BRAT and the Kids of Warriors

by Michael Joseph Lyons

  At that moment Rabbit came strolling in and blurted, “Yeah. Why do I need protection? I can take care of my—”

  “In your room, Rabbit,” commanded Mrs. McMasters.

  “What’d I do?”

  “Now!”

  She glanced toward her father for support, but after one look at him, she vanished.

  Mrs. McMasters demanded, “Explain yourself, young lady.”

  “You know who Ryan Kerrigan is, right? He’s the one who beats up everyone in Jack’s class. He’s the reason Jack got thrown out of school.”

  “So?” demanded Lt. Col. McMasters, still hot.

  “So we found out Ryan Kerrigan was tired of Rabbit’s big mouth and he was gonna pound—”

  “What?” demanded Mrs. McMasters. “Someone that old was actually going to hurt her?”

  “Damn it, Jack. If you’d dealt with Kerrigan the way I told you to, this never would have come up.”

  “Dad!” Queenie blurted. “If you’ll just listen, you’ll find out Jack did address the issue. You’ve heard about Kerrigan, but it involved a lot more than just him.” She told them about his gang and the Sevens, and how stopping Kerrigan meant dealing with all of them.

  Lt. Col. McMasters calmed down long enough to ask a real question. “So, what happened?”

  Queenie said, “When we found out Kerrigan was coming after Rabbit, Jack put out the word he was looking for him.”

  “He what?” Mrs. McMasters gasped.

  “Yup. But Kerrigan’s been ducking him for the last three days. That is, until late this afternoon.” Then she explained how they’d been jumped by the Sevens in the woods and that Kerrigan had been with them.

  “So you were outnumbered by older kids. What did you call them? The Sevens?” By then, intrigued, Lt. Col. McMasters asked Jack, “What did you do?”

  “Well . . . sir, I called Kerrigan out for a one-on-one.” He briefly recapped the fight.

  Queenie jumped in. “When Kerrigan finally didn’t get back up, Jack told him if he ever messes with Rabbit, or any of us, he was gonna get it again.”

  Once more Mrs. McMasters looked shocked, but Lt. Col. McMasters actually seemed pleased.

  “So how did you finally learn to handle yourself in a fight?”

  “After that fight with Kerrigan, when I got kicked out of school, you told me I should stick tight to Kevin Duncan. Well, during that same incident, Mr. Reynolds told Kevin that he knew how to choose the right friends and that he should stick tight to me. So that’s what we’ve done ever since. Kevin’s the one who taught me to box. He’s the one who helped me prep for Kerrigan.”

  “I knew I liked that kid,” the colonel said. “So what did the Sevens do after the fight?”

  Queenie continued. “They didn’t let it go. They came after all of us.”

  “Outnumbered by how many?” asked a surprised Lt. Col. McMasters.

  “With Ryan on the ground, they still had at least four extra.” Queenie turned to Jack. “Tell Dad about the Spartan phalanx.”

  Jack said, “We knew that in order for me to take on Kerrigan, we might have to face the Sevens. We needed a strategy to defend ourselves. So Kevin asked his dad how a smaller, weaker force could defend itself against a stronger, larger force. That’s when Col. Duncan told him about the Spartans and their phalanx formation. I just modified it for our smaller force.”

  Lt. Col. McMasters studied his son.

  Queenie picked up the story. “Jack made us all practice our own Spartan phalanx for several days till we knew how to fight as a single unit. In fact, he drove us all crazy, making us practice so much. But I have to admit, in the end, it worked. Even all those Sevens couldn’t beat our unified force.”

  Lt. Col. McMasters was looking at his son with new eyes. It was obvious he was seeing him as a strategic thinker. Smiling, he said, “Jack, what you did reminds me of an old drill sergeant I had in basic training. The guy used to bark at me, ‘McMasters, remember the Six P’s: Prior Planning Prevents Piss Poor Performance. Well, young McMasters, it seems to me you did an excellent job of prior planning when it came to dealing with your Kerrigan problem. Congratulations.”

  “Thanks, Dad.”

  “Now how about dinner for these warriors,” the colonel said, turning to his wife expectantly.

  “We were having sole meunière.”

  “Ah, one of my favorites,” he said.

  “Well . . . I hate to break it to you, but unlike you tough warriors, sole is a very delicate fish. And at this point it is no longer salvageable.”

  Queenie glanced at her dad to see if that was going to set him off again. Instead, he said, “Well, if I can’t have my favorite dinner, I guess Jack has earned one of his favorite dinners. Let’s all jump in the Roadmaster and go to that Gästehaus up by the Hohenstaufen for Schnitzel mit Pommes frittes.

  How strange. Jack could feel that his father was content with him. Even if it didn’t last, Jack would remember this moment. His father felt he had done okay.

  Once their dinner order had been taken, Queenie leaned toward Jack. “What about Stein? You gonna tell him?”

  Jack would have done almost anything not to spoil his dad’s mood. But the image of Stein locking eyes on him from the end of the bar kept coming back. If the guy was a spy, he could threaten all of their lives. There might not be time to waste. Okay, Jean-Sébastien, here goes nothing.

