Lead Guitarist & Tags/Solo3

Muscle Boy Island

Chapter 1
The Muscle-Boys

The tropical sun rises swiftly; Tom Henderson knew that even though the sky was only just paling over the east beach, the morning's heat would soon become blistering. His boys would suffer no ill effects from a heavy workout out in sweltering weather, not even the slightest discomfort. Their phenomenal physical conditioning and their bio-engineered genes took them way beyond the limitations of ordinary human beings. He himself found it oppressive just to supervise. So he wanted his boys to eat their breakfast and get going on the day's workout before it became intolerable for him, and that meant he had to impose summer hours and wake the boys early.

Tom quietly turned the knob and eased the door open. The flood of light from the hall entered the dark room, its beam widening as the door opened further. This was Tom's first highlight of the day: watching the young boys wake up.

First the light illuminated the bed of ten-year-old Jack Tyler. The boy was lying on his belly, embracing his pillow, with his little blond head turned away from the door. The blanket had slid off the boy's torso, just barely covering his young ass and legs, leaving bare the hard, cabled muscularity of his tanned back. The gentle curve of the teen's spine was exposed, and Tom let his eyes follow it from the downward slope of Jack's hard little-boy buttocks into the hollow at his slender waist, and from there up again between the shoulder blades. The spine of an ordinary ten-year-old boy looks like a bumpy line because the vertebrae protrude, but in spite of Jack's tender years and small, boyish frame he had strong, thick, rippling muscle flanking his spine so that his vertebrae nestled into a valley of boy-sinew.. To Tom it was wonderfully beautiful and he paused for a delicious moment, enjoying the view of Jack's young, taut muscles as the boy breathed the even breath of sleep.

Tom pushed the door open wider. Now the light beam found the bed of Ricky Addison. Ricky was eleven, with raven-black hair and olive skin. He lay on his back with his arms under his pillow, propping up his head, and his angelic boyface, relaxed in slumber, looked so beautiful that Tom felt his heart speed with pleasure as he gazed from the doorway. Ricky's blanket was in disarray around his slim young-boy hips, exposing the top of the tiny, narrow-sided blue bikini briefs he wore. Tom felt his cock twitch in his pants. He lovingly studied Ricky's belly, beautifully flat, uncommonly long and slim like most growing boys', with exceptionally sharply-defined ripples of abdominal muscle gently rising and falling with the sleeping youngster's breathing. Tom's eyes moved up Ricky's torso, up the sharp rise under the breastbone where belly met chest. Ricky's ribcage was normally-sized for a young boy his age, in beautiful boy-proportion to the rest of his body, and Tom could see the clearly outlined ribs in the beam of soft light from the hall. Where Ricky's chest differed from a normal boy's was in the muscle development. Ricky's muscularity was remarkable. Thick, hard, perfectly curved mounds of pectoral muscle rose from his chest, looking particularly dense just under the collarbone and stretching the young boy-skin taut over the promising strength. Ricky's lats were also sharply defined, cut and spreading from the little-boy ribs. The combination of the young, cute face and little-boy frame with swollen, dangerouslypowerful muscles made the boy an erotic icon, fascinating to Tom. The man stood in the doorway, forgetting to move for a moment, as he took in the remarkable sight of this young, gorgeous body.

At last Tom widened the door opening again. Now the light played over the supine form of eleven-year-old Alex Tempest, also lying on his back, whose darkly-tanned skin contrasted so wonderfully with his sun-whitened mane of long silky hair that Tom almost gasped, even though he had closely observed Alex every day of the boy's life. The blanket was drawn all the way up to Alex's neck, hiding his terrifically muscular body, and his knees were drawn up a little, making a tent of the blanket. Then Tom noticed that Alex was not asleep. His eyes were open, glittering their piercing blue even in the half-light of the bedroom. Tom was about to speak but Alex, with a wide, bright grin, signed him into silence, then smoothly and quickly pulled the blanket away. His lean, powerful body was clothed only in the skimpiest of dirty white bikini briefs, styled to be almost as revealing as a thong. The sides were tugged high on his hips but the front of the waistband plunged down towards the boy's crotch, making a tiny narrow V of fabric containing Alex's young penis and balls. This morning the boy had a serious erection, his four-inch [10 cm] hard dick straining against the brief, tenting it out, stretching the waistband and leg holes away from his skin. Alex grinned, proud of his boyhood. He spun and sat up on the edge of the bed, feet on the floor and knees spread apart, with his hands on his thighs. He kept his eyes on Tom as he pushed hard on his thighs, flexing all the muscles of his torso. His pecs arched out from his boyish ribcage, bulging powerfully. He sucked in his belly, tensing the hard, ridged abs. The whole pose focused Tom's attention on young Alex's straining cock, the tiny bikini doing its best to contain the boy's erection, but it was stretched so tight, outlining the rock-hard penis so clearly, that it was a hopeless cause. Alex gave Tom a wide, beautiful teen-boy grin.

"Later," Tom whispered. "After your workout."

Tom opened the door the rest of the way. Now the light fell on the body of Eric Silverthorne, the oldest of the group at twelve. During the night he had thrown his blanket aside and now he slept uncovered, sprawled royally across the bed. Like the other boys, Eric's only garment was a tiny bikini brief, yellow in his case. Though the sleeping boy was not erect, he had an exceptionally large flaccid penis for a boy his age and big balls, too, and the package bulged out the front of his brief. Tom gazed for a moment Eric's developing boyhood had been making Tom's mouth water for months now. Now Tom took in Eric's body.

The boy was a masterpiece. He was exactly five feet [1.50 m] tall, and as he lay his long torso and long legs seemed to have been arranged by an artist. His skin was tanned darkly, but since he had no fat at all it seemed extraordinarily thin, vacuumed tightly over his astonishing muscles. The light network of veins could be seen spreading over his body just beneath the skin, giving the impression that this young body just throbbed with life. His calves swelled out like diamonds of boy-muscle. His thighs seemed sculpted from marble, the shape of the big muscles contoured and defined even though the boy was completely relaxed. His thighs tightened at the top into hips that were slim and narrow, almost too narrow, the beauty of his hips accentuated by the little briefs he wore. Those narrow hips extended up into a slender, equally narrow waist and abdominal area just rippling with taut, trained muscle, perfectly formed and drawing Tom's eyes further on up young Eric's incredible physique. Next was the chest, and again the ribcage was the size of a normal twelve-year-old's, but Eric's smooth, beautifully clear skin etched out muscular development that was nothing short of phenomenal. The boy's little, lightly marked nipples highlighted bulging, liquid-steel pecs chiseled and etched of incredible boy-muscle, young muscle, developed to an unheard-of peak of perfection. Eric's hairless armpits were unusually deep because of the bulging pecs and the strong, rippling lats that spread from his upper back. The boy's arms, relaxed across the bed bulged with deeply cut, rock hard, living boy-muscle; even asleep, Eric's arms seemed to possess enormous strength. Lastly, Tom's eyes settled lovingly on Eric's young face. Framed by long, thick brown hair streaked with an astonishing natural gold, forming a luxurious rich flame across the pillow, this boy's tanned, clean, unblemished face carried a beauty so pure, so startling, that Tom felt that he was in the presence of something truly divine. The face was narrow, as befits a slim body, but the high, prominent cheekbones preserved an utterly guileless boyishness. The long eyelashes were the same gold as the streaks in the hair, the pert little nose made the face a touch elfin, magical, and the perfect full lips framed a wide mouth that bore a slight smile even in the bliss of sleep. All told, Tom thought there had never been a human form that seemed more created for action, for pure boy-life, for play, adventure, innocent joy and the expression of human potential than young Eric Silverthorne.

"Let him sleep," said Alex, gently smiling at Tom. "He and I played late last night."

Tom grinned. "So what? You're awake."

"I know. But I'm always awake."

Young Jack rolled over, awakened by the talking. He rubbed his eyes, his healthy young muscles swelling and rippling like oil under his skin. "Hi, Tom. Is it six already?" His soft tenor was clear and wonderfully musical.

"Yeah, kiddo. Sun's up and I've got breakfast ready. Time to get up."

Jack sat up, naked but for his tiny orange briefs, and smiled. Suddenly he snatched up his pillow and flung it hard at Ricky. The down missile struck the sleeping boy in the bare belly.

"Ooof!" Ricky gasped, instantly awake. "What the -" and then he became aware that Jack was already laughing, and he scowled and threw the pillow back.

"Easy, guys! You know better than that." said Tom firmly. "With your superstrength, you'll shred those pillows. Come on, let's just get going."

He walked over to Eric's bed and touched the boy gently on the shoulder. "Come on, Eric. Wake up."

Eric stirred, his fluid muscles coiling and flowing smoothly, and at last he opened his eyes. This was another moment Tom had been waiting for. Eric's eyes were large and seemingly almost luminous, the iris the same deep, rich brown as his hair, and streaked with the same eerie gold as well. The gold streaks radiated from the pupils, turning his eyes into stars. The effect was one of unearthly, mesmerizing beauty.

"OK, Tom," he smiled, his voice a soft near-whisper. "I'm awake."

But Tom hesitated, still bending over the boy, trying to preserve the moment and the recognition of Eric's beauty just a little longer. Eric's smile widened, for Tom always did this, and he gestured with his hand for Tom to leave him room. Tom straightened and Eric sat up.

The other three boys were now standing. Alex, ever the showoff, was stretching, standing with his feet apart and his hands high over his head, arching his back with the rear of his tiny briefs caught up between his solid, clenched, hard buttocks, leaving his ass nearly naked, and that young-boy erection still struggling to rip its way out of the straining briefs in front. Both Jack and Ricky were staring at Alex's erection, giggling a little but clearly fascinated, and Tom noticed that their cocks were hardening in their briefs as well.

"Come on, guys," Tom said. "No playing around until after the workout. You know that. By the way, Doc Vanderhaeghe's coming back this afternoon."

The boys cheered.

"All riiiight!" Jack enthused. "Is he bringing us our new tennis rackets?"

"I'm sure he's doing his best. You know you guys need special rackets. Balls, too. They've got to be specially made."

"We know all that," said Eric. "But he's always managed that stuff real well."

"And you should be grateful to him. He's a very busy man and he's got a lot on his mind. He puts himself out for you guys a lot because he thinks the world of you. All of you. Anyway, he's coming back this afternoon and that means that after your workout you swim and shower and wear clean briefs. Understood?"

The boys nodded, chastened for a moment. Tom didn't want them in a down mood, so he brightened:

"Now, who's hungry?"

He knew the answer already. These boys were always hungry; the amount of physical exercise they got, along with the incredible amount of muscle they all possessed, combined with the natural appetites of growing boys, required an awful lot of "fuel." The sunny, youthful exuberance of voices that answered him made him grin, filled his heart with joy, and made him think for the millionth time that he had the best job in the world.

Chapter 2
Tom

Tom Henderson was a thirty-eight year old research assistant in physiology and biochemistry. His accomplishments were astonishing: he had earned his Ph.D. at the age of twenty-one, he had received many academic awards and was among the youngest ever Fellows of the National Society of Science, and his reputation was such that he could have headed any research organization in his field in the world, but he had chosen, at the age of twenty-six to work as a mere assistant to a true legend. Those twelve years ago, Dr. Anton Vanderhaeghe had offered him the job.

Dr. Vanderhaeghe was sixty-five years old and close to retirement from the greatest career in modern science. He had won two Nobel Prizes outright, one in medicine and one in biochemistry, and had founded the most successful genetic-engineering company in the world: Antonics, Inc. He was a billionaire many times over by the age of forty, and, being unmarried and unattached, he began to look for something interesting to do with his life.

He had always been interested in the rather arbitrary limitations of the human physiology, and he thought that with an advanced enough conception of the genetics and biochemistry involved, these limitations might perhaps be transcended. He decided to embark on the most ambitious research project of his life: an investigation into the limits of human physical strength he called Project Hercules.

He knew that the research would not be popular among his colleagues because he was using human subjects, and it would also not be popular among the general public because they would assume that he was a eugenicist attempting to breed a master race. Well, he was using human subjects there was no way around that but he was no eugenicist. He was a pure scientist, carrying out the research for the sheer excitement of gaining greater understanding of the processes that govern nature. He bought an island, a place just north and a little east of Indonesia; it provided him with perhaps thirty square miles in which a very famous man could indulge in very private activities. On this island, which he named "Ponce de Leon," after the explorer Juan Ponce de Leon, who sought the fountain of youth, he erected a self-contained laboratory and living area in which he could experiment. He had many failures, followed many blind alleys, and spent a great deal of money without much success, until he hit upon what he believed was the solution to his problem. He deduced that if he slightly modified a particular sequence of genetic structures in a human zygote and bathed the growing fetus in a complex and changing modified amniotic fluid, he could produce a child with a remarkable capacity to build highly efficient muscle. And so, with the help of some carefully-selected sperm and egg donor "parents," he "engineered" the fetus that became Eric Silverthorne. The baby's surname, had no real significance and nothing to do with the sperm and egg donors. It was strictly a whimsy of Dr. Vanderhaeghe's. Upon the child's birth he noticed the strange-looking eyes and hair and realized that he had gotten the amniotic fluid slightly wrong. He hired Tom Henderson to help him adjust it, and also to help him raise the boys they were creating.

Before they "conceived" Alex Tempest, the two scientists arrived at the correct mixture and all three of the other boys they "cultivated" were of normal appearance. For a time Dr. Vanderhaeghe was worried that Eric would become a hideous-looking freak as he grew older, but the opposite proved to be the case. The unusual environment the embryo developed in had caused the baby to grow into what both he and Tom regarded as the most startlingly beautiful creature on Earth.

Tom, of course, was a boy-lover, and Dr. Vanderhaeghe had known that when he hired him. But Vanderhaeghe figured that a boy-lover would become far more emotionally involved with the children as they grew than any "normal" employee and so would care for them and spend time with them to a greater extent, and that could only benefit growing kids. The Doctor had been correct, as he usually was. Tom loved his young charges passionately, never took a vacation or even asked for a raise ("I'm in Paradise the Garden of Eden," he once told Dr. Vanderhaeghe, "and I'd have to be crazy to want to be anywhere else, even for a moment") and the boys loved him as they would love a slightly dorky but much-trusted older brother.

Now the boys left their bedroom to go to breakfast, and Tom followed. They all lived in a small, modern house amid a long lawn and a lane of palm trees that sloped down to the beach and the sea, and just above the beach there was a deck with a thatched cover. This was where Tom usually served breakfast.

The walk down to the beach always afforded Tom the opportunity to "examine the gluteal development" (as he like to think of it) of the boys. All four had perfect, strong, smoothly-curved buttocks that flexed sensuously under the tight fabric of their bikinis, the little briefs clinging to the muscle-swell of the boys' butts as they walked. Jack, in typical ten-year-old fashion, did not appear to notice that the right side of the rear of his tiny bikini had completely wedged between his buttocks and his right glute was entirely naked. If he did notice, he certainly didn't seem to mind, and Tom loved to watch the beautifully-shaped muscle work as the boy walked.

"Hey, Jackie," Alex chuckled. "You got a half-wedgie!"

