“Hi Paul,” Christine said with a smile and small giggle as he walked by her and two of her third grade friends.
Her friends giggled too and moved closer to Christine. They stood in a row, shoulder to shoulder, at the edge of the recess lawn.
A couple acres of old, dense west Oregon woods grew behind them. Long, multi-fingered Madrona arms, with their always shedding reddish skin, reached out over their heads through breaks in the tall wall of deep green fir. The tangled brush beneath the trees was broken only by a few well-worn entrances to trails that snaked through the woods in all directions, converging in a central clearing of packed earth softened by years of falling fir leaves.
All three girls were in good shape and about the same size. They wore short skirts and girlish blouses accented with puffy sleeves and lacy ruffles across the chest.
Paul waved absently and kept walking past them, fast, because he needed to get to his army at the north end of the woods. But Christine was in his army, so he paused.
“We’re meeting at the north fort pronto,” he said to Christine.
He shouldn’t really have given away the meeting place in front of girls from the two other armies because he needed to go over the plan with his troops before Davion or Ben’s armies attacked. Those armies were gathering in the south end of the rectangular block of woods, the area farthest from Paul’s stronghold a quarter mile to the north.
“Hey, watch what we can do,” Christine said, still smiling.
She and the other 2 girls were watching Paul’s face as they lined up next to each other at the edge of the recess lawn with little flirty grins, tossing pony tails and flipping their long hair back as they arranged themselves. Christine was in the middle. She reached out to lock arms with the girl on either side of her.
“Ok, ready? Go!” Christine said.
In unison, like dancers, they each kicked their right leg up as high as they could, and then their left leg.
“One, and two, and three, and four,” Christine chanted with the kicks, her smile growing with Paul eyes.
Their skirts were unusually short for their very Christian school. Paul stared. Pink, red, baby blue. Baby blue, red, pink. Christine’s panties were red with little white flowers arranged in curving lines that came together at the V between her legs. They kicked for only about 20 seconds, but it seemed much longer, plenty of time for him to get a good look, and then they ran away, giggling, to the nearest trail that opened into the woods. Paul stood watching them until they disappeared.
Christine stopped at the tree line to look back over her shoulder and gave him an exaggerated version of the little wave he’d given them when he first walked by.
Paul started to raise his right hand to wave back, but instead of waving, just sort of held his hand up.
Christine whirled and disappeared into the trees, laughing as she ran.
Paul wanted more. He knew he shouldn’t. He knew it was bad. He knew girls should always be covered up and all swimsuits should be one piece for girls, best with a ruffled skirt to cover down there. He looked around the lawn to see if anyone else saw what just happened. No one was looking in his direction. Good. He felt strong. And big.
He reached under his shirt to push his general’s knife back down into the left band of his white underpants; it had worked up his side while he walked toward the woods. The orange handle was poking out above his belt. Each of the three generals had an identical plastic knife, gray blade, gray sheath, orange handle, but they weren’t supposed to have them at school, so they had to keep them hidden until they were in the woods away from Mrs. Crimsell’s watchful eyes. Paul bought them with his allowance and gave them to the other two generals when he first told them about his idea for the recess wars. Now he was really late for the rendezvous with his army, but it was worth it, very worth it. He ran toward the trail that Christine just had just taken.
Paul had recruited the biggest army, now 29 soldiers, from the third grade classes and from talented second graders who had recess at the same time as the third grade. Right now, he needed to have his officers run the daily marching drill routines and re-brief the newest privates on the rules of engagement, especially rules on the use of force and Crimsell tactics, before they headed south through the woods to engage the enemy. He could now easily crush either Davion or Ben’s armies, neither of whom had more than 20 soldiers, but he’d been told they were forming an alliance, which he knew would slow them down, so today he planned to attack them on three fronts before they could finish arranging their combined forces.
Christine was also supposed to be there in time for the drills, which his officers may have already started, but she got more slack than the combat units because she was the best spy they had. In fact it was because of her that he knew about the alliance between the other two armies.
“And why is Christine wearing a skirt, anyway?” Paul thought, now slightly irritated.
