by Saints
I saw it when it happened, you know? As far as I knew at the time, I’m the only one who did. You can hear it first from me.
I was supposed to be in town with some guy’s ankles up around my ears that weekend. But my hire car had broken down. Fucking Jap. piece of shit. I had to walk ten miles back to base. I’d stopped in at the bottle-o for some Jack on the way because I was so fucking annoyed. By the time I got on base, I was on my way to being toasted.
I’d grabbed my bed kit and crawled into our dorm’s storeroom. I wanted to drink and to feel sorry for my sad self. And I was horny as hell. So, I wanted to pull my meat in private. But then I heard voices out in the dorm. I kept real quiet, like the nosy bastard I can be.
It was Herc and Hylas, sounding out of breath, coming back from a late-night run. I couldn’t hear their words, but it wasn’t a friendly fucking chat. They were arguing. Not loudly, but in that low-voiced way that’s somehow worse than an out-and-out barney. I only got bits and pieces.
“This isn’t right…”
“We can’t fucking do this…”
“Fuck you…”
They moved into the shower stalls, and I cracked the door open an inch. They were standing in the steam, still arguing, a stand-off between two Titans.
“I don’t deserve this…”
“You fucking do; I do, too…”
“You don’t know me…”
“I know enough…”
There was a look between them then, an agreement.
And that’s when I closed the door. I’m many things, but I’m not a fucking perv.
Later, though, I found out that someone else got a fucking eyeful that night.
* * *
The following Monday when we came back to the barracks, something was different. You could see it when Herc and Hylas walked in. They’d finally released the tension. The eagle had fucking landed. There was this relaxed look around Herc’s eyes. He was quicker with a smile and a kind word. He was still a mean son-of-a-bitch a lot of the time. But we all were. We had to be. We had to be better, tougher. When you’re a fag in the service, you have to be ready with your armour twenty-four/seven. It’s the price you pay. Sometimes, though, it’s too fucking high a price.
We were all so fucking relieved that Herc and Hylas had finally done something about it. Now, it was time to wait and watch again. Was this a one-off thing? Did they just bomb the dam and it was done? Not fucking likely. There was real chemistry between these guys. Two powerful men with a lot to prove.
There was something enduring there. You felt it, but you rarely saw them act it out. They never showed it while on duty. Never. Not once. And on the job, Herc never cut Hylas any slack. Hylas never asked for it, either. We worked hard, and we didn’t ask for favours. At first, we did it to prove ourselves to Herc. Then he taught us that we were actually working that hard for ourselves, and for the unit. That’s how we learned to take pride in who we were.
As I said, I watched the two of them closely; we all did. How would their relationship affect the unit? Would it weaken our edge? Would it diversify our focus? We needn’t have worried. If anything, it brought us closer together. Herc was the head of our team, and Hylas was the heart. We grew closer as a unit.
* * *
One evening, as we were coming back from our run around the base, Herc called us together. We sensed an announcement.
“You know me…” he locked each of us in turn with his gaze. “You know what I stand for. You know my playbook. And you know I live by the rules…”
He had rehearsed and measured his words. But, uncharacteristically, he faltered.
Theo, our munitions guy, broke the pregnant pause. He produced a bottle of Black Label from his duffel bag and handed tin cups around. He raised a toast.
“To honour.”
We all repeated: “To honour.”
“And to bending the rules,” Phemus added. He winked, and we all relaxed a little.
None of us were big on words. The message was clear: it’s okay, what you guys have here is okay. Because you’re one of us, and we’re all a part of something special now. And it’s a-fucking-okay with us.
We hit the showers, hit the sack, and put the subject to bed.
* * *
Slowly, other teams started to envy us, and we got a reputation. Officially, we were Team Mysia. Stupid fucking wog name. But we were a bunch of fucking wogs, chinks, and even a kike. They still whispered our nickname—CDT: Cock Diving Team—although no one dared say it within our earshot. We’d have fucking pummeled them.
