Southern California is known as the bright center of the Western United states – Los Angeles especially so. Often times, people seem to think that three-hundred odd days of sun mean three-hundred days where the sun rises in the morning and remains unobstructed until the Earth rotates to such a degree that it sets. That is not the case, at least not on the Westside where our story takes place. On this particular day, in fact, it was overcast, with a chance of drizzle. Not, then, the ideal day for a Water Balloon war.

But for the boys of Bayberry Circle, ‘ideal’ was just a thing adults said when they wanted to avoid doing a spot of laundry. So, under the gray clouds, they began planning their assault on their arch rivals – the boys of Beech Drive. It would need to be an all-out affair, a war of true pageantry and heroism The de facto leader of the Bayberry boys, an eleven year-old named Jay, suggested a simple approach.

“We grab the boogie boards,” he said, pointing around the backyard drill area/barracks, “And the cooler. Then, we fill the cooler up with water and water balloons, and put it in the back of the wagon.”

“What are the boogie boards for?” Asked Martin, the youngest of the boys.

“Shields,” Jay said, “Tom and I hold them up in front of us for cover. We’ll lob the water balloons over while you and Terry provide more accurate fire from behind. And when we’re done, we’ll dump the water out of the cooler, and speed back here.”

Tom, whose backyard it was, and who was busy filling water balloons at the water spigot, nodded, “It sounds solid.”

Terry, too, was pleased, “I think we’re gonna do just fine.”

“Excellent,” Jay said, dragging the cooler and the wagon in from the grass, “Let’s get to it, then.”

Like ants, the boys set about putting their plan to action. Jay and Tom stayed outside, by the water spigot – Tom filling balloons, and Jay filling the cooler. Inside, at the kitchen sink, Terry and Martin set about filling even more water balloons. Terry stood and filled them, while Martin ran them – two at a time – out to the wagon. It took fifteen minutes before they had a fine arsenal.

Jay had counted forty-six, which fit perfectly. They had used a whole bag, which was labeled as having fifty. He knew at least two had broken in the cooler, and the other two were likely never there to begin with. The Korean dollar store where they got water balloons never sold full bags, but they were better than the chain store balloons, because they popped easier. Nothing, absolutely nothing, was worse than not having a well-aimed balloon burst.

It was getting to be noon by the time they were completely ready. They’d been done for half an hour, but Tom’s mom had insisted they eat lunch.

“Soldiers need food,” she had said, “An army marches on its stomach – Napoleon said that.”

In truth, she had been stalling their attack. For she knew that the Beech Drive boys – all the sons of her sister – would be out until a little after 1130 hours. And she also knew that the boys would never turn down a platter of pizza rolls, and an abundance of canned sodas.

The platter empty and the sodas drained, however, left nothing for the boys to consume. Their hunger for war, and for victory, overtook them. Like the world’s tiniest Roman Legio, they set out. Tom and Jay headed the column of four, the boogie boards held by the ankle-strap over their shoulders. Terry and Martin pushed the wagon – though in truth, it was mostly just a matter of aiming the beast once it got rolling.

Tom lived deep in the cul-de-sac of Bayberry, down a slight slope. Beech was the cross-street, and the house they were after was three down on the left. Effectively, their entire approach was shrouded by the trees and the houses, and the war party made it to their staging area without raising any alarms.

“Are we ready?” Jay asked.

“Yeah.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Yep.”

“Alright,” he said, “Now, the trick here will be to launch one or two balloons to get them out. Once we’ve got them on the porch, we barrage them with the remaining balloons, then run like heck back to Tom’s.”

“So, what happens then?” Martin asked.

Jay shrugged, “I guess Tom mans the hose while we fill up more balloons to use for the defense. But I don’t think they’ll attack that quickly. They’ll be soaked, and they have no water balloons.”

“Indeed,” Tom said, “I made sure of that.”

“How?” Terry inquired.

“I stole their bags.”

The boys chuckled, then straightened up. War was afoot, and if war movies had taught them anything it was that they needed to be dead serious about it. Slip-ups and jokes would lead to death – or, in this case, a swift and violent soaking. Tom and Jay took their shields and positioned them. Martin and Terry made sure everyone held at least one water balloon – there would be no time to arm once the alarm was raised.

“Stand with me now,” Tom cried, quoting something from a story of war and valor his father had told him, “And at the hour of our deaths, brothers!”

“Death to the foreign invaders!” Terry repeated, quoting the Stalingrad mission of a video game.