The girls in his army were supposed to wear pants so they could climb trees and get through bushes easier. She couldn’t keep breaking the rules or everyone else would think they could too. But maybe he would change that particular rule.
Rule Number One of the recess wars was to avoid the recess monitor, the second grade teacher, Mrs. Crimsell, who always stood in clearing in the middle of the woods with her whistle, staring straight ahead, looking half asleep behind her oversized glasses, but always listening, eyes always sweeping back and forth like prison search lights. In the first few days of the war, going to Crimsell was a common tactic for soldiers who wanted to override military command and get an officer or even a general in trouble. But after Paul called a general’s meeting with Davion and Brad to discuss this problem, Crimsell soon found herself quite alone most of the time.
The generals told their officers, who told their units, that any kid who went to Crimsell would be court-martialed the next day and, depending on circumstances, would be sentenced to play with the lawn kids for up to one week. Paul had to explain what “court-martialed” meant, which they didn’t really understand because no one read as much as Paul, but they definitely understood what it meant to be banished to the lawn kids. The lawn kids just played tag or kicked balls around and they whined a lot and were always directly under the noses of the lawn monitor and the third grade teacher. Also, if someone went to Crimsell, none of the soldiers from any army would pick them for a sports team during P.E. After the generals sentenced a few kids to the lawn crowd, everyone got the picture and stayed away from Crimsell.
However, there were a few occasions that a new recruit – never from Paul’s army though – went straight to Crimsell, bawling, and Crimsell decided the kid’s complaint was bad enough to stop the battle. She’d blow her whistle three times to call more than 60 kids into her clearing from all directions, all glaring silently at the tattling rule-breaker by Crimsell. Before next recess, that kid’s general would get a message to them that they were banished to the lawn kids until further notice.
Only one time, one kid, Mickey from Davion’s army, tried to get back into the woods before he was told he could return from banishment. Mickey was a skinny, pigeon-toed, tattling crier who always wanted more than he deserved, and Paul told Davion he shouldn’t let him join the armies, but Davion let him join anyway because he needed numbers to compete with Paul’s growing army.
A scout instantly reported to Paul that Mickey was in the woods, so Paul sent his bodyguard back with the scout with orders to capture Mickey, gag him with his own coat, carry him to the northeast corner of the woods, lay him down in the prison bramble bushes, and sit on him until Paul met them there. Paul then sent word of the incident to Davion and Ben with a request to stop operations and gather their troops to meet at the northeast prison. When all arrived, Davion and Ben’s soldiers started asking why Paul’s bodyguard, Brian, was sitting on Mickey with a shabby blue coat tied around Mickey’s face.
Brian was a second grader, but was bigger than all the third graders except Davion. In the summers, Paul’s mom babysat Brian, so they’d been friends as long as Paul could remember. But more important than Brian’s size was that Paul trusted him completely, and because Paul organized wars with the neighborhood kids during the previous summer, Brian knew what Paul needed as general before Paul even asked.
Paul walked over to talk quickly with Davion and Ben, then went back to stand in front of the prisoner.
General Davion yelled at his group of chatting soldiers. “All troops at attention! Gather round. Come on!”
They slowly started gathering in front of him.
Ben also tried to bring his troops to order. “Attention. On the double! Let’s go! Come on!” he hollered.
Some of them were sitting on a log next to the prison brambles but got up, still talking, when he yelled ‘on the double’.
Paul said nothing. He stood facing the prisoner, with his back to his troops.
Paul’s two captains, Matt and Jason, stood at attention behind Paul, facing Paul’s army, also saying nothing.
Paul’s two scouts, including Chris, the one who first saw Mickey sneak into the woods, stood at attention just off to Paul’s left, next to the prisoner. They were keeping wary eyes on the other armies, watching for any signs of sabotage. The scouts doubled as Paul’s bodyguards whenever they were near him, following Brian’s lead.
The captain’s four officers, two to each captain, a mix of sergeants and lieutenants, stood at attention facing their captains.
