let’s give them a show they’ll never forget!” The boy’s assent came in his tightened grip on Kevin’s bottom.

*****

The students booed the appearance of the fire trucks, but Kevin got them quiet. “Hey,” he called. “That’s the American Army for you! Play hard when you can, and work hard, too. It’s time to work hard.” He asked the two girls and his partner’s names, and thanked them. And the show began.

*****

Sergeant Ledbetter had reserved rooms at the Gateway. “There’s room on base,” he said. “The troop train left this morning. But, well, I’ve got some discretionary funds in my budget. In fact, I’ve got a lot more than I did before your last trip, and you guys are the reason for it. You’re the best advertising for the Army I’ve seen in a long time.”

*****

 

Liberty Train

The Liberty Train ran on track laid on what had been a state highway. Once, that highway had linked the little towns between Fort Riley and Kansas City. When the interstate highway system was created, towns like those were represented by an intersection with a couple of gas stations and perhaps a fast food joint. The towns, themselves, often a mile or so away from the interstate, atrophied and often died. Today, the interstate highways were maintained for their original purpose. The Eisenhower Defense Highway System, modeled after the 1930s Autobahns of Germany, served to move troops and military equipment quickly through the country. With no gasoline, and little hydrogen for civilian vehicles, the interurban rail had become the small towns’ lifeline, and many were blooming, again.

Arthur and Kevin were on the same train. They were in the same car. They had spoken briefly, distantly, when they met at the Fort Riley station. Not to have done so would itself have been suspicious. Now, they sat at opposite ends of the car; they did not look at one another.

Arthur traveled in uniform. A camo duffle in the overhead rack held his civilian wardrobe: blue jeans, shorts, polo- and T-shirts, and the precious nylon running shorts and shirt. The two nylon pieces and the kangaroo leather cross-trainers had cost nearly a half-month’s pay. Nylon, although made from coal, was in demand for parachutes and body armor; and, pirates now seized one in four ships between Australia and North America.

Kevin wore what had become a universal ‘summer uniform’ for kids: thin gray cotton shorts and T-shirt. The T-shirts always—always—carried a patriotic logo. The colors were muted: there was no petroleum to spare to create the vivid colors common earlier in the century, and vegetable dyes tended to fade quickly. The shirt Kevin wore displayed the “Don’t Treat on Me” flag on the front, and a picture of a tank rolling over a sand dune on the back.

Kevin and Arthur were on the way to Kansas City. This was a pleasure trip. Although they rode the express train—the one that stopped only at every other town—it would be a four hour ride.

Arthur’s seatmate was a disabled veteran. Arthur had no trouble not looking at the man’s left arm: plastic and aluminum that clicked every time the man turned a page in the e-book he held in his right hand.

*****

Arthur walked out of the restroom wearing the ubiquitous gray shorts and a gray T-shirt. The T-shirt had a flag on the back and a paratroop emblem on the front. His uniform was rolled up in his duffle. He stepped behind Kevin, put his arm around the boy’s waist, and swung him into an embrace. Startled, Kevin almost didn’t feel Arthur’s kiss. “I’ve wanted to do that for a very long time,” Arthur said.

“Get a room, guys!” Two boys walked by, hand in hand. Kevin blushed, but returned Arthur’s kiss. Public display of affection was still forbidden when in uniform, and he and Arthur couldn’t—wouldn’t dare—anywhere on post, anyway.

The park was not crowded. Kevin had gasped when he saw the posted ticket prices. Arthur laughed. “Our tickets came from MWR—the recreation part of morale, welfare, and recreation. They have a contract.”

It wasn’t long before Kevin realized that nearly everyone in the park, except for a few Chinese tourists, was a soldier. It wasn’t the clothes—they all wore some variation of what he and Arthur wore. It wasn’t the haircuts: the short brush-cut of the soldier had become the popular style—the only style save for a few Goth-revivalists and the bowl-cuts of the evangelicals. No, it wasn’t their physical appearance that marked them as soldiers. It was the look in their eyes and the set of their jaws, and their desperation to have fun.

These boys and girls—they’re on pass from the troop depot, Kevin thought. Tomorrow or the next day, they’ll be on a train for New Orleans to catch a troop ship for Israel, Oman, China, or Greece. At least ten percent of them will be dead in the first three months. Twenty five percent will die before their unit rotates back in 363 days. Then, fifteen days of leave, a month of training with another batch of kids, and another deployment. The sun, which had been shining brightly, dimmed. The rumble of the roller coaster and the shrieks of its riders faded. Kevin would have fallen had Arthur not seen the boy’s eyes roll up into his head, and caught him in his arms.

“Kevin? What’s wrong?” Arthur whispered, urgently. He held Kevin in a lover’s embrace and looked around. No one had seen, and Kevin was coming around. “What’s wrong?” Arthur repeated when Kevin was standing on his own.

Arthur wants this vacation so badly, Kevin thought. I can’t spoil it for him—but I can’t lie to him, either… He touched Arthur’s cheek. “I’m all right, now,” he said. “I’m sorry I frightened you.”

Arthur nodded, misunderstanding. “Okay,” he said. “But let’s get some electrolytes in you before we get on the roller coaster.”

*****

The hotel was next to the park, and the boys could hear the rumble and shrieks through the open window. The lights on the cars of the roller coaster flickered across the wall of their room, and gave more than enough light. Kevin lay, naked, on his back with his arms beside him. His fists were clenched, as was his jaw. Arthur slowly, slowly, lightly, gently drew his fingers over the boy’s body. Arthur watched the boy’s reactions closely. Just before Kevin begged for release, Arthur took him, strongly, passionately. Afterwards, Kevin kissed him deeply, sharing his essence and his passion. “Every time, it’s different,” he said. “Every time, it’s better. I love you so much.”

That’s why it’s better, Arthur thought. “I love you so much,” he said. Then he gasped as Kevin’s fingers touched him delicately but strongly.

*****

“Kevin, I know you don’t like the rides in the park as much as I do. How about we don’t go back there, today, and go to the Hall Museum, instead.”

Kevin and Arthur had wakened to the intense quiet of a bright and hot summer morning. The rides in the park were still. Kevin rolled over until he could look at Arthur. I do love him, so, the boy thought. “No, this is your trip. It was your idea; and, besides, I’m happy when you’re happy. I’m happy when I’m with you, no matter what we’re doing. And, if roller coasters get you as hot as you were last night, I want to strap you into one…” Kevin stopped.

“Actually,” Arthur said, “I’m not sure I want to go back to the park.” He curled his arm, which was under Kevin’s shoulders, and pulled the boy into an embrace. “Kevin? Those boys and girls we rode with yesterday? They’re going to be on a troop train, today. I couldn’t not think about that…”

“Oh, Arthur,” Kevin rested his head on Arthur’s chest. “That’s why I nearly fainted. I looked at the roller coaster, and I saw one seat in four empty because that boy or girl was dead.”