“Thirty seconds!” Jay declared, beginning the slow march.

Their intended target was a white house with blue trim. It had a wide selection of toys strewn about its front yard, and a basketball court in the driveway. The front-door was open – which meant the boys couldn’t launch their weapons anywhere near that portal. But the remainder of the facade was fair game.

 

James was sitting in the living room, flanked by his two younger brothers – Fitzy and Kent. They were all watching their older brother, Chad, flipping a plastic switch back and forth while pressing colored buttons on a guitar-shaped controller. The game he was playing blared classic rock from the television, and a cacophony of plinky-plunky sounds when he failed to time his flipping just right.

“You suck, Chad,” Fitzy – about nine – said.

“Yeah, Chad,” Kent, a little over ten, declared, “Faggot.”

Chad, fifteen, fumed, “Shut up,” he said, his ‘s’ sounds making a ‘sh’ thanks to his braces, “You two are the faggots.”

They didn’t hear the battle-cries, but they heard a splash. Then another.

James, twelve, slapped Fitzy’s shoulder. “Check it out.”

“No.”

“Do it!” James growled.

Fitzy stood up and wandered to the front door. He peered out and saw them – the horde of barbarians that lived around the corner. His cousin was crouched behind a boogie board, with his three friends. When they saw his head, the shouted.

“We’ve come for a war!” One of them, Jay, hollered, “Prove yourselves, cowards!”

“James!” Fitzy cried, stepping back from the door, “It’s a war!”

Soon then entire gang from the living room was at the door, looking out. Indeed, their cousin and his friends were out there, idly lobbing water balloons, and screaming for fake blood, and imagined glory.

“Well, if it’s a war they want,” James said, “Chad, get the water balloons.”

He disappeared, and came back a moment later, shaking his head, “They’re gone.”

“What do you mean ‘they’re gone?'” James quizzed, loudly.

 

“Hey, penis-breaths!” Tom called, holding a bag of water balloons out from behind the boogie board, “Looking for these!”

The group of specters that constituted the Beech Boys disappeared from the portal, and Jay smacked Tom.

“Now we won’t have a good and proper war.”

“It’s a win, though,” Martin said, “And a win is a win.”

“Not like this,” Terry declared, “There’s no winning if there isn’t a struggle.”

“Come on out!” Tom cried, “Or are you chicken!? Bawk-bawk-ba-cawk!”

Soon, the others joined the chorus of chicken sounds. Terry and Martin even flapped their wings – right there on the side of Beech Drive. A police car cruised past, and the officers just laughed at the visage of a tiny phalanx miming the actions of chickens in a kind of pre-pubescent war dance.

Jay grabbed a water balloon from the cooler and lobbed it at the garage door – making a nice metallic thunk and sending a splash of water onto the drive way. Terry began to reach into the cooler as the group re-appeared – and just as his finger tips touched the rubbery surface of a balloon there was a crack. The water shot into the air, and two or three balloons burst in a flash of water and color.

James stood in the doorway, holding an airsoft gun and pumping it furiously “Somebody took our balloons!” He shouted, “So we’ve upgraded!”

“Crap,” Tom swore, as the phalanx ducked low behind the boogie boards and the Beech Boys took up positions on their porch. They each had airsoft guns, and they began to pepper the boogie boards with plastic pellets.

“We need to rethink this, guys,” Martin said.

“Okay, Tom, you have airsoft guns, right?” Jay asked.

“Yeah,” Tom nodded, “And I even have two that are automatic.”

“Perfect,” Jay nodded, “So, we blindly throw these water balloons, dump the water, and rush back to your place, sound good?”

“Sounds like a plan,” Tom said, and they each reached into the cooler.

Taking a great risk, Jay stood up over the lip of his boogie board and cried, “Freeeee-dom!”

With that battle cry, the barrage began. The first volley – save for Jay’s aimed fire – landed wildly. On the porch, the Beech Boys were initially concerned, then steeled their resolve, content that the fire wouldn’t get any more accurate.

But they hadn’t accounted for Jay’s ingenuity, and he called out instructions.

“Follow my arc!” He cried, launching a balloon right at the feet of the Beech Boys. Their feet wet, they were distracted, giving the Bayberry gang time to aim their shots. More balloons landed, and by the time the Beech Boys had recovered from that volley, more balloons were landing.

Their ferocity matched the great war heroes that they knew. Terry felt like Captain Price. Martin could feel the power of the Cole Train in his soul. Tom’s eyes burned with the fire of Sergeant Baker’s cursed pistol. And Jay – ever the fan of the History Channel – knew he was destined to be the next Dick Winters, or even a Patton.

