The Flying Eunuchs Part 1: The Desperate Dive

This is a story I started to write almost eleven years ago as I sat in my home in Canada and watched the Gulf War on TV. The war was over before my story was, so in light of the current situation I have resurrected it and tried to finish it. Any readers who are more familiar with the Military, their equipment or practices, will probably find lots of technical errors. For these I apologize, but that is not the point of the story.

It is not my intent to make any sort of political statement here, especially with our nation on the very brink of war once again. Frankly I do not know, nor I think does anyone at this point in time, if we will attack Iraq or not; the only thing I know for sure is that it is extremely unfortunate that sooner or later it will probably happen, like it or not.

By the time the last part of this story is posted (there are only 6 parts), we may very well know more than we do now. If so please remember as you read that this story was written based on what we know on November 20, 2002.

"Jeff! Pull up! Pull up, for Christ sake! Jeff, you crazy tractor jockey, PULL OUT!" the voices of three airmen were screaming in Jeff Allen’s helmet headset. He heard them, but he didn't hear them. He was aware that they were screaming at him, but he wasn't aware. Or maybe he just didn't care.

It was the late January, 1991. Jeff Allen and Steve Price had been flying missions not unlike this one for just two weeks; two weeks in which they had earned themselves quite a reputation for being skilled, enthusiastic, dedicated fighter pilots. Between them they had shot down three MIG’s, blown up literally dozens of strategic warehouses and military sites including an air base. In spite of their ages, which was half just about every other pilot’s on the carrier, they were respected airmen and acknowledged as two of the best F-14 pilots on the ship.

“Jeff, fer God’s sake! Maybe you wanna die, but I’m not ready yet. If you’re gonna plow this bus into the ground, stop and let me out first, ok?” the voice came into the young pilot’s headset from his “second seat.”
“Just keep those guns firing, Lieutenant,” he ordered. He really didn’t outrank Marty, they were both Lieutenants; but Jeff was the pilot and that meant regardless of rank he was in charge. “You might want to fire that last missile before we get much lower,” he added. Then his attention turned to what he was doing instead of what everyone was screaming at him. And what precisely was he doing?

"Holy shit!" he said to himself. "What the hell am I doing here? What the roaring fuck am I doing?" But what he was doing was not the issue. What he was doing was plummeting straight down from forty thousand feet at mach 2, guns blazing, throttle wide open and accelerating wildly, with flack and shells exploding so close to his F-14 Tomcat that the shock waves were knocking the plane all over the sky. Why he was doing it, well, that wasn't quite so clear. There were three very good reasons why he shouldn't be here at all. He was a university student in good standing, and even though he was in the ROTC program, the call-ups hadn't even come close to students. He had volunteered! He was a small town farm boy from the Midwest, and it was a United States Navy jet fighter bomber he was about to burrow halfway to China Kamikaze style. And the U.S. Navy usually didn't put students in such a position of danger and authority. He had begged! Oh, yes, and the third reason: He was a faggot, or at least he thought he was, and the U.S. Navy doesn't take kindly to faggots in their midst. Faggots were very simply not welcome in the US Navy. Period.

And yet here he was, the altimeter spinning crazily towards zero with alarms howling while that fifty million dollar weapon of destruction streaked out of the sky right at a huge anti-aircraft installation somewhere in Iraq, dodging and jerking partly in response to Jeff’s control, partly due to the buffeting of the shells all around them. But he hardly saw his target. Instead he saw over and over, as if being replayed by a VCR, his squadron mate, his best friend, the one he'd grown up with, being hit by a small missile in the port wing tank and disappearing in a plume of smoke. "NO-O-O-O-O!" he had yelled, and immediately went into a dive at the guns responsible for Steve's demise. He was dead and Jeff knew it. He had to be dead, or worse, captured by these bathrobe clad Arabs that were turning the world upside down and refusing to admit what the Americans thought to be the inevitable.

They were on what should have been a routine mission, escorting three B-52 bombers as they made their routine run to drop their bombs on the missile sites that the latest reconnaissance flights had reported. A squadron of four Navy Tomcats had begun the mission, leaving the deck of the carrier in the Persian Gulf and meeting the B-52's along with three Air force F-15's just as they crossed the border into Iraq. Their job was to fight off any enemy attacks either from the air or the ground; today there had been none. The mission was over and they were heading home, having left the bombers after they were safely out of harm’s way and heading back to their base in Turkey. They had been flying very high in hopes of avoiding precisely what had happened; evidently the Iraqi’s had anticipated the attack and had got their hands on some firepower that could reach a lot higher into the sky than they had realized.

Jeff had watched part of Steve's wing come off, had seen the flare of flame followed by the cloud of smoke, saw the plane head earthward. He had to be dead, and Jeff went crazy. Marty and he would be dead in a few more seconds too, but those bastards would never shoot another American jet. They wouldn't win the war, but they'd know, at least for a split second, that they'd pissed off Lt. Jeff Allen. As they continued their wild plunge toward the ground, Jeff’s mind raced back to when it had all started. Perhaps it's true what they say: that when you're about to die your whole life flashes before your eyes.

Jeff had never thought very much about going to college. His dad had died when he was 12, and his mom wasn't much on academic things, often saying her boys would be much better off going to a vocational school and learning a useful trade, then getting a job so they could start their own lives. From the time he was 13 Jeff had worked summers and weekends on a farm just outside of town to help with the family finances.

Jeff had good grades in high school, no small thanks to Steve. He had tutored his friend, nagged him, and Steve’s parents had encouraged him, saying he had a good head on his shoulders that it would be a shame to waste. In their senior year, Steve started talking about which college they'd go to, if they had the choice. "We?" Jeff questioned. "Where did you get the idea WE were going to any college?"
"Jeff," he stated clearly and simply, "you gotta go! It'll be a blast!"
"But I've got no money, and I know my mom can't help me. Since my dad died she’s had it rough keeping the house and all."
"No problem. I've got a pretty good college fund. It's not enough for one, let alone two; but I'll share it and we can both work. You gotta come, Jeff. You know you want to, and you know you can." Well, Jeff certainly did know he wanted to, but he wasn't at all sure he could. But Steve had convinced him it wouldn't do any harm to at least fill out the applications, so the two friends set about filling and mailing.

