Wednesday, June 17
Got to see Krys demolish a kid firsthand at archery on Wednesday. James from Cabin 33 got caught saying something mischievous, which reinforces the superstition that Krys has the ears of a hawk. I swear she was at least a dozen feet away from him. I merely stood there as a witness, as impassive as the reflection on my sunglasses. She has a stare that makes even the toughest kids tremble.
After lunch all of Track 6 gathered in the gym for DDR (Drug Demand Reduction, not Dance Dance Revolution) Two officers from the Florida National Guard came in and gave the presentation. Master Sgt. Yevtich and Sgt. First Class Shugart (“Sgt. Y” and “Woody” for the duration of the talk) had both been in the service for more than 20 years.
Yevtich, whose name I believe is Russian or Slavic origin, worked in the helicopter divisions (the old “AirCav,” but without the silly hats) and wore his hair close-cropped in the traditional military fashion. His eyes are intense and set deep into his skull. He has a hard nose that’s as flat as an anvil, and a piercing glare.
Woody looked a little friendlier than Sgt. Y, with straw-like tufts of hair and a sharp, tight smile. “Come on down, this ain’t no Baptist church!” he called to the stragglers sitting in the back. However, he had his own share of difficult campers: right off the bat, a camper who shall remain nameless asked him:
“Have you ever shot or killer anybody?”
An apprehensive silence fell upon the room as the Sergeant fixed his sights on the victim and let loose such a salvo that made him regret his thoughtless words.
He told us the story of a friend of his in Iraq. On a day patrol through a crowded village, the rebels targeted his convoy, and the soldier shot a suicide bomber as the enemy approached the cavalcade. Woody told us that the man wept openly after the skirmish had ended, for there in the dusty street before them, a crude bomb just underneath her long trench coat, laid an eight-year-old girl, dead. Her young blood turned the dirt the color of rust as she expired.
In my opinion, the Guard came well prepared. Our campers were well prepared with all kinds of questions, but every time they answered one of Y’s correctly, the men threw all kinds of rewards into the crowd: lanyards, bracelets, rubber chickens, etc. were only a meager part of their arsenal.
The lightning alarm went off halfway through dinner again. I’m beginning to suspect that someone is keeping it on a timer. However, I noted that the guys versus the girls tensions were higher than normal. Of course, upon sighting us in our manly activities around camp, the girls will never miss an opportunity to make some shameful spectacle of themselves. Our men reply in kind, but Wednesday night was the first mass demonstration leading up to the notorious water war. The enemy gathered on their side of the mess hall, and our men on the other, and suddenly the kind of shouting match most soccer fans worship broke out. Only this one was rated G.
As I watched the jeering, smirking faces from the enemy’s position, I discovered that I wished for nothing greater than a grand arsenal of banana crème pies at my disposal at that moment, to add a withering volley to the taunts we hurled in return. I recognize that in group activities, it seems the girls are better led than we are. This does not follow from better leadership, I deny that claim; no, it comes because our troops are reaching their famed phase of obstinance and angst. However, sensing they might cast aside this mulish behavior so as to humiliate the girls in the grand water battle royal, I drafted my plans.
They say Julius Caesar was a clever tactician, that Napoleon himself had a play or two in his book, and everyone knows that Jackson held his own for the South. However, as far as history knows, none of the vaunted generals and officers throughout the ages began their glorious careers with a water balloon fight. The glory and honor, as far as this summer camp is concerned, belongs to myself, and a man known as “Potter.”
Potter is gone from the camp these days (according to rumor, he’s off working as a stilt-walker at Universal), but his legacy remains. I never discovered his real name through my researches, but he was given the name “Potter” because he looked just like the Boy Who Lived. (He was even known to wear a cape on occasion) he was the vaunted inventor of water day, and the genius behind the chuck-and-duck strategy, which I also endeavored to teach my troops on the eve of battle. He would stand on a bench in the tie-dye area and give stirring speeches to whip his troops into a fighting frenzy just before the battle. For the piece de résistance, they called up water balloon slingshot crews to rocket their munitions across the field into the enemy lines. (Later banned by the Management)
My grand scheme involved using the tracks in synchronous formations, to overwhelm the girls with a cunning pincer movement. The 6th Regiment and my Stonewall Brigade would hold the front while the entire 5th Division moved left to flank the enemy. Meanwhile, the 4th Shock Infantry Battalion would envelope them on the right, and their experienced sappers would destroy the enemy’s ammunition supply. With the enemy’s utter humiliation complete, I could sleep easy. Planning a war takes some effort after all, I thought as I hung my camp on the bedpost. Dreams would soon take me.
Great stories!!
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