Jack grinned, perhaps embarrassed, perhaps not, and looked over his shoulder at the older boy. He clawed the fabric out from between his cheeks.

"Jack, Alex! Not Jackie! Jackie's a girl's name!"

"I get to call you whatever I want 'cause you had a wedgie."

Tom smiled. Alex always enjoyed inventing games and making up rules on the spot. Playing along, he said, "And I get to call you whatever I want, Sandra, because you have a stiffie!"

"Yup! And so do you, I bet!"

The long sun-blond hair flew, glittering in the dawn, as Alex spun around to face Tom, flaunting his bikini-covered erection.

Tom had to concede that. He was usually erect whenever he was around the boys, and that meant his libido got a constant workout, for he was around the boys almost all the time.

"Of course I do," he said. "But mine doesn't show. I wear baggy pants."

This reminded Tom that boys had rarely worn conventional clothing here on Ponce de Leon. They had all lived nearly their entire lives on this tropical island, and clothing just wasn't necessary. The boys were not nudists, though when they got randy they often stripped entirely bare, but their routine wardrobes consisted of their minuscule bikini briefs. There were simply no other boy-size clothes on the island. They liked the briefs. They were comfortable, sleek, and very, very sexy. And besides, professional bodybuilding contestants wore briefs that were almost as skimpy as those the boys wore, and both Tom and Dr. Vanderhaeghe wanted to ensure that all the boys were constantly aware of their muscle and strength. Having the boys wear bodybuilder's briefs helped reinforce the point.

There were infrequent trips for the boys off island. Reluctant as they both were to take the risk, Tom and Dr. Vanderhaeghe agreed that they owed the boys the opportunity to see and experience some of the world beyond Ponce de Leon Island. Satellite TV, the internet, books and Tom's rigorous and devoted tutoring could only do so much. On these rare occasions, normal-appearing but specially tailored clothing, to accommodate and conceal the boys' phenomenal muscularity, was provided. Dr. Vanderhaeghe and Tom prudently decided that discretion was essential. Before departure in a corporate jet, the boys were briefed by Tom that nothing should be done to attract attention to themselves or their extraordinary strength and abilities. Tom never particularly enjoyed these trips. From departure to return, he fought the nagging worry that something would go wrong and that the secret of Project Hercules would be compromised.

Tom himself was a large, powerful man at six foot four [1.93 m] and two hundred and fifty pounds [110 kg] of muscle. He had been a weight lifter in college as well as a football player, and for most of his life he had never had to take a back seat to anyone in the strength department. But he remembered the serious bruises he had taken from these boys when as toddlers they threw tantrums, and how he had worn hockey pads and other protection during those years purely as a matter of survival. Then there had come that day when Eric was seven, and he and Tom had a quarrel over something trivial, and in a rage Eric had lifted Tom over his head and threw him against the wall. The resulting concussion was serious enough that Dr. Vanderhaeghe had sent Tom to a hospital on the mainland for a few days. Eric had felt such remorse that he wept almost non-stop until Tom returned and forgave him. But from that point on the boys, particularly Eric, were conscious that their strength far exceeded that of either Tom or of Dr. Vanderhaeghe. Eric subtly adopted the role of enforcer of Tom's rules, keeping the younger boys in line when the adults were incapable of doing so. Tom often wondered what would have happened in the past few years had the beautiful muscle-boy not matured so quickly.

"Hey, Sandra! Give me a ride!"

Young Ricky grinned as he leapt easily onto Alex's shoulders, his bare feet cool on the round, powerful deltoids. He stood straight, absolutely sure of his balance, and proudly flexed his amazing biceps in the morning sun. The muscles just popped from his arms, melon-sized, straining knots of sinew, steel-hard muscles gleaming, sculpted, throbbing with super-boy-strength.

"Don't call me Sandra, you little twit!" Alex laughed. The boys were the same age, had, in fact, been born within days of each other, but Alex was slightly bigger, standing four foot nine [1.45 m] to Ricky's four foot eight [1.42 m]. Now Alex gripped Ricky's ankles in his little powerful fists and easily lifted the smaller boy off his shoulders. His deltoids and pecs surged up into powerful swells of muscle. With a sudden burst of his young strength he hurled Ricky forward, and the boy in blue briefs landed somersaulting twenty feet [6 m] away, laughing as he stood to face Alex. Alex had broken into a run, mock-charging Ricky, and suddenly both Eric and Jack joined in and all the boys were laughing, tumbling, wrestling and running down the grassy slope to the beach.

For all the prodigious muscle they carried, the boys moved with the light, sinewy grace of panthers their young strength translated to agility, quickness, balance, and the freedom of not being quite as burdened by gravity as even the most athletic among normal boys. When they ran, their strides were long; when they leapt, their young bodies arced high, almost soaring as though they knew a freedom denied to ordinary humans. Tom could not hope to keep up, and all the boys were waiting on the deck, already downing large glasses of freshly-squeezed juice, by the time he arrived there.

Tom had prepared them a light breakfast they always ate lightly before a workout of fish and fruit. The boys downed it all with all the speed of hungry, playful kids, clamored for more (which Tom denied them. "You can have a big lunch," he smiled) and after recovering from their disappointment (which only took seconds), they set off to their outdoor gym for the morning workout.

The gym consisted of weight machines and free weights set up on a concrete platform, the surface of which was left rough so that the boys' bare feet would not slip as they trained. The boys never wore shoes here and the soles of their feet were as tough as rhino-hide from the concrete, the beach sand, the stone and earth of the paths over the island, and the raw jungle that covered eighty percent of the island. A close examination of the equipment, however, would reveal something unusual and, to an uninformed observer, perhaps a little unnerving. None of the weights were standard sizes. Everything was, by conventional standards, too heavy much too heavy. The big plates, instead of being a standard forty-five pounds [20 kg], were enormous masses of steel weighing two hundred and fifty pounds [110 kg] each. They were sixteen inches [40 cm] in diameter and more than four inches [10 cm] thick. There were also 150 pound plates [68 kg], 100 pound [45 kg] plates, 50 Lb [23 cm] plates, and standard sizes from there on down. The 100 pound and fifty pound plates were an odd size: rather than being large-diameter plates, the hundreds were only nine inches [23 cm] in diameter, over five and a half inches [14 cm] thick, and the fifties were only eight inches [20 cm] in diameter, and a little more than three and a half inches [9 cm] thick. The reason for this was that these plates were used almost exclusively on dumbbells.

Tom spent a few minutes cleaning up after breakfast before he joined the boys at the gym. Part of his job was to supervise their workouts, manage their schedules and watch that they didn't spend too much time fooling around and goofing off. But over the years Eric had developed an excellent understanding of their unusual physiology and how to exercise to maximize their strength, and he had also become a very good coach, motivating the other boys effectively. Tom trusted the boy to make sure his younger friends stuck to the straight and narrow.

Chapter 3
Work-out

So the boys were alone at the gym for a time. Eric was making sure each boy was doing the assigned workout.

"OK, Jack," he said, walking over to the ten-year-old and smiling at him. "Know what you're doing today?"

"Arms and chest! My favorite!"

"Right. Arms first you won't need a spotter. What routine are you doing?"

"One arm curls."

"Yeah, but how much and how many?"

"I wanna do six hundred for three sets of eight!"

"Bet you can't. You're supposed to be doing five hundred right?"

"But I can DO five hundred! It's time to up the weight!"

Young Jack flexed his right bicep proudly, holding it right in Eric's face.

"See? Fourteen inches [36 cm]!"

The muscle swelled amazingly large and peaked for an ten-year-old. Jack stood only four foot seven [1.40 m] and was ripped to the bone, not an ounce of fat anywhere on his powerful young body, and biceps that looked that full, round, and packed with strength when so clearly etched from pure, solid boy-muscle justified his pride.

Eric laughed. "Thirteen, maybe. After pumping and on your best day!"

"No! Fourteen!" Jack grinned slyly. His penis began stiffening in his tiny bikini. Showing off his muscles turned him on, and he wanted some of Eric's attention right now. The two boys were standing close, almost chest to chest, and Eric reached down and gently cupped Jack's brief-clad crotch in his hand and gave it a little squeeze. Jack's eyes widened . His face lit up with pleasure.

"Tell you what," Eric said. "Do your arm workout. When you're pumped we'll measure that bicep and if it's fourteen inches [36 cm], I promise I'll take care of this outta control troublemaker down here. Deal?"

"Deal!" Jack began loading a pair of dumbbells with five hundred pounds [225 kg] each.

Eric grinned widely to himself as he turned away. Fourteen inches [36 cm] or not, he just knew that Jack's "troublemaker" would get well taken care of.

Ricky was spotting Alex, who was doing bench presses. While the blond boy lay on the bench, Ricky stood by his head, hands lightly touching the loaded bar, ready to help if needed. The height of the bench and Ricky's position were such that his young brief-clad sex package was mere inches above Alex's eyes. "Jeez, Rick, you're turning me on," said Alex as he took his grip on the bar. His cock just never seemed to soften; he was as erect now as he had been when Tom awakened the boys, and as before, his penis forced the scant bikini he wore to tent up, stretching the waistband away from the skin.

At this mere suggestion of his own sexiness, young Ricky's little cock began to swell as well. He snickered, feeling the slight friction of the skin of his penis against the fabric as he got bigger. His penis was pointing down, and his developing erection was becoming uncomfortable, bulging the thin bikini outwards. Alex took a hand off the bar and reached up through one of the leg-openings in Ricky's trunks and straightened his penis up for him. "Mmmmm," Ricky moaned, the pleasure distracting him from the bar as well.

Eric came over. "Come on, guys, there'll be time for that later."

He counted the plates on the bar Alex was about to lift.

"You're doing twenty-six hundred? Hey, good going!"

He patted Alex affectionately on the chest, feeling those thick, shapely, growing boy-muscles tighten and bulge under his hand. Alex grinned at him, then looked longingly at the large, soft mass packed into young Eric's trunks. Eric's fat young penis was nearly five inches [12 cm] long soft, more than seven [18 cm] erect, and his balls were large and full. The little brief trunks he wore struggled to lift his penis and balls up and forwards, presenting them as a big, proud mass of pure boy that sagged the brief-pouch heavily, dragging the front of the waist down. Alex reached out and cupped Eric's brief-pouch in his hand appreciatively.

"What's the matter, Eric? You're not hard."

The truth was that Eric was really trying not to think about sex. He was irresistibly attracted to all of the other boys, their flexing, straining muscles were the ultimate fantasy to him. He could turn himself on easily just by flexing his own muscles. But he knew that, as the eldest of them, he had responsibilities, and first among these was ensuring that the daily workout was completed properly.

"I have an idea," he said. "Why don't we, just for today, put another two hundred pounds [90 kg] on this bar and see if you can do your three sets of eight with that. OK?"

Twenty-eight hundred pounds [1,250 kg] for three sets was more than Alex had ever done before. His best bench press was 3,700 pounds [1,700 kg] for one rep, and it had taken a great deal out of him. His goal was to reach a two-ton bench press before his twelfth birthday. That would beat even Eric, who had not managed two tons until the month after he turned twelve.

Alex loved a challenge, particularly a challenge to his strength, and more particularly a challenge to his strength that came from Eric. He knew that Eric had only proposed the challenge in order to get Alex's mind off sex for a time, but that didn't bother him he was more than willing to play along.

"You're on!" he agreed.

Eric and Ricky each easily lifted another hundred-pound plate and added it to the bar. The sheer mass of the steel at each end of the bar caused the bar to bend alarmingly. The weight was ready.

Alex took a few quick breaths to charge his blood with oxygen. Ricky took up his position standing by Alex's head. This time Alex ignored Ricky's hard young-boy cock. With a grunt, he raised the bar off the supports and lowered it to his chest. Now he began to press. Hard rep followed hard rep, the youngster's pecs arching into bulging humps of incredibly-powerful muscle at full extension. The first four reps came almost easily, as Alex, delighting in the exercise of his young muscular power, rammed them out almost too quickly. He slowed noticeably for the fifth rep, and the sixth, and ground the seventh and eighth out with a grimace of growing pain. That first set had set his bulging, supercharged pecs on fire. Already he had begun to sweat, and the sweat lent a glowing sheen to his naked skin stretched taut over the throbbing muscles of his chest. He lay on the bench with the huge weight on the supports for thirty seconds, breathing hard. Then he seized the bar again and once more lowered it to his chest. The reps came slowly, forced out by sheer boy-strength, swollen pecs protesting. Three. Four. Five. A pause as Alex gasped a couple of breaths. Six. Blood-swollen veins began to jump into sharp relief on his mighty young chest, arms, shoulders. Seven. The striated muscles ached, engorged with blood and power. Another pause for three quick breaths. Then, slowly, young face tightened into a grimace of pain and pure effort, Alex forced the immense bar from his chest inch by struggling inch, until at last he managed to rest it on the support again. He was breathing hard, knowing that he was working his chest like he never had before.

"Great, Alex!" said Eric. "I'm really surprised! But you still have one more set to do."

"I know," the blond muscle-boy gasped. Sweat drenched his white-blond hair, plastering strands to his forehead.

"I'm ready any time," said Ricky. "Just nod if you need help."

Once more Alex gripped the bar and lowered it to his aching, swollen chest muscles. He forced out a rep, pecs exploding into pumped, straining bulges of sheer boy-muscle. Sweat was running off the mighty swells of his chest, pooling in the valley of his breastbone, dripping from his skin to the concrete. Another, tortuously slow rep. Eric's eyes were wide, and at last his big young penis began to stiffen in his bikini. Alex's muscles, the young power of his physique, was turning him on!

"Come on, Alex!" he said. "Another!"

Alex shut his eyes, focusing every iota of his tremendous strength on the bar. The deep, searing pain in his pecs crowded everything out of his mind. Even his almost-constant erection softened as his body drew the blood to his tortured chest. He forced up a third rep.

"Look at those muscles!" Eric said to Ricky. Ricky nodded: He had noticed, too. Alex's chest was bulging bigger than either of them had ever seen it, and the sight of the beautiful muscles straining their strength to the very limit was tremendously exciting to them both.

"One more, Alex!" said Eric.

"Come on, Alex. You can do it," Ricky encouraged.

Alex's throbbing boy-pecs burst into swollen engines of muscle, bloated with blood, pride, and sheer strength. He forced up again, driving his power against the relentless weight of the bar, nothing in his mind but pain and will, but he knew that he could not make it. He gave a tight nod and felt the load lighten some as young Ricky took some of the weight, and between them they set the bar on the support.

"I'm done," Alex gasped. "I can't do it yet."

Eric helped him to sit up. "You did great!" he smiled, taking Alex's bulging shoulders in his hands. "Look at your pecs! Wow!"

Alex grinned and flexed a quick chest pose. His pecs jutted out, bulging from his ribs like thick masses of steel, the boy-nipples slightly darker than they were normally because of the blood-rush and the sheen of sweat. The sweat drenched his bikini and the fabric clung wetly to his again-stiff penis.

"Hey, Eric," he said softly, gazing at the older boy's groin. "Your trick didn't work."

Eric's big cock was practically tearing its way through his trunks, rock hard and stretching the material to the very limit. Alex was right; he had become so turned on that he found himself willing to forego the workout and indulge in a little sex play with his muscular young friends.

