The Battle of Harper’s Yard

by Ted Gresham

Carl’s parents owned a house set far back from the farm road, a rustic affair built to look old and western. It was surrounded by little rolling hills covered with mowed grass. Beyond the grass line on two sides were woods, thick and not well cleared. The third side was fenced off. A small herd of cattle roamed there. The front yard, of course, was exceptionally manicured and garden-like with little fountains, art work, and walkways filling up the space from one side to the other.

Carl was indifferent to all his mother had placed in the yard for a nice view and waste of money. Through the years he’d raised plenty of fun-loving hell blasting through those little knolls, slamming down behind one or another statue, weeding out various aliens, members of The Dark Side, maybe even an Indian or two, depending upon the era of warfare he’d been binging on. No longer.

Carl was past all that stuff now, he just saw the waste in time and money, like his dad did, when he walked up the ridiculously curved driveway from the mailbox. “Mail,” he thought, “lugging a handful of sale ads and a couple of white envelopes with bills. When are we going to finally get into the 21st century and get rid of that box?”

“Hey, Carl, lovely stack of junk there,” Mack Hopper, Carl’s dad, said good naturedly.

Carl handed the junk over to his dad. “Yeah, so last century,” he said. “Just bullshit and junk.”

Mack nodded, stuck the mail under his arm, turned towards the house. “Yeah, well, guess the bills maybe.”

“Right, Dad, I see you toss them unopened after you pay online.”

Mack let out a little laugh. “Nothing hidden from you.”

“Not much.”

Carl fell in behind his dad as they stepped through the front door. To his surprise there stood a man of about 30, thin, tanned, wearing jeans and a Marine t-shirt. He wore regulation boots though not as neat and tidy as they once had been. The man’s hair was regulation too, red as a tomato, the color reinforced by the sunburned skin beneath the short cut. The man’s face was weathered, scarred, and looked older than the man actually was.

“Holy shit,” the man said, “where the hell is your son and who is this old man?”

“Right,” Carl said. “It’s been a long time, Uncle Joe!” Carl dove at his uncle and tossed his arms around him. They looked surprisingly similar but Carl didn’t show wear like his uncle did.

“I don’t know, little brother, this kid showed up one day from school and claimed to be Carl. Damn strange.”

Carl let his uncle go and stepped back. “You two are too damn funny. Too damn!”

“Hey, Mack, it says naughty words, too. Wow!” Joe looked askance at his nephew. “How old are you, kid?”

“Seventeen, like you didn’t know,” Carl said.

“Say, that’s right, only a few months and you can sign the line, buddy boy, Few and the Proud!”

“Oh hell no,” Carl said, “It’s going to be me and ol’ Stephen F.. Don’t want to go out and shoot anyone quite yet.”

“Oh no, Carl, you might like it.” Joe looked at Carl with a grin that gave father and son the chills. “OOOoooohhh yeah…” Joe said, slipping into a make-believe harness, tightening up the gun, sighting in. “Pap… pap… pap….” For a split second fire flew from Joe’s eyes and then he tossed his hands up in the air and threw out a loud laugh. “Ha, like I ever have fun like that fucking around with those damn Hummers I have to keep running.”

“Hummers? Thought those got replaced.”

“Hell, brother, you know Uncle Sam.”

“Yeah.” Mack knew Uncle Sam. He also knew Joe hadn’t been near a Hummer or a Marine post in years, much less hands tight with a weapon.

Have you ever seen your life flash before your eyes? Seen all the good memories with you and your friends and loved ones just pass in a few split seconds before the mome…

“So, ah, Uncle Joe, like, how long you, um….” Carl was fishing around for a way to ask his uncle how he was doing and if he was out of the hospital for good.

Joe seemed to hear Carl for a minute or two but then held his head back and sniffed loudly, “Sheeee-damn baby, Mack what is your woman cooking?” He looked back at Carl, “hold that thought, friend, I’m on recon.” He spun on his foot and quietly walked humped over towards the kitchen. Carl looked towards his dad who tossed out his bottom lip and shook his head to tell him to wait. Carl nodded.

“So, uh, I guess he’s not out,” Carl said to his father quietly.

“Not out, hell,” Mack said, “he’s not supposed to be here at all. He slipped away some time last week. Nobody knew where he was. He’s been stirring up shit out there. At least they suspect him in a few things.” Mack nodded towards the door, “there’s an APB out on him.”

“And now he’s here.”

“Yeah, suppose so. He was walking down the drive when I came in.”

“Oh shit,” Carl said. “So what are you going to do?”

“Keep him busy until the VA gets here. I’ve managed to get a call through to them. Shouldn’t be more than a couple of hours or so.”

