Excerpt from “Only Time Would Tell” by James Etheridge.
Available at https://www.amazon.com/dp/1086015924
That night we went to my grandparents’ house in East Atlanta for supper. Afterwards, they sat around, talked about family and sipped Pepa’s homemade muscadine wine. Pepa sat in his recliner, smoking Camels and stubbing them out in the ashtray stand next to his chair. He’d smoke a cigarette, take a sip of wine and light up another. The big topic tonight was my cousin Johnny. He had grown a moustache. Johnny worked in the sporting goods store in East Atlanta. “I walked in there th’ other day an’ I didn’t even recognize him with that ol’ mushtash,” said my father. I had seen pictures of my father with a pencil-thin moustache when he was in the Navy, but that was different and irrelevant. In a few months, Johnny would grow a full beard and you would have thought the world was coming to an end. “I said to him, Johnny, you’re too handsome to hide behind that ol’ beard,” my mother told my grandmother at lunch one day.
After the topic of Johnny’s ol’ mushtash was talked over, they turned on Lawrence Welk. I watched it up until the blonde bombshell played a couple of numbers on the accordion. When Lawrence himself joined in and they both started playing something called According To My Accordion I excused myself and called Joe on the phone. My grandparents’ phone was in their bedroom and sat on a little wooden telephone desk with the seat attached to it. I dialed his number and he answered. “Hey, Joe,” I said. “What’s goin’ on?” he replied.
“I’m up at my grandparents’ house in East Atlanta. They’re all watching Lawrence Welk.”
“My parents watch that with my grandparents too. I like the blonde lady with the accordion.”
“She already played. Ol’ Lawrence jumped in with her and they started playing something called According To My Accordion. I couldn’t handle it.”
“Yeah, I can understand that.”
“They’re just going to start bombing us with golf balls first thing again tomorrow, Joe. Snail was right. How are we supposed to fight against that? The only way is to take out their fort.”
“I’ve got an idea how to do that quickly and save millions of lives.”
“What is it?”
“I’ll show you tomorrow. I want to be sure it’ll work. Be at the fort early. Snail’s gonna be there early too. I need him to do some cipherin’. He’s bringing a protractor and a slide rule. I want to have it all figured out before Bubba-Bubba shows up.
“Okay, I’ll be there. See you tomorrow.”
“Yep, take it easy.”
I hung up the phone, went back into the living room and sat down next to my Mema. A fresh young couple was singing One Toke Over The Line Sweet Jesus. The girl was sitting on a wooden ladder next to a tree and the boy was wearing a suit. They looked like they were supposed to be in an apple orchard or something. “Oh, I just love it when they sing gospel songs!” gushed my mother. “So do I,” said Mema. My father grumbled something about “damn hippies.” Pepa took another drag off of a Camel and another sip of wine. I couldn’t keep from thinking about Joe and what he might have planned.
The rule on Sundays was that Army didn’t start until one o’clock. All casualties from the previous day were wiped out and everyone was back in the game. I went to Sunday school and church with my mother. My father did what he did every Sunday morning, which was stay in the basement and work on his model airplanes. When we got home I ran to my room, took off my Sunday school clothes, my clip-on tie and my penny loafers. I changed into my army fatigues and combat boots, put on my helmet, grabbed my gear, my guns and hurried out the door before my mother came up with any chores for me to do. I stopped at the water spigot, unclipped my canteen from my ammo belt and filled it from the hose. I clipped it back onto my belt and double-timed it over to Joe’s. Joe and Snail were already in the fort. Joe was sitting with his back to the fort wall. Snail was holding up his protractor and writing geometry stuff on a pad. “Hey, Tommy,” said Joe. “Want another venison biscuit?” “Sure,” I said. I sat down, unwrapped the biscuit, wadded the foil into a ball for Billy and stuck it in my pocket. I took a bite and looked at Joe. He could tell the curiosity was killing me. “Check this out,” he grinned and picked up a long, slender iron tube up off the ground between him and the wall of the fort. It had one small metal rod that looked like a handle welded on it toward the back and another about two feet in front of it. On the top of the tube were gun sights, one on the tip and the other in front of the back handle. “What is that?” I asked. “What does it look like?” replied Joe.
“A bazooka.”
“Bingo! The man wins a cigar!”
“What does it shoot?”
“Bottle rockets. Big bottle rockets.”
