“Eh? Now I can’t reach the Dining Hall, Doug.”
“Call anyone you can reach back here to Nunes, Bob. Looks like showdown time, eh?”
“That it does, gentlemen. And I can’t wait to play our ace in the hole.”
“Call anyone you can reach back here to Nunes, Bob. Looks like showdown time, eh?”
“That it does, gentlemen. And I can’t wait to play our ace in the hole.”
part 21:
Picket Fences
by Matthew Atanian
based on a story idea by
Aaron Abdowmassy
©2001 by Matthew Atanian and Aaron Abdowmassy
Boy Scouts ½ created by Matthew Atanian
Picket Fences
by Matthew Atanian
based on a story idea by
Aaron Abdowmassy
©2001 by Matthew Atanian and Aaron Abdowmassy
Boy Scouts ½ created by Matthew Atanian
Matt and Perry, both male once again and both back in their Boy Scout uniforms, entered the clearing where Kenny’s team had been hard at work.
“What the hell is that?” Matt asked, upon seeing a large wooden construction that had no small resemblance to a tank.
“Mr. Atanian, Mr. Perry, welcome back!” Kenny said, walking over. “What do you think?” he asked, his voice uncharacteristically filled with something that seemed close to pride.
“Nice tank,” Matt said.
“Well, it’s more a high mobile catapult platform then a tank,” Kenny responded.
“Ah, of course.”
Mark Abert walked over, followed by Matt Swett. “Impressive, isn’t it?” Mark asked. “Your Kenny is a genius with Pioneering projects, I must say.”
“Yeah,” Brian shouted from where he was doing some last minute lashing on one of the treads. “I’ve done enough on this thing to finish what I needed on my Pioneering Merit Badge twice over!”
“Well,” Kenny said in an unobtrusive voice, “I couldn’t have done anything without the help of all of you.”
Aaron and Gelinas approached. “Hey, cool tank,” Gelinas commented.
“So how did things go at the Dining Hall?” Swett asked.
“Mission complete,” Aaron reported. “All of the hostages that were being held there have been released, and all are making their way over to 180’s floating campsite.”
“Good, good,” Swett responded. “And any terrorists that we’ve already captured?”
“We talked to Mr. Anderson,” Hughes said, “and he agreed to watch them for us. They’re over at the Dining Hall.”
“Gooder still,” Swett responded.
Matt turned to Aaron. “Um...”
“What is it?”
“Any... any news on Troop 42?”
Aaron frowned. “They were in the Dining Hall... except for the Porters. Seems that just before we attacked, they were moved to the Nunes Building.”
“But why?” Matt responded.
Swett cursed. “Bet it’s that punk, Justy. Hughes did report that he was helping the Canadians.”
“Why involve Nicole and the others, though?” Hughes asked as he and Becker entered the clearing. “That doesn’t make sense!”
“Of course it does,” Swett responded. “He always thinks, for some reason, that it is our personal mission in life to thwart every little evil thing he does!”
“Granted, he’s usually right,” Becker said, “but that’s only because every little evil thing he does seems to be to make our lives miserable!” He turned to Mark. “The troop your wife and daughter is with is all safe, though.”
Mark had up until now been fighting to maintain an external air of calm and hope. Now, at last, it took no effort at all to seem as if that was what he felt, as those were indeed at last his true feelings.
“So, is everyone back?” Matt Atanian asked.
“We’re still waiting on Derek and Matt Abert,” Matt Swett informed him, “and Mike, wherever he went.”
“Ah, yes,” Matt responded. “Mike.”
Colin came jogging over. “Dan’s about ready rigging the, er, special ammunition.”
“Ammunition?” Matt asked him.
“For the catapult.”
“What is it?”
“Um... it’s better if you don’t know.”
“I think the catapult needs a name,” Hughes said. “Anyone know any famous catapults?”
“Famous catapults?” Aaron responded. “Is there such a thing?”
“The only catapults I know of are the ones inside the French castle,” Matt Atanian said.
“French castle?” Gelinas asked.
“Holy Grail,” Matt responded.
“Be kind of ironic going up against Canadians with something named the French Castle, huh?” Becker said.
“I like irony,” Swett said. “The French Castle it is!”
Matt Abert walked into the clearing, trying in vain to squeeze one last morsel of cheese from the empty can he held. Derek Provost was with him.
“Well,” Swett said, “except for Mike, we all seem to be here. So, let’s see where we’re at. Like, all the hostages aside from those at Nunes have been freed and are hiding out on 180 Island. All enemy forces outside of those who are at Nunes are likewise neutralized. So, everything comes down to one great big final assault at the Nunes. And for that, we have Kenny’s thing-a-ma-bob.”
“If I may explain,” Kenny said, “this high mobile catapult platform will be able to exit the woods and advance on the Nunes Building close enough for us to be able to fire our ammunition with a great degree of accuracy upon any targets. The platform itself is powered by a group sitting inside the protected body, where their pedaling will produce the necessary... oh... oh, dear...”
“What is it, Kenny?” Becker asked.
“The power system... I miscalculated! I forgot to take into account the weight of the people who would be inside! There’s no way that the people would be able to provide enough energy to move an object with the combined weight of the platform and themselves!”
Perry and Swett glanced at each other. “You thinking what Perry thinking?” Perry asked.
“You bet your ass I am,” Swett responded.
“Hey, wake up,” Aaron said as he shook the unconscious form lying under a tree in Troop 192’s campsite.
The unconscious form raised a hand to shoo Aaron away.
Aaron persisted, raising his voice. “Hey! Wake up, NOW!!”
“Mmrrph...” the unconscious form said, as it fought becoming a conscious form. It was a struggle the form was quickly loosing. It blinked, half asleep. “I’ll take Richard Simmons for the block,” it said.
Aaron shook the form once more and its eyes abruptly opened. “Are you awake, now?” Aaron asked.
“Are you awake, now?” Will Shmuler responded.
“Stop that, this is serious!” Aaron demanded.
“Stop that, this is serious!” Shmuler shouted back. He hopped to his feet and began to jog in little circles around Aaron.
“Would you cut that out? We need you for something!” Aaron said.
“Would you cut that out, we need you for... Hold on, you actually need me for something?”
“Yes, we do. Canadian terrorists have taken over the camp, and after tenting with you, Swett and Perry suggested that you are quite possibly the only human on the face of the Earth who has within him enough raw energy to propel the machine we built to stop them.”
“Cool!” Shmuler responded. “Let’s go, Captain Ron!”
All possible preparations, checks, double checks, and last minute ultra-final triple checks were completed. Everyone was in their proper positions, and was just waiting for the order to attack.
Inside the high mobile catapult platform were Derek Provost, Brian Abert, Hughes, Becker, Gelinas, Aaron, Swett, and most importantly Will Shmuler, all ready to pedal their hearts out. Atop the platform, the catapult was being manned by Colin, Dan, and Kenny, with Mark Abert assisting with the reloading. Beside them were a rather good-sized pile of Scout canteens, each tightly sealed with their mystery contents inside.
Standing behind the platform, Perry held his sword, ready for melee combat. Matt Atanian and Matt Abert joined him. Abert was armed with two fresh bottles of squeeze cheese, and Atanian held a Scout stave as if it was a quarterstaff.
“Perry,” Matt said, “I know I shouldn’t be too worried, but could you try to strike with the back or sides of your blade?”
“No kill terrorists?” Perry asked, confused.
“I’d rather we only incapacitate them, if we can.”
“They try kill us,” Perry reminded him.
“I know they will, but we’re not like them. Anyway, I’ve got no combat training, I’ll be lucky to make it five seconds, in my opinion.”
“Then why you fight?” Perry asked.
“They have Sarah,” Matt simply responded.
