"Oh, fuck," Walt growled, and the sound sent shivers down Mark's body. He pulled off suddenly, moving by animal instinct. He flipped Walt over, grabbed his lover's hips, and pulled him to his knees. Mark got behind Walt, positioned the head of his cock at Logan's tight bud, and thrust forward. He sank easily into Logan, both of them crying out in pleasure. Mark wasted no time allowing Logan to adjust. Instead, he began thrusting back and forth, pushing deeper into Logan even as he pulled Logan's hips back.
Logan was willing, maneuvering so that he could rock on his hands and knees, increasing the speed and force of his backward thrusts so that Mark went deeper. Their pace was steady, their panting ragged, and their groans long and loud. Davis stretched Logan as he pushed harder and faster, his hands digging into his partner's hips. Each thrust was punctuated by a loud grunt. "Oh, fuck," Walt said again, his body shuddering and turning loose. Mark hissed through clenched teeth as he felt the spasms wracking Logan's body, causing the flesh gripping his member to contract and tremble. Mark gave three more hard thrusts before his body followed Logan's over the edge.
Both men collapsed, laying side-by-side on the grass in the darkness. "Fuck," Walt said a third time. "Where did you learn that, Farm Boy?"
When they recovered, they walked back through the woods, but stopped at the edge. There were more people on base now as the men returned from their night out. Walt studied the barracks. "We shouldn't be seen together," he stated. "You circle around, come from the toilets. I'll come in the other direction."
Mark nodded, knowing Logan was right, but not quite wanting the night to be over. "What happens now, Captain?"
Walt looked toward Mark, though they could barely see each other in the darkness. "We get ready to go to kick some Nazi ass." He winked, and then took off at a slight jog toward the far end of the base where the exercise track was. Mark watched him go, admitting to himself that he enjoyed the view.
But the captain was right. They had Nazis and Japanese to defeat. They didn't have time for distractions.
And now that they had given in, Davis found Logan much less distracting. He was able to fully focus on his training, even when his Captain was present. He had come to camp a good shot, and it had declined while he had wrestled with his desire, but he returned to being one of the best marksmen in his company. The sexual energy bubbling inside him increased his stamina in long distance marches. Training jumps went flawlessly as the leaves changed colors and the air became cooler. Logan had to maintain his position of authority, but they found time to talk. They talked about their lives before the war and their dreams for the future. They discussed their likes and dislikes over poker games and warm beers. They followed the news of the war and speculated if they would head to Europe or the Pacific first. Mark began writing letters to Julie again.
The squad followed the news of the war as the Allies claimed victory in North Africa and began a march across Sicily in Europe. They celebrated when Mussolini resigned and the new Italian government surrendered, even though the Germans kept the fight going as the Allies marched up the boot. They listened to reports of troops invading the Gilbert Islands in the South Pacific. The friendship, camaraderie, and trust they developed made the squad closer than family members. They were a well-oiled machine and were eager to be involved in the action.
For Mark, leaping from the door of an airplane, watching as the earth rushed toward him, was one of the greatest thrills of his life. It was the only feeling that could match his illicit affair with Walt. The wind blowing against his face fueled his adrenaline. His heart pounded as his chute opened, slowing his fall as he guided himself to the landing spot. The boys in his squad shared his addiction. They launched from the planes with whoops and yells and landed with smiles.
In the back of their minds, they knew it wouldn't be that way when they were overseas. They knew the danger. They knew that all of them would not come home. They did not discuss it. Discussing it would bring bad luck. Instead, they wrote more letters to their mothers and sweethearts. Mark and Walt fucked every chance they got.
Night jumps were especially thrilling. Drifting through the darkness, the blanket of stars overhead after the chute opened was so peaceful. It was a moment of perfection. For Mark, it reminded him how big the world was, and how small he was in the grand scheme of things. He would think about the God his father preached about every Sunday and wonder why He allowed this war to continue. Then he would start to see the treetops and the absolute focus of his training would kick in automatically and there were no thoughts except his current mission.
