“Okay, punk,” Kerrigan taunted, a mean glint in his eye. “Let’s do this thing.”
Jack didn’t say a word. He looked calm as he stood there, snapping his blue rubber band, but inside he was still trying to jog his brain into action. Jack raised his fists in boxing stance, somehow remembering to keep his elbows tight to his sides. Both boys started circling. Something about Jack’s controlled stance made Kerrigan seem to hesitate, possibly reassessing him.
On the inside, Jack felt more like a zombie than a boxer. As they circled, he glimpsed his sisters, Kerrigan’s gang, and his friends. Their unspoken expectations were like a cloud of gnats flying in front of his face, fogging his vision.
Kerrigan seemed to sense it, because he smiled as he came at Jack with a fast right jab and then a hard left hook to the head. But even though Jack’s brain wasn’t cooperating, those hours in the gym had sharpened his reflexes. He automatically dropped one knee and dodged most of the punch, only getting a glancing blow.
Again, out of habit, Jack countered quickly, jabbing with his left, going for a power shot with the right. But in his foggy state, he didn’t expect Kerrigan’s backward dodge, so Jack’s hit seemed more like a push than a punch.
“That all you got, weenie boy?” mocked Kerrigan.
Both boys backed away, regrouping.
Jack knew he was just going through the motions. Stop shutting down! Get it together!
Kerrigan covered the ground between them to deliver a series of punches—one of which Jack failed to block. He got clocked in the left eye. Staggering backward, his head was rattled. He started seeing stars. But for some strange reason, that punch shook the fog from Jack’s brain. Filled with rage and energy, he no longer gave a crap if he got pounded by Kerrigan.
Kerrigan was dancing around, telling the crowd how great he was. And while his head was turned, Jack charged, tackling him to the ground. The move took Kerrigan by surprise, and before he could recover, Jack ended up on top, pounding at least one solid punch into Kerrigan’s face.
With the tide now turned, Basketball Head, one of the leaders of the Sevens, moved in to drag Jack off Kerrigan. But Jayla, about half the kid’s size, pushed him away before he could grab Jack. B-Ball Head made the serious mistake of swinging at Jayla. She exploded with the fastest series of punches any kid in that crowd had ever seen. The big guy went down—hard.
“All right! That’s enough!” came a shout from the back door of the gym. It was Private Finnegan, striding over to the circle, with Rabbit marching behind. With more command presence than he’d ever shown before, Finnegan pulled Jack, still swinging like crazy, off Kerrigan and dumped him on the ground. When Kerrigan tried to come at Jack, Finnegan merely shoved him back.
“It’s not over, McMasters,” snarled Kerrigan, as he and his boys helped B-Ball Head to his feet and guided him out of there.
Finnegan watched Kerrigan reach the road before his glance rested on Jack’s swelling eye. “Have a nice rest of your day.” He gave Jack an unreadable look and headed back to the gym.
The crowd went wild, boosting Jayla up on their shoulders to parade her back to the street. She was the obvious star of this fistfight. Word was about to spread across the base: Smart brats who want to live won’t mess with cute, little Jayla Jones.
Queenie gave Jack a thumbs-up as she left with her gang, wanting to escape Rabbit, the one-girl mob scene shouting, “Did you see him? That’s my favorite brother!”
“Not too bad, Jack,” said Kevin. “Maybe Kerrigan will back off, at least for a while.”
“Let’s hope so. I like our boxing matches, but I really hate these Kerrigan fights. I’m just glad Rabbit ratted to the one guy who wouldn’t come down on us.”
Kevin smiled at him. “You did all right, Jack. You didn’t back down. And by the end, you almost had him.”
Charlie threw an arm over his shoulder. “You fought like a Spartan.”
“I guess I did.” Jack was relieved and a bit surprised.
“Will your dad give you crap about that black eye?” asked Kevin.
“Probably not.” Jack was strangely at peace with himself. “I mean, I didn’t get thrown out of school, and he didn’t get called because of it, so he probably won’t care.”
Kevin said, “My guess is you’re right.”