A hatch on the top of the platform opened and Matt Swett climbed out from within. “If everyone’s ready, um, like, I’ll be ordering the attack in a few seconds. But before I do, I was thinking that in the movies and stuff this is usually where there are wise words of inspiration from some wise old figure. I was wondering if maybe you’d like to say anything, Matt.”
Matt Atanian blinked in surprise. He hated public speaking. “Um... that’s okay.”
“Go on, Matt,” Matt Abert encouraged, chuckling. “You’re the wise old figure.”
“I think that Mark is much more qualified,” Matt insisted.
“This group is mostly your troop,” Mark said. “The honour is yours.”
Matt swallowed. He really did hate public speaking. “Well, um, we’re about to go and fight for our camp. These naughty people have come in here with their guns and their bacon and their Molson, and they have tried to take away our freedom, and they have succeeded in taking away the freedom of those close to us.
“Everyone has an El Guapo they have to fight some time in their lives. For some, their El Guapo might be illiteracy. For others, their El Guapo might be intolerance. For us, our El Guapo is a bunch of Canadians with very big guns. And just like the Three Amigos succeeded in defeating their El Guapo, who happened to be the real El Guapo, we too shall defeat our own personal El Guapo.
“For today is the day we draw the line – right here, and no further! Today is the day we fight back! Today is the day we take a stand for our freedom and the freedom of those we love! Today is the day that we stand up for what we believe in! Today... Today is our Independence Day! They may take our camp, but they will never take... our FREEDOM!!!”
Everyone broke out into spontaneous cheers, invigorated and ready to fight despite the stupidity of the rather cliché speech Matt had just delivered to them.
“All right!” Swett said, after the commotion had died down. “I know when I go to camp, I like not to die, so let’s give ‘em hell!”
Bob was looking out of the window on the upper floor of the Nunes Building when he could have sworn that he saw the trees on the opposite side of the Parade Field moving.
“What in the name of Mario Lemieux is that, eh?” he exclaimed.
“What is it, eh?” Doug asked, coming over.
“Mon Dieu!” another one of the terrorists exclaimed.
Justy rose from where he sat, knocking over the slightly less then small pile of empty Molson cans at his feet, and in a stupor made his way over to the windows as well. He was only able to make it by virtue of the fact that Proctor appeared from nowhere and held him up as he walked.
“Isht’s thoshe Garden Shnakes, I tell you,” Justy said, hiccupping slightly as Proctor discretely placed a cup of black coffee into his hands. “Ishts gotta be!”
Suddenly, much to the shock of all of the terrorists, the French Castle burst forth from within the woods on the opposite side of the Parade Field and rapidly made its way towards the Nunes Building.
“Oh, boy,” Bob said.
“Get every man you can out there and stop that thing, eh!” Doug commanded.
“Here they come,” Mark said.
“Turn the turret two degrees to the left and pull the catapult arm down for a shot at eighty three percent of maximum power,” Kenny commanded. Colin and Dan followed Kenny’s instructions. Mark gingerly handed one of the canteens to Colin, who then placed it in the catapult.
“Fire!” Kenny said, feeling a bit like Horatio Hornblower.
Dan pulled the line, releasing the potential energy contained within the long arm of the catapult. It swung upwards with furious force, and the canteen was propelled with great speed towards the mass of Canadians gathering outside of the Nunes Building. The canteen landed on the ground just in front of the terrorists and exploded, letting loose a green cloud of steam or smoke that quickly enveloped them.
The Canadians coughed and gagged, all clutching their throats and falling to the ground, withering in absolute agony.
Matt, who had been running along side the French Castle, stopped dead in his tracks. He hollered up to the catapult crew, “What the hell is in those canteens?”
“Well,” Kenny answered him, “it was the only thing I could think of to completely incapacitate the terrorists without causing them permanent harm.” Kenny turned to give instructions for readying the next shot.
“And what would that thing be?” Matt insisted, as he rushed to keep up with the French Castle.
“Well... we sort of... are you sure you want to know?” Colin asked.
“Yes, I’m sure!”
“Fire!” Kenny said, and another canteen took out another group of enemy forces.
“Well,” Dan told Matt, “we took the canteens to the latrines and Port-a-Potties, and...”
Matt was shocked. “You didn’t?”
Dan nodded. “Yeah, we did. We dipped the canteens into ‘em.”
“That’s... that’s horrible!”
“All’s fair in love in war,” Dan responded.
“Fire!” Kenny commanded.
“This is bad, eh?” Doug noted as he looked out of the window at the battle.
“Yes, it is,” Justy responded, finishing his eleventh cup of coffee. Proctor tried to give him another, and Justy shooed him away. “There’s no need to worry however, we still have our trump card.”
The French Castle came to a stop as they got close enough to the Canadians for melee combat. Fortunately, most of them had been rendered unconscious, and most of the rest of them had dropped their guns while holding their noses.
Also fortunately, while the stench was still horrid, the air had at least cleared enough that the Moses defenders would not find it intolerable.
Matt, his concern for Sarah giving him a courage he would have never even suspected he possessed, charged forward with a holler and swung his stave at one of the Canadians. The Canadian blocked the swing with the back end of his rifle, but Matt brought the other end of his stave around and swept the Canadian’s legs out from underneath him.
Perry was chasing a small group of the terrorists around, swinging his sword madly. He never came close to making contact with any of the Canadians, but eventually he ran them ragged and they gave up and crumpled to the ground in a heap.
Matt Abert charged the closest terrorist and let him have it with both barrels of processed cheese product.
Will Shmuler climbed out from within the French Castle and jumped down onto the head of one of the terrorists. “How are you gentlemen!?” he shouted as the terrorist fell to the ground, thrown off balance from having a Shmuler latched onto him. “Someone set us up the bomb,” Will said as he stood upon the chest of the terrorist. He dropped to his knees, knocking the wind out of the terrorist, and bellowed, “All your base are belong to us!”
The others came out from the French Castle, only Kenny and Mark staying behind, and joined in the combat.
Terrorists were falling, left and right. All was going almost too easily.
“Hold it right there, eh?”
The Moses defenders turned to see Doug Mackenzie, tightly holding Sarah Porter with one arm, while with his other he held a gun to her head. Just behind and to either side of him, Bob and Justy each similarly held one of the twins captive. Just behind Justy stood Proctor. He waved to the Moses defenders. ”Hey, how’s it going, guys?” he asked in a friendly voice.
“Shut up, Proctor!” Justy spat.
“Surrender now, and face the judgment of the Canadian People’s Army, eh!” Doug demanded.
“Let Sarah and the others go!” Matt shouted.
“Yeah, like that’s going to happen!” Justy sneered. “Face it, Garden Snakes, I have won!”
Doug pressed the gun against Sarah’s temple. She winced. Matt frowned and dropped his stave. The other defenders likewise dropped whatever weapons they were using.
By this time, many of the terrorists that had been rendered unconscious had begun to come around. They picked up their guns and formed a circle around the Moses defenders.
“If anyone could even come remotely close to having been a worthy adversary to me, it would have been you,” Justy said. “Happily, the time has come to say good bye to all of you.”
Justy then began to laugh like he had never laughed before. It was an ear splitting laugh, the likes of which had never been heard before and were unlikely to ever be heard again in the annals of maniacal laughter.
His laugh was interrupted when a voice called out, “Hey, am I late for all of the fun?”
Everyone turned. It was Mike. Beside him stood a well-dressed woman with fluffy blonde hair, her deep brown eyes framed by a pair of Aviator-style glasses.
The woman took a breath, paused, and then shouted at the top of her lungs, “I LIKE SQUIRRELS!!!”
There was a great rustling from within the surrounding forest. The running of thousands of tiny little feet. The twitching of thousands of cute little noses. The swishing of thousands of fluffy little tails. The rustling came to a sudden stop, and the terrorists and defenders alike gasped in shock, as they became aware of thousands of unblinking, beady little eyes staring at them.
