A girl about Queenie’s age answered the doorbell. She yelled up the stairs, “Kevin, your little friends are here.”
Kevin came bounding down the stairs, shaking his head in frustration. “Guys, this is my sister, Karen. And as you can tell, she makes my life a constant delight.”
Jack said, “Oh, Kevin, you won’t know delightful till you meet my sister Queenie.”
“Queenie? Your sister’s name is actually Queenie?” demanded Karen.
“Well, no. But it’s a long story. Her real name is Laura, but we call her Queenie.”
“Surely you don’t mean Laura McMasters. I know her. You’re her little brother?”
“That would be me.” Jack gave her one of his world-beater smiles.
Karen just walked away.
After she was out of earshot, Charlie said, “By the way, Kevin, don’t ever call her Queenie to her face. You’ll get a knuckle sandwich.”
Kevin assured, “I am a pro at dealing with a superior older sister.” He flashed his own dazzling smile.
He led them into the living room, which was surprisingly dark. All the drapes were pulled, and not one light was on. Jack assumed they were passing through an empty room, but out of the gloom came a low, gravelly voice. “Hello, boys. It’s nice to meet you.”
Jack all but jumped. He hadn’t noticed anyone as they came through the room. In fact, he could barely see the lady now. She was seated in an old, overstuffed chair in a far corner. She seemed slightly heavyset and strangely removed. Remaining perfectly still, she was like a female Buddha sitting in the dark.
“Could you get me my medicine and refresh my drink?” the gravel voice said.
“Sure, Mom. Come on, guys.”
They followed him through the dining room and into the kitchen. “I’ll help her and then get us our stuff.”
Jack noticed Kevin smelled the glass before refilling it with ice water. Jack thought, Probably deciding if it needs to be washed.
Kevin was back in a flash. He got them each a Coke. Then said, “Okay, boys, let’s go to my room.”
As they walked up the stairs, Jack thought, When your father’s a full colonel, you must get quarters with an upstairs and a downstairs.
Kevin had the game set up on the floor over in a corner and they got right down to playing. It seemed only minutes before they had to head home for dinner—right in the middle of a game.
“I vacuum my own room, so this will never be disturbed.”
Thus began their winter series of Monopoly games. Within weeks, Charlie and Jack rivaled Kevin as Monopoly masters.
Jack did his best to practice Mr. Reynolds’s exercises, but he knew it would take more than staying engaged to deal with Ryan Kerrigan. It would mean learning how to defend himself. So he reminded Kevin of his promise to show them how to box.
Kevin was more than willing, if they could find a place. The post gym was the most likely location, so one afternoon, Jack, Sam, Jayla, Charlie, and Kevin just showed up there. They had no idea if kids were allowed, and that was definitely not the kind of question they would ask an adult—especially their parents. The certain “parent answer” would be, “Even if you are allowed, we don’t want you hanging around a bunch of GIs.” So, of course, no one asked.
When they reached the front desk, they again figured that if you ask, you get told no. That first day they just marched right in and started using the stuff.
The gym had all kinds of fun equipment to play on: a rope climb, parallel bars, weights, and the horse for gymnastics. But for them, the main attraction was a boxing ring that had gloves and everything they might need. Kevin invited them into the ring to show them how to box.
It didn’t take long for the guy in charge to tell them to get lost.
That didn’t stop them from coming back another day. And that afternoon a private named Finnegan was on duty. Jayla tried a new approach. She walked right up to him and said, “Is it okay if we use the boxing ring? My friend Kevin is a boxer, and he wants to show us how to do it.”
“Which one is Kevin?” Finnegan asked.
“I am.”
Finnegan said, “So, Kevin, where’d you box?”
“Fort Knox, sir.”
Private Finnegan just nodded. “Okay, kids, I don’t care. Go knock yourselves out.” Then he added with a smile, “But don’t really knock yourselves out.”
Without the slightest hesitation, they started putting on the gloves. That turned into a laugh. They soon realized they couldn’t tie up their own gloves. And once on, there was no way to tie up someone else’s gloves. Sam was the last person with untied gloves. She asked Private Finnegan for help, and asked which days he worked at the gym.
Tuesdays and Thursdays.
They started showing up on those afternoons.
At first, Finnegan just kept an eye on what Kevin was showing them. But about their third session, Finnegan realized they were getting serious about boxing. He started showing them a couple of things, and acting as the referee. He explained about holding your guard up, how to move your feet, and how to punch, not just with your arm, but with your whole body. He also showed them how to train with the big punching bag and the speed bag.
The speed bag looked easy when Kevin or Finnegan did it, but when Jack tried, it took him a while to get the hang of it. Finnegan also made them jump rope. That, too, was a riot. Right from the start both girls could do it, but it took Jack and Charlie quite a while to figure out how to jump rope without looking like a dip stick.
In the beginning, everyone but Kevin was terrible at boxing—and sore after every session. Their bodies hurt, not just from the punches, but also from the workouts—punching the bags, jumping rope, scrambling up the climbing rope, and everything else to improve their strength, stamina, and agility. But they steadily improved. The one who surprised everyone was Jayla. From the start, she was fast on her feet and had a good eye for what her opponent was going to do. The two things that helped her most were long arms and being fearless. Jayla became Kevin’s regular sparring partner. Sparring was a Finnegan term, which basically meant having a boxing match with an opponent. They all took turns sparring.