Jack was just glad it was over, at least for now.
24
The Ravine
Any afternoon they didn’t have Little League, Jack and his crew spent exploring Cooke Barracks, especially the woods behind The Glass House. Since no one was stopping them, they kept penetrating deeper and deeper.
Used to the plains of Oklahoma and Texas, Jack thought this was the most beautiful place he’d ever known. If Jack had pictured the perfect forest, it would have looked like this.
Rays of sunshine shot through the new, green foliage, creating a thousand combinations of dark shadows and explosions of light. The forest floor, instead of being full of brush and briers, thickets and brambles, was a lush carpet of soft leaves that hardly made a sound as Jack’s crew moved through the trees. The land contoured up and down, with very few large stretches of flat land. Over the last month, they’d realized The Glass House and The Circle occupied the high ground of the base.
From there, the deeper they moved into the forest, the more they descended into some kind of valley.
Tree climbing became a key skill. There were so many trees begging to be climbed. And they proved a great place to hide.
One Saturday morning in April, they chose to maximize their exploring time by bringing picnic lunches with them to the movie. The moment the screen flashed, “The End,” they bolted out the side doors, headed for a part of the forest not far from the theater. They’d picked up rumors that a path near the theater led through the woods and eventually connected to another behind The Glass House.
It took a bit to locate the path, but once on it, they moved along quickly, covering all new ground. Initially, they were powered by candy and popcorn from the movies, so they didn’t bother to stop for lunch. But once back on familiar ground in the woods behind The Glass House, they found a fairly secluded spot for their picnic.
Jack glanced down at his watch, calculating. “Well, that was certainly no shortcut. In fact, it took us an hour and a half to get back here, and it only takes us twenty minutes by the road.”
“Nice trail, but too many twists and turns,” said Sam.
The boys were juggling the balled-up wax papers left from all the sandwiches when Jayla abruptly signaled for quiet. They immediately went silent, the wads of paper forgotten where they dropped.
She whispered, “Someone’s coming. Hide!”
Fearing the Sevens, they vanished up nearby trees. Their theory was simple: This was their woods. All others were intruders, but, when possible, they would avoid confrontation.
Jack chose the oldest and tallest tree around. From above, he watched as Rabbit and her best friends, Joni Portwine and Mark Sanchez, came wandering through the trees. The little kids never even looked up.
“Hey, what’s this?” Rabbit said, scooping up the wax-paper balls. “Somebody’s been littering.”
“Who’d do that?” Mark wondered.
“Dunno,” Joni said, “but it’s kinda strange. Don’t ya think? No Germans would ever litter in the woods.”
“And brats know better than to litter,” Mark said.
Rabbit shrugged, cocking her head to one side as if to say, Who knows?
Jack made a mental note to ensure they never again left anything on the forest floor that could get them busted, especially by intruders more dangerous than Rabbit.
As Rabbit and her friends moved on, he lost interest in her, but not in climbing. The higher he got, the more things opened up and seemed, somehow, more important than anything below. Looking down from his perch, he could see th
e tops of the nearby trees and the crows nesting in them. Or were they ravens? Hanging from the branches, he watched the large black birds take off, soar through the brilliant blue sky, and eventually return to the trees.
He spotted the Hohenstaufen in the distance. From here it looked so much closer than ten miles away. That mountain had become a royal pain in the butt. He’d stopped hoping Jayla would give up on her march to the mountain. She was even more determined they make it their primary objective. Yet, from this exhilarating height, the path seemed clear. I guess I have to figure out how to make it happen.
His mind flashed back to the Sunday afternoon his family drove up to the castle ruins that topped the mountain. The countryside below had looked like a prince’s kingdom. Jack felt that way again. This really is Wunderland.
“Jack! Coast clear! Jack!” Jayla was calling him.
Reluctantly, he yelled, “Up here.”
Giving up his fabulous view, he started back down.
