The War

         The dice clattered into the box top, and Chris’s infantry managed to destroy Jeff’s tank garrison in China.

         “Hah! Get that tank off of there, Russia! China is mine!” he exulted.

         Jeff sullenly removed the defeated tank from the green blob representing China and Chris made his plastic soldier do a victory dance in its place. The board, with its stylistic depiction of the World War II world, shifted slightly on the brown shag carpet as he did so, causing all of the other pieces to shake.

         “I don’t know how an infantry can beat a tank,” Jeff sulked. “That’s some luck there!”

         “It could happen in real life,” said Blaine, grabbing the dice. “It happened all the time during the real war. Sticky bombs and bazookas. Didn’t you see Saving Private Ryan?” He purchased a bomber and placed it on Tokyo.

         “Your parents let you watch Saving Private Ryan?” asked Jeff. “I heard it had lots of blood and guts in it. They said it gave real veterans flashbacks.”

         “My grandpa watched it and he was fine,” Blaine replied. “He was in the war.”

         “So were mine, and Chris’s too, weren’t they?”

         Chris was busily massing his pieces on the border with Russian-controlled territory, telegraphing his next moves. “All of our grandfathers were. In those days everybody went to war, except if you were physically disqualified, or had an important job.”

         “Or if you were crazy,” added Blaine. Two of his aircraft took off from his carrier and flew into Australia. “I’m attacking,” he said to Jeff. He rolled the dice and made a face at the result. “Missed.”

         Jeff sighed. He took the dice and shook them in his hand.

         “My grandpa told me some guys came back from the war crazy,” he said. “They called it shellshock back then. There’s a different word now . . . p-something.”

         He rolled, and one of Blaine’s fighters went down in flames.

         Blaine adjusted his glasses and opted for a retreat. “Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder,” he said. He considered the board. “Lots of guys had it. They saw some messed up things where they went.”

         “I guess it screws with your head,” said Chris. He mussed up his hair and crossed his blue eyes. “Yaaaaah! I have PTSD! I’m having a flashback!”

         Blaine looked sourly at Chris. “That’s not cool. My uncle was in Vietnam, and my mom says he wasn’t the same when he came back. She didn’t say PTSD, but I think that’s what it is. It’s why he never comes out of the basement, and just drinks beer all day.”
He moved a battleship closer to Jeff’s West Coast, skirting Hawaii.

         “My grandma says there were all kinds of shortages during the war,” said Chris. “She says she couldn’t even get nylons.

         “What are nylons?” asked Blaine.

         “They’re like pantyhose,” said Jeff. “There were shortages of all kinds of weird stuff like that.”

         “My Grandpa also says . . .” Chris began.

         “Done,” Blaine interrupted, ending his turn.

         Jeff began to purchase more infantry to defend his besieged territories.

         “What does your grandpa say about those times?” he asked Chris as he organized his defenses.

         “He doesn’t say much of anything about it. I don’t think any of them do.”

         “Mine neither,” said Jeff.

         “Why not?” asked Blaine.

         “Why, does your grandpa ever talk about it?”

         “Mine doesn’t either. I mean, why do you think they don’t want to talk about it?”

         Jeff paused, a green plastic soldier in his hand, and the three boys looked at each other for a few heartbeats.

         “Well, you’ve seen some of those war movies right?” Jeff said, finishing his placement. “You know, to us, all that shooting and blowing people up was just a movie. For them it was real life.”

         He trailed off, his eyes on the board.

         “And?” Chris prompted.

         “And, that’s a pretty big deal for them. I guess it’s hard to talk to with people who weren’t there. Kind of like when we asked your brother about what it’s like to do it.”

         Chris snickered. “He wouldn’t tell us, like it was some big secret or something. He’s afraid his girlfriend would get mad if he told us.”

         “Yah, but how do you describe it to someone who wasn’t there?”

         Jeff attempted to retake Manchuria with two infantry and a tank.

         “Hit! Roll.”

         Chris responded with a tank and an infantry. “Hit!”

         The casualties were evacuated from the board.

         “It’s kind of weird,” said Chris as Jeff rolled again, continuing the assault.

         “What is?”

         “Well, we’re playing this game, with plastic pieces and boards, but it was all real at one point. Real to our grandfathers. And we’re playing it like a game. What would they think about it?”

         “Who knows?” said Blaine as he watched Jeff’s remaining infantry platoon crush the last of the resistance. “Maybe we should invite them to play sometime.”

         “Do you think they thought it was like a game?” asked Chris as he wound up a handful of dice. “You know, the generals and admirals and all the guys in charge of the war. Do you think it was like a game to them, like this?” He rolled, and his luck ended. “Miss.”

         “I dunno,” said Jeff. “Maybe at their level, it looks like one, with all their maps and charts and pieces moving around. I mean, they’re sitting in a bunker somewhere and they don’t see the guys actually fighting, like our grandfathers, do they?”

         He moved his surviving soldier into Manchuria, claiming victory.