Their units, five soldiers each, stood silently at attention in four smart, evenly spaced rows behind their commanding officers, eyes straight ahead. They ignored the other armies that gathered haphazardly around the other two generals.
Paul slowly turned around. He scanned the faces of his soldiers, none of whom made direct eye contact with him, well, except Christine, and most stiffened up a little more as he observed them. Paul felt pride and power surge through him, but knew better than to reveal much of either in his face. He’d invented this game and it was the best game any of these kids had ever played, and he kept making it better so they kept returning for more. Paul learned to read at five years old, and by seven he’d read his way through every warlike book in his dad’s large collection of classic novels for young readers. For his eighth birthday, dad got him a thick book full of stories and pictures about World War II and he read it cover to cover.
Paul’s officers were promoted because they earned it, and everyone knew exactly why they earned it. The officers could promote their soldiers with approval from first the captains, and then Paul. Paul rarely denied a promotion because he knew he needed to give power to his officers and motivation to the soldiers, and he made sure the promotions were always announced in front of the whole army with praise from him and the commanding officers for the soldier’s heroic deeds.
No girls had been promoted above the rank of corporal. Most girls thought the wars were too rough and too dirty, but one of the four units of five soldiers, the one that specialized in spying and infiltration, had three girls. Through that unit, Paul usually knew what Davion and Ben would be doing before a battle began. Christine was the top spy in that unit and was in line for a promotion.
Paul turned slightly to his right to face the other two armies, and most of their soldiers quieted down when he turned. When he raised his right hand, the last few chatterers were silenced by their comrades. More than 60 eyes watched him, waiting to see what he would say.
“As you all know, Private Mickey tattled to Crimsell,” Paul began. He paused for a moment, then continued. “He tried to stop the war, to get all of us in trouble, and to get us all kicked out of the woods, stuck forever out with the kindergarteners on the lawn.”
“I did NOT!” Mickey yelled, his voice cracking from fear and crying. He’d pulled the sleeve of his coat out of his mouth and was punching at Brian as he twisted and kicked.
Chris stepped in against the brambles to grab Mickey’s arms and hold them down against the prickly brambles as Brian stuffed Mickey’s coat back in his mouth and retied the arms of the coat around his head.
Paul hadn’t turned around when Mickey yelled; he just waited a moment for silence and then continued, calmly.
“We had to banish Private Mickey to the lawn for a while because we all know that is our rule. We were about to let him back in, but instead of having the courage to finish his lawn sentence, he tried to sneak back in. In fact, we found him hiding in the bushes just behind Crimsell because he thought we couldn’t get him there. Maybe he thought Crimsell would help him get us all in trouble again, like he did last time.”
Paul paused again. He saw the kids in the other two armies looking with disgust at Mickey.
His soldiers glanced at Mickey but most didn’t move their heads because they were still at attention.
“One of my scouts had to call Crimsell out of the clearing while Major Brian and Lieutenant Chris captured this prisoner and brought him here before this court. Because this sneaking prisoner is from General Davion’s army, General Davion will announce his sentence.”
Davion cleared his throat and glanced quickly at Paul before saying his piece.
“Om, that is right about the Mickey, I mean, uh, the Private, uh, prisoner,” Davion began.
He cleared his throat again and took a few steps toward General Ben. He looked over at Paul again, then at the ground, then back to the combined armies.
All watched him, waiting, silent. Davion cleared his throat again.
“The rebellious prisoner shall be stoned to death!” he shouted.
Everyone, including Paul and his army looked over at Davion with surprise. Some of them gasped, and said “what?” or turned to the person next to them to whisper with worried glances at Davion and Ben. In Sunday school, the third graders had been learning about the various sins that got people stoned to death in Biblical times, including the verses in Deuteronomy in which god tells parents to take any rebellious children to the elders of their city so the elders can have all the men of the city stone their child to death.
General Ben quickly stepped over to General Davion and leaned in to cup his hand against Davion’s left ear to whisper something.
“You can’t do that!” Christine shouted, turning out of her position in Paul’s ranks with her hands on her hips.
Davion took a step back and raised both his hands, palms out, in a placating way.
