Chapter 7

From that moment on, the two men were inseparable. Starsky having saved Traff's life had created a lasting bond which nothing would be able to dissolve. The remaining 6 men on the unit even termed them "the twins" but in a friendly, comradely way. And the duo didn't mind in the least.

Over the coming months, they ran more missions always successfully and always together. Sometimes Merry and Tugs came with them, if more men were required and although the other two were close, they didn't have the rapport that Traff and Starsky had. They worked so closely that on occasions there almost seemed to be some sort of telepathic connection between them.

Although there was never anything like a safe day in the jungles around the camp, there was never another incident like the first helicopter one, much to the two men's relief, but each mission brought it's own set of criteria; its own danger; its own brand of excitement. And they were up to each and every hurdle.

By the end of their fifth month of active duty, and after running more than twenty five missions behind enemy lines either taking out enemy positions, or riding shotgun for various convoys though the jungle, Merry, Tugs, Traff and Starsky were called into Sharpe's office.

Their CO had always been fair with them and the brunet tried to like him. But there was something about the way the big ginger haired man treated him that made him shudder. In the early days at the camp, Sharpe had tried to single Starsky and Traff out, giving them extra rest days and allowing them to pick and choose the jobs they wanted to take on. Neither man had enjoyed the extra attention and Traff had been more than reticent about going into Sharpe's tent. Starsky had thought about asking Traff about his reaction, but something had always come up to stop him, and as the months passed and they settled into the rhythm of life in the jungle, he let it pass.

The days passed in the same fashion. If there was a mission to run, they would be up at the crack of dawn, breakfast and out, returning whenever the mission was completed, to a cool shower, supper and their bunk. Sharpe was always there to welcome them home, even escorting them to the showers to make sure, Starsky thought, that they weren't too damaged. And in all the time he'd run the missions, there had only been a couple of injuries to bother about. On one occasion, Traff had been winged by a stray bullet from a Vietnamese sniper before Starsky had taken him out. And on another occasion, Starsky had twisted his ankle badly while trying to run to cover a Jeeps position. It was an old injury that he'd sustained while at school, the ankle always being his weakness, and Sharpe had helped him limp into the shower and had even stood back and watched as the young soldier had washed and towelled himself dry. At the time, Starsky had thought it was just Sharpe being a good and conscientious officer. In later times, it would all make sense.

Now the four men stood to rigid attention in front of the large wooden table as Sharpe shuffled their files in front of him. He looked up.

'Trafford, Merryweather, Starsky and Tuggleworth. I've been reviewing your files, as I do periodically and I've just counted up that between you, you have more than 200 confirmed kills. On top of that, you have all, on more than one occasion, put your lives on the line for your fellow soldiers both in this unit and others'. Sharpe stood up formally as the four men looked quizzical.

'I've had confirmation this morning from HQ and it gives me enormous pleasure to award each of you the field rank of Corporal'.

Starsky felt as though he could have been knocked down with a feather. He'd never expected a promotion and hadn't really looked for it. Despite the discomforts of the jungle and the dangers of his job, the excitement he got from the role and the friendship he'd fostered especially with Traff meant more to him than rank. But still, Corporal Starsky! It was certainly the icing on the cake.

Each man in turn took a step forward and accepted the new shoulder insignia from their CO, saluted and stepped back into line. At the end of the brief ceremony, Sharpe saluted them all.

'As a thank you, I'm also awarding you a weekend pass to Chong Dai. You have from 18:00 tonight and I expect you back in camp on Sunday at 18:00. Dismissed'.

The four turned smartly on their heels and filed out of the office and back into the camp before Starsky's face split into a broad grin.

'I never had anyone need to salute me before. It's kinda nice. I could get used to it Corporal Trafford'.

Traff grinned back. 'Well don't look at me Corporal Starsky. I ain't salutin' your sorry ass. I'm out for fun, fun, fun. We're out on the razzle this weekend and we're gonna get us some hot chicks'.

'In Chong Dai? What's that miserable, flea infested place got to offer? An' look what happened last time you got me hooked up with a hot chick' the brunet smiled. 'That was one night to remember!'

'Didn't hear ya complainin' too much Chief. And there's enough bars in the village. We're sure to get ourselves a little diversion. They tell me that these Vietnamese girls are like contortionists. They can reach places other girls can only dream about. An' they're cheap. Roll on tonight. I'm hittin' the first bar we get to an' I'm gonna get so pissed'.

