Published: 12 Aug 2019
Part III: For Always
For years, Hummers had been manufactured overseas by Opal-Fiat, but this one had been made in an American factory. The government’s economic recovery plans of the early 21st century had led to many of America’s manufacturing plants being owned by foreign companies, like China, which still held trillions of dollars of USA debt. However, the plans had preserved some domestic manufacturing capabilities.
Kevin eases 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 sits in the passenger seat. He wears a baseball cap pulled low over his face. He hates having to hide his relationship with Kevin; however, it is absolutely necessary. Tutoring the boy at the Post Library is a legitimate reason to meet. Every carrel and every table is occupied by soldiers tutoring younger soldiers and the children of soldiers. The public school system long ago became little more than a place to hold children until they were of draft age; there is little pretense that education is part of the schools. While about half of schoolchildren can read and write, it is unlikely that a schoolteacher of the last century would have accepted their handwriting, grammar, or spelling.
The self-styled education lobby is powerful enough that they control even the schools on military posts. The Army fought back by making it clear that tutoring and mentoring were expected uses of officers’ and senior NCOs’ free time.
Arthur and Kevin look forward to their two evenings a week, and the occasional Sunday afternoon. They sit opposite one another at a small table, and can express their feelings and desires only by brushing the back of the other’s hand, or sliding one knee across another. It is as frustrating as it is satisfying, and both boys long for something better.
It is, therefore, a welcome event when Kevin’s father asks 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 depart in the van and within minutes of Arthur’s arrival, the boys are in Kevin’s room. Kevin is wearing gym clothes; he is naked within seconds. Arthur fumbles with the buttons of his shirt while Kevin loosens Arthur’s belt and tugs down his trousers.
“You have got to get something besides those issue skivvies.” The boy laughs. “I’m thinking maybe some of those really tight, low-cut, short boxer-briefs, that would show about this much of your bottom.” He draws his fingers across the lower inch of Arthur’s now bare bottom.
“You’d rather see me in briefs than naked?” Arthur asks.
“I’d rather see you in full battle rattle than not at all,” Kevin says. He kisses Arthur, hard. “And, yes, I’d like to see you in sexy underwear.” Kevin pauses, there is a catch in his voice when he adds, “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 breaks; he begins to cry.
Arthur pulls the boy tight to him, lowers his head, and kisses 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 stops crying and looks hard at Arthur. “For always?” he whispers.
“If that’s what you want,” Arthur says.
Kevin chokes out a “yes.”
Cadre
“At ease, soldiers!” Brigadier General Eck’s voice rings through the whispers and murmurs that fill the auditorium. The monthly commander’s call was last week. Another meeting of the regiment so soon after is unusual; and, given the recent resurgence of the Mujahedeen in Afghanistan, is a little unsettling, as well. Seats clatter and boots shuffle as the nearly two thousand men and women sit. The colonel takes the microphone from its stand, and walks to the center of the stage.
“The regiment has been ordered to deploy to Afghanistan in support of Coalition operations. Departure is at 0900 ten days from now: a week from Thursday. You will travel by train to New Orleans and then will embark on the USS Patriot Oak. You will be deployed and will serve as a unit.”
The general pauses for a moment. “I will not be joining you. This plastic leg” – he knocks the microphone against his thigh, creating a hollow thunk – “well, it’s okay for the garden spot of Fort Riley…” He pauses 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 be 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 general says to the small group sitting in the front row. He sits on the edge of the stage. “You and I, plus carefully selected officers and NCOs from other infantry regiments will form a cadre to train a wave of new recruits: the first of the 14-year-old draftees.”
The stunned looks on the faces of the officers and NCOs give him pause. “I know 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 adding stars to your 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 14-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.”
General Eck’s voice takes on an even more serious tone. “It’s nearly certain that all of you will see combat. I suspect you 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 our losses have been, not only in Afghanistan, but also in the Horn of Africa, Iran, the Balkans, and Korea.”
Recruiting Trip
Kevin pleads to be allowed to drive. Arthur refuses. Looking around and seeing that they were alone, Kevin presses his body into Arthur’s and kisses him. “Please? You know you can’t refuse me when I’m being cute.”
Arthur returns 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 you couldn’t resist me…” Something in Arthur’s eyes stops whatever Kevin was going to say. There is a long silence. “You’re not sponsoring me because you love me … or because I’m cute … are you?”
Arthur shakes his head.
“You’re sponsoring me … because I’ll someday be … not driving … but commanding soldiers who drive them,” the boy says. Arthur nods.
“Does that mean I won’t be in armor?” Kevin asks. It is his boyhood dream to command a tank company … to become a 21st century General George Patton.
