Published: 5 Aug 2019
Part II: Call of Duty
“Fall in, soldiers!” Sergeant Sikes’s voice crackles through the barracks. “Fall in!”
Twenty young soldiers scramble to stand at the foot of their bunks beside the mysterious footlockers that were delivered earlier that day. That is, eighteen of them do. Two lie on the floor in the center of the barracks, gasping for breath. One sports a bloody nose; the other’s lip is bleeding. Both have skinned knuckles. Sergeant Sikes stands over them for a moment before grabbing one’s right arm and the other’s left. Sergeant Sikes can bench press 300 pounds; lifting to their feet two scrawny kids, neither of whom weighs more than 120 pounds, is no challenge.
“Fall in means everyone.” His voice is icy. The two boys stumble to their positions and stand at attention. The only sound in the barracks is their heavy breathing and the occasional splat as a drop of blood hits the floor.
“What started this?” Sergeant Sikes asks. A couple of the boys, those a little smarter than the rest, wonder at the tenor of his question. They expected to hear, “Who started this?” And they know whoever was found to have instigated the fight would be punished – probably flogged. Three boys wonder why the sergeant had asked the question the way he had. One dares to answer. “Name-calling, Sergeant. But it was just…” The sergeant’s voice cuts off what he was about to say.
“What name, Recruit Preston?” the sergeant asks.
Preston realizes in trying to protect one of his mates from punishment, he has opened himself to… ‘they’ll think I’m a snitch,’ he thinks. ‘How am I going to get out of this?’ goes through his mind. “Someone was called a fag, sergeant. And someone objected…” Again, the sergeant’s voice cuts off what he is about to say.
“That will be all, Preston.” The sergeant presses the ‘urgent’ button on his Personal Defense Assistant. “Stand at ease, soldiers,” he says. “No talking,” he adds. He glances at his PDA. The lieutenant is less than five minutes away.
“Gather ’round … on the floor…” Sergeant Sikes says. Lieutenant Andrus stands at one end of the barracks. The recruits crowd to sit on the floor in front of him.
“Fighting is punishable,” the lieutenant says. “Any slur … any name-calling that relates to a person’s race, religion, ethnicity, skin color, sex, sexual orientation, gender identification … half a dozen other things … is punishable. Article 15 punishment can include confinement on bread and water, flogging, and 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 pauses. ‘Damn,’ he thinks. ‘I hoped for a laugh. That line about Ft. Riley always works for Colonel Eck.’ He gathers his thoughts. “At this time and in this place, it is more important for me to train you and give you the best chance of surviving when we 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 respect; I can only earn that. I can demand your 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 jerk 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 raises his hand. “Sir, I did, sir.”
“Thank you, Recruit Martin. Who was the target?”
“Um … I don’t know his name, sir,” Martin says.
One of the boys raises his hand. “It was me, sir.”
“Recruit Jamison,” Arthur says. “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 trails 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 keys commands into his PDA. The footlockers at the feet of Bolton and Martin’s beds click. “Raise the lids. Remove the weapon and ammunition clip that lie on the top. Then come here.”
The two boys do as ordered. Arthur takes 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 says, and demonstrates. “Put the first round in the chamber by sliding this lever. The weapon will then be ready to fire.” He removes the clip and returns it and the weapon to Bolton. “Understand?” Bolton nods. Arthur looked at Martin, who also nods.
“Do it,” Arthur says. The boys obey. Their hands shake, but they load and cock their weapons.
“Bolton, if you wanted to, you could kill Martin for what he said. Do you want to?” Arthur asks Bolton.
“Oh, Jesus God, no sir!” Bolton says.
“Martin?” Arthur asks.
“No sir. I’m not sure I’d die for him, but I won’t kill him.”
Arthur takes Martin’s weapon. “Remove the clip … this way … remove the bullet from the firing chamber … thus … put it back in the clip … this way … Bolton?” Bolton safes his weapon. “Return your weapons to the lockers.”
When the boys do so, Arthur presses a button on his PDA. An image appears 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 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 walks up the steps early on a Saturday morning; the door opens before he reaches the porch. “Come in, Lieutenant,” the colonel greets him at the door. “Kevin’s in the den, and he’s set up an interesting tactical problem.” Arthur follows the colonel down the stairs to the den where the flat-screen TV displays standard topographical map symbols for a hilly, arid terrain. Kevin sits cross-legged on the floor with the keyboard of something that might have begun life as a video game console, but which sprouts cables and boxes that are unfamiliar to Arthur. The boy hands Arthur a controller and a pair of glasses. “You’re blue; Dad is green.”