*****

Their lovemaking was special that night as each tried to comfort the others while drawing comfort from the closeness of their union. As Arthur drifted off to sleep with Kevin curled in his embrace, he thought, I suppose this is the compensation for having lost our boyhood. He smiled. It’s okay with me.

 

 

Hoplites

The video was as polished as a Hollywood production. It was, in fact, a Hollywood production. Had there been opening credits, they would have included the name of the largest, surviving, American-owned production company. Tax advantages, cheap labor, and less regulation had led to all the others to relocate to Vancouver, Canada or Delhi, India—the ones that weren’t owned by the Chinese, that is.

There were, however, no opening credits. The video began with a scene of battle: young, bronzed Caucasian soldiers in golden armor and red chitons: the characteristic Spartan tunic that dropped to the knees, and was belted at the waist. They fought an overwhelming force of men in black armor, men whose bearded visages and swarthy skin were the stereotypic face of America’s enemies. In letters of fire, the word, ‘Thermopylae’ appeared on the screen. A narrator spoke. “Thermopylae, where 480 years before the Common Era, a force of 300 soldiers held a pass against an enemy force more than 20 times their number, enabling the forces of democracy to assemble…”

The letters and the narrator’s voice faded. The camera dollied in and focused on a place where a score of the golden armored soldiers anchored the Greek line against a rock wall. The soldiers fought in pairs: older boys, perhaps 18 or 20 years old, held swords. Behind them, younger boys wielded spears which they thrust between the soldiers in the front line. The combination was effective. The ground before the Greek soldiers held the bodies of swarthy men over which the enemy had to step in order to attack. The narrator’s voice resumed. “Among the Hoplites, the soldiers fighting here in defense of their homeland were those who had pledged to one another. Pairs of young men and boys who swore not only to defend democracy, but also one another. In recognition of this pledge and of the bonds these soldiers formed, they were always assigned together. They trained together, ate together, and slept together. They were homosexual.”

‘They weren’t defending democracy,’ Arthur thought. ‘They were mostly Spartans, and Sparta was, essentially, a military dictatorship. And there weren’t 300; there were more than 1500. They were outnumbered, but more like 5-to-1 rather than 20-to-1. It’s likely that fewer than one in a hundred of today’s soldiers would know that, and they’ll be too uncertain—or too afraid—to say anything. Just like I am.’

The scene dissolved to one in which soldiers, some in armor and some in loincloths, spared in a sand arena. The camera panned across the arena and then swept through a sally port to rest at the bank of a river where more soldiers swam, lay on the bank, and engaged in wrestling. While it was apparent that they were all naked, the scene wasn’t prurient: soft focus and careful camera angles saw to that.

The narration resumed. “These soldiers were no different from their fellows except in their sexual orientation. They lived and served as did their mates. They earned honor for bravery and censure for cowardice. They were rewarded for service, and punished for disobedience. Wounded, they bled. Many died.”

The scene dissolved once more to reveal an office in the Pentagon Tower overlooking the monuments of the District of Columbia. A figure walked into the office and stood beside the window, looking out for a moment. Arthur and others in the audience gasped. Colonel Mark Warner was the most decorated soldier in the history of the Army, and was a well-known spokesman. His first medal of honor had been awarded after he risked his life to save a platoon of soldiers pinned down by Mujahedeen fire. He had been a first lieutenant, then. Two silver stars later, as a major, he’d led a unit of rangers deep into occupied territory to rescue a school full of children, and, wounded, had stayed behind to cover their escape. He’d lost both legs, then, but had been rescued by his own men who had defied orders and gone back for him.

The soldier turned and looked into the camera. “Hello, soldiers,” he said. “I’m honored to be here today to speak to you on behalf of the American Army, and on behalf of the President and the people of the United States of America. I’m also honored knowing that you are here to listen. No matter who you are, from senior officer to new recruit, from veteran NCO to 16-year-old corporal, you have many demands on your time. That’s why the movie you just saw was short, and why what I have to say will be short and simple.

“For many years, the American Army has recognized marriage between male and female soldiers, and has accorded these soldiers certain rights and privileges. Because the Army is not subject to state laws, and because all our installations are federal property, we did not have to recognize same sex marriages conducted in states where it is legal. That changes as of 0001 hours, 30 May, 2021.”

‘That’s today!’ Arthur thought.

“On that day, every soldier worldwide will see this video. This is a long-delayed first step in implementation of the equal protection clause of the constitution. If gay and lesbian soldiers are going to fight to defend the constitution, you should be—and you will be—afforded the protection of the constitution. You know that doesn’t apply to certain rights…like the right to preach sedition. If you feel that way, we don’t want you, anyway.

“There are some things you must know. First, our modern Hoplites will have the same rights and privileges as any married couple, including consideration for join-spouse assignments. These rules will be valid on any military installation or any place where the American military is in control.

“Despite myth and tradition from Greece, the Hoplites will not be members of a separate unit but, like persons of different sex, race, religion, national origin, and other aspects that differentiate us without depriving us of our fundamental similarities as human beings and as soldiers of the United States of America, will be integrated into all units.

“Iowa, a state in which same-sex marriage is legal, has granted voting rights to any soldier age 16 and above, and has made it easy for military personnel to declare citizenship in that state. They have also made it easy to apply for a marriage license by mail, a license that can be executed by any officer authorized to administer oaths, on any military installation in the world. Several of the New England states are considering similar measures.

“With rights and privileges come responsibilities. This is not a casual affair. Following your marriage, you will be required to prepare mutually-binding legal documents including durable powers of attorney, healthcare powers of attorney, wills, and documents dealing with ownership and division of property. If you have or are responsible for children, you must make provisions for them during joint deployment. There will be other requirements.

“The greatest requirement falls on every soldier. It is this: bias, bigotry, hatred, disrespect…none of these will be tolerated. Your enemy is not your mate, regardless of sexual orientation. Your enemy is out there.”

The picture faded to a map of Eurasia with the current war zones shown in red. Colonel Warner’s voice continued. “I’m counting on you, soldiers.”

 

 

Kansas City: Pre-Deployment

Arthur had tickets to the park, but he didn’t feel like riding the roller coaster. Not only had Kevin not arrived, but it hadn’t been that many months ago when both he and Kevin had been stricken with grief by the sight of 16, 17, 18-year-old boys and girls trying so very hard to have one last day of fun and freedom before being shipped to a war zone.

Today was Arthur’s turn, and the park was filled with the 16-year-olds of the Baby Battalion: what the media, with the Army’s encouragement, had named the Future Battalion. Is this truly the future of this country? Arthur wondered. Are we raising children only to be soldiers, or to work in the agri-factories that produce rations for the soldiers, and food for children who are to grow up to become soldiers…? He sighed, and walked from the park to the hotel.