“Probably not,” Arthur says. “Tanks need too much fuel … high energy-density fuel … gasoline, diesel. The UAVs run on hydrogen. The army hasn’t bought a new tank in nearly ten years.”
“I know that. I just don’t want to know it,” Kevin says. “There’s not been civilian gasoline for three years, and now, even 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, caught a lot of people unprepared. Now, there is a waiting list for permits to convert gasoline or diesel vehicles to hydrogen and a wait of up to a year.
The sound of the bay door opening jolts Kevin and Arthur back to today. Two soldiers, equipped for desert warfare, complete with M1G rifles, enter. They aren’t in full battle rattle – the soldier’s complete complement of arms and equipment – but are 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 speaks. They both stand at attention a dozen feet from the UAV.
Boys … sixteen … Kevin’s age, Arthur thinks. “At ease, soldiers,” he says. “Weapon keys, please?”
Startled, the corporal hands Arthur the two USB keys for their rifles. Arthur inserts them into his PDA, and then returns them. Acknowledging the boy’s puzzlement, Arthur says. “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 two today and three more, tomorrow.
“This trip is important. Not for me, and not for you. Not immediately, anyway. It’s important for the Army, and it’s important for the Infantry. Even though the draft age is now 14, 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 says. “Volunteers– like Jon … uh, Private Casey and me – we show initiative sooner than draftees do.” He and Private Casey rack their M1G rifles next to the waist gunners’ positions. Never is a soldier’s weapon out of arm’s reach except when the soldier is in the shower, and then it is not more than 10 feet away.
‘Bright boy,’ Arthur thinks. “You have the right of it, Corporal. Okay, let’s get on the road.”
Arthur keeps the Urban Assault Vehicle at a steady 65 miles per hour. Its high-intensity headlights are powerful enough that he couldn’t outdrive them, even on this road. In the seat beside him, Kevin dozes. Two soldiers sleep in the waist gunner positions just behind him.
At 0630, Arthur slows the UAV and turns into the exit lane. “We’re stopping?” Kevin asks when the change in the vehicle’s speed wakes him.
“In the plan,” Arthur says. “Hydrogen-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 securing the vehicle, Arthur enters the restaurant attached to the fueling station. The boys are paying attention to their food, and do not see him. He watches them as the cashier processes his procurement card. They’re lovers, he realizes as he sees Santos and Casey trade gestures, giggles, and grins.
“Twenty miles to the city limits. Cadet? Please call the recruiting sergeant; his number is at the top of the call list.” Arthur hands Kevin his PDA and glances at the UAV’s GPS screen. “Tell him we’re fifteen minutes out and ask for a beacon, or at least driving instructions to the school.”
‘Cadet, he called me,’ Kevin thinks. ‘It’s going to be a long day.’
An hour later, the UAV sits at one end of an old stadium once used for football. Students file into the end-zone bleachers behind it. Piles of hay bales sit at the opposite end of the field, where goalposts once stood. Santos, Casey, and Eck stand on top of the UAV. Loud, Tiano-rock music plays through the public address system that is part of the vehicle’s psyops, or psychological operations, package. Santos and Casey have their M1G’s; Kevin holds a wireless microphone.
Kevin shuts down the music and begins 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 stand and cheer at that last remark, spurred perhaps by the enthusiasm in Kevin’s voice. Kevin hands 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 doesn’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 1980s and1990s 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 hands 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 is Arthur’s cue. From the command seat inside the UAV, he manually fires a MikeRock at one of the hay bales. When the smoke and hay settle, there is a ten-foot circle of scorched grass where the pile of hay had been.
It is a long day, but a fun one. They visit two high schools, and put on shows that include 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 are destroyed with MikeRocks, and set ablaze with smoke grenades. After each demo, Casey, Santos, and Eck answer questions from the boys and girls in the crowd.
“One more stop, if you will, sir,” the recruiting sergeant says. He takes Kevin’s seat in the front of the vehicle. Kevin is crowded in the gunners’ positions with Santos and Casey. They’re lovers, Kevin realizes. I thought so at breakfast…Hmmm.
“Here we are,” the recruiter says. “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 asks.
“Here, okay?” the sergeant asks. 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 says. I can’t invite him to breakfast,’ he thinks, ‘but I’ll bet he’d like it if I did. This way, it’s official.
“Yes, sir,” the sergeant says. Smart lieutenant, he thinks, especially for a baby brown bar. Wonder what NCO trained him.
Arthur steps away from the registration desk. “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 says. He understands and Arthur understands – the request, the ‘can I count on you’ is a mark of trust; trust that must be returned.
