BRAT and the Kids of Warriors Read online

  and the

  Kids of Warriors

  and the

  Kids of Warriors

  Michael Joseph Lyons

  Chicago, Illinois

  This is a work of fiction. The setting is real, but the characters are fictional. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, is entirely coincidental and a product of the authors imagination.

  Copyright © 2017 by Michael Joseph Lyons

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, recording, or otherwise, without written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in articles and reviews. For information regarding permission, contact Bravur Media at [email protected].

  Library of Congress Control Number: 2017907817

  Hardcover ISBN 978-1-946957-02-3

  Paperback ISBN 978-1-946957-00-9

  Ebook ISBN 978-1-946957-01-6

  www.MichaelJosephLyons.com

  www.facebook.com/michaeljosephlyons/

  Publisher’s Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  Names: Lyons, Michael Joseph.

  Title: BRAT and the kids of warriors / Michael Joseph Lyons.

  Description: Chicago : Bravur Media, 2017. | Summary: Military brats lead a life of adventure, spies, making new friends, and dealing with their own set of enemies.

  Identifiers: LCCN 2017907817 | ISBN 978-1-946957-02-3 (hardcover) | ISBN 978-1-94657-00-9 (pbk.) | ISBN 978-1-946957-01-6 (Kindle ebook)

  Subjects: CYAC: Children of military personnel—Fiction. | Brothers and sisters—Fiction. | Cold War—Fiction. | Self-reliance—Fiction. | Adventure and adventurers—Fiction. | Historical fiction. | BISAC: YOUNG ADULT FICTION / Action & Adventure / General. | YOUNG ADULT FICTION / Historical / Military & Wars. | YOUNG ADULT FICTION / Social Themes / Self-Esteem & Self-Reliance.

  Classification: LCC PZ7.1.L96 Br 2017 (print) | LCC PZ7.1.L96 (ebook) | DDC [Fic]—dc23.

  Printed in the USA

  First Edition, June 2017

  This book is dedicated to

  my children,

  who always begged for just one more brat story,

  long after they should have been sound asleep

  &

  all those children of our military personnel,

  you kids who so proudly call yourselves military brats,

  for all the times you had to move,

  for all the friends you left behind,

  for those long weeks, and months, and years when your military parent couldn’t be there,

  and

  for your fabulous and adventurous lives.

  Contents

  Part I: The USS Upshur

  Chapter 1: Spittin’ Contest

  Chapter 2: Look Sharp, Act Sharp, Be Sharp

  Chapter 3: The Bridge

  Chapter 4: Jean-Sébastien

  Chapter 5: White Glove

  Chapter 6: Final Mission

  Chapter 7: War Story

  Chapter 8: Bremerhaven

  Part II: 4th Armored Division89

  Chapter 9: Wunderland

  Chapter 10: Quarters

  Chapter 11: New Kid

  Chapter 12: Flugplatz Spies

  Chapter 13: Cowboys Against the Indians

  Chapter 14: Sunday Ritual

  Chapter 15: Grafenwöhr

  Chapter 16: Ingrid

  Chapter 17: Call from the School

  Chapter 18: Guilty Before Proven Innocent

  Chapter 19: Cut and Run

  Chapter 20: The Cost of Freedom

  Chapter 21: Iron Curtain

  Chapter 22: Enemy Empire

  Chapter 23: Facing the Challenge

  Chapter 24: The Ravine

  Chapter 25: The Map and the Mountain

  Chapter 26: Wet Shoes

  Chapter 27: Black Squirrel Jack

  Chapter 28: Property Disposal

  Chapter 29: Black Squirrel Crossing

  Chapter 30: German/American Friendship Week

  Chapter 31: German Ingenuity

  Chapter 32: Meeting the Threat

  Chapter 33: Mission Mountaintop

  Chapter 34: Unexpected Encounter

  Chapter 35: Resolution

  Chapter 36: And . . .

  and the

  Kids of Warriors

  Part I

  The USS Upshur

  1

  Spittin’ Contest

  One slip and you’d go crashing five stories down into the cold, foamy water. And you’d keep going down, down, down—five thousand feet down—all the way to the bottom of that ever darker ocean, never to be found. But did that bother the three children leaning out over the ship’s rail? Not one bit. They were in the middle of a serious spittin’ contest. Riding the rail, as the waves smashed up against the ship, heaving it from side to side, was a bit like riding the rollercoaster back on Coney Island.