There was an Armed Forces Network news crew outside the park; they were interviewing a lieutenant who’d not yet had a chance to change out of his uniform. The Future Brigade had graduated from Infantry Training two days ago. The ceremony had been covered by AFN as well as the two cable TV news channels. The cable news channels weren’t allowed to interview any of the new soldiers. In fact, they weren’t allowed to show close-ups of their faces. Children carrying rifles, munitions, packs, grenades, canteens, arms and equipment: battle rattle that weighes nearly as much as they did. Wouldn’t do to show that on national television. The interviews, the close-ups that the civilian stations were allowed to record were carefully staged and limited to carefully selected individuals.

Arthur went to the room he’d reserved in the hotel, and waited nervously. Kevin was due on the 1000 hours Liberty Train. That time came and passed. Arthur punched Kevin’s number into his phone: no service, network busy. More and more of that, he thought. He opened the door and looked down the hallway. One housekeeper was there; she smiled at him. “Towels, sir?” she asked. Arthur shook his head and went back into the room. He stood at the open window, listening to the rumbles and shrieks. Those shrieks are from my soldiers, he thought. In the next year, they will live or die based on what I’ve taught them, and how I lead them…

His thoughts were interrupted when strong arms wrapped around his waist, and he smelled the musk and Aqua Velva that were uniquely Kevin.

 

 

Afghanistan

Arthur stood behind a reinforced concrete wall, and remembered. He said, half to himself, half to the soldier who stood beside him, “The first time I took Kevin out to umpire the war games, I told him there was no substitute for eyeballs.”

The soldier shifted his weight slightly. “We miss him, too, sir. He’s a good friend.”

Arthur grunted as he released the breath he’d been holding. “Thanks, Santos. How long until dawn?”

“Ninety minutes until sunrise, sir; probably another hour before the sun clears the mountains.”

Arthur raised the night-vision binoculars and looked across the valley. The forward observation post provided a clear view of the Panjshir Valley. It was a valley through which Arthur would lead his battalion in two days. He had topo maps and overhead photography, but he wanted to see it for himself. Little cover, he thought. And we’re exposed to whatever might be on those mountains. If I were laying an ambush, where would I put my troops? As the sky brightened with dawn, but before the sun could strike his position, Arthur studied the valley, correlating what he saw with the maps and photos. “Okay, Santos, I’ve seen enough. Let’s go.”

*****

Two months earlier, Arthur had called Corporal Santos and Private Casey into the office he shared with four other Captains. He’d hung a canteen cup on the doorknob: the signal that he needed privacy. Rather than sit behind his desk, he pulled three straight-backed chairs into a circle, and gestured for the two boys to sit.

“Corporal Santos, Private Casey, we haven’t much time, so I’ll come straight to the point. In six weeks, the First Brigade of the Future Corps will deploy to Afghanistan. That information is classified until the official announcement. I want you two to go with us. I need two assistant platoon leaders I can count on, that I know I can count on. I know you guys. I know what you’re capable of. I know that I can count on you.

“You won’t get any special privileges because of our relationship, because we’ve worked together on the recruiting mission. In fact, you’ll probably face greater danger than others, because I know I can trust you.

“Please, take a day to think about this, and let me know by 1200 hours tomorrow. Any questions?”

Santos looked at Casey. He saw something in the boy’s eyes. “Sir, yes sir,” Santos said. “A question, that is. Do we have to wait until tomorrow, ’cause we’re ready to say yes, now.”

Arthur stood. The two soldiers quickly followed. Arthur held out his hand. “Thank you, Sergeant Santos; thank you, Corporal Casey,” he said. He reached for a folder on his desk, and pulled out two sheets of paper. “Promotion and transfer orders. Your current unit will hold a promotion ceremony this afternoon. I want you to report only after you’ve sewn on your new stripes. Do you know why?”

“Sir, it will give the soldiers more confidence in us.”

“And, you more confidence in yourselves,” Arthur concluded. He paused for a moment. “Uh, guys? I never doubted you, but thank you, anyway.”

*****

“We knew this would happen,” Arthur said. He and Kevin lay on Kevin’s bed. The general and his lady were at a dinner-dance at the Officers’ Club. They’d gone early, to General Martin’s home, for cocktails. Arthur had broken the news to Kevin: Arthur would be leaving for Afghanistan in less than two weeks. “Lieutenant Soto will take over the recruiting program. You know that Ricky and Jon have been transferred to my outfit, so there will be two new soldiers, as well.”

“I don’t want to do recruiting. I want to go with you…” Kevin began.

Arthur hugged the boy tightly. “Kevin, I don’t want to leave you, but I must. You can’t go with me. You mustn’t go with me. You’ve got to finish high school and get your commission. And the recruiting program…you’re the continuity. Soto won’t know half of what he needs to know, and whoever they pick for soldiers…they’ll need your help…”

“But I’m just a cadet…” the boy objected.

“A cadet with a Purple Heart,” Arthur reminded him. “Look, I’ll set up the first meeting with Soto and the new soldiers. You wear dress uniform, not cammies, and wear the purple heart. They’ll see it…they’ll want to know…and they’ll understand.”

*****

Now in Afghanistan, Arthur met with his platoon leaders and their sergeants at supper. “Soldiers, we have little time, and planning our movement tomorrow—planning how to meet our objective with the least possible loss of life is more important than maintaining separate messes for officers and NCOs.”

He paused. “Besides, First Sergeant tells me he forgot to pack the officers’ silver coffee service.” This brought a chuckle from several of the senior NCOs; those chuckles brought smiles to the faces of the youngsters—the 16 and 17-year-old corporals and sergeants who were responsible for the lives of boys and girls no older than they were.

“You all received the results of the recon Sergeant Santos and I conducted yesterday. It’s on your PDAs, and you’ve had time to study it. The route I’ve plotted is direct, but not too exposed. It is exposed in places—make no mistake about that. However, it also offers quick access to shelter. There are prizes for anyone finding a hole in the route.”

One of the junior corporals tapped his screen. A red blip appeared on all the others. “There’s a cave, there.” He shifted the view to a 3-D image and then rotated it. “There’s a concealed path to it. If that cave isn’t occupied now, it will be before we reach the river valley.”

“Good, Corporal Aan. When and how should we neutralize it?” Arthur asked.

“When, sir?” The corporal looked and sounded puzzled. “It’s in Tribal-governed territory, sir. Rules of Engagement…only if attacked. How? Tracked howitzer would be best, but a couple of shoulder rockets would work, too.”

“Right on both counts,” Arthur said. “Let’s see what other threats there are before deciding where to deploy the howitzer.”

*****

The discussion and planning continued until 2100 hours, by which time Arthur had led his subordinate commanders to an understanding of the plan. “Good work, soldiers. Lights out at 2300. Reveille at 0700. We move at 0830. Thank you, all.”

“Ten-hut!” the First Sergeant commanded. Arthur left the mess tent. “Damn fine work,” First Sergeant said. “Dismissed.”

