Search This Blog

Monday, October 8, 2018

Where Have You Gone?


AFC Harrogate: Yorkshire
September 1999

            He turned seventeen a month before his arrival at Harrogate.

His mother had begged him to withdraw his application, but, having heard all of her complaints before, he had simply tuned her out and offered reassurances that he knew what he was getting himself into. He had never been one easily deterred once his mind was made up, a trait his father often scorned – damn stubborn boy; he gets it from you! This time, however, his father had admitted to some small sense of pride in the steadfastness of his son’s decision, even though it was clear the man did not believe he would succeed past the first couple of weeks. He had been surprised the recruiting officer hadn’t told the boy outright that there would be no place for him in the Queen’s army.

It was his father who accompanied him to the train station in White Lodge, a short drive from their small fishing town. He had clapped him on the shoulder, not one for being overly emotional, and told him to keep in touch, for his mother’s sake. He’d taken the earliest train to Berwick, where he had transferred to a new line and headed towards Leeds. He had lunch in the train station at Leeds, waiting for his next train to take him to Harrogate Station, and from there he had walked the nearly hour long distance, his pack on his back, to the Army Foundation College at Harrogate.

He was placed in Waterloo, and he spent the evening getting to know the eleven other young men in his section. They were all there for the long course: forty-nine weeks to learn everything they needed to know before they could move on to their regiments for further training. His plan was to join the infantry – nothing special, no designs on leadership as some of his fellow cadets demonstrated. There were three other boys in his section who held the same ambitions; he hoped they would become fast friends.

He fell asleep that night – exhausted from the long day of travel and knowing he’d need to be up early in the morning – to the sounds of eleven other young adolescent boys too wired for sleep.

Infantry Training Centre: Catterick, North Yorkshire
December 2000

            The first time he saw him was on the training field in the early morning hours.

 It was another cold day – it had been cold almost every day since his arrival in October. His battalion – the 2nd Infantry Training Battalion – was running laps despite the sleet that was a near-constant companion in Catterick. It was neither rain nor snow and when it hit the ground it coalesced into slushy, slippery mounds and frigid puddles that made running, drilling, firing weapons and pretty much everything else they did on a day-to-day basis nearly unbearable. Uniforms that weren’t soaked from the falling precipitation would quickly become so when cadets had to lie prone to sight their rifles or crawl through an obstacle to safety.

He had been wet, cold and constantly annoyed about both of those things for months.

Despite the bad weather, the officers had refused to give them any sort of reprieve. They drilled in any weather, in any state of illness or injury (as long as they could stand straight, of course) and they took the abuse from the officers as if nothing could touch them. He had been through the same shit at Harrogate and so far nothing he had encountered at Catterick was any different. He hid all emotion behind a stoic, blank expression; he hadn’t cried since his first weeks at Harrogate and he wasn’t about to now.

It was raining that morning, yet again, as he raced into his third lap on the training field. He wasn’t the fastest runner, but he kept a steady pace and always managed to finish the track running, despite some of the others who ran too hard at the start and couldn’t maintain the pace until the end. Twelve laps didn’t seem like much, he knew, but it was the equivalent of 10 miles all told; and doing it every day was exhausting. That morning they were running with their packs on, twenty pounds of gear stuffed inside, and their commanding officer was shouting encouragement (or disapproval, depending on who was listening) at them in a voice that boomed over the falling rain.

When he rounded the field, he caught sight of the handsome young officer standing just off-field, watching, with the Colonel. They appeared to be deep in conversation on his first pass – not that he would ever dare to interrupt! He ran by, panting softly, and continued on his way. On his second pass, the Colonel was gone, walking back towards the barracks.

The newcomer did not seem ready to follow; he was still watching the runners with interest. He didn’t appear too much older than the cadets in training – two or three years their senior, perhaps? He had an open face and he looked – impressed? – as he shouted some encouragement to a cadet running about a hundred metres ahead of him. Trying to discern his rank from his insignia, he craned his neck and squinted as he approached. Unfortunately lifting his eyes from the ground was not the best idea and he slipped on a fresh patch of slush and went down hard in the wet muck.

Cursing to himself, he ignored the laughter of the cadets who raced by him and the shouted comment of “that was graceful, Saunders!” as he shuffled onto his knees so he could get back on his feet without his pack pulling him back down. When he looked up, the officer – lieutenant, he noted now that he was in such close proximity – was standing in front of him, hand outstretched, lips quirked faintly.

“Saunders, is it?” he asked, hauling the cadet to his feet when he grasped his wrist. He nodded. “Yes sir,” he responded, saluting despite the overwhelming desire to wipe the slush from his backside. “At ease, Saunders,” the lieutenant said. “Haven’t managed to injure yourself, hm?” he asked, trying to hide a smile. “That really was quite a spill, private.”

Saunders couldn’t stop the flush that coloured his cheeks, and he ducked his head in embarrassment. “No sir, thank you for your concern, sir,” he managed to mumble. The lieutenant’s smile broadened as he watched the private shuffle in discomfort. “Carry on then,” he finally said after a moment longer, giving permission for the young man to flee.

When Saunders circled around on his fifth lap, the lieutenant was gone, a trail of footsteps in the slush leading back towards the barracks.


            He had all but forgotten the encounter a couple of days later when he nearly ran headfirst into the older officer coming out of the mess hall. Saunders let out a gasp and then stumbled back to salute, standing at attention. “Sir, sorry sir!” he stammered, eyes somewhere beyond the lieutenant.

            “Private Saunders,” he spoke, voice soft and low. “I thought you might have learned your lesson from the other morning,” he teased, adding quietly: “look where you’re going, kid,” with a faint smile and a handsome laugh that made Saunders’ cheeks flush red. He looked as if he was about to say something else when a shout from inside the mess hall made him lift his gaze away from the private standing at attention before him. He hesitated, until a second shouted “McCrae!” erupted from within. And then he was gone, striding into the mess hall, leaving Saunders to hurry down the hall before he was late for his lessons. 

            He didn’t cross paths with the lieutenant again, although he wasn’t avoiding him outright. He caught glimpses of the older man from afar, watched him secretly whenever he showed up during their drills and wondered about him.