He nodded toward a paper sack sitting against the fort wall. There were three bottle rockets in the sack, each about two feet long. The charges on each of them were an inch in diameter and six inches long with a big fuse coming out of the back. There was also a big pack of Black Cat firecrackers in there. “Where’d you get it?” I asked Joe. “My brother made it,” he said. “ He and a bunch of his buddies took it to Jackson Lake last summer on the Fourth Of July.”
“Where’d you get the bottle rockets?”
“They bought ‘em over in Alabama.”
“Are they still good?”
“They ought to be. They’ve been in his closet ever since.”
“I think I’ve got it,” said Snail. “Judging from the distance between our front wall and theirs, the elevation difference and the curvature of the apex, taking into account the estimated thrust and velocity of the rockets, the optimal launch angle is thirty degrees. Thirty-two, to be exact.” I looked at Snail incredulously. “How did you figure that out?” I asked. “Easy,” he said. “It’s simple mathematics.” No mathematics were simple to me, especially differences and curvatures and angles. I was just glad Snail was on our side. “Alright, help me get this thing sighted in,” said Joe. “Right,” said Snail. “The calculations put the ideal launch spot at the back of the fort, right here.” He stuck a stick in the ground. “One thing to be aware of, Joe, there is an opening in the limbs that the rocket should travel through and land in the middle of their fort. Otherwise, it might hit a limb and get knocked off course. The calculations also dictate that you should kneel as opposed to sitting or standing.” Now I knew why Snail was in the advanced class. “Okay, Science Officer Snail,” said Joe, hoisting the bazooka onto his shoulder. “Help me find the angle.” Snail stepped outside to the right-hand side of the fort and backed up about ten feet. He held his protractor at arms length and shoulder height. “Okay,” he said, “I’ve got the bottom of the protractor lined up with the top of the side wall of the fort. Are you aiming at the front wall?”
“Yes.”
“Raise the barrel up a little. Raise it a little more. Drop it just a smidge. There it is! Do you have something to sight to?”
“Yep, there’s a Boo Radley knot about halfway up the tree behind the fort. I’m sighted dead on it.”
“Okay, there’s your target.”
“Perfect, all we do now is wait.”
We all sat down in the fort. I took a big swig from my canteen. Turning to the top wall of the fort, I looked through my binoculars. Pushing the zoom handle down, I could see the mechanical arm of the skeet thrower at the back of their fort. “The skeet thrower’s still there,” I said. “They must have left it overnight.” As I turned around and sat back down, a thought occurred to me. “What are we gonna do when Bubba-Bubba sees the bazooka? You know he’s going to wanna shoot it,” I said to Joe. “I don’t know and I don’t care. Snail and me sighted it in. It belongs to my brother. I’m shootin’ it.” “Hide it from him,” said Snail. “Hide the rockets too and don’t let him see them or the bazooka. He’ll be in his usual spot behind the Mighty Mo at the front of the fort. We’ll all be in position on the ground, so he’ll think it’s our usual strategy.” Joe and I looked at each other and laughed. Whatever physical skills he lacked on the battlefield, Snail more than made up for as a strategist. “Oh, man, I just thought of something,” grimaced Joe. “Who’s gonna light the rockets? I can’t reach ‘em once I’m sighted in.” “I will,” said Snail. “If Bubba-Bubba asks, we’ll tell him we’re delay-flanking out of the backfield and make it seem like it’s his idea.” “Delay-flanking? What’s delay-flanking?” I asked. “Nothing, I just made it up. It sounds good. Just put Bubba-Bubba behind the Mighty Mo and he won’t move.” It was amazing the lengths we went to get around Bubba-Bubba and his short man complex.
“Okay, one other thing,” said Joe. “Tommy, this is why I wanted you here early.” He reached into the sack and tossed me the pack of Black Cats. “Put these in your pocket. Do you have your Fire Chiefs?” I nodded and checked my waterproof metal matchstick holder hanging from my belt. There were six Fire Chief strike-anywhere matches in there. “Good deal,” said Joe. “We’ll put you out on the right flank. Advance to the creek as fast as you can. As soon as the rocket’s launched, get up the hill. Light the whole pack and throw it into their fort. Grab the flags and beat it back down the hill and cross the creek. Billy and Brain will cover.” “Cover what?” said Brain. He and Billy had walked up together. “Cover Tommy after he bombs their fort,” said Joe.
“Bombs their fort?”
“Yeah.”
“Bombs it with what?”
“A pack of Black Cats, after we drop a bottle rocket right in the middle of it.”
“A bottle rocket?”
“Yeah, a big bottle rocket. Snail’s done all the cipherin’ and figured out the science. Check this out.”