"Hey, Eric!" Jack ran over, tape measure in hand. While Alex was working his chest with the huge 2800-pound [1,250 kg] barbell, young Jack had been pumping his teen boy-biceps with set after set of 550-pound [250 kg] one-arm curls. Now his arms were pumped, flushed with blood, and his biceps were as big and peaked as they had ever been. "Measure 'em!"

Eric laughed, then his eyes widened a little as he saw the sheer muscularity of the ten-year-old's arms. "OK, Jack." He took the tape and stretched it around Jack's flexed, bulging biceps. The measurement was over 13.9 inches [35 cm], but not quite fourteen. "Almost, Jack! But not quite."

Jack flexed harder, his cute blond-framed face reddening with the effort he was expending. His arm swelled just slightly, the rock-hard hyper efficient muscle a jutting knot of superhuman power.

"Come on…. come on…. ," he breathed through his gritted teeth.

"Great, Jack! That's it!"

Eric saw the tape hit fourteen just momentarily, and that was good enough. He gave the boy a high-five, then reached under Jack's crotch and hoisted him high in the air.

"Wooo!" Jack exulted. "That tickles!" His little boy-cock was iron-bar stiff in his briefs.

Eric lowered the boy until he could kiss Jack's cock through his briefs. "Mmmmm… Tasty!"

"Looks like fun!" said Ricky, and he reached between Alex's legs to do the same thing. His young-boy bicep bulged as he lifted the sweating super-boy to mouth level and began eagerly sucking that ever-stiff young dick through the sweat-drenched bikini. Alex's briefs were white and thin, and wet they were practically transparent, the hard penis a deep red through the sheer fabric.

Alex was in heaven. His young cock had been straining for release all morning. "Hold it!" he said. Ricky looked up at him. Alex then reached down and gripped Ricky's forearm in his left hand, and using the powerful arm as a support, he lifted himself off Ricky's hand and quickly, easily moved into a one-armed handstand, his body inverted, legs in the air, and his whole weight supported by Ricky's armstrength. With his right hand Alex nimbly slipped his wet briefs off and dropped them to the floor. Now he was entirely naked, and with a smooth motion he returned his glistening, sweaty body to its previous position, sitting on Ricky's hand, only now his cock stuck straight out towards, Ricky's mouth, and Ricky lost no time in raising Alex's boy-cock to his lips and sucking.

Jack swung his legs over Eric's shoulders so that Eric's beautiful face was buried in his crotch. This left Eric's hands free, and he reached up to the waistband of Jack's bikini trunks and suggestively began tugging down. Jack took the hint, and after placing his hands on Eric's head for support he quickly, acrobatically raised his young-boy body up, stripping himself out of his briefs in a smooth gymnastic move. Jack let the tiny garment fall as Eric accepted his now-naked young dick in his mouth as the smaller boy swung himself back into position. The young penis was so hard it seemed to vibrate, exciting the salt sweat and the heat of the bloodengorged boy cock caressed and wrestled by Eric's tongue. Eric could feel the rhythmic flexing and bulging of the amazing muscles in young Jack's thighs as the boy fucked his face, and his hands kneaded Jack's muscular naked boy-buttocks.

Chapter 4
Disaster

Off to one side of the gym there was a large wrestling mat, and, momentarily lifting Jack from his shoulders so that he could see, Eric went over to it and lay down. At last he could strip off his penis-stretched briefs, and it was a great relief to him to finally let his big, throbbing hairless dick and balls swing loose. Immediately he and Jack began to sixty-nine, their bulging, muscular bodies rippling as waves of sexual pleasure surged through them.

"Go to the mat, Rick!" Alex said. "It's orgy time!"

Now all the boys were on the mat. Ricky left and grabbed a large container of baby oil from a cabinet, stripped off his own briefs, and yelled: "Here it comes!" Then he poured the oil liberally all over the squirming bodies of his friends and then all over himself.

The wrestling mat was now a writhing mass of young, ripped, bulging boy-muscle gleaming with oil, sweat and the sun's heat. Hard, throbbing young cocks slipped between thighs, lips, and buttocks, strong young hands tried to grip greasy dicks, hands felt up rippling boy-muscle bulging and surging and sliding away again. The tan-lines the boys had from wearing only their minuscule briefs in the sun looked incredibly erotic; they seemed to define and highlight the boys' tight, muscled asses and their rampant, uncontrollable penises.

Jack's body suddenly stiffened, all his muscles clenched as he was seized a powerful muscle-boy orgasm. He was still too young to actually shoot cum but the sensations he felt spreading from his hot, spasming dick through his abdomen and thighs and chest made him feel as though his penis was the pleasure center of the entire universe. He shuddered for almost thirty seconds in the most intense physical pleasure he was able to experience, then slowly relaxed into a slightly dazed bliss amid the churning greasy muscled boy-bodies writhing against and around him.

Somewhere along the line Alex had found Eric's big, trembling penis glistening with oil, and as the eldest boy groaned in ecstasy the young blond was just jacking him off. Then Eric screamed "Aaaah!" as his muscles suddenly tightened, bursting into bold, bulging knots of sinew and his spasming dick spewed huge, long spurts of sweet white cum twenty feet [6 m] straight into the air, falling back onto the boys and blending with the sweat and oil as the young bodies coiled amongst themselves. Eric's big balls held a huge amount of cum and he kept spewing for almost a minute, now straight up, now into Alex's face, into Ricky's hair, Jack's tight young ass, everywhere. While he came, both Alex and Ricky experienced their own orgasms, dry like Jack's had been for neither could shoot yet, but the feeling was so strong it didn't seem to matter, and besides, Eric came enough for all of them. Gradually they settled down, all lying in the oil and cum and sweat, feeling their mighty young-boy hearts pound in their chests and the blood pumping through their extraordinary muscles.

"Looks like fun," said Tom. He had arrived just in time to see the last couple of minutes of the boys sex play, and rather than disturb them he had just watched, his own dick almost painfully hard in his pants.

"Hi, Tom," said Eric, still sprawled among sprawled, oiled, naked boys. "I'm sorry about the workout. We'll do a hard one later today, OK?"

"Don't worry about it."

Something in Tom's voice made Eric glance at him the tone was serious and slightly distracted. Something must be wrong. "What's going on?" he asked as he stood up.

"Look at this." Tom passed him a towel to wipe his hands with, and then a sheet of paper.

"What is it?" asked Ricky as he stood as well.

"I printed off an e-mail I just got from Doc Vanderhaeghe a couple of minutes ago. He's on the plane now he'll be here in an hour."

"Holy shit! We gotta clean up!" Alex sprang to his feet, nearly slipping on the oil. Jack was close behind.

Eric read the e-mail aloud. "Tom: We have a problem. There's been a couple of break-ins at my office here at Antonics during the past couple of weeks. Some files have been stolen. This morning I received a message from a man named Elias Wright I may have told you about him, he was my lawyer when I first started Antonics. I fired him because I found he was dishonest. He seems to have gotten involved in international dirty work. He has taken these files and some other information and figured out all about Project Hercules and wants to blackmail me. I have refused to pay him.

"I do not trust this man. He bears a grudge and has gotten involved with some very shady people who are capable of anything. I believe it is possible that you and the boys are in some danger. I am returning early. Please watch out for strange aircraft in the area and seal up all of the sensitive research. And please, as you love them, keep the boys safe. I'll see you soon."

"Let's get back up to the house and get you guys cleaned up," said Tom. "I'll take care of the papers. Keep watching and listening for strange planes."

In a sober mood the boys showered and donned clean briefs. When they were done they found Tom at the computer.

"Whatcha doing?" asked Ricky as he stood behind the scientist.

"Looking up info on Elias Wright. Look at this. Twenty years ago the guy tried to screw Doc Vanderhaeghe out of millions. Got off on a technicality."

"What's a technicality?" asked Jack.

"Never mind I'll tell you later. Here's something. Seems Wright has started running illegal businesses for the fascist Eastern European "Republic" of Mulvia-Everinia. Drugs and weapons. He supports mercenary armies. Jeez, this is bad shit."

"Did you take care of your research?" Eric asked.

"Yes. It's all in the safe and alarmed. If that safe is broken into, the contents are destroyed. I think the material's OK."

Tom looked away from the computer. All four boys were clean, freshly scrubbed, and their hair meticulously brushed. Each was clad in clean briefs. They stood close together; Alex and Ricky had their arms around Eric's waist, Jack was hugging Alex, and Eric had one hand around Ricky's shoulders and one on Tom's shoulder. They were together because they were concerned, and to Tom they looked like the physical manifestation of a good family: They were not brothers biologically but they were closer than brothers.

"I think it's going to be OK, guys," Tom said reassuringly. "The Doc'll be here in a few minutes and we'll all be together. Then we'll know what to do."

The aviation-band radio at the desk suddenly crackled to life. "Gulfstream four seven tango delta to de Leon radio…" It was Dr. Vanderhaeghe, and his voice sounded strained.

Tom picked up the mike. "Four seven tango delta, this is de Leon… Tom here, Doc. Go ahead."

"Are the boys OK?"

Tom was alarmed at the sound of the Doc's voice. "Sure. They're fine they're right here." He held up the mike with the talk button down.

"Hi, Doc!" the boys chorused.

"Hi, guys. God, it's good to hear your voices. I'll see you soon… Tom, listen very carefully. Wright is trying to kill me. A bomb went off at my house outside Sunnyvale, California yesterday morning. Missed me by one minute. The bomb squad found a device at my office capable of killing everyone in the building that's four hundred people, Tom."

"But Doc why?"

"Obvious. They know something about the boys I don't know how much. The boys have genetics that are worth billions to certain governments and Wright is trying to cash in. Imagine a place like Mulvia-Everinia breeding an army of supermen. Covert and deadly with no need of elaborate weapons. Frightening."

"But they'd need you. Why try to kill you?"

"They don't need me. Tom, I'm too famous. If I disappear without explanation, there'd be an international outcry. The only way to deal with me is to kill me and blame it on someone else. They need YOU, Tom you know as much about this project as I do and probably more. You'd be the valuable one."

"Me? But -"

"Tom, please shut up! I might not make it. We're coming in low, under radar, but I have reason to think they have intercept planes somewhere in the vicinity and we aren't sure where they are! Listen. If I don't make it, destroy all the research. Destroy it. I know it's hard, but you'll be able to put it back together. And for God's sake protect the boys! If Wright and his gang get their hands on the boys… well, I can't guarantee what they'll do, but vivisection is not out of the question. Just hide. All of you…. Boys, are you there?"

"Yes." "We're here."

"One at a time, please. I want to hear you… one by one. Jack?"

"Doc? Why is this happening?" Jack's treble voice was shaking.

"I don't know, son. I don't know… I just want to hold you… Ricky?"

"I'm here, Doc."

"Good boy. Ricky, if I never see you again… I want you to know I love you. I know I never said it enough…"

"I love you too, Doc! Please come home! I -"

"I know, Ricky… Alex?"

"Doc? Doc, are you all right?" Alex was on the verge of tears.

"For now, son. I'm fine. We'll be fine just keep believing that! You have so much love, Alex I admire you so much… Eric?"

"Yes, Doc? I'm here."

"Eric… I don't know what to say… you're so beautiful… Oh, God! Tom! Tom, they're here! Destroy the research! Destroy the -" The transmission ended in the short, piercing shriek of an air-to-air missile, then the empty hiss of desolation

Chapter 5
Hiding

They cried. Jack's tears came first, Eric wept the most, Tom cursed under his breath. He would cry later. He stood and wrapped his arms around the boys and they gathered to embrace him, their nearly naked bodies warm under his hands and their tears soaking his clothes. He held them for several minutes, thinking hard as a good man must think when disaster strikes.

"Guys," he murmured at last. "Come on, guys. We have things to do."

The boys said nothing as Tom released them. He picked Jack up and sat the boy a mere child, he thought, no matter his strength on the desk and gestured for the others to join their youngest friend. They all sprung lightly to the desktop and faced him, ready for instructions.

"Here's what just happened," Tom said soberly. "Doc Vanderhaeghe is undoubtedly dead. Maybe a missile from an interceptor jet, and we have to assume the worst. I know how hard it is to take, but we can deal with our feelings later. Right now I have to do what Doc said destroy all the records about the research, all those records he and I have made of you kids since you were conceived. Doc was right: that research is worth billions. YOU guys are worth billions just for the genetic material they could take from your bodies. I'm worth billions because of how much I know. Those bastards are going to come after us and it's going to be soon."

"Tom?" Jack asked.

"Yeah, kiddo?"

"What's 'vivisection?' Doc said 'vivisection,' what is it?"

"That's when they take you apart while you're still alive so they can study you. I believe Doc: those guys who killed him will learn about you any way they can. That might mean strapping you down to a lab table and cutting you to pieces to find out how you got to be so strong. But we're not going to let them do that. I can't let them do that. I just can't."

Tom hesitated, his control of his emotions slipping a bit.

"Tom. We need to know what to do. What do we do now?" Eric spoke softly, knowing how hard it was for Tom and wanting to make it as easy for him as he could by keeping his attention focused.

"Here's the problem," Tom mastered himself. He gripped Eric's muscled thigh in his hand. "Thanks, Eric. Here's the problem. The Doc's plane was only a half hour from here. He was shot down by a military jet. We have to assume that jet, and maybe other aircraft, are on their way here now. They'll be here in minutes. They're going to spot the airfield and land there, then come here right away hoping to find us and the records. Just a sec." Tom tapped a few keystrokes on the desk computer, then collapsed in a chair. "That's it. The computer records are gone now and the vault incinerator is activated. The paper and the backups in the vault will be destroyed if they so much as touch this computer or the vault door." His face tightened into a grimace. "Damn it. Damn them. Oh, Jesus, guys, I'm so sorry -" and he choked his tears back, struggling.

"That stuff is your whole life, Tom," Alex said half-wonderingly. "You just trashed it I mean, I'm sorry, too I didn't mean -" He stumbled, unsure of what to say.

"Shut up, Alex!" Eric hissed, hitting the boy hard on the thigh.

"No, Alex." Tom was under control now. "That stuff is was not my whole life. You guys all of you guys: Eric, Alex, Ricky, Jack you guys are my whole life. The records don't matter. YOU matter. More than anything. I want you to know that. I want you to believe that." He stood up. "We have to hide now. They can't possibly have accurate charts for this whole island and nobody knows it better than we do. Than you guys do, I mean. There isn't a square inch of this place you haven't crawled over since you were born. That's our advantage for now. That'll gain us some time to see who shows up and how well they're equipped. Damn," he said, wiping his face with his sleeve. "We have no weapons on this island at all."

"Umm, Tom?" Eric spoke up, a little hesitantly.

"What?"

"We have weapons."

"Where? What do you mean?"

Eric flexed his biceps. Muscle superhuman, incredibly well-developed muscle just burst from the young boy's arms. Peaked and massive, the jagged knots of swollen sinew seemed to throb with strength. "You always said we were stronger than anybody else. By a lot, you said. We can beat these guys. Whoever they are. We're stronger than they are."

"Yeah!" Alex and Ricky chorused. They flexed as well, and so did Jack, and an eruption of boy-muscle seemed to crowd Tom's vision.