One of the other privates surmised that he was to be their battalion leader, but two weeks passed without a sign of that happening. Another suggested he was there to redo the infantry training course – but that was such an idiotic suggestion considering the man was obviously a lieutenant, at least two ranks above them.

 Whatever the reason, Saunders couldn’t get him off his mind. There was no way to explain why his heart quickened when he saw him in the distance, watching their drill practice; or why he flushed to think of the two close encounters he had had with the man. It wasn’t as if anything had happened! And the man knew almost all of their names by now; he wasn’t special.

He knew things were getting out of hand, however, when he woke one morning after a very pleasant dream to find that his boxers were wet. Nothing had even happened; he had dreamed the lieutenant speaking in his perfect received pronunciation, telling him a story he couldn’t even recall the gist of now. Mortified, feeling very much like a schoolboy with a silly crush, he gathered his washroom kit and fled in that direction despite the early morning hour.

And what would even give him cause to crush on the man? He had only spoken to him twice! And neither time could really be classified as a conversation. Certainly he was a handsome man, carved like one of the Greek statues he had seen in the British Museum when he was in school; one could tell even under his uniform he must have been a wall of solid muscle. And yes, sure he’d admired his face from afar a number of times; that chiseled jaw, always shaved without any sign of stubble; those darling blue eyes that lit up with his smile – and to say nothing of that smile itself! Could he recall how large his hands were? And how did that saying go again…?

Distracted, Saunders ducked into the bathroom, glad to be alone at this ungodly hour. He stripped, trying to shake his mind of lingering images of the lieutenant he couldn’t seem to extricate from his every waking thought. Stepping into one of the stalls, he turned the water to its hottest temperature and sank to a crouch on the floor of the shower, letting the warm water wash over him.

He was so deep in his own thoughts that he hadn’t noticed that another shower was running a few stalls down the row. It was a soft moan – someone in pain? – that alerted him that he wasn’t alone. He slowly uncoiled himself, ears trained to try and determine what was happening. There it was again, that low moaning; and his face heated to realize it wasn’t pain he was hearing in that soft noise. He sat still, listening closely – and now he could hear it, the familiar sound of a man pleasuring himself in long, rough strokes, moaning with abandon. Whoever it was obviously was unaware that they weren’t alone, which made Saunders blush for them; but really, who was he to interrupt?

He stood, leaning against the stall of his shower, stroking himself to life once more under the burning water as the sounds coming from the other stall reached him. Moaning, a low growl, too-softly-muttered-to-hear words, a louder moan. Saunders was hard, disgustingly so, as he closed his eyes and thought of the handsome lieutenant. He bit his lip to keep himself from making any sounds, stroking himself in tune to the moans that were getting steadily louder and more animalistic next door. Imagined the older man’s hands on his cock, spread his legs and slid a finger inside with a barely-stifled moan. He could hear a softly uttered “fuck, fuck” from the other stall, his knees threatening to buckle as he barely whispered in response “y-yes sir, yes, fuck me sir,” a second finger sliding inside to join the first, seeking ever more pleasure.

It didn’t take much longer – a few quick pulls, a twist of his fingers inside himself – and he was spurting over his hand. Brain always foggy during orgasm, he wasn’t exactly quiet as he came, gasping a pathetic “oh fuck, sir!” as he finished and he watched the white swirl down the drain. It took a moment before he realized the other man had gone silent. The water was still running, but he was very aware that the man was no longer pleasuring himself. Had he finished? Or had he heard Saunders?

Saunders hurried out of the shower, grabbing his things and only stopping long enough to pull them back on over his soaked body. Hair dripping, he rushed to leave before the other man could emerge from his stall and find him there – despicable little queer voyeur! As he left, he caught sight of a heavily muscled body through the near-sheer curtain, stock still under the spray of water, before he disappeared out the door.

He kept his eyes on the ground for the rest of the day, and so he did not see the lieutenant until he had cornered him in the hall. A quick glance around assured him that nobody was present and when he looked up he met that handsome smile on the older man’s face, blue eyes dancing with mischievous laughter.

“S-sir,” he began, trying to straighten to salute – but the lieutenant’s arm blocked him from moving. He flushed red, which made the older man’s smile widen.

“You know, you could join me next time,” he said, in a low, feral tone that had Saunders’ chest clenching. It took him a moment to understand what he meant and he dropped his gaze to their feet, a hand to his mouth in silent mortification. The lieutenant didn’t seem fazed, leaning in until his mouth was close to his ear. “It could be more fun that way, private,” he said, smiling wolfishly. “I might even let you call me ‘sir’, if you wanted.”

Saunders was struggling to find words or the strength to escape even as he longed to lean into that chest, to feel those hard muscles for himself. He couldn’t look up, couldn’t make eye contact for fear of betraying just how much he very much wanted to join him next time.

Lieutenant McCrae laughed softly, a surprising sound in that moment, and he tousled the young man’s hair, fingers lingering on his scalp momentarily. “God but you’re adorable,” he said, letting his breath out in a sigh that ghosted over Saunders’ cheek. He stepped back, that smile back on his handsome face, no outward sign of their encounter mussing his perfectly starched uniform or his well-combed hair. “I hope you’re the only private who uses that bathroom at 0300; I’d hate to show up and find someone else in your place,” he said, and he sounded so sincere that Saunders didn’t know how to react.

And then he was gone, striding down the hall as if nothing had happened, leaving Saunders to collect himself before anyone else turned down the hallway.


            He didn’t dare return to the bathroom alone for the next few days. He rose with the other cadets and went about his morning routine at the prescribed hour, attended his lessons and drills, kept his head down.

But he couldn’t get the thought of the handsome man, pleasuring himself in the shower in the early morning hours, out of his head. He had so many questions. Why had the lieutenant even been in their bathroom? Wasn’t there an officer’s washroom in their barracks? The officers ate in the officer’s mess; didn’t they shower in the officer’s washroom?

And why him? Just because he’d been there? Was he actually interested? Who could be interested in him? – still skinny, only leanly-muscled despite all his hard work, freckle-covered baby face, impossible hair. Who would risk everything – their military career, certainly, if not also public reputation should anything become known – to even suggest that they conduct homosexual acts together? It was illegal! Why take the risk at all? And certainly why take it with him?