One edge of the woman’s mouth curled upwards in the slightest of smiles.
“GET ‘EM, BOYS!” she commanded.
A hurricane of squirrels came fourth from within the forest and descended upon the terrorists, leaving the Moses defenders untouched. The terrorists ran, screaming, as little grey or brown bundles of fury latched onto them and refused to let go.
The only four of the enemy to remain untouched were Bob, Doug, and Justy, who were too close to hostages for the squirrels to take any chances, and Proctor, who the squirrels did not see as a threat.
“Look, Captain, aren’t they cute?” Proctor asked. He dug into his pocket and produced a packet of nuts, and he tossed them one at a time to some of the closer squirrels.
“Girls,” Sarah said, “remember when I said not to cause any trouble for now?”
Nicole and Kirstin nodded.
“It’s officially later!” Sarah said, delivering a swift elbow to Doug. Nicole and Kirstin did likewise, Kirstin adding a brief, “I’m terribly sorry,” to Justy as she did so.
The Porters ran towards the French Castle as the squirrels descended upon their former captors.
“Kirstin, you’re safe!” Aaron shouted. Kenny smiled at her from his position atop the platform.
“Um, hey, Nicole,” Hughes said. “Glad you’re okay.”
Nicole blinked. “Oh, thanks.”
Matt walked over to Sarah. “Hi,” he said. “You okay?”
“Yeah. I was a little worried for a while, but I’m fine now.”
“I’m... I’m glad,” Matt said.
“Well, you needn’t have worried. It’s nice you went to this whole rescue effort and such, but I’m sure we’d have gotten out okay without your help.” Sarah turned away from Matt.
“Sister, that wasn’t very nice,” Kirstin observed to herself from where she stood.
Suddenly, from beneath the massive ball of squirrel in which he had been enveloped, Doug Mackenzie pulled himself free and charged directly at Sarah Porter, his gun extended towards her.
Sarah turned in shock, barely able to comprehend what she saw coming towards her.
Doug let loose with a scream of absolute rage as his finger tightened over the trigger.
With a swiftness he had never before achieved in his life, Matt came up beside Doug and brought his stave down upon Doug’s hand. He yelled in pain as he dropped his gun to the ground. Matt swung his stave back up, connecting with Doug’s chin and knocking him unconscious.
The squirrels began to make their way back into the forest.
Mike came over and joined everyone else; the woman who had been with him had vanished along with the squirrels.
Sarah stood facing Matt, and Matt facing Sarah. She stared at him, still trying to absorb what had just transpired, unable to make any move except for the occasional blink.
Finely, she spoke. “You... you saved me,” she said.
Matt was also in something of a state of shock, unable to believe the competency of his own actions. “I could never do otherwise,” he simply answered.
Mike surveyed the surroundings. Most of the defenders were unhurt, and those that were had only minor injuries, almost nothing a Band-Aid wouldn’t fix. “Well, glad that’s over!” Mike said.
“Who was that woman?” Gelinas asked him.
“She?” Mike responded. “She is a story for another time. Let’s get these terrorists someplace secure and get on with our Camporee!”
When Matt had been unsure what to do about the terrorists, Nicole said she’d take care of the problem free of charge. She made a phone call, and an hour or so later a large police bus pulled into camp.
“Someone need a pick-up?” a good-natured state trooper said as he exited the bus. The nametag on his uniform read, “Kelly.”
“Hey, Officer Stan!” Nicole called out.
“Miss Porter, it’s good to see you again,” the officer replied. “Jason said you needed a favor, so here I am.”
Nicole nodded to Matt. “Well, you see,” Matt then said, stepping forward, “we had a problem with some Canadian terrorists...”
“Was it Bob and Doug?” Stan asked, looking slightly annoyed.
“You know them?”
“Know them? They’re always pulling silly stunts like this, those goofy Canuks.”
“Well, we don’t really know what to do with them, and we don’t want any bad publicity for the Council,” Matt said.
“Tell you what, as a favor for Nicole here, I’ll be happy to bus them all back up to Canada, no questions asked, no reports filed, nothing.”
“Thanks, Officer Kelly,” Matt said.
“Please, call me Stan,” the trooper replied.
“Okay, Stan,” Matt said. He told the officer where the terrorists were, and Officer Stan Kelly went to go round them up.
Matt turned to Nicole.
Nicole grinned and shrugged. “Hey,” she said, “I’ve got a lot of people who owe me favors.”
Since by the time normalcy (or at least some semblance there of) was restored it was late in the afternoon, there wasn’t really time to hold any of the Camporee’s events.
“And we were really going to try this time, too,” Matt Swett lamented.
Therefore, the next important occurrence (aside from dinner) to take place was that evening’s campfire.
Currently, Brian Abert was standing before the assembled troops, illuminated by the twin roaring fires to either side of him. He was regaling the audience with tales of some of the sounds one might hear in the woods at night.
“Other times you might hear an owl,” Brian said, continuing the skit.
On cue, a member of Troop 180 who was hidden in the woods made a sound that, with the audience’s willing suspension of disbelief, made a passable impression of an owl. “Whooo! Whooo!”
“Or perhaps a black grizzly bear!”
“Grrrarrrwww!” exclaimed another hidden member of 180.
“And this sound,” Brian said, “is the sound of Troop 180 at camp!”
Various cries and moans came out from the woods. “It’s cold!” “It’s raining!” “I wan’ a go home!” “I want my mommy!”
The audience laughed.
“Thank you,” Brian said in conclusion as he stepped down.
“That was, Night Sounds by Troop 180,” Danny Mashia, MC for the campfire that evening, said. “Next up is Troop 192 with Matt Gets Wet, part 2.”
Huge applause broke out as Mike walked up onto the stage, looking somewhat forlorn. “Hi, everybody,” he said, waving. “As those who were with us at the Fall Camporee might remember, we were hoping then to present the skit, Matt Gets Wet. However, at that time, Matt’s lawyers had told us that under nooooooooo! circumstances would Matt be getting wet. Since then, we have been in constant negotiations with the lawyers, and we had been certain that we would have positive results for you this evening, and we would be able, at last, to get Matt wet.”
Mike paused and took a breath. The audience silently hung on in eager participation.
“Unfortunately, the negotiations fell through at the eleventh hour, and we were informed on the way to the campfire this evening that Matt has gone as far as to get a restraining order against water, and it is no longer allowed within one hundred and fifty feet of him. So without further adieu, I present to you once more the Troop 192 classic, The Clappy Song.
“This is the Clappy Song, clap, clap, clap,” Mike sang, clapping each time he said, “clap.”
The audience moaned in disgust. It had been funny at Summer Camp, and it had even been funny as a proxy for Matt getting wet at the Fall Camporee, but this was certainly stretching things a bit. The audience wanted to see Matt get wet, and was accepting no substitutes.
“This is the Clappy Song, clap, clap, clap,” Mike continued.
Someone stood up in the audience. “What the hell is this?” he shouted. It was Colin. “I came here tonight to see Matt get wet!”
Another person stood. “I paid good money to see Matt get wet,” Dan said, “and I damn well better see Matt get wet!”
This seemed to spark something in the audience, and they began to actively boo and hiss Mike as he valiantly tried to continue the Clappy Song.
Suddenly, Matt Atanian stood from his seat in the audience and made his way up to stand beside Mike. He made various “quiet down” gestures and made remarks along the lines of, “What’s all this, then?” until the audience settled down.
There was another moment of silent anticipation before Matt spoke.
“I think it is quite sad,” Matt declared in a loud, clear voice, “that all of you get some sort of cheep thrill at the thought of seeing me get wet, and under no circumstances will I resort to such silly, puerile, and juvenile stunts merely for your enjoyment!”