Boxing wasn’t the only way they improved. At first, none of them could reach the top of the rope climb. But as with boxing, over time, they got better at it and could touch the ceiling.
One night Kevin and Jack were having a sleepover at Charlie’s. The Monopoly board was sleeping over, too.
“McMasters, you stink,” Kevin said, laughing. “That’s the third game in a row you’ve won.”
“Can’t there be something I’m better at?” complained Charlie.
Jack wouldn’t take that sob story for a minute. “Don’t give me that. You certainly have the best comic book collection of any of us, not to mention you read better than we do.”
Charlie only shrugged. “Yeah, you might hate reading, but somehow you still know more war stories than both of us together.”
“You don’t have to read to know a ton of stories,” Jack said simply. “You just have to be good at listening and remembering what you hear. When your mom is as great a cook as mine is, the officers come to you, and so do the stories.”
Kevin said, “Okay, then, Mister Great Listener, tell us one.”
“Make it a war story,” said Charlie, “from one of those foreign officers in love with your mom’s cooking.”
Jack had told them some of his best tales came from military men from places like Japan, England, Iran, Pakistan, France, and Indonesia. How they made it halfway around the world to find Mrs. McMasters’s dinner table was something he couldn’t begin to explain.
Jack said, “Well, one night a few years back, this tall, very dignified gentleman came to our house for dinner. His name was Col. Jean-Jacques Boutrigue. He was a French Infantry officer, and boy was he strack. He showed up at our quar
ters in a perfectly pressed khaki uniform, a broad, brown leather belt around the jacket, and plenty of ribbons on his chest. He had on a round, flat-topped, dark-blue hat with plenty of gold braiding around it, and a small bill in front. He was a French colonel. When I was introduced, he shook hands with me and then handed me that hat, but with such a serious look I felt like he was making it my personal mission to keep it safe. I carefully put it on a small table just inside our front door.
“But while the adults went off to have a cocktail before dinner, I snuck back and tried on his hat. As I looked at myself in the mirror just above that table, I wondered what it would be like to be a French Infantry officer. I loved that hat, even though it was way too big.
“After dinner and coffee, my father brought out the decanter of cognac and two crystal brandy snifters. He poured cognacs for himself and the colonel. The colonel had a large, thin beak of a nose, and he used it to take a deep smell of the cognac. He closed his eyes and smiled with delight. He and my dad started talking. For some reason, he told this story about why he admired our General George Washington.
“Early on, during the American Revolutionary War, the British had occupied Boston. General Washington and his Continental Army had them surrounded. Old Washington was in a perfect position to attack. But he had one major problem: He was desperately short on gunpowder. In fact, his men only had enough gunpowder for several shots each.
“But, boys, General Washington was the only one who actually knew how short on gunpowder the Continental Army was. His men did not know, and his officers didn’t either. If they had known, they’d have realized that instead of the American Army being in a position to attack the British, it was really the British Army who could have wiped them out.
“Whenever gunpowder came up, Washington told his officers and men that he had plenty stored away in a secret place. But in fact, there was no such gunpowder. Washington knew he had to keep it a secret until he could get more. And he needed more before the British got wind of his problem.
“Washington made a number of attempts to get more gunpowder. Once he sent ships down to the Caribbean to get it. But the British had created a blockade and the ships couldn’t get through.”
“And nobody figured it out?” demanded Charlie, getting impatient.
“Charlie, General Washington was really good at bluffing. In fact, he had to keep up his bluff for almost six months.
“Fortunately for Washington, one of his generals, Benedict Arnold, along with Ethan Allen and his Green Mountain Boys, won the Battle of Ticonderoga, and they took over Fort Ticonderoga up in New York.”
Kevin spoke up. “But Benedict Arnold was the traitor who tried to give West Point to the British.”
Jack nodded. “This was before he switched sides. Fort Ticonderoga had lots of British cannons and gunpowder. Then, in one of the greatest feats of the Revolutionary War, Benedict Arnold was able to drag those big cannons and all those barrels of gunpowder hundreds of miles from Ticonderoga to Boston.
“Once Washington had the guns and gunpowder, he threw the British out of Boston.”
“Great story,” said Kevin.
“Yeah, but that wasn’t Col. Boutrigue’s point. He looked me in the eye and said, ‘Consider for a moment what might have happened if Washington had not been able to keep his secret. What if his troops found out, lost confidence, and deserted? What if the British had found out nothing could stop them? You, Jack McMasters, might be British today.’”
“From this story, my friends, we learn the importance of certain skills.”
Charlie said, “Bluffing.”
Kevin agreed. “Knowing what to tell and what to hold back.”
“Yes.” Jack nodded.
“Wonder if we’re ever gonna have to keep something like that secret,” Kevin mused aloud. “You know, like about gunpowder?”
Little did Jack know he would soon hear just such a secret.