But despite his misgivings, he couldn’t stay away forever. He told himself he was just going to confirm that the man had been teasing, had no desire for him, wouldn’t even be there. It was early – just before 0300. He grabbed his towel and his washroom kit – an excuse if he were to be caught out of bed this early – and he silently walked the length of the hall with a pit of anticipation in his stomach.

But the bathroom when he entered was utterly silent, and he let out a soft, derisive laugh at himself: had he really expected anything else? Pathetic. He leaned against the counter, glaring at himself in the mirror before he lowered his head, eyes closed. Were those tears threatening? What a joke. Had he really been so gullible?

And that was how he found him, minutes later, bent over the sink splashing cold water on his face, telling himself to grow up and get back to bed. Saunders gasped when the door opened, glancing up to see the lieutenant there, a smile on his handsome face; it lit up his eyes in the dimly-lit room and he let out a breathless “you came,” unbelieving, as he crossed the tiles towards him.

He didn’t look as though he was about to ravage him, but Saunders squared his shoulders at his approach anyways, standing tall; he still only came up to the lieutenant’s shoulder. Lieutenant McCrae hesitated, stopping a few steps in front of him, fists clenching as if it was by sheer force of will that he hadn’t reached out to touch him.

“I told myself if you hadn’t come by the end of the week, I wouldn’t come back,” he said, voice soft and low. Had it really been a week since their last encounter? “I tried to talk myself out of coming tonight,” he admitted, laughing softly. He seemed to hesitate a moment longer, fingers clenching and unclenching. He looked young in the dingy bathroom light, in his military-issued pajamas. Saunders could feel his own heart beating wildly in his chest as he looked up at him, could see the man’s pulse thrumming at his throat, watched his adam’s apple bob as he swallowed hard and finally, finally, those hands reached out and touched him.

It was a tentative touch, one hand on his waist, the other to his shoulder – only a little more than friendly. Then the hand on his shoulder slid to his neck and clasped the back of it, fingers tangling in the soft, short hair there. He stepped closer, backing the younger man against the wall; there was no resistance in Saunders as he slid his arms up, around the muscular lieutenant’s back, grasping at the back of his shirt with a soft whimper of need. McCrae had him pinned, his leg between Saunders’, watching his face for any signs of distress or uncertainty.

“P-please,” Saunders whispered, meeting his eyes. “Please sir.”

And that was enough, that was what he had needed to hear. He closed the distance between them, kissing the private in a way that was equal parts possessive and permissive. Saunders opened to the kiss, body relaxing as the older man pressed against him, hard body against hard body, his fingers gripping the back of his shirt in a stranglehold as the lieutenant’s hands both moved up to hold his face, seeking more.

When he suddenly stopped kissing him, Saunders pulled back, confusion on his face. The lieutenant was simply looking at him, a smile on his handsome face. A gentle thumb slid across his face, under his left eye, tracing a line of freckles reverently. Saunders tried to press forward, to reclaim those lips, but the lieutenant shook his head faintly, holding him in place.

“W-why?” Saunders breathed, frustration evident in the question. McCrae’s brow furrowed and he leaned back in to kiss him, more gently this time, one arm going around his skinny waist to hug him close once more.

“Not here,” he murmured against his soft hair as Saunders, confused, pressed his cheek to his broad chest and sank into the warm embrace. A firm hand roamed up and down his back and he melted into the touches – the first human contact he had had in over a year that wasn’t simple camaraderie. It ignited every nerve-ending in his body and he couldn’t suppress the soft moan of desire that bubbled up in him.

“Please sir,” he whispered, fingers clutching at his shirt once more. He could practically feel McCrae’s smile against his hair as he kissed him on the crown of his head. “Not here,” he repeated. “I don’t want our first time to be in the loo,” he admitted. His face suffused red; did that mean he hoped there would be more than one encounter?

Heart racing, he let out a soft whine when the lieutenant stepped back. He touched his palm to the younger man’s pink cheek, unable to wipe that smile off his face – was it adoration? “Come with me,” he said, half-order, half-plea. As if there was any doubt that he wouldn’t follow!

Saunders followed the officer down abandoned halls, silently keeping to the shadows as he trailed him. A couple of times the older man glanced back – to smile at him, to check that he was still there. He led him to the officer’s barracks, slipping silently through the outer doors and inviting the young man inside. Saunders hesitated – he could get in so much trouble for being here – but McCrae didn’t seem concerned.

It really wasn’t much different here; the halls were the same hideous off white, the tile floor just as horrendously patterned. The only difference he could note was that the young officer had his own quarters, a small room that housed a double bunk, a desk, a wardrobe rather than a metal locker to hold his clothing. His boots were perfectly shined at the end of his bed, his uniform hung ready for the morning. He had a stack of books on his desk, a map held open by heavy objects at each corner, a notebook opened with the beginnings of what looked like a letter on its lined pages.

 He turned the lamp by the bed on, leaving the overhead light off; it diffused the small room with warm light. McCrae turned to face him, a smile crossing his face as he took in the sight of the young man before him. Something he saw must have satisfied him, for he strode across the room and took him around the waist to kiss him again. Saunders offered up no resistance, hands going around his neck as he returned the kiss with alacrity.

He wasn’t sure how it happened, but they eventually found themselves in bed, him underneath the lieutenant, breathing rapidly, face turned to the side to try and hide his blush. At some point he had lost his shirt. Was there a chill in the room? Or was it the older man’s hands roaming his body that were causing those goose pimples?

McCrae seemed to be taking his time, enjoying himself – eyes and hands moving over the lean body beneath him as if he wished to devour it whole. But his touches were gentle, caressing, and his gaze was reverent, worshipful. As if he’d never seen something quite as lovely as the pale, freckled shoulder that Saunders had ducked his face against, to hide his blush; as if he couldn’t quite believe that the body under his palms was really there.