*****

Casey’s platoon was dug in and hunkered down, and under heavy fire. “Hold your fire!” he ordered, and heard the order relayed down the line. “Anyone have comm?” His own PDA had intercepted a bullet. Fragments of the hard plastic case had penetrated his hip. He’d picked out the biggest ones, and slapped a pressure bandage over the oozing wound. Word came back down the line: his assistant platoon leader had satphone, and he was in contact with brigade. “Tell brigade we’re pinned down by small arms fire. And tell everyone, ‘Sock Hop.’ ”

‘Sock Hop’ was a strategy to conserve ammunition while keeping an enemy at bay. The M1G rifles were put into single-shot mode. Soldiers were to shoot only when they had a clear target. Extra ammo clips were passed to soldiers who were sharpshooters or who had a good defensive position or a clear field of fire. Casey listened as the tempo of the battle changed. Minutes later, the Mujahedeen fire pattern changed, too.

“Brigade said to hold on, sir. They’re assessing.” That wasn’t the answer Casey wanted, but it was better than nothing. At least they know, he thought.

*****

The Mujahedeen fire increased in frequency. They’ve been reinforced, was Casey’s first thought. Then, a characteristic ‘whistle-thump’ told him: They’ve brought in a mortar! There it is. One more shot, maybe two, and they’ll have it ranged. Then, they can just walk the rounds down the ravine and kill us all.

“Martin! Fitch! ‘Rock and roll.’ We’re going to take out that mortar. Say when ready.” Casey and the two named soldiers returned their M1Gs to double fire, loaded fresh magazines, and loaded five grenades in the lower launcher. Casey jacked a round into the chamber of his side arm. Traditionally an officer’s prerogative, this side arm had been a gift from his company commander when Casey had been made platoon leader. Ricky, Arthur, I’m sorry I don’t have a way to say goodbye. I have a bad feeling about this… Martin and Fitch’s, “Ready, platoon leader,” tattered that thought.

“Grenades, only on the mortar, and only when in range. Martin, go left and up that gulley. There’s bound to be a bad guy at the end. Surprise him; don’t let him surprise you…” Casey outlined his plan in a few words. Both soldiers nodded their understanding. “Go,” Casey said.

Martin did surprise the Mujahedeen at the head of the gulley and put a bullet in his head. A second Mujahedeen managed to shoot Martin in the left arm before a pair of bullets from Martin’s M1G sent him to paradise. The two Mujahedeen on the mortar panicked and were trying to lift it when five grenades, fired in a span of 0.75 seconds, blew them and the mortar into dust.

Casey came under heavy fire. He rolled onto his stomach and laid down covering fire. Shoot at me! he demanded silently. Don’t shoot at my soldiers!

*****

Casey saw the mortar destroyed and felt each of the five grenades explode. Two hours later, he felt, rather than heard, the welcome triple-beat of Cobras, and felt the vibration as their Gatling guns raked the Mujahedeen positions. Casey hadn’t felt the sliver of PDA that had penetrated his body and nicked his hepatic artery three hours earlier. Why do I smell cinnamon, he wondered, and died. He didn’t hear the heavy lift helicopters arrive to take away his soldiers—and his body.

*****

“Santos, you decent?”

“Sure, come in.”

“Ten-…” Arthur waved his hand and cut off the call to attention before it could form.

“Sergeant Breen, may we have a minute?” he asked. The NCO who shared Casey’s shelter nodded and left the tent.

“Ricky,” Arthur said. It was the first time he’d used Santos’ first name. “Ricky, Jon’s dead. I’m so sorry.”

Santos paled. His mouth opened. His eyes widened. He would have fallen had Arthur not reached him, held him, held him tightly with his arms wrapped around his waist and back. Santos buried his face in Arthur’s chest. Arthur felt the boy’s sobs shake both their bodies. “Shh…Ricky…shh…” Arthur whispered. He felt Santos stand on his own, but Arthur didn’t release his hold on the boy.

Tentatively, and then more strongly, Santos wrapped his arms around Arthur. His sobs stopped. “Thank you, sir…”

“Arthur…tonight, I’m Arthur,” Arthur said.

“How did it happen, Arthur?” Santos asked.

“Come, sit on the bed,” Arthur said. “He died a hero. He led two soldiers to take out a mortar that would have totally destroyed his platoon. The three of them were the only ones who had a chance of reaching the mortar. He sent his men through protected areas and took the more dangerous center, himself. He was pinned down, and he couldn’t get back to his position. He died before the evacuation. That’s all I know, now.”

Santos listened through tears that coursed down his cheeks. He sniffled and sobbed. When Arthur finished speaking, Santos took out an olive drab handkerchief, blew his nose, and wiped his face. “Thank you, Arthur. Thank you for telling me, yourself….”

“Ricky, there’s no way I couldn’t do that…

“Look, if you want, I’ll call General Eck…get you a compassionate discharge…” Casey shook his head, firmly.

“Okay, how about time off…home leave…uh, funeral…”

Casey shook his head, again. “Thanks, Arthur.” He smiled. “We called you Arthur, privately, since the second recruiting trip, you know. It wasn’t disrespectful…it was because we…we both loved you—you and Kevin.” He pulled himself back to the present. “No leave, no funeral. After the autopsy, they’ll cremate him. That’s what we wanted. He’ll…he’ll be sent to Arlington, and there will be a space reserved for me next to him. That’s been taken care of.

“But thanks. Thanks for offering, thanks for caring. Uh, will you tell Kevin?”

“Of course…”

Casey stood. “Thank you, Captain.” It was as polite a way as he could think of to tell Arthur that he needed, now, to be alone.

Arthur nodded, and left the tent.

*****

PDA MESSAGE: From Capt Andrus to Gen Eck. Cpl Jon Casey died in combat. When should I call Kevin to tell him?

PDA MESSAGE: From Gen Eck to Capt Andrus. Now. Use Control to my home number.

Arthur picked up the satellite phone and pressed the CONTROL PRECEDENCE button. It was a privilege he didn’t have, but one that General Eck did have. He pressed the 17 digits that were the general’s home phone number, and braced himself for what he knew would be an unpleasant conversation.

*****

As registered next-of-kin, Santos received Casey’s autopsy report. It wasn’t automatic; he had to request it. The regimental medic had explained. “Casey was dead the instant the first bullet hit his PDA. He just didn’t know it. When he sacrificed himself to take out the mortar he didn’t know—he couldn’t have known—that he was already dead. There was nothing that could have been done in the field. There was no way of knowing that anything needed to be done. Even if he’d been evac’d minutes after the first bullet hit, it’s unlikely that the damage would have been discovered.”