By three o’clock, they were deeper in the woods than ever before, sprawled on the damp forest floor and lost in their own thoughts as they stared up into the interconnected limbs of the trees. The longer they lay there, hardly talking or moving, the more the world above came alive. The air was still around them, but up in the canopy all the branches were waving in the breeze. Suddenly, appearing out of nowhere, two black squirrels chased each other across the treetops at breakneck speed, jumping from tree to tree along the crazily swaying branches.
Jack stared. How? They’re just one step from a spectacular fall. They’re flying without wings. Why can’t I be a black squirrel living that magic—
“And just what do you little creeps think you’re doing in our woods?”
Jack sat bolt upright, but Jayla was first on her feet.
A whole pack of Sevens started forming a circle around them.
Jack scrambled up, scanning for a way out. But the Sevens were closing ranks.
Right in Charlie’s face, one hissed, “I asked you a question, punk! You know better than to be in—”
“What’re you talkin’ about? It’s not your woods. It’s our woods,” shouted Rabbit, coming out of nowhere to stand right behind the guy hissing at Charlie. “And if you don’t leave us alone, my big brother, Jack, is gonna pound ya.”
Jack knew they were outnumbered and out-gunned, but when the Sevens all turned to look at Rabbit, it broke the situation their way.
“Run for it!” he shouted to his crew. Rabbit shook her head, hands on hips, legs planted on the ground.
“Not this time,” Jack hissed, yanking her away as the Seven lunged for her.
“Okay. Later.” Rabbit smiled as if it were a promise.
To Jack’s relief, once she knew they were running, she was in front of the pack.
Given the adrenalin pumping through their bodies, they might have outrun the bigger kids. But suddenly there was nowhere to go. Jack pulled Rabbit back just as she sprinted to the edge of a ravine as steep as the cliff by The Glass House.
The panting Sevens caught up in seconds.
One taunted, “And which of you is Big Brother Jack—the one who’s gonna kick our ass?”
That got a nasty laugh from some of his friends.
Jack tried to swallow. How could Rabbit be so stupid?
His brain kept saying, Trapped, trapped, trapped, trapped. He forced through a new thought: Do not shut down! What can I smell? What can I hear? Oh, please—you’re joking, right?
He could tell the guy was scanning their faces, looking for one like the little girl’s.
Jack forced himself to stand taller and step forward. “I’m Jack. And that was my crazy little sister. She didn’t know what she was saying. Just let us go, and we’ll get out of here.”
“Jack, Jack, Jack, too late for that,” the boy scoffed, wiping his snotty nose with the back of his hand.
“Yuck! What’s your name? Snot-Nose?” squealed Rabbit.
Every eye was on the snot glistening along the guy’s knuckles. He winced at his own snotty hand before carefully closing it into a fist. He lunged at Jack’s jaw with a lightning-fast uppercut. Jack dropped one knee and shifted just enough to keep the damage minimal. But two other Sevens grabbed his arms and held him in place for Snot-Nose to stomach-punch the wind out of him.
Before Jack could catch his breath, they threw him over the edge of the ravine.
He went crashing down, head over heels, finally slamming into a tree. He couldn’t move. His lungs locked up. Starving for air, he forced his jaw open wide. Just when lights started to dance before his eyes and he knew he was going to pass out, a trickle of air burned its way down to his lungs. His only thought was pain.
The others had no time to come to his aid. Nor did they fare much better. Mayhem had broken out, with all of them being attacked at the same time. Four big kids started swinging, and both Kevin and Charlie went down. Sam and Jayla were hanging over the edge of the ravine, trying desperately to get away from the chaos. But B-Ball Head stomped on their hands, breaking their grips. They, too, went crashing into the ravine. Rabbit, Joni, and Mark somehow got away during all the confusion.
“Don’t let us catch you in our woods again!” shouted Snot-Nose, as they walked off.
Jack was so banged up, it took Kevin pulling and Charlie pushing to get him up the side of the ravine. After that, the two girls managed to scramble up, smashed fingers and all, with further help from Charlie and Kevin.
They sat in a circle trying to recover before the hike home.
“I can’t believe Rabbit. I’m gonna kill her,” Jack fumed.
