Page 19 of Semper Fi

“S peedy, it’s your turn!”

“Hell no, it ain’t. I went last night.”

Cal grinned. “But you’re the fastest. I’ve never seen a man run as quick as you can with a bucket of oil without spilling a drop.”

Speedy lit a cigarette and flopped down on his rack, crossing his skinny legs at the ankle. “And this is the thanks I get? It’s Sully’s turn.”

“Me?” Sully squeaked. “No way. I went down with Joe to the slop chute to get more beer.” He pointed to the stack of cases in the middle of the hut. “My duty is done. How about Johnny?”

It wasn’t until all eyes swiveled his way that Jim realized they were talking to him. “Me?”

“Yeah, you. We need more oil for the stove. Come on, Johnny.”

Their newest squad member, a shy blond boy by the name of Smith, spoke up hesitantly. “I thought your name was Jim.”

“It is,” Jim replied firmly.

“No, no!” Speedy shook his dark head. His skin was a rich tan color that seemed to indicate some Indian blood, although he’d almost punched Pete when Pete had asked about it. “This here’s Johnny Appleseed. He grows apples up north. Now come on, Johnny. Fair is fair.”

“Aw hell, I’ll go with you.” Cal hopped to his feet and picked up a couple of buckets, passing one to Jim. “Don’t worry—we won’t get caught.”

With a sigh, Jim followed him into the night. “Famous last words,” he muttered.

Each company in the battalion had its own supply of oil, kept in large drums. It had quickly become routine to sneak out under cover of darkness and pinch oil from other squads to keep their stove burning.

Jim knew everyone did it, but that didn’t make it right.

“You know, if we’d stop stealing from each other, we’d all have enough oil. ”

“But where’s the fun in that, Johnny?” Cal winked, scooting low and sneaking around the back of another hut.

They ducked under a lit window and crouched in the shadows. “This is not fun. And don’t call me that!” Jim hissed.

“Okay, I won’t,” Cal whispered, his head close. “You know it only means they like you. Don’t take it the wrong way, Jim.”

“Then why don’t you have a nickname yet?”

“Oh, I’m sure I’ll have one before too long. Or maybe they just don’t like me.” He scuttled beneath the window. At the drum, he pried off the lid and dipped in his bucket.

“Don’t be ridiculous. Everyone likes you.”

“I am a pretty charming son of a bitch.” Cal smirked. “Come on, fill up your bucket.”

Jim did as he was told. “I feel like I’m back in school with all these silly games we play.”

“This whole thing is one big game, and we’re going to win. We’re going to go over there and knock the stuffing out of the Japs. They don’t know what they’re in for.”

Jim was about to respond when a flashlight beam blazed to life in the night. “Hey you! Stop!”

They didn’t hesitate, flying back the way they’d come, spilling oil left and right as their pursuer squawked in outrage. Jim and Cal ducked out of sight into a darkened alcove where they squeezed into the tight space, chests pressed together, breath mingling .

Warm excitement surging in his veins, Jim had to admit it was fun after all.

The next morning was considerably less enjoyable.

“Off and on!”

At Captain Brown’s barked order, Jim stifled a sigh and got off his rear end and onto his feet along with the rest of the platoon. They marched along the dusty road, finally reaching their destination an hour later.

Open, barge-like boats waited for them in a river that would take them to the ocean. After they clambered down, more than thirty men crammed onto each boat by Jim’s estimation. Then the battalion commander shouted for attention.

“You are sitting in Higgins boats. These are going to win this war, gentlemen. You will also hear them referred to as LCVPs. Landing craft, vehicle, and personnel. Being a shallow boat, you can see it is a landing craft. It’s built to carry a jeep if necessary.

That’s the vehicle. And obviously you men are the personnel.

When this LCVP lands, the ramp at the front will lower, and you will move your asses.

Understood? Good. Now try to make it through this exercise without puking your guts out. ”

Cal and Jim shared a glance. It was going to be a long ride.

Indeed, they hadn’t reached the ocean before poor Sully was heaving into his helmet. Others followed suit, and Jim felt decidedly queasy as they reached the swells of open sea water. Cal, on the other hand, was just fine. “Doesn’t it bother you?” Jim asked.

“Nah. Spent my summers sailing in the Hamptons.”

“Of course you did.” Jim smiled even as he fought a swell of nausea.

Suddenly the engine roared and the boat powered toward the beach. There was a sharp jolt as they landed, digging into the sand.