The boos and hisses after Matt said this were quite pronounced.
“Matt gets wet!” Colin and Dan began chanting. “Matt gets wet!”
The rest of the audience picked up the chant until it began echoing across the hills and mountains of Russell, Massachusetts.
Matt made more various “quiet down” gestures, and once silence had returned he spoke once more.
“Is it really that important to you to see me get wet?” Matt asked.
The audience shouted quite a very big, “YES!!!”
“Well... I suppose if it’s that important...” Matt paused. “Of course, I need some time to properly prepare. So be here, Summer Camp week 3, and I, Matt, will get wet!”
The audience burst out in applause as Matt returned to his seat and turned things back over to Mike.
“And, to hold you over until then,” Mike said, “I present to you Troop 192’s very own Matt Swett!”
Matt Swett joined Mike up on stage, followed by Aaron and Becker, who were carrying a large cooler of water. Matt took off his shirt, and Aaron and Becker immediately emptied the contents of the cooler over him.
There followed a standing ovation.
The next morning the Camporee’s awards ceremony was held, presided over by the venerable Harris Tanner.
“Yes, well, it seems as if because of mitigating circumstances we were unable to hold our events at this Camporee,” he said in his lilting yet gravely voice. “However, we do still have some awards.”
Mr. Tanner coughed slightly as he looked at the ribbons he held in his hands. “First, a special award to two of the Camporee staff members, for services above and beyond, Colin Pekruhn and Dan Wellington.”
Colin and Dan stepped forward and accepted the award. Mr. Tanner shook their hands with his surprisingly strong grip as they did so. Colin and Dan were about to return to their place with the rest of the staff when Mr. Tanner indicated they should stay where they were.
“Next up are the Spirit awards. Even though we didn’t have events, certain groups and individuals showed great spirit with their actions this weekend. Unlike most Camporees, where only one Spirit award is presented, we have decided at this Camporee to present three. First off, in third place, the Porter sisters from Girl Scout Troop 42.”
Sarah and Kirstin both blinked in surprise. Nicole, however, smiled confidently and stepped forward. Her sisters momentarily there after followed. They accepted their award, and went to stand beside Colin and Dan.
“Second place,” Tanner decreed, “from Boy Scout Troop 180, Derek Provost, Brian Abert, Mr. Matthew Abert, and Mr. Mark Abert.”
The four of them trotted up, accepted their award, and joined Dan, Colin, and the Porters.
“And finely, first place in the Spirit award... From Boy Scout Troop 192...”
Justy’s posture suddenly became even more erect then it normally was and he lifted one foot off of the ground.
“...the Garden Snake Patrol, consisting of Mike Quadrozzi, Matthew Swett, Aaron Abdowmassy, Jonathan Becker, William Gelinas, William Hughes, Kenneth Pendrell, Perry, and William Shmuler; along with Mr. Matthew Atanian.”
Justy planted his foot back down as if taking a step forward before it registered on his brain what had just been said. “What!?” he demanded. “Them? They get the Spirit award after they foiled my perfect plan? Them!?”
“Don’t worry, Captain,” Proctor consoled, “maybe you’ll get it at the next Fall Camporee.”
“Hey... We won something?” Mike blinked. “At a Camporee?”
Matt Swett likewise was in a bit of a state of shock. “Did we just get the Spirit award?”
“WHAT!?” Becker exclaimed.
“Oh, come on,” Gelinas said, “like we’d ever win the Spirit award. This is so unrealis...”
“SHUT UP, BILL!!!”
“Cock-a-doodal-doo!” Shmuler inexplicably exclaimed.
“I think we did win,” Hughes then said.
“Fascinating,” noted Kenny.
“So what we standing here talking for?” Perry asked.
“Let’s go and get it!” Aaron added.
The Garden Snakes, along with Matt Atanian, accepted their award and joined the others. Then Mr. Tanner spoke once more. “These individuals who have been awarded today have preformed a great service for this camp, and for Scouting. I believe we all owe them our gratitude.”
Applause, more heartfelt and enthusiastic then those that could ever be produced by promises of getting Matt wet, came forth from everyone gathered there as Harris Tanner once again shook all of their hands.
Mr. Tanner turned to face everyone once more. “That concludes the awards presentation, and thus the 1998 Pioneer Valley Council Spring Camporee. I wish you all Godspeed and a safe trip home.”
Hiding just out of sight around the corner of the Trading Post, the old Chinese man observed the proceedings intently.
“Ah, they do indeed have much spirit,” he said.
He turned away and began to walk off, the small bell hanging from his belt jingling ever so slightly with each step.
He sighed. “Soon, I fear, will come the time to put that spirit to the test.”
“What the hell is that?” Matt asked, upon seeing a large wooden construction that had no small resemblance to a tank.
“Mr. Atanian, Mr. Perry, welcome back!” Kenny said, walking over. “What do you think?” he asked, his voice uncharacteristically filled with something that seemed close to pride.
“Nice tank,” Matt said.
“Well, it’s more a high mobile catapult platform then a tank,” Kenny responded.
“Ah, of course.”
Mark Abert walked over, followed by Matt Swett. “Impressive, isn’t it?” Mark asked. “Your Kenny is a genius with Pioneering projects, I must say.”
“Yeah,” Brian shouted from where he was doing some last minute lashing on one of the treads. “I’ve done enough on this thing to finish what I needed on my Pioneering Merit Badge twice over!”
“Well,” Kenny said in an unobtrusive voice, “I couldn’t have done anything without the help of all of you.”
Aaron and Gelinas approached. “Hey, cool tank,” Gelinas commented.
“So how did things go at the Dining Hall?” Swett asked.
“Mission complete,” Aaron reported. “All of the hostages that were being held there have been released, and all are making their way over to 180’s floating campsite.”
“Good, good,” Swett responded. “And any terrorists that we’ve already captured?”
“We talked to Mr. Anderson,” Hughes said, “and he agreed to watch them for us. They’re over at the Dining Hall.”
“Gooder still,” Swett responded.
Matt turned to Aaron. “Um...”
“What is it?”
“Any... any news on Troop 42?”
Aaron frowned. “They were in the Dining Hall... except for the Porters. Seems that just before we attacked, they were moved to the Nunes Building.”
“But why?” Matt responded.
Swett cursed. “Bet it’s that punk, Justy. Hughes did report that he was helping the Canadians.”
“Why involve Nicole and the others, though?” Hughes asked as he and Becker entered the clearing. “That doesn’t make sense!”
“Of course it does,” Swett responded. “He always thinks, for some reason, that it is our personal mission in life to thwart every little evil thing he does!”
“Granted, he’s usually right,” Becker said, “but that’s only because every little evil thing he does seems to be to make our lives miserable!” He turned to Mark. “The troop your wife and daughter is with is all safe, though.”
Mark had up until now been fighting to maintain an external air of calm and hope. Now, at last, it took no effort at all to seem as if that was what he felt, as those were indeed at last his true feelings.
“So, is everyone back?” Matt Atanian asked.
“We’re still waiting on Derek and Matt Abert,” Matt Swett informed him, “and Mike, wherever he went.”
“Ah, yes,” Matt responded. “Mike.”
Colin came jogging over. “Dan’s about ready rigging the, er, special ammunition.”
“Ammunition?” Matt asked him.
“For the catapult.”
“What is it?”
“Um... it’s better if you don’t know.”
“I think the catapult needs a name,” Hughes said. “Anyone know any famous catapults?”
“Famous catapults?” Aaron responded. “Is there such a thing?”
“The only catapults I know of are the ones inside the French castle,” Matt Atanian said.
“French castle?” Gelinas asked.
“Holy Grail,” Matt responded.
“Be kind of ironic going up against Canadians with something named the French Castle, huh?” Becker said.
“I like irony,” Swett said. “The French Castle it is!”
