BRAT and the Kids of Warriors

by Michael Joseph Lyons

  “Engine room, we have a problem!” a massive voice boomed out of nowhere. It sounded like the voice of God. Jack froze in his tracks, not just out of shock, but because he was pretty sure they were the problem that “God” was talking about.

  The great voice sounded again. “Engine room. This is the bridge. Our systems show boilers four, five, and six are rapidly losing steam. Get on it, engine room, and give me a sitrep immediately!”

  Massive relief was written all over their muddy faces. Jack realized it wasn’t the voice of God. It was the voice of Commander Allen. And he did not sound happy.

  Queenie mouthed the words, “Sitrep?”

  Before Jack could reply, “Situation report,” running footsteps were coming toward them from the engine room. The kids managed to lie down motionless on the catwalk before all the lights came on and five men burst into the boiler room, all yelling at once. Jack recognized the four card players.

  “Wolfgang, you idiot! I told you to get the lead out and re-fire the boilers! But no. You had to keep playing cards.”

  “Shut up, Schwartz. We don’t need your mouth now. Just get number five opened up!”

  Wolfgang and another guy grabbed big shovels and began filling a giant, iron cart with chunks of coal. Schwartz got the door to boiler number five open. They wheeled the cart over and started shoveling the coal into the boiler. There was a faint, red glow inside the boiler, but even the kids could tell there was not much fire in there.

  “Oh, crap, Wolfgang. You better pray that fire don’t go out, or the chief’s definitely gonna bust you again.”

  “Just shut up, and get boilers two and three open. One of them should still be running hot. Get some live coals from them, and we’ll throw ’em onto the new stuff in five.”

  The brats hardly dared to breathe. Their only muscles moving were attached to their eyeballs. They watched Schwartz open boiler two. It was like he’d opened the jaws of a dragon who roared flames back at him. Schwartz’s sweaty face glowed so red he looked like the devil himself. He barely shut the door without being torched. No one could grab coals out of that inferno. Finding the next boiler’s fire wasn’t so intense, he began shoveling coals into the cart, and from there, into boiler number five.

  “Schwartz, use the bellows!”

  Schwartz looked right up at the children staring down through the catwalk.

  Major alarm bells sounded in Jack’s head. We get to Bremerhaven tomorrow. First thing Dad hears is we got busted in the ship’s engine room. I’d rather be Wolfgang, getting crucified for letting the fires die down.

  All of a sudden their biggest adventure didn’t seem like such a great idea.

  But Schwartz ignored them completely. Instead, he reached up and grabbed a metal chain attached to a wide, flexible hose hanging out of a massive pipe ten feet below the catwalk. The hose attached to some type of accordion that stretched out as he pulled the chain. Schwartz caught the end of the hose and maneuvered it to boiler number five.

  Jack lay there in shock. Why didn’t he bust us?

  Schwartz pointed the hose toward the boiler opening. It blew air on the glowing embers so they worked on the new coal. In a matter of seconds, boiler number five began to burn for real.

  It took Jack’s brain a couple more cycles to realize what had just happened. It wasn’t that Schwartz was too busy to bust them. He had never seen them. When the ironheads turned on the lights, Jack could see everything because all those big lights were hanging from underneath the catwalk, pointing down on the room. But when Schwartz looked up, he couldn’t see past the blinding lights to where they lay. For Schwartz, everything above the lights was in darkness.

  Despite his racing heart, Jack knew they had to move. They won’t be busy forever. Time to beat a hasty retreat.

  He signaled Queenie to move back along the catwalk. He tapped on Rabbit’s foot and, getting her attention, signaled her to get Alex and move back, too. In this situation, even Rabbit seemed smart enough to stay silent.

  Ever so slowly they stood up and crept out through the steam blasts, through the boiler room’s upper metal door, and back across the engine room. Because of that miraculous mix of downward lighting and preoccupation, no one must have seen them go.

  Once they reached the air vent, Jack put his back up against the wall, bent down, and put his two hands together. First he gave Queenie a boost up into the vent. As she went up, he whispered, “Find the string and follow it.”