When they were both accepted by North Carolina State, Steve was as giddy as a small child. "Wow!" he gushed, "N.C. State, here we come! See, Jeff? I told you you could do it."
"Wait a minute, Steve,” Jeff said. “I haven't done anything yet, except make a commitment I can't keep. My mom doesn't even know I applied; and when she finds out, there's gonna be hell to pay."
"She'll come around, Jeff. When she finds out you've got a chance to go to North Carolina State, she'll be just as excited as I am."

Well, Steve was right. Jeff’s mom was indeed very excited, but not in the way he'd have preferred. "So," she said with disappointment written all over her face, "you’ll be leaving right after graduation to go to some unknown school in North Carolina. Where in the world do you think I’m gonna get twenty thousand dollars so you can go to school?"
"It'll be more like fifty thousand or more," Jeff corrected, "and that’s with me working to help. But it's not some unknown school, Mom. North Carolina State is good as any in the country for Engineering."
"Well, if they're that good they can survive without you, and they're gonna have to because I don’t have that kind of money. I was sorta hoping you’d stick around and help out here. Your brother’s still in school, you know.”

“Mike’s doing fine,” Jeff countered. “He can take my job on the farm until he finishes school. Besides, Mom, by the time he’s out of school I’ll have my degree, or almost, and I can help him to go to a good school too.”
“I think Mike is being a little more realistic,” Mom argued. “I don’t think he’s planning to go to college.”
“Neither was I, Mom. But when a chance like this comes along I’ve gotta try. I’ve just got to, Mom.”

Steve, with his parents' help, had convinced him to go anyway. They handed over a portion of Steve's school fund so that they'd both have no financial worries for the first term anyway. Steve didn't have near enough for himself to go all the way through; and now that there were two of them dipping into the shallow well, the money would barely last the first year. But that was the kind of friendship Steve and Jeff had always had. He was truly a believer literally in the phrase "one for all and all for one," and he gave his friend the money cheerfully. So two months after graduation during which they had worked twelve hours a day on a construction gang, two pretty excited 18-year-old’s were on a plane bound for Raleigh, North Carolina.

During their orientation, they had discovered there was a large ROTC program on campus. They quickly deduced that this was the answer to their financial problems and went to sign up. If they were successful they would have a chance, just a chance mind you, for a full scholarship. It would take longer because they’d have to spend some time on active duty, but it sounded exciting to two eighteen-year-old’s who really had nothing better to do anyway.

Jeff remembered clearly filling out one of the many forms, and stopping dead when he encountered the question: "ARE YOU A HOMOSEXUAL?" It would not be long before that question came back to haunt him again and again.

Jeff didn't know why he hesitated, but he did. Perhaps he knew the truth then, but he didn't admit it, even to himself. And it was easy to deny because he'd never had a sexual experience with either gender, never really even given more than a passing thought to sex. So he answered "NO" and continued. But the question and his answer haunted him. That was the first of many confrontations and he was having a great deal of trouble with the whole idea. Was he really gay after all? There was ample evidence, if one were to face the facts honestly, that he was. But there was also ample evidence that he wasn't. Hadn't he joined in all the teenage homophobic jokes, laughing just as heartily as any of his friends? Didn't he discuss actively and sincerely along with all his friends how he'd beat the snot out of any queer that tried anything with him? And hadn't he dated girls? True, the dates had never turned out very well, had never netted him a roll in the hay, but that was only because he just didn't hit it off with any of the girls he'd chosen to date; it just hadn't 'clicked.'

"I'm sorry, boys," the recruiting officer said, "but this program is for kids who have had some military training in high school, like cadets or high school ROTC.
"But we didn't see anything in the literature we read," Steve protested. "Why were we allowed to get this far before we found out?"

The pompous little sergeant with the squeaky voice said he didn't know anything about that, but the purpose of the program was to develop future officers, and they simply did not have the qualifications. You’ll get your degree and be gone, he said, and Uncle Sam would be out all that training and money. They argued that they'd gladly sign a commitment to do a stint in the Services if that was all that was bothering him. They argued about human rights and how theirs were being violated; they lied and stated that they fully understood what was involved, that they really were planning a career in the military and this was one way of showing they meant it. But all was to no avail; this self righteous little shit had his rule book, and he wasn't about to give in to two pretty young looking country boys.

With heavy hearts the two freshmen saw an excellent chance go up in smoke. They were about to leave when a voice from behind them said, "What's the trouble here, Sergeant?" Squeaky-voice suddenly lost all his pomposity, snapped to attention and saluted.

"No problem, Sir," he replied in a voice that was suddenly three octaves deeper. "These two gentlemen don’t have the necessary qualifications for ROTC, and I was just explaining that we can't take them in the program.”
“And why not, Sergeant?” he said as he picked up the two applications and perused them.

Colonel Jenkins introduced himself as the commanding officer, and it's a good thing, because neither of the two applicants had any concept of rank; but he was without doubt someone of some importance. Jeff would have been satisfied to shake the man's hand and leave, but not Steve. He immediately went to work on this man, using all the arguments that had failed before. This time he was more effective. "You certainly seem enthusiastic," Col. Jenkins observed. Seeing a light at the end of the tunnel, they both poured on the bullshit and charm. They articulated how they wanted to be a part of this great country’s military, and it seemed only right that they give a little of themselves first. They had something to offer, they said, and they wanted to show their willingness to serve their country and didn’t think it fair that they couldn’t just because they’d had no chance to do so in high school. "There have been precedents," the C.O. reminded squeaky-voice. "I think you'd better sign them up, at least for one year."

"But sir, they..."
"Sign them up, Sergeant."
"Yes sir." Another salute, the two grateful boys thanked the man and assured him he wouldn't be sorry, he said he was counting on it, and he was gone, leaving two smiling recruits to a now rather unfriendly recruiting officer.