  “I can’t see my spit by the time it hits the water,” groaned Rabbit. Rabbit’s real name was Kirsten. She was seven, and in every way the youngest of the three McMasters kids. Even her parents called her Rabbit because she ran around like a half-crazed jackrabbit. She was all fun and, most of the time, totally out of control. “We need something big to throw!” She was stretched way out over the edge of the gunnel, what they’d called the railing before knowing better.

  “Yeah, like what?” asked her brother. Nobody ever called him anything but Jack. He was the only boy in the family, a fact that didn’t please him.

  Rabbit reached in her pocket for an orange she’d swiped from lunch.

  “Oh no you don’t!” yelled Laura. The others called her Queenie behind her back, because even though she was only a year older than Jack, she thought she was the boss of everything. Everyone knew better than to say it to her face.

  But even Jack knew Rabbit needed a boss. When she got in trouble, they got in trouble. And there were plenty of ways to find trouble on their ship.

  Well, it wasn’t really theirs, of course; it belonged to the United States Navy. They’d been at sea for three days. Not out-to-sea like some fabulous Caribbean cruise, with blue skies, warm sun, and tranquil, turquoise water. The USS Upshur was fighting twenty-five-foot swells, freezing waters, and high winds under dark-gray skies. The massive, gray ship was a nonstop rocking-horse ride through the vast North Atlantic, headed for Bremerhaven, Germany.

  It was late in 1957, and World War II was fresh in everyone’s mind. The US military was still shipping soldiers to Germany, including over two thousand on this particular troop transport ship, plus some of their families. The one thing they all had in common was—puking. They were mostly a miserable, seasick bunch. But these three kids were convinced they were on the greatest cruise that ever sailed. They were determined to make the most of every minute . . . without getting caught by their mom or the United States Navy.

  Rabbit, quick as lightning, jumped back up onto the bobbing gunnel, drew back her arm, and yelled, “Bombs away!” She threw the orange overboard. The three could see it all the way down. When it hit the water, it made a satisfying splash and disappeared forever.

  Rabbit jumped back down onto the deck, dancing around with arms raised high in triumph. She sprinted off, yelling over her shoulder, “We gotta get more stuff to throw. Come on!”

  “No!” Queenie made a grab for her, but not fast enough.

  Rabbit shot past h
er. With her ponytail flying and her open coat flaring out behind her, she looked like a superhero off on a mission.

  Jack and Queenie went tearing after her, but Rabbit was rabbit fast. She pushed open the ship’s heavy outer door and disappeared. Coming to a narrow, metal stairwell, she grabbed the railings, one hand on either side. Her feet never touched a single step all the way down. The children had learned that trick from the sailors their first day out.

  Jack and Queenie could no longer see her, but once inside the stairwell, they could hear her feet clanging on the metal floor below. They figured she was headed for the dining facility.

  By the time they got there, Rabbit was on her way out, a big apple in each hand. She’d just about made it when a sailor grabbed her arm. “Hey, kid. What d’ya think you’re doing in here?”

  Queenie caught Jack’s shirt to hold him back. The guy hadn’t seen them yet. She shook her head and mouthed, “She’s gonna get creamed—and Mom’ll kill us, too.”

  Jack felt his stomach tighten. Rabbit was always pushing it one step too far. And fair was not the word that came to mind when dealing with his mom and dad. Jack and Queenie could be a hundred miles away, but if Rabbit got in trouble, they should have stopped her. They were having a great time on this ship, and he didn’t need his little sister messing it up.