19
Cut and Run
Spring meant exploring the woods without boots or heavy coats, as well as hitting the post gym every Tuesday and Thursday. Private Flannigan seemed to like being their coach and referee. But for Jack, boxing didn’t seem to get easier. His brain shut down whenever someone attacked him. He didn’t tell anyone, but some nights he’d lie awake, wondering, What’s wrong with me? Why am I such a complete weenie? Jayla was so coolheaded when she boxed, which made him feel worse.
Finnegan made them wear face guards when they sparred. One day Charlie got in a lucky punch, hitting Jack full in the face. The punch turned out to be lucky for Jack, too. When the face guard did its job, Jack’s mind stopped shutting down as a punch came at him, freeing him to watch his opponent. He began to protect himself in the ring, and to get in a half-decent punch himself.
For Jack’s birthday, Charlie and Kevin slept over, and his father presented him with a Fleischmann train set. Things were going fine that spring.
Then came Little League signups.
Jack, Kevin, and Charlie were on the Cooke Barrack’s Cougars. Two afternoons a week, they would go to Little League practice. In a while, they’d have a game once a week. Some would be home games, others away games. For the away games, they would ride in an Army bus to play a team on another base. Every boy Jack knew was crazy about baseball. Jack assumed he’d like it, too. That assumption was about to strike out.
As he got suited up for the first practice, Jack studied himself in the mirror. He liked how he looked in his Cougars uniform. He started getting pumped about being part of the team. But things took a serious dip an hour into that first practice. As they each tried throwing, Jack soon realized he could throw the ball but it rarely got over the plate. He’d never be a pitcher. Besides, that position was quickly reserved for Kevin, who demonstrated decent ball control and even a bit of a fastball.
Charlie Carron got selected for third base. It seemed there was little he couldn’t catch. Jack, on the other hand, didn’t catch much better than he threw. That put him out of the running for any infield position—not second base (which went to Kerrigan), not shortstop, not anything.
In less than no time, Jack became an outcast. By the second practice, no one but Charlie and Kevin would even make eye contact with him. If anyone else looked at him at all, that guy’s eyes seemed to say, What kind of dorf can’t catch a ball?
Jack just couldn’t get that hand/eye coordination thing going. His glove and the ball were not on good terms. The other boys seemed to catch instinctively. Jack had zero instinct in the catching department. Kevin and Charlie tried to help, but he was pretty much a lost cause.
By the third practice, even his best friends had started to avoid him on the field. Why am I such a stupid klutz? I hate this! Quit looking at Kevin! Quit looking at Charlie! Make like a nobody, Jack, or they’re gonna dump you.
Jack had been relegated to the outfield, where he endured both mind-numbing boredom and constant dread that he would miss a fly ball?
Jack hated Little League.
One evening after baseball practice, Jack was scrunched down on the couch in the living room, flipping through the latest Life magazine. He liked how it had the best pictures and the least words.
Rabbit and Queenie were both in their room, and his parents were on the balcony having a drink. They probably had no idea he was there. Through the open door, he heard them mention his name. Jack’s brat-radar flipped on.
“You don’t need to tell me Laura is doing great in school, but what did Jack’s teacher have to say about his reading?” asked Lt. Col. McMasters.
“Still very little progress,” he heard his mother say.
“Lorraine, what are we going to do about that kid?”
Jack was surprised, not by his father’s words, but by his tone. Instead of sounding frustrated or angry, he sounded concerned.
“Relax, John. Jack is smarter than people think.
In fact, his teacher thinks he’s doing fine in math and science. “
Jack thought, She’s just trying to smooth it over so he doesn’t get bent out of shape about how I’m doing.
“And as for German, she thinks he’s nothing short of amazing,” said his mom.
“The German is Ingrid’s doing,” said his dad. “I just worry about his ability to read. He’s got the kind of mind that needs to be fed.”
Whatever that means, Jack thought.
Their conversation moved on to other things.
Nothing to worry about. Relieved, Jack went back to an article in the magazine showing space pilots and the kind of suits they might wear.
A few minutes later, his brat-radar tripped back on, not from hearing his name but by the rising level of tension in his mother’ voice.
“Relax, Lorraine, that new lieutenant’s wife is an alarmist.”
“Don’t tell me to relax. You heard what she said.” His mom’s voice was getting more and more demanding. “Stop ducking the issue, John. I have a right to know. Is this base likely to be attacked or not?”
“She was overreacting.” Jack heard growing frustration in his dad’s voice. “There’s no threat of attack right now.”
“Maybe not now, but it is possible. Correct?”
“I’ve told you before. There’s no way to know for sure.” Jack heard him adopt a more calming tone. “It is possible, yes. But I don’t think it’s likely. Our defenses are solid, and for them the cost would be too high.”
“She said that if the base were attacked, it would be overrun from the northeast.”
“Probably, but that’s all been taken into consideration. Look, honey, you really don’t need to worry about this. If it ever does actually happen, there will be plenty of warning. Plenty of time to get you and the kids out.”
Jack, whose instincts were usually pretty good, decided it was time to slip away. Better to not be caught eavesdropping when they came back inside.
BRAT and the Kids of Warriors Page 24