Joe pulled the bazooka out and showed it to Brain and Billy. “Outasite!” exclaimed Billy. “Where are the rockets?”
“In that sack over there. Don’t tell Bubba-Bubba. We’re gonna stick him behind the Mighty Mo before we start launching rockets. That way he won’t throw a fit wanting to shoot the bazooka.”
“What was that about Tommy and a pack of Black Cats?”
“He’s going to be out on the right flank. He’s got a whole pack of Black Cats in his pocket. When we start launching, he’s going to get up the hill, light the pack and throw it in their fort, grab the flags and beat it back across the creek. You guys will be covering in the middle.”
“What about Snail?”
“He’s staying back here with me to light the rockets and adjust the cipherin’ if we need it. We’ve only got three rockets, so we’ve gotta make ‘em count.”
Joe looked around at all of us. “Sound like a plan?” he asked. “Sounds like a plan,” we all said. “Good deal,” he said and tossed Brain a venison biscuit. He didn’t even bother to ask if he wanted one. Then Joe stashed the bazooka and rockets behind a tree at the back of the fort. “Let me have the aluminum foil,” I said to Brain. He shrugged and handed it to me. I crumpled it up into a ball, reached into my pocket, took the other one out and handed them both to Billy. “Here you go,” I said, “just in case.” “Thanks,” he said, loaded one into the rifle and stuck the other in his pocket.
We heard the sound of leaves rustling across the yard. It was Bubba-Bubba. When he walked into the fort I almost laughed out loud. He had painted a single white lieutenant’s bar on the front of his helmet and had two gold bars pinned on each of his collars. They appeared to be pieces of his mother’s costume jewelry. He reeked of Ben-Gay. Joe laughed out loud. “Give yourself a battlefield promotion, Bubba-Bubba?” he asked. Bubba-Bubba ignored him. I managed to muster up a look and voice of mock concern. “Did you have to go to the hospital last night?” I asked him. “Are your ribs broken?” “No, my mother says they aren’t. She put some of my father’s Ben-Gay on them.” “Whew, boy that’s good news,” I said. He turned on Billy. “You’re here early,” he said. “Cartoon Cavalcade not on this morning?” “Shut up, Bubba-Bubba,” said Billy. “Okay, here’s the plan,” he said. We all looked at each other and grinned. “I’m manning the Mighty Mo. Tommy, Snail and Brain are in the middle, Joe and Billy are on the two flanks.” “That’s a great plan, Bubba-Bubba,” said Joe, “but what would you think about putting Tommy on the right flank to protect you, with Billy and Brain in the middle?” “What about the left flank?” asked Bubba-Bubba. “That’ll leave it wide open.” “Me and Snail’ll hang back at the fort,” continued Joe. “When they come up the left side we’ll come out in a delay-flanking out of the backfield maneuver and ambush ‘em. We might be able to take ‘em all at once. Of course, you’ll be protecting the fort with the Mighty Mo.” Bubba-Bubba thought for a second. “Delay-flanking out of the backfield, I read about that in one of my father’s World War II books. That’s what we’ll do.” As long as he was back at the fort, he really didn’t care what we did. In all the years of backyard Army, I could count on one hand the number of times he had actually fired the Mighty Mo.
I looked at my watch. It was ten minutes ‘til one. I heard leaves rustling across the creek and looked over the front wall. Mitch, Strongarm and Beach were walking down the hill toward their fort. I pulled the zoom arm down and could see the tops of the twins and Drummer’s helmets. “They’re all in there,” I said. “Mitch isn’t carrying a bag or anything. I guess they still have plenty of golf balls in the fort.” “They’re probably gonna come out firing that thing and charge across the creek,” said Brain. “Yeah, that’s what I think, too,” came Bubba-Bubba’s voice from the other side of the fort wall. He was already in position behind the Mighty Mo. “You just be ready to fire the cannon, sir,” said Billy. “At ease, soldier,” said the little lieutenant. Billy looked at us, rolled his eyes skyward and shook his head. “Okay, fellas, let’s get into position,” said Joe. We started out of the fort and Joe grabbed my arm. “Tommy, I’m going to need three of those Fire Chiefs.” I opened the waterproof cylinder, pulled out three and handed them to him. That left three for me. “You need a fourth one, just in case?” I asked.
“That might not be a bad idea. How many will that leave you?
“Two.”
“Will that be enough?”
“It ought to be. I only need to light one.”
“Nah, you better take three, just in case. I can run inside and grab my old man’s Zippo if I need it.”
“Okay.”
“Okay. Good luck.”