Arthur takes the controller and realizes the boy has replicated in his father’s den the tactical simulator unit that Arthur trained on in high school. Arthur and the colonel put on the glasses. With the polarization of the glasses making the other person’s forces invisible, each positions his own forces. “Ready?” Kevin asks. Arthur and the colonel nod and the battle begins.
The game moves ten-times real time. Within fifteen minutes, Arthur has an epiphany. It’s Patton in Africa, he realizes. The battle where… A green armored force rolls over a low hill, interrupting his thought. Secure in his knowledge of the historic battle, Arthur changes his strategy. I hope Kevin hasn’t put in the mean-time-between-failure of the tanks.
Kevin has not included mechanical failure into his model, and Arthur’s tanks reach the pass in time to utterly destroy Green’s main column.
“Unacceptable losses!” Kevin says. “Does Green capitulate?”
The colonel agrees and takes off his glasses. “You recognized the battle?” he asks Arthur.
“Yes, sir.”
The colonel chuckles. “You know the tanks couldn’t have traveled that far, that fast, over that terrain without losing treads and overheating?”
“Yes, sir,” Arthur replies. “But I think it’s a risk Patton would have taken. The breakdown figures are for average tanks – and Patton maintained his tanks well above average.”
“See, Dad? I told you he was smart,” Kevin says. He reaches out and takes Arthur’s hand. “May I keep him?” Arthur’s blush is invisible in the dim light of the basement recreation room.
The colonel smiles. “That’s up to you and him, son. I have a tee time in 30 minutes 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 supper 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 is mocking and a little insincere.
His father reads the boy’s voice and smiles. “Not until you pull up your history grade, young man. That’s still the deal.”
Arthur and Kevin watch from Kevin’s bedroom window as the Hummer disappears down the street. Arthur turns, grabs Kevin, and pulls him into a tight embrace.
“I’ve missed you,” Kevin says. “I’ve missed you so much.”
“Your parents must love you very much,” Arthur muses. His hands move slowly up and down Kevin’s back, pressing firmly into the muscles, first on one side of the spine and then the other. Kevin gasps as Arthur’s strong fingers knead away the knots.
Their initial lovemaking is energetic, athletic, and noisy. Arthur leads 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 opens his eyes and sees Arthur staring at him with an intensity that would have been frightening had it not matched Kevin’s own desire.
Kevin breaks the kiss, gasps for air, and demands, “Please, Arthur … I want you…”
Arthur kneels astride the recumbent boy; his knees are on either side of Kevin’s hips; he sits on Kevin’s thighs. Their erect and straining penises would have touched except that both are pressed hard against their abdomens. The head of Kevin’s penis lies in a pearlescent pool an inch or so above his belly button. Arthur holds Kevin’s forearms, pinning the boy to the bed, and lowers his head slowly to lick the boy’s tummy. His tongue barely touches the boy’s penis, but he feels Kevin shudder, and tastes another drop of the clear, sweet fluid.
“Si! Madre Dios! Suck me! Por favor!” the boy cries, lapsing into the Spanglish argot that is the language of the streets and the hallways of the public schools. “Oh! Arthur…” Kevin’s voice trails off to a moan as Arthur’s tongue rasps against the head of the boy’s penis.
Carefully, adroitly, Arthur takes the head of Kevin’s penis in his mouth. He fastens his lips firmly below the glans and sucks gently, drawing out another bead of moisture. He hears Kevin gasp as Arthur’s tongue swirls. Arthur lowers his head until Kevin’s fine pubic hairs brush his lips. Arthur takes a deep breath and pushes down until his lips are firmly planted at the base of the boy’s penis. Arthur does not realize he has turned loose of Kevin’s arms until the boy’s hands find Arthur’s head and clasp it firmly. Kevin’s fingers run through the bristles of Arthur’s hair, his moans encourage Arthur.
Carefully, adroitly, paying close attention to the boy’s reactions, Arthur raises and lowers his head, massaging Kevin’s penis with his lips, his tongue, and his throat. Beneath himself, he feels Kevin’s body tense. The boy’s grip on Arthur’s head tighten; his fingers pull painfully at Arthur’s hair. Arthur feels Kevin’s penis push deep into his throat as the boy arches his body from the bed. “Oh! Oh! Si!” Kevin cries as his penis pulses, pulses, pulses, pulses, pumping the boy’s essence into Arthur’s mouth.
