Back To The Writings of Robert Underwood
I don't know where it all started. I guess, maybe in Australia. Since boomerangs became the trademark weapons of Australians, I suppose the people in the Land Down Under were tired of being stereotyped, not in just weaponry, but in every way, shape and form. So they did something unthinkable that forever shattered the Australian stereotype: they unleashed a dart war on the entire world. From all over the coastal rim, Australians everywhere threw darts high into the air, some aiming nowhere in particular, many landing in Japan and China, and some in nearby Asia. Hundreds of people were killed that first day, and the Orientals retaliated, not with bombs or machine guns, but with the same weapons their attackers used on them: darts.
Throughout the ensuing months, darts filled the airspace above the three continents, some crashing into each other and sinking to the ocean floor, the majority hitting their designated marks. The Australians began to recruit children as young as eighteen to help fight their skirmish, but not even the forced numbers of soldiers helped tip the balance of power in their favor. Australia was a powder keg ready to blow, and before authorities from alien continents could intervene, the skirmish escalated into a war in a matter of weeks. The Dart Wars lasted for five months, and it was right about then I was sent to fight in it.
My name is John Large. At nineteen, I was the youngest American volunteer to segregate Australia from the rest of the world it shared its land with. Truthfully, I don't know what I was thinking. Maybe the thought of another war scared me, and I wanted to put an end to it before more people died from heads exploding from dart impact. I heard rumors that Australians were beginning to coat their dart heads with poison. Another rumor said it was the bubonic plague. I never much cared for rumors; they're nothing but trouble.
My father was against my leaving the States. He wanted me to continue my college work and become a computer analyst, like himself. "Don't throw away your career just because some screwballs decided to piss off the rest of the world!" he constantly argued with me. The last time, though, I was packing my duffle bag in my room.
"Those same screwballs," I argued back, "were pissed off first! With the boomerangs and Crocodile Dundee and kangaroos and wallabies, I don't blame them for raging war against the entire world. Besides, I'm not fighting with them; I'm working to end the war before more innocents are killed."
My fathers hand trembled then. His hands always trembled when he was upset. "But what if you're one of those innocents?"
Nuts. He had me there. I retaliated on instinct alone, saying, "Then I will have died for a worthy cause."
My father had plenty of arguements left tucked under his hat, but before he could speak them aloud, I took the quickest deep dingory doo to the nearest army base, where I was shipped off to Australia that evening.
Since airspace was filled with darts, our only other alternative was to take a nuclear submarine to Australia. While in the sub, we were required to wear our helmets at all times, just in case one of the darts punctured the hull and landed on our heads, filling our brains with marshmallows. I was in the mess hall nearly the entire time, as was many of the other volunteers, politely chatting with whoever was beside me the entire time. I never learned her name, just that she was a goddess.
Her long hair was as red as the fire at the altar of God. Her aqua blue eyes did nothing to extenguish the flame on her head, and, maybe it was my imagination, but I could have sworn that I felt heat emenating from her. I barely listened to what she had to say. I think she was talking about how Tony the Tiger had beaten Toucan Sam on Celebrity Deathmatch, or maybe it was how bees could buzz without attracting wooly mammoths. I don't know. The only thing I was certain about, though, was that one day I was going to marry this girl.
We arrived in Australia six hours later. The night sky was ablaze with the light show of darts and the sound of pencil-shaped sticks whirling in the air. I felt a finger tap me very hard in the back of my head, enough to where it almost hurt. The girl I had been with stared at me with horror, but I didn't pay attention to her. I turned around to see who had the nerve to do such a thing, but no one was behind me, and when I looked down, I saw the broken body of a dart.
"You're awful lucky, son," I heard behind me, and I turned around. The girl still had that scared look on her face, but from behind her came, according to his rank marks, a general of the Tenth Cavalry. "Most of the time when people get hit by a dart, it goes all the way through their helmets, and then it's too late."
I felt the back of my helmet and noticed for the first time that a crack had been made, and by feeling around I found the tip that was missing from the dart's body. I pulled it out, threw it on the ground, and then properly saluted the general. He just smiled at me and said, "No need for that, son. In war, everyone's an equal." He extended his hand. "I'm General Hammond; I'll be your cavalry leader."
I shook his hand. "Ensign John Large, sir."
"Tell me, Ensign, what is your impression of the war?"
I looked confusingly at him. That wasn't a question I was expecting to answer. At least when you fight a grizzly bear they ask you how you want to be killed before you kick their ass. "Well, sir, I've only heard rumor and innuendo. Poisoned darts, people dying...the occasional brush with Barney the Dinosaur. I've never heard any real facts, so I'm not qualified to make a reliable impression."
The general smiled again. "Well put, but I didn't ask for your reliable impression, just your impression period. What do you think of the war?"
I paused for a moment, trying to get my thoughts in order as, above, thunderclaps of darts knocked into each other or the ground. The ground tremored with explosions from everywhere, but I paid it no mind as I answered the general's question. "I believe that the Australians' hearts are in the right place, but their actions and diplomacy need work."
He laughed. "Strait forward, just how I like my men." Then the smile dropped from his face. "Look around you, son. People are dying out there from darts, poisoned cardboard boxes, and hobos. This isn't a kiddie game; it's real life. Check in with armaments and replace your helmet. Dismissed."
After getting my new helmet, which was one size too big, I was assigned to the trenches where some of the Australians took to launch their assault. I was happy to learn that Karry, the goddess that I had the pleasure of spending six hours with, was assigned with me, and together we spoke with the leader of the trench regiment.
"I don't care if the entire world dies," he told us. "We're tied of the stereotypes and we won't take them anymore! One way or another, the world will pay for its crime."
"But, sir," Karry replied, "stereotypism isn't a crime."
He scowled at her. "It is in my book." Grabbing a trout-headed dart, the private threw the dart toward Japan. Whoever was the unlucky soul to be hit by that would die from Dutch Elm Disease.
The rest of the war was that way, as I recall. It was loud. It smelled funny. All I clearly remember, though, aside from thinking, "Please, God, don't let me die," was Karry. I couldn't keep my eyes off her for the world, and when she couldn't stop staring at me, I knew she felt the same. Sometimes she would blush because she couldn't stop, other times she hopped around on her pogo stick and sang, "I Didn't Raise My Boy To Be A Soldier". I devilishly drowned her out wtih "Over There" and she laughed the sweetest laugh I had ever heard.
Three days later, General Hammond was able to talk Cease Fire with the leader of the regiment, and Karry and I were sent home. I was going to miss her so much, and before we got off the plane in Montana, we kissed each other more passionately than we had ever kissed anyone in our entire lives. I then hopped off the plane and didn't even turn back, for I knew that if I did, I wouldn't be able to leave her.
I got home around dinner time, but I wasn't very hungry. I sought solace in my room, staring out the window and looking down at the innocent kids playing ball in the street. I thought back to the way I was three days ago, and wondered if I had ever been that innocent. And then I saw her.
I had to be hallucinating. There Karry was, moving a chair from the back of a van and carrying it to the house right across the street. I didn't care; hallucination or no, I had to see her again.
I ran down the stairs, stepping into my kid brother's maneur collection, and out the door, wiping my foot on the dog. I made my way to the house across the street, and when I saw that blazing red hair again, I knew that Karry had come back to me. It was her, and we were going to be together forever.
Our relationship held over the years. We're celebrating our 30th anniversary next Sunday, and our two children, the gargoyle Kamon and the lion Xuxa, will be sent to their aunt's for the night, and Karry and I will reignite the passion we had started three days after entering the war.