“Thanks. Back at ‘cha.”
I went out the back of the fort, down the hill and ducked behind a tree about halfway to the creek. I kept an eye on their fort the whole time. They had their backs to us and never saw me. They were undoubtedly loading up the skeet thrower and going over their strategy. I motioned to the fort for Billy and Brain to come on. They started down the hill, then hit the dirt and crawled the rest of the way to the creek. Brain had his Winchester and the Sonic Blaster was between the two of them. I could see the aluminum foil ball in the end of Billy’s air rifle. I looked at my watch. It was one o’clock sharp.
Charlie stood up in the fort and let out a loud blast on his father’s police whistle. Bubba-Bubba whistled back and the battle was on. The twins came out to their usual positions, right flank and middle right. Drummer came down the hill in the middle with his Johnny Seven. Strongarm was to Drummer’s left, with enough grenades strapped to his belt and fatigues to blow us all to kingdom come. Beach stayed in the fort with Mitch, presumably to help load the skeet thrower. That left the flank in front of me open. There would be no way anyone could get across the creek and tag me back in the game. I was on my own. Right now none of them had a clue where I was. If everything went according to plan, I had a clear shot to the fort.
All of a sudden the arm of the skeet thrower swung forward and a hail of golf balls flew toward the fort. I ran forward to a tree by the creek and as I was running, a bullet from Drummer’s Johnny Seven whistled right over my head. I leaned against the tree with my chest heaving. That had been a close call. If I got hit, the whole plan was pretty much scrapped. I looked back at our fort and saw the tip of the bazooka rise up with a bottle rocket in the barrel. Snail’s hand lit the fuse. The rocket spewed out of the gun and hissed toward the fort on a perfect trajectory. Bubba-Bubba ducked his head in shock and then looked over the top of the wall. Fearing he may be exposing himself too much, he cowered back down behind the Mighty Mo. As the rocket started down it clipped a limb, hit the ground on the left front of the fort and exploded right in front of the Johnny Reb. “What th’ hell!” yelled Mitch. “Bottle rockets,” screamed Marty. “They’re shootin’ damn bottle rockets at us!” The leaves caught fire dangerously close to the plastic cannon. Drummer ran back up the hill, dragged the Johnny Reb out of the way and started stamping out the fire. Mitch let fly another barrage of golf balls and just as they took off there was a loud boom from the creek. Strongarm had tried to cross and charge, only to be blown back down the creek bank by Brain and the Sonic Blaster. This was full-scale backyard warfare now. The twins were advancing toward the creek when another rocket came hissing toward the fort. I took off up the hill and dove behind another tree. No one had seen me and I only had to make it to one more tree for cover and I would be right beside the fort. The rocket hit another limb and I heard Joe curse. The rocket hit the ground on the left side of the front wall and exploded. More leaves caught on fire and Mitch screamed at the twins to retreat. They ran back up the hill to stamp out the fire before it reached the fort. A mechanical spring-action sound came from our fort and a Mighty Mo shell fell short of the creek to Brain’s left. Bubba-Bubba was getting in on the action, too. After it was all over, he would’ve hit four or five of them, two or three times according to him.
Whatever battle plan they had was totally disrupted by then. We were down to one rocket, but they didn’t know that. This shot had to count or we were out of options and I would be stranded deep in enemy territory. I saw Snail’s hand light the last rocket and it spewed from the bazooka just as Mitch let go a spray of balls from the thrower. I stood and watched the rocket’s approach, ready to advance or run, whatever the situation required. What happened next could only be described as sheer luck or misfortune, depending on which side you were on. One of the golf balls just clipped the tip of the rocket, altering its flight path slightly downward. Instead of landing in the middle of the fort, the rocket plowed into the front wall and exploded. The pinestraw in the whole front wall of their fort caught fire and total chaos ensued. Drummer, the twins and Strongarm all dropped their weapons and ran to the front of the fort, emptying their canteens on the fire. Beach ran around to the front and was emptying his too. I raced up the hill to the tree beside the fort. “Beach!” screamed Mitch. “Get back up here and help me drag the skeet slinger out of the way!” Beach ran around the right side and dove into the fort. I pulled two of the Fire Chiefs out of the waterproof holder and snapped the two white tips of the heads together. They struck perfectly. Pulling the pack of Black Cats out of my pocket, I lit the big fuse on the pack, ran toward the fort and tossed it underhand onto the middle of the floor. The pack exploded with loud pops and blasts. Mitch screamed and he and Beach began dancing like James Brown, yelling and cussing. I snatched our Army flag, their flag, which was from the eighteenth green at Misty Waters, and in an instinctive move I really don’t understand to this day, grabbed the canvas bag of golf balls and ran to the cover of the tree. Mitch and Beach dragged the skeet thrower clear of the fort, left it and ran toward Mitch’s house. The thought went through my head that the woods might catch on fire. They’d have to call the fire department and we’d all get arrested. I put the strap of the canvas bag around my neck and took off down the hill running as fast as I could. My feet got tangled up going down the hill and I sprawled on my face. Golf balls went everywhere. The two flags and my tommy gun flew out of my hands. I scrambled to my feet, grabbed the flags and the gun and took off toward the creek. Running on pure adrenaline, I flew across the creek in one jump, landing on my hands and knees. I sprinted up the hill to the fort, went over the right side wall and fell to the ground with my back against the front wall. I crawled to the back of the fort, planted the two flags in the ground, crawled to the front and collapsed against the wall again. I snatched the canteen off of my belt, turned it up and emptied it. My mouth was like cotton and my throat was on fire.