Tom sighed. "No, guys," he said after a moment. "I know you're strong. I'm strong, and you're all many times stronger than I am. But you're just not strong enough. I mean, these guys'll have guns. Do you know what that means? One bullet could kill any of you, muscle or no muscle. They'll have grenades, gas, who knows? We don't know what they have. But they can beat muscle strength even yours."

"No way!" Alex cried. "We won't get shot! We'll beat them!"

"Alex," said Tom gently. "Do you know why a bullet is such an effective weapon?"

The boy stopped, made uncertain by Tom's tone. "No. What do you mean?"

"Nobody cares what happens to a bullet. If it misses, who cares? Nobody goes looking for it. If it hits, who cares? It's done its job and nobody needs it anymore. Nobody goes looking for it. It's expendable. All good weapons are. Good weapons are weapons you don't care about. But you -"he reached out and took Alex's muscled young-boy shoulders in his big hands "I care about you. Eric and Ricky and Jack care about you. You're not expendable. No matter how strong you are, we can't risk you. Any of you." He released Alex's shoulders. "We've wasted too much time. Let's get out of here and get lost."

Seventeen minutes later Tom and the four suntanned, almost-naked muscleboys were squatting low in the long grass on what they called Mount Arnold, one of the highest points on the island and one which commanded a view of both the lab area, the east beach where the boys had eaten their breakfast, and the airstrip, a thin gray line in the northwest, that was beginning to shimmer in the growing heat of the day.

"We'll stay here," said Tom. "If nothing happens in the next hour, we'll assume they aren't coming by air. They'll be attempting a landing on the beach. That will be bad because we won't have any idea when they're coming and they can bring anything they want vehicles, artillery pieces, anything if they're coming by sea."

Their backs were to the jungle only meters away. If they were spotted, they knew they could simply melt into the thick green darkness where detection from the air would be virtually impossible. From there they could lose themselves in thirty square miles of island.

Tom was scanning the seaward horizon with binoculars, searching for any sign of planes, boats, or anything else alarming. There was nothing, nothing for several minutes, and Tom was beginning to feel slightly foolish for leading the boys away from the compound when there didn't appear to be anything wrong. He kept replaying the radio conversation with Dr. Vanderhaeghe back in his head, reliving the chill and the sudden emptiness he had felt when his old friend's voice had been cut off. That steeled his resolve.

Suddenly the screaming of a jet engine assaulted their ears from behind. Tom and the boys spun around to see a jump-jet, similar in design and function to the US/UK harrier. Alex immediately identified it as a Soviet-built YaK-38 forger. It flew overhead just over the treetops, using its hover engine to move very slowly, as if the black warbird were looking for something. It turned a full 360 almost directly overhead, then smoothly, powerfully moved off down the mountainside towards the beach and the compound.

"Holy jumpin' -" Ricky exclaimed. His deep brown eyes were huge with excitement.

Tom gripped his shoulder hard, knowing that the boy was on the verge of springing up out of the grass for a better view. "Stay down!" he commanded. "He's hunting us!"

Hunting was a well-chosen word; it brought home to the boys that this frightening aircraft was actually a high-tech weapon of devastating destructive power. They all stayed low, their attention fixed on the forger, until they saw the plane circle once over the airstrip and then, amazingly, climb high and shoot off westwards, disappearing in moments over the horizon.

"He gave up!" Jack said wonderingly.

"No he didn't." Tom stood up, stretching his legs. "He was scouting. I bet he was estimating the length of our airstrip. We'll see another plane a bigger one with a lot of men landing there before long."

"Tom?" Eric said quietly.

"Yes?"

"What happens when they get here?"

"I expect they'll bring equipment. You saw the file on Elias Wright. He's got mercenary soldiers working for him. They'll have guns, night-vision goggles, listening devices, anything that'll help them find us. Maybe dogs."

"But what happens? How long do they stay?"

"Until they find us."

"Then we have to take them out. We'll have to fight them." Eric's tone was certain.

"I told you already that we can't risk you ."

"But there's no choice. We don't fight them, they'll just keep looking until they find us. Then what?"

Tom had been hoping against all logic that the invaders would just go away and leave him and the boys in peace forever; it took this beautiful, incredibly muscular child with the eerily gold-streaked hair to force him to accept the inevitable. "Maybe we could try to make them believe we aren't on the island no. Damn. They would have intercepted the radio contact we had with Doc. They know we're here. OK, guys, you win." He faced all four of them. "I'm no tactics expert, but it seems to me right now that the safest place, and the one they're not likely to think of right away, is up in these trees back here. I've seen how you guys can climb you're like monkeys. Or rockets, whatever. I say we get up in the trees and wait for them to show up. Once they're here and wondering where we've gone, we can see how many of them there are and what to do about things. Agreed?"

The boys nodded. Ricky spoke up: "But what about you, Tom? I mean, you can't climb like us. And wouldn't it be dangerous for you up there?"

Tom knew what Ricky was talking about. The boys' unusual genetics and their treatment during their fetal stages had resulted in their bones being much tougher than those of normal humans, and this, combined with their phenomenal, hyperefficient muscle tissue, made the boys able to withstand falls from great heights without suffering serious injury. There had been many cases when the boys were younger when they had fallen from over 100 feet [30 m] and had gotten up and walked away, bruised and embarrassed, but whole. Tom, of course, did not have the physical toughness of the boys and so the treetops would be a far more dangerous place for him.

"I know!" said Alex. "There's all that rope in the tool shed. We'll make a harness for you. I'll go get it!" With that the boy sprang off, his powerful legs driving him faster than any normal human could run.

"Alex! Wait! I'll go!" Tom shouted after him.

"Tom," Eric took the man's arm and turned him around. "Tom, it's all right. Let us help. You know Alex can move faster than you can. Let him get the rope. If they show up while he's gone, he can take care of himself better than you can. Let us help, Tom. We can do this kind of stuff. OK?"

Tom nodded. "All right, guys. It's just so hard for me… I'm trying to protect you. You understand that, right?"

"Sure," said Jack and gave Tom a big warm hug. "We love you, too. But Eric's right. We're strong. Let us use our strength to help get us out of this mess. It's all we're got."

Chapter 6
Plans

Tom enfolded young Jack's body in a tight embrace. His hands caressed the young boy's muscles, feeling their flexing hardness, their steel-cable strength. Jack's skin was boy-smooth, like silk stretched taut over living steel but warm, all the boys had unusually high body temperatures, for their metabolisms operated at such a high rate. Jesus, Tom thought, they're right. I'm almost useless to them as far as this situation goes. I can't help them I need their help, myself.

His hands strayed down Jack's back, gripping the young man's, slim waist, feeling the luscious curve inward of his lower spine flanked by the full, thick, and trained cords of sinew, then slid further downwards, along the outward swell of the young boy's bottom, over the briefs, until he was cupping Jack's muscled ass cheeks in his hands. God, it felt good. Hard, boy-smooth, its curves both molded with childlike gentleness and pure boy muscularity. Jack was still only a ten-year-old still only a boy, and for all his muscle he had a very trim and sexy build, and Tom could almost cradle Jack's whole bottom in one of his big hands. The shower had left the boy dry and clean, and the thin fabric of the tight bikini the boy wore slid easily over his skin. Tom gently rubbed the boy's buttocks. Jack was tensing those muscles a little to in eager response to Tom's touch. The muscles were hard, flexed, their shape unyielding as Tom groped his hand over them. Tom felt the heavenly young curves where Jack's buttocks flowed into his upper thighs these were muscle-curves. Most ten-year-olds, have fairly bony-looking bodies: their long boy-skeletons supporting muscles that are thin, stringy, and shapeless the weak and flaccid muscles of the modern unfit child. Jack's muscles had shape, curve, sculpture to them. They were real muscle, genetically virtually perfect and built through years of training into strong, bold, finely-tuned machines their forms linking together at the joints and creating a living symphony of curvature that was unmistakably, youthfully sexual, and so proudly male, like a young boy wolf cub eager to prove his mettle on the hunt.

At this moment, Jack was unconscious of his animal grace and limber young sinew as he hugged Tom close; he merely enjoyed the man's caress, trembling with pleasure, trying to grind his stiffening young-boy dick into Tom's abdomen. Tom's own penis had sprung into full size and hardness as he stroked Jack's lean hard body. He knew he had no time for this, but he also knew that he might have very few opportunities left, and for the life of him he could not think of anything else he could do at the moment to improve their situation, so he abandoned himself to the sheer pleasure of holding, touching, caressing this young boy. He let his fingers gradually slip along the exposed skin of Jack's buttocks to the edge of the bikini's leg hole, and let them slide gently under the stretch fabric. Now his hand glided across warm, smooth boy-skin, and he searched, probing, easing his fingers into the hot crack between Jack's ass cheeks, feeling the boy deliberately relax the gluteal muscles to allow his fingers in, feeling the sudden shiver of desire course through the young, warm boy-body, feeling the his embrace tighten with the expectation of sexual bliss, and feeling as much as hearing the young treble voice begin a low moan that rose with the breathing into the wonderful, sweet music of a boy-child's erotic enchantment.

Tom dipped his head down and, nudging the blond bangs aside with his nose, he gently, tenderly kissed Jack's forehead, allowing his lips to warm themselves against the boy's beautiful face. And suddenly he felt a crashing, tumultuous love for this boy: all the love he had felt through all the years of Jack's life came in a rush, filling his soul and his heart so much that he could not keep back the tears. But these were tears of joy the joy a man feels when he knows he has been given a gift so great that it is worth far, far more than his own life, and that his lot had become nothing but the struggle to be worthy of this gift, and in that moment Tom knew absolutely, knew bone-deep, what he had always believed of himself: that if today it happened that he would be called on to lay down his life that this boy might live, that he would do so, gladly and without hesitation or remorse or a moment's regret. And this knowledge made him feel free and utterly clean. So now he gripped Jack tightly, trying to transmit through his kiss the scale of his love for the boy, so that Jack might know that there was such a love in the world and might remember it later on, whenever he might need to.

But Jack, of course, already knew. He was a boy, and so had felt this kind of love himself, and now he lifted his young head and met Tom's gaze, and gave his gentle man-friend a smile filled with all the peace and happiness in his soul, a smile that reflected Tom's own love back, and that sent a silent but genuine thanks.

"Let me go now," he murmured. "I have to go climb a tree."

Scant minutes later Alex arrived at the tool shed. The old lock on the door had fallen into disuse ever since Jack had become old enough to trust with the tools, and so the boy was able to enter without a key. He glanced around, seeing all the familiar gear as if in a new light: the lawnmower, gardening tools, reinforced wheelbarrows the boys were responsible for the maintenance of the compound, and their strength allowed them to do a great deal of work in a short time. As they had grown older, they had made the compound more of a home. They had expanded the garden, the lawn, built the tennis court, even resurfaced the airstrip with the strength of their own muscles. Everything had been done under Tom's direction, and he had a talent for turning even the most backbreaking, sweaty work into games which all the boys played enthusiastically.

The 500 foot [150 m] length of 1/4 inch [6 mm] nylon rope was neatly coiled and hanging on a nail in the wall up near the ceiling. Alex simply sprang up, grabbed the rope off the nail and bounced off the wall to the floor in a single quick, easy motion. It made a bulky mass, so he found a burlap sack a tent bag to carry it in and made for the door.

Then he thought of one more thing, something he wanted to recover from the house. He had no idea what the mercenaries would do to the compound once they arrived, but in case they were going to do something destructive, he wanted to take some memories…

Chapter 7
Reverie

Once inside the house, he found the family photo albums on the bookshelf in the living room. He knew he had to get the rope back to Tom and get up into the trees with the other boys, but a quick look wouldn't hurt. He opened one of the albums and found himself in a world of happier days. Here was a beautiful picture of Ricky, when he was about six, curled up asleep on Tom's chest as Tom lay in a hammock, gently stroking the young boy's naked back… here a picture taken three years ago, of Eric, amazingly muscled in his tiny briefs, his powerful erection tenting the front, standing with Jack's legs wrapped around his waist, Jack totally nude and the boys hugging each other playfully… here a fairly recent picture of Alex himself, maybe nine years old, getting out of the shower with a lecherous grin on his face and his stiff penis thrust out proudly… here a picture taken earlier this year, of the boys attempting to make the world's biggest chocolate cake for Tom's birthday, and getting icing all over their almost-naked bodies, and laughing uncontrollably, and as he looked at the picture, Alex began to chuckle -

"Still not enough!" said Ricky. The mixing bowl was already overflowing with the thick sweet chocolate icing.

"We need another bowl," Jack pointed out. Alex brought one.

The morning sun was blazing through the kitchen's deck door as the four young muscleboys mixed ingredients, trying to follow a recipe for the first time in their lives. It wasn't working very well, but they were past caring. They were all hot from their morning workout, their incredible muscles pumped and popping with raw strength, and as they worked in their skimpy sweaty briefs they were getting hornier and hornier.

Alex stuck his finger into one of the icing bowls, brought it out, and licked it. "Mmmm," he said. "This is great!"

"If you keep tasting it there won't be any for Tom's cake," Eric said.

"Don't say that until you try it, Eric. Here have a taste."

Alex brought out another finger full and Eric licked it off. "That is good, Alex."

"Have another lick." This time Alex took a finger full of icing and slowly spread it over his left nipple.

Eric gazed, fascinated, at Alex's beautiful thick chest. Alex's pecs bulged with ripped muscle… muscle built to an eye-popping peak of strength and pure boy perfection. The slight flexing and straining of the boy's pecs with his breathing turned Eric on, and the older lad's big penis grew to its full, throbbing hard size in his obscenely-tiny posing briefs.

"Gotcha!" Alex said as he glanced at Eric's massive young boy-cock bulging through the thin fabric. He performed a bodybuilder's chest pose, fists just under his ribs and pecs erupting to awesome size and strength. He twisted slightly to present his chocolate-covered nipple towards Eric.

Eric reached out and lifted Alex's muscle-packed body by the waist, bringing Alex's boy-nipple to his mouth. Eagerly, passionately, he licked the sweet icing from the sweaty young skin, then tasted the salty sweat and the hot, super hard muscle bulging against his tongue.

"Mmmm," he breathed as his tongue described circles over Alex's throbbing pectoral muscle.

Alex picked up one of the bowls of icing. He pushed Eric's head away and, still caught in Eric's powerful grip, he began drawing designs all over his own chest and stomach with the sweet icing. As he moved his hands his young body tensed and flexed: ripped muscle surged and relaxed under the hot, glistening, flesh, the designs in chocolate emphasizing the shape and muscle-sculpture of Alex's marvelous torso. His skin was so smooth, young, perfect, and yet stretched so tightly over the coils and slabs of his awesome muscles that he seemed about to burst with latent power, with the raw, rippling young strength that his body could barely contain. He ended with a long line of icing leading straight down his belly to the waistband of his little briefs, pointing the way to his quivering, straining young dick. Both he and Eric giggled as this went on.

"Check it out!" Ricky said to Jack as they watched the other two boys get even hornier. Their dicks grew to full erection in their briefs, stretching the material of the tiny garments right to the maximum. Ricky flexed his biceps. "Put some icing on my muscles!"

