For the next two days, we concentrated on jobs that needed doing around the farm. The cattle and sheep had to be inspected every day under yet another new piece of legislation handed down by DEFRA (Department for the Environment, Farming and Rural Affairs) following the BSE crisis. Not too much of a chore for us; we knew where all our animals were situated, but God help poor old hill farmers whose stock run wild over many hundreds, sometimes thousands of acres of harsh and sometimes inaccessible land.

Our task was made difficult by Dad's insistence that we could only go out using the John Deere. It took time to cover so much ground. Life would be so much easier using quad bikes, less expensive as well.

"We don't have to collect them. I thought I'd told you that Ben passed his driving test during the first week of the holidays? Never mind. What with one thing and another, I probably forgot to mention it.

Anyhow, Ben decided that now was the time to hit the motorways and get some experience, so he's going across the Severn Bridge then down to Bristol. James is coming up from Somerset by train as far as Bristol Temple Meads Station where Ben will pick him up and come on to us. As for time? I really don't know, but Ben thought about eight o'clock tonight."

"What's he driving? I mean you better get the licence plate or he won't get through the gates."

"Bugger! I forgot about that! It'll be something expensive; his folks like, drip money, but I'd better call him and find out."

"BEN 123 is the number plate, but he wouldn't tell what car it was. But, if he's shelled out dosh on a personalised plate, it has to be something a bit special I reckon."

"Something practical. I'm not into possessions, so maybe a Landrover Discovery or a Toyota Land Cruiser or something, - something that works off-farm as well as on.

"Most probably the same as you, but I once saw a car on the internet that blew me away. Definitely NOT practical, but I think I'm allowed to dream?"

"What's so special about a Porsche? They're good cars, and quick too, but……"

"The GT1 was a version of a track racing car. The requirement at the time was, that to enter a car in something like the Indy 500, you had to build a road-legal version. Porsche built sixteen I think, but it's just like, sex on four wheels!"

"In your dreams maybe? Back in 1998 they were charging like one- point five million Deutschmarks? What the fuck might they fetch these days!"

"Yeah, but with one point two billion dollars salted away, it's like small beer."

"I dunno, but let's just say that he's made a number of very large deposits in my backdoor account since we've been together!"

"Just traffic slowing us down through Bristol, otherwise it was fine. Jimbo's train was delayed, but then I got lost anyway, so it didn't matter too much."

"The number will stay with me forever. The car might die, but I can always transfer the number onto something else."

"That I can see, but I thought that your old chap might've stumped up the cash for something less…… boring?"

"Dad's ethos is that I have to find my own way in life. Why else do you think he sends me to the wastelands of Cumbria for my education? Stump up money on a decent set of wheels after I spend five thousand on a posy number plate? Come on Steve?"

As I'd cheated, and supper consisted of a defrosted curry, we sat around talking in the drawing room. James especially, was animated.

"Three whole weeks of being away from my sister! I love her to bits, but shit, can she be annoying! It's odd, but when I'm away at school, I miss her, but after a few days of being back home? Let's just say I'm really pleased you invited me."

"New automatic security gates and counter-measures should unwelcome guests manage to get past them, which reminds me. Dad wants you armed while you're here. I'll take you down into the gunroom later so you can select a weapon you're used to handling."

"No way of telling, but with beefed up security together with a small contingent of Special Forces camping here, someone seems to think so."

"The rear of the house is where the SAS guys are, so we leave securing that to them, but if that first gate is tampered with and they manage to get through, we are free to take whatever measures we see fit to protect ourselves. If that means shooting to injure or kill, then that's what we do. Vehicles with known registration plates are given access in the same way as you were, but unknown vehicles can call through. If they're kosher, then fine, and the gate can be opened from the house, but it's very much a case of When in doubt, keep them out.

Some of Dad's friends, mainly other local farmers, come and borrow equipment. They normally phone the estate office before turning up, but all of them have to use the intercom when they arrive, and when they announce themselves, one of two keywords have to be used. The first one indicates they're alone and uncompromised, and that's Green, so like "I'm here to take the Green bailer" or something. If, in the unlikely event they've been hijacked, they would change that to Red, like "I'm here to collect the Red bailer", and that's when we get serious."

All boys who attended Keswick Priory had to join the Army Cadet Corps, like it or not.

Even those who came from families of religious faiths that believed in pacifism weren't excused, but their weapons training was basic, and their time was spent leaning about field communications, medical procedures and transportation.

Both James and Ben chose the benchmark and totally reliable Heckler & Koch G36 assault rifles.

These were the weapon of choice for most Western countries, including the UK and our special forces. Thirty round 5.56mm x 45 magazine, and with most component parts manufactured from a plastic/carbon fibre mix meant they were light with the need for minimal maintenance.

After the selection was done, and with enough ammunition to put down a small uprising, we went to our shooting range which was a field about one thousand yards long with water-filled oil drums with targets painted on them, but placed in front of a large soil bund in case of misses.

Ben shot first, but consistently firing to the left, readjusted the sights until he found the mark.

James had the same problem, but an hour later found him shooting the best I can recall, and with the light beginning to fail, we walked back to the house, restocked our ammunition and retired to the drawing room for yet more drinks.

"If you're looking at death face on, it's surprising how the adrenaline pumps you up. Not only that, but you sober up in milliseconds. One other factor is, that your nerves won't get to you. You'll feel calm and in control, ready for whatever comes your way. People aren't people anymore. They're targets you must eliminate before they eliminate you. Kill or be killed. Be there for your family and friends, because guys? Don't be under any illusions, if these people come, they won't hesitate to kill you, and in ways I won't describe unless you want to vomit over your drinks."