It wasn't long before the two young would-be soldiers demonstrated that they did indeed have something to offer. They ended up in the Navy ROTC program, which amused them somewhat. Navy in Raleigh, with the nearest ocean over a hundred miles away? No matter though, they were in and were enjoying it. They completed boot camp over the Christmas break that first year. Of course that meant they had to opt out of the spring term, but they didn’t mind. They didn't have to do it so soon, but they couldn't really afford to go home anyway, and they reasoned that things might go a little easier over the holiday season if they had something to do.

They were very, very mistaken. The drill sergeant assigned to that particular class was half animal to begin with, and having to spend his Christmas season nursing a bunch of snot-nosed university kids whom he'd soon be saluting as officers wasn't his idea of a great time, and he wasn't shy about sharing his moods. Long before the ordeal was over Steve and Jeff were both having serious doubts about the wisdom of the commitment they’d made. They somehow made it, but not without a good many times when they never thought they’d graduate alive.

Graduation from boot camp was one of those bittersweet experiences Jeff was never sure whether to remember with fondness or not. The pair were so proud they were busting. They had already, at least in their own minds, overcome pretty formidable odds to get here; they had endured all the vigorous training the Navy could dish out; and they got to wear their dress uniforms for the first time. And there's the rub, so they say.

When Steve appeared in full dress, he was as handsome as a god, and there was that feeling again. It was the same feeling Jeff had felt from time to time as long as the two had been friends. The feeling descended on him like a cloud and enveloped him, rendering him incapable of breathing or speaking. It was the same feeling he’d had the very first time he'd seen Steve when they were only five; the same feeling he'd had the day Steve had come to school dressed all in white and they had met and become friends; the same feeling he'd experienced the first time he'd seen him in his Cub Scout uniform when they were seven. At that age the two little boys had no concept of love or sex, or their connection. At that age little Jeff had no idea what that special feeling meant, only that Steve, and only Steve, could invoke it. And he had an almost irresistible urge to touch him; his matchstick legs, his spindly arms protruding from the short sleeves of his shirt, his coal black hair that always cascaded gently over his slender neck, barely touching his broad shoulders.

When Jeff had somewhat recovered from the shock of seeing Steve for the first time in his dress uniform, he said with admiration, "Steve, you look like a million!" Steve’s brown eyes sparkled as he went into his now familiar act. "You really think so?" he said in a falsetto voice as his wrist went limp and he flapped it about. "Would you like to kiss me?"

What Steve didn't know, what Jeff could never tell him, was that he did indeed want to kiss him. He wanted to kiss him at that moment more than he wanted to live! He had by that time come to know what those feelings meant, but he also knew he could never fulfill their meaning. He knew now that he loved Steve; but neither of them was gay, so he pushed the desire away again, telling himself he wasn't feeling it at all, that they were just very good friends and He was very proud of his buddy.

For years, ever since about thirteen years old, Jeff had denied what he knew deep down to be true. For years he had heard their schoolmates refer to the two devoted friends as "the queers" because they were always together. He knew they really didn’t mean it, but it was there just the same. For years they had contented themselves with a handshake, a pat on the back, the odd male to male embrace after one of them had scored a goal, aced a test, or otherwise did something to justify such behavior. So today was no different. Jeff grinned and did what he’d often done: he joined in Steve's little game and flapped his own wrist, telling him over and over how outrageously handsome he was.

What Jeff had no way of knowing was that Steve felt very much the same way; but his feelings were as confusing to him as were his friend’s. Steve had a pretty good relationship with his father, as father/son relationships go; but it wasn’t so good that Steve felt free to discuss anything so personal. In fact he had tried to bring it up one time when he was 15 or 16, but Steve’s dad had completely missed the point that his son was very concerned, very troubled by something. He had patiently explained one more time the ravages of puberty, how it could be very upsetting to a young boy, but how it would all work out in the end. Steve had listened dutifully, had thanked his father for explaining it all, and had realized that whatever was going on with him was not going to get resolved by explaining it to his dad. So Steve had remained confused.

As the two young adolescents grew and matured, each in his own mind knew that his feeling for the other was a long way beyond friendship; but each was more than willing to keep those feelings to himself rather than take the risk of destroying what they had. Neither had ever dreamed that the other had experienced similar feelings. Both had assumed that the other was completely, totally, perfectly straight; so each resigned himself to a lifetime of wondering what might have been.

Steve's parents had flown in for the graduation, but there was no sign of Jeff’s mom. He had written and invited her, but it had only been a courtesy invitation. She simply couldn’t afford a trip like that and Jeff had known it when he sent the invitation. The one he really wanted to see in the crowd of visitors he would never see again in this lifetime: his dad. He could just imagine how proud the man would be, how he would bore everyone silly as he extolled over and over all the accomplishments of his son, as if he were the first boy in the universe ever to graduate a US Navy boot camp. But he was gone, and Jeff knew it was high time he faced that fact and got on with his own life.

Steve's folks as usual filled the gap, and exhibited the same pride in Jeff that they did their own son. And the boys were proud, too. Not only had they completed the rigors of boot camp, but they had received their provisional commissions! Of course that's the way it works in ROTC, and being the Naval Reserve it wasn't really the same as active service, but they still carried the rank of Midshipman. Soon, it turned out, circumstances would cause a promotion to Ensign, a full Navy rank, and then in an astonishingly short time, to Lieutenant. Since they’d missed the spring term anyway, they had agreed to go into active service immediately until the end of the summer, when they would go back to school.

By the end of their first summer training camp in ROTC, Steve and Jeff had learned to fly, had soloed in a jet fighter, and were learning to take off and land from a carrier. They didn’t even realize at the time how incredibly unusual that was, but they were to find out soon enough. It seems the US Navy at the time were suffering a critical shortage of pilots and were anticipating possible action in the Middle East sooner rather than later, so just like in war time they were willing to accept any and all who showed a talent for flying. But that got the two young country boys into a situation with the Navy brass.