I don’t think they would want to go out, anyway, Arthur thinks. I’m sure, now, that they’re lovers, and they probably don’t get many opportunities … of course, neither do Kevin and I. A thought occurred to him, Do you suppose they suspect that Kevin and I…
The motel sports the usual placards urging guests to conserve water by not asking for fresh towels and linen every day. “We can’t help, there,” Kevin says. “We’re staying only one night. I could feel very unpatriotic about this situation…” He waits for Arthur’s reaction, but Arthur doesn’t even smile.
“Okay, I’ll ask,” Kevin says. “May I shower with you?”
“You bet,” Arthur says. Kevin sticks out his tongue, but then grins.
Arthur turns on the water just long enough to get them both wet, and then turns it off. He fills one hand from a bottle of body-wash gel, rubs his hands together and then begins scrubbing the foam onto Kevin’s chest. Kevin locks his eyes with Arthur’s, and watches as Arthur runs soapy hands under his arms, across his back, down to his bottom. Kevin was hard before he stepped into the shower. When Arthur soaps his bottom, and slides a finger between the cheeks, lightly touching Kevin’s anus, the boy almost comes. “Wait,” he gasps, and steps back.
Arthur takes more gel from the bottle. “Ready?” Kevin nods, and Arthur soaps the boy’s tummy and groin, being very careful not to touch Kevin’s penis. Arthur kneels, and massages the foam over Kevin’s legs and feet and then back up his legs to his bottom. Arthur stands. “Wash me?”
Kevin soaps his own hands. After washing Arthur’s front, rather than trying to reach around the older boy, Kevin orders, “Turn around.”
“Why?” Arthur asks, disingenuously.
“You know why!” Kevin says. “My arms aren’t long enough to wash your back without my dick touching you … and I’m not quite ready to come, that’s why.”
Arthur grins, kisses the boy quickly, and turns. Kevin’s hands make their way up and down his back, across his bottom, and then – just for a moment – between his cheeks. “You gonna fuck me?” Arthur whispers.
“You want?” Kevin asks.
“Soon as we wash off the soap,” Arthur says, and turns the water on once more – cold.
“Shit!” Kevin exclaims. He rubs himself briskly, using his hands as a squeegee to rub off the soap. Arthur does the same, turns off the water, and steps from the shower.
“You said…” Kevin begins.
“Yeah, but I didn’t mean standing in the shower. Besides, you’re not hard anymore. Come on, let me dry you.”
Santos and Casey look around the room, taking in the flat screen TV and the single king bed. “You don’t think…” Casey begins.
Santos understands. “That the recruiter knew we were a couple? Not likely. Besides, it was the lieutenant who checked us in.”
“Oh shit,” Casey says, “do you think he…”
Santos stops 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 says. “We’ve got to eat…”
Santos looks at Casey. “I could live on nothing but your love, you know?”
Casey grins. “Maybe you can live on love, but I want a steak!”
Santos nuzzles Casey’s neck, sucking gently so as not to leave a mark. Casey is hard.
“So, you’re pretty sure the lieutenant and that cadet, Eck…?”
“Yeah, I’m pretty sure. I mean, Eck couldn’t keep his eyes off the lieutenant when they were together and, he looked really, really happy when we checked in.”
In the next room, two boys lie on the bed, embracing. Arthur feels Kevin swelling again.
“Gonna fuck me, now?” the older boy asks. In answer, Kevin kneels between Arthur’s legs, and rolls one of the ubiquitous olive drab condoms onto his penis. He reaches between Arthur’s legs and smoothes lube from the equally ubiquitous and equally olive drab tin onto Arthur’s bottom and onto the condom. Looking into Arthurs eyes, the boy leans forward. Arthur pulled his legs toward his chest, leaving an easy target for Kevin. The boy’s penis finds the target. Kevin grunts and pushes in. Arthur release his legs to fall onto Kevin’s shoulders, and clasps the boy’s butt with his hands. He pulls, Kevin pushes; the boy’s penis sinks deep into Arthur.
Kevin gasps.
“Dead cats,” Arthur says. “Dead cats.”
Kevin giggles; the crisis is over. He isn’t going to come right away. He pulls back, and pushes forward again. It isn’t the image of dead cats that keeps him from orgasm; it is the knowledge that Arthur wants Kevin to take his time, to fuck the older boy slowly, to enjoy a slow rise to climax, and then to explode with pleasure like the boy had not known before he met Arthur. It had taken weeks for Kevin to understand. Arthur’s love for him means that Arthur wants Kevin to experience the greatest possible pleasure, regardless of the role that either takes in their lovemaking. “Top” and “bottom” are only technical terms, and ones they don’t use. In bed, they are partners.