Ben looked down at his rifle laying beside him on the couch, then turned to Thilo.

"Steve and I have been friends since we first met at Keswick, so that has to be what, almost six years ago? We've done all the stuff like growing up together, getting our arses chewed over missed assignments, poor turnouts at Brigade meetings and things, then that evening he had us sit down and announced his sexuality when we were both about thirteen or fourteen years old.

Boarding school life has this way of allowing you to accept other people's foibles. Living and sleeping in dorms, you discover that some kids have body odour problems like smelly feet. Nothing they can do about it no matter how much they wash. Some boys snore, some don't seem able to keep their area clean and tidy, but when Steve came out to us, I have to say, I was shell-shocked. A mate of mine was actually gay?

It didn't matter. We had come to accept that we all had issues, - we're all different inside. Steve is my friend, as you are now, and I'm happy to stand with you; face this threat should it ever materialise. Us Keswick lads stick together always."

"I'm nowhere close to being as eloquent as Ben, - maybe I should drink more, but as he said. I'm here for both of you, and may God help the idiot that tries to get past me."

It's hard not to show emotions when someone you know makes such a statement, but then I had become used to keeping myself in check, so kicking the fire back into life and loading another log to the blaze, the conversation returned to more pleasant subjects.

I had worked out transport logistics. Ben, being the only licenced driver would use Dad's Landrover, Thilo and I had to use the John Deere, so that left James, Alun, Mark, Pete and Tony to sort out.

Alun was easy. He'd be carrying the sniper rifle and might need to get to high ground in the case of an emergency, also, one of his passions was dirt biking and used to compete regularly in scramble races, so he would take a 350cc Honda trials bike. James was used to driving around the farm on previous visits, so he could take a tractor of his choosing. We were left with Mark, Pete and Tony, and with only two serviceable quads, I had to come up with something else.

"Taking Alun out of the equation, do you know if either Pete, Mark or Tony are capable drivers, even if they're not licenced?"

"I've seen Tony driving one of the half-tracks at school and he seemed very competent?"

"So, a knackered but perfectly serviceable Series Two Landy wouldn't faze him then?"

"Transport around the farm. You take Dad's Landrover, James has a pick of the tractors, Thilo and I are under orders to use a fuck-off big John Deere, so Tony can use the old Landy while Pete and Mark take the quadbikes. Not everyone will want to be constantly hanging out as a group, so this gives everyone some independence if they feel the need for some alone time."

"Yes, but we all get along so well, my guess is that we will hang out together anyway."

"The other thing to bear in mind is this. If we're using different vehicles and there's a raid, we can all bugger off in different directions. All of us in one vehicle would be offering a big target, but the chaos of people scattering in all directions might confuse the situation and save lives."

"Steve? Get a grip. You are in danger! Why on earth do you think the Home Office have licenced you to carry guns that are strictly reserved for the security services? Someone, somewhere must have intelligence information that's credible enough to allow for you carrying what for any other UK citizen are illegal handguns. Not only that, but you carry them in a manner that's illegal even in the USA, and we all know how lax their gun laws are? Even there, the carrying of concealed weapons is a Federal offence."

"We're your friends who hopefully will live long enough to be your old friends. We're not the types who shy away from supporting you? Isn't that what Keswick Priory is all about? Yes, we get a good education, but that's something you might get at dozens of schools. Keswick is a mean place, a fucking awful place, but we band together and help each other cope with the stress, and in turn that moulds us into a special breed of people, resilient and strong, hard yet caring.

We're here because we love you blokes, but also because you need our moral and physical support."

A couple more drinks, and feeling suitably chastened, I excused myself and went upstairs to bed.

Six years boarding at Keswick, yet only now, and following a stiff talking-to by James, did the message hit home.

All the boys there came from privileged backgrounds. Some families were industrialists, some bankers, some farmers, some were from overseas Royal families, and some just filthy rich, but it didn't matter. I want to say that we were beaten into submission, but that's not right. They moulded us, kneaded us, deliberately forming us into a coherent unit resulting in what I was confronted with this evening. True and loyal friends who were willing to face up to things unimaginable, and all because of the bond we'd formed over the years.

With those thoughts drifting through my mind, I fell asleep not waking until a soft, warm and naked body cuddled up to me.

"Why am I not surprised? You did the best part of half a bottle of gin tonight!"

"Why should I be? Getting pissed is fine, it's the following morning I find difficult."

Thilo is my sexual dream ticket! Everything from being the sexiest creature God ever gave breath to, right the way down to the little noises he makes as we make love.

He's trim and fit. Completely hairless apart from a small bush of pubes above his uncut dick.

He's also insanely pretty, and the biggest bonus for me, he loves to kiss, and it's really difficult to keep myself from cumming prematurely if he does it for any length of time.

But that morning there was no stopping him. He wanted me rough and hard to the point where I wondered if his whimpers and squeals could be heard all around the house.

Fifteen minutes in saw his first ejaculation squirting between us, twenty-five minutes his second.

How the hell does he do it? One massive cum and I need to rest, but then thirty-five saw his third and he was done.

I took him gently, and moments later I was flat out chest to chest on top of him with my tongue searching for his.

"Only a bit? You came three times in twenty minutes! Where do you find the stamina?

"Maybe we should take a hike up to Birmingham and hit the jewellery quarter. If we can't find anything, then we get them made for us."

"Whenever you like. We could ask if the others fancied coming with us, and if we have takers, we go up mob-handed. They do the sightseeing thing, and we get the bus to where we want to go."

I could feel Thilo twitch his dick, and as I was still half-hard inside him…… let's just say we were somewhat late for breakfast.

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Thilo

by Andrew Foote

Chapter 17