Steve and Jeff found themselves in a meeting with Col. Jenkins, Commander Alward, their flight instructor, Admiral Zeidman, and a handful of other high ranking officials of the Navy. “I don’t even understand why we’re here,” Admiral Zeidman stated impatiently. “These two young men are still college students, so what in the world are they doing flying around in Tomcats?”
“Because they’re good, sir,” Commander Alward replied. “They’re damn good.”
“I’m sure there are lots of other men who are just as good,” the admiral speculated. “If they’re so good, then in my experience they’ll also be good at other things, like their studies. So why can’t we just let them finish their degrees and then go directly to OCS?”
“Because we need them now, Sir,” a Captain McGregor said. “We need them ready to go into active duty should the need arise, and that’s what they want as well.”

“Is that true?” the surprised admiral questioned.
“Yes, sir,” Jeff and Steve chorused as they stood rigidly at attention.
“You understand that what the Navy is trying to do could delay your degree for years?”
“Yes, sir,” they both replied.
“You could find yourselves on a carrier somewhere in the ocean when all your classmates are back at school taking tests and going to football games. Is that what you want?”
“Yes, sir,” Jeff replied. “We seem to have a talent for flying, sir,” Steve added. “We’ve been told there is a shortage of good pilots in the Navy, and we have no definite plans for the future anyway, so for the time being we’ll just plan on becoming Navy fliers. We’ve been told that we could get a chance at the Navy academy, and if we do, that’s what we’d like to do, sir.”

“We did it in war time,” Col. Jenkins observed. “During WW II we took a lot of flyers wherever we could get them and put them in fighters. Some of them were not even Americans. They were commissioned officers regardless of their immigration status.”
“That was war time,” Zeidman reminded him. “The rules are all different during war time.”
“We could argue that there is a desperate shortage of good pilots,” Jenkins speculated.
“There are lots of personnel to fill those shortages,” Admiral Zeidman said. “Can’t we just commandeer some of those men and train them?”
“These two are already trained, sir,” Alward reminded him. “They’ve already proven that they can fly well. It would take as much as a year to get two more men up to speed, as enthusiastic as these two are. It’s that enthusiasm that’s hard to find.”

Admiral Zeidman surprised everyone at that point and ordered that the two young flyers be given their commission and continue their training. He justified the entire thing, of course, by declaring that the current shortage of flyers could be, if one were to stretch a point, declared a national emergency. There were conditions though. Steve and Jeff had to commit to a five year stint in the regular Navy after graduation. There were no papers signed; none were needed. Admiral Zeidman was not the kind of man anyone wanted to cross, and everyone knew it.

“I can never describe the feeling of power I get,” Jeff told his little brother whose eyes were growing so wide the eyeballs were in real danger of simply falling out. “There I am, sitting all alone, barely nineteen years old, in a multi-million dollar fighting machine high above the clouds, sitting on what amounts to two very powerful jet engines with wings.”

Flying seemed to come as naturally to Steve and Jeff as walking. Their instructors recognized their natural ability, and they pushed them to their limits. By the start of their second academic year, they were in the air every training weekend and many times in between. They were soon shooting targets at full power, dropping fake bombs flawlessly on ground and water targets, and even teaching others from time to time. At last, Jeff thought, he was excelling at something. Now, he thought, if only my father could see me. But that wasn’t going to happen and he found the idea quite depressing. The two boys went home for Christmas that second year, just for a few days. Jeff’s mom regarded him in his full dress uniform and the tears came to her eyes. “Your father would have been so proud,” she exclaimed.

His mom’s comment, the look on her face, the memories were too much. Suddenly the proud Naval officer in full dress uniform was a little boy again, crying his eyes out in his mother’s arms. “Why’d he have to die, Mom?” he wailed.
“Those things happen, son,” she said as she stroked his back lovingly. “I guess his work here on earth was finished.”
“But it wasn’t,” he argued. “Mike didn’t even get to know him like I did. He doesn’t hardly remember him at all!”
“Mike’s a fine boy,” Mom comforted. “He owes that to your father, and to you, Jeff. Your father instilled some fine values in your head, and you passed them on to Mike. That uniform you’re wearing and all that you’ve done is proof of that. Mike’ll be fine, son. He admires you just like you admired your father. You have to move on, Jeff, and you have to be strong for your brother.”

Jeff Allen was 12 when his father passed away. It seemed to him that one day he and his brother Mike were hunting, fishing, camping with their dad, and then he was gone as if he’d been magically transported into another dimension. Of course that’s precisely what happened. When Jeff got out of school that fateful day he walked to his brother’s elementary school to watch him play in a soccer game. But just as he arrived in front of the school his Uncle Robert pulled up to the curb and called him over to the car. “Go get Mike,” he ordered somberly without further explanation.
“He’s probably already on the soccer field,” Jeff protested. “He’ll likely be at least another hour.”
“Go get him now!” Uncle Robert ordered again. “You both need to come home right away.”

So that was that! Uncle Robert had never been the kind of uncle his nephews had warmed up to, but he had never been that abrupt before, so Jeff knew there was something seriously wrong. He had to practically drag Mike off the soccer field, but eventually he had convinced him that there was something serious going on. He was wrong though, there was nothing going on at all when they finally got home. Their mom told them very simply and calmly that their dad had suffered a massive stroke at work and was gone.

Just like that.

No fanfare, no preparation, no emotion, no nothing.

She didn’t cry, didn’t even seem that upset. Jeff realized years later that she was probably in shock, running on pure adrenaline; but at the time he was somewhat angry at her because it seemed to him that she didn’t even care. The most wonderful man in the entire universe was gone from the lives of two boys who adored him, and their mother didn’t even care! As hard as he had tried, Jeff had never completely forgiven his mother for that scene.