  Boosting Rabbit up to Queenie’s waiting hands, he told her to stay close to Queenie on the way back. Finally, he boosted Alex back into the pipe. Before Alex could try to turn around in the pipe to give Jack a hand, Jack vaulted up and grabbed the end of the vent, pulling himself into the pipe—a stunt made easy by all Jack’s excess adrenalin.

  “You okay?” asked Alex.

  “Fine. Just go.”

  They edged past the vent overlooking the empty card room, past the snipes’ machine room, and on into the vent. The further they got, the faster they moved. By the time they got back to the hatch, they’d been moving at a fast crawl.

  Queenie, also adrenalin pumped, got the crank on the sub door turned all by herself. She opened it a tiny crack and listened for noise in the hall. Giving them a thumbs-up sign, she flung it open and practically dove back out into the hallway. Next came Rabbit, then Alex. When Jack finally made it out, Queenie immediately slammed the door shut and started cranking.

  “Hold up,” said Jack. “We need the broom and the clean clothes.”

  As Queenie dragged the bag out, the messy ball of string rolled onto the floor. Queenie had been trying to roll it up as she went, but it had been hard while trying to crawl.

  Obviously, Queenie’s nerves were as unraveled as the string, because she grabbed the end still attached to the crank and tugged frantically. But the string was strong and her knots were secure. Alex leaned over to cut the loop with his pocket knife.

  Only then was the hatch cranked shut for good. Everyone was ready to bolt. But again Jack held up his hand. “We’re not out of the woods yet. Remember our plan. Let’s make sure we finish this mission all the way.” He held up the bag of clean clothes as a small reminder. They all looked at the bag, and then at each other. They were a mess. They might be out of the air duct, but they could still be busted.

  “Okay, first we get to the bathrooms and change. Then give Rabbit all your dirty clothes to put back in the sack. After that, Laura, you get the broom back where it goes, and Alex and I will return the flashlights. Then we’ll all meet back at the snack bar to debrief.”

  They’d almost made it to the bathrooms when a passing officer openly stared and was about to stop them. Without hesitation, they just kept walking. Rabbit grinned at him as she passed by. “We’ve been on clean-up patrol.”

  “Looks like it,” he said, not sounding convinced. But he didn’t call them back.

  Rabbit had doled out the clean clothes before the kids hurried into their respective bathrooms.

  Jack did a quick wash-up in the bathroom sink. That wash was only one step better than one of Mrs. McMasters’s spit baths, when she’d take his dirty face, pull out her handkerchief, spit on it, and scrub. At least this time there’s a sink. He went into a bathroom stall to change his clothes.

  When they all emerged from the bathrooms, Rabbit made a great show of gathering everyone’s dirty clothes before they headed for the snack bar. Queenie dashed to return the broom. Jack and Alex went with the flashlights.

  Fortunately, it all went without incident. Fifteen minutes later, they were together at the same snack-bar table, drinking Cokes and congratulating each other on pulling off a most excellent adventure.

  “I wonder if Wolfgang managed to get those boilers going to Commander Allen’s satisfaction,” mused Alex.

  “Will he get in trouble?” asked Rabbit.

  Queenie humph
ed. “I’m just glad we got out of there before we got caught.”

  “And I’m just trying to figure out what we forgot,” said Jack.

  “Forgot?” Alex asked. “What are you talking about?”

  “Oh, you know—something you forget can always trip you up.”

  That made them all start thinking.

  “Where is the string?” Jack was urgent.

  “In the bag,” said Rabbit.

  “See what I mean? If Mom found that string, she’d have all kinds of questions. I can hear her now, ‘Where did you get this? What did you use it for?’”

  “You’re right,” said Queenie, running a hand through her hair in frustration. “Man oh man, my hair’s filthy.”

  They all touched their hair and cringed.

  “We gotta do something about that, too,” she said. “And, speaking of dirt, how do we get these clothes cleaned so we don’t get sixty-four thousand questions about how they got so dirty?”