Jack took a handful of icing and gazed a moment, as if he were a master artist, at Ricky's superhuman body. The little eleven-year-old boy had built his body to a degree that was nothing short of stupendous: lithe and lean and packed with incredible muscle, muscle like steel cables bulging in swollen knots of sheer strength, young biceps exploding into peaked masses of raw sinew bursting from his arms… not the bulky, near-shapeless lumps of muscle seen on steroid-freak adult bodybuilders, but rather, young, sculptured boy-muscle, jaw-droppingly huge on a boy Ricky's age, bulging with the sleek, perfect form and strength of sheer boyhood, gleeful, exuberant and indomitable. As Ricky stood in his posing briefs, flexing his unbelievable young muscles, he seemed to be the image of invincible youth: an young boy so strong, so muscular, so unstoppably young and irresistibly boyish that he oozed raw eroticism, randiness, pure young-boy sex.

Jack's little ten-year-old penis was so stiff it ached as he painted Ricky's arms, shoulders, and chest with the icing, highlighting the muscular development and sexiness of Ricky's physique. Ricky changed his poses, flexing harder to swell his pumped, gleaming muscles to their fullest glory, his own dick straining to burst with lust. "Hurry up!" he giggled. "I gotta do you, too!"

With that, Jack simply grabbed a handful of icing and shoved it down the front of Ricky's posing briefs, slathering it all over the flexing boy's rock-stiff dick and balls and everywhere… and then, laughing uncontrollably, Ricky abandoned his posing and did the same to Jack. Both boys suddenly bear-hugged each other, grinding their chocolate-covered groins together, smearing the icing all over their bodies and humping, rubbing, bucking their hips like the hot young supercharged males they were. Their hands and mouths were all over each other's bodies, feeling the flexing muscles tremble with the passion of sex, tongues tasting sweet muscle, pumped boyhood, young hearts pounding with excitement and brains seething with lust…

Suddenly Jack just grabbed Ricky's bikini and with a mighty jerk, ripped it from the boy's body. Ricky's chocolate-covered red swollen penis popped free and Jack wrestled him to the floor. As he lay on top of him, Jack sucked that sweet cock madly, squirming his body all over Ricky's right there on the kitchen floor, aching for sexual release.

"Oh, boy," Eric breathed as he glanced down at Jack and Ricky. "We just gotta -" -he didn't bother finishing the sentence. He simply tore Jack's briefs off, gazed lovingly at the ten-year-old's tight, muscled naked ass, and began smearing icing all over those tempting bare young-boy buttocks. He slipped off his briefs, letting his massive smooth erect cock swing loose, and went to work on Jack's perfect young bubble ass with his tongue.

Young Alex, his dick practically ripping its way through his bikini briefs, could not stand it any more. He reared back and flexed his tremendous, beautiful muscles, letting out a Tarzan yell, then grabbed his own bikini and tore it off. He rubbed a handful of creamy sweet icing all over his raging cock, and another handful between Eric's flexing, grinding, squirming young butt-cheeks. Eric groaned, relaxing enough to let Alex's hand in to lubricate his young boyhole with icing. Then, without another thought, Alex sprawled his body over Eric and began fucking the older muscle boy like a rutting sex-mad animal. Eric's assmuscles gripped Alex's super hard boy-cock hard as Alex rammed his hips against Eric's butt. The friction was intense, the sex hot and hard and young: Alex grunted quick breaths as he fucked Eric, his hands gripping and massaging Eric's phenomenal muscles, skin against hot skin, sweat and sweet chocolate everywhere, and Eric squirmed his hips around in rhythm to maximize both his own and Alex's raw sexual ecstasy.

At the same time, Eric had his face buried in Jack's little boy-ass. As his own ass was being fucked madly by Alex, he was sensually playing his tongue over Jack's icing-smeared anus, licking away the icing, tasting the sugar sweetness as he tasted the clean boy-musk of the ten-year-old's body, rubbing his face against the beautiful, irresistibly erotic buttocks wriggling and flexing and relaxing against him… Eric was in heaven. His hands were all over Jack's steely, writhing physique, feeling the muscles throb with strength and pulse-quickening lust under the boy's smooth young skin, his face was busy with Jack's sexy sweet ass, and his own ass was getting worked over by the insatiable, sex-mad Alex! Eric's big boy-dick throbbed, huge and almost ready to explode with the pressure of the cum building in his balls without even being touched. Eric's whole being was brought to the brink of a massive orgasm: his heart was pounding, his muscles were pumped and bulging as he squirmed in pleasure, his skin was pouring sweat, and his cock was so close to bursting that he thought a mere touch would set off a geyser of hot pumping cum…

And Jack was being brought higher into sexual heaven than he had ever been. He had Ricky's hot, pulsing penis in his mouth, Eric's tongue in his ass, and Ricky had somehow found Jack's own stiff little boy-dick with his mouth and was eagerly sucking him. Jack could feel his whole body vibrate with unleashed sex he was so turned on he had utterly forgotten where he was. He just loved the feel of Ricky's dick in his mouth, his own dick in Ricky's, Eric's expert mouth in his ass and hands groping his muscles, and the sheer seething passion of his body as he gave in completely to limitless sexual bliss.

All four boys were moaning, grunting with the action, their treble voices a song of lust. Suddenly Ricky's whole body tensed as orgasm gripped him; he shuddered, bucked savagely, bouncing the pile of boys draped over him high in the air and gasped as they fell back, and writhed as he ground out every last iota of pleasure from his cumming. As he was subsiding he felt Jack get off as well, the slick, sweet boy stiff and gripping and groaning and cumming… And then Alex let out a long, loud cry of sheer erotic climax and jammed his hard raw young dick hard into Eric's hot ass one last time, gasping and groaning as Eric expertly milked his dick with his powerful, agile sphincter muscles…

At last Alex popped himself free of Eric's ass and rolled Eric over onto the floor. The three younger boys now stood over Eric, the only one who had yet to cum, and flexed their pumped, sweat-wet muscles as sensually as they could over him, giving him a supremely erotic show of pure naked boy muscle. At long last Eric's mighty young fuck pole erupted with a huge blast of boy cum straight into the air, plastering the ceiling and falling back into the icing bowls and over the younger muscleboys and all over everything spurt after white, creamy spurt of hot young cum squirted from Eric's red penis; it was the last ingredient, the ultimate ingredient for lucky Tom's birthday cake…

Alex stuck a finger into one of the icing bowls and brought out a blob of icing and muscle boy cum. "Mmmm," he said as he licked his finger clean. "This is the best ever…."

Alex was jacking himself off in the living room as he gazed at the picture, remembering. He rubbed his hot steel dick through the fabric of his tiny white posing briefs, relishing the feeling of boysex pleasure as he brought himself to a quick orgasm. He felt the shudders, the heat, the flush and explosion of muscle boy ecstasy, but produced no cum. He couldn't wait until he could cum like Eric: those long hot ropes of hot jizz bursting from Eric's big, red dick oh, man, that would be great!

He turned the page in the photo album. There was a picture taken last Christmas, showing all four young boys sitting cross-legged on the floor, eyes shining with joy as they gazed up at Doc Vanderhaeghe. Doc was wearing a Santa cap and beard and was presenting the boys their gifts. The kindness and gentleness in his wrinkled face tugged Alex's young heart, and his love for the old man his 'father' who was now dead overwhelmed him. He could not keep back the tears as he leaned over the picture, and he simply had to turn himself over completely to his grief. Tears fell to the picture and ran over the plastic protector as he wept and so great was his grief that he lost track of time…

With the world coming down around his ears, here was Alex grieving and reminiscing about 'old times', such as they are for a 11 year old. At the sound of a distant but clearly approaching aircraft, he was wrenched out of his reverie, berating himself for being so irresponsible, for loosing focus on the task at hand. If anything happened to Tom or the other boys because he had tarried here, jacking off amid their happy memories, he would never forgive himself.

Chapter 8
The Enemy Has Landed

With unbelievable swiftness the super-boy ransacked the house, dumping almost anything of conceivable value shy of the kitchen sink into his tent bag; including provisions from the kitchen… food, eating utensils, kitchen knives… medical supplies and implements…Tom's satellite (sky-tel) cell phone, his notebook PC and several spare batteries for the notebook and cell phone. Everything went into the tent bag… And then Alex bolted out the door, hauling an incredible load of stuff. More than would be possible with any other 11 year old on the planet, Ricky possibly, excepted. (Eric and Jack could've handled this load, of course, but neither of them was 11. They were ages 12 and 10 respectively.)

Alex took off with his burden at a dead sprint. He and the other three boys could "CRUISE' flat out at their max (which of course beat any normal human being that had ever lived) for indeterminate time and distance.

Once outside, he saw the approaching aircraft. It was gigantic… bigger than anything he had ever seen other than in pictures. He decided it would be prudent to take a circuitous route back to the relative safety of Mount Arnold, where he'd left his companions.

Alex was an avid aviation aficionado, and something of an amateur 'expert.' He'd trolled the world wide web from the boys' PC in the house for everything he could find on aviation. At one point, he had downloaded a series of in-flight checklists from the Martin-Grumman Aerospace web site for one of several executive jets they offer in their product line. As it happens, the jet transport roaring into the Ponce de Leon airstrip was NOT a Martin-Grumman executive jet. It was a huge transport aircraft closely resembling the USAF C-5 Galaxy heavy cargo transport. But these were not US Air Force markings. Alex recognized the Cyrillic characters stenciled on the side, 'Dniepr,' evidently a civilian charter service from one of the states of the former Soviet Union. There were subtle differences from the C-5. The tail assembly was a conventional empanage, with horizontal stabilizers and elevators protruding from each side of the rear fuselage, not situated atop the tail in a 'tee' arrangement as on the C-5. The fuselage seemed somewhat shorter, nose to tail and wider, than the C-5, giving an altogether 'stubbier' appearance. And the cockpit glazing was different from the C-5. This was, without doubt, a Russian-built Antonov AN-124. Not good, Alex thought ruefully. These were definitely bad guys.

The giant aircraft had rolled onto final approach heading. Its flight path would bring it directly overhead. The four huge Lotarev D-18T high-bypass turbo fans wailing, increasing in pitch with up-doppler, modulated by a warbling whine as the auto-pilot jockeyed the throttles to maintain speed and glide slope true and steady. As the lumbering Goliath passed overhead, the turbine whine gave way momentarily to a bone-rattling, ground shaking thunder, in turn suddenly displaced by a squalling howl in downward pitch as the aircraft continued its descent into Ponce de Leon airfield. In spite of his consternation at this arriving peril, Alex, forever the aviation romantic, at a dead run, bearing a load that would kill an ordinary man even in the best of conditioning, had sufficient 'free energy' to breeze through a notional pre-landing checklist:

"Undercarriage down. Nose wheel, port and starboard main mounts indicating in the green. Landing lights, anti collision strobe, port and starboard wing tip running lights… on. Main DC power bus… and auxiliary… on Wing tank fuel pumps… off and fuel-feeder valve… secured. Center-line tank fuel pumps… on… fuel flow and fuel remaining onboard… in the green. (This will be a power-on short field approach and landing to full stop.) Glonass geo-positioning navigation satellite data flow with 5 second updates… engaged, coupled to flight computer Glonass sat nav signal reception… 5 by 5 Auto pilot, heading and glide slope… engaged. Auto pilot manual override… set to enable. Angle of attack… 17 degrees Flaps and leading edge slats… set to 'full extend' Over-wing anti-lift spoilers… set to 'auto-deploy on main mount touchdown.' Approach power… set…

Although the men in this aircraft, including the pilot, had most likely come to kidnap or maybe even kill him and his friends, Alex indulged himself in frank admiration of the enemy aviator's skill in executing this tricky approach. The landing strip was minimum length to accommodate an aircraft the size of the AN124… This approach, may not have been the toughest in the world by any means. (Try landing on an aircraft carrier at night in foul weather, for instance!) Nevertheless, it was a real test of solid airmanship… Good enough that Alex, an eminently qualified judge in spite of his young age, was duly impressed with the professional competence of the aircraft commander.

With Dr. Vanderhaeghe's pilots in the cockpit, Alex had executed a number of approaches into this airstrip aboard corporate jets. Strictly against regulations, of course, but even the straight-arrow company pilots could not resist the wiles of this hauntingly beautiful young charmer. The boys had spent nearly all of their lives on this island, but Tom and Dr. Vanderhaeghe had flown the boys to Djakarta and to Bangkok several times, as well as to Manila, Singapore, Hong Kong, Sydney and once even to corporate headquarters south of San Francisco in the USA… 'home.' Alex had shot his approaches into Ponce de Leon on flights returning from these junkets.

Alex had felt obliged to take a circuitous route rejoining his friends on Mt. Arnold, but he made it with relative ease.

As the big Antonov cargo jet landed, the forger jump jet returned with a third wing man. These jets hovered over the airfield, covering the landing roll out, and initial deployment of troops from the transport aircraft. Then they turned their attention to the hunt, fanning out over the island.

As one of the jets was stalking Tom and the boys, his infa-red sensor having gotten a very good 'sniff,' it became apparent that it would be only a matter of time before the pilot locked up his targets. They had been perched, according to Tom's plan, in the tree tops. Given the hover and infa-red search capabilities of the forger jets, this was almost as bad as getting caught in wide open country. High in the jungle canopy, there was relatively little infa-red shielding or interference with their body heat by jungle vegetation and wild fauna. At Tom's behest, Eric hurled a baseball sized chunk of debris into the starboard engine inlet of the forger, hovering about 65 feet [20 m] overhead, with predictably catastrophic results. As the jet engine ingested the debris, its turbine rotors disintegrated instantly. Suddenly without power, and with no forward motion generating the slightest lift over the stubby wings, the disabled forger dropped like a stone to the jungle floor below, barely missing Eric, exploding in a fireball. The resulting concussion hurled Eric from his tree perch, his tough, resilient body slamming into the ground with horrific force. Eric was momentarily stunned, the wind knocked out of him. But he emerged without so much as a scratch. A 150 million ruble tactical jet aircraft was totally destroyed and its pilot, having no time before impact to eject, perished. Eric was horrified. He had never seen a man die, much less killed anyone. He was stricken by what he'd done.

Only moments later, Tom and the other boys were at his side. Tom had held Eric in his arms, comforting him; reassuring him that there had been no other choice.

"These men have come to kill us. I am so proud of you, Eric, that there's no joy for you in killing an enemy. But they came after us. Unless we stick together and defend ourselves, we will never get out of this alive. You've seen for yourself now; they are willing to die to get us. If we're going to survive, we'll have to kill again. Unless you, the other boys and I can bring ourselves to do that, we're all done for."

As they fought and ran, Tom and the boys were indeed obliged to kill again and it never got any easier for them. But steeling themselves with their passionate love for one another, with desperate resolve, they held at bay a well trained, well equipped and extremely well paid fighting force of some 350 men.