  They inched close enough to see Rabbit without being seen.

  Rabbit smiled at the scowling Navy guy. “Hi,” she said. “My name’s Rabbit. Who are you?”

  “I’m the mess steward. I’m in charge of the mess facility. And you, young lady, are in serious trouble.” He pointed at the apples in her hands. “That’s stealing.”

  Rabbit ignored his comment and looked up at him, an innocent, confused expression on her face. “Mess facility? But I didn’t make any mess. Do they call it that ’cause people spill stuff when they eat?”

  Jack was sure she’d done it now.

  But the mess steward didn’t get angry. He laughed. “Kid, I think you just might have something there. That’s the best description of this place I’ve heard yet. I’m the head guy in charge of cleaning up the mess.”

  Rabbit said, “I still don’t get it. Why do they call a dining room a mess facility?”

  He pulled out the nearest chair at a round dining table and sat down so he could look the little girl in the eye. “Rabbit, I—like—you! My name’s Ernie.”

  Rabbit’s hand shot out to shake his. “Nice to meet ya, Ernie.”

  Ernie took it. “Likewise, Rabbit.”

  She plopped down in the seat next to his. “So, do you actually get this whole mess facility thing?”

  “Are you kidding? Nobody gets it. But I can explain it. The Navy changes the names of everything, just ’cause that’s how the Navy does things. They say mess facility for dining room. To them, a torpedo is a fish, a bed is a rack, a window is a porthole, a rope is a line. When the ship is rocking back and forth, making people seasick, the Navy says the ship is rollin’. See what I mean? They change the names of everything.”

  “Rollin’? That makes no sense. Rollin’ sounds like the ship will roll over and we’ll all drown.”

  “Exactly,” he said. Then his face turned quizzical. “Rabbit, you’re not Navy, are you? What kind of brat are you, anyway?”

  “I’m an Army brat,” she said, as if stating the obvious. Children in military families are often called brats, and, like most of them, Rabbit embraced the label with great pride.

  “That explains a lot,” he chuckled.

  “What else does the Navy say?”

  “You know when you went to the Abandon Ship Station for the abandon-ship drills? The Navy calls those whaleboats. But the captain’s is called the captain’s gig. And when you go out on deck, you’re not going outside, you’re going topside. Sailors working topside are deck apes. All sailors are swab jockeys.”

  Rabbit’s eyes grew wide. “There are ponies?”

  “No, Rabbit. Not one. Swabbing is mopping, and sailors do a lot of it.”

  Rabbit spread her arms in amazement. “That’s a whole nother language.”

  “The Navy is a world unto itself. You know what the Navy calls a bathroom?”

  “What?”

  “The head.”

  “Well, that one makes sense,” said Rabbit. “My mom’s had her head in the head since she got on this boat.”

  “It’s a ship, Rabbit. A ship.” He sounded stern but his twinkling eyes ruined it.

  Jack began to breathe again. The situation was going their way, but it could change at any minute; Rabbit was definitely a loose cannon.

  Jack felt Queenie let out her breath. They were no strangers to these tense situations. After all, this was really just one more episode in a string of grand adventures.

  It started the day they left New York City. The ship was hardly out of the harbor when their mother started getting seasick. From the moment they left the dock, she hadn’t been her normal self. Mrs. McMasters was a tall, attractive woman, smart and self-assured. People just naturally listened to her, respected her, and followed her lead. But Mrs. McMasters and ships, not to mention oceans, did not get along. So, right from the beginning, if she wasn’t bolting for the bathroom to throw up, she was lying in bed, miserable. She’d simply told the kids to be good and go play.

  To Jack, Rabbit, and Queenie, “Go play” meant roaming the Upshur, a place unlike anywhere they’d ever been. Its only color seemed to be gray, and the air was filled with the sounds of clanking metal, loud bells, and blasting horns sounding for no apparent reason. The minute their mother let them leave their quarters, they knew their mission: Explore every inch of the ship.