“How we do that?” He knew his uncle was capable of anything if he’s triggered into a flash-back.

“You are going to do that.” Mack smiled grimly. “Aren’t your buddies coming over for some basketball in a while?”

“Yeah, but, …what are you thinking?”

“Well, if we have to, we go to war.” Mack smiled. Hardly had the words left his mouth when a noise came from the garage, followed by several others, and muffled voices. Carl went to head off his buddies before they came into the house. Mack headed up the stairs.

As he pulled an assortment of gear from old boxes Mack thought back to when this stuff was the most valuable possessions his son owned. Plastic AR15 replicas, 45 pistols, various bits and pieces left from wars fought across the lawn through the years. “At least that junk might come in useful for something,” Mack mumbled. “Maybe.” He pulled the Airsoft riffle to his chest and mumbled, ‘oohrah.’

Holding the heavy box Max slipped back downstairs. Carl met him at the foot. “So what are you going to do?”

“Well, Carl, you know how my brother works,” Mack said. “He likes basketball, so we’ll just get him to come play some with us. But who knows,” Mack shrugged, “the wrong sound and….”

“Yeah, dad, scared the fuck out of me last time.”

“Should you be using that word?” He smiled. “Yeah, he can be scary. It sucks that his brain is so much oatmeal, fucking war, but that’s what it is.” His smile was gone now, replaced with a sad look and down-turned eyes.

“Yeah.”

“So you just advise your friends to be ready. I’ll have the gear in the garage. Tell them to take a weapon and make haste to take sides.”

“OK, dad. I kind’a got your idea and talked to the guys about it. Kind’of diffuse the situation, give him something to do, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Sure, ok, I think they’re with it. A couple of guys think it’s kind’a silly, all yesterday stuff, but if it helps.”

“It will. But you make sure that if they wind up on the ‘other side,’ you know what I mean, that they stay the hell away from Joe. He can hurt them. Bad. Tell them to run, don’t stop, stay away from him.”

“I will, dad.” Carl swallowed hard. What they were planning on doing was a risk. “How long?”

“They have to send a team from the city, like I said before. Maybe a little over an hour now. Joe is a priority, very dangerous, they’ll get him.”

“I hope….”

“Me too. Oh, and by the way, if they manage to get in a scuffle with him, or if you do, fight to kill. I mean it, fight dirty and hit with everything you have.”

“Shit.” Carl was having second thoughts. “I, um, will this work? I mean, can’t we just sit around and watch a movie?”

“Last time that cost us a few pieces of furniture and a TV. But then we didn’t know how he was.”

“Right.” Carl nodded. “OK, fine.”

Carl headed back out through the garage door, briefed his friends, Two of the six just left, not wanting to get beat up by a psycho. “He’s not a psycho,” Carl had said, “Just, well, maladjusted.”

“Right,” Bill had said, nodded to Jared, and the two scampered quickly down the drive.

“We’re up,” Randy Wells said. He was Carl’s best friend. “OOhrah shit and all.”

“Yeah, just play it low, man, he can be, um, dangerous.”

“Sure, man.” Randy took the basketball, dribbled it across the drive and tossed it sweetly through the hoop.

“Awwwe, bad-ass man, can you do it twice?” The voice came from Joe, standing beside Carl’s dad’s truck just inside the garage.

“Sure,” Randy said. When the ball bounced back towards him he snatched it, tossed, and missed. “Shit.”

“Gotta have finesse, sweet man,” Joe said, twisting past Randy and scooping up the ball. For ten minutes an impromptu basketball game ensued with Carl, Randy and Omar playing Joe, Mack, Carl’s neighbor Finny, and a kid from down the street they called Jinks. Everything seemed very normal for a while.

“Hey, Carl,” Joe shouted. “So how long’s it been since you got laid?”

Carl turned a shade of purple with that question. He almost said, “what the fuck?” out loud. But yeah, sure, he could play this game. “Last week,” he tossed in. Sounded good. His friends looked at him startled. “You?”

“Almost had a nice piece yesterday,” he said, then laughed. “Ha, the boyfriend showed up.” Joe had the ball, he’d been hogging it, and made a run and toss, barely hitting the backboard. “Poor guy, hated leaving him that way. But shit, she wouldn’t come along with me then. So it’s been a while, buddy.” He recovered the basketball and tossed it towards Carl. Carl took it in the chest, hard, stepping backwards to keep from falling. “Was she good?”

“Yeah, well, sure, but have to save some of the story ’till later, know?” He hoped his grin looked sly rather than desperate.

“Know, man, ’round the camp fire and all.”

“Right.”

“Good, then, I’ll …” Joe halted. The sound of some truck driving idiot’s Jake brake came blasting up from the roadway. Joe froze. “Shit.” Suddenly he was hunched, knees bent, listening, moving in a fluid motion towards Omar.