  “Dad, is it true that the 4th just received six new model tanks and two new fuel trucks?”

  The colonel looked at him with more than a little suspicion. “Yes. How do you know about that?”

  “Earlier this afternoon, before we got jumped by the Sevens, we were climbing trees in the woods. Some German men came walking along the path below us. They had no idea we were up there. They were talking about the new equipment.”

  Queenie gave him a look that said, “Okay, I see how you’re gonna play this.”

  “And?”

  “Dad, we’re sure they’ve been spying on 4th Armored Division. We even know who one of them is. He’s our janitor at school.”

  “Jack . . .” his father said, seeing where this was headed and wanting to cut it off.

  “Dad, just let me finish. They said they were on their way up to the Hohenstaufen to make a phone call. They were going to tell someone about the 4th receiving that new stuff. Why would they be reporting that if they weren’t spying?”

  “I think you’re letting your imagination run wild.” But the colonel’s voice held no anger or frustration. He seemed to be treating this as a grownup conversation. “I know that the 4th just announced some new job openings. They are looking for mechanics to help with that new equipment. Those guys you overheard were probably just going up there to call some of their friends and see if they’d be interested in those new jobs.”

  “You really think that’s possible?” Jack asked, skeptical.

  “Yes, I do. Lots of Germans work for us. And most of the new people we hire are friends of the Germans who already work for us. We figure that if they are good workers, their friends will be, too.”

  “Maybe . . .” Jack wondered if he’d read everything wrong.

  “Actually, I think it’s pretty likely, Jack.”

  Jack remembered crawling through the ventilation ducks with Alex, pretending the engine-room workers were spies or saboteurs. Could I be pretending this time, too?

  But the moment he asked himself the question, he knew the answer. This time was different. This time something really was wrong.

  “Dad, it didn’t sound like a help-your-buddy call. It was more like they were plotting something. More serious.”

  “Their whole conversation was in German, right? Could you have misunderstood some of it?”

  Now it was Jack’s turn to flare up. “Not a chance, Dad!” Besides, Hans and Günther had made sure
of that.

  “Okay, okay, don’t get offended,” said Lt. Col. McMasters, letting a little smile cross his face. “I know how good your German is.”

  Jack settled back down. Then he thought to ask, “Why would they go all the way to the Hohenstaufen to have a private call? If it was just to their friends, why wouldn’t they call them from on base?”

  “They aren’t supposed to call outside numbers from on base. They were probably going to use a public phone up there. There aren’t many public phones available in Germany. It’s not like America where there are payphones everywhere. That phone at the mountain might be one of the only publicly available phones outside of Göppingen.

  “But—”

  “But nothing. Quit letting your imagination get the better of you. I’m sure you just misread their intent. I’m proud of you for protecting your little sister and dealing with Kerrigan. Let’s leave it at that. Okay?”

  Jack glanced over at Queenie. Her answering look said, “Let it go. Dad’s not buying it.”

  Just then their waitress appeared with food. She set a large plate of Schnitzel mit Pommes frittes in front of Jack, and it smelled oh, so good. He couldn’t help thinking, I guess I’ll leave it for now—but just for now. The moment his mom picked up her fork to begin eating, all Jack’s concentration shifted to Schnitzel. He was in heaven.

  And his father being okay with what he’d done. Well, that was even better than Schnitzel.

  Jack slept badly. In his dreams, he’d spent half the night trying to get a look at the big guy in the bar. The other half, he was being chased by Stein. By morning Jack was sure of two things: they were spies, and he needed to make the adults understand.

  By habit, he sat down at his train board. What was different? Why did Col. McHenry believe Jean-Sébastien? Why couldn’t Dad believe me like that?

  Jack took the two chunks of quartz crystal out of his rucksack and placed his piece on the train board. Then he placed a sheet of paper on a flat spot on the board and, turning the rucksack upside down, he shook out a small pile of quartz shards.

  He traced a question mark through the jagged stones. Jean-Sébastien wasn’t more believable than I am. It was his story that was more believable. Col. McHenry was ready to believe the Germans were preparing a sneak offensive. Dad isn’t expecting spies on base.

  Jack started arranging the pebbles one by one on the board. Col. McHenry recognized that the threat was real, so he sent Jean-Sébastien back for more intel on the Panzer Lehr. I need to get better intel on Stein so Dad will recognize that this threat is real, too.

  At breakfast, his father’s place was empty. “Where’s Dad?”

  “Tanks rolled at zero four hundred this morning,” Mrs. McMasters said.

  Queenie and Jack looked at each other, startled.

  Queenie said, “When’s he getting back?”

  “Laura McMasters, I know you’re smarter than to ask such a question. None of us knows when the troops will return. So I won’t have you pestering me for an answer. He’ll be home when he’s home, and that’s all there is to it. Do I make myself clear?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Besides, you should have known he wasn’t here,” said Rabbit, dripping hot cereal from her spoon back into her bowl. “We never have this crummy Cream of Wheat when Dad’s around.”

  “Rabbit, one more smart word and you’re in your bedroom.”