Elias Wright had been ruthless. He had made it clear to members of his mercenary force that he would not brook failure or malingering. He would only pay for results. Any casualties whose injuries were serious enough to take them out of the fighting would be summarily shot. He had no interest in caring for, feeding or paying anyone who had not 'gone the distance' in 'bringing home the bacon.' Those who went the distance, on the other hand, would receive one half million US dollars apiece, deposited in a numbered Swiss bank account. Everyone who signed on, did so with that understanding. As a result, Mr. Wright managed to recruit from among the most highly qualified mercenary soldiers in the world; and he chose the most skilled, most motivated, most desperate and most ruthless. There would be no mercy. In the target folder, which each man reviewed and committed to memory, was an appendix with fairly accurate intelligence on the particulars of "Project Hercules." The assessment of the boys' capabilities, while perhaps a trifle on the conservative side was, all in all, remarkably accurate.

The operations order, to which the target folder had been appended included 'rules of engagement' which were as cold-blooded as any of these hardened, cynical men had ever seen. The adult man, Tom Henderson was to be taken alive, at all costs. Anyone harming, or permitting harm to come to this man would be executed. There were four boys, all in their preteens or early teens. Taking at least one of these individuals into custody would indeed be desirable, both as a living specimen for ultimate live vivisection and in the meantime as a hostage to elicit cooperation from Tom Henderson. However, even unarmed, their capabilities were considerable and their true limits may not be fully appreciated. They were to be considered extremely dangerous and, in fact, no more than tissue scrapings from all but one of these individuals would be absolutely required. Failing a live capture, it would be extremely desirable, nevertheless, to recover at least one of the bodies more or less intact in order to facilitate a thorough autopsy. But even this opportunity was to be forgone in the presence of even the slightest risk. Wright's primary mission objective was live capture of Tom Henderson. In no event would any attempt be made to evacuate alive from Ponce de Leon more than one of these super-boys. Once the first of these 'Übermenschen' were taken into custody and securely restrained, all the others would be summarily shot on sight. In his defense, it didn't appear as though Elias Wright had left himself any more of an 'out' than his fighting men or his targets. His employers, the 'state defense committee' of the neo-fascist Eastern European regime of Mulvia-Everinia, were cutthroats in command of a Spartan garrison-state. They were not in the habit of funding operations as expensive as this one of Wright's unless the result were unqualified success. Unless Wright successfully vindicated Mulvia-Everinia's substantial investment in this operation, he would find himself in a very tight corner with his clients. He had not the slightest intention whatever of failing.

In one particularly vicious engagement, when the invaders had acquired their prey, the enemy commanders had ordered mortar fire into their targets' suspected position. Unfortunately, for them, they were about an eighth of a click off target, to the north, where a small detachment of their own force had deployed in ambush. Truth be known, 'blue-on-blue,' 'friendly fire' engagements in combat are not all that uncommon.

Chapter 9
Jared

Jared Gross, a member of the mercenary force and former US Navy Seal was among this hapless band taking 'incoming' from their own side.

Gross, who first truly confronted his sexuality while in Catholic high school in Texas, had decided to suppress it. After all, he wasn't really a 'queer.' He was not effeminate at all. He'd never wanted to wear a dress! He just had these fantasies about 'getting it on' with other manly jocks like himself. Obviously, this was a 'sickness' but it need not be fatal. He'd 'work around it,' maintaining a veneer of 'normality.' After all. There was more to life than 100% sexual gratification. How many people ever truly attained that anyway? This was his 'cross to bear' and he would do it like a man: Like anyone with a lick of common sense, he'd hide it and lie about it!

To Jared, the 'unholy stirrings' had actually come as early as grammar school, but he had resolutely retreated behind an impregnable fortress of denial. Although there had been that one time, when he was a high school sophomore. After waiting in the wings in junior varsity football, he'd finally made the varsity and his team had played an especially tough game and lost. Just about the only player on the team who'd done anything noteworthy that Friday night had been Jared, but his heroic exploits were quickly forgotten by his team mates and the kids in the stands, overshadowed by the disappointing loss. Forgotten by everyone but his quarterback, a strapping studly senior, Sean O'Malley.

Like most Catholic Schools, St. Jerome's was sex-segregated… all boys. But the companion girls' school, St. Cecilia's was right down the road. All the jocks dated foxy chicks from there, Sean and Jared included. But for some reason, the weekend of the big game, all the girls at St. Cecilia's had been taken off to the Texas hill country on a religious 'retreat.' After showering and dressing, Jared and Sean would be 'dateless.' So neither boy was in any hurry to be any place in particular once they had donned their street clothes. The coaches and the rest of the team had showered, dressed and left, but Jared and Sean had gotten held up by the athletic reporter of the school paper for a post-game interview.

Sean had a key to the gym and dressing room so on his way out the door, the coach just asked him to lock up when he and Jared were ready to leave. Jared was still in the shower, standing under the stream of hot water, letting it soothe his sore, aching muscles. He sensed Sean, who was standing under the shower head right next to his, looking at him; leering at him with unmistakable, overpowering lust. Jared's realization was half a beat behind what it should have been, but even though for some years this Texas German Catholic boy had lived with a vague uneasiness about himself, he was, after all, in complete denial. By all odds, Jared would not have broken the taboos and responded to his appetites for years, if ever. Certainly, when he'd gotten out of bed that morning, the fact that tonight would be 'the night,' was absolutely the farthest thing from his mind! Maybe it was nothing to write home about. Not the kind of steamy hot action one might fantasize about in such situation. For Jared, there had been fleeting fantasies about this beautiful older boy… tantalizing torture. Every time they came to him, he banished these thoughts, telling himself that these unholy impulses were unnatural, a passing phase of youth that would surely vanish in time. Now that he was in this beautiful man-boy's powerful arms, he could scarcely breathe! Jared's heart was pounding against his ribcage and his stiffening meat completely betrayed his inner desire. Sean moaned to Jared, "man you have no idea how long I have wanted this."

Jared's soapy muscles were rock-hard and unyielding to Sean's hungry grasps. Jared was in a whole new place. Even with all the locker room horseplay and grab ass, there was always a certain 'space,' a 'cordon sanitaire' that all the guys had honored among themselves. He struggled between his conflicting impulses. Sean was violating his 'space' with a tantalizing invasion of sensation and lust the likes of which he had never dreamed existed! Facing one another, they bumped their bodies against each other first tentatively, experimentally and then with more force. It felt good to Jared to feel another man this way. They grasped one another and ground their soap-slickend pecs against each other. A flash of realization came to Jared that this particular, delicious sensation would have been denied to boys with less muscular development than his and Sean's. In that instant, he felt acutely sorry for the nerdy kids with the thick glasses and slide rules on their belts. Sean took Jared's cock in his hand and soaped it. This threw Jared into another tailspin of conflicting emotions. 'Masturbation' was a taboo subject among his classmates. No one among his peers would even own up to the existence of the word, much less to actually… doing it! That the quarterback of his football team would dare touch his penis had simply not occurred to Jared. For a moment he froze.

Sean responded, "Where did you think this was going, Jared? For Pete's sake don't chicken out on me now! Take hold of me and stoke it like I'm doing you."

Jared did as he as told, tentatively and timidly at first, but soon his inhibition with Sean collapsed. Sean had knocked the slats out from under that with his ministrations of Jared's stiff shaft and now Jared started to work pumping Sean with increasing urgency. It was all over very quickly; too quickly; two frightened boys stealing a moment's forbidden gratification under the noses of their 'tribe' near the western end of the southern Bible belt. Within moments, the passion of the moment subsided, being immediately supplanted in Jared by a crushing burden of guilt and self-reproach at having violated this sacred 'taboo.' Sean picked up on this and, while not expert in the art of counseling, did his best to comfort and re-assure Jared, shoring up his shattered self-esteem as best he could. Sean wished to God he could transfer to Jared some of his own fatalistic equanimity about their predicament.

"Jared," he finally said, "if its any comfort to you, you're not the first team mate I've done this with and you won't be the last. Its none of your business who else I've been with and it'll be nobody's business but ours what you and I have done together tonight. I don't know why some guys do this. I only know it feels good, better than going with a girl. It may not BE right but is sure FEELS right."

This did no good, of course. Jared regarded himself with self-loathing. To add insult to injury, Jared told himself, he had not even been man enough to be the one to open up to Sean. Sean had been the one to make the first move, not Jared. Jared, tried to tell himself that Sean was just a faggot like him, but he had to hand the devil his due. Jared envied Sean his balls. To be sure, Sean had been paranoid and afraid in that shower room, just like Jared, but at least he'd had the courage to follow his heart and go for what he wanted. Jared suspected there was a lesson and some wisdom in there somewhere. Maybe one day he'd figure out what it was. Neither Jared nor Sean spoke of their time in the shower again. They remained friends through the end of the term when Sean graduated. Next year he went to the Air Force Academy in Colorado Springs and Sean and Jared lost touch with each other.

After high school, instead of university, Jared had opted to join the Navy. He scored fairly high on the Armed Services Vocational Aptitude Battery of tests (ASVAB). After boot camp, he was selected for 'a-school,' technical training, as an aircraft gas turbine engine mechanic and, because he graduated at the head of his class, he got first pick of available assignments. He opted for a tour of duty with an anti-submarine helicopter squadron that deployed in small detachments aboard sub-hunting surface combatant ships. He would be given all the responsibility he could handle, a modicum of independence and a good opportunity to advance rapidly through the ranks. His technical skills and adroit leadership attracted the interest of his superiors and, unbeknownst to Jared, his service jacket at the Bureau of Naval Personnel was 'flagged.' Jared now had the attention of the brass in Washington. Upon completion of his first sea tour, during which he'd earned not one but two commendation medals, unheard of in one so junior in rank, he was encouraged to apply for Basic UDT/Seal (BUDS) training on Coronado Island outside San Diego. He was accepted. He had some idea what he was getting into, of course. The 'hell' of BUDS was well known, not only throughout the Navy, but in all the armed services. For both officer and enlisted candidates, it was the most grueling training anywhere in the US defense establishment and, arguably, among the toughest anywhere on earth.

Chapter 10
Jared and Augie

The first week, Jared became friends and not long after, the lover of a classmate. Augostino Juan Domingo Peron Rodrigues y de los Santos. God, how Jared loved to roll that 'dog tag' off his tongue, trilling the "r's" and all… Unlike Jared, 'Augie' was gorgeous. Jared, a lifelong jock, had a superb physique which he took pride in maintaining at peak fitness. (The physical duress of BUDS had been no tougher on Jared than on any of his other classmates.) But Jared's facial features, while 'average-good-looking,' were somewhat ordinary. Jared was an intelligence officer's dream. Just the kind of operative who could disappear into a crowd. Face: no identifying marks or scars. Features: regular, symmetrical. Hair: of indeterminate shade. Some might say 'dark blond,' others 'light brown,' who remembered? Depending on the light, there might even have been casts of premature gray. The eye color was equally ambiguous and tough to pin-point… somewhere between slate gray-green and hazel. Jared was the typical allAmerican boy next door, regular guy-jock type. To complete this non-image, when not in uniform, Jared normally wore styleless loose-fitting, functional clothing from Wal-Mart or the Navy Exchange. In his 'cracker-jack' Navy-blues, Jared's body would have looked like a recruiting poster had he not gone to the extra trouble and expense of having an overlarge uniform specially tailored to a fit which, while suitably 'ship-shape,' was not particularly flattering in any sexual sort of way. Jared was paranoid as hell about his sexual orientation and he went way out of his way NOT to 'advertise.'

Augie was Jared's opposite. Tall, (at six foot two [1.88 m], taller by a full two inches than Jared) dark, handsome, strikingly so. A male work of art sculpted in flesh and bone rather than stone. He was acutely aware of his own sexual magnetism. He reveled in it and flaunted it, brazenly. He was urbane, witty, sophisticated, if slightly on the 'fey' side. His peers at BUDS made allowances for this, assuming it to be part of his Latin-American heritage. Besides, he came to BUDS with a black belt in Karate and a body as intimidating as it was beautiful. Some of his classmates might have assumed that Augie was just laying for someone to make an issue of his, slightly unorthodox, 'bohemian' mannerisms. No one, Jared included, doubted that Augie could have made short work of anyone in the class. But deep inside, Augie was a gentle soul. Like Jared, Augie had opted for the military instead of college. He signed up mainly for the education benefits. He wanted to go to university and eventually to med school, like his dad. But he didn't want to be a financial burden on his parents. His mom and dad had opted for a life of service to the poor and of 'genteel poverty' in East LA rather than the lucrative medical practice they could have had in Orange County. He had come to BUDS as a medical corpsman. Before arriving there, he had been as much of an overachiever in his field as Jared had as an aircraft engine mechanic. Augie brought so much more to his duties as a medic than merely technical skill. He was a gifted 'healer,' with an intuitive sense of his patients' emotional as well as their physical problems. He always knew exactly what to say, but, more important, when to just say nothing and to lend a listening ear. He had been assigned as a Corpsman to the Marines and so was right at home in the field. Many times, young jarheads would come to Augie, not only with their medical problems but just to share personal problems, frustrations, hopes and dreams with this kind, compassionate and profoundly empathetic young man. Unlike some other Navy Corpsmen assigned to the Marines, Augie was no 'weak sister.' He was a natural leader and his physical prowess was on a par with the best of the best in the Corps.

Even though his family lived in East LA, Augie was not Mexican. He was Argentine. His father, a physician and an intellectual, had been a 'Peronista' who had fled the Argentine when 'Isabelita,' Juan Peron's second wife, his widow and then 'Presidente de la Republica de la Argentina,' was deposed by a generals' coup d'etat. During the second presidency of 'El Lider,' and then of his widow, Señor Doctor Rodrigues had held a minor appointment in the Ministry of Health. His younger brother was among the generals' 'desaperacidos' (the 'disappeared ones'). As vociferously opposed as his younger brother to the heavy handed rule of the generals and not wishing that he or his family join his younger brother in oblivion, Sr. Dr. Rodrigues slipped quietly over the border into Uruguay and ultimately landed, with his family in tow, in Southern California. Forever the crusader, Dr. Rodrigues moved his family into one of the poorest barrios in East LA and, as soon as he legally could, set up a storefront medical clinic there. Even before he was legal, he ran a 'bootleg' practice out of his apartment. Doctor Rodrigues and his loving, picture-perfect wife, Madelena, were devoted to their children, taking an active role in their education after school. Of course, poor as they had been when they first arrived in the United States, they still found the money for Catholic School for all the children. Both husband and wife were avid amateur classical musicians and they instilled their love of culture, art, and beauty in all their six children, of which Augie, named for St. Augustine and for the Argentine quasi-secular 'saint,' Juan Peron., was the eldest. The youngest child was also a boy. All four kids in between were girls. They cut their teeth on Mozart, Beethoven, Brahms, Haydn, Vivaldi and Dvorzac sonatas, symphonies and opera. The Rodrigues children joyfully performed chamber music while other kids gelled out in front of TV or video games. From the earliest Augie could remember, his dad taught him to love and appreciate classical music, art, history and culture. There was no 'art for art's sake.' Unless art uplifted the human soul, it was by definition 'banal,' that is to say, 'ugly.' But Augie was no sissy. He was a damned good football player, both American football and soccer. He was a good all around athlete, even excelling in the gentlemen's games of tennis and golf. In golf, Augie played to a three handicap!