Jayla shrugged. “I know she’s a mouth-and-a-half, Jack. But it wasn’t really her fault. We were in for it, with or without her mouth.”
“She’s right,” said Sam. “Actually, Rabbit was trying to stop the whole thing. Maybe she was a little half-cocked in her approach . . .”
Jayla cracked up at that. “And has a little too much confidence in her Big Brother Jack. But her heart was in the right place, even if her head wasn’t.”
Grudgingly, Jack added, “Yeah, I guess it wasn’t her fault—but what a mouth on that kid.”
Charlie laughed. “What does she weigh? Fifty pounds? Yet there she was, standing up to the Sevens.”
That got a fresh chuckle.
Jack turned to the girls. “How are your hands? B-Ball stomped them, didn’t he? Unlike Rabbit, he weighs a ton.”
Jayla shrugged. “We’ll live. Better a B-Ball stomping than getting slimy boogers punched on you by Snot-Nose.”
The others laughed, but Kevin seemed lost in thought. Then he carefully unwrapped a piece of Bazooka Bubble Gum and placed it in his mouth. He slowly chewed, his absent look changing to cold determination. “We won’t be giving up these woods. Piss on those guys. This is our place.”
“No, we’re not!” Jayla said.
“We aren’t,” Jack conceded, “but they aren’t either. Think about it. Why are they so determined to keep us out of these woods? The reason came to me the other day. It’s possible they’re searching for Nazi war stuff. In fact, I figure Kerrigan is using the Sevens as much as they’re using him so he can find stuff from the war.”
“Actually, that makes sense,” said Charlie, rubbing his sore ribs. “Remember when Kerrigan was trying to sell those older kids a Nazi helmet? They’re probably worried we’ll find stuff before they do.”
Jayla nodded. “If they don’t want us finding stuff, too bad. We’re still not leaving.”
Charlie’s face turned grim. “Well, if we want to survive out here, we’d better improve our security and stop getting surprised. There are more of them than us, and they’re bigger and stronger.”
Sam nodded. Sure, we’ve been boxing, but they know some moves, too, and I doubt we could beat them in a fair fight—much less an unfair fight. We’ve got to outsma
rt them.”
“Or at least outrun them,” said Jack. “In fact, we were outrunning them until we hit that giant ravine. If we don’t find a way over or around it, they’ll trap us every time.”
“Easier said than done,” said Charlie.
Sam stretched. “Right now, let’s hit the gym to get cleaned up. If our moms find out we got pounded by a bunch of older kids, they will be the ones who put the kibosh on our playing in these woods.”
“Good point,” said Jayla. “Mum’s the word.”
25
The Map and the Mountain
Charlie, Jack, and Kevin were bombing around on their bikes when they found themselves down by the ammunition dump. Burly GIs were passing huge tank rounds from an olive-drab storage locker to an iron dolly hooked to a small tractor.
“Just look at the size of those babies,” Kevin said around a wad of gum that seemed almost as big. “They’re like giant crayons lined up in the box.”
The pointy shells did indeed look like enormous crayons whose tips had never touched paper.
Jack eyed the live rounds. “But a lot more deadly. Finnegan said that if a missile hit this ammo dump, it would level all of Göppingen.”
Kevin cringed when two shells clanked together. “Forget an enemy missile. I’m more worried about an accident.” He blew a giant bubble and popped it. Boom!
Charlie winced. “I bet each one weighs at least a hundred pounds. Hope these are full of paint.”
“What are you talking about? They might look like crayons,” said Kevin, “but they’re full of gunpowder.”
“Nope. I know of three different kinds of shells,” said Jack. “Standard, armor-piercing rounds for a tank battle; phosphorous rounds that blow stuff up and create major fires; but also the ones Charlie’s talking about—paint rounds for making pretty pictures.”
“You guys . . .” Clearly, Kevin wasn’t buying this.
Charlie cut in. “Paint rounds are for target practice. When the Army doesn’t want to actually blow up a target, they fill the shells with paint. Dad calls it ‘painting pretty pictures.’”
BRAT and the Kids of Warriors Page 30