*****

Two weeks later, Santos received the first of the newest model of PDA. The case was made of a sturdier plastic, but one that would crumble rather than splinter if struck by a bullet. Each time these new PDA were powered up, the screen flashed a message:

In memory of Corporal Jonathan Casey, US Army
Combat Infantry Badge
Medal of Honor
May 18, 2000—March 22, 2021

 

 

Reunion

The barracks were empty. The soldiers of the “First Baby Battalion” were on leave. Although they had a high priority for train transportation, second only to troop movements, most elected not to try to travel to their homes. Video phone calls, sponsored by the USO, put them in touch with family, and then the Liberty Train took them to Kansas City.

Arthur had spoken briefly with his father, and then punched in Kevin’s number. There was no answer. Odd, he thought, but they did say the networks were getting more and more overloaded.

“Captain? You have a visitor.” A corporal Arthur didn’t recognize stuck his head in the door. Arthur closed the phone and nodded. The corporal pushed the door open to admit a young second lieutenant. Arthur looked up, and returned a salute. Then his eyes widened. “Kevin?”

“Uh, yes, sir,” Kevin said. And then, “Don’t let the door hit you on the way out, Corporal Harris.”

*****

With the door shut, and privacy assured, Kevin and Arthur’s reunion was as passionate as it could be for two guys fully clothed in desert cammies.

“You’ve grown,” Arthur said.

“You still are,” Kevin said, pressing his hand into the crotch of Arthur’s trousers.

“That’s not what I meant, and you know it,” Arthur said. “You’ve put on…what…20 pounds? And you don’t have to stand on tiptoe to kiss me, anymore.”

*****

“Um, I’m going to be your adjutant,” Kevin said.

“Adjutant? Since when does a combat outfit have…” Arthur paused. “Not a combat command, then. A training assignment, huh?”

Kevin nodded his head. “You can’t let on that you know, but your casualty rate was the lowest in three years, and General Bergmann wants to know why. There’s another baby battalion—over 2,000 15 and 16-year-olds—reporting in two weeks. Actually, it’s going to be a baby regiment. And you, Major Andrus, are going to be the regimental commander.”

*****

Arthur was sitting in General Eck’s anteroom when the man came in from the gym. The general’s forehead still was beaded with sweat, although his cammies were starched and crisp. The general nodded to Arthur. “Sergeant Cavanaugh, two coffees this morning. The major takes his with sugar, only. Come on in.” The last statement was directed to Arthur, who followed the general into his office.

Arthur stood rigidly in front of the general’s desk. “Kevin cried when he heard you were coming home,” the general said. “He hugged me, and he cried like he hasn’t since he was a little boy. Mrs. Eck and I were happy, too. Welcome home, Arthur. Please, sit.

“Come!” this was said in response to a knock on the door. When Cavanaugh left, the general said, “You’ve heard that you’re to have a regiment, and he’s to be your adjutant?”

“Sir, that’s what I want to talk about. I don’t want him to be my adjutant. I want him to be a company commander, sir.”

“Uh huh.” The general’s laconic reply gave Arthur no clue to what the man was thinking.

“Sir, he’s a leader. He showed that on the recruiting trips. He has a solid grounding in human relations. I’ve seen him interact with juniors, peers, and seniors. He wants command. He thought he was hiding his feelings when we talked, but, well, I’m not sure either of us can hide anything important from the other. He’s disappointed at being adjutant.

“It’s likely that those of us who train this new baby regiment will be taking them into combat. That’s doctrine, now. I want…I need…a company commander more than I need an adjutant.”

Arthur paused. “One more thing, sir. I want Sgt. Santos commissioned, and made a company commander in the same battalion as Kevin. Santos is qualified; and, frankly, sir, I want to be able to keep an eye on him. He’s still a little rocky over Jon’s death. Kevin and I, well, we can give him the support he needs.”

“Is that all you want, Major?” The general’s voice was sharp.

Oh shit, Arthur thought. I was afraid of that. I’ve crossed the line… But, “Yes, sir,” he said. His voice was firm.

“I once told you that you thought well, deeply, and correctly. Tell Sergeant Cavanaugh to which companies you want second Lieutenants Eck and Santos assigned. I’ll send the orders to, let’s see, General Martin for his signature, and they’ll be back to you before 1000 hours.

“Arthur? Bravo Zulu.”

 

 

Punishment

“Parade, rest!” The first sergeant’s voice rang across the courtyard and echoed from the brick buildings that surrounded it. Major Arthur Andrus, with his battalion and company commanders, including Lieutenants Ricky Santos and Kevin Eck, stood on an elevated platform facing the soldiers. In the center of the platform, his arms shackled to posts set five feet apart, wearing only boots and trousers, stood a fifteen-year-old boy. He was the focus of everyone’s attention, and the reason for the assembly. Arthur nodded to Lieutenant Santos—the boy’s company commander—who read the charges and specifications.

*****

The boy had been caught stealing from his mates: little things—an e-book, a watch, a pocket knife, a pen. Santos appeared shaken when he reported to Arthur. “Sir, I had to order punishment. Two of his mates were there. They’d know if I didn’t, and they’d tell the others …but… fifteen lashes…by the book…noon formation, today…before lunch…some of them will be sick, I mean, physically…”

“Ricky,” Arthur said. His use of the boy’s first name stopped Santos.

“Sir?”

“Ricky, you did the right thing. Not the easy thing, and not a good thing, but the right thing. It wasn’t easy, but it was a lot easier than what you have to do afterwards.”

“Sir?”

“After punishment parade, you’ve got to bring him back. You’ve got to bring him back into the unit, you’ve got to bring him back to being a soldier, you’ve got to ensure his mates welcome him back, and that he welcomes you. At the very least, he must not become a disruption to the morale of the unit; at the worst, he must not want to frag you on some foreign battlefield.”

“Sir? How…”

*****

That had been less than an hour before. Now, the boy stood half-naked, afraid, and alone, facing some 2,000 soldiers—boys and girls, aged 15 and 16. Many of them, too, felt afraid and alone. They’d been separated from their families, their friends, all that was familiar. They’d been brought by bus and train to this hot, dry, dusty place on the Kansas prairie. They’d been herded into groups called companies. They’d been issued dusty-sand camouflage uniforms and boots. They’d sat through the lectures on the Uniform Code of Military Justice—the 2018 edition that reinstated flogging for certain offenses and that streamlined Article 15 punishment to a no-appeal Company Commander’s Court. They’d heard the words. Now they were seeing what none of them had really believed.

As soon as Lieutenant Santos finished reading the charges, a man stepped from behind the officers on the platform. He did not wear a shirt; his name and grade could not be determined. He wore a black mask that covered his scalp and most of his face. Not even Arthur knew his identity. All Arthur knew was that the man was not from his unit. The man held a whip. Its wooden handle was wrapped in braided leather that extended three feet from the handle before splitting into four strands.

Lieutenant Santos stepped in front of the boy. “Here,” he said. “Open your mouth. Bite down on this. Bite down hard, understand? Don’t let it fall out.” He put his rolled up handkerchief in the boy’s mouth. The boy nodded. Already, tears were streaming down his face. Santos stepped back into formation with the others.