Matt Abert walked into the clearing, trying in vain to squeeze one last morsel of cheese from the empty can he held. Derek Provost was with him.
“Well,” Swett said, “except for Mike, we all seem to be here. So, let’s see where we’re at. Like, all the hostages aside from those at Nunes have been freed and are hiding out on 180 Island. All enemy forces outside of those who are at Nunes are likewise neutralized. So, everything comes down to one great big final assault at the Nunes. And for that, we have Kenny’s thing-a-ma-bob.”
“If I may explain,” Kenny said, “this high mobile catapult platform will be able to exit the woods and advance on the Nunes Building close enough for us to be able to fire our ammunition with a great degree of accuracy upon any targets. The platform itself is powered by a group sitting inside the protected body, where their pedaling will produce the necessary... oh... oh, dear...”
“What is it, Kenny?” Becker asked.
“The power system... I miscalculated! I forgot to take into account the weight of the people who would be inside! There’s no way that the people would be able to provide enough energy to move an object with the combined weight of the platform and themselves!”
Perry and Swett glanced at each other. “You thinking what Perry thinking?” Perry asked.
“You bet your ass I am,” Swett responded.
“Hey, wake up,” Aaron said as he shook the unconscious form lying under a tree in Troop 192’s campsite.
The unconscious form raised a hand to shoo Aaron away.
Aaron persisted, raising his voice. “Hey! Wake up, NOW!!”
“Mmrrph...” the unconscious form said, as it fought becoming a conscious form. It was a struggle the form was quickly loosing. It blinked, half asleep. “I’ll take Richard Simmons for the block,” it said.
Aaron shook the form once more and its eyes abruptly opened. “Are you awake, now?” Aaron asked.
“Are you awake, now?” Will Shmuler responded.
“Stop that, this is serious!” Aaron demanded.
“Stop that, this is serious!” Shmuler shouted back. He hopped to his feet and began to jog in little circles around Aaron.
“Would you cut that out? We need you for something!” Aaron said.
“Would you cut that out, we need you for... Hold on, you actually need me for something?”
“Yes, we do. Canadian terrorists have taken over the camp, and after tenting with you, Swett and Perry suggested that you are quite possibly the only human on the face of the Earth who has within him enough raw energy to propel the machine we built to stop them.”
“Cool!” Shmuler responded. “Let’s go, Captain Ron!”
All possible preparations, checks, double checks, and last minute ultra-final triple checks were completed. Everyone was in their proper positions, and was just waiting for the order to attack.
Inside the high mobile catapult platform were Derek Provost, Brian Abert, Hughes, Becker, Gelinas, Aaron, Swett, and most importantly Will Shmuler, all ready to pedal their hearts out. Atop the platform, the catapult was being manned by Colin, Dan, and Kenny, with Mark Abert assisting with the reloading. Beside them were a rather good-sized pile of Scout canteens, each tightly sealed with their mystery contents inside.
Standing behind the platform, Perry held his sword, ready for melee combat. Matt Atanian and Matt Abert joined him. Abert was armed with two fresh bottles of squeeze cheese, and Atanian held a Scout stave as if it was a quarterstaff.
“Perry,” Matt said, “I know I shouldn’t be too worried, but could you try to strike with the back or sides of your blade?”
“No kill terrorists?” Perry asked, confused.
“I’d rather we only incapacitate them, if we can.”
“They try kill us,” Perry reminded him.
“I know they will, but we’re not like them. Anyway, I’ve got no combat training, I’ll be lucky to make it five seconds, in my opinion.”
“Then why you fight?” Perry asked.
“They have Sarah,” Matt simply responded.
A hatch on the top of the platform opened and Matt Swett climbed out from within. “If everyone’s ready, um, like, I’ll be ordering the attack in a few seconds. But before I do, I was thinking that in the movies and stuff this is usually where there are wise words of inspiration from some wise old figure. I was wondering if maybe you’d like to say anything, Matt.”
Matt Atanian blinked in surprise. He hated public speaking. “Um... that’s okay.”
“Go on, Matt,” Matt Abert encouraged, chuckling. “You’re the wise old figure.”
“I think that Mark is much more qualified,” Matt insisted.
“This group is mostly your troop,” Mark said. “The honour is yours.”
Matt swallowed. He really did hate public speaking. “Well, um, we’re about to go and fight for our camp. These naughty people have come in here with their guns and their bacon and their Molson, and they have tried to take away our freedom, and they have succeeded in taking away the freedom of those close to us.
“Everyone has an El Guapo they have to fight some time in their lives. For some, their El Guapo might be illiteracy. For others, their El Guapo might be intolerance. For us, our El Guapo is a bunch of Canadians with very big guns. And just like the Three Amigos succeeded in defeating their El Guapo, who happened to be the real El Guapo, we too shall defeat our own personal El Guapo.
“For today is the day we draw the line – right here, and no further! Today is the day we fight back! Today is the day we take a stand for our freedom and the freedom of those we love! Today is the day that we stand up for what we believe in! Today... Today is our Independence Day! They may take our camp, but they will never take... our FREEDOM!!!”
Everyone broke out into spontaneous cheers, invigorated and ready to fight despite the stupidity of the rather cliché speech Matt had just delivered to them.
“All right!” Swett said, after the commotion had died down. “I know when I go to camp, I like not to die, so let’s give ‘em hell!”
Bob was looking out of the window on the upper floor of the Nunes Building when he could have sworn that he saw the trees on the opposite side of the Parade Field moving.
“What in the name of Mario Lemieux is that, eh?” he exclaimed.
“What is it, eh?” Doug asked, coming over.
“Mon Dieu!” another one of the terrorists exclaimed.
Justy rose from where he sat, knocking over the slightly less then small pile of empty Molson cans at his feet, and in a stupor made his way over to the windows as well. He was only able to make it by virtue of the fact that Proctor appeared from nowhere and held him up as he walked.
“Isht’s thoshe Garden Shnakes, I tell you,” Justy said, hiccupping slightly as Proctor discretely placed a cup of black coffee into his hands. “Ishts gotta be!”
Suddenly, much to the shock of all of the terrorists, the French Castle burst forth from within the woods on the opposite side of the Parade Field and rapidly made its way towards the Nunes Building.
“Oh, boy,” Bob said.
“Get every man you can out there and stop that thing, eh!” Doug commanded.
“Here they come,” Mark said.
“Turn the turret two degrees to the left and pull the catapult arm down for a shot at eighty three percent of maximum power,” Kenny commanded. Colin and Dan followed Kenny’s instructions. Mark gingerly handed one of the canteens to Colin, who then placed it in the catapult.
“Fire!” Kenny said, feeling a bit like Horatio Hornblower.
Dan pulled the line, releasing the potential energy contained within the long arm of the catapult. It swung upwards with furious force, and the canteen was propelled with great speed towards the mass of Canadians gathering outside of the Nunes Building. The canteen landed on the ground just in front of the terrorists and exploded, letting loose a green cloud of steam or smoke that quickly enveloped them.
The Canadians coughed and gagged, all clutching their throats and falling to the ground, withering in absolute agony.
Matt, who had been running along side the French Castle, stopped dead in his tracks. He hollered up to the catapult crew, “What the hell is in those canteens?”
“Well,” Kenny answered him, “it was the only thing I could think of to completely incapacitate the terrorists without causing them permanent harm.” Kenny turned to give instructions for readying the next shot.
“And what would that thing be?” Matt insisted, as he rushed to keep up with the French Castle.
“Well... we sort of... are you sure you want to know?” Colin asked.
“Yes, I’m sure!”
“Fire!” Kenny said, and another canteen took out another group of enemy forces.
“Well,” Dan told Matt, “we took the canteens to the latrines and Port-a-Potties, and...”
Matt was shocked. “You didn’t?”
