Read Online Aim by Joyce Moyer Hostetter - Free Book Online Page A

the Blue Team. We represent one country. Our enemy, the Red Team, is heading up the other side of the mountain. We’ll be practicing our skills and testing our equipment, which is pitiful. Some of those boys are carrying wooden guns. I had a real one, but one of the Reds stole it in a maneuver in Davidson County.”
    I thought I was starting to get the picture. These boys were playing war, like I used to on the playground at school. Or all by myself with my BB gun and imaginary enemies stalking the woods behind our barn. It hit me then how I could help. “You need a gun?” I asked. “Wait a minute and I’ll bring you one.”
    I ran to the house. “We’re being invaded by the United States Army,” I said.
    Momma was shoving firewood into the stove. She pushed the door shut and straightened up in a cloud of smoke. “Junior, what are you talking about? And why is Hammer fit to be tied?”
    â€œArmy maneuvers, right here on Bakers Mountain. I talked to one of the fellas, and he needs a gun.”
    â€œThe army doesn’t supply their own weapons? Why do they need guns? They can’t be shooting each other.”
    â€œThey’re not loaded, Momma. Some of them have wooden guns. Toys. I’ll give him my BB gun.”
    Momma stared. “Your pop gave that to you.”
    I realized that. And big as I was, I wasn’t excited about losing that gun. But this was the war we were talking about. Real soldiers were practicing outside my door, and they needed equipment. Seemed like the least I could do was hand over a toy I should’ve outgrown by now. I reached for my box of BBs on the shelf.
    I turned away before Momma could get me all sentimental. The shotgun and the rifle were there too. Maybe I should take them.
    â€œBetter hurry,” said Momma, “or they’ll be gone.”
    I could still hear the motorcycles out there. And Jesse and Butch barking to beat the band. Howling, actually. I ran out the front door, and by the time I reached the cedars the dogs had settled down. No wonder—Ann Fay was there with Jesse under one arm and Butch under the other. Leroy stood just behind her with his hands on her shoulders.
    Up the road, other neighbors were lining up to watch the excitement. Frank Jenkins was by the mailbox watching for me. “Sir,” I said, “it’s not much, but maybe it’s better than no gun at all.” I fished the box of BBs from my pocket.
    His eyes lit up like he was a young’un being handed an RC Cola. “I shall be the envy of my entire outfit,” he said. “I have a buddy who’s played one too many pranks on me, and he’s about to be bit in the butt.” Frank winked and tucked the BBs in his pocket. “After hours, of course.”

14
TROUBLE
    November 1941
    War maneuvers on Bakers Mountain lasted over the weekend. We’d hear shouting and vehicle noises coming from the mountain, and at night we’d see the glow of campfires.
    People came from miles around delivering hand-knitted socks and gloves and even cakes to the fellows—the ones on patrol, that is. The ones who weren’t involved in combat up on the mountain.
    The colored church next door to us made a big bonfire. Curiosity seekers warmed themselves by it and chatted with some of the army men. And the choir stood on the steps of the church and sang, “It’s me, O Lord, standing in the need of prayer.”
    The army men left on Sunday evening. I headed out to the road to watch them go, but first Momma pushed some cookies and two pairs of knit socks into my hands. “Take these,” she said.
    I met Frank coming up our lane. “Here’s your gun,”he said. “I haven’t had so much fun since I signed up. I’m afraid I used all the BBs, though.”
    â€œYou aren’t keeping the gun?”
    â€œWe just got word our supplies are in, so I won’t be needing it. But you sure boosted