With that thought firmly in his mind, Kevin slowly, cautiously, almost clinically, penetrates Arthur. ‘His pleasure is my pleasure,’ Kevin thinks. ‘I’m not dominating him; we … we are making love. I can give him pleasure at the same time I take pleasure. It’s the same when he penetrates me. He knows how to make me happy, how to make me cum with my dick pressed between our hard tummies…’ Kevin pushes the thought aside and pushes deeper and deeper into Arthur.
They might as well not have showered: in the un-air-conditioned motel room, sweat quickly beads on their bodies. This doesn’t slow them; they are accustomed to the heat and the humidity. Air-conditioning had been declared unpatriotic at the same time the hydrogen liquefaction program began. The energy that once went into cooling USA homes and businesses now goes into creating hydrogen fuel for vehicles. The thousands of elderly people and children who died in overheated homes does not reach the news media.
None of this, of course, is in either Arthur or Kevin’s mind. Arthur clutches the boy tightly to him, gasping as Kevin’s penis presses against his prostate. Kevin flings his head back; the tendons in his neck are tight; his teeth were clenched. Dead cats! Dead cats! the boy thinks, but it is to no avail. “Oh, Arthur!” he cries as he slams his body strongly against Arthur’s. Arthur feels Kevin’s orgasm pulsing through his body; he feels the boy shudder with release; he feels his own orgasm pump against Kevin’s solid tummy as he pulls the boy close, close into him.
In the adjoining room, Jon and Ricky hear Kevin’s cry. They look at one another and grinned. “I told you so,” Ricky says.
Arthur and Kevin lie, gasping, on the bed. Arthur is the first to recover. “Shower?” he asks. Kevin laughs. He bends his head and licks 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 knows what he means.
Kevin sits on the banquette; Arthur, across the table, facing him. They are served water, no ice, no straws, no paper coaster or napkin, and are reading the menu. Kevin looks up and then grins. “Guess who just came into the restaurant.”
“Since they weren’t here when we got here, my guess would be Santos and Casey,” Arthur says. “Don’t stare at them!”
“What do you suppose two growing boys, who had only a sandwich and soda for lunch, found to keep them away from food for the past two hours?” Kevin asks.
“Unless I’m badly mistaken, the same thing that kept these two growing boys away from food for two hours.”
“They see us,” Kevin says. He lifts the menu to hide his face. “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?”
“Permission to touch you, soldier?” Santos asks. Casey stands at attention at the foot of the bed, his M1G held at port arms. The night vision goggles on his helmet cover his eyes. Bandoliers cross his naked chest. His equipment belt rides low on his equally bare hips.
“Yes, Corporal,” Casey says. His voice is low. He does not flinch when Santos’s finger touches his cheek and draws a dark bar of zinc oxide under each eye. He does flinch with the memory of pain when Santos touches the tattooed rainbow arcing over crossed rifles on Casey’s right shoulder.
Santos sees the flinch. “Does it still hurt? I’m sorry…”
“No, Corporal. It doesn’t hurt. And I don’t mind the pain.” The tattoo matches one on Santos’s right shoulder. Perhaps 70% of the soldiers in their company wear the crossed rifles of the infantry. More than 35% of their mates wear a rainbow above the rifles. Not all are gay; Casey knows at least two who wear the rainbow over the rifles for the same reason many wear a black POW ribbon. It is a symbol of solidarity, an unspoken promise never to forget a mate.
Santos snaps off the lights. Casey watches as the ghostly image in his night vision lenses strips, and then stands close before him. “Inspection, arms!” the image whispers. Casey slams open the chamber of his M1G; Santos snatches the rifle from his hands in a practiced move. He closes the chamber, and leans the weapon against the bed beside his own.
“Is that gun loaded,” Santos asks.
Casey knows what he means. The World War II mantra is 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 giggles. “So’s yours, I think.”
Casey stands at rigid attention. His thumbs are pressed against his legs where the seams of his pants would have been. His heels are together and his feet spread at a 45-degree angle. His shoulders are back, and his chin is tilted slightly upward. His eyes look straight ahead. Santos’s head, green in the artificial light of the night-vision goggles, drops below Casey’s field of view. Casey feels, but does not see, Santos’s lips slide over him.
“Si, vaquero!” Casey cries.
In the adjoining room, Arthur and Kevin hear Casey’s voice. They looked at one another and grin. “I told you so,” Arthur says.
Early the next morning, Arthur switches the TV to a weather channel. He doesn’t expect to get much information: detailed forecasts are classified. Clear and cold with snow tonight was all he got. He resolves to check in with the Fort Riley command post later in the day using the secure link in the UAV. “Ready?” he asks Kevin.
Kevin fakes a limp as he walks across the room. He grins and kissed Arthur. “I’m glad we had last night.”
Arthur squeezes Kevin’s bottom. “And this morning?”
“And this morning, too,” Kevin says.
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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