As the fire from the phalanx withered, the Beech Boys rallied.

“Keep up the pressure,” James said, “Ignore their water balloons.”

Soon, plastic pellets were pinging off of the boogie boards. It maddened Martin, and even Jay began to show signs of concern, and he noticed that some of the pellets were intercepting balloons in flight. Tom stood up to lob a balloon and caught a pellet in his arm.

“Ow!” He cried, dropping the balloon to the grass and ducking into cover. “They’ve got us pinned.”

“Okay,” Jay pointed to Terry and Martin, “Dump the cooler.”

“But,” Terry protested, “There’s like, ten balloons -”

“Dump the dang cooler!”

Still taking fire, Terry and Martin dumped the cooler onto the small strip of grass between the sidewalk and the street. Most of the balloons popped, though one didn’t. It didn’t last long before a stray pellet hit it.

“Go,” Jay ordered, “Let’s go, go, go!”

Under the cover of boogie board, the group moved back towards the corner. And when the pellets stopped hitting, they lifted their shields over their heads and kicked it up a gear.

“Run, boys!” Tom screamed.

“Swiftly, now,” Jay added, “Swiftly!”

 

On the water soaked porch, the Beech Boys watched the Bayberry Gang run off.

“Let’s finish ’em!” Fitzy shouted.

“No,” James said, “There’s no sport in it. Grab your ammo, we’re in for a siege.”

 

Luck – it was sheer luck that the Bayberry Gang Phalanx made it back to Tom’s. They ditched the wagon out front, but carried the boogie boards into Tom’s messy room with them. As Terry slammed the door, Martin collapsed on the bed, Jay manned the window, and Tom dove for his closet.

“Pass me the rifle,” Jay said, holding his hand out and scanning the street, “They’re gonna be coming any second!”

“Hold on,” Tom urged, loading the clip sloppily, slamming it into the imitation M4 and racking the slide, “Here, take it!”

Jay grabbed the rifle and kept looking down the road. He saw one of the little ones – Fitzy, if memory served him – at the corner. He wasn’t moving forward, he was just watching. “They’ve got a lookout on us,” he declared.

“What’s the plan?” Worried Martin.

“Who is it?” Tom asked, loading another weapon – a pistol – and passing it to Terry.

“Fitzy, I think,” Jay replied, “And, Martin, calm down.”

“I am calm,” Martin said, graciously accepting one of the automatic weapons from Tom. It was modeled after a mini-Uzi, “I just want to know what the plan is.”

Tom popped back from his closet, his weapon in hand, “I say we go out back to the plastic palace.”

The Plastic Palace was a megalithic structure in the back yard, made of several smaller plastic play-things. It was full of rat-holes and cover positions. Tom and Jay had spent the better part of an afternoon a week or so earlier designing it so that it was a nigh-impenetrable fortress.

“I agree,” Terry said, “Let’s do that.”

“Alright,” Jay kept his eyes down the road, where the Beech Boys were amassing, “Tom, Martin, grab all the ammo you can and set up in the palace. Terry and I will draw their fire as they come down the street and fall back when it gets too hot.”

“Aye,” Tom agreed, grabbing a bucket of pellets and handing it to Martin, “Break on three?”

“One,” Martin answered.

“Two,” Terry continued.

“Three,” finished Jay, “Break!”

Jay and Terry burst through the door and into Tom’s front-yard, their weapons aimed down the street at the approaching group. Martin and Tom grabbed as many pellet containers as they could and scrambled through the house, onto the back deck, across the grass, and into the multicolored Plastic Palace.

“Wait til I start firing before you do,” Jay told Terry.

“Yes, sir.”

Meanwhile, in the back, Martin and Tom were struggling to get the pellets in the best locations. Martin wanted the boxes close to the firing ports, but Tom wanted to keep them further back.

“But, we’ll need them close,” Martin urged.

“And we don’t need them taken by the enemy,” Tom replied.

Out front, the Beech Boys were close enough that they were firing pot shots. One got close enough to Jay to hit his cover – the lemon tree in the front yard.

“Go!” He shouted Terry, and the two ducked from behind cover and fired onto the approaching horde.

Fitzy took on in the leg, and Chad was hit in the hand, but they kept moving forward and firing.

“Keep pushing!” James cried, “Death to the foreign invaders!”

“That’s my line!” Terry shouted back, aiming for James and grazing his arm.