Dr. and Sra. Rodrigues were devout but very progressive Roman Catholics. They'd always taught their children to be truthful to others and more important, to themselves. When Augie was eighteen, he announced gravely to his mom and dad that he was gay.

His father speaking for both of them conceded, "we're not especially overjoyed at this news. You will not, it seems, be blessing us with grandchildren. But, Augie, your happiness is more important to us even than the joy of grandchildren. So, in return for our acceptance, which we give to you freely in any event, if you ever bring a young man home to meet us, all we ask is that you make sure you pick someone we can be as proud to call our son as we are of you."

Augie had not been completely sure of his parent's reaction to this news. He had faith that eventually they would come to accept his sexuality. That they had responded this way, so quickly, with such open-handed, open-hearted love, so moved him to tears that he was obliged to beat a hasty retreat to his room. He could think of nothing appropriate to say but in private, he resolved to honor his father's request. One day, he would bring home a man his parents could fall in love with as passionately as he.

From the beginning at BUDS, Jared sensed this dark-eyed heart-stopper had his eye on him. Once from across a classroom, during a tactical lecture, he could have sworn this guy had winked at him. Jared was fair complexioned and his reaction to Augie's subtle but brazen advance, under the noses of this band of homophobes, was to blush deep crimson.

After classes that day, they met and introduced themselves. It was love at first sight, of course, though for the life of him, Jared who'd gone to such extreme to hide his sexuality as well as any hint of sex appeal, couldn't imagine why Augie had singled him out. Later, Augie explained, "I knew you had a good body under all those loose-fitting clothes, Jared. Nobody gets into BUDS if he's a fat slob or a skinny runt." But truth be known, Augie was a fairly shrewd judge of character and he'd sensed behind Jared's high wall of defenses a vulnerable, sensitive but desolate soul that he had been destined to rescue from a joyless, loveless life.

Jared was living in the 'bachelor enlisted quarters' (BEQ), the barracks on base. Augie suggested they go to his apartment on Coronado Island outside the North Island Naval Air Station down the road from the Seal training base. It was smallish, plain and expensive, but an apartment in a cheaper area of San Diego would not have been practical. As rigorous as most of their training was, it would have been a miserable commute. Augie led Jared into his quarters, invited him to have a seat on the sofa and offered to bring him something cold to drink. Jared asked for ice water.

Augie pressed him, "Is that all you want? I have coke, beer, wine, juice."

"Naw, that's OK. Water'll be just fine."

Augie brought two glasses, ice water for Jared and orange juice for himself. He sat down next to Jared on the sofa. It was clear right away that Jared was extremely nervous. Augie decided that he would have to go slow with him. It was obvious he wasn't very experienced.

"Jared, you know why I've brought you home with me and you've come, but you haven't done too much of this have you? "

"Yeah, I guess not. I really shouldn't have come. There's really no reason for you to put up with a "nervous nellie" like me. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to lead you on."

"That's just it, Jared. You haven't led me on. I came onto you, remember? I just want you to feel relaxed and comfortable with me. But I want you to know I can see how hard that may be for you right now. I won't bullshit you. I want to be all over you, but nothing has to happen now, or today or ever, until you're ready. Worst mistake either us could make would be to rush something like this."

Jared looked at his new friend. Augie was normally very fiery eyed, projecting energy and urgency in everything. But just now his eyes were very soft and gentle. This change was very striking and somewhat arousing.

"I've only been with a man once, back in my sophomore year in high school. It was OK but I guess we were both pretty scared and paranoid, me more than the other guy. All in all, he was really fairly cool about the whole thing. Like I said, I'm not exactly the 'man of your dreams.' I want you too, Augie but I'm such a 'greenhorn,' I doubt I'd be holding up my end of the bargain."

"Relax, Jared. Just relax and let me make you feel good. Don't worry and don't feel like you have to do anything you don't want to. You don't have to 'perform' for me. I really want you to feel good and feel safe when you're with me. That's what I wanted when I first laid eyes on you. Now just lie back and relax."

As he lay down on the sofa, Augie unbuckled Jared's fatigue uniform web belt, unbuttoned and unzipped his pants and went to work on the now rigid shaft through his skivvies. At first Jared's body was as taught and rigid as his cock, but he quickly responded to the ministrations of Augie's hungry mouth. Augie pulled down Jared's briefs with his teeth. Jared trembled with tension and desire as Augie sucked the head, then bathed the steely cock with his warm, firm and silky tongue. Jared's pre-cum was sweet in Augie's mouth. Then he moved to the balls. Sucking and nibbling the sack. Taking first one, then the other then both balls between his lips. As he worked over Jared's cock and balls, Augie massaged his muscles, grooving on their supple hardness. God, this man was so incredibly firm and well-defined. Jared's breathing was regular, but increasing in tempo as Augie brought him ever closer to climax. Jared held back, not wanting this to end and not wanting to shoot in Augie's mouth. When he could stand it no longer, he reached down to pull Augie off his throbbing tool. But Augie clasped Jared's hands in his own, giving him a quick reassuring squeeze. Then he returned his attentions to the hot dick. It was not as big as his own, a standard six inches [18 cm] but beautiful and form-fitted to his mouth. Jared shot his load down Augie's throat as he went down to the root, burying his nose in Jared's pubes. Augie took everything Jared had without coming up for air. And then it was over. Augie slowly pulled off Jared as he continued to tremble and shudder with the after shocks of the most intense orgasm he had ever experienced.

Augie lay his head on Jared's firm flat stomach momentarily Then he sat up and rolled Jared over on his stomach. But as soon as he felt's Augie beginning to explore his manhole with his tongue, Jared stopped him. "No, Augie, not that!"

"OK, Jared. Its OK. I just want to rim you. You won't believe how good it feels. I promise that's all I'm up to."

"No Augie, not even that. There are some lines I will never cross, ever, and that's one of them. What you did for me was really great and now I owe you for that. I don't know that I can measure up to what you did, but I'm willing to try."

"No, Jared. I don't think you're ready for that yet, either. I think we need to 'break you in slowly.' You'll know when the time is right. You won't feel obligated to me, you'll just be doing it because you want to, for yourself and for us, not just for me. I'm willing to wait for that. I want you, Jared, in every possible way one man could want another. But I really need for you to want me and to get off to me as much as I do you. Until then… Well, I just don't want it any other way."

Jared could not believe this beautiful hunk of man was actually wooing him like this. He regarded this with an odd combination of joy and dismay: Dismay that he wasn't 'the man' with Augie. Here he was playing the role of the 'demure young maiden.' But joy that anyone of Augie's caliber could feel he was worthy of this kind of attention. His dad had always warned Jared that when something seems too good to be true (like this marvelous dark eyed Argentine for instance) usually, that's because it IS too good to be true.

In spite of his accomplishments in school and in the Navy, Jared had a fairly low opinion of himself. His parents, though dutiful, were distant, aloof and undemonstrative. His father rarely gave Jared any encouragement or indication of paternal approval. There had been no other children and Mr. and Mrs. Gross were both approaching 40 when Jared was born. Neither parent had wanted children. Jared had been an accident. As devout Catholics, abortion had been out of the question. They did their duty and they did their best to be good parents, but it had not been a joy to either of them. Though neither his mom nor his dad had ever been deliberately cruel, they had not been particularly affectionate, either. And when Jared had faced alone the awful truth that he was gay, although he had felt sure that he could hide it and suppress it, he could not escape the certitude that he was defective, a deviant, an abomination.

Jared pulled up and re-secured his pants. "Well, OK, Augie. I guess I really should be getting back to the barracks, then. We have early reveille tomorrow and, like they say, 'at BUDS, the only easy day was yesterday'."

"No, Jared. I don't want you to leave now. I want you to stay here with me tonight. We'll get up early tomorrow morning. You can use my stuff here to shower and shave and we'll swing by the barracks on the way to class so you can snag a fresh uniform. We don't have to do anything at all. I just want to sleep with you tonight."

Jared considered his father's warning and then, uncharacteristically throwing all caution to the winds, decided to go with his heart, and with Shakespeare instead of with his dad: "It is better to have loved and lost…"

In retrospect, Jared often wondered how he could have gotten through BUDS without Augie. It should have been hell. It was intended to be hell. But he'd had Augie at his side. In later years, Jared found himself looking back on his SEAL training tour as among the happiest days of his life.

As rigorous as BUDS had been, it was NOT 'boot-camp.' Except when trainees remained in the field overnight for combat exercises, they were permitted, though not required, to live off base. Within a week, at Augie's insistence, Jared had moved in with him.

After graduation, Augie and Jared had both been assigned to the same SEAL team.

After several extremely hazardous assignments, during which both men had received their baptisms of fire and saved each others' lives in the bargain, Pres. Clinton had been elected to the Whitehouse. He had promised during his campaign that there would be reform in the military. The sanctions against gays would be lifted. Augie had insisted that they not wait for formal orders to be promulgated and passed down the chain-of-command; that they come forward and declare themselves right away, certain that, by Presidential order, very soon, they would be vindicated. Jared was horrified at this ridiculous notion! He was a passionate advocate of 'don't ask, don't tell,' long before that policy had a name. "Sorta like having your cake and eating it too." He appealed to Augie. Augie had finally worn him down, of course.

"Maybe it's not our lot to give our lives in defense of our country in battle. I think maybe we've been called to defend the constitution and to live up to our oaths to defend the nation here at home. Besides, what right have we to our own happiness unless we are in solidarity with our 'brothers and sisters' who are hurting? This is a question of our own integrity."

Jared countered that it really didn't matter a hill of beans what the President did. If they came out of the closet, they would be ostracized and, who knows, maybe allowed to get hurt or killed in the field or maybe even fragged outright. Augie insisted that now was the time for courage. It was the only way they could keep faith with all the martyrs of the nation who had given their lives over the last two centuries in defense of freedom.

Jared thought Augie, like so many naturalized Americans, a hopeless romantic. "Of COURSE he was! Hell, his dad was a fucking Peronista for chrissakes!" But Jared loved this darkly-handsome, muscular, fiery-eyed Argentine so, against his better judgment, he went along. They were bounced, of course: sacrificed to the Administration's 'don't ask. don't tell' compromise. The very policy that Jared had touted to Augie as 'a neat idea.' Jared was furious with himself. If he'd had the courage of his own damned convictions this never would have happened. Augie could not be expected to make decisions like this rationally. He had no concept of self-interest. He was just such a starry-eyed idealist and Jared had known this. It was his job to protect Augie and himself and he'd been a fool. Now both of them had suffered. The real hell of all this was, Jared wholeheartedly AGREED with 'don't ask. don't tell.' It codified what had been tacitly practiced in the military for years. Jared wasn't really prepared himself to see gay 'military dependents' receiving the same base-exchange, medical and other dependent benefits as 'normal' families. Not really. He saw open homosexuality in the ranks as gravely 'prejudicial to good order and discipline.' Now they were out on the street with skills nobody wanted. None of the other services could take them. They were stuck in relatively low-paying jobs, no GI-education benefits, nothing.

Then Augie got sick; very sick. It was a genetic, degenerative muscle disorder. no cure… only a matter of time. The end would be protracted and painful. Jared was sure this was God's judgment against his temerity for seizing joy and happiness in forbidden love. Getting bounced from the Navy was a minor setback compared to this. Jared was devastated.

Before this disaster, after they had come forward in the Navy as homosexuals, Augie had taken Jared home to meet his family. This did not happen easily. Jared and Augie almost came to blows over it. Augie had pleaded with Jared who simply would not consider such a 'ridiculous notion.' He was genuinely concerned for Augie's parents and could not believe they would accept him with open arms. "Hell," Jared had bleated about four octaves above dead center his normal register, "I wouldn't WANT parents who could understand or accept a thing like this!" Augie's assurances that his parents had begged him to bring his young man-friend home to meet them was rejected with contempt.

"You stupid, naive 'Argie'-idealist-pandejo. Your parents are LYING!!! They don't want the truth, you fucking idiot! They want REASSURANCE… that everything is going to be story-book, picture-perfect okey-dokey. They want you to look into their eyes and lie, lie, deny, deny. I am NOT going to be the jerk who sachets into their home to inform them that they'll never have any grandchildren by you. I may be a dick-smoking queen, but at least I've got some pride left. You're asking me to break your parents' hearts. to trash their last hopes for you to have a normal life with a normal family. That's not going to happen by me, Augie… Ever!"

Augie won of course. He wheedled and cajoled until Jared turned on his friend and snarled, "You're making a worse mistake than when I let you talk us into coming out in front of our shipmates in the Navy. I've let you destroy our Navy careers. I'm not going to have your parents on my conscience too."

Augie was stung by Jared's vicious cheap shot and as soon as he'd spoken the words Jared wanted them back. He hadn't meant to hurt Augie's feelings, just get him off his back. Now he had rekindled Augie's own remorse for what he felt he'd done to Jared's aspirations for a career in the navy. Augie would have gladly given up life or limb in defense of his adopted country and the cherished freedoms America stood for. That, in their defense he'd only been called upon to sacrifice his navy career, Augie felt was a small price to pay, indeed. But in his rush to 'martyrdom,' Augie had not counted the cost to his beloved Jared. He bitterly regretted having dragged the man he loved into this hopeless stand and what this had wound up costing him. Much as Augie loved America, loved liberty and loved his principles, he would have sacrificed them all… would have sacrificed ANYTHING for Jared. He would sooner have died than do anything that would harm Jared in any way.

But the truth was, Jared didn't blame Augie one bit, and never had, for their ill-advised decision to declare their homosexuality to the navy. He blamed himself. Augie had done so much for Jared. He lavished more love and affection on Jared than he'd ever known in his life. And he was so protective and supportive of him, so determined to make up for the comparatively barren and loveless early years of his life. Jared was certain there would never be any way he could repay Augie for all he'd done for him. But at least he could have protected them both from Augie's quixotic impulse to 'come out' in full view of the Navy, not to mention, worse, in front of their seal team shipmates! He had known better but he'd allowed himself to be weak, failing to stand up to Augie when it counted, for both of them, rather than hurting his feelings now for no good reason. He'd been nursing a guilty conscience, ever since they were cashiered, for his perceived failure to hold up his end of the bargain, for allowing his friend to stand into peril without stopping him. Now, Augie's needlessly wounded feelings broke his heart.

He struggled valiantly to control his emotions, but it was a lost cause. Jared melted into a chair in tears of remorse.

Augie'd never seen Jared cry before, except when the national anthem was played. Jared could always be depended to mist over at the Star Spangled Banner. Aside from that, Jared just didn't display much emotion of any kind. But when the flood gates opened, it was a deluge. Augie cradled him tenderly in his muscular arms like a little boy.

Jared's 'surrender' was NOT unconditional. If it meant so much to Augie, Jared would go along and meet his folks. But Jared would NEVER reciprocate by taking Augie back to Brenham, Texas to meet his own sober, straight laced, Texas German Catholic parents. Augie had wanted very badly to be introduced to Jared's folks. Jared flatly refused and declined even to discuss the matter.

"What's the matter, Jared? I'm not good enough to meet your parents? Are you ashamed of me?"

"Fuckin'-A, Augie… Bingo! You're a hairy-assed MAN for God's sake! Hell, of COURSE I'm ashamed to bring you home to my folks. I'd be ashamed to bring any MAN home to them. Which fucking PLANET are you living on? What is the MATTER with you?"