  While Queenie rerolled the string as best she could, they spent the time talking over other possible gotchas. (Brat sneakiness is a fine art form.)

  First, Rabbit brought the string back to Ernie and then met the others at the gym, where they snuck in to take showers.

  Their final stop was a dicier mission involving a favor. Once again they found themselves outside the big iron doors of that laundry facility, with a new set of carts lined up outside. Their banging on the door was answered by one of the sailors they’d met the other day. He studied them for half a minute before yelling in mock-horror to the guys inside, “Help! Protect me! The Army is here!”

  The laundry crew all burst out laughing.

  “What’s up, Army?” he said.

  Rabbit took the lead on this one. “We were messing around and we accidentally got very, very, very dirty. This bag holds the dustiest clothes you’ve ever seen.” She dramatically lifted the big bag over her head, and without the least hesitation, dumped its contents onto the floor. Smiling broadly she declared, “Don’t worry. No puke. Just dirt.”

  That got another laugh from everyone. Then, getting down to the point, she told her growing audience, “But our mothers will never understand. Soooooo . . . we’re wondering . . . if you could do us a really big favor and wash them?”

  The laundry guys looked at each other and cracked up. The first sailor said, “Okay, okay, we’ll do it for you, but only ’cause there’s no barf involved.”

  Still laughing, they told the kids to be back for their clean clothes between nineteen and twenty hundred hours that night.

  “You’re open past bedtime?” asked Rabbit, clearly surprised.

  One of the guys explained, “With so many Army pukers aboard, we work twenty-four hours a day.”

  The brats were so grateful they joined in the laughter. Then promising faithfully to be back, the merry band marched off, satisfied they’d covered their tracks and completed a most excellent mission.

  7

  War Story

  The McMasters kids made it back five minutes before the six p.m. deadline. The moment they entered the cabin, it was obvious something was up. Their mother looked dressed for a ball, and her makeup was already perfect.

  “Are we getting all dressed up, too?” asked Rabbit, starting to get excited.

  Queenie asked, “Is there a farewell party? Will there be dancing?” Jack watched Queenie in that moment transform from secret agent into dress-up princess.

  “Not a party, but a formal dinner dance. And, yes, you girls are to put on your party dresses. Jack, you’re to get into your suit and tie. Everything’s freshly pressed and hanging in the closet.”

  This was anything but the standard prepare-for-dinner drill. Mrs. McMasters told them not just to wash up but instead to take showers before putting on their good clothes. The kids knew better than to say they’d showered less than an hour before. They gave each other knowing glances and quickly took a second shower. Their mom helped the girls with their hair and Jack with his tie. Mrs. McMaster finally nodded her approval when they all looked strack—strack being military-speak for looking sharp, top to bottom, with not one thing out of place. And, indeed, their clothes did look perfect, every crease straight, no wrinkles to be found. So, off they went to the dinner dance.

  When they arrived at the dining room, or, as Jack would say, the dining facility, it was clear this was a serious event, with all the ladies in party dresses and ball gowns, and the officers in their formal uniforms: Navy in dress whites; Army, Marine, and Air Force in dress blues. The dining room was set up for a formal dinner, with white tablecloths, crystal glasses, and the best silverware and china. In the middle of each table was a big, fancy centerpiece. A dance floor had been set up, and a jazz band was already playing.

  Queenie rolled her eyes at the band and mumbled, “You can bet they won’t play ‘Wake up, Little Susie,” “Great Balls of Fire,” or “Peggy Sue.’ Those guys look way too square for rock ’n’ roll.”

  Once again Ernie came forward to lead them to their table. This evening they were seated with a couple they didn’t know who had two girls and no boys. Queenie and Rabbit seemed happy enough, but not Jack. He kept looking for Alex. He finally spotted him entering the room with his family. Jack wanted to invite him to eat at their table, but his mom said no. And she did it with that “no means no!” look.

  However, a few minutes later Alex walked up to their table.

