BRAT and the Kids of Warriors

by Michael Joseph Lyons

  That was all the adrenalin Jack needed. Fully alert, his back went ramrod straight.

  But as the service droned on, the same drugged feeling came back. The longer he listened to the organ music and Latin chants, and smelled the thick incense, the sleepier he got.

  He started yawning. The first were little yawns that he could stifle. But it wasn’t long before his head rocked back, his eyes closed, and his mouth opened wider than seemed humanly possible. He made a deep groaning sound, gulping in a massive amount of air. The yawns kept coming, one after another. He just couldn’t help himself. Jack was in a trance, hit by a spell—

  Whack! Another elbow to the ribs from Queenie.

  Another “kill look” from the colonel.

  Snapping back into focus, Jack knew he’d better wake up—and fast. What’s wrong with me? I keep shutting down. I do it when Kerrigan comes at me. I even do it in church.

  He made a valiant effort to remain awake, but within ten minutes he was nodding off again. Mercifully, at that moment the service ended. In a near catatonic state, Jack shuffled behind Queenie out of the cathedral. But that catatonic state didn’t last long.

  They were only a few steps outside the cathedral when Jack was yanked back into reality. His dad placed a vice grip on his shoulder and whipped Jack’s body around to face him. Jack looked up into the glaring eyes of one seriously pissed-off military officer. Never releasing Jack’s shoulder, the colonel growled in a whisper, “Jack McMasters, don’t you ever embarrass me like that again. You sorry excuse for a human being. You are one extremely poor representative of the United States of America. Every self-respecting German in that place saw your slothful, bored, lazy demeanor. You had better learn to get more sleep before church on Sunday mornings. Do it, or you and I are definitely going the rounds. Do I make myself clear, young man?”

  “Yes, sir,” was all Jack said. After all, there was nothing more to be said—if he knew what was good for him.

  The colonel didn’t say another word, but his angry scowl kept on talking. You keep yawning like that in church, or slouching back instead of kneeling upright, and I’m going to punch your lights out.

  Jack had violated the McMasters motto: “Look sharp, act sharp, be sharp.”

  With their brother in trouble, the girls knew enough to keep a low profile. Everyone marched back to the car in silence. That is, until they were almost there and Queenie called, “Shotgun!”

  For once Jack was just fine with her having dibs on the front seat. He slipped into the back seat, scrunching down to stay as far away from his father as possible. Somehow he needed to make it through this, make it till the old man cooled off. How long is it gonna take this time? How bad is it gonna get?

  What can I do to make it stop?

  He hated being in the car when his dad was ticked off. It was too easy for the colonel to focus those hard, gray, laser-beam eyes on him. In laser-beam mode, those eyes could always find yet another thing wrong with him.

  An alarm went off in Jack’s head. He screamed to himself, You idiot! What are you doing scrunching down? He straightened himself up before the colonel could catch him and again start yelling that he was a worthless, slouching slacker. For the first time all morning, Jack sincerely prayed. God, just let me get through this car ride, so I can get away from him.

  “Look at those German people leaving the church. Look how nicely they’re dressed.” In the front seat, Lt. Col. McMasters was talking to Queenie.

  He seems to have calmed down. Has the anger gone? Jack pretended he wasn’t listening, but his radar was on high alert. Dad really likes the Germans. He likes being stationed in Germany. Please, God, let him focus on the Germans and not on me.

  “I think we’ll stop at one of the bakeries and get a nice loaf of hard-crust bread.”

  Jack could feel the tension in the car lessen. Whenever the colonel’s tension eased, the whole family’s tension eased. Staring out the car window, he tried to think of ways he could stay awake in church. Maybe he should keep a safety pin in his pocket and stab himself if he started to nod off. But he didn’t really think a pinprick would have helped today. Was his dad right about getting more sleep? No, he’d slept great last night, but his whole system still shut down in church.

  Crap, I’d better figure somethin’ out or I’m gonna get killed. His mind turned away from an image of the colonel looming over him with his belt and brought up the face of Mr. Reynolds instead. That conversation they’d had. Jack decided he’d better go find out what the principal knew about shutting down. Better yet, what he knew about not shutting down.