The sound of the whip striking the boy’s naked flesh echoed across the courtyard. The man paused between each strike to allow the echoes to die. He’s hitting hard, Arthur thought, but not too hard. He’s clinical; he’s not a sadist. Arthur’s attention was diverted by a movement in the formation of soldiers. One had nearly fallen, fainted, perhaps. Two of his mates had caught him and were looking around, nervously. Another crisp smack echoed, and brought Arthur’s attention back to the boy on the platform. I wish I could see his face, he thought. What must be going through his mind? What does he feel?

After fifteen lashes, the man with the whip walked to the back of the platform and down the steps. He disappeared into one of the buildings. Instantly, military policemen unshackled the boy and medics loaded him, face down, on a stretcher. Moments later, he was in an ambulance. Arthur nodded to the first sergeant.

“Ten, hut!” Two thousand-plus pairs of boots thudded together.

Arthur spoke: “Punishment parade, dismissed. Company commanders, march to chow.”

*****

Lieutenant Santos held his company at attention. He spoke quietly to his first sergeant. “Support me in this, please?”

The first sergeant, although unsure of what he was being asked, nodded. “Yes, sir.”

Santos faced the company. “At ease, soldiers. Gather round.” It was a command normally used only in training, but the soldiers obeyed.

“Your mate, Gregory Paul Childers, needs a friend. He needs a friend very badly, and he needs one, now. Who will be that friend? Raise your hand.”

The soldiers looked surprised. Santos thought he saw a flash of understanding in the face of one boy who instantly raised his hand. “Me, sir.”

Before Santos could speak, another boy raised his hand. “Me, sir.” Another: “Me, sir.” “And me.”

Santos looked across the assembled soldiers. Every one had his hand in the air.

“I am so proud of you guys,” he said. He struggled successfully to keep the quiver in his throat from sounding in his voice.

“Private Ambler,” Santos addressed the first boy who had raised his hand. “Look around you. Take what you see to Private Childers. Tell him what just happened. Will you do that?”

“Sir, yes sir!”

*****

The first sergeant had taken Ambler to the hospital and cut through the bureaucracy to get Ambler into the ward where Childers lay, still on his stomach, the sheet tented over him so not to touch his back. “I’ll be back at 1700 hours, Private Ambler. They’ll bring you a tray when they bring Childers’ lunch.”

Ambler walked down the aisle to Childers’ bed. The boy’s face was in the pillow. Ambler sat by the bed. “Greg?”

Childers turned his head quickly. His eyes narrowed when he saw Ambler. “How’d you know my name?”

“Lieutenant Santos told us,” he said. “He said your name was Gregory Paul Childers. My name is Mark. Mark Evan Ambler” Ambler then told Childers what had happened after he had been taken away. When he finished, there were tears in both boys’ eyes.

Childers wiped the tears from his eyes; Ambler took his hand. “Greg, I really meant it when I said I would be your friend,” he said.

“Thank you, Mark. I’d like that very much.”

*****

“The medic said there would be no scars,” Santos said. He was sitting in a chair next to Childers’ hospital bed. “Actually, what he said was that there would be no new scars. Do you want to tell me what he meant?”

“Uh, do I have to, sir?”

“No, but if you do, I will listen. I won’t judge you, and I won’t say anything to your mates.”

“What about First Sergeant…and the CO?” Childers asked.

Santos thought carefully. “If what you tell me involves duty, discipline, or morale; or, if it would affect the safety of you or your mates, I’d have to tell the CO. Is that fair?”

“Uh, yes sir.” The boy lay silently for so long Santos thought he might have fallen asleep. When he spoke, his voice was soft, yet clear. “My father is a preacher. He’s also head of the family. We called him Prophet. I never remember calling him ‘father’ or ‘daddy.’ The other children in the family, they called their fathers ‘daddy.’ I never got to.

“ ‘Spare the rod and spoil the child.’ That was his answer to every sin. Half the time, we didn’t know what we were gettin’ whipped for. Sometimes we could figure it out, like looking sideways instead of paying attention to the Prophet when he was preaching. Sometimes, he’d yell out our sin every time he hit us.”

The boy’s voice dropped. Santos leaned toward him in order to hear. “Once, I talked back. I told him that spillin’ milk wasn’t a sin, that there wasn’t anything in the Bible about that, and besides, my sister was too little to know better. He whipped her and made me watch. Then he tied knots in the ends of the whip and beat me until I bled. It got infected and I almost died. He made like it was my fault, and he beat me again when I got well.”

The boy turned his head and looked Santos in the eye. “You never asked—nobody ever asked—why I stole those things.”

Santos drew back. “Should I ask?”

“Uh, you’re asking me? Sir?” Childers asked.

“Yes, I’m asking you. I hadn’t thought about that. I should have. But not now. It’s too late for me to ask, unless you want me to.” He’s not going to tell me unless I do ask, Santos thought.

“Yes, please,” the boy whispered.

“Why did you steal?” Santos asked.

“ ’Cause I never had anything that was mine. I never had a pocket knife. I never had a pen, not even a pencil. I never had a book or a watch. Everything belonged to God…or to the Prophet. Once, one of the men made a yo-yo for me. When the Prophet found out, he took it from me and threw it into the fire. He whipped me, and he punished the man, too.”

The boy fell silent. Santos sat quietly for a moment until it became apparent that Childers had nothing more to say. “Thank you for your trust,” Santos said. “The Army…everything you have here was issued to you. It’s not yours. The CO? He’s pretty much in absolute charge of you. First Sergeant and I, we tell you when to get up, when to eat, what to do, and when to go to sleep. About the only decision you get to make is whether to take a dump after breakfast or after supper.”

The boy looked startled; he couldn’t quite stifle a giggle.

Santos continued. “Does that remind you of before, and do you resent that?”

“Uh, no sir. I mean, yes sir. I mean…it reminds me, but I don’t resent it, sir.”

“Do you know why not?” Santos asked.

“Yes sir. It’s what the CO said the first day, and what you said after. You said we’d work hard, and that when the time came, we’d play hard. You said that the Army would take our measure, and that we’d take the measure of the Army…I still don’t understand that last part, sir.”

“What else did I say?” Santos asked.

“You said we’d live together, train together, play together, fight together, and that some of us would die, but if we looked out for each other…” Panic, fear, something lit the boy’s eyes. “…and trusted…and trusted…oh God forgive me! I’ve betrayed my mates!”

“That’s between you and your god,” Santos said gently. “Your mates have already forgiven you.”

 

 

Inquiry

“Captain Eck, this Board of Inquiry has been convened to review the action involving your company and an enemy force on September 18, 2022, in and around the Uzbekistan city of Sariasaya. During that engagement you suffered losses of 28 percent—”

“No sir,” Kevin interrupted. “Respectfully, sir, 62 soldiers. Sixty two individual soldiers. Each one had a name. Neither their mates nor I will allow them to be reduced to a percentage, to a statistic. Sir.”