  “Good evening, Mrs. McMasters. Did you have a nice day?” Alex asked, using his best adult manners.

  “Why, yes, I did, Alex. Thank you. And may I say you look very smart tonight?” Alex, too, was in a suit and tie. “How was your day?”

  “It was just fine, ma’am. Thank you for asking.” Then, after a slight pause, he got to the point. “Mrs. McMasters, my father asked me to come by your table to see if Jack might have dinner at our table tonight.”

  She gave Alex and Jack “the look,” clearly communicating, “You guys are really pushing your luck.”

  Jack’s knee started bouncing. In desperation, he tilted his head, as if to say, “Please get me out of here.” Both boys stared her down. She finally softened, giving Alex a knowing smile. “Well, Alex, I suppose Jack would rather have dinner at a table with a few less females. Please say good evening to your father and mother for me, and thank them for inviting Jack.”

  “Yes, ma’am, I will. And thank you.”

  “Jack McMasters, you remember your manners.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  With that, the two boys made a speedy exit.

  Commander Knox and family were sitting with Commander Allen and some of his officers, as requested by the two commanders, who were close friends. Once Jack sat down, Commander Allen smiled at him and asked if he had finally decided to join the Navy rather than the Army. Jack went eyeball to eyeball with Commander Allen, aware that the other four officers had stopped talking and were sizing him up. Jack took a moment to compose his response. “I haven’t come to a final decision, sir, but I am giving it serious consideration.” At that, all the men laughed and went back to their own conversations.

  After the afternoon’s grand adventure, both boys were starved, and ate like it. During dinner they didn’t say much. No brat would discuss a secret mission in front of adults. When dessert was finally served, the dancing started up. A young man came to ask Alex’s older sister to dance. Commander Knox gave his approval before whisking Mrs. Knox out onto the dance floor. Commander Allen went off to ask Mrs. McMasters to dance. Jack and Alex wouldn’t be caught dead on that dance floor. As the officers drifted away to find partners, the boys stayed behind by themselves.

  But it didn’t take long for Commander Knox and Commander Allen to gravitate back to the table. It was obvious that the ladies were not about to run out of dance partners, since there were far more men on board than women. That gave the comma
nders a chance to talk. Soon enough, a couple of other officers joined them at the table.

  Ernie materialized, offering coffee or drinks. They all seemed happy about that, quickly giving him their orders. Jack and Alex each asked for a Coke. The officers, settling around the table with drinks in hand, began telling stories. Jack and Alex were smart enough to remain silent, hoping the officers would forget they were there.

  During a lull in the conversation, Lieutenant Commander Brink, one of the officers who’d been at the captain’s table with Jack and Alex the other night, looked over and said, “Young gentlemen, I remembered another story I thought you’d enjoy on the topic of objective.”

  “Absolutely, sir,” Jack said promptly.

  “Commander Allen was correct about an objective needing to be both short and understandable. It also needs to be remember-able. This World War II story proves the value of remember-ability.”

  Glancing around the table, Jack saw most of the officers looking intrigued. Perhaps this was a story they hadn’t heard.

  Lt. Commander Brink continued, “To win a war, an army needs more than just fighting men. It needs trucks and tanks and artillery pieces and ammunition, and, and, and. You get the idea. Right?”

  Both boys nodded.

  “Also, the longer a war goes on, the more you need. Because in battle a lot of your gear gets blown up. So your army constantly needs more of everything. To put it simply, the army with the most armaments tends to win. In World War II, the English and Russians were fighting the Germans for years before we joined the war. As the fighting continued, they desperately needed new supplies. So even before we joined the war, we loaded up ship after ship and sent war materials across the Atlantic to help them.”

  Looking right at the boys, he asked, “So how do you think the Germans felt about us sending their enemies all those weapons?”

  “I’ll bet they were pis—ah, very unhappy about it,” Alex said.

  That near slip got him “the eye” from Commander Knox. Fortunately for Alex, Lt. Commander Brink kept right on going.