  He would have kept grinding on it, but Rabbit was next to him behind the colonel, and she chose that moment to mimic his yawns during church. Jack flashed her a “cut it out” look, but that just seemed to encourage her. At first, hers were just silent, mocking yawns, but with each one she got a little louder. Any moment the colonel would notice.

  Jack swatted her leg. “Stop it,” he hissed, “or you’re gonna get it.”

  “I will if you play with me one whole hour this afternoon.”

  “Nope,” he mouthed.

  She spread her arms, preparing to let loose the loudest yawn yet.

  Jack caved. “All right. One hour. Now knock it off.”

  She gently patted his knee. “I love when we play together, big brother.”

  Trying to ignore her, Jack glanced out the window at the German people his dad had been talking about. A group of men were walking along the sidewalk. One of them was wearing a rather short, dark coat and a dark-green hat with its brim pulled down. Jack wasn’t paying all that much attention, but the sight jogged his brain. Something about those men. . . . He kept staring. Then it hit him: that guy in the wood by the cliff had the same coat and hat. Could this be The Watcher? No sooner had he put it all together than the guy was gone. Jack whipped around to stare out the back window, but his dad had gone around a corner. Nothing.

  Five minutes later, they pulled up to a bakery and the girls got out with the colonel. Wanting to distance himself from his dad, Jack stayed in the car. He scanned the near-empty street. Why haven’t I thought about The Watcher since that night? Guess I didn’t figure we’d actually find him. Now he pops up out of nowhere. Jack nervously rubbed his hands on his pants.

  Up at the corner, two men crossed the street. Both had on short coats and dark-green felt hats with brims. Clearly neither was the guy he’d just seen.

  Jack sat very still, trying to remember other details about the guy in the woods. Jack saw his sisters and father coming out of the bakery, just as a man and woman were walking in. To Jack’s absolute astonishment, that guy had on the same coat and hat, too. Come on! How many of these guys can there be?

  When they got in the car, Jack said, “Dad, look in the bakery. Do you see that man with the short dark coat and the green hat like Dick Tracy’s?”

  “I see him, Jack. What about him?”

  “Have you ever seen anyone wearing a green hat like that?”

  “Those hats? Sure. You see them all over Germany. Why do you ask?”

  “Oh, nothing. I’ve just never seen a hat like that before.”

  “Now that you’re in Germany, you’ll see plenty.”

  That’s that, thought Jack. We thought we could identify him by his clothes. That won’t be happening. So much for trying to be like Jean-Sébastien.

  One good thing about Jack was he never stayed down for long. A most excellent breakfast restored his spirits. Mrs. McMasters had really outdone herself on their first Sunday in Germany. She had made them bacon, sausage, and fried potatoes, and promised to fry or scramble eggs, whichever way they wanted.

  Not for the first time, Jack thought to himself, Other moms could try to make this breakfast, but it would never taste as good.

  For his mom, breakfast was a major art form. It was entertainment. Her scrambl
ed eggs seemed so simple, but they were pure genius. First, she never made them till the very last moment. Second, she pulled out her old cast-iron frying pan and lit a huge flame under it. She let the pan get so hot you’d think it would melt. (Jack figured there must be magic in that old frying pan, and that was why she packed it in her own suitcase for the trip to Germany, rather than entrusting it to the movers.) Third, she put bacon grease in the pan.

  “Now,” she’d say, “don’t ever let anyone give you any grief that bacon grease is bad for you! Bad, my eye! Bacon grease is the secret ingredient to the perfect egg.” She’d let the bacon grease get so hot it began to smoke. Then, with great flare, she’d say, “Is your plate ready? Don’t blink twice or they’ll already be done.”

  In one big swish, she’d pour in the eggs, stirring them like crazy from the moment they hit that pan to the second they were done. It actually did take less than two blinks of an eye.