Now, Kevin lies on his stomach, his penis, no longer tumescent, presses into the rough wool blanket. Arthur’s strong hands find their way to the boy’s firm bottom, and massage the hard pillows of flesh. Kevin turns his head and lifts it slightly from the bed. “Are you going to fuck me?”
Arthur continues massaging the boy. “Is that what you want?”
“Um hmm,” Kevin says.
“Uh…,” Arthur begins.
“Kevin, you call me Kevin,” the boy says. He laughs. “I know what you’re going to ask. Have I ever done it before, and the answer is yes.” He rolls over and takes Arthur’s hands in his. “But never with anyone I liked as much as I like you,” he adds. “Please? I meant it when I said I wanted to keep you…”
Moments later, Kevin lies on his back with his legs bent at the knees and his feet neatly tucked under his butt. Arthur kneels between the boy’s legs, his penis sheathed in an olive drab condom. Soldiers still use condoms to cover the barrels of their rifles to protect the weapons from rain and dirt. Years ago, someone in the Army realized those, too, needed camouflage.
Arthur puts the tip of the condom against Kevin’s anus. He looks at the boy’s face. It is flushed with excitement, and Kevin’s eyes burn into Arthur’s. Kevin puts his hands on Arthur’s bottom and pulls. That is all the encouragement Arthur needs. He pushes until he feels his penis slide into Kevin. Kevin spreads his legs slightly, and sighs as Arthur presses hard against the boy’s bottom. “Oh, oh, fuck, Madre Dios, oh, Arthur, oh, Arthur,” the boy moans.
Arthur silences Kevin with a kiss before pulling back slightly. Kevin’s hands on his bottom urge Arthur forward, and again Kevin gasps. “Oh, oh…” Arthur pulls back and pushes forward. Kevin’s hands on his butt continue to encourage him. Arthur feels sweat drip from his forehead onto Kevin’s chest; he pushes in, out, in, hearing the slap of flesh on flesh echoing from the walls of the boy’s bedroom. Kevin’s heels are behind Arthur’s back, now, pulling them closer and tighter together. The boy’s hands move to Arthur’s shoulders; Kevin’s fingernails bite into Arthur’s flesh. Beneath Arthur, Kevin pushes himself to meet Arthur’s thrusts. Sweat pools on his tummy, filling his bellybutton.
Arthur’s body freezes. Kevin pulls them closer together. Arthur arches his back, pushing his penis deep into the boy. Teeth clench and toes curl, Arthur comes, filling the olive drab condom.
“I know …” Arthur says. He and Kevin cuddle 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 snorts. “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 touches 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 kisses Kevin. “And that was enough?”
Kevin elbows 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 tosses a bit of cloth toward Kevin; the boy catches it with no hesitation. Then his eyes widen. “Black armband; someone’s died.” Fear lights 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 says.
White letters. “Umpire?” Kevin asks. “Umpire … you mean the war games? You’re going to be an umpire?” The quarterly war games are the most important part of training at Fort Riley. They are 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 wins, the umpires are honored guests.
Arthur shows Kevin a second black armband. “Yep, but I’ve got my own. That one’s yours.”
“Mine?” Kevin’s voice nearly cracks. “Mine? I get to umpire? But…”
Arthur’s face and voice are serious when he answers. “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 less than two years behind me. You’ll 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 fourteen. 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 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 smothers whatever Arthur was about to say. When Arthur manages to break away to catch his breath, Kevin asks, “Do you really love me?”
“Oh, yes,” Arthur says. “I do.”
“I love you, too,” Kevin says.
This is going to be a problem, Arthur thinks.
This is going to be a problem, Kevin thinks.
Kevin spends the night on bivouac with the umpires. They are to be in position by 0400, which means sleeping in fatigues, and then being wakened at 0230 for breakfast. By 0330, Kevin and Arthur are walking across the training range, guided only by starlight and Arthur’s PDA with its link to the military global positioning system satellites. “Did you know,” Arthur asks, “that until 2019 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.”
“Yes,” Kevin says. “Well, not about that, but Dad told me about using GPS to find a good fishing spot.”
“Now,” Arthur continues, “the signal is encrypted. Only the military can read it. Okay … here we are.” He gestures to a copse at the end of a ridge line. “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.”
“Doesn’t your PDA tell you where everyone is?” Kevin asks.
“Yes,” Arthur says. “But sometimes, there’s no substitute for M-1-A-1 eyeballs.”