Dan nodded. “Yeah, we did. We dipped the canteens into ‘em.”
“That’s... that’s horrible!”
“All’s fair in love in war,” Dan responded.
“Fire!” Kenny commanded.
“This is bad, eh?” Doug noted as he looked out of the window at the battle.
“Yes, it is,” Justy responded, finishing his eleventh cup of coffee. Proctor tried to give him another, and Justy shooed him away. “There’s no need to worry however, we still have our trump card.”
The French Castle came to a stop as they got close enough to the Canadians for melee combat. Fortunately, most of them had been rendered unconscious, and most of the rest of them had dropped their guns while holding their noses.
Also fortunately, while the stench was still horrid, the air had at least cleared enough that the Moses defenders would not find it intolerable.
Matt, his concern for Sarah giving him a courage he would have never even suspected he possessed, charged forward with a holler and swung his stave at one of the Canadians. The Canadian blocked the swing with the back end of his rifle, but Matt brought the other end of his stave around and swept the Canadian’s legs out from underneath him.
Perry was chasing a small group of the terrorists around, swinging his sword madly. He never came close to making contact with any of the Canadians, but eventually he ran them ragged and they gave up and crumpled to the ground in a heap.
Matt Abert charged the closest terrorist and let him have it with both barrels of processed cheese product.
Will Shmuler climbed out from within the French Castle and jumped down onto the head of one of the terrorists. “How are you gentlemen!?” he shouted as the terrorist fell to the ground, thrown off balance from having a Shmuler latched onto him. “Someone set us up the bomb,” Will said as he stood upon the chest of the terrorist. He dropped to his knees, knocking the wind out of the terrorist, and bellowed, “All your base are belong to us!”
The others came out from the French Castle, only Kenny and Mark staying behind, and joined in the combat.
Terrorists were falling, left and right. All was going almost too easily.
“Hold it right there, eh?”
The Moses defenders turned to see Doug Mackenzie, tightly holding Sarah Porter with one arm, while with his other he held a gun to her head. Just behind and to either side of him, Bob and Justy each similarly held one of the twins captive. Just behind Justy stood Proctor. He waved to the Moses defenders. ”Hey, how’s it going, guys?” he asked in a friendly voice.
“Shut up, Proctor!” Justy spat.
“Surrender now, and face the judgment of the Canadian People’s Army, eh!” Doug demanded.
“Let Sarah and the others go!” Matt shouted.
“Yeah, like that’s going to happen!” Justy sneered. “Face it, Garden Snakes, I have won!”
Doug pressed the gun against Sarah’s temple. She winced. Matt frowned and dropped his stave. The other defenders likewise dropped whatever weapons they were using.
By this time, many of the terrorists that had been rendered unconscious had begun to come around. They picked up their guns and formed a circle around the Moses defenders.
“If anyone could even come remotely close to having been a worthy adversary to me, it would have been you,” Justy said. “Happily, the time has come to say good bye to all of you.”
Justy then began to laugh like he had never laughed before. It was an ear splitting laugh, the likes of which had never been heard before and were unlikely to ever be heard again in the annals of maniacal laughter.
His laugh was interrupted when a voice called out, “Hey, am I late for all of the fun?”
Everyone turned. It was Mike. Beside him stood a well-dressed woman with fluffy blonde hair, her deep brown eyes framed by a pair of Aviator-style glasses.
The woman took a breath, paused, and then shouted at the top of her lungs, “I LIKE SQUIRRELS!!!”
There was a great rustling from within the surrounding forest. The running of thousands of tiny little feet. The twitching of thousands of cute little noses. The swishing of thousands of fluffy little tails. The rustling came to a sudden stop, and the terrorists and defenders alike gasped in shock, as they became aware of thousands of unblinking, beady little eyes staring at them.
One edge of the woman’s mouth curled upwards in the slightest of smiles.
“GET ‘EM, BOYS!” she commanded.
A hurricane of squirrels came fourth from within the forest and descended upon the terrorists, leaving the Moses defenders untouched. The terrorists ran, screaming, as little grey or brown bundles of fury latched onto them and refused to let go.
The only four of the enemy to remain untouched were Bob, Doug, and Justy, who were too close to hostages for the squirrels to take any chances, and Proctor, who the squirrels did not see as a threat.
“Look, Captain, aren’t they cute?” Proctor asked. He dug into his pocket and produced a packet of nuts, and he tossed them one at a time to some of the closer squirrels.
“Girls,” Sarah said, “remember when I said not to cause any trouble for now?”
Nicole and Kirstin nodded.
“It’s officially later!” Sarah said, delivering a swift elbow to Doug. Nicole and Kirstin did likewise, Kirstin adding a brief, “I’m terribly sorry,” to Justy as she did so.
The Porters ran towards the French Castle as the squirrels descended upon their former captors.
“Kirstin, you’re safe!” Aaron shouted. Kenny smiled at her from his position atop the platform.
“Um, hey, Nicole,” Hughes said. “Glad you’re okay.”
Nicole blinked. “Oh, thanks.”
Matt walked over to Sarah. “Hi,” he said. “You okay?”
“Yeah. I was a little worried for a while, but I’m fine now.”
“I’m... I’m glad,” Matt said.
“Well, you needn’t have worried. It’s nice you went to this whole rescue effort and such, but I’m sure we’d have gotten out okay without your help.” Sarah turned away from Matt.
“Sister, that wasn’t very nice,” Kirstin observed to herself from where she stood.
Suddenly, from beneath the massive ball of squirrel in which he had been enveloped, Doug Mackenzie pulled himself free and charged directly at Sarah Porter, his gun extended towards her.
Sarah turned in shock, barely able to comprehend what she saw coming towards her.
Doug let loose with a scream of absolute rage as his finger tightened over the trigger.
With a swiftness he had never before achieved in his life, Matt came up beside Doug and brought his stave down upon Doug’s hand. He yelled in pain as he dropped his gun to the ground. Matt swung his stave back up, connecting with Doug’s chin and knocking him unconscious.
The squirrels began to make their way back into the forest.
Mike came over and joined everyone else; the woman who had been with him had vanished along with the squirrels.
Sarah stood facing Matt, and Matt facing Sarah. She stared at him, still trying to absorb what had just transpired, unable to make any move except for the occasional blink.
Finely, she spoke. “You... you saved me,” she said.
Matt was also in something of a state of shock, unable to believe the competency of his own actions. “I could never do otherwise,” he simply answered.
Mike surveyed the surroundings. Most of the defenders were unhurt, and those that were had only minor injuries, almost nothing a Band-Aid wouldn’t fix. “Well, glad that’s over!” Mike said.
“Who was that woman?” Gelinas asked him.
“She?” Mike responded. “She is a story for another time. Let’s get these terrorists someplace secure and get on with our Camporee!”
When Matt had been unsure what to do about the terrorists, Nicole said she’d take care of the problem free of charge. She made a phone call, and an hour or so later a large police bus pulled into camp.
“Someone need a pick-up?” a good-natured state trooper said as he exited the bus. The nametag on his uniform read, “Kelly.”
“Hey, Officer Stan!” Nicole called out.
“Miss Porter, it’s good to see you again,” the officer replied. “Jason said you needed a favor, so here I am.”
Nicole nodded to Matt. “Well, you see,” Matt then said, stepping forward, “we had a problem with some Canadian terrorists...”
“Was it Bob and Doug?” Stan asked, looking slightly annoyed.
“You know them?”
“Know them? They’re always pulling silly stunts like this, those goofy Canuks.”
“Well, we don’t really know what to do with them, and we don’t want any bad publicity for the Council,” Matt said.
“Tell you what, as a favor for Nicole here, I’ll be happy to bus them all back up to Canada, no questions asked, no reports filed, nothing.”
“Thanks, Officer Kelly,” Matt said.