  Her real genius in cooking was insisting on only the best ingredients. But it didn’t hurt that she had exceptional cooking technique, combined with a killer sense of timing.

  The eggs delivered, she didn’t miss a beat. Next came coffee for the parents and cocoa, with marshmallows, for the kids. The feast began! But, like all great performers, she saved the best for last. What none of them knew was that she’d made something else—something amazing.

  A moment later she glided back into the dining room with a huge smile and a platter of her world-class popovers.

  Everyone went crazy, especially Lt. Col. McMasters. They were his absolute favorite. Her popovers were a light and airy pastry that the colonel would load up with butter and jam. Scrumptious. Sunday breakfast at the McMasterses’ was a sight to behold.

  While they were feasting, Mrs. McMasters said, “Jack, your friend Charlie Carron came by just before you got home. He wants to know if you want to go sledding.”

  “Absolutely,” was all Jack said.

  “I want to go!” said Rabbit. “Jack, you promised.”

  “Me, too,” said Queenie, piling on.

  Their dad winked at their mom, saying, “I guess we know what the children are up to this afternoon.”

  In the smoothest and nicest way, Lt. Col. McMasters had just given Jack good news and bad. He’d said Jack could go sledding. But only if he took the girls along.

  Jack didn’t want them tagging after, but if his sisters had to be part of the package, so be it.

  Charlie came back just as breakfast was concluding. Jack said he could go on two conditions: if he could bring Queenie and Rabbit, and if Charlie could wait till the dishes were done. Because, of course, the kids had to wash all the dishes before they could leave; cooking and serving such a feast generated plenty of dirty pots and pans and plates. Charlie said he’d wait.

  As soon as Mrs. McMasters pronounced things spick-and-span, the kids bundled up in their winter gear and headed for Charlie’s. Those dishes had been done in record time. Sledding is important.

  When they got to Charlie’s, Sam was there, too. As always, she was anxious to get going.

  “What about sleds?” asked Jack. “We don’t have sleds yet.”

  “No problem. We got you covered,” said Sam. “I have two. Charlie has one. And Jayla loaned us two.”

  Charlie described in detail where they were going as they dragged their sleds from The Glass House, all the way across the base, out the main gate, down a big hill, and back up another long hill. There were at least fifty other kids already sledding.

  It was indeed a great sledding hill. Perfect for racing. All five of them lined up next to each other and took off together. Jack’s face cut through the icy air, his heart racing. He loved it. As he traveled down, the hill got steeper and steeper. Scraping sounds came off the blades as they cut over the hard-packed snow, and he flew faster and faster. Only at the bottom did it smooth out enough to slow him to a halt.

  He was still lying on his sled when Rabbit glided up alongside him.

  She vaulted off her sled, grabbed the tow rope, and started sprinting back up the hill, yelling, “Let’s do it again!” Rabbit was Rabbit.

  He followed her up the hill.

  At first they rode down on their stomachs. Later Charlie suggested they try sitting. That was tougher. But once Jack got the hang of it, Charlie decided to see if he and Jack could both go down seated on the same sled. They wrecked the first couple of times, but finally succeeded. Back at the top of the hill, they got back on the sled.

  “Outta here, Carron. This is our spot!”

  Startled, Charlie looked up at a giant head covered in a ski mask that made it look like a big, brown basketball. The guy stood grinding a fist into the palm of his hand. “Get to the far side of the hill where you belong. Or else!” Behind him, Kerrigan, Tony Keach, and a whole bunch of their gang nodded slowly.

  No choice. Charlie got up and they all followed.

  Rabbit planted herself in front of the bully. “Hey! This is our spot, Basketball Head, and we’re not—”

  Queenie grabbed her, covering her mouth to cut her off. “We’re moving along,” she said, dragging the struggling Rabbit.

  Once over on the far side, Rabbit started mouthing off. “Hey, why should we listen to Basketball Head?”

  Queenie had loosened her headlock on Rabbit, but now retightened it and calmly explained that they had been hopelessly outnumbered. None of them liked it, but under the circumstances, they might as well try out this side of the hill.