“We’re gonna fall back to the door on three,” Jay said, “You ready?”

The fire from the Beech Boys grew in intensity as Terry replied, “Yes.”

“Good, three!”

Jay ran across the drive way, up the stoop, and into the door. Terry, unprepared for the rush, was a little late, but made it just as the Beech Boys hit the curb and began to take up cover. Two went behind Tom’s Mom’s car, and the others made for the lemon tree.

“Just give up!” Chad yelled from behind the car.

“We never surrender!” Jay shouted back, firing at him and forcing him into cover.

Terry whispered, “When do we break?”

After a knowing blink, Jay popped out, fired at the tree and shouted, “Not one step back, comrades!”

That was the cue to dash through the house and leap into the Plastic Palace. Martin and Tom were already in position at the lower loopholes – their weapons pointed to the entrances to the yard. As the Beech Boys made for the house, Terry scrambled to a mid-level position on the palace battlements and Jay took his station at the top of the center turret.

“There isn’t a Plan B from here, guys!” He said, “Stand and fight!”

Faking a reload, Terry grunted, “Yes, sir.”

“Let’s do it!” Martin shouted.

“Lock and load!” Cried Tom.

 

However, the Beech Boys had seen this, and formulated a new plan. Rather than settle in for a knock-down, drag-out siege, they decided to deploy a new weapon. Lemons. While James and Chad moved to the back door to keep fire up on the Plastic Palace, Fitzy and Kent loaded the cooler with new ammunition.

 

“What’s the count?” Jay hollered, over the din of plastic on plastic impacts, loading his rifle up.

“Two,” Martin said, popping up and letting loose a torrent of pellets, “The other two are out front.”

“Doing what?” Tom asked.

A flurry of Beech Boy fire strafed the Bayberry Gang’s position, and they all curled reflexively. Things were especially perilous for Jay – for though his position offered a great sniping position, it was only covered on two sides. His flanks were entirely exposed, and if they got around him, he’d have welts everywhere before he could even fall out of the tower.

“I don’t know,” Martin replied, watching as they ran into the house, “But, they’ve got the cooler.”

“There’s nothing in the cooler,” Terry replied.

Just then, something bigger than a pellet hit the facade of the palace in front of him. It made a thunk and a splat. He shrieked, “What was that?”

“Lemons!” Jay cried, “They’ve got lemons!”

“Crap!” Tom shouted, “Fire back!”

The boys popped up in unison and poured fire onto the enemy positions at the portals to Tom’s house. They made several hits, and for a moment, the fire from the Beech Boys ceased. Then, Terry and Jay ducked down to reload, and the Bayberry Gang came under fire again. A lemon his Martin’s hands and knocked his weapon down.

“Guys!” He cried, ducking down and trying to find his gun, “I lost my gun!”

“Did it fall onto the grass?” Tom asked, taking cover to reload as well.

Martin looked down and saw the weapon, reaching low to try and get it. A lemon hit the wall opposite him, having arced over his cover. His eyes went wide and he struggled harder to reach the piece. “Cover me!” He said, “They’ve got me zeroed!”

In answer to his comrade’s call, Jay popped up and fired onto the boys throwing lemons. His pellets mostly hit their lower arms and their lemons – leaving them aching and weaponless for a brief moment. He was forced back down by pellet fire, but he hoped his move had helped Martin.

It had, soon Martin was back up and firing again.

For what seemed like a lifetime, the two groups fired upon each other. The Bayberry Gang was supported by their ammunition supplies. Soon, the Beech Boys were being supported by the Bayberry Gang’s ammunition supply as well, having exhausted their own. They began to rely more heavily on the lemons.

“Maybe we should toss them back,” Jay had whispered down to Tom.

Tom had shaken his head, “You’ll see. Their idea is bad.”

Jay didn’t see it, but he accepted the concept at face value anyway.

After thirty minutes of ferocious back-and-forth, with countless welts on both sides, the pivotal moment came. Tom’s mom had wandered into the living room, to see her youngest nephews with a cooler full of lemons.

“Where did you get those lemons?” She asked, her voice bringing the pellet fire to a stand-still.

“We- uh,” Fitzy stumbled.

“Are they from the tree out front?”

“Uh -”

Tom’s Mom clapped her hands, “That’s it! No more war for today.”

“Mom!” Tom called, “We need a winner, though!”

“Nobody’s a winner!” She shouted, “Now, clean up this mess. I thought it was going to be water balloons – nobody said to use airsoft guns!”