“Please, call me Stan,” the trooper replied.
“Okay, Stan,” Matt said. He told the officer where the terrorists were, and Officer Stan Kelly went to go round them up.
Matt turned to Nicole.
Nicole grinned and shrugged. “Hey,” she said, “I’ve got a lot of people who owe me favors.”
Since by the time normalcy (or at least some semblance there of) was restored it was late in the afternoon, there wasn’t really time to hold any of the Camporee’s events.
“And we were really going to try this time, too,” Matt Swett lamented.
Therefore, the next important occurrence (aside from dinner) to take place was that evening’s campfire.
Currently, Brian Abert was standing before the assembled troops, illuminated by the twin roaring fires to either side of him. He was regaling the audience with tales of some of the sounds one might hear in the woods at night.
“Other times you might hear an owl,” Brian said, continuing the skit.
On cue, a member of Troop 180 who was hidden in the woods made a sound that, with the audience’s willing suspension of disbelief, made a passable impression of an owl. “Whooo! Whooo!”
“Or perhaps a black grizzly bear!”
“Grrrarrrwww!” exclaimed another hidden member of 180.
“And this sound,” Brian said, “is the sound of Troop 180 at camp!”
Various cries and moans came out from the woods. “It’s cold!” “It’s raining!” “I wan’ a go home!” “I want my mommy!”
The audience laughed.
“Thank you,” Brian said in conclusion as he stepped down.
“That was, Night Sounds by Troop 180,” Danny Mashia, MC for the campfire that evening, said. “Next up is Troop 192 with Matt Gets Wet, part 2.”
Huge applause broke out as Mike walked up onto the stage, looking somewhat forlorn. “Hi, everybody,” he said, waving. “As those who were with us at the Fall Camporee might remember, we were hoping then to present the skit, Matt Gets Wet. However, at that time, Matt’s lawyers had told us that under nooooooooo! circumstances would Matt be getting wet. Since then, we have been in constant negotiations with the lawyers, and we had been certain that we would have positive results for you this evening, and we would be able, at last, to get Matt wet.”
Mike paused and took a breath. The audience silently hung on in eager participation.
“Unfortunately, the negotiations fell through at the eleventh hour, and we were informed on the way to the campfire this evening that Matt has gone as far as to get a restraining order against water, and it is no longer allowed within one hundred and fifty feet of him. So without further adieu, I present to you once more the Troop 192 classic, The Clappy Song.
“This is the Clappy Song, clap, clap, clap,” Mike sang, clapping each time he said, “clap.”
The audience moaned in disgust. It had been funny at Summer Camp, and it had even been funny as a proxy for Matt getting wet at the Fall Camporee, but this was certainly stretching things a bit. The audience wanted to see Matt get wet, and was accepting no substitutes.
“This is the Clappy Song, clap, clap, clap,” Mike continued.
Someone stood up in the audience. “What the hell is this?” he shouted. It was Colin. “I came here tonight to see Matt get wet!”
Another person stood. “I paid good money to see Matt get wet,” Dan said, “and I damn well better see Matt get wet!”
This seemed to spark something in the audience, and they began to actively boo and hiss Mike as he valiantly tried to continue the Clappy Song.
Suddenly, Matt Atanian stood from his seat in the audience and made his way up to stand beside Mike. He made various “quiet down” gestures and made remarks along the lines of, “What’s all this, then?” until the audience settled down.
There was another moment of silent anticipation before Matt spoke.
“I think it is quite sad,” Matt declared in a loud, clear voice, “that all of you get some sort of cheep thrill at the thought of seeing me get wet, and under no circumstances will I resort to such silly, puerile, and juvenile stunts merely for your enjoyment!”
The boos and hisses after Matt said this were quite pronounced.
“Matt gets wet!” Colin and Dan began chanting. “Matt gets wet!”
The rest of the audience picked up the chant until it began echoing across the hills and mountains of Russell, Massachusetts.
Matt made more various “quiet down” gestures, and once silence had returned he spoke once more.
“Is it really that important to you to see me get wet?” Matt asked.
The audience shouted quite a very big, “YES!!!”
“Well... I suppose if it’s that important...” Matt paused. “Of course, I need some time to properly prepare. So be here, Summer Camp week 3, and I, Matt, will get wet!”
The audience burst out in applause as Matt returned to his seat and turned things back over to Mike.
“And, to hold you over until then,” Mike said, “I present to you Troop 192’s very own Matt Swett!”
Matt Swett joined Mike up on stage, followed by Aaron and Becker, who were carrying a large cooler of water. Matt took off his shirt, and Aaron and Becker immediately emptied the contents of the cooler over him.
There followed a standing ovation.
The next morning the Camporee’s awards ceremony was held, presided over by the venerable Harris Tanner.
“Yes, well, it seems as if because of mitigating circumstances we were unable to hold our events at this Camporee,” he said in his lilting yet gravely voice. “However, we do still have some awards.”
Mr. Tanner coughed slightly as he looked at the ribbons he held in his hands. “First, a special award to two of the Camporee staff members, for services above and beyond, Colin Pekruhn and Dan Wellington.”
Colin and Dan stepped forward and accepted the award. Mr. Tanner shook their hands with his surprisingly strong grip as they did so. Colin and Dan were about to return to their place with the rest of the staff when Mr. Tanner indicated they should stay where they were.
“Next up are the Spirit awards. Even though we didn’t have events, certain groups and individuals showed great spirit with their actions this weekend. Unlike most Camporees, where only one Spirit award is presented, we have decided at this Camporee to present three. First off, in third place, the Porter sisters from Girl Scout Troop 42.”
Sarah and Kirstin both blinked in surprise. Nicole, however, smiled confidently and stepped forward. Her sisters momentarily there after followed. They accepted their award, and went to stand beside Colin and Dan.
“Second place,” Tanner decreed, “from Boy Scout Troop 180, Derek Provost, Brian Abert, Mr. Matthew Abert, and Mr. Mark Abert.”
The four of them trotted up, accepted their award, and joined Dan, Colin, and the Porters.
“And finely, first place in the Spirit award... From Boy Scout Troop 192...”
Justy’s posture suddenly became even more erect then it normally was and he lifted one foot off of the ground.
“...the Garden Snake Patrol, consisting of Mike Quadrozzi, Matthew Swett, Aaron Abdowmassy, Jonathan Becker, William Gelinas, William Hughes, Kenneth Pendrell, Perry, and William Shmuler; along with Mr. Matthew Atanian.”
Justy planted his foot back down as if taking a step forward before it registered on his brain what had just been said. “What!?” he demanded. “Them? They get the Spirit award after they foiled my perfect plan? Them!?”
“Don’t worry, Captain,” Proctor consoled, “maybe you’ll get it at the next Fall Camporee.”
“Hey... We won something?” Mike blinked. “At a Camporee?”
Matt Swett likewise was in a bit of a state of shock. “Did we just get the Spirit award?”
“WHAT!?” Becker exclaimed.
“Oh, come on,” Gelinas said, “like we’d ever win the Spirit award. This is so unrealis...”
“SHUT UP, BILL!!!”
“Cock-a-doodal-doo!” Shmuler inexplicably exclaimed.
“I think we did win,” Hughes then said.
“Fascinating,” noted Kenny.
“So what we standing here talking for?” Perry asked.
“Let’s go and get it!” Aaron added.
The Garden Snakes, along with Matt Atanian, accepted their award and joined the others. Then Mr. Tanner spoke once more. “These individuals who have been awarded today have preformed a great service for this camp, and for Scouting. I believe we all owe them our gratitude.”
Applause, more heartfelt and enthusiastic then those that could ever be produced by promises of getting Matt wet, came forth from everyone gathered there as Harris Tanner once again shook all of their hands.