Only then did Carl recognize the danger. Omar is Indian. His dark skin, middle-eastern looks and accent put him on the wrong side of Joe’s war. He only had seconds. Suddenly he spun on a foot and flew at Omar. “Goddamn how did he get past the post?” Carl dove at Omar and shouted at his dad. “D.. Mack! Cover!”

Joe was slightly confused, reaching for a weapon not there on his back, but Mack took the cue. “Joe,” he shouted, tossing him the best of the replica weapons. This distracted Joe long enough for Carl to toss an arm around Omar and fling him away from Joe towards the grass near the driveway. The boy hit with a thud, a shoe smacking the edge of the cement but the rest of him in the thick grass.

Carl was up and over him before Omar knew anything. He was going to tell Omar to scream but he didn’t have to say anything. The minute Carl got astraddle his friend Omar let out a blood-curdling scream that echoed off the tree line far away. It shocked Carl so much he almost ran but he held on.

“Yes,” Joe said, “Goddamned Sand Niggers, gotta fuckin’ kill’m twice. Gut’em Carl!”

Carl turned towards Joe just as he full-out tossed a real K-bar right at him. A little bit of Carl’s brain wondered where he’d been keeping that and how dead Omar might have been. But he managed to catch it safely, spun it in his hands, turned away from Joe and plunged it into the grass beside Omar’s neck. Omar screamed again. Then he made a little gurgling sound that made Carl’s blood run cold. He looked at Omar who was smiling. He winked. Carl shook his head.

“Fuck, Marine, down!” Mack was talking now, like someone who knew what he was doing. “Dig’em in, ass-wipe, we have enemy.” He was on his belly working across the edge of the drive, into the grass, towards the rail fence. Carl saw his dad’s eyes looked worried. Glancing across at Joe, he saw another story. Joe was a man on fire. He moved up beside Mack and they worked towards the fence. Something was coming over the fence at them.

Carl suddenly realized that the other two who’d been there were gone. The “something” coming at his dad and Joe were airsoft pellets. They were at war now!

For an hour Mack, Joe and Carl fought a slow campaign against the other two across the front yard. Airsoft pellets filled the air until they ran out but lack of ammo, real or plastic, didn’t seem to change Joe’s illusion. He’d toss handfuls of dirt, pieces of stone, whatever, and lived the battle he had in his head.

Omar was happy to have been KIA early and took a circuitous route down to the entrance of the driveway and watched as best he could from atop a post. Carl saw him a couple of times. Then he turned back to keep an eye on Joe.

All of a sudden a large glob of dirt bound up with grass flew up from the enemy and landed square on Mack’s chest while he was working up to an obstacle. Joe stopped then, shook a little, and screamed. “God! Damn! NO!” He threw his weapon and ran to Mack. “Jerry! Goddamn it Jerry, do not die on me!” He quickly went to tearing the dirt away from a very startled Mack. He literally ripped Mack’s shirt back, exposing his chest. Then he went to, something, doing something, Mack wasn’t sure what.

“Don’t you die on me, mother fucker, don’t you die on me,” Joe was whispering. Mack understood in Joe’s mind Mack’s chest was torn open and Joe was trying to stop bleeding and start a heart and nothing was working. He was turning a strange color of dark red. Mack was afraid what his brother would do next.

“It’s me, Joe,” he said quietly, “I’m not Jerry. And I’m not dead, Joe, not dead.”

“Damn it, Fuck you are dead!” Joe slapped his brother across the face. “I’m sorry, Jerry, fuck, I just dropped, fuck, I’m so sorry!”

With deliberate effort Joe rose up and carefully reached for his weapon. If it had been real Carl would have been dead in seconds. So would a number of other imaginary Marines around him. Carl hears an odd sound and Joe grabbed at his neck. A minute or so later he slumped to the ground.

Something was shuffling behind him so Carl turned around. Two men with a stretcher was approaching. They were med techs. Omar came along beside them, a grin on his face and the KBar in his belt.

“Hell of a war,” Omar said.

“Yeah,” Carl said.

Mack was getting to his feet, shaking off the dirt and pulling away what was left of his shirt. His chest was scratched and gouged from where Joe had been trying to “save” him. “Shit,” Mack said, “I maybe had a bad idea.” He looked at Omar, still smiling, one hand on the knife that Joe would have cut him in half with for real. Mack figured Omar had not thought that through and saw all of it in good fun.

“Hey, intense,” Randy said, walking up. “Kind’a messed up the yard some.”

“Yeah, well, whatever,” Mack said.

“Your brother is a little fucked up,” Kinney said, then bit his lip thinking he may have said too much.