Jeff’s brother Mike was very excited when Steve and Jeff arrived home in their dress blue’s. He was sixteen, and he paraded him all over town showing him off like a trophy he'd just won in his many sports endeavors. His big brother, he told everyone who would listen, was a crack carrier pilot in the U.S. Navy. He laid it on pretty thick, exaggerating generously; but it felt so good to be appreciated and admired Jeff let him go, smiling and trying to act modest. In his mind he had nothing to be particularly proud of. He was pretty good and he knew it; but it was a natural talent, and the hard work was a pleasure for him because the rewards had been unbelievably delicious. Jeff had always believed that one had little right to be proud unless an achievement had been the result of great sacrifice, and flying was no sacrifice for Jeff and Steve. But hearing his little brother rant and rave about his flying prowess was a tonic for him, so he just revelled in the attention and secretly wished their father could be in the audience along with all the envious teens who were Mike’s friends.

Back in school after the winter break, Jeff sat at his tiny student desk and stared blankly at the Physics text before him. He had a major exam in the morning and he had to study. But how could he study when he couldn't even see the book? How could he think about school or exams after what had just happened? Things had been going pretty well for the two young students for the past few years and they believed they were well on their way to a very comfortable and normal lifestyle, and now this! What did it mean? Wasn't it just boyhood experimentation?

Jeff knew that, at twenty years old, he was far beyond so-called boyhood experimenting. He knew that what he'd just done had far more significance, far deeper meaning. But he still hadn't convinced himself of that fact yet. He was still telling himself that it had been some sort of mental lapse or something, and that tomorrow morning he'd wake up and all would be back to normal. But 'himself' wasn't buying it. As he came back to reality after re-living the past three hours over and over in his mind he realized he'd been crying, and now his textbook was damp with tears. Normally Jeff was very particular about his books, hoping to recoup some of his investment by re-selling the almost-new volumes; but tonight it didn't matter. Tonight the least of his worries was a few tear stains on a Physics book. Well, he thought, at least Andy isn't here to wonder what's going on.

Andy was Jeff’s roommate in the dorm. They got along all right, but they certainly weren't what you'd call good friends. Steve and Jeff had tried to get a room together when they first enrolled, but the rooms had been assigned alphabetically, so they ended up on opposite ends of the campus. At first Jeff had resented Andy for having come between him and his best friend, but eventually he realized that was stupid, so the two freshmen tried harder to get along. They both knew they could never be close because they were just too different, their interests in just about everything at completely opposite ends of the spectrum; but they tolerated each other and both worked at overlooking their differences. Eventually they got so that they could be civil, even at times enjoying their infrequent conversations and even studying together and helping each other when the need arose.

Steve and Jeff had been friends for so long neither of them could remember not knowing the other. They had been five years old, Jeff recalled as his plane continued to rocket towards Mother Earth, and in their first year in Public School. Steve was quite small for his age and quite intimidated by the social pressures and changes in his life brought about by starting school. He was, Jeff remembered thinking, a bit of a Mama's boy; but that was understandable. Jeff came to know Steve's parents well, and they were, he knew, wonderful people who worshipped their son. In those early years, and even now if he could find the strength to admit it, he often found himself wishing they could be his parents as well.

Steve's size and his withdrawn, homesick demeanor made him an easy mark for the ever present bullies in the first and second grades. And to make matters worse, Steve's loving mother always dressed her son immaculately, to the point that "sissy" was added to the growing list of nicknames his tormentors adopted. At five years old little Jeff Allen had no concept of sexuality or love, but even at that young age he felt strangely attracted to this handsome kid. He envied his clothes, his small size, and his good looks. He didn't even know this tiny fashion plate at the time, so he admired him from afar, fantasizing constantly that they were brothers.

Young Jeff observed neutrally the goings on between Steve and the other kids for several weeks. He didn't approve of what was happening so he had no desire to join in the fun, neither did he feel inclined to defend the unfortunate victim. To Jeff, who had himself been the object of no small amount of persecution, it was just one of those things that happen. So he went about his business and tried to ignore the whole affair; that is until Steve ended up in the mud.

Steve had come to school that morning dressed all in white: Pressed shorts, broadcloth shirt, knee socks, and new sneakers. Even at six years old, Jeff couldn't help noticing how disgustingly handsome he looked. Jeff was usually clean, but his wardrobe was much less expansive than Steve's, and today the beautiful child had taken his breath away and he found himself regarding this pint-sized adonis with a combination of envy and a secret desire to know him better. Looking back now, Jeff realized that what he felt was similar to what a Junior High boy might feel toward an attractive girl that he felt too intimidated to approach. So when he rounded the corner of the school building at recess just in time to see Steve, white clothes and all, being pushed into a mud puddle, Jeff flew into a rage. The sight of the spotless little boy and his white outfit being defiled for no good reason was too much for him, and he went charging into the group screaming at them, both arms flailing wildly.

That little altercation netted Steve and Jeff more than either expected. They both got a pretty good beating at the hands of the other boys; they got a free trip to the principal's office for fighting, and they had to be sent home because their clothes were torn and soiled beyond repair. At home Jeff got another beating, but it didn't matter, because he also got his wish: Steve and Jeff instantly became fast friends.

Suddenly Jeff felt a wave of deja vu as the Tomcat continued plummeting out of the sky at an unbelievable speed. He was doing precisely the same thing he’d done fifteen years ago. He had seen Steve, his best friend, on the receiving end of something over which he had no control and Jeff had gone ballistic again. This one was different though; this time it wasn’t a group of schoolboys inflicting scratches and bruises; this time it was for keeps and the loser, and probably the winner as well, would die! It was that revelation that started the process in Jeff’s head that would result in an attempt to pull out of the dive.

As the years flew by, the two boys became inseparable. They weren't particularly good athletes, but they played most sports offered young boys and always did their best, always played on the same team. Neither of them seemed to fit in with the other kids very well, but neither cared, because each had the friendship of the other and that was enough. They were seldom seen apart, to the point that those who didn't know better thought they were related in some way, a thought that thrilled young Jeff more than he could ever express. He and Steve even began to be included in many of each other's family activities, and very often slept over at one home or the other. As they became teenagers, a time when all kids know a little and think they know it all, they were often recipients of nicknames like 'queer' or 'faggot', but it didn't matter. They loved each other and being together, and what others said or thought didn't matter in the least. Oh, yes, there was one more thing about Steve that made the friendship a little unusual: Steve Price was black.

