Emma assumed that Nathan knew they were talking about him.
“Look,” Nathan said, “we’ve won the last three matches. I don’t see what the problem is.”
That was when Zach, who rarely said anything during these reviews, spoke up. “We nearly lost today because they developed a counterstrategy. My guess is that they’ll try it again next week and probably win if we don’t play better.”
“Who gave you a crystal ball?” Nathan snapped.
Emma was tempted to inform Nathan that if he wasn’t always so wrapped up in his own performance, he might have noticed by now that Zach probably knew the game better than anyone. But just then something popped up in the chat room:
DROOF: Long live the Axis. Sieg Heil!
DROOF: Long live the Axis. Sieg Heil!
DROOF: Long live the Axis. Sieg Heil!
DROOF: Long live the Axis. Sieg Heil!
DROOF: Long live the Axis. Sieg Heil!
Emma had no idea who Droof was or how he had found their chat. And why had he written that? Actually, she’d heard those last two words before. She was almost certain they were German. “Anyone know what that means?”
Caleb googled it. “The Germans used it in World War Two. It means ‘hail victory.’ ”
Now Emma remembered where she’d heard that phrase. In a movie called Schindler’s List. The Nazis in the movie said it.
“What’s the big deal?” Nathan asked impatiently. “Just kick him.”
Emma kicked Droof out of the chat. But she was still bothered by what the troll had written. Why “Sieg Heil”? What did that have to do with their chat? She decided it was just some dumb random jerk thing, and hopefully they’d never hear from him again. But suddenly Droof was back.
DROOF: Arbeit macht frei
DROOF: Arbeit macht frei
DROOF: Arbeit macht frei
“Okay. Now ban him,” Nathan said. “This is stupid.”
While Emma banned the troll, Caleb googled “Arbeit macht frei.”
“It’s German for ‘Work sets you free,’ ” he said.
“Great,” Nathan said, still annoyed. “So, are we going to stop and look up everything some stupid troll writes?”
“Wait,” Caleb said. “A picture popped up when I googled it.” He posted the image. It was those words, “Arbeit macht frei,” only in the photo they were atop a metal gate. Behind the gate were some old brick buildings.
“So?” asked Nathan.
“It’s the entrance to Auschwitz,” Caleb said.
“What’s that?” asked Nathan.
* * *
Is it weird that Nathan doesn’t know what Auschwitz was? Zach wondered. Or was he weird because he did know? It wasn’t like they’d studied it in school. Zach only knew because he’d read The Man in the High Castle. He told the squad that Auschwitz had been a concentration camp in Poland where more than a million people had been slaughtered. The vast majority were Jewish. The words “Arbeit macht frei” were supposed to make those who entered the concentration camp believe that if they worked hard, they would eventually be allowed to go free.
“But they didn’t have a chance,” he said. “They were barely fed and worked nonstop until they were too weak or sick to work anymore. And then it was the gas.”
“It’s true,” Emma said. “I read that creepo Hitler called it his Final Solution. Get rid of inferior races so the Aryan race would remain pure and rule the world. I mean, talk about sick.”
“And you know, it wasn’t only Jewish people,” Zach said. “Millions of Russians and Slavs too.”
“Yeah,” Emma said, “and when they weren’t making weapons and ammunition for the German army they had other jobs, like pulling teeth out of the dead because the Nazis wanted the gold in the fillings.”
No one spoke. Zach assumed they were all picturing it. He wondered if it was weird that a meeting about gaming strategy had morphed into a discussion of the greatest wartime atrocity in modern history.
Finally Nathan said, “Wasn’t that, like, a hundred years ago?”
“Closer to eighty,” said Caleb.
“Same difference,” said Nathan.
* * *
It was nearly two a.m. Crosby and Dave had been playing TGW for hours. Crosby was playing great. He’d racked up a ton of kills.
“Been a good night for you, Croz,” Dave said.
“Totally,” said Crosby.“Looks like Christmas came early this year.”
“Careful,” Dave said. “Remember what I told you. If it was up to them, we wouldn’t be allowed to say ‘Merry Christmas’ anymore.”
Crosby recalled that Dave had said something about Christmas a few weeks before. “Why not?” he asked.
“Because Jews and Muslims don’t celebrate Christmas,” Dave said. “So the liberals say it’s a trigger. I mean, forget that the majority of Americans are Christian. Now we’re supposed to say ‘Happy holidays.’ ”
Crosby tried to remember if he’d ever heard anyone in Ironville say “Happy holidays.” He figured he must have, but he couldn’t precisely recall. It was the kind of thing you probably weren’t aware of unless someone like Dave pointed it out.
“You know who Obama was?” Dave asked. “That Muslim president we had? No joke. His middle name was Hussein. Same as Saddam Hussein, the joker we fought in Desert Storm. Obama definitely was a Muslim. You want proof? All eight years that he was president, he sent out cards at Christmas that didn’t say ‘Merry Christmas’ on them.”
Crosby had heard of President Obama, but didn’t know he was a Muslim.
“You know there are parts of the country where you can’t put a