Starsky laughed. 'Don't get too pissed otherwise you'll never get it up. An' if the girls are as good as ya say they are, you're gonna need all your…um….faculties to enjoy yourself'.

Traff winked. 'Ya got a point, Curly boy. Maybe just half a bottle of bourbon then. An' after that I'll show ya what a stud can do'.

The brunet looked around faking consternation. 'Stud? Where's the stud? Ya got someone else comin' in, or what?'

Traff thumped him hard on his shoulder and pulled him down into a headlock, rubbing his hands through the curls that had grown back to almost half their usual length. One good thing about Sharpe's outfit. He didn't seem too concerned with the petty rules of the Army, and that included allowing his men to have longer than regulation hair.

As the two new Corporals trotted off to their tent, Sharpe stood at the doorway to his, smiling. He turned and started to pack his kit bag. Maybe Traff and Starsky weren't the only ones who'd have a good time this weekend.

At 18:00 precisely, the men loaded themselves into the waiting Jeep they'd been assigned and drove off through the torrential rain towards the village. The road had all but disappeared in the monsoon like conditions, the wheels churning up the red mud and sending it cascading out behind the jeep. But with the roof up and fuelled by their recent promotion, the four men inside were all in good spirits. They sang a couple of the more ribald songs along their way as Starsky, who was driving negotiated his way around the water filled potholes in the road, the vehicles bumping along sometimes up to it's axles in water and red, liquid mud.

An hour later, they drove down the small main street of the village, its sides lined with wooden shacks and larger wooden buildings containing bars, stores and a couple of whore houses. Half way down the main street, the brunet drew the vehicle to a halt outside a bar sporting lantern outside that blew in the gusts of wind driving the rain almost vertically up the road. They got out and read the sign above the door.

Lucy Chows. Best Bar in Town. All welcome.

They walked up the two steps and pushed open the rickety door and the blast of light and noise hit them like a physical presence. The bar room was quite large, with the bar itself extending right down the long side of the room. It was lined two deep with soldiers from other units all ordering drinks, their arms round girls or their eyes scanning the joint for local talent. Starsky and Traff pushed their way into the bar, their ears becoming acclimatised to the sound of foreign voices trying to sing American songs. In one corner, a small wizened Vietnamese man was playing discordantly on a battered upright piano, although the tune was indecipherable and at small tables dotted across the room, painted girls sat, smoking cigarettes through long malacca holders and screwing their eyes up as the acrid smoke sent tendrils roof-wards.

Getting themselves a bottle of bourbon and four glasses, they sat down at one of the unoccupied tables and poured drinks.

'To four pretty heavy dudes' Traff said, raising his glass. The others followed suit and there was a merry clinking of tumbler against tumbler before they all downed the fiery liquid in one.

Starsky looked around the room. The girls who were sat at tables all looked pretty enough, but the MO at the camp had cautioned them against some of the local talent, saying he didn't take kindly to having to treat cases of the clap alongside all the other jobs he had to do. Idly, the brunet wondered how he was supposed to know which girl was clean and which wasn't. It wasn't like he was going to ask them and he didn't think asking them for a certificate would go down too well either. But he'd been without sex for almost six months and right now he didn't really care what she had or what she looked like. He had an overbearing urge to fuck something – the appearance was almost secondary.

In the far corner, he could see a group of girls who had just walked in. they seemed a little different to the other girls in the room. They were better groomed. Their hair was brushed and gleaming and their clothes less threadbare than most of the others. He nudged Traff and nodded at them, winking and Traff nodded back.

Target identified Corporal. Acknowledge when target acquired.

Three large shots later, and with some dutch courage inside him, Starsky stood up carefully. The absence of hard liquor on camp meant that the quarter bottle of bourbon he'd consumed had gone straight to his head. But the other parts of him were working adequately, so he had no worries that his R&R would be compromised.

He looked around and at the bar he saw a familiar broad back and expanse of hair. He bent down. 'Hey Traff. Did ya know Sharpe was here this weekend?'

The soldier's head came up sharply. 'No. Aww hell! What the fucks he doin' here?'

'Well so long as he don't get the girls, I don't care' the brunet said quietly.

Traff snorted. 'I don't think ya got much worry on that score Curly'.

'Say what?'

Traff shook his head. 'Nuthin. Where're ya goin'?'