Bubba-Bubba came over the side wall just as I was taking the canvas bag from around my neck. “Did you see my cannon shot?” he asked. “I took out at least two of ‘em.” I gave him a look, rolled over and peered over the top of the fort. Joe and Snail were out on the two flanks now, but it didn’t matter. Mitch had pulled the garden hose out from his house and was spraying it on what used to be the front wall of their fort. The fire was out, but what was left of the pinestraw was still smoking and smoldering. Joe stood up and yelled, “White flag?” Mitch stopped spraying for a second and glared at him. Then his shoulders sagged and he called out, “White flag.” Then he resumed spraying. The battle was over. We had won. I rolled back over and laid against the fort wall, my heartbeat slowly returning to normal. Joe, Snail, Brain and Billy came into the fort. Brain and Billy fell on the ground, laughing and pointing at me. When he finally could speak, Billy gasped, “Y-Y-You should have seen yourself coming down the hill! You looked like you’d seen a haint or somethin’!” “Yeah,” howled Brain, “you went face first about ten feet down the hill!” “Yeah, yeah, yeah,” I said. “I thought the woods were on fire.” “I gotta tell you, Tommy, that was a hell of a jump across the creek,” Brain continued. “You looked like Captain America flying across there.” They all kept laughing. “Did y’all see my cannon shot?” Bubba-Bubba asked again. “I took out at least two of ‘em.” Everybody ignored him. “What happened on the first two rocket shots, Joe?” I asked. “Apparently my calculations were a little off,” said Snail. “The apex of the curvature was slightly higher than I figured in relation to the opening in the tree limbs.” We all stared blankly at him.
“Well, it doesn’t matter now,” said Joe. “Did you see what happened on that last shot, Tommy?” “A ball nicked the top of the rocket,” I replied, “just enough to knock it down into the wall of the fort.”
“Are you serious?”
“Yep.”
“Wow. What are the chances of that happening?”
“Pretty slim, I’d say.”
“Yeah, pretty slim.”
“Hey, are we gonna help them rebuild their fort?”
“Hell, no!” said Bubba-Bubba. “Anybody who helps them rebuild their fort is a traitor!” “Shut up, Bubba-Bubba,” said Joe. Joe didn’t like Bubba-Bubba at all. The truth was, we were all pretty much fed up with him trying to order us around. It just didn’t work anymore. “Well, I guess I’m a traitor then,” I said, “because Mitch is my buddy and I’m helping him rebuild his fort.” “So am I,” said Joe. “Me, too,” said Billy. “Me, three,” said Brain. “Count me in,” added Snail. “Traitors!” said Bubba-Bubba, standing up. “You’re all lousy traitors!” “Yeah,” said Joe, standing up. He was almost a full foot taller than Bubba-Bubba. “What are you gonna do about it?”
“I’ll tell you what I’m gonna do!”
“What? What are you gonna do, Bubba-Bubba?”
“Alright, y’all, knock it off,” I said. As much of a jerk as Bubba-Bubba was, I didn’t want to see the day end with Joe beating him to a pulp. “It’s been some kinda day. Let’s call it quits and go home. We’ve got school tomorrow and I still have some homework.”
“You had homework on the weekend?” asked Brain.
“Yeah, old lady Greendale gave us math and science.”
“Man, what a witch. I hope I don’t get her next year.”
We all headed home. Mitch and the guys had gone home as well. The fire was out, their fort was gone, the two flags were planted at the back of our fort, and the woods looked eerily still in the late afternoon light.