When I say that we worked hard, it’s fair to say that we also played hard. We were fags, but we were in the Navy after all. We liked to let off steam by going out partying. We didn’t do drugs, but we liked a drink. It wasn’t like before, though. Back before we joined the team, when so many of us hated ourselves, we drank, drugged, and drug-fucked to forget. We didn’t need that anymore. We were part of something now, something bigger than ourselves. We’d worked hard to get where we were. We’d pushed our bodies and our minds to the limits, and we were the better for it. And then we partied to let off some steam.
* * *
It was early 2015, and we were preparing for deployment to [Redacted]. We had a four-day leave pass before the week of prep that led to deploying. And we were ready to party.
We hired a minibus and drove into Darlinghurst. We’d sprung for the ritzy Carlyon close to Oxford Street. We wanted to be close to the action. We’d all hired individual rooms so we could bring trade back. Except Hylas and Herc, of course, who shared a room. We spent the Friday getting ready, buying everything in bulk: party clothes, snacks, and booze. Condoms and lube were bought in industrial quantities. There would be a major dance-fest and fuck-fest that weekend.
But things didn’t work out that way. Oh, it was a fuck-fest, just not in the way you’re thinking. It was more like a clusterfuck.
* * *
Like the song says: “Dig if you will the picture…”
Friday night, around 10 pm and we’re heading down Oxford Street. We were all outfitted in various kinds of low-rider tight pants and even tighter t-shirts. It paid to advertise. We did the slow-mo The Right Stuff walk down the main drag. All eyes were on us. The inner-city homos thought their Christmases had all come at once: eight tall, built guys striding confidently down the street, a couple of rounds of drinks already under our belts. We owned the street. They probably thought we were strippers heading off to a gig. They were half right, because the clothes would definitely be coming off later. It was like my dad used to say: “The girls will be busy tonight ’cos the Navy is in town.” Well, tonight the boys would be even fucking busier.
We’d pre-purchased our tickets to the dance party at “Pegae.” It was a new venue that’d opened up, which none of us had been to before. It’s a huge dance club over three levels. Once you got tired of trancing, you could head down to their subterranean sauna and spa—sex club—over two levels in the basement. Guaranteed: we’d be visiting all the levels of the venue over the next eight hours.
Just like we owned Oxford Street, we owned the club. We towered over the other guys. We weren’t long in the door, and we’d already downed several drinks at the front bar. Then we were in, and up, to the main dancefloor. Shirts quickly came off. It was hot, and we were hot to trot.
Herc and Hylas moved to the middle of the room. They were soon the centre of attention. If guys weren’t secretly watching them, then they were just plain gawking. Their sweaty torsos ground together. They were lost in each other’s eyes and in the pounding beat. They moved and grooved, pausing only to lock lips.
The rest of us guys were pairing off with trade. The civilian guys couldn’t keep their hands off us. A couple of the more game guys in our unit were even setting up their own little threesomes. We were drinking and laughing and dancing and drinking some more. Our crotches and arses were regularly getting felt up. We just laughed and encouraged it. We slid through the lasers and the ha
zers and the deep doof-doof of the music.
We thought we were so fucking good. But we were just fucking morons. We were high on ourselves, our bodies, and how impressive we thought we were. As my dad also used to say: “Pride cometh before a fall.”
That is how it all fucking started; how it all went to shit.
* * *
Out on the dancefloor, slick with sweat, Hylas had decided to take a break and get a drink. He and Herc engaged in a long pashing session before Herc would let him go. Every man in that room wanted to be either Heracles or Hylas, or the meat in their particular sandwich.
Hylas headed across to the bar in the opposite room. I was ahead of him, lounging on a stool against a mirrored wall. I had a drink in one hand and a twink in the other. I watched as Phemus made a beeline to intercept Hylas at the bar. But the prick made it seem to Hylas that he’d run into him by accident.
I was intrigued.