“I can’t get you out of my head,” he confessed, voice soft and low in the dimly-lit room. “You haunt me.” Saunders slowly lifted his gaze to the older man, bottom lip caught in his teeth. McCrae looked flushed, chest and neck burning with it, ashamed perhaps at his weak admission. He leaned down to press a trail of kisses to his flat stomach, kissing his sternum, his navel, his hips. Ghosted his lips on pale flesh as his palms smoothed their way down his sides to his hips, and further, underneath him, lifting the slender body to meet the next kiss to his navel.

“Please,” Saunders breathed, gasping softly. “Please, sir. I-I need more.” Hating how pathetic he sounded, how needy. But the lieutenant either didn’t notice or didn’t care, simply went on kissing the flat of his stomach.

“Do you have any idea what it’s like?” he breathed, arms tightening around the young man’s waist, cheek pressed to his stomach. “I’ve never felt like this before.” Saunders flushed, fingers tangling in the man’s short hair for a moment with something like violence before they splayed, massaging his scalp instead. He could practically hear the other man purring beneath the touch.

It was silent in the room, their quiet breathing the only noise after a while. Saunders, who had been so worked up just moments before, felt himself relaxing with ease underneath the lieutenant’s embrace. Hand still moving in his short hair, he closed his eyes and reached out to turn off the lamp, the absence of warm light sending the room into darkness. 

 He thought the other man had fallen asleep after a while, and he felt sleep chasing him as well. Drifting, fingers stilling in the other man’s hair, he barely heard the softly murmured query from the other man: “Please. I need to know your name.”

Saunders smiled, something warm curling in the pit of his stomach at the neediness in the other man’s voice. He resumed stroking his hair. “Aurick,” he finally whispered. “Aurick Saunders.”

The man let out a soft breath against his stomach, kissing him there. “Aurick,” he repeated, as if it was the most delicate – most significant – word he’d ever spoken. And he fell asleep with a certainty that he would stay until first light, curled up with the younger man beneath him, a satisfied smile on his face.


            They met up when they could in the coming weeks – in the early morning hours, two or three a.m., so that Aurick ended up wandering about the following day in a sleep-deprived daze; or late at night, just after lights-out. Despite the weather, they often went outside, where the incessant rain covered the sounds of their desperate lovemaking, Aurick pressed against the frozen red brick building, legs spread as the lieutenant took him from behind or, once, spread on the wet ground on top of the older man’s coat so the following day he had to conduct drills in a sodden jacket.

            It was hard to find time during the day – and dangerous, too. They managed it once, a quick snog behind the rifle range, before the sounds of approaching cadets interrupted; the officer fled before they rounded the corner and laughed at Saunders, asking if he had managed to get lost again. After that, they settled for glances across rooms or down hallways, half-hidden smiles, the adoration unmasked in amber eyes when he saluted the older man, a quick hand signal, if nobody was looking – two fingers over his heart. They kept their trysts to the darkest hours of the day.
           
            Some nights, too tired to do much more than kiss, he would curl up with the officer wherever they happened to be – his bed, the gym, the mess hall – and they would spend their time talking about everything: their pasts, their hopes and dreams, the future. Who they wanted to be when they figured it all out. Those nights were his favourite, secure in the older man’s arms, cheek to his chest, finger tracing the lines of hard muscle across his stomach as he listened to his heartbeat and the rumbling of his chest as he spoke.

Nothing could touch them there, nobody would find them – this wasn’t bad or wrong or illegal. It was as if the other man knew how exhausted he was, how scared – how hard he found it trying to go day by day with this secret looming over his head, ready to drop at any moment like the Sword of Damocles. He never asked for anything those nights, simply held him as if he feared to let go would be the end, and they caught scant hours of sleep pressed tightly together, until the early dawn light forced them to part and return to their own cold, unwelcoming sheets.


April came quickly, and with it the end of phase two of their training. His parents came for his passing out ceremony, but he only had eyes for the smartly-dressed lieutenant who held two fingers above his heart and smiled with such pride as he walked out with his comrades.

 He found him later, after the ceremony had finished and his parents had left. He had been waiting for him when he returned to the barracks; he dragged him into his arms and kissed him in the doorway of a supply closet, pushed up against the door, hands on his hips. Aurick moaned softly, clutching at his uniformed chest in a desperate sort of way.

“I’m so proud of you,” he whispered against his jaw. “Best Recruit! I told you you’d win something,” the lieutenant grinned, finally releasing him, stepping back to free him from the doorway. “Come with me?” he asked, hopeful. Aurick could never resist, of course, and he followed the man the long way to the officer’s hall and to his private room. It was still early – only nine or so – but most of the privates had either gone out with family or were celebrating in the mess hall; many of the officers had joined them there. They didn’t encounter anyone, therefore, and as they approached his room, the older man covered his eyes with one hand before he unlocked his door and pushed him inside.

Still thus blindfolded, Aurick stumbled into the room, listened to the door being locked behind them and let out a characteristic whine until the other man removed his hand. There on the desk was a plate with a little iced fairy cake alongside a bottle of cheap wine and two glasses he had stolen from the officer’s mess. He grinned when Aurick turned his face towards him, mouth open.

“What? When?” he said, breaking out into a grin at the older man’s infectious smile. The lieutenant shrugged. “Got a pass to leave while you were out with your parents. Didn’t think this moment should pass without a celebration of our own,” he said. Aurick laughed softly, muttering that he couldn’t believe he went out to Tesco to buy him a fairy cake, shaking his head as he approached the desk with something like awe. He hadn’t had store-bought food in so long!

“Oh!” he gasped, noting the envelope for the first time. He smiled faintly, picking it up to admire the man’s handsome cursive rendition of his name before he opened it. Expecting a card, he was surprised to find instead a thick handwritten letter. He glanced back at the other man, who smiled shyly. “Read it later, alright?” he suggested, holding a hand out to him. Aurick nodded, putting it back in its envelope in favour of taking the man’s hand instead.

They celebrated well into the early morning hours together, finishing the bottle of wine somewhere between making love and discussing the future. Aurick fell asleep for a short time, head pillowed on the man’s naked chest, his arm slung over him. He stumbled from bed near dawn, leaning back down to kiss the older man, grinning and giggling despite the early hour; the officer hugged him as hard as he could, kissing all over his face. He ran a thumb under one eye, admiring his handsome face, brow furrowed before he kissed him once more, hard and possessive.