Steve came from a long line of African Americans. Somewhere in his ancestry there had evidently been a white man, and his genetic influence reared its ugly head in Steve, but with a result that was far from ugly. He was not black like his parents, but more of a dark copper color. His hair, although absolutely black, was soft and silky, and always barely on his shoulders. He had none of the normal African features like big lips and flat nose; on the contrary, his features were very fine and European. But still there was no mistaking his heritage. All who knew Steve, adult and child alike, once they got so they could see past this heritage, agreed he was the most beautiful human being they'd ever seen; and Steve's beauty was both inside and out. Nevertheless, Steve was often called "nigger," and Jeff, "nigger lover." Oh yes, prejudice is still alive and well in the Midwest.

As they approached their teens, after Jeff’s father had died so suddenly, Jeff’s self confidence diminished to zero. It seemed he couldn't please anyone; anyone but Steve that is. He and Jeff saw eye to eye, agreed on just about everything, worked together on homework assignments constantly. Their classmates noticed of course, and armed with their newly acquired knowledge of "it", they were ready with their explanations of the closeness of the two boys. They were often called faggots, or queers, along with many other names that meant the same thing. At first they didn't know what the words meant, and when they found out, they ignored the whole thing, at least outwardly. The kids probably didn't mean any harm, but twelve years of the name calling had taken their toll. And of course there was the other evidence too. They weren't the typical rough and tumble boys that most of their friends were; they cried at sad movies; they studied hard and kept their grades up; and they got on well with all the girls, at least as friends. They weren't very good at sports and it wasn't important anyway. They were more than normally careful about their appearance, and they did goofy things like nurse injured birds back to health, volunteer at the hospital; and they never, ever drank, smoked, took drugs; all the things that seemed so "in," things that would have identified them as "normal" teenage boys.

All their boyhood milestones, it seemed, were faced together: learning to swim; getting drivers licenses; first dates; graduations. So when it was time to go away for college, they had gone together, and were now over a thousand miles from their Midwestern home at a large university in Raleigh, North Carolina.

It was Saturday morning, a warm sunny morning in early January, when Jeff did what now had him crying over his textbook. Jeff and Steve were both up early as usual playing football with a few of their classmates. It was a friendly game, but as is often the case with young men, the game started to get a bit rough. They were all having fun, but as Steve got possession of the ball and started running, he was tackled hard and went down in a heap of bodies. When the others got up, Steve didn't. He had taken a knee in the groin and had the wind completely knocked out of him. As he lay on the ground very still, Jeff’s reaction was one of total panic. In time the concerned students determined that Steve was all right, but his football career was over, at least for a few days.

Jeff helped Steve back to his room and got him on his bed. He wanted to take him to the hospital, but Steve insisted he was all right. So after they had rested a while, Jeff gently got Steve's clothes off and put him in a tub of very hot water. Steve had a very nasty bruise in his groin, his testicles were swollen to twice their normal size, and his shoulder was so sore his right arm was next to useless. The shoulder, they thought, might have been dislocated, but it seemed to be all right now except that it was very sore.

Jeff bathed his friend tenderly, getting the grime from their game off, but more than that, hoping the hot water and gentle massaging would work out some of the stiffness. As his hands roamed over the youthful body in the tub, he found himself once more admiring the beauty before him. And that old familiar feeling was back, in addition to an erection that was so intense it was painful. He knew now only too well what it meant, but still he pushed it into the background. He had had these feelings many times before, but he had always passed them off as a form of envy because Steve was so much better looking than him, and so young looking. He was still only twenty, but he looked more like fourteen. And besides, they were both Naval officers now, and by definition that meant that what Jeff was feeling simply could not happen. Or could it?

The bath over, Jeff got his injured friend towelled dry and into bed and comfortable, then he went to a drugstore and bought liniment and baby powder. Steve's roommate was away for the weekend, so Jeff planned to stay overnight and make sure Steve was comfortable. When he returned, he massaged his buddy/brother with the liniment, then powdered him amply with baby powder to reduce the strong odor of the liniment. That done, he stripped to his shorts and crawled in with him.

Steve lay on his bed, face down, as his friend massaged his shoulder. Jeff Allen had a touch to die for, and no one knew it better than Steve. He could lie all day without moving a muscle while his friend massaged him, or just touched him. He put forth a superhuman effort trying to stifle the shudders as Jeff’s talented hands spread baby powder all over his back. Soon, very soon, Jeff would be telling him to turn over, but Steve couldn’t do that. If he turned over on his back, he would have to expose to his friend, his very best friend in the entire world, how turned on he’d got just by a few simple touches. As much as he wanted that golden silky touch on the other side of his body, Steve had to somehow avoid that confrontation; so he feigned sleep, knowing that Jeff would quit rather than wake him. He knew his plan had worked when he heard his friend putting things away, heard him removing his clothes, then felt the bed jiggle ever so slightly as Jeff crawled in.

“You’re too good to me,” Steve whispered sleepily as they settled down for sleep.
“No more than you deserve,” Jeff answered. A pretty normal conversation between to good friends, no? But that didn’t explain the two raging erections that both boys tried desperately to conceal from each other.

Steve and Jeff had slept together countless times before, so they were both completely comfortable with the idea. They lay in bed for two hours, talking and reading, Jeff asking often if Steve felt all right. "I'm okay," Steve finally said with mild irritation. "I thought I'd left home to do some growing up, but I swear you're worse than my mother." Jeff took that as a compliment. He had had little mothering in his life and he missed it. At times like this he was inclined to get quite annoyed at Steve, remembering their growing up years when Steve's mom would often embrace her son, for no reason at all except that she loved him and wanted to mother him. Steve, of course, knew no other behavior, so he took all this affection for granted, even pushing his mother away at times, saying he was getting too old for that sort of thing. Jeff had wanted to tell him to enjoy it, that you were never too old to be loved, that he’d cheerfully die if his mom could just once come home from work with enough energy to do that to him, but of course that's not the sort of sentiment a growing boy vocalizes, so he never had.

