Published: 29 Jan 2019

Part I: Fort Riley, Kansas
October 2020

By the year 2020, the War on Terrorism has consumed the American conscience and the American economy. There are still, however, moments of light and love to be found. Boys are commissioned in the Army immediately after completing high school ROTC. The draft age is eventually lowered to 14. The age of consent and the voting age follow the draft age.

Second Lieutenant Arthur Andrus, United States Army, is understandably nervous. The invitation to the home of Colonel Eck is more a command performance than a courtesy. He could no more decline this social offer than he could refuse a direct order – not if he expects to make a career of the Army. He does hope to do that. He worked hard in his ROTC classes. He is a member of the first cohort of officers commissioned immediately after high school graduation; he has a lot to prove.

The invitation to dinner calls for civilian clothes. His wardrobe is sparse. In spite of the heat, he selects corduroy slacks, a short-sleeved, knit pullover shirt, and loafers. I hope this isn’t too informal, he thinks. But Colonel Eck said it was a family dinner. Desperately concealing his nervousness, he knocks.

A woman answers the door. “Oh, hello. You must be Arthur. I’m Beth. Oh, I know, you’ll want to call me Mrs. Eck. All the lieutenants do.” She smiles and then adds, “Whatever you’re comfortable with is okay – with me and with my husband.”

Nothing in her manner suggests she is surprised to see an 18-year-old lieutenant, rather than a 22-year-old college graduate. The war has consumed so many soldiers, she thinks. Now, children are leading children, and soon, my own son… She pushes this thought aside and gestures for Arthur to come in. “Bob – you should probably call him ‘Colonel’ – and Kevin are in the den. Down there.”

Somewhat overwhelmed by the woman’s enthusiasm and energy, Arthur follows her gesture and steps into the basement of the split-level house. He pauses for a moment while his eyes adjust to the only light in the room – the flickering television screen that carries the faces of Armed Forces Network newsreaders.

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

“Good evening, sir,” Arthur says, looking in the direction from which the voice comes. “Thank you for your invitation.”

A lamp flashes in a corner and Arthur sees what the colonel means by a minefield. The floor is strewn with models of war machines, castles, horses, tanks, soldiers … medieval and modern. He steps over the models and shakes the colonel’s outstretched hand. “Sit, sit,” the man says, gesturing toward a second easy chair. “Cocktail? What would you like?”

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

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

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

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

“Uh, yes, thank you,” Arthur replies, and accepts the glass. His eyes rest for a moment on the boy. Cute, he thinks. He pulls his attention back to the colonel.

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

“To the Infantry,” Arthur replies.

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

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

“It’s not your bourbon,” the boy replies. “It’s your scotch, 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 says. “The boy’s just turned 16; he’s in his junior year of high school. He’s suddenly decided he has a mind of his own, and has been badgering the Army recruiter to guarantee he’ll be a tank driver.”

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

“You see, Father,” Kevin says, “I told you he was okay.”

They talked about me? The colonel and his son? Arthur worries this thought in his mind for a moment until the colonel speaks.

“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 looks at the colonel. The smile on the man’s face, as well as the tone of his voice, reassures 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 interjects. “Sorry, Lieutenant, but you’ll want …” The boy seizes the TV remote and thumbs the volume button. Pictured on the screen is an armored vehicle about the size of a short school bus – although there are no more school busses. There is no gasoline for their operation.

The newsreader’s voice fills 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 still capable of maneuvering over sand dunes, snow, and mountainous terrain. The first shipment will reach Fort Riley, Kansas, tomorrow. It will become the mechanized infantry’s primary battlefield support and transport.” The screen dissolves to a shot of a freight train traveling over empty prairie. Flatcars hold what might have been UAVs – at least, there are lumps about the right size, covered with sheets of canvas. Soldiers holding rifles and anti-tank rocket launchers ride each car; Cobra helicopters provide air cover.