Arthur and Kevin spread a shelter half and lie on it, side by side, in the gulley. Arthur is on his back, looking at the stars. Kevin runs his hand up Arthur’s leg to his crotch where the cammies bulge. “Um,” the boy says. “What have we here?
Arthur blushes unseen in the dim starlight, and then chuckles. “You know what you have found. And you know you turn me on.”
“When does this war start?” Kevin asks.
Arthur rolls onto his side to face Kevin and checks his PDA. “In about an hour.”
“Well, since I turn you on, and you turn me on, and we have an hour to kill…” Kevin says. He twists his body until the two boys’ crotches are pressing into one another. “I’m hard, too.”
Arthur kisses Kevin, his tongue finding no resistance as it presses through the boy’s lips. Kevin gasps for breath, and then struggles to pull down his cammies. He rolls onto his stomach, and pushes his butt into the air, kneeling on the shelter half. “Fuck me? Please?” the boy asks.
“Uh, I don’t…”
“But I do,” Kevin says, and hands Arthur an olive drab packet, black in the pre-dawn gloom, containing an issue, olive drab condom.
Arthur spits on his hand, and smears the saliva on the condom. I hope that’s enough lubrication. He thrusts heavily into the boy. Kevin grunts and then sighs, and Arthur knows it means Kevin is happy. Arthur slides back until only the tip of his penis is inside the boy, and the ridge of the glans catches on the tight ring of Kevin’s anus. Slowly, Arthur slides in, again. Kevin hisses with pleasure, and then moans as Arthur’s penis pushes over the boy’s prostate. “Oh,” he whispers. “Oh, fuck me…”
“Shh,” Arthur whispers. He feels, rather than sees, Kevin’s nod. Arthur retreats and then pushes in. This time, Kevin is silent, but Arthur feels the steady deepening of the boy’s breathing. Holding tightly to Kevin’s hips, Arthur firmly, slowly, and deeply fucks the boy. His own breath catches in his throat and he throws back his head. Stars … it’s still dark. The incongruous thought plays through his mind as his penis tightens, tenses, and throbs. He feels Kevin tighten around him and knows the boy has achieved release, too.
Arthur and Kevin pull up their uniform trousers, tuck in their shirts, and are once again ready to observe the war games.
“You guys are really hot,” a voice says from the darkness. “And you’re prisoners of the Green forces.”
Kevin and Arthur look toward the sound. In the weak light of the coming dawn, they see nothing until the figure moves. Then, they see a soldier – a sniper – in a ghillie suit. He has been less than three feet from them since they arrived.
Kevin panics; Arthur remains calm. “You’re not supposed to be here,” he says. “And you can’t take umpires prisoner.” The armbands are still invisible in the dim light.
“Oh, heck,” the sniper says. “Please don’t report me? Please?”
“What’s your name, and what’s the story?” Arthur asks.
“Corporal Billy Sumter, sir. I figured this was the best place … and I knew if I could get to it, I could score big,” the sniper says. “The older guys … they follow the book … everything has to be just like they’ve always done it. But I figured, heck, if I do good, it’ll easier to get forgiven than to ask permission. So, last night, after roll call, I sneaked out. I found this place on the topographical charts. I plotted lines of sight. Did you know you could see the Blue and the Green headquarters from here?”
“No kidding, Corporal,” Arthur says. “That’s why we’re here.”
There is now just enough light to see the boy blush. “You’re just a boy!” Kevin says.
The sniper blushes, again. “Yeah. But I’m a champion. Champion marksman, that is. From Turnhill, Tennessee. Got recruited two years ago. My pa, he signed for me. I’m sixteen, though. That ain’t a boy where I’m from.”
“Sorry, that’s not what I meant,” Kevin says. “Uh, I’m sixteen, too…”
“Look,” the boy says, “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 says. “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 agrees.
“He was cute,” Kevin says that evening. “And he got really hard from watching us … I could see. How come you didn’t ask if he wanted to get together, later?”
“Because he is a soldier, Kevin. A corporal … young for that, but probably because he is a sniper. Never, never may an officer have sex with an enlisted man.”
“But he’s not in your company…” Kevin is still puzzled.
“Doesn’t matter,” Arthur says. “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 grins as Kevin stares at the older boy’s cammies, bulging again at the crotch.
Speculative Fiction. While not exactly Sci-Fi, such stories tell the tale of our world from a “What If” viewpoint. Can you spot them all? Let David know: David dot McLeod at CastleRoland dot net. He deserves your feedback.
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