It was almost noon before the boys woke up Sunday morning. Steve was feeling better, he said, but he was very stiff. Neither was very hungry, so they just stayed in bed with Jeff busying himself mothering and massaging his friend. They were both enjoying the process immensely, but that was hardly surprising. Steve was so sore that Jeff’s gentle, almost worshipful touch was like a tonic, and Jeff enjoyed making him feel better. At least that's what he told himself. But that didn't explain the growing appendage on both of them the minute white hands touched Steve's dark naked body.

It was late afternoon when Jeff, still clad only in his shorts, was straddling Steve's legs, massaging his entire body. They had been in this position for quite some time, and Jeff was having a great deal of trouble fighting his eyes, trying to force them to stop wandering over Steve's body. He reminded Jeff of a little boy as he lay on the bed and allowed his hands to soothe the aches and pains, and Jeff was overwhelmed with love. No, he had no sexual desire, at least he didn’t think he did, but he certainly felt a closeness he had never felt before.

He looked into Steve’s smiling face as he returned the gaze and he could stand it no longer. He leaned forward and whispered, "I love you, buddy, and I'm so glad you're all right." And then he kissed him. He lay back down next to him and fondled his hair lovingly when suddenly the realization of what he had just done overcame him. He had just kissed his best friend! It wasn't the type of kiss he'd have given a girl, but still, he was a guy, and that sort of thing just wasn't done! "I'm sorry, Steve," he stammered. "I don't know what came over me."
"It's okay," Steve responded hoarsely, and then they both lay quietly on the bed, without a word, for about an hour.

Daylight was starting to wane when Jeff finally got up and started getting dressed. "Gotta go," he said simply. "I got that Physics exam tomorrow, and I need to study." Steve didn't respond or make any acknowledgment until Jeff had his jacket on and was heading out the door. "Thanks for staying and nursing me," he said. "See ya tomorrow."
"Sure," he answered, and made his escape.

At midnight Jeff finally gave up trying to study and went to bed. He found to his horror that every time he thought of what happened, he felt a thrill that aroused him both emotionally and physically. Deep down he knew that he'd wanted to do that for a long time and now he wanted to do it again, but he pushed the idea further down in his mind. When Andy came in shortly after, Jeff barely grunted a hello. Andy shrugged it off, thinking that his roommate was just sleepy, but that was far from the truth. There would be little sleep for Jeff Allen tonight. Had he lost his friend forever? Would Steve tell their friends what had happened? What did it all mean anyway?

In actual fact, Jeff knew exactly what it meant. As he reviewed his life and his friendship with Steve, he knew what had happened had been inevitable for a long time. He thought of the times they had spent together, doing all the things that growing boys do. He remembered now how in awe he had always been of his friend's good looks, his perfectly formed body and youthful grace. Steve had been a late bloomer. At fifteen, he remembered, Steve’s voice still hadn't changed. Jeff remembered being more than a little interested in his development. At the time he had interpreted his interest in Steve’s physical attributes as a fascination for one of a different race; but now he wondered. He had matured physically, at least in the male organ department, but he still, even at twenty, had little body hair. He looked, Jeff knew, much younger. He had seen how attracted the girls had been to his little boy looks, and now he knew he'd had the same attraction. He knew now that his interest had been more than would have been expected; and he knew now the true nature of that interest.

Jeff got through the exam somehow. He didn't do as well as usual, but he passed, and right now that was good enough because he had a much more serious problem. He knew, or at least he hoped, that Steve would be waiting for me him in the coffee shop after the exam. But how could he face him? What would he say? What if Steve didn't show up? What if he never wanted to see him again? He still hadn't decided if he wanted Steve to be in their usual meeting place or not when he walked into the small coffee shop, but there he was, looking as immaculate and neat as ever.

"How was the exam?" Steve asked when he saw his friend. "Ace it as usual?"
"Hardly," Jeff answered moodily. "I didn't sleep very well last night."
"Really?" Steve said with genuine concern. "Why not?"

Jeff regarded his buddy with absolute astonishment. "Why not?" he echoed. "I though you'd know without my telling you."
"Why would I know? You usually sleep like a baby before an important test."

Jeff was flabbergasted. Had Steve forgotten, or had Jeff dreamed the whole thing? Yeah, that's it, he thought. I had fallen asleep and dreamt the whole incident. But he knew that wasn't true. He could still feel the sensations he'd felt yesterday, could still sense the excitement of expressing his feelings. And he could still feel the shock of realizing so suddenly how good it had felt afterwards. So he decided to face it head on, or more accurately he was facing it before he had a chance to decide anything. Glancing around to make sure they were alone, Jeff attacked his friend verbally.

"Steve," he said, "where were you yesterday? If I remember correctly, I did a tad more than take care of your injuries, and you're wondering why I didn't sleep?"

Steve just looked at Jeff with a faint smile on his face. "I was there," he answered. "God, was I there! You took me so by surprise I almost had a heart attack!"

Jeff couldn't believe what he was hearing. His hands were trembling. "Steve," he pleaded, "how can you be so calm? You know what that makes me?"
"Not exactly, but whatever it is, I like it. And don't tell me you didn't know what you were doing, 'cause I know damn well you did."

The words hit like a hammer. Jeff’s best friend, the one he'd been through all that growing up with, had just called him a queer! "Well,” he said with hurt in his voice, "if that's the way you feel, I'll just excuse myself."
"Why? Did I say something wrong?"
"No, not really. You just called me a faggot, that's all."
"So?"
"You mean it doesn't bother you?"
"Bother me? Why should it bother me?"

Now Jeff was really astounded. He remembered all the times in high school that the two of them, along with other boys, had told queer jokes, talked about bashing queers, and all the other homophobic goings-on that was a normal part of most teenagers' lives.

"Jeff," Steve was saying, "do you have any idea how long I've wanted to do that? Do you have any concept of what it's like to love someone so much it hurts, and yet be afraid to do anything about it?"