They met up and started talking. I was a bit distracted by the twink who was chatting away in my ear. He was too young and too thin—and too fucking Kylie—for my tastes, but he was a good kid, and I thought maybe I’d throw him a fuck downstairs to start off the evening.
I watched Phemus and Hylas at the bar. Hylas drank an entire bottle of water, then mouthed that he wanted to take a slash.
I think that must have been when Phemus spiked Hylas’ drink.
Later, they found large amounts of GBH—Grievous Bodily Harm, as it’s known on the streets—in Hylas’ bloodstream. They found some fucking Rohypnol as well.
Phemus was such a fucking cock-juggling thundercunt.
Hylas came back and did a couple of shots—tequila, probably—with Phemus. They were laughing and carrying on like fucktards. Then Hylas downed another bottle of water in one long gulp. He and Phemus headed back to the dance floor. I took my wide-eyed twink and followed them.
They got to the door; it was a couple of steps down onto the big dancefloor. Hylas took in the view from the doorway, Phemus at his side.
There, in the centre of the room, two tall, handsome young guys were pashing Herc; one on the mouth, the other on the ear. And a third was on his knees, just releasing the base of Herc’s python cock into his eager, waiting hands.
Later, I learned that—with his trademark military precision—Phemus had engineered this scene to play out just the way he’d wanted it to. I’d never known—none of us did—that we had a fucking snake in our unit.
Hylas took a step back, then went to take a step forward. He didn’t seem to be sure what he was seeing. By now, the drugs must have started to kick in. Deftly, Phemus spun Hylas around and guided him out of the room. He was murmuring in Hylas’s ear like a fucking devil on his shoulder.
I’d taken this all in, and the pieces slowly started coming together.
I glanced over to see Herc shoving the twinks off him—hard—and zipping up his fly. He scanned the crowd, looking for Hylas whom he’d glimpsed. By now, he’d started to sense that something was not quite right.
I ditched my drink, along with my protesting twink, and made my way to Herc. I intercepted him just as he got to the door.
“Where’s Hylas?” He eyed the crowd, agitated.
“Phemus took him out. Herc…” I yelled, to get his attention. “Herc! Something is very fucking wrong here.”
“I’m starting to see that…” he trailed off, not sure what to do next.
“Come on. I think they headed downstairs.” I grabbed him by his arm, which was slick with sweat. We dived into the crowd. Pushing our way through the gyrating bodies, I saw one, then two of the guys from our unit. I gave them the nod and the hand signal. They knew that gesture meant business, and they made their way after us.
We came out onto the main stairs, pushing people out of the way as we headed down, down. No sign of Phemus or Hylas. It was darker in the stairwell, with its painted-black walls and red lighting. The music wasn’t so loud here, though. I glanced back at Herc. I could see him processing and taking it all in. We kept heading down. I had a bad feeling in my gut by now. I knew to trust that feeling: it had saved me in the field before.
We reached the ground floor just as our medic, Theo, was about to head up. He saw it straight away in our eyes. I asked him if he’d seen Hylas or Phemus. He said he saw them going down into the basement sauna. We kept heading down, the other guys trailing behind us.
This is where we lost fucking precious time.
They made us wait at the entrance to the sauna—the sex club—because it was so packed inside. Phemus and Hylas must have made it in before the lockout. We stood in a line behind other guys. Like the stairwell, the walls were black and the minimal lighting red. It was hot, too. Some guys were pashing and groping each other. All of them were ready to get their gear and their rocks off. We waited, silently, our bodies twitching. I glanced over at Herc. His eyes were thunder. Finally, we made it through. We were given towels and key lockers. We threw ours on a nearby bench and headed straight in.
The mood lighting down there was even worse. You could barely see in front of you. Guys were walking around in towels. Those with better bodies were just plain naked. We followed the maze further and further in.
Then Herc heard a shout of pain. It was Hylas. Herc put his ear to a black cubicle door, pulled back, then threw his weight against it. The door sprung open.