It was whispered softly, almost too softly when Aurick had turned to dress and gather his letter: “I love you, kitten.” Flushed, heart clenching – had really heard that? – he glanced over his shoulder at the older man, lying on his back, arm folded under his head, one leg bent. He offered him the ghost of a smile, uncertain – a look that didn’t fit the image of the confident man Aurick had been with for nearly the past five months.

            He crossed the small space to the bed and bent to kiss him once more, hand splayed on his chest supporting his weight. “I love you, Fairfax,” he breathed, nipping his bottom lip. “Hold that thought, hm? I’ve got to get out of here before I’m caught,” he grinned. The smile that lit the other man’s face made his heart soar; that was more like it. He hurried to leave, knowing he only had a little time before the officers would be awake.

            His elation over the man’s confession mixed with the lingering effects of the cheap wine from the night before made him just tipsy enough that he failed to notice that all of the lieutenant’s things were packed in the corner.

And it wasn’t until later that day, when he had a moment to read the letter he had been given, that he realized the other man was gone. 


Infantry Battle School: Brecon, Wales
April-September 2001

            He was selected by his CO a few days after Fairfax’s departure to attend the Infantry Battle School in Brecon to complete the Basic Sniper Course. It was an honour to be chosen, although it didn’t come as much of a surprise – he had always had the best rank in marksmanship and his maths grades were the highest in his unit.

It was a multi-week course, fast-paced and very involved; he didn’t have time to write to the other man during his time there. When he returned to England, he spent a further month or so covering field craft in great depth before he passed out with his new insignia: the coveted crossed rifles design with an 'S' between the barrels. There had been two letters awaiting him upon his return, and he felt a surge of guilt that he hadn’t found time to send the older man anything.

He read the letters – all three of them – over and over again. Lieutenant McCrae had been deployed to Sierra Leone, to aid in the evacuation of foreign nationals and to establish order in the midst of a decades-long civil war; according to his latest letter, things seemed to be stabilizing and his unit was helping to maintain control over the rebel forces, pushing them back from the areas around Freetown.

He wrote as if Aurick – as if anyone outside of Sierra Leone – really had any idea about what was going on, as if he was intimately familiar with this silly war that required British intervention. He could practically hear his voice, in that ridiculously delicious, posh accent that went straight to the core of him; could imagine they were lying together, discussing this as if it was something they’d read about in the news or in the history texts they’d pored over for class.

It was late at night when he sat to write his response letter, hoping the other man would accept the excuses he had for not having written earlier. By the time he signed it, the thing was four pages in length and told him in great detail about his time training in Wales, how he had earned his sniper badge, how he couldn’t wait to be deployed somewhere like him; how brave he thought he was; how much he missed the sound of his voice and could he even remember the exact colour of his eyes anymore? It had barely been three months, but did Fairfax really miss him as much as he did?

And so it went. Letter after letter, sent and responded to. He kept them in a bundle with his personal effects, reading and re-reading them again and again. Fairfax was supposed to spend six months in Sierra Leone, to return in October – but the troops were pulled in mid-September after the events of September 11th. The UK was sending in a force to join the US; units were to be ready for the invasion known as Operation Enduring Freedom on October 7th.

His unit returned in a flurry of activity and excitement by those on the home front, who had yet to face a deployment. This would be his third – Kosovo, Sierra Leone, now Afghanistan – but it would be Aurick’s first, and he wanted to be there to support him as he prepared to go overseas.

 When he landed at the Heathrow airport, he waded through the military families being reunited with their loved ones, gathered his things and spent the following six hours on a train north to Catterick.

It was late when he arrived, having taken three separate trains in order to make it there. He shouldered his pack and walked into ATC Catterick, where his arrival was greeted warmly by the Colonel. He had to endure a debriefing and a drink with the man and some of the other commanding officers before they finally, finally retired for the night.

He was housed in the officer’s barracks, in a temporary accommodation for the night; he left his pack there, unopened, and strode out into the late-summer evening to make his way to the barracks. It was well past dinner, so he didn’t bother to check the mess hall, but instead entered the recreation room in search of Aurick. Almost everyone’s gaze lifted to him when he strode inside, but it was one set of brown that he was in search of.

Aurick, forgetting for a moment where and what he was, equal parts shocked and delighted and confused, stood too quickly from where he’d been leaning, his pool cue in hand; it clattered loudly to the floor. As if on cue, every soldier in the room stood to attention and saluted him, but he waved dismissively. “At ease, please,” he grinned, clapping the nearest soldier on the back.

A cacophony of voices erupted at once, men hurrying to his side to ask how his deployment had gone, to talk about their upcoming transition from training to combat. He had to endure nearly thirty minutes of conversation, watching as Aurick slipped away at some point; he held himself back from following the young man. But eventually, he pleaded exhaustion and the soldiers he had helped train wrangled promises from him to visit the next day before he was able to escape.

The halls were quiet – the men were allowed to be up until lights out, an hour or so away. He made his way through the familiar maze until he reached the dormitory, hesitating only a moment before he pushed open the door. He found Aurick there, seated on his skinny bunk, and when he held a hand out to the boy he rushed into his arms.

Had it really been almost six months since their last embrace? Aurick was sobbing, unable to contain the well of emotion that bubbled up inside of him and demanded to be let loose. Fairfax clung to him, gripping him in a stranglehold that he wasn’t about to release him from. He wasn’t sure who was making that awful keening sound, halfway between a sob and a whimper – until it hit him that it was him.

He pulled back long enough to examine Aurick, eyes scanning his freckled face, wiping tears from his high cheekbones and kissing him, hard and rough, putting every emotion from the last six months into the act. He murmured I love you, I love you every time he pulled back, kissing him again and again as Aurick clung to his shirtfront.

Eventually Aurick subsided against him, rocking hard on his heels, wanting to be closer – under him, inside him. Fairfax stroked a firm hand up and down his back, kissed the crown of his head. “Will you come with me?” he asked, knowing they couldn’t remain much longer here – the other soldiers would be returning from the rec hall and the dormitory offered no privacy.