  “I’m just saying—”

  “Bedroom!” pronounced Mrs. McMasters, banishing her.

  That was the last word anyone said.

  36

  And . . .

  Jack was back at his train board when Queenie walked in.

  She studied his chunk of crystal. “It looks good there.”

  Then she handed him a quarter. Jack smiled back and handed over her rock.

  She smiled, weighing it in her hand. “Thanks, Jack. I forgot how heavy it was.”

  He grinned. “Heavy and pointy. I think one dent in my back will never go away.”

  “I bet. It was some adventure. Have you really been planning the whole thing for half a year?”

  “Yes . . . , I guess we have.”

  “I can’t believe you guys built that bridge over the ravine. That had to be one of the most critical pieces.”

  “Yup. It makes everything easier. Not just exploring the other side, but getting away from trouble.”

  “And you figured out how to get off base.”

  “Well, Hans and Günther came up with that.”

  “An incredible day. Besides everything else, you finally settled the score with Kerrigan.”

  “We settled it. But you’re right. I don’t suppose Ryan will be an issue anymore. And if we stick together, maybe the Sevens will leave us alone.”

  Queenie began turning the chunk of quartz over and over in her hands. “You’re right,” she finally said. “Kerrigan’s one problem out of the way . . . but what about Herr Stein? There’s still something about that guy that doesn’t sit right with me. What Dad said could be true, but—”

  Jack shook his head. “He didn’t hear those guys on the phone. He didn’t see Stein turn into a soldier before his eyes. Stein’s a much bigger problem than Kerrigan ever was.”

  Jack watched the turning quartz glint in the light of his lamp. “It’s also pretty strange that yesterday I was talking with Hans and Günther about the Communist tanks up on the Iron Curtain and now 4th Armored Division is probably heading toward them.”

  Queenie thought about that for a while. “Mom seemed kinda upset at breakfast.”

  “Yeah, or at least distracted.”

  She shivered. “Do you think something bad has already happened? You know, that caused the tanks to roll?”

  Jack turned off his lamp. “Remember how Dad said that ‘Prior Planning Prevents Piss Poor Performance’? Well, you and I planned weeks ago. Let’s see if Mom has messed with the emergency evacuation suitcases.”

  They slipped down the hallway. Queenie quietly opened the closet door.

  The light was so dim they had to get down on their hands and knees to check. Both heads bent close to see the right latch of Queenie’s pink suitcase.

  The hair was gone.

  Staying True to Jack’s World

  This is a work of fiction. The characters in the book are fiction, and the story is fiction. However, the setting and history are as real as I could make them. In fact, here are some aspects of BRAT that are real: the USS Upshur, Göppingen, Cooke Barracks, 4th Armored Division, the Iron Curtain, and the Stasi. I have gone to significant lengths to ensure that the historical setting for the story is depicted as it really was.

  In addition, I have tried to make the story accurate to its time, 1957 to 1959, so I wrote it with the language, customs, and practices of those times. I wanted the reader to genuinely experience life as it was. My fabulous editor has, in fact, consistently busted my chops for trying to slip in slang terms not yet said in 1958. As such I believe I may now have the longest list of documented slang terms that were used by military brats in that time period.

  But being period correct was not always comfortable. You may have noted that, by today’s standards, some things in this book are not politically correct. For example, I refer to Jayla’s mother as a Negro and her father, Lt. Col. Jones, as colored. Believe me when I say I struggled with that. It would have been far more comfortable to call them African American—but in 1958 the term did not exist, at least not as it is used today. I owe a lot to my dear friend Sheila Talton for getting me over that hump, and helping me to better understand the lives and language of black America during that time period.

  Why the Dandelion and the Barbed Wire?

  In Part One of the book, when the kids are on the ship, the decorative spacer is a dandelion. That might seem a bit strange, until you learn that the da
ndelion is the official flower of the military brat. “The dandelion puts down roots almost anywhere, and is almost impossible to destroy, and survives in a broad range of climates. Military children bloom everywhere the wind carries them. They are hardy and upright. Their roots are strong, cultivated deeply in the culture of the military. . . . They’re ready to fly in the breeze that takes them to new adventures, lands, and new friends.” (Author unknown) Jack, Queenie, and Rabbit are very much in the wind as they are being blown halfway around the world. In Part Two, once they reach Germany, the decorative spacer becomes a piece of barbed wire, because as the brats set down roots in the land of the Iron Curtain, that symbol overshadows much of the story.

  Contributors of Photographs

  That Became Illustrations in this Book

  Scuppers on ship

  Will Van Dorp

  Page 16

  4th Armored Division Tanker

  Hank Walker

  Page 89

  Helecoptor repairs in hanger

  Tony Conrad

  Page 127

  The Glass House & The Circle

  Thomas Lasch

  Page 204

  Spartan Phalanx

  Ilias Papadopoulos

  Page 223

  Iron Curtain

  Tamas Lobenwein

  Page 241

  Iron Curtain where Ingrid Crossed

  Tamas Lobenwein

  Page 246

  White Tent for German/American Friendship Week

  Horst W. Müller