Mr. Tanner turned to face everyone once more. “That concludes the awards presentation, and thus the 1998 Pioneer Valley Council Spring Camporee. I wish you all Godspeed and a safe trip home.”
Hiding just out of sight around the corner of the Trading Post, the old Chinese man observed the proceedings intently.
“Ah, they do indeed have much spirit,” he said.
He turned away and began to walk off, the small bell hanging from his belt jingling ever so slightly with each step.
He sighed. “Soon, I fear, will come the time to put that spirit to the test.”
Disclaimers and Notes
Hello, once again, all of you wonderful BS½ readers!
It's been a while since the last story, but some of this delay is attributable to the fact that Geocities turned evil on me and my website vanished completely. So here we are at my new home at Tripod. Boy Scouts ½ is online. All is right with the world.
Something much more sad then BS½'s temporary disappearance from the internet occurred since the last story. On 11 May 2001, the human race lost one of its best. Thus, I would like to dedicate this story to the memory of Mr. Douglas Adams. I encourage anyone reading this who has not had the privilege to acquaint him or herself with Mr. Adams's work to march yourself down to the nearest bookstore at the earliest opportunity and discover something wonderful. Douglas Adams shall indeed be missed.
Now, onto some actual notes concerning this story!
First the usual. This story is not endorsed by, or meant to reflect upon the values of, either the Boy Scouts of America or the Girl Scouts of America. Also, certain elements (most notably the Jusenkyo curses) are from Ranma ½, by Rumiko Takahashi, and are used without permission.
An interesting note about this story. It is the first Boy Scouts ½ story to be mostly written while actually on a Boy Scout camping trip! Aside from some minor additions and edits, everything up through the line, “She is a story for another time. Let’s get these terrorists someplace secure and get on
with our Camporee!” was written at the 2001 Section NE-1B Conclave, at which I spent some time working on (and Mike was in charge of) publications. Of course, this meant Mike had his computer with him, so Saturday night (or rather, quite early Sunday morning) I hopped onto Mike's computer and did some writing.
I must confess, as long as I was on Mike's computer, I took a peak at a certain file containing the long fabled story, Mysterious Origins. The bugger has six pages done, and they are really quite good! Enough is enough, Mike! Write the bloody thing! (Of course, you need to write parts 22 and 23, first! Main series comes before side stories!)
Picket Fences... what does that have to do with anything? Well, nothing really. But I couldn't think of any other television shows with Canadian sounding titles (such as Northern Exposure or Due South). There were two show titles that, while not sounding Canadian-themed, seemed in my mind to be grouped together with the shows whose titles were previously used. This grouping is completely arbitrary on my mind's part, and has nothing at all to do with the shows in question. (In fact, I have never watched any of them.) I have no idea how they all got stuck together in my mind, but stuck together they are. And when it came time to pick a title, Picket Fences won over Twin Peaks.
Matt Gets Wet. I should have talked a bit about this during part 19's notes, but now is as good a time as any. This trilogy of skits is based on reality. During one Fall Camporee, the events described in part 19 actually took place. Matt Swett wanted to get wet, his father forbade it, and Mike covered with the Clappy Song. The following Spring Camporee, we followed it up with a skit very much like the one presented in this story, even down to Colin and Dan being planted in the audience to stir up trouble. (The only major difference between real life and fiction here is, of course, my concern over getting wet in real life was just due to the fact that I thought it would be unpleasant, but in the story I obviously have much better and less vane concerns.)
I suppose it is only fair to give credit where it is due. (That is, of course, one of the main purposes of these post-story notes.) Matt Gets Wet part 1 was very much the brain child of Mike and Matt Swett, both of whom were also instrumental with the development of Matt Gets Wet part 2, along with Dan and Colin, who improvised all of their lines and went even farther then they did in this story. (My memory couldn't recall every detail, sadly. I do vividly recall one of them complaining about having paid good money to see me wet, however... ^_^) I suppose I also had some input with part 2, as well...
One thing I definitely remember about part 2, or at least it's aftermath, was how many people were looking forward to part 3, and how they would take every opportunity to tell me so in as evil a tone as they could muster. So what will happen in the world of fiction with Matt Gets Wet part 3? Well, you'll just have to wait until the Summer Camp story line to find out!
It's been a while since the last story, but some of this delay is attributable to the fact that Geocities turned evil on me and my website vanished completely. So here we are at my new home at Tripod. Boy Scouts ½ is online. All is right with the world.
Something much more sad then BS½'s temporary disappearance from the internet occurred since the last story. On 11 May 2001, the human race lost one of its best. Thus, I would like to dedicate this story to the memory of Mr. Douglas Adams. I encourage anyone reading this who has not had the privilege to acquaint him or herself with Mr. Adams's work to march yourself down to the nearest bookstore at the earliest opportunity and discover something wonderful. Douglas Adams shall indeed be missed.
Now, onto some actual notes concerning this story!
First the usual. This story is not endorsed by, or meant to reflect upon the values of, either the Boy Scouts of America or the Girl Scouts of America. Also, certain elements (most notably the Jusenkyo curses) are from Ranma ½, by Rumiko Takahashi, and are used without permission.
An interesting note about this story. It is the first Boy Scouts ½ story to be mostly written while actually on a Boy Scout camping trip! Aside from some minor additions and edits, everything up through the line, “She is a story for another time. Let’s get these terrorists someplace secure and get on
with our Camporee!” was written at the 2001 Section NE-1B Conclave, at which I spent some time working on (and Mike was in charge of) publications. Of course, this meant Mike had his computer with him, so Saturday night (or rather, quite early Sunday morning) I hopped onto Mike's computer and did some writing.
I must confess, as long as I was on Mike's computer, I took a peak at a certain file containing the long fabled story, Mysterious Origins. The bugger has six pages done, and they are really quite good! Enough is enough, Mike! Write the bloody thing! (Of course, you need to write parts 22 and 23, first! Main series comes before side stories!)
Picket Fences... what does that have to do with anything? Well, nothing really. But I couldn't think of any other television shows with Canadian sounding titles (such as Northern Exposure or Due South). There were two show titles that, while not sounding Canadian-themed, seemed in my mind to be grouped together with the shows whose titles were previously used. This grouping is completely arbitrary on my mind's part, and has nothing at all to do with the shows in question. (In fact, I have never watched any of them.) I have no idea how they all got stuck together in my mind, but stuck together they are. And when it came time to pick a title, Picket Fences won over Twin Peaks.
Matt Gets Wet. I should have talked a bit about this during part 19's notes, but now is as good a time as any. This trilogy of skits is based on reality. During one Fall Camporee, the events described in part 19 actually took place. Matt Swett wanted to get wet, his father forbade it, and Mike covered with the Clappy Song. The following Spring Camporee, we followed it up with a skit very much like the one presented in this story, even down to Colin and Dan being planted in the audience to stir up trouble. (The only major difference between real life and fiction here is, of course, my concern over getting wet in real life was just due to the fact that I thought it would be unpleasant, but in the story I obviously have much better and less vane concerns.)
I suppose it is only fair to give credit where it is due. (That is, of course, one of the main purposes of these post-story notes.) Matt Gets Wet part 1 was very much the brain child of Mike and Matt Swett, both of whom were also instrumental with the development of Matt Gets Wet part 2, along with Dan and Colin, who improvised all of their lines and went even farther then they did in this story. (My memory couldn't recall every detail, sadly. I do vividly recall one of them complaining about having paid good money to see me wet, however... ^_^) I suppose I also had some input with part 2, as well...
One thing I definitely remember about part 2, or at least it's aftermath, was how many people were looking forward to part 3, and how they would take every opportunity to tell me so in as evil a tone as they could muster. So what will happen in the world of fiction with Matt Gets Wet part 3? Well, you'll just have to wait until the Summer Camp story line to find out!