Aurick didn’t take anything with him, simply followed the other man through the halls, outside and across the garrison grounds to the officer’s barracks. Down the familiar halls and into the temporary accommodations he had been given, he locked the door and backed Aurick towards the bed. The young man offered up no resistance, face still wet with tears, arms going tight around his neck as Fax pushed him down into the thin sheets and practically crushed him beneath his solid weight.

Aurick’s fingers clawed at the back of his neck, tangling in his short hair there, marking him as his body wrestled against the force holding him down. “Don’t leave me again, you arsehole, don’t fucking leave me again without telling me!” he shrieked into Fax’s neck.

Fax had known that leaving him like that would hurt, but in his defense he hadn’t wanted to ruin Aurick’s graduation evening. He had thought perhaps the passage of time would have eased his anger, but Aurick seemed ready and willing to berate him again and again for the cruel act. He allowed it, of course, and their violent wrestling ended when he knocked his head against the wall at a particularly hard shove by Aurick.

Instant regret was written plain on the boy’s face as he lunged after him, catching his face in his hands. “Are you okay?” he asked, looking horrified as Fax sat up and hauled him into his embrace. “Are we finished?” he asked in response; he felt Aurick’s rapid nodding against his chest.

“I’m sorry I left like that. I couldn’t bear to see you upset, Aurick, not on such an important day. I know it was cruel; I know it was cowardly,” he soothed, rocking him. How to explain that he wanted the boy to remember that he had been so proud of him, so delighted by him, so in love with him? He hadn’t wanted him to recall the date as the day he told him he had been deployed. Perhaps it had been selfish of him, when he had thought he was being selfless.

Aurick settled against his broad chest, his anger abated for the moment. Fairfax massaged the back of his neck as he continued his slow rocking, and when he tipped his face up, Fax met his lips without hesitation.

October 6th, 2001

            Fairfax had been granted leave for a week upon his return from Africa – a week he had spent in Catterick with Aurick. But with the preparations for deployment underway, he had to return to his unit in London for the last two weeks in order to ensure everything was ready.
           
            The units from Catterick arrived on the 5th, Aurick among them. Despite having a private room on base, Fairfax insisted on spending their last two nights together in a hotel he had booked in central London. The colonel wasn’t exactly pleased that he wasn’t going to be on base, but he granted him the two nights’ pass, knowing he had every right to some free time after two deployments in quick succession.

            In the early morning hours on October 6th, after an exhausting and reaffirming evening spent together in the oversized hotel bed, Aurick woke to Fairfax settling his dog tags back against his chest. He blinked sleepily, wondering if perhaps they had been pressing into the older man’s cheek or something, bothering him. He rolled over and settled against his broad chest, smiling faintly as Fax tucked him close and kissed the top of his head, murmuring a soft go back to sleep, kitten. We’ve got a few hours yet.

            Later, on the huge military plane heading swiftly overseas, something about that morning tickled at his memory. He removed his dog tags from under his uniform, brow furrowed, and scanned the familiar metal discs.

His heart turned over, reading the two different tags that hung from the standard metal chain: Saunders, A, and McCrae, A. F. He tucked them back under his shirt after he had committed all the information to memory – O Pos, 65045398, McCrae, A. F., ND. It was as open a sign of commitment as they could make; and he couldn’t have loved the lieutenant more for having done it.

Kabul, Afghanistan
November 2001

Fairfax,

I received your letter yesterday and nothing could have made me happier than to hear from you, to know you’re still doing alright and you haven’t come to any harm. I’m sure you’re at least partially aware of what’s been going on in Kabul, so I won’t bore you with the details. As if things have progressed so quickly! Who knew it could be this easy…

Kandahar, Afghanistan
December 2001

Aurick,

            I’ve heard rumours that the UK might be pulling out of the Middle East soon. Kandahar was the last Taliban stronghold; they’ve been overrun and are forming a new government with the help of the U.S and the UK. Who knows how long it’ll take to pull the troops out, but perhaps in a month or so we’ll be together.
            I’ve been thinking about purchasing a house if we ever make it out of here…

Kabul, Afghanistan
April 2002

Fax,

            I hate the heat. I hate the sun. I hate the sand. I hate this godforsaken country. I hate these people. I hate NATO. I never thought I could miss fishing with my father, but I’d give anything to be out of this shithole and back home right now. This was supposed to be over in six months…

Camp Bastion Hospital, Helmand Province, Afghanistan
September 2002

Auri,

            Forgive me for not having written for some time. I can’t give you details, but my unit was bombed while transporting medical equipment to Camp Bastion Hospital. It’s funny how these things work out, I suppose – is this an example of irony? I don’t know; I was never very good at that sort of thing…

            Apparently two of my men died; one lost his legs; nobody escaped without some sort of injury. I only just woke up a few days ago. I hope all is well and this letter finds you. Are you still in Kabul?

I long to hear your voice. Do you still think of me…?

Kabul, Afghanistan
October 2002

Fax,

            I thought you were dead! We heard about the bombing – they showed it on the news! They wouldn’t tell us which units were involved, but I just knew it was yours when I hadn’t heard from you. Thank god you’re alive, thank god. I prayed every day… when can we go home?

London, UK
December 2002

            “I thought we were going to Norfolk, Fax?” Aurick whined, annoyed and antsy in the passenger seat of the rental car Fax was driving. He leaned his head against the window, watching the unfamiliar houses pass them by.

They’d only made it back to the UK a few days’ prior, landing at Heathrow where their public reunion had consisted of Fax squeezing his shoulder and Aurick touching his fingers over his heart, a faint smile creasing his face. The kid had lost weight, he was equal parts tanned and sunburnt and he followed Fairfax with a look of immense relief written on his face – relief at being home, at being alive, at being with him again.

They had rented a hotel, refusing to stay on base while they made plans to visit his parents in Norfolk for the holidays. A car rented, bags packed (they didn’t have much by way of civilian clothing), they headed north. “You missed the exit for the highway,” Aurick grumbled. He’d been snappy and at times quite rude when he wasn’t clinging to Fairfax, as if he had no idea what he was supposed to feel at any given moment.