  They ran along an upper deck, weaving their way through a cluster of US Army soldiers. Jack suddenly wondered, Why are our Army guys still in Germany, anyway? Who do they need to fight? Not for the first time since his dad left for Germany, Jack’s thoughts turned serious. Are we moving to a war zone?

  “Hurry up, Jack. We have places to go,” Queenie yelled.

  He’d slowed down to study the soldiers. Shake it off, man. He snapped his head from side to side to clear it. You can worry about that later. For now, just enjoy the ship—as much as you can with two girls.

  The three of them actually made a great team, perhaps because they were so different.

  Queenie and Rabbit were opposites. Queenie always looked well put together. She stood up straight and sat up straight. Her dark brown hair looked right out of a beauty salon. Her clothes repelled wrinkles and dirt. Her socks never slouched. She always said the right-and-proper thing. Well, almost always. Queenie was in training to be a lady.

  On the other hand, Rabbit and her socks were always slouched. Looking correct was not Rabbit’s priority. Her blond hair never stayed combed, which was why her mom put it in a ponytail most of the time. A ponytail that sprouted golden tufts within half an hour. Rabbit was the kind of kid who would walk out the front door in spanking clean clothes, and within ten minutes they’d be a wreck—wrinkled, dirty, and, all too often, growing holes. As for keeping her shoes unscuffed—impossible! There was just something about Rabbit that made her shoes scuff. Worst of all, she was The Mouth of the South. You never knew what she would say. Absolutely anything could and would come out of that mouth. Rabbit was in training to be a Wild Child.

  Jack, well, Jack was actually like both his sisters. How could one person achieve that? When adults were not around, he was much more like Rabbit. Oh, his shoes looked fine, but in those shoes he ran his own agenda. No kid ever accused him of being too proper or correct. However, with adults, he was a model citizen. Like Queenie, he stood up straight, always said the right things, and always looked correct. Adults saw Jack as a well-put-together young man.

  Unlike his sisters, Jack was the perfect chameleon. Queenie was always Perfect Child Queenie who could never be like Rabbit. Free Spirit Rabb
it simply didn’t have it in her to think or act like a Queenie. Jack, on the other hand, could go from Wild Child to Mr. Perfect as quickly as you could turn on or off a light switch. And Jack had the brat-radar needed to detect the presence of adults. The minute his adult-detector went off, he’d flip the switch from wild to perfect child. Jack got away with more than most kids because he was a true chameleon who could read adults, understand what they’d want, and know how to provide it. Jack just naturally understood that if you give people what they want or at least what they expect they can have, you tended to stay out of trouble. You remained in people’s good graces.

  So this excellent team quickly figured out all the basics of the ship. Not only could they find the big dining room, they knew all the snack bars, too. One of the sweetest things about this ship was that everything seemed to be free. You could order a cheeseburger and fries at one of the snack bars and all you did was say your cabin number—yup, free food. To Jack, that was heaven, because Jack’s single most defining characteristic was hunger! Jack McMasters only came one way: hungry.

  By the end of the first day, they had explored all the decks of the ship and been to the kids’ play area. That area was okay because it had an indoor jungle gym and games. But a few hours of that was enough. They moved on.

  By the second day, they had learned all the ins and outs of the nursery. Necessary information, because their mom had sentenced Rabbit to time there for running her mouth at dinner the night before. Jack and Queenie came to her rescue. It didn’t take them long to gather intel on the nursery and how it operated. Intel was one of those Army words Jack loved. It meant intelligence, as in gathering valuable information by spying. Jack and Queenie figured they were naturally gifted spies. In this case, they decided their best bet was a fake note asking the nursery to release Rabbit. Being experts in deception as well, in the note they forged from their mom, they were careful to refer to their sister as Kirsten McMasters, not Rabbit. It said to release Kirsten into the care of her sister, Laura McMasters, who would return her to Mrs. McMasters’s cabin.