Mack nodded. “Yeah, he’s a lot fucked up. Three years ago in Afghanistan. He went out with a squad. They didn’t come back. He was found, a day later, mostly catatonic. His squad was all shot, dead, around the gunny, a guy named Jerry.”

“I think I know what happened to his squad.” The guy who spoke stepped up to Mack. “Now I do.” He reached out to shake Mack’s hand. “Gerald Pease,” he said. “That was a bit of a dangerous thing playing war with this guy.” He toed Joe lying on the ground where the attendants were getting him ready to move.

“Well it wasn’t quite a planned thing, you know.” Mack explained how the last time Joe came over, holiday visit, he’d had a flashback and torn their living-room up. This time when he showed up he didn’t know what state of mind he was in so they got prepared to just help him deal with it like he was at war.

“I see,” Pease said. “I suppose under the circumstance, yeah, but it was dangerous, especially for this kid here.”

“Me?” Omar looked at him. “Why me?”

“Because you are the spitting image of those men whom Joe fought.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. He’d have chopped you up like confetti with that knife.”

“He would?” Now Omar looked worried.

“Yeah, but he’s not going to cut anyone up now.” Joe was on the stretcher, hands and feet bound. “That dart gun isn’t quite regulation but sometimes it sure saves a lot of bruises and paperwork.”

All of them moved across the yard to where the ambulance waited. “That place over there has fucked up a lot of men,” Mack said.

“More than you know, sir, many more.” He went towards the side of the ambulance after Joe was loaded. Mack held them a minute, gave his brother a kiss on his forehead and let Carl mumble a goodbye to the unconscious uncle.

Mack and the boys all watched the ambulance slowly move down the drive. Suddenly Omar had his hand up in military salute. The other boys followed. Tears played around Mack’s eyes, knowing he’d probably never see his brother again. It was the strangest couple of hours he’d had in all his life. It was almost fun in a morbid sort of way, and they were together, with a purpose even if it was just nuts.

Joe should never have joined the Marines. He did it because he’d been picked on so much as a kid. And he should never have made it through training but his bullheaded nature got him through it. He certainly should not have been toting a rifle around in Afghanistan but he was. And now, what?

“I guess we’ll head on home,” Kenny said. “It was an, um, interesting evening.”

“Yeah, Carl, but hey, sorry about your uncle and all. Maybe we saved the house.”

“Yeah, guys,” Carl said, looking across the yard. “The lawn, not so much.” They all laughed.

Omar offered the knife back to Carl. “I guess you really saved my life, man.”

Carl frowned, “no, I don’t think, I mean….”

“It’s ok.” He held the knife up, handle towards Carl. “Here.”

“Keep it,” Carl said. “As a souvenir.”

“OK, sure, thanks.” Omar tucked it into his belt and nodded, then turned to walk down the drive.

Carl and his dad stood side by side, quietly, in the darkening night that had snuck upon them. Neither could think of anything to say.

“Is the Battle of Hopper’s Yard over?”

Carl and Mack turned together to see his mom come out of the garage. “Yes, dear,” Mack said, “it is.”

“Casualties?”

“Omar was close,” Carl said.

“He don’t know how close,” Mack said. “The only true casualty is one Joe Hopper, former Lance Corporal, United States Marines.”

“Yeah, Mack,” she said, slipping up beside him and giving him a kiss. “The kid didn’t deserve that.”

“No, he didn’t. And we learned some things from this little reenactment. I’ll tell you later. I just can’t now.”

“OK, sweetheart.” She took his hands, then they turned towards the house.

“Well, there is one more, um, casualty, maybe not dead but injured a bit.”

“Who?”

“Not who. What. Your yard.” Mack said the words but Carl had been thinking them.

She looked out over the fence. In the darkness she could not see much but one or two things did look a little tilted. “Oh, well,” she sighed, “maybe it’s about time I, you know, cleared a little of it out.”

“Yes!” exploded inside Carl’s head.

“Carl’s going to be gone to college in a year. Who’s going to have all the time to mow and weed-eat all that stuff?” She laughed.

“Yeah, true,” Mack said, laughing, “Carl is all grown up. Cursing like a Marine now, and oh yeah… had himself a girl!”

“What?” Carl’s mother stopped short.

“Oh yeah, told Joe, got himself a….”

“Dad! Damn! I mean, really? Tell mom? I mean….”

“Tell me what?”

“Nothing! I mean, really, it was nothing. I made it up. You know, to go along with Joe. Really, no girl, no….” Carl felt like crawling along on all fours. He was so embarrassed.

“Oh, well darn,” Mack said. “Yeah, too bad. For you.” He and his wife laughed while Carl slunk along behind them through the garage door.