An Army of Children

Me and my brother Carl and our neighbor Paul Avis have formed ourselves into a squad of soldiers this summer. We've equipped ourselves from the Army-Navy store in Glassboro.
To me the store is Nirvana. Canteens, pup tents, practice hand grenades, uniforms; you name it, they've got it, and whenever we can we try to get our fathers to take us there.
Our uniforms are a hodgepodge mix of army shirts and dungarees. We all have packs and canteens. Paul and Carl have plastic helmets, and I have a real steel one that Uncle Pat found for me. I'm also wearing a World War I belt and canteen that he brought me as well.
The weapons we carry are a curious mix as well. There's one plastic M-1 Garand and an old Daisy air rifle that doesn't fire anymore. Paul has a wooden replica of a Springfield rifle that looks real, and we're jealous of him. At the Army-Navy store there are wooden training rifles with bolt actions and canvas slings. We ask our parents if we could get them, and we get the usual reply of "We'll see." Those rifles would really make our unit complete, and I'll obsess about them throughout most of July.
I'm the sergeant. I'm the oldest, so of course I'm in command. Dad was a sergeant in World War II, and I wear his old army shirt if I promise to be really careful with it. It's got this really neat patch of a black panther crushing a tank in its jaws, and Dad's sergeant's stripes on the sleeves. It's wool and it's itchy, so I don't wear it too often.
We call ourselves the Bulldog Patrol, and I find a cartoon of a bulldog wearing a spiked collar, which I copy. I place crossed bones beneath it, and our unit's emblem is complete. I draw the bulldog on each pack and the small flag we carry with a black Magic Marker.
We stuff our packs with peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and Tastycakes and maybe some fruit. Our canteens are filled with water and we're ready for our next mission.
In single file we march down Walnut Avenue, heading for Glenwood Ave. and the woods along the lake.
We enter the woods cautiously; there may be Germans hiding in the trees. The stream is forded and we make our way around the back of the lake towards the high ground. There's a deep pit half way up the hill, and we'll take cover here so the Krauts can't catch us by surprise.
The mission is going well, and soon we'll arrive at the prime objective: Freund's Cliff itself. We are to scale the cliff's face and take the summit in order to establish an observation post. We've got to get moving so the Germans don’t get there before us.
We’re in stealth mode now as we step out of the trees and onto Lake Avenue. Keeping to the side of the road we move slowly, on the lookout for snipers and passing cars.
Rounding the bend now and there it is; the imposing sight of Freund’s Cliff standing before us in the sunlight.
Moving quickly now we cross over Lake Avenue and into the woods, at the bottom of the sledding trails. The foliage is thicker here, so we move forward Indian style, tree to tree. Reaching the base of the cliff, we drop down and begin to crawl forward. We’re in the sand now, so we inch forward at a slow crawl. There hasn’t been any enemy fire yet, so we just might have gotten here first. Taking a big chance I order the patrol to stand up and begin our ascent towards the summit. The sand is a formidable opponent, and we slip and slide backwards the whole way up, hoping we haven’t crushed our peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. I fear that my chocolate Tastykakes have been flattened.
Reaching the edge of the cliff, we grab hold of tree roots that poke out of the ridge line and peer over. To our dismay we realize there are a few Nazis already there. We quickly take action. Paul and Carl toss their grenades, while I spray the area with my M-1. We pull ourselves over the edge and onto the moss, and then spread out between the trees. When the smoke clears not a German is found left standing, so it looks like our mission has been a complete success. We rest under the trees, looking down from our newly-won vantage point. We’ve taken the cliff and secured the area.
We open our packs and find them smeared with jelly and flattened bread and squashed fruit. To my dismay I find that my chocolate cupcakes are in bad shape, but I’ll eat them anyway.
We’re in control of the high ground; smashed lunches are a small price to pay for victory.