Hylas, on all fours, was on a raised padded bed. His head was lolling to the side, his face grimacing, the cry still on his lips, his eyes glazed. Phemus stood behind Hylas, mercilessly fucking him from behind. Even in the gloom, I think I saw some blood. We all knew that Phemus was hung like a rhino.
Herc was on Phemus before he knew it. He slammed him against a wall and into the corner. I heard something crack. I think it was Phemus. He cowered like a whelp, the life gone out of him. Herc rolled Hylas onto his back. Hylas saw him then. He started beating Herc about the head and shoulders and chest. Hylas pushed him back. Herc tripped back and fell onto Phemus who had the wind knocked out of him again. Then Hylas scrambled up and ran for the door. I tried to catch him as he went, but he was bigger and taller than me. And, with the drugs in his system fighting for control, he had a mind of his own. For a fleeting instant, I saw the wildness in Hylas’ eyes.
Herc was tangled up with Phemus on the floor. I reached down, pulled Herc up and we were out the door. The other guys caught up with us. We headed off in search of Hylas.
Blind corridors, men in towels, the wet floor: they all conspired to slow us down. We were like rats in a literal fucking maze. Eventually, we made it to the spa pool. We stood in the doorway scanning the room.
The vast pool spread out before us, parts of it hidden by low, undulating sections of wall. Metres of black tiling on the floor, walls and roof. Towels hanging from the walls. Bodies sitting, standing, bobbing in the water. Clouds of steam. Tiny red spotlights made it hard to see anything.
Then we heard a commotion from across the pool. Still in his jeans, Herc waded out into the water.
I was about to join him when I slipped on the wet fucking tiles. The side of my head caught one of the low walls as I fell. I was down, lying on my side, at the edge of the pool. I could hear Theo talking to me, but it was from a distance. I could feel warm blood on my face.
Across the pool, I watched as Herc made his way into the darkness. Everything slowed down then. My vision went in and out in time with my heartbeat. It seemed like an eternity was passing, kind of like when you take amyl while you’re fucking.
Then I saw Herc wading back through the water: he was cradling Hylas in his arms.
Theo dragged me out of the way. He propped me up against a wall to make room for Hylas.
Herc put Hylas on his back and started CPR.
Thirty chest compresses. Two breaths. Again.
Thirty chest compresses. Two breaths. Again.
It went on. Theo checked Hylas’ pulse. Herc continued trying to breathe life back into Hylas.
After a while, Theo tried t
o take over. But Herc pushed him back and continued with the CPR.
The lights came up. Herc continued.
Time changes when you’re giving CPR. Your only focus becomes the person in front of you, the breath and the chest compresses. You shut everything out, because you are trying to give life. And Herc was trying to save the only man he’d ever truly loved.
I watched all of this through a fog. I watched him try to save Hylas.
Heracles only surrendered when the paramedics arrived. They carefully pushed him back. He went limp like a rag doll and the guys in our team caught him. The medics intubated Hylas, continued the CPR, and loaded him onto a gurney. I was lifted by two of our guys, one on each side of me, who drag-walked me out.
Hylas and I were loaded into the ambulance. I looked over at the paramedics working on him. Hylas was so beautiful. Pale as he usually was, he now looked like a ghost.
I went out of the world for a while after that.
* * *
Later, I found out that the MPs [Military Police] were quick to the scene. A Saturday night in Sydney? You bet that there was at least one squad cruising the streets, keeping an eye out for soldiers in trouble or misbehaving. As they’re trained to, they took over with precision efficiency. Our entire unit was interviewed by the Police, then escorted back to the hotel. They gathered everyone’s gear up, and the guys were back on base before dawn.
This included fucking Phemus, of course. But he went straight into lockup. More for his own safety than anything else’s, I reckon.
The paramedics told me later that they’d kept trying to revive Hylas all the way to the hospital, then in the emergency department.