The newsreader continues, but Arthur is no longer listening. His company will be the first to get the UAVs, and he has received hours of classified briefings on their capabilities. The announcement triggers thoughts he has about them. I hope these things live up to their promise. We need something to give us an edge. The war that Bush One started is still going on, more than 30 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. 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 isn’t paying attention to the TV, either. He will be responsible for integrating the new vehicles into his infantry regiment, and knows a lot more about them than the news readers do. 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 have 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 newsreader’s head fades into the network logo. Kevin presses the mute button on the remote and steps to where Arthur is sitting. “It’ll never replace a tank!” the boy asserts. He reaches for Arthur’s glass. Their hands touch briefly and Arthur feels a slight shock. Static electricity … dry air…

“Ready for a refill?” the boy asks.

“Um, I don’t—”

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

Arthur lets the boy take his glass, and is happy to see the colonel hand his own glass to his son.

“I didn’t invite you here to test you,” the colonel says. “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 replies. “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 a locum 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 says. “Moderation is for monks.” He hands a glass to his father and then one to Arthur. “Cheers,” he says, raising his glass toward Arthur.

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

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

Arthur is utterly surprised when dinner is finished and the colonel excuses himself. “I rise at 0400 daily,” he says. “At my age, I need a bit more exercise than you youngsters. Kevin,” he turns 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 stands and stammers his thanks to the colonel and to the colonel’s lady, and follows the boy back to the basement den.

“It’s okay, really,” Kevin says. “I can tell 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 says.

“Kevin, no, I don’t mind, and I understand. Truly, I do. When I was 14, I wanted very badly to become a track star, and I got up early every morning and ran miles before school. I hope when I’m your father’s age I’ll have as much energy as he does.”

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

“What? Where the f—” Arthur stops 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 from 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 is a long pause. “Oh,” Kevin says. There is another long pause. “You really mean it, don’t you?”

“Yes, I do … uh…”

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

“Yes, Kevin, I really mean it,” Arthur says. “Why are you surprised?”

Kevin stands silently for a moment. He looks directly at Arthur. “You’re the first one who hasn’t tried to use me to get to my father.” As he continues to speak, his voice grows stronger, brighter.

“Everybody has an angle. They want to take me hunting; they want to take me to the range and shoot assault rifles; they want to take me to the test track to drive the new vehicles; they want to use me to get to my father. You’re the first one who didn’t … and I believe you…”

Kevin throws his arms around the startled lieutenant and rests his head on the older boy’s chest. “Arthur, will you be my friend? A real friend? Please?”

“Kevin, I don’t … what do you think you’re doing?” Kevin’s hands slide down Arthur’s back and clutch his buttocks. The boy’s strong grip draws their bodies together tightly. Arthur feels his penis swell painfully in the confines of his pants. He is conscious of the smell of Aqua Velva.

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

“No it’s not,” the boy says. His voice is level and calm, but not without emotion. “I’m sixteen – that’s the age of consent.”

“Still, it’s wrong,” Arthur says. “Your father is my commander … this is his home…”

Kevin giggles. It makes him seem younger than his sixteen years. “You haven’t said you’re not gay.”

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

“It’s too late, now,” Kevin says. “I wouldn’t believe you, even if I hadn’t felt you.” He moves his hands toward Arthur. Arthur realizes he is still holding the boy’s arms.

Kevin’s hands grasp Arthur’s waist. His thumbs dig into Arthur’s tight stomach muscles. Arthur slides his arms around Kevin’s back. This time, it is Arthur’s hands on Kevin’s bottom that pull them together. Arthur feels the boy’s breath on his face. Kevin’s buttocks tense as he lifts himself on tiptoe; his lips find Arthur’s.

Kevin pulls at Arthur’s shirt; Arthur fumbles for the single button that holds the polo shirt closed at the throat. Kevin’s lips and tongue race over Arthur’s chest while the boy’s hands open Arthur’s belt. Arthur kicks off his loafers. When his pants drop, he kicks them away. He hears Kevin laugh softly when he sees Arthur’s olive-drab army-issue skivvies. The skivvies follow Arthur’s trousers into the corner of the room. Kevin’s mouth finds Arthur’s penis.

The boy clamps his lips just behind the head of Arthur’s penis, and runs his tongue back and forth, around and around, teasing and tasting. The boy leans forward, and takes an inch or so into his mouth. The stimulation of his tongue is now limited almost exclusively to the glans, but that is enough. Arthur’s knees want to buckle and he keeps himself standing only by putting his hands on the boy’s shoulders.

