War Read Free Page A

take away from the reality.
    Jake grinned.
    The feeling.
    It was here. Everything — the smells, the sounds, the guts and glory of war.
    This was no ordinary movie.
    This was perfect.
    This was
    Heaven.
    He stood up. Wide-eyed, he crested the ridge and began to walk down into the valley.
    “HEY!”
    A commotion. The men around the campfire were scrambling for their weapons.
    Amazing.
    These actors are incredible.
    “Hi!” Jake shouted.
    “HALT RIGHT THERE!”
    Beyond the men, at the right edge of the camp, a sentry was pointing a musket straight at Jake.
    Ask for Kozaar.
    Jake dug his hands into his pockets. “Uh, I’m looking for Mr. — ”
    CRRRRRRRACK!
    A puff of smoke.
    A whizzing sound.
    A sudden loud snap.
    “Hey !”
    Jake ducked.
    He felt a shower of splinters land in his hair. Behind him, a tree branch had been shot clean off.

Is it —?
    I don’t know.
    He’s not prepared for this.
    But the rules…
    They’re not our rules
    anymore.
    This, my friends, is war.

5
    J AKE STARED AT THE smoking, jagged stub of the branch.
    How did they do that?
    “Who are you?” a voice called.
    “North or South?” asked another.
    “Show yourself!”
    This is cool.
    This is SO cool.
    The branch was rigged.
    Had to be. A little explosive was strapped to it. Someone set it off by remote control. This is a movie. The gunshot was a blank.
    Totally, way unbelievably awesome.
    Okay.
    Stand up. Play along.
    Jake rose slowly. He reached into his pockets, feeling around for something he could use as a white flag. Folded up against his green steno book was a crumpled sheet of loose-leaf paper. A note written to him by his friend Pete.
    He waved the sheet and walked down. “I — I come in peace.”
    But the sentry kept his musket sight trained on Jake. “Who the hell are you?” he growled.
    “Jake Branford? Here to see Mr. Kozaar?”
    “Ain’t nobody here by that name.” He cocked the trigger.
    Jake jumped at the sound. “Look, I don’t — ”
    “Hold your fire, Harrington!”
    An officer was walking toward them briskly from the opposite side of the camp. Scowling. Older than the rest. Heavyset. Thick brush mustache. Big teeth, bucked and grayish-yellow.
    Jake held back a laugh.
    What do you expect? No orthodontists back then.
    Harrington slowly lowered his musket. The other men gathered around Jake, looking at him oddly.
    “Where’re you from, boy?” asked one of the soldiers, gap-toothed and pock-faced. “The moon?”
    Keep. A. Straight. Face.
    “Uh … Hobson’s Corner?” Jake replied.
    The officer stood face-to-face with Jake. His brow was lined with sweat. His eyes darted nervously up to the ridge. “Who sent you?”
    Jake nearly passed out from the man’s breath.
    “Mr. Kozaar?” he said, backing away.
    “Who?”
    “Your director?”
    Silence.
    Blank, baffled stares. As if Jake were speaking Greek.
    And it suddenly dawned on him why he was here.
    The real reason.
    Duh.
    “Is this an audition?” he said. “Because I’m no actor. I just want to get this stuff your set designers took from my house — ”
    “WHAT ON EARTH ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT?”
    Jake stumbled backward at the putrid blast.
    They weren’t going to give.
    Not an inch.
    “Okay, I get it!” Jake said. “You can’t break character. Cool. I’ll try, all right? Just give me a minute.”
    Feel it.
    In your bones.
    In your soul.
    The way it feels in the attic.
    You can do it here, easy. Open your eyes. Breathe.
    The smell of wood smoke and gunpowder. Of sweat and horse manure. The creaking of wagon wheels and the snap of a holstered pistol against a uniformed leg.
    It was all around him.
    Not just in his mind.
    Jake stood tall. He breathed deep.
    He inhaled war.
    Yes.
    You’re where you want to be, Jake.
    Where you belong.
    And.
    You.
    Love it.
    “Jake — uh, Jacob Branford. Reporting for war duty. Sir! ” Jake shouted.
    Two of the men broke out laughing.
    “WHO TOLD YOU THIS WAS FUNNY?” the mustached man bellowed.
    “No one