“Very well, Captain.” The Board President’s voice was icy. “Sixty two soldiers. May I continue?” The question was rhetorical, but Kevin nodded, anyway.

“You called in an air strike on a building you knew, or should have known, to be a mosque. You knew, or should have known that the day was Friday. You knew or should have known, that on Friday mosques are likely to be filled with worshipers. Our forensic team identified parts of nearly 500 bodies, some of them children as young as six years old. The incident has been reported in the world press and has resulted in near universal condemnation of America. Four terrorist strikes against America forces and installations abroad have resulted in 27 casualties and in the destruction of more than $6 million in real property.”

“General Knightly!” It was Arthur’s voice from the audience. Arthur had argued, unsuccessfully, that he, rather than Kevin, be the subject of the inquiry. I was in command. Whatever happened to Truman’s notion that ‘the buck stops here’? I know why. It’s because I’m their damn poster boy for the baby brigade. We used to ridicule the Mujahedeen for using 12-year-olds as soldiers and suicide bombers. But we just lowered the draft age to 14.

“Colonel Andrus, you’re out of order,” the Board President said.

“Sir, the Manual of Doctrine, Article 187, Paragraph 10b, Subparagraph iii reads: ‘No soldier is ever alone. The “Army of One,” while an effective recruiting tool, is a discredited notion. Wherever there is one soldier, there are his mates, nor shall a soldier be denied the company of his mates.’ Those are the words that stripped solitary confinement from the UCMJ. That’s a powerful precedent. I see in front of you a soldier sitting alone in judgment. I construe that to be a violation of the Manual of Doctrine. I ask to be seated at his side.”

General Knightly looked at the other members of the board, but seemed to find no reassurance in their faces. “This board is in recess until 1100 hours.”

*****

Arthur sat beside Kevin at the table before the now empty bench. “Arthur, you can’t—” Kevin began, but Arthur interrupted.

“Kevin, we have less than 30 minutes. There’s something very wrong, here. A Board of Inquiry has three members; they have seven. That’s the number for a Court Martial. I think that as soon as they think they’ve got you in their sights, they’ll turn themselves into a Court Martial. There are too many odd coincidences, like your father and General Martin being called to some top secret meeting at some top secret location. And they classified all the battle computer data. Even I can’t get to it, and that’s wrong—and it’s a violation of doctrine.”

Arthur paused and looked hard at Kevin. “You are entitled to an opening statement. Keep it short and sweet: ‘I acted in accordance with doctrine, the rules of engagement, available intelligence, and my assessment of the situation as it unfolded.’ Then, you respectfully request that the Board President—don’t call him by name—that the Board President’s remarks about world press coverage and the alleged resulting terrorist strikes be removed from the record both because they are irrelevant and because they are prejudicial. Then you sit down. Okay?”

“I’m not going to let you get involved in this,” Kevin protested.

“Kevin, it’s been—what’s the date?” Arthur looked at his PDA. “Four years, two months, and six days since I first said I loved you. I will not abandon you to these jackals.”

*****

Arthur was still seated at Kevin’s side when the Board returned. Nothing was said about his presence. Kevin’s request that General Knightly’s remarks be removed from the record was denied, and the first witness was called. Because this was still a Board of Inquiry, Kevin wasn’t allowed to cross-examine. He and Arthur sat silently as the case against Kevin grew stronger and stronger.

Arthur and Kevin walked back into the room after lunch on the third day. Kevin’s eyes widened. Ricky Santos sat in the audience. Kevin’s shoulders sagged; he really didn’t want Ricky seeing him being pilloried, humiliated. There was a captain beside Ricky. He wore Signal Corps insignia, and he looked familiar, but Kevin couldn’t place him. Kevin dismissed the thoughts. Arthur looked at Santos, and got the signal he wanted. A slight nod. Arthur’s PDA vibrated. The screen read, “1300.” Arthur sighed with relief. He took Kevin’s hand briefly. “It’s time to kick butt.”

*****

At 1300 hours, sharp, General Knightly rapped the gavel to resume, and then looked at his PDA. What he saw seemed to upset him. He looked up. “Is Captain Sumpter present?”

The Signal Corps captain stood.

General Knightly cleared his throat. “Captain Sumpter, I have been ordered to allow you to testify. This is highly irregular.”

“Not nearly as irregular as what we have uncovered, sir.”

That voice; the accent; I’ve heard it, before. A light went on in Kevin’s head. Sumpter was the name of the sniper who had watched him and Arthur having sex when they were umpires at the war games. “Billy?” he blurted.

Sumpter nodded, and winked. He stepped to the witness stand. “For the record, sir, I am Captain Billy Sumpter, Intelligence Officer on the staff of General Davis Williams, Judge Advocate General of the Army of the United States of America. I am here at General Williams’s orders to see that justice is served, and that a situation that could do irreparable damage to America and its Army is dealt with.”

The story that unfolded was as complicated as it was dirty. There had been a gross failure of intelligence. Neither Arthur nor Kevin had received accurate information. In fact, they’d received wrong and misleading information. It was initially simply a mistake, but one that had been compounded when a senior officer had orchestrated a cover-up, a cover-up in which Kevin had become the victim. The data Captain Sumpter presented to the board were incontrovertible.

“The situation snow-balled,” Captain Sumpter concluded. “Captain Eck became the victim. You gentlemen of the Board were victims, as well. General Williams asks that you carry overtly or covertly no prejudice towards Captain Eck or Colonel Andrus.” The officers of the court nodded.

“Captain Sumpter,” General Knightly said. “No one likes being played for a fool. I think I speak for the entire board when I say that you are to be commended for your work in uncovering this. And, that Captain Eck deserves a commendation, as well. Given our new understanding of the circumstances…” The general’s voice trailed off.

“The cover-up will not be covered up,” Captain Sumpter said. “The execution by firing squad of General Hampton Clarke, who bore both ultimate and personal responsibility, will be reported tonight.” Arthur thought he saw at least two members of the court blanche.

“Lieutenant Eck deserves a medal for his action. He won’t get one, because that would piss off too many Mujahedeen.” Captain Sumpter turned to Kevin. “General Williams said to thank you,” he said. “I know that’s not enough, but it’s all I can offer.”

“I understand,” Kevin said.

*****

The official finding of the Board of Inquiry was that Lieutenant Eck had acted correctly and properly under the circumstances, and that his actions were consistent with doctrine: no place from which an attack came or in which the enemy took refuge was exempt from attack.

*****

“Um, Arthur?” Captain Ricky Santos asked. He, Captain Billy Sumpter, Captain Kevin Eck, and Lieutenant Colonel Arthur Andrus sat in a corner of the bar at the Officers’ Club. Arthur had made it clear that this was an informal gathering.