“I mean, the prisoner shall now say something, and om, in the name of Jesus!” Davion said, again too loudly.
“Atten….TION!” Paul’s captains barked. Christine stepped back into line, but was shaking her head, and frowning at Davion and then at Paul.
The attention of the armies shifted from Davion back to Paul.
Paul raised his eyebrows and shook his head a little. He turned to give a small nod to Brian and the other scouts.
Brian got off Mickey, and they pulled him to his feet to face the armies. Brian took Mickey’s coat off his face and handed it to him, so he could now see and speak.
Mickey stood there, sniffling and looking down at his coat, and said nothing.
Due to Davion’s stupidity, Paul knew this was getting of hand, so he had to end it quickly, now with a show of kindness. Mercy, mom would call it. She liked that word. He walked over to Mickey and stood next to him on his left side, facing the armies.
Paul’s two captains had now turned to face Paul and Mickey along with everyone else.
“Of course Private Mickey will not be hurt,” Paul announced firmly. “He is obviously very sorry and has finished his prison sentence,” he continued, with a pleasant closed-mouth smile.
Mickey stopped sniffling, wiped his nose with his coat, and looked at Paul. Mickey nodded and looked around at everyone else, most of whom were looking at him with sympathy, especially the girls.
“Private Mickey,” Paul said, turning now toward Mickey and placing his right hand lightly on Mickey’s left shoulder. “Will you ever tattle to Crimsell to get these fine soldiers in trouble again?”
As Paul said ‘fine soldiers’ he held out his left arm and swept it with regal grace across the ranks of soldiers from right to left.
“No, no, I didn’t. I mean, I mean, no I won’t! Never!”
“Excellent! Of course not!” Paul responded, with an enthusiastic smile for all to see. “Then you are officially allowed back into Davion’s army. Go on and fight with honor, soldier!”
Brian lightly pushed Mickey toward Davion, and Mickey ran over to stand in the back of Davion’s group.
Davion didn’t look too happy about this turn of events, but didn’t say anything.
No one turned to say anything to Mickey, but one of the second-grade girls near him patted his back and gave him a little smile, the kind with raised eyebrows and slight tilt of the head. There was a moment of tense silence and then the end-of-recess whistle sounded from the lawn in the distance, on the east side of the woods. Crimsell’s whistle sounded immediately after from the center clearing in the woods south of them.
Paul felt relief. He drew himself to attention and saluted his captains, who saluted back.
“Dismissed!” Paul yelled.
Everyone but Paul’s officers and scouts broke ranks and turned toward the trail back to the lawn. When they got to the lawn, they’d be told to form two lines and march behind their teachers back across the parking lot to their classrooms.
Paul gestured to Brian and the scouts to step closer to him and the captains.
“Let’s make it a race, guys,” he said with a wink and a smile.
They nodded and smiled back, understanding the feel of Paul’s intent. The pack of them took off, Paul in the lead.
“Last one back is a rotten egg!” Paul yelled as he and his officers bolted through the mass of kids down the trail that led to the clearing and the lawn.
He heard everyone rushing in behind them, now laughing, shouting and pushing as they jockeyed for position, all running as fast as they could, well, except Christine, who stepped aside into the bushes to let them pass and then jogged after them. Paul smiled as he ran, guessing most would forget the Mickey situation by the end of the day. If something like that happened again, he would do all the talking, he told himself.
When Paul burst into the clearing at the head of the shouting kids, Crimsell jumped back into the bushes behind her with a “Whoa!”
“Children! Children!” she shouted, as she fumbled for the silver whistle that hung on a black cord around her neck.
No one paid attention to her, and by the time she got the whistle in her mouth and mustered breath to blow it, all but Christine had disappeared southeast down the trail to the lawn. She blew the whistle anyway and then spit it out of her mouth and let it bounce on the sweater stretched over her matronly breasts.
Christine stopped for a moment and raised her eyebrows at Crimsell.
Crimsell looked back at Christine, then shrugged and turned to walk down the same trail the kids just took. Christine followed close behind, skipping with every other step.
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