“It’s a quick detour,” Fax soothed, reaching out to catch the young man’s hand. He had to remind himself numerous times that this had been his first deployment; this was his first time returning home. He could recall his return from Kosovo – how standoffish he had been, how easily aggravated by every little thing. He couldn’t blame Aurick for his inability to process his emotions.

He eventually turned down a residential street and parked in front of a large house with an immaculate yard and a for sale sign blowing in the wind. He glanced enquiringly at Fairfax, nose wrinkled, before he looked back at the house. “What is this?” he asked, confusion and uncertainty mingled in his stomach.

Fax smiled faintly. “I thought perhaps I’d put an offer in?” he said, casually, as if he didn’t hold out too much hope that Aurick would think it was a good idea. And perhaps the kid would be right to think it was silly… Aurick was only twenty; he had just turned twenty-three. They’d spent less than eight months of their two-year relationship in each other’s presence. What did he know about owning a home? About living with someone? And would they even have time to be together here?

Aurick looked back at him, eyes rapidly filling with tears. “For u-us?” he asked in a whisper. When Fairfax nodded, he scrambled to unbuckle, to climb over the console to grasp the man’s shirtfront with one hand, the other going around his neck in a stranglehold. “Yes, yes,” he breathed. “I want it – I want it with you.”

Fax held him close while he sobbed against his shoulder; and he was sure it wasn’t about the house.

May 2003

            “What are those?” Aurick asked as he hopped down the back porch steps, shielding his eyes from the sun. Fax looked up at him, grinning.

“I thought we could plant some blueberry bushes, see if they take?” he said, stepping away from the six little plants he had brought home from the market. He had gone to buy coffee and breakfast, thinking to surprise Aurick with breakfast in bed; he had been caught up in the market in Bromley High Street and had found a man selling fruit bushes. Knowing Aurick’s love of all things blueberry, he had decided to purchase some of the little plants in the hopes that his partner might like them.

            Aurick found himself smiling fondly as he stepped into the man’s embrace.

Iraq
January 2004

Fax,

            I miss you with every fibre of my being. Eight months at home was hardly enough time. Are you safe? Have you received my letters? Do you read my dog tag as often as I re-read yours? Do you think my blueberry bushes are going to survive the winter?

Afghanistan
September 2005

Auri,

            It’s hard to keep up with what’s going on in Iraq when so much is happening here. I wish I could be with you. Are you still in Fallujah? I’m still in Helmand; the fighting has been few and far between here, luckily.

            Let me know you’re well, please? I can’t sleep at night thinking you might be injured…

London, UK
November 2005

Will you be home for Christmas? I want nothing more than to spend my six months of leave lying in your arms. Please, please – promise me you’ll be home soon?

Afghanistan
December 2005

Auri,

            I’ll be home for six in March. I’m sorry I’ll miss the holidays with you. Ask my mum to make you her famous Christmas pudding! All my love, forevermore…

Iraq
June 2006

Fax,

I won a medal! I’ve tried to draw what it looks like below…

Afghanistan
January 2007

Aurick,

            I’ve been promoted again – I’m Captain McCrae now. I don’t know I like the ring of that compared to Lieutenant, though. A few more years and I’ll make Major! Fancy that, you marrying a Major…


London, UK
May 2007

Fax,

The blueberries are blooming! They’re beautiful and they smell so sweet! I’m going to make you a blueberry pie when you get home in July. I can’t wait…

London, UK
September 2007

            “Do you want to visit your parents for your birthday?” Fax asked as he came up behind Aurick at the stove, arms wrapping around his middle, lips finding his bare shoulder. The younger man was wearing nothing but his boxers as he flipped pancakes messily out of the pan. He turned his face just enough to receive a few kisses to his cheek and jaw, smiling adoringly at the man behind him.

            “Why would I want to go up north when I could stay here with you…?” he demanded, rolling his hips back against Fax’s, gasping when the man pushed him closer to the stove. “Fax! Careful! I could get burned!” he said, the characteristic whine creeping into his tone.
           
            Fax reached past him, turned the burner off and then drew the boy away from the stove. “You’ll be twenty-five this year,” he said, turning him to kiss him as his hands roamed down his sides to his slender hips. Aurick’s arms slid around his neck as he leaned up on his toes to deepen the kiss. Did it matter that they had spent almost every night since his return in each other’s arms? It did nothing to quell the visceral need in the core of his being to be with this man every moment that he could manage it.

            “I’d rather stay home,” he breathed once Fax had pulled away. “Please? Just you and I, alright?” Fairfax recognized the unspoken fear in his partner’s tone: that he couldn’t bear to be with anyone else when he only had this short time left with him.

            “We’ll see them next time then,” he agreed, nuzzling the side of his face, his embrace rough and solid and enveloping. “Just you and I this time, kitten. Promise.”

December 2007

            “Fax, I said I didn’t want to visit your parents,” Aurick grumbled as the car turned onto the highway heading towards Norfolk. Fairfax simply smiled, reaching across to catch his hand. “Shh. Drink your coffee, Auri, and lose the attitude. We’ll have a nice time, I promise.”

            Still grumbling, the other man finished his coffee and eventually dozed off, head against the window. When he woke, he didn’t recognize the unpaved road or the wooded area they were driving through. “Are we lost?” he asked, stifling a yawn against his hand.

            Fax shook his head faintly, but Aurick looked concerned. “Fax, where are we?” he asked, sitting up quickly.

            “It’s alright, Aurick; I know exactly where we are,” he promised. “We just passed Redgrave,” he said, driving a little while longer in silence. Aurick looked concerned, glancing at the gas metre with a furrowed brow. “What…? Why would we be way out here?” he asked. “This is at least an hour from your parents’!” he said, sinking into his seat with annoyance, crossing his arms. Why would Fax add more time to their already ridiculously-lengthy journey? This was why he never wanted to visit his own parents!

            Eventually the older man parked the car on the edge of the gravel road, leaned over and secured a blindfold over Aurick’s eyes. “Trust me,” he said, when the young man stiffened. Aurick nodded, almost imperceptibly; he followed Fax out of the car when he opened the door and helped him out. Twenty, thirty, fifty metres perhaps – and then Fax removed the blindfold and stood grinning at him.