  Other than being pushed around by Basketball Head, it was a great afternoon on the sledding hill. While they were trudging along the long road to The Glass House, Jack asked, “How come Jayla didn’t come with us? Doesn’t she like sledding?”

  “Oh, she loves sledding, but her parents wouldn’t let her come today.”

  “Is she in trouble?”

  “Not too bad. Mainly it’s because she has family stuff—a trip to some castle. But she won’t be going to the Saturday movie anytime soon. Mrs. Jones finally put two and two together about where we got the Indian war paint. She said Jayla has to buy her a new lipstick, which’ll take all the money she gets from her next two allowances.”

  “Hmm. Guess it could have been worse. Her parents certainly aren’t shy about giving her grief.”

  “Yeah, they hold her to a crazy high standard,” said Sam.

  “What do you mean?” asked Jack, figuring he had it just as bad.

  Sam asked, “Would your parents, or mine, give us a hard time if we got a B on a test? Never, right? Well, remember our reading test last week?”

  “Please. I’m trying to forget about tests,” Jack groaned. “I only wish I’d gotten a B. I haven’t caught up with you all in the book, so I had no clue about half the questions.”

  “Well, Jayla got just one question wrong. Unfortunately that gave her a B on the test.”

  “So?”

  “So Jayla’s parents go ballistic if she gets anything but straight A’s. Her mom stormed around yelling, ‘Lt. Col. Jones’s daughter does not get B’s!’ Then she marched up to Mrs. Campbell after school and demanded an A. Jayla said she’d given the right answer but our book had the facts wrong. She then produced not one, but two different library books proving her point. Would you believe it? Mrs. Campbell actually seemed pleased by the whole thing and gave her the A.”

  “Jayla reads library books?” Jack asked, incredulous. “Even when they haven’t been assigned?”

  “McMasters, sometimes you are so blind. Haven’t you noticed Jayla carrying a ton of books everywhere? Her parents make her read two or three extra library books a week.”

  “Wow,” Jack said. “Good thing Jayla’s the smartest kid I’ve ever met, or she’d never survive her parents.”

  Trudging along, Jack was grinding on Jayla’s situation. It didn’t feel right. “Sam, I’ve been thinking about it, and we all
used that lipstick. Jayla shouldn’t have to take the whole rap. Shouldn’t we each pay our share of the new one?”

  Surprised by his suggestion, Sam studied him for a moment. “Good idea, Jack. I’ll let her know.”

  Queenie and Rabbit were moving fast, desperate to get home. Rabbit had been complaining that if they didn’t get there soon she was going to wet her pants. Jack let them run ahead. He dropped back to be with Sam and Charlie. That gave him a chance to fill them in on his morning in Göppingen and the man in the exact same coat and hat as The Watcher.

  “I mean, I really thought it was our guy. He was just four feet from my car window—it scared the snot out of me.”

  “And?” Charlie demanded, getting excited.

  “And I kid you not. I kept seeing more and more Germans in short, dark coats and green hats. I began to think Göppingen was a town full of spies. Then it dawned on me, short coats and green hats don’t mean anything, except that a lot of German men like ’em.”

  “Guess I never noticed that,” said Charlie.

  Sam frowned in thought. “Well, I suppose I have, but I never put two and two together till now.”

  It got them debating whether The Watcher really had been spying. They still had no idea why, but in their gut they knew he was a spy.

  By the time they reached The Glass House, they were cold, wet, and worn out. Jack’s sisters were long gone, so they went to Charlie’s to warm up . . . and try to convince Mrs. Carron they needed cocoa.

  When they got inside, Charlie went with the direct approach, yelling at the top of his lungs, “Mom! We’re home! We’re starving! Can we have cocoa?”

  Mrs. Carron’s heart melted at the sight of three frozen snow children. “How was it?”

  As she helped them peel off their snow gear, they all talked at once to answer her question. They were still giving details as she arranged the marshmallows on their hot chocolate. Chuckling over their sledding stories, she piled warm cookies on a plate.

  Life was good at Charlie’s.