Page 13 of Semper Fi

A fter days of shooting with live rounds from dawn to dusk, Cal was certain his ears would never stop ringing again.

He shouldered his Springfield rifle and eyed the target across the range, barely visible in the driving rain.

When another recruit had suggested they wait to shoot for record until the weather cleared, he got such an earful that Cal wasn’t about to complain.

His pulse raced. These were the scores that would count.

If they passed, they’d be Marines. If not…

Cal didn’t want to think about the alternative.

Sure, he’d only joined the Marines to piss off his father, but now it was a matter of pride.

Damn it, he’d worked harder than he had in his entire life the last five weeks, and put up with pain and discomfort he hadn’t known existed.

He was not going to fail now.

Lying in the muck, he tried to tell himself it was all just a game—that he was back in Connecticut at Andrew Boyle’s country house, gunning for pheasants.

Beside him, Jim was stoic as usual. The only time Cal had seen him really worked up was the night Jim had broken curfew to find him.

The ache in Cal’s shoulders and arms as he’d kept his rifle aloft hadn’t been so bad after that.

He’d even managed to smile at Tyrell when the bastard had appeared just before reveille.

The range sergeant bellowed, “All ready on the firing line!” After a pause he added, “Fire!”

The roar of their rifles exploded in the air.

One target after the other, they fired from various distances.

Once every recruit was finished, they lined up and waited while the scores were tabulated.

It was Tyrell who approached each man and told him whether he’d passed, or perhaps even qualified as a marksman, sharpshooter, or expert.

When Tyrell stopped before Cal after telling Jim that he’d passed, the bottom fell from Cal’s stomach.

Tyrell looked so satisfied that Cal couldn’t possibly have succeeded.

He could feel Jim’s gaze on him, but kept his eyes locked on the DI, who still said nothing.

Cal wanted to scream at him to just spit it out.

Finally, Tyrell smirked. “Wouldn’t you know it, we’ve got ourselves a marksman here.”

Cal blinked. “Huh?”

At this, Tyrell actually smiled without malice. Just a small lift of his lips and flash of teeth, but a smile nonetheless. “That’s right, Cunningham. Looks like we just might have made a Marine of you after all.”

“I…thank you, sir.” For the first time, Cal actually meant it.

After another moment, Tyrell continued on down the line, his customary scowl returned. When everyone who passed remained, he addressed them. “Now don’t go getting all full of yourselves. Y’all are still the biggest bunch of screw-ups I’ve ever seen and I’ve got another week to whip you into shape!”

As they marched back to their barracks at the main base, puffed up with pride, Tyrell kept up the litany of shouts and curses, but all Cal could do was smile. Marching close together, Jim nudged his shoulder, and Cal nudged him back.

They were Marines.

A week later they climbed off the train at New River, North Carolina. The flat, tree-covered expanse of marshland, dotted with wooden huts, seemed to stretch to infinity under the fading light of day. Here they’d learn their fate and prepare to ship off to wherever the war should take them .

They marched to one end of a rectangular hut, waiting for their names to be called. Once men went in, they must have exited the other side, as none returned. As darkness settled in, Cal wondered if he’d ever see them again.

“Bennett!”

Jim gave Cal a nervous smile, and in that instant, Cal wanted to grab onto him, dig his fingers into Jim’s flesh and hold him close. Instead he extended his hand. “Good luck.”

Squeezing his palm, Jim nodded. “You too. Maybe we’ll see each other once in a while, huh?”

“Maybe.” But they both knew they were being fed into the war machine, with countless companies within regiments that would be spread out across the Pacific. “Take care of yourself.” He still had Jim’s hand in his grasp.

“And you.” Jim looked like he wanted to say something else, and opened his mouth.

“Bennett! James Michael Bennett!”

He pulled away and double-timed it to the hut, disappearing inside.

Cal took a deep breath, reminding himself that he’d known they’d be parted.

They’d probably both get killed within a year anyway.

As the minutes passed, he told himself it was for the best not to have a good friend in his company. Just gave him more to lose.

“Cunningham!”

Inside the hut sat a number of desks, each with a man interviewing the arrivals.

Cal was pointed to a desk at the far end and sat in the chair opposite it.

Not even glancing up, the man barked a litany of questions: name, serial number and personal details.

Cal spoke, and the man recorded his answers, pen scratching across paper.

“All right. First Marines.”