            Behind the tall man stood a little wooden cottage, tucked in its own little world of overgrown bushes and trees. The roof was covered in a thin layer of snow and leaves, although the front porch appeared to have been recently swept and an effort made at stacking wood along the side of the cottage.

            “Merry Christmas, Aurick,” he said, still grinning broadly despite the young man’s silence. Aurick blinked, shaking his head after a moment. “You have got to stop doing this!” he finally said, laughing as he approached to shove hard at Fax’s chest, playfully. He wasn’t strong enough to move the man, who simply grabbed him and hauled him against his chest for a hug.

            “I thought we could spend the holidays here, if you’d like. My mum and dad will expect us to make an appearance, of course, but it can be just you and I if you’d like.” Aurick nodded against his chest, and when he pulled back, Fax handed him the key to the front door. “Get a fire started, Auri; I’ll bring the car.” And he sauntered back to the car he had left parked down the gravel road, leaving Aurick to stand in awe at the ridiculous gift he’d been given.

June 2008

            “Are you sure that you have everything you need?” Fax asked, double-checking the list against what Aurick had shoved into the back seat of the car already. He was so engrossed in his task that he didn’t notice Aurick rolling his eyes at him as he carried his last bag down to the car, ducking under his arm to kiss him.

            “I’ve got it. This is my third deployment; I think I’ll manage,” he said, holding both of Fax’s cheeks in his hands so the older man had no choice but to meet his eyes. “Hey. I love you. Okay? I’ll be fine. I’m going to be just fine. It’s just Iraq,” he said, shrugging. “It won’t be any different than last time. I’ll write as often as I can.”

            They both had cell phones now – Fairfax’s mother had purchased the latest models for them for Christmas. But Aurick knew he wouldn’t be allowed to use it once he landed in Iraq; and once Fax was sent back out to Afghanistan in August, he doubted he would be able to reach him via satellite phone very often. It was easier to write letters, for both of them.

            “I’ll miss you,” Fax confessed. An uninterrupted year together at home had been both a blessing and a curse; parting now was so much harder.

“It’s only eight months,” Aurick smiled. “And then I’ll be home. And you – you’ll be home a month after that. Just make sure you stay alive,” he said, the smile on his face never leaving although his tone was serious. Fax kissed his face – eyes, nose, cheeks, lips, jaw. He couldn’t count the number of kisses he had graced that freckled face with, but he knew it would never be enough; his beautiful boy deserved so much more than he had been able to give.

“Come on; we’ve got to get to Heathrow, Fax,” Aurick chuckled. “Before they report me MIA,” he said, laughter ringing in Fax’s ears as he ducked around to the passenger side and slid in. Fax couldn’t help but smile.

Iraq
October 2008

Fax,

            What the hell is happening in Russia? The higher ups have been calling it WWIII – what is going on? They’re pulling us out of Iraq; I’ll be in Russia by November. My deployment has been extended – I might be home in June next year rather than February; I’m sorry I’ll miss your birthday…

Russia
February 2009

Auri,

            Thank you for my early birthday present. I have never been more surprised than when I saw you marching into Krasnoyarsk with your battalion and I will never forget the look on your face when you realized where you were. I long to lie beside you every night like that, but that night will sustain me until we are together again.

Keep warm as you march north, kitten. I’ve heard that we’ll be following soon; perhaps we’ll be able to spend the night together soon…

March 2009

Fax,

            We came close to an ambush in Vangash. What a frigid little shithole. I hope you’re safe!


April 2009

Auri,

            We just passed through Vangash. There’s nothing left of it; the rebels burned it to the ground. We’re advancing still; hopefully we’ll meet up with your battalion soon! All my love, forever…

May 2009
[Undelivered]

Auri,

            Your battalion has made good progress! I thought we’d catch you by Sulomay but we haven’t seen any sign of you! What’s the fighting like where you are? We’ve been in nearly daily skirmishes on our way north…

June 2009
[Undelivered]

Aurick,

            Where are you? I can’t sleep at night worrying that your battalion has lost communication with Krasnoyarsk. Write to me when you can, please? In sleep, I dream you’re lying in our yard at home, safe amongst your blueberry bushes…

November 2009

Aurick,
[Undelivered]

            It’s official – you’ve been declared MIA. Where the hell are you? One word, one sign and I’ll come to you…

London, UK
September 2010

            He crumpled the letter he had been writing in his hand and sat back with a glare at the military psychiatrist, arms crossing over his chest. “What’s the point of this? This is stupid,” he ground out, holding the crumpled page in his tight fist. “He’s never going to fucking read it. He’s never going to fucking read anything ever again!” he hissed, voice cracking. He couldn’t maintain the glare when his eyes were filling with tears, so he looked towards the far wall instead, trying to still his features.

            “I understand that this is difficult for you, Fairfax,” the woman said softly. “He meant a lot to you. Of course this will be hard. But I think it will help to get your feelings out on paper. You can say the things you never got to say. It’ll give you some closure, so you can begin to move on.”

            Fairfax refused to look at her; refused to tell her that he spent hours every day at his gravesite, talking to a body that wasn’t there; that he had written letter after letter in his office in their home that he had burned because he was never going to read them; that he read and re-read their letters over the last eight years, to see if there was something he had missed, something he could have done; that he tried to get a flight back to Russia every day for six months when he was sent home in February only to be told no civilian flights would come anywhere near that country. That he had kept his dog tag – worn every day no matter what else he wore – despite the fact that it rightfully should have been returned to Aurick’s parents; he just couldn’t bear the thought of losing that small piece of him.

What did she know? What did it matter to her? This was just her job; she didn’t actually care. He clenched his jaw, barely acknowledging her as she slid paper towards him once again, offering a small smile. “Why don’t you start by telling him of your recent promotion? Hm? You’re a Major now; don’t you think he’d be impressed?”

He took the pen from her, glaring at the blank page before him, brow furrowed. This was pointless. Stupid. Nothing would bring him back.

 He was confused for a moment by the wet that bloomed on the page as he wrote the date in the right corner, followed in his sloping handwriting:

Auri…

The End.

No comments:

Post a Comment