Jared warned Augie in no uncertain terms that to insist on this would be tantamount to forcing a choice between his lover and his parents. He assured Augie that his duty to his parents back in Texas would prevail over the call of his heart. Augie could not bring himself to believe that once they knew the truth, Jared's parents would fail to come around. But it was clear that Jared had no such faith in them so, reluctantly, Augie promised never to push this issue again.

Augie's parents fell in love with Jared immediately and he with them. Augie had known all along this would happen. Jared was so gallant with Augie's mom. So deferential to his dad; a real Texas gentleman that Augie had been bursting with pride to show off to his folks. Jared had known a smattering of Spanish from his school days and in the Rodrigues home, he had plenty of opportunity to polish his skills. And between Augie and his family, Jared, who had thought of himself as unmusical as anyone who'd ever lived, picked up the piano and within a year had progressed sufficiently that he could hold his own as a performing member of the Rodrigues family 'chamber orchestra.' With his piano training from Sra. Rodrigues and his musicology from Augie's father, Jared could hold forth for as long as 15 to 20 minutes, polemicizing competently and with passion on the objective geometric superiority of lower frequency Verdi tuning! How much different, broader and more beautiful his life had become because of Augie and his family!

Chapter 11
Mercenary

And now Augie was sick and dying. Clearly, "the mills of God [had ground] exceeding fine." Jared would peddle the only thing he had, his combat skills. He had known how to plug into the mercenary networks and it wasn't long before he found the 'mercs' who were recruiting for Elias Wright. He knew from the jump that these guys were bad news, but you had to understand the AMOUNT of money they were offering him. Half a million bucks! He would bargain away his soul for Augie's life. It was a shot, anyway. He went to the hospice where Augie's dad had arranged to make his son as comfortable as possible. Augie had told his dad how glad he was that it was him in this death bed and not Jared. Badly as this hurt, if it had been the other way around, Augie was sure he could not have endured that anguish. Jared had always been more stoic, more able to endure, more resilient to pain. Jared's 'farewells' to Augie and his dad were brief. He'd be back. He had to go away on business. "No." He couldn't fill them in on any details. He would be gone no more than a few weeks at most.

And then he'd joined Elias Wright's band of cut throats. He'd been horrified by the mission. Killing teenage boys, even those reputed to be as 'dangerous' as these would have been unthinkable under normal circumstances. But the money he would be paid was Augie's only hope and a slim one at that. Jared bit the bullet and went with the flow.

Then Jared had let himself get hit, evacuating seriously wounded who would only be shot anyway by his employers. It was because of Augie's influence in his life that he found himself 'jousting windmills' now. Before Augie, he couldn't imagine himself doing something so futile. From his deathbed thousands of miles away, the Argie 'pandejo,' had 'won' again, just like with their 'coming out' in the navy and with his meeting Augie's parents. In spite of himself, Jared had been irreversibly changed by Augie and his loving family.

"Completely avoidable, of course," Jared later told himself. If he hadn't been such a sentimental fool, he'd have gotten away, unscathed to fight another day, collect his money and maybe save his lover's life. But, no, he'd lingered, trying to evacuate the wounded from, of all things, incoming 'friendly' mortar fire. It did no good, unfortunately.

As promised when they were recruited, the invaders were killing their own seriously wounded. They were as good as their word at having made no provision for medical attention in the field and at having no desire to feed, pay or care for mercenaries no longer of any use to them. He had known this as did all his confederates. They had all been warned by their employer before they signed up that if they were seriously wounded, they would be disposed of. But those who managed to go the distance in 'delivering the bacon,' would receive that half million dollars apiece. Still, even knowing they would be shot, Jared could not bring himself to leave wounded men in harm's way.

After venturing half a dozen times into a mortar impact zone, Jared had taken a stray shrapnel hit, opening his right leg from the crotch to the knee. The femoral artery had not been severed. Had it been, he would not have survived. As it was, his blood loss was horrific. He went down , beginning a silent recitation of the Act of Contrition as he lost consciousness: "Oh my God, I am heartily sorry for having offened thee…" and then when he awoke, he was surrounded by four bikini-clad, phenomenally muscled, tanned beautiful young boys. A big, heavily muscled, but fully clothed, man, forytish, was with them.

These were the people Jared's employers had come for. But they had badly mauled the invading force. From what he had seen of their incredible strength, confirming what he'd read in pre-arrival intelligence reports, any one of them could take him apart with his bare hands. He couldn't run. His right leg was out of commission and he'd lost so much blood. He was too weak. There would be no mercy for him, of course. His captors would certainly kill him and even if they didn't, once they found him, his own comrades would. He'd already made peace with his God. He lunged for his side arm, managed to retrieve it from the holster on his web belt, chambered a round, then placed the muzzle in his mouth. But with the unbelievable swiftness of a striking viper, one of the of the muscle boys, the dark-headed one, was on him, grasping his wrist and squeezing with near bone-crushing power. The man lost his grip and the pistol fell harmlessly to the ground at his side. With his bare foot, the boy kicked the weapon out of Jared's reach.

Then, without a word to the man, the muscle-boy turned to his companions and pleaded with them to spare the mercenary's life. He shielded the wounded man with his near-naked body, clearly worried the three other boys might indeed try to take him apart with their bare hands. The dark-haired boy, keenly aware of his own super-strength, and that of his friends, knew all too well that this was no idle fear. But without hesitation, one of the other muscle-youths, this one strikingly beautiful with gold-streaked brown hair… and the eyes: Eerie! gold streaks radiating from the pupils, like star bursts… this was Eric… He spoke for the other two boys, the big man (Tom) and himself, when he gravely declared, "Ricky, these guys may wind up killing us all but I promise you, we will never let them make us do something like that. No matter what, we won't murder a wounded man. We won't let these marauders to turn us into monsters like them!"

That the four boys would unanimously turn their backs on revenge was marvel enough, but they had spotted the attackers' cold-blooded killing of their own badly wounded! Even in their own acute distress, these young boy-men, mature beyond their tender years, felt compassion even for this evidently unrepentant but helpless enemy.

Chapter 12
Hostage

The dark haired boy, this was Ricky, exclaimed: "Maybe this dude has a family, kids or SOMEbody who needs him, waiting for him to come back home. We CAN'T leave him for the bad guys to finish off! We just CAN'T."

So, then and there, the boys agreed among themselves that, until they could nurse their captive back to health, they would carry him as best they could, on their backs, if need be, as they moved through the jungle, evading their enemy. That these boys would decide to do this for a captive enemy reduced Tom, momentarily, to tears of awe. He had simply never imagined he would see such sublime vindication of his years of loving and rearing these boys, their souls radiating beauty even more compelling than that of their sleek, sculpted and powerful bodies.

By the time of his capture by Tom and the boys, Jared and his comrades had tasted bitterly of the awesome power of these young muscle hunks. Prior to their arrival, the mercenary force had obtained good intelligence of their reputed prowess. The target folder, which Jared had reviewed thoroughly, included an appendix with thorough intelligence on the essentials of 'Project Hercules.' When wounded and captured, he had expected no mercy, either from these terrifyingly powerful super-beings or from his own comrades. So he had tried desperately to kill himself. But this young muscle-boy, Ricky, had restrained him, saving him from himself.

Eric leveled his gaze at the mercenary explaining: "You are our prisoner now, mister: Our responsibility. No way anyone under our protection is allowed to die, by suicide or any other way."

Jared had heard all of this exchange and, as hardened as he had felt compelled to become, he was overcome with remorse that he had come here to kill these awsomely powerful but obviously tender-hearted boys and their guardian. He did indeed have 'family' back home, after a fashion: The love of his life, Augostino Juan Domingo Peron Rodrigues y de los Santos, in hospice in LA, with that crippling, debilitating, degenerative muscular disease. Augie was totally dependent upon Jared's return with the money for financial support for sustenance and perhaps a slender chance at life. But Jared did not share this 'hard luck story' with his captors.

The big man spoke: "What's your name fella?"

The mercenary answered, "Look, I'm as good as dead here. And I came here to kill you. You don't owe me anything. Just give me back my piece and leave me be. It'll be over in a few seconds. Then you can take the weapon and run."

Tom replied: "Sorry guy, can't do that, much as I'm tempted to accommodate you. But I guess I've been out voted. Seems these lads suspect you of having some kind of soul deep down there somewhere inside you. Going back into that mortar fire for your wounded was stupid and hopeless, but it was right and good. We're gonna hold onto you…"

"As a hostage?" the mercenary laughed mirthlessly. "Won't do you any good. They're killing the wounded."

"Yeah. We know," Tom said. "Now just tell us your name."

"Gross. Jared Gross."

"Mine's Tom Henderson. And this young fella who spoke up for you is Ricky Addison and this is Eric Silverthorne, Jack Tyler and Alex Tempest."

Jared swooned. Tom knelt alongside, made a cursory examination. "Boys. This man's hurt bad. He's going into shock and unless we can figure out something, he won't last the night." Moving him's not such a good idea either."

Alex spoke up. "Maybe we stitch him up somehow and figure out a way to give him a transfusion."

"How can we do that?" Tom replied. "In the first place, we don't have the proper equipment and I'm not a doctor… not a medical doctor."

Jack placed his hand on the man's shoulder. "Tom, you are a physiologist. That's the next best thing and right now, you're the only chance this guy's got. You've got plenty of stuff in that back pack of yours. Alex brought out nearly everything in the house in that tent bag when he went back to the shed for that rope for your tree-harness. We've gotta bring this dude around, find out his blood type and hope for a match with one of us. We all know each others' blood types. Heck, you've been jabbing and prodding at us with your needles and probes for as long as I can remember. Now maybe all that sticking and poking can count for something. At least we have to try."

Ricky added his two cents worth: "Tom, you saw how Eric came around when he got shot. He nearly died and by next morning, it was like he'd never been hit. Maybe we all can heal like that."

"Yeah, probably, but so what?" Tom asked…

"Well," Ricky went on, "maybe if one of us is a match, our blood could do the same thing for… for this man."

"We don't know that for sure," Tom answered. "Maybe its more than just your blood that gives you your special self-healing traits. It's probably a combination of factors. Dr. Vanderhaeghe and I never really had a chance to pursue that line of research. None of you has ever been sick a day in your life and your bodies are phenomenally resistant to injury. But we never did any research on your response to trauma like this or like what happened to Eric. How could we?"

This time Eric spoke up. "Tom, slim chance is better than no chance. Let's try to wake him up and get his blood type."

Tom reached into his rucksack, took out a syringe and a small bottle. He prepared the injection, stuck the needle in Jared's left arm and slid the plunger home. After about a minute or so, Jared returned to a groggy consciousness. Tom spoke to Jared. "Look man, you're hurt pretty bad but we think we can patch you up. But you've lost a lot of blood. We need to know your blood type."

"Like I said, I'm finished. You're wasting valuable time. You fellows need to move out now. My 'friends' could come back this way any minute and, trust me, you don't want to be here when they do. Mister, by screwing around with me you're being irresponsible with these kids."

Tom got down into Jared's face: "Look, asshole, I thought we already had this settled. You don't understand. If you don't cooperate, I'm never gonna get these boys outta here. They refuse to leave without you. And there's not a man alive who could make them move if they don't want to go. I don't have time to go into all the 'why's' and 'wherefores' of that right now but, trust me, we've got a chance if you'll just fucking cooperate. Now tell me your blood type before you pass out again."

"It's o-positive," Jared said… and then he did pass out again.

Tom looked up at the boys. "Jack, looks like you've been elected as donor. Step right up here and let me poke at you yet again."

Tom reached into his rucksack and pulled out the necessary implements, silently thanking the God he didn't believe in that Alex had the presence of mind to retrieve all this stuff when he'd returned to the compound for the rope for his tree-harness. Jack was right. Alex had brought out everything from the house but the kitchen sink. Even some sentimental photos from happier times.

Tom reconsidered and decided the first thing to do was to staunch the blood loss and then get Jared moved to a safer place so he could work on his 'patient' without having to look over his shoulder, worried about the enemy finding them in this relatively exposed position. He took off his belt and rigged a tourniquet… Then peeled off his shirt and applied it as a compress directly over the gaping wound.

Jack and Ricky rigged a stretcher for Jared, placed him on it and the small band moved out. They made very good time, not withstanding the dense jungle and, before too long came to a place of relative safety where they had stashed Alex's 'loot' from the house. Here was a place Tom could work in relative comfort and security. He drew as much blood as he dared from Jack and fed it into Jared's vein. "Now all we can do is wait and hope."

Tom then set to work on the leg, disinfecting the gaping wound and then stitching it closed as best he could. It was an grizzly, ugly job but it would have to do. Tom covered Jared with a blanket and looked at the boys. "That's it guys. That's all I can do."

Eric, and Alex fanned out on the flanks. Each boy rocketed up a tree trunk into the jungle canopy to watch for approaching enemy patrols. Their speed and agility was disquieting, even though Tom had observed it so many times, maybe hundreds of times before. He shuddered as he considered an army of such supermen at the disposal of neo-fascist former Soviet bloc bandit states like the Eastern European Republic of Mulvia-Everinia. His boys had been raised in a loving, nurturing and caring environment. But such super-beings raised by a Spartan, garrison state, even unarmed, would be lethal. With their clear-cut physiological superiority over ordinary men, they could easily be programmed to believe they had a right to kill, remorselessly. History was replete with horrifying precedents. For the first time since joining Project Hercules, Tom was genuinely afraid that he and Dr. Vanderhaeghe may well have opened 'Pandora's box,' with, conceivably, catastrophic consequences for humanity at large.

Since he'd just been drained of so much blood, Tom ordered Jack to lie down and he, of course, objected but finally relented to please Tom. Tom spread a light-weight blanket over Jack. Ricky lay on the ground alongside Jared underneath his blanket, adding his above-normal body warmth to Jared's to counter the effects of traumatic shock. All they could do now was wait. This was an opportunity to get some rest himself and Tom decided it would be wise to take advantage of it. >From their vantage points, Eric and Alex would warn them in plenty of time if trouble came calling.

It took Jared's leg about twice as long as it had taken Eric to recover from the sucking chest wound he had gotten in an earlier engagement with Wright's henchmen but aside from that, recovery was every bit as miraculous. During that time, Jared's body temperature had elevated to 41 degrees Celcius, causing Tom some concern. But when he examined the dressing, he was mildly surprised at the healing. Not as dramatic in time of recovery as Eric's, but other than Eric's, unlike anything Tom had ever seen or ever heard of. Clearly, Ricky's theory that their blood could transmit phenomenal healing properties to ordinary men was correct. Jared was 'coming out of the woods.' By the time Jared was completely healed, there was no trace of even so much as a scar, swelling or redness of the skin in the vicinity of the wound.. If Tom had not already seem even more rapid healing in Eric, he would have been astounded. He made two mental notes to self: One, for about the thousandth time, to try not to be astounded at anything in connection with these super-boys and their physiology. The second, that this fortuitous medical miracle might come in handy again in the next few days and hours. Who knew what scientific and medical implications from this might lie ahead if they ever managed to get off this island!

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