“Um, Ricky. You’re about to ask me a hard question, aren’t you?” Arthur said.

It was too dark to see Santos blush, but he did. “Uh, yeah. Billy and I…we worked pretty close together finding all the info that General Williams used. Um, we’re, kinda, well, we’re not in love yet, but I really think we’re going to be. Please, Arthur, will you give me a transfer to Fort Huachuca and the Signal Corps? Please?” All the guys at the table knew that “Signal Corps” and “Fort Huachuca” were a thinly disguised cover for Army Intelligence.

“Ricky, I’m very happy for you. Of course I’ll sign a request for transfer. I take it that Billy’s boss has agreed?”

“Uh, huh,” Billy said. “I, uh, I dropped your name. He said that anyone you had trained would always be welcome.”

“But did Billy tell you about when he first met us?” Kevin asked Ricky.

Ricky looked puzzled. “Huh? No…he never even said you knew him.”

“Um, hmm,” Arthur said. He chuckled. “You want to tell him, Billy?”

 

 

For Always

“You’ve become too successful, Arthur,” Lieutenant General Eck chuckled at the expression on Arthur’s face. Kevin knew what his father meant, and his face fell. The three sat in the general’s den. It was the same room in which Arthur had first met Kevin—and had sex with him—some six years ago. Since then, Arthur had served four tours in battle zones. The rest of his time had been spent at Fort Riley, Kansas, supervising the training of thousands of increasingly younger soldiers. Kevin had served three combat tours as a Company and then Brigade Commander in Arthur’s regiment.

“Your orders came in from the Pentagon this morning. You have been assigned to the War College. You’ll be a student, and then split your time between teaching and being on the staff of the Training and Doctrine Command. I’m afraid the war is over for you.”

Arthur understood what he meant, but the expression on his face was indecipherable. Disappointment? Yes, that was there. Arthur knew he was a good combat commander—the best, in fact. Without him in command, more children would die than otherwise. Relief? Arthur acknowledged that feeling, as well. He would no longer be under fire; more importantly, he’d not have to look in the dead, glazed eyes of American boys and girls or of their counterparts among the enemy. Elation? No, not that, but certainly a certain degree of happiness and pride. At TRADOC, perhaps he could make a difference. Maybe they’d seriously consider some of his ideas—the ideas he’d successfully implemented in training and in combat, the ideas that saved lives.

Then, Arthur looked at Kevin, and his heart nearly stopped. They would be separated; Kevin would be going into combat under the command of someone with less skill than Arthur. The boys and girls under Arthur’s command had a 92% survival rate. The next best was less than 80%. The numbers were classified, but Arthur had been told. He’d also received three silver stars and a distinguished service cross in recognition of his leadership and as an acknowledgement of the lives that he had saved.

The general saw the anguish in the faces of the two boys. Strike that, he thought. The two young men. It was not so long ago that they were boys. Now, they’re men. “You two…you need some time. Kevin, take the Hummer. I guess your grades have been good enough.” It was an old joke, but Kevin and Arthur both laughed, more in relief than in humor.

*****

Arthur and Kevin’s relationship had survived the stress of combat and the greater stress of keeping it an absolute secret from everyone else. Well, everyone but Kevin’s parents, Ricky Santos, and Billy Sumpter. They couldn’t fraternize at the Officers’ Club; Arthur had to limit his visits to General Eck’s home. So it was a real treat to be able to drive off post to a restaurant on the strip. It advertised “fresh sea food” in a neon sign that predated the turn of the century, and was certainly not true. After dinner, they drove back to Arthur’s quarters. As an O-6, he rated a bedroom and sitting room, and a private bathroom. Kevin’s quarters were in an adjacent building; he shared quarters with another major. The Hummer—with the three stars of Lieutenant General Eck’s flag covered—was a familiar sight in the parking lot.

“Kevin? Do you still have a bottle of the Sterling merlot? The ’17?” Arthur asked.

“Sure…I’ll get it.” Kevin headed toward his room; Arthur hurried to his. I’ll have just enough time, he thought.

*****

The first time Arthur and Kevin had met, Kevin had desperately stripped Arthur’s clothes from him. Later, Arthur had been equally desperate to undress Kevin. Whenever it was possible, they had always, always undressed one another. Tonight, however, there was a difference. Kevin gasped when he pulled down Arthur’s trousers. Rather than his customary camo skivvies, Arthur wore a pair of low-cut, black, skin-tight boxer briefs. He kicked off his trousers, and stood before Kevin. “Turn around,” Kevin whispered, hoarsely. Arthur turned. The briefs revealed an inch of the lower curve of his bottom. Kevin gently ran his fingers over the exposed flesh, and then tugged on Arthur’s arm. Arthur turned. Kevin embraced him. There were tears in Kevin’s eyes. “You remembered…”

“I remember every word we said that night,” Arthur said. “I want to see you wake up beside me in the morning, instead of having to leave tonight. I want to see you sleeping beside me every night, instead of just an occasional weekend. Not just today, not just tonight, but for always.

“Kevin, will you…will you…” Arthur’s voice broke.

Kevin pulled Arthur tight to him, and kissed the tears from his cheeks. “Yes, I will, Arthur; I will be with you for always.”

*****

General and Mrs. Eck sat comfortably in the den. “They’re going to get married, aren’t they?” she asked.

“More than likely,” the general replied.

“Then Kevin can get a join-spouse assignment…he can be stationed with Arthur at Carlisle Barracks? He won’t have to go into combat?”

“Could,” the general said. “But it’s not automatic. He’d have to ask, and he is a soldier.”

“Hmm,” Beth Eck said. She looked at her husband of 37 years. “I’ll need a new dress, of course.”

The End

 

Glossary

Battle rattle: (1) the total accumulation of armor, weapons, and other gear a soldier wears and carries into battle; (2) obsolete, and from the mid 20th century, “combat fatigue” or nervousness before battle

Bravo Zulu: Originally US Navy slang for “well done”; later adopted more widely

CO: Commanding Officer

CP: Command Post

ghillie suit: wearable camouflage

GPS: Global Positioning System

LED: Light-emitting diode

MRE: Meal, Ready to Eat (field rations)

MWR: Morale, Welfare, and Recreation (an agency of the US Army)

NCO: Non-commissioned officer

O Club: Officers’ Club

O-6: colonel (“full colonel” or “bird colonel”)

OBE: Overcome (overtaken) By Events

PDA: Personal Defense Assistant (small computer, phone, and global positioning system device)

ROTC: Reserve Officers Training Corps

TO: Table of Organization

UAV: Urban Assault Vehicle

UCMJ: Uniform Code of Military Justice (the book of military law and punishment)

USB: Universal Serial Bus (computer connection)

USO: United Services Organization (charitable organization that provides morale, welfare, and recreation activities for soldiers)