Jeff sat stunned, staring at Steve. He was actually having trouble getting his breath. "Are you telling me," he stammered, "that you're... you're..."
"I don't know what I'm telling you, Jeff, except that I've thought of you as more than a friend for years. Ever since Junior High I've wanted to touch you, and kiss you."
"But you never said anything..."
"Would you? I wanted to say I loved you so bad, but I couldn't risk losing you altogether. I love you, Jeff, and I'm willing to be just your friend rather than be nothing at all to you. The guys have been telling us for years that we're lovers, and maybe we are."
"So you think you're gay, if I'm understanding you right."
"I honestly don't know, but if loving another guy means you're gay, then I think that's what I'm saying."

Jeff had never, even after what had happened, considered the possibility of freely admitting what he thought he knew to be the truth. But he knew without doubt that he'd enjoyed what happened and wanted it to happen again. Neither of them had had a lot of experience with girls so now Jeff grabbed at that straw. "Maybe," he offered, "maybe we're just frustrated at being virgins. You are, right?"
"I think you know I am."
"You know what I mean. Maybe it's just a form of late experimentation, like we did when we were eight."
"You know that's not true, Jeff. We're two of a kind, and all the guys have always called us fags. Maybe they were right."

Steve and Jeff had explored each other's bodies just as most little boys do when we were very young, but it had been just that: harmless childhood exploration. They had looked, touched, played, explored; but it had only lasted a few weeks, and then their interest had turned to other things. Now Jeff found himself wishing that would happen again, but he had always suspected it wouldn't. He wanted desperately to repeat what he'd done only a day earlier to prove, he told himself, that it had just been a passing whim. Deep down he knew he wanted to do it again because it felt so damned good to express what he'd always felt, but he wasn't ready to admit it just yet. All the conditioning, all the name calling in high school, the awareness that they were “different," had come together in the revelation the two young men were now facing. In Jeff’s mind, and Steve’s too if the truth were out on the table, it was impossible to love someone so intensely unless you were 'in love,' and if that person was the same sex, well, the conclusions were obvious.

"What about ROTC?" Jeff demanded. This was 1991, long before President Clinton’s “don’t ask, don’t tell” policy. In 1991 gays were not tolerated in the military. At all!
"What about it? What's that got to do with anything?"
"Steve, you know very well that such behavior is frowned upon. If they knew, our navy career would be over."
"So we won't tell them. Besides, it's none of their business, as long as we keep it to ourselves and perform our duties all right. And what kinda behavior are you talking about anyway? I’ve managed without sex for twenty years, I think I can go a while longer."

Of course Jeff had no intention of telling anyone, but still, the Navy had been really good to them, really good for them, and it had become a very important part of their lives. When Jeff was in the air, he was in control; he was confident and at peace, and he was appreciated, even admired at times. He couldn't conceive of being grounded, and there's every chance that he would be if their secret got out. But it had been so good, had felt so natural at the time...

Steve took Jeff back to his room and they stayed the rest of the day. It was only noon, and both had classes after lunch, but the classes were forgotten. In the room Jeff was still playing his games, still denying his feelings and desires. "How's your bruise today?" he asked.
"Forget the fuckin' bruise,” Steve replied emphatically. “I'll live, but I'll live a lot happier after we talk this out."
"What about your rommate?"
"Brian won't be back till after football practice, so we've got five hours. Now will you please stop worrying?"

They discussed their relationship, and what loving someone meant. They discussed explicitly what they thought gay guys did together, and they agreed that they weren't the least interested in those things, at least not yet. Did a kiss make them gay? They really didn't know; but they knew full well what their friends would conclude if they'd seen it.

They agreed out of respect for the uniforms that they almost worshipped, that there would be no such goings on except when they were well away from any Navy facilities. They had told them they were not gay, and as far as the Navy was concerned, that was still true. They rationalized that if they didn't participate in these pleasures except when they were civilians, they could go on without fear of deception or discovery. So that's the way they played it. At school they got together as usual, except that they now exchanged the odd kiss or embrace. Not a lot, but enough that one could hardly say it was an isolated incident.

When things heated up in the Middle East, only a week later, the Reserve call-ups heated up too. Steve and Jeff were still students and therefore the last to be called, so they volunteered. "But you're still in school," Col. Jenkins reminded them. "Chances are you won't be called up at all."
"That's why we're volunteering, Sir," Steve said with determination. "We're pretty good pilots, and we want a chance to do our bit. We don't want to hide behind our status as students, Sir."

It sounded terribly corny, but the two young pilots honestly felt that way. And of course at the time they never really believed there'd actually be a war. They had no concept of people getting killed in spite of all their training. To them it was still a game, and in training the targets didn't shoot back. They argued that they had a whole lifetime to get their degrees and they had to set priorities; and right now their priorities were to use the skills the Navy had taught them. “Besides, Sir,” Jeff added, “wasn’t the trouble in the Middle East the reason we’re where we are in the first place?” So only a few days later, Jeff and Steve were cruising about the Persian Gulf on an aircraft carrier and flying missions in their Tomcats.

The ground zooming toward him at over a thousand miles an hour brought Jeff back from his reverie. Suddenly he saw a huge image of Steve's face in his heads up display, and he heard his voice say in a loud voice, "Release your bombs, you crazy farmer, and pull back on that fuckin' stick before you splatter yourself all over the desert!" Then the image was gone.

He glanced at his bomb sight in time to realize he was right on target, in range, so ordered a terrified Marty to release all bombs. Marty pushed the button as Jeff simultaneously pulled back hard on the stick with both hands. He knew he was going too fast, and at an altitude of only three thousand feet, there wasn't a chance in hell of pulling out. Desperate now, Jeff did something that wasn’t in the books. He banked hard to port, then as the plane began to change direction he overrode the movable wings which had automatically tucked themselves into the fuselage, extending them outward, and deployed the flaps. He had every reason to believe that the g-forces on the wings at the speed he was going might very well tear them right off the plane, but it was his only chance.

To be continued...