'The john. Grab us some girls. I'm ready for getting groiny if ya know what I mean' Starsky grinned.

'Getting' groiny! Oh my God, I've created a monster. One night with Yokino an' you think you're Valentino'.

'Don't. My Mom said I looked like Paul Muni'.

'Yeah right. Ya got his money too? Ok. You go drain the main vein an' I'll do the serious stuff' Traff said, standing up and watching his friend weave a little uncertainly towards the small bathroom in the corner. A moment later, another pair of eyes that had been watching also made their way across the room.

Inside the small, dirty bathroom, Starsky was in the middle of the main event when the door was pushed open and Sharpe walked in, coming to stand in the stall next to his Corporal.

'I didn't know you'd got R&R this weekend as well Sir' the young soldier said for want of something else to talk about.

'Even Majors have to have some down time, soldier' the big man said, unzipping himself and doing the necessary.

Starsky couldn't fail to notice how Sharpe's eyes roved over the small dividing wall to glance at the younger man's body and the curly hared soldier wished he could finish up quickly and get himself tucked away again. He looked away, but could still feel his CO's eyes on him.

'So you're gonna have a good time Starsky?'

'Oh um….yeah. That's the plan Sir'.

'With the girls?'

'Uh huh'.

'You could always give them a miss and um…'

'And what, sir?' the young man said naively.

'Corporal, I could have you promoted to Major before the years out, for the right price'.

Starsky's heart started to beat a staccato rhythm. Was Sharpe intimating what he thought he was? No, surely not! And yet….Pieces of the jigsaw started to fit. The times Sharpe had been so solicitous in helping him to the shower when he'd been injured; the times he'd had his pick of the jobs. There was no way that he would be tempted by the man. Hell there was no way he'd be tempted by any man, let alone an overweight ginger haired creep like Sharpe.

But how could he refuse? His confusion ran deep. He wanted to be a good soldier, and that meant obeying, right?. But he wanted to be a good fighting machine, answerable to his men and to his unit. And he didn't want that to come at a price. Certainly not one as repugnant as this.

'I um….I'm just happy to have made Corporal Sir' the young man stammered, starting to zip himself up hurriedly. A large hand shot over the small dividing wall and soft as a whisper it grazed his cock.

'Girls can't give you everything son'.

The terrified soldier took a step back, out of the reach of Sharpe's questing fingers and completed zipped himself up. He started to back away, wanting to yell at the creep to leave him alone, but still very aware that this was his senior officer and that in the Army, his CO more or less ruled his life. His troubled indigo eyes darted from side to side, looking for some means of escape, but coming up empty. And slowly, Sharpe was bearing down on him, closing the gap.

Starsky felt his throat dry as he fought for some composure and an idea of how he could deal with the situation. He knew there were men who liked other men, and that amongst some career soldiers, homosexuality was more common than the Army would like to let on. And he knew that months without women led some of the men to give each other a little hand relief - nothing in it, no strings attached. But he never thought he'd have to face it himself. He felt sick to his stomach and his knees felt weak. He was just about to turn and make a bolt for the door, when it was opened and a brown curly head looked around it.

'There you are Curly. Oh and hey, Major Sharpe Sir. I didn't know you were here' Traff said with false jollity. He'd seen Sharpe follow Starsky to the men's room and knew he had to do something to get his friend out of there. The time Traff had spent in orphanages and other institutions had left him with more than a passing acquaintance with gay men and their needs and the thought of the big CO forcing himself on to Curly was more than he could bear. He was more aware of Sharpe's previous behaviour and had seen the warning signs. He'd tried to warn his friend without actually coming straight out with it, not wanting to be laid open to slander charges, but Starsky was either too trusting or not sufficiently worldy wise to understand.

Starsky looked round, relief flooding through his veins as he backed quickly out of the room. 'See ya later Sir. Back at camp' he said pointedly and followed Traff's retreating back out into the crowded room. Traff took hold of Starsky's arm, feeling a slight tremble.

'Are you ok Curly?'

'Huh? Oh…yeah, yeah, why wouldn't I be?' blustered the young man. The incident was too fresh and the escape too narrow to want to talk about it now. He was grateful to his friend for coming to his rescue, and he knew deep down that Traff knew what had been going on, but he wanted to forget. And the only way he could think of forgetting was to go somewhere and get laid, quickly.

NB. Chapter 8 (tomorrow) is another containing sex. If offended, please skip to Chapter 9.