“Move, move, move!”

They plunged into the freezing surf swirling around their calves, rifles held high. On the beach they hit the deck, going through the motions of an offensive. Sand stuck in every pore, gritty on Jim’s tongue and lips. When he rubbed his eyes, they burned from the saltwater residue.

When they had run through the whole routine, Captain Brown approached.

“Very good, men. We’re staying out here in the boondocks so we can practice these amphibious maneuvers.

Smooth and efficient landings are absolutely vital to our success in the Pacific.

Our camp is a mile down the coast. Let’s get moving! ”

“Something tells me our hut back at the base’ll seem like the Ritz-Carlton in comparison,” Cal muttered.

The tents they had to set up in a clearing in the forest weren’t any better or worse than what they’d slept in at the rifle range on Parris Island.

As they sat around a bonfire that night, men from several squads talking and laughing, Jim breathed in the scent of pine amid the smoky wood and felt utterly content.

Cal passed him the bottle of hooch going around the circle, and Jim cringed as the liquid burned his throat. Cal laughed and patted his back. “There you go. It’ll put hair on your chest!”

Big Southern Joe, for all his crude bluster, had a shockingly fine singing voice, and he led them in a chorus of “Blueberry Hill.” Surrounded by new friends, they sang to the stars. Cal’s arm was a warm comfort across Jim’s shoulders, and the war had never felt so far away.

1948

How strange.

Jim didn’t remember turning on the Rain Birds, yet as he walked down to the orchard, he could see them working, water glittering in the moonlight, arcing through the fresh, cool air. Swish-swish-swish-swish.

Somehow he remained dry as he walked amid the trees, down one row and then another, leaving the house and barn behind. He was looking for something, yet he couldn’t seem to remember what it was. An owl hooted, and eyes glowed in the trees, the pheasants watching as he passed by.

Then as he came over a gentle rise, he found Cal.

His back turned, Cal was naked between the trees, skin glistening in the spray of water. Arms outstretched, his head was tipped back as if in some kind of ecstatic thrall. Lightheaded, Jim was rooted to the spot, even when Cal faced him.

Cal was hard, his thick cock jutting from his body. To his shame, Jim’s own shaft swelled, and he was reaching out, desperate to touch his friend. Cal was suddenly right before him, a familiar smile on his lips.

“It’s okay,” he whispered.

When he wrapped his hand around Cal’s length, a ragged moan filled the air, and Jim realized it was his own.

As he stroked Cal’s straining cock, he was overcome with the urge to kiss him and taste him—to run his tongue over Cal’s wet skin.

Jim was still fully dressed and painfully hard in his trousers, and Cal was completely exposed before him, beautiful and free.

Jim lunged for Cal’s mouth, kissing him in a frenzy, his hand caught between their bodies, rubbing Cal and bringing him to the brink of—

Panting, Jim bolted up in bed.

The bedroom appeared as it always did. Nothing out of place.

Jim listened intently for the children, but the night was still aside from his harsh breathing and the faint, soothing sound of the sprinklers in the orchard.

It had been a surprisingly warm day, and he had left the window open. The curtain fluttered in the breeze.

Everything was normal. As normal as possible considering he was excited, and he’d been dreaming about…

With a long exhale, he stretched out again. It didn’t mean anything. It was only a dream. He’d been under a lot of stress, and dreams were nothing more than jumbled nonsense. Yet when Jim closed his eyes, he could see it all so clearly—Cal in the orchard, naked and glistening. Hard and eager.

Grunting, Jim attempted to clear his mind and ignore the state of his body, although his blood still thrummed with sticky desire. He breathed deeply, willing himself to calm down and go back to sleep. It had just been a silly dream, and he needed to forget it.

After another minute, he opened his eyes.

When Reverend Davis had come to school and taken the boys into another classroom, he’d told them it was a sin to touch themselves.

Jim had resisted as much as he could growing up.

When he’d given in to the need for release, he’d kept his mind purposefully blank.

Now he did the same as one hand skimmed beneath his pajama top, fingertips skating across his skin as he freed his cock with his other hand, kicking his bottoms free.

He should think of his wife, but it felt wrong now that she was gone, and the thought of her sent guilt and shame spiraling through him anew.

Here in the surreal calm of the dead of night, he could admit that sex with his wife had never been the revelation other men talked about.

Jim had always felt that physical acts between men and women were highly overrated, and that his buddies who crowed about their conquests exaggerated the enjoyment they experienced.