He’s strong, is Arthur’s first thought. He’ll never take it all, is his second. But Kevin surprises him. Kevin jerks his face forward until his lips press against Arthur’s pubes and Arthur’s penis slides deep into the boy’s throat. At the same time, Kevin digs his fingernails into Arthur’s buttocks, not hard, but just enough. Arthur gasps, grits his teeth, curls his toes, and pours his seed deep into the boy.

Kevin follows Arthur as the young lieutenant slumps to the floor. Kevin keeps his lips locked on Arthur’s penis; Arthur’s tummy and legs quivers as Kevin’s tongue continues to tease him. Arthur gasps, takes Kevin’s shoulders, and pulls him up until their lips meet.

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

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

“There aren’t many for me, either,” Kevin says. Whether that was meant to be a hint, or not, Arthur takes it as one, and unbuttons Kevin’s shirt and then his trousers. When the boy lies naked before him, skin glowing in the flickering light of the TV, Arthur draws the tips of his fingers down the boy’s sides and watches his tummy muscles tighten. Kevin’s penis is already hard and moist. Arthur bends and touches his tongue to a pearlescent drop before it can fall. Kevin quivers, and then gasps. “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 are naked on the floor of the colonel’s den, Arthur takes the boy into his mouth. Kevin gasps again and puts his hands lightly on Arthur’s head. Arthur understands what Kevin wants but is afraid to demand, and drops his head until the boy’s penis is deep in his mouth. He pulls back, drawing his lips tightly over the smooth shaft, and then pushes forward, again. He swallows, massaging Kevin’s penis with his throat. Kevin gasps again. Arthur feels the boy swell deep in his throat. Arthur pulls back slightly so he can use his tongue and better taste Kevin’s offering. Kevin does not disappoint him – hot, thick, and sweet, he fills Arthur’s mouth.

The next morning, Arthur takes the reveille formation, and then turns his troops over to the platoon sergeant. “I need to be in the colonel’s office when he gets there from the gym,” Arthur says. “Would you take charge … and…” Arthur hesitates. “Cover for me, please?”

“Sure, Lieutenant. Um, may I speak freely, sir?”

Arthur nods.

“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 turns away before Arthur can reply and barks commands to the troops. Arthur hurries on his self-appointed errand.

Arthur is sitting in the colonel’s anteroom when his host from the night before walks in. Colonel Eck’s forehead is still beaded with water from his shower, although his cammies are starched and crisp. He nods to Arthur and speaks to his orderly. “Corporal Cavanaugh, two coffees this morning. The lieutenant takes his with sugar, only. Come on in.” The last statement is directed to Arthur, who follows the colonel into his office.

Arthur stands rigidly in front of the colonel’s desk. The man looks at Arthur. “Please sit. Kevin told me you were very kind to him last night. Thank you for that. He has not had many friends. We have moved around a lot, but you certainly know that. It’s been part of Army life. Anyway, thank you. I haven’t seen him this happy in a long time.”

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

He is rescued by the colonel. “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 pauses to allow Arthur to think.

“Sir, you mean…?” Arthur says.

“Yes. I mean,” the colonel says. “Come!” This last is said in response to a knock on the office door. Corporal Cavanaugh sets one beaker of coffee on the colonel’s desk, and offers the other to Arthur. Arthur accepts the coffee and buries his nose in it, trying to gain time.

The door closes behind the corporal. Arthur looks 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 snaps Arthur from his trance.

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

Arthur looks 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 says.

“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 asks.

“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 stands and walks around his desk. Arthur quickly sets his coffee on the edge of the desk and stands.

“I never had doubts about you, and I’m very glad you confirmed that. 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 smiles. “I’m glad that didn’t happen, Lieutenant.”

Speculative Fiction. While not exactly Sci-Fi, such stories tell the tale of our world from a “What If” viewpoint. What if the War on Terror had been executed as an all-out war? Is this the only “What If” that David shows us? Can you spot them all? Let David know: David dot McLeod at CastleRoland dot net. He deserves your feedback.

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