As they flew over the North Carolina countryside, the rumble of the plane engines vibrated through his body. Even during summer jumps, it was cool at this altitude, but in the winter, it was frigid. Their breath made little clouds as they waited for the jumpmaster to give his signal. The green light came on, and everyone in the stick stood, linked up to the wire, and began jumping in order. Mark was the sixth one out. He sailed through the air, waiting on the tug of the line to open his chute.
But then it didn't come.
His body kept racing toward the ground as he looked up in the darkness. His static line broke from the wire as the chutes of his mates opened around him. He saw it flailing as his fall accelerated. It was a low jump, so he knew he had only moments to react. He twisted for his knife to cut away the failed primary chute. His hands trembling, he patted his pockets. Around him, others began to notice he was in trouble. Their training kicked in as they attempted to steer toward him, but he was rapidly falling out of range.
He found his knife and sliced the failed cord, and then yanked the secondary chute. For a moment, he thought it had failed, too. His mind whirled with the proper landing protocol without a chute, knowing that the possibilities of broken limbs loomed in his future as the dark ground rushed toward him. He heard the whoosh and felt the tug as the smaller chute deployed, lifting him slightly and slowing the fall. He looked around for any landmarks, knowing the freefall had kept him from the targeted landing zone. The landing would still be hard because of the shorter distance of the fall, so he had to find a clear spot immediately. He gave a quick glance up to see the shadowy shapes of the other members of his group, and then gave the chute a hard tug to steer away from a group of trees.
He almost got clear, but the chute caught on a branch. He felt the sudden stop, his feet dangling above the ground. He tried to judge in the darkness how far he had to drop. His body swung like a pendulum and the shoulder straps of his pack dug into his underarms. The sky was clear, with stars twinkling high above him, and the moon glow lit the area. He couldn't see the ground beneath him, so that told him it was going to be a long drop. He could not count on the men in his company to save him because of the darkness. He had to save himself.
He bicycled his legs, seeking a foothold on a lower branch. He lifted his hands above his head, trying to grab the branch he had caught on, but it was high above him. He twisted toward the trunk of the tree, but the lines of the chute kept spinning him away. His movement caused the chute to shift and he dropped as it slid forward on the branch.
He stilled his body and closed his eyes. He took a deep breath to steady his heart and his hands. He thought about praying, but he didn't want to waste any prayers on a training exercise. When they got called to the front, he might need prayers then. God might be answering a prayer for a man flying over an island in the Pacific or an infantryman facing a Panzer tank. He didn't want to take away from someone in need.
His thoughts stilled, he grabbed the lines above him in both hands and began pulling himself up. After a few minutes, he reached the branch that the chute was hanging on and climbed onto it, straddling the branch. He exhaled, more confident now that he was touching something solid. He gathered up the reserve chute and tucked it into his pack before scooting toward the trunk. He wrapped limbs around the tree and began shimmying down slowly, resting each time he found a branch solid enough to support him.
He had made it about halfway to the ground when he saw lights and heard people calling his name. He answered and continued his journey down. He put his foot on a branch about fifteen feet above the ground just as his company came into sight. He answered again, but as he shifted his weight, the branch snapped and he fell backwards to the ground. He landed on his back and felt the concussion of the impact rattle his head and bones. He lay there a moment, mentally trying to access any damage as men rushed to his side.
When he opened his eyes, he was surrounded. Captain Walt Logan stood directly in his line a vision, a look of fear and panic reflecting in his blue eyes. Mark gave a subtle nod in Logan's direction. Immediately, his superior officer's face hardened. "Get him to the damn hospital," he snapped before turning and walking away. Mark was sure he was the only one who heard the tremble in Logan's voice.
A truck rumbled up and they loaded him into it, so he didn't see Captain Logan again until the company was in the prep room repacking their gear for their next training jump. The medics had given Mark a clean bill, telling him there would be bruises and he would be sore for a few days, but that nothing had been broken. Nevertheless, the atmosphere in the prep room was different. There was usually an air of excitement as they relieved the exhilaration of the jump, but things were more somber. Lingering in the back of all of their minds was how close they came to losing one of their own, and that once they went overseas, they would definitely lose men. They would not all go home.