Cal went through the door at the end of the hut, and a sergeant shone his flashlight in Cal’s face. “Well?”

“Uh, First Marines,” Cal answered.

The flashlight beam swung over to a transport truck. It was a cloudy night, and Cal could barely see as he made his way over. There were other trucks and clusters of men, all being sent off to their new companies. He squinted, trying to catch a flash of Jim’s golden hair.

As he neared the truck, the engine roared to life, and Cal hurried to clamber onto the back. A hand reached for his, pulling him up as the truck plodded away over potholes. “Hey, thanks.”

“Anytime.”

Cal blinked as he peered into the darkness. “Jim?”

In the black, he could just make out the gleam of Jim’s teeth.

They both laughed, slapping each other on the back as they lurched and dropped onto the wooden bench.

Jim leaned in close, and Cal tried to ignore the flare of desire that skipped up his spine.

“Looks like you’re stuck with me after all. ”

“Looks that way.”

As the truck lumbered off into the night, Cal couldn’t wipe the grin from his face.

1948

Groaning softly, Cal touched himself with a firm grip. A growing callus on his palm gave his strokes a rough edge that sent a shiver up his spine. “Fuck,” he muttered.

He woke almost every morning hard as a rock, aching for Jim. He couldn’t even consider getting up before relieving the pressure. Some nights he couldn’t sleep without jerking off either. He felt like a schoolboy again.

Sitting on the side of the bed with his legs spread, Cal closed his eyes.

In his fantasies, Jim came to him with an easy smile and endless kisses.

Cal went to his knees for him, sucking him off and swallowing every drop.

Jim bent over and took Cal inside, begging for more as Cal slammed into him, hip deep, claiming him.

Cal would make Jim scream and swear a blue streak .

Then in the jumble of Cal’s fevered mind, it would be Jim fucking him face to face, Cal’s legs up as Jim kissed him with his thick cock so hot and hard inside.

Jim would stretch him, rocking in and out as he took Cal’s dick in his spit-slicked hand, stroking in rhythm with his hips as they pistoned, driving his cock deeper and deeper and—

With a strangled gasp, Cal came over his hand, spraying the wooden floor at his feet. He slumped back on one elbow as he caught his breath. The last time he’d had sex was a few days before leaving New York. He’d met the man in Central Park. No names—quick and mechanical, up against a tree.

Perhaps he needed to go home for a weekend visit and fuck some of the tension away, because at this rate there was no way he’d last until harvest without throwing himself at Jim and ruining everything.

He wiped up his mess with a cloth and rinsed it out in the wash basin he kept on his armoire. After dressing quickly, Cal went downstairs, where Adam was facedown on the kitchen floor, screaming and banging his fists. Jim stood watching, his shoulders slumped.

Cal had no idea what to do. He bent over and awkwardly patted Adam’s back. “Hey, buddy. What’s wrong?”

Adam just wailed louder, squirming away from his touch.

“He wants his mother.” Jim’s voice was flat.

Jesus. “I’m sorry.” He didn’t know what else to say as he stood next to Jim.

As Adam continued screeching, tears streaming down his red face, Jim shook his head and spoke quietly.

“He doesn’t understand. I thought maybe…

it was bad at first; he was always crying for her.

Then he seemed to forget. But there’s nothing I can do.

” He took a shaky breath, glancing away. “Not now.”

“There was nothing you could do when it happened either. It was an accident.”

Jim was silent, his arms crossed over his chest.

Cal squeezed Jim’s shoulder. “You listening to me? It wasn’t your fault. ”

After running his hand over his face wearily, Jim nodded. “Sorry about the fuss.” He motioned to Adam’s prone form. “He just needs to scream it out when he gets like this. If I try to talk to him or hold him, it just makes it worse.”

“Jim, he’s a kid. This is what they do. Stop beating yourself up—you’re a great father.”

Jim snorted. “If you say so. It doesn’t feel like it much these days. Just look at my son, and Sophie’s…” He shook his head.

“I’ll go talk to her. Don’t worry, I’ll give Mabel a wide berth. And stop feeling guilty for that, too, okay?”

“I just don’t know what I’m doing half the time. Ann made it look so easy.”

“Hell, you’re doing a lot better than I would be. I’d probably give the kid a beer and hope that would quiet him down.”

At this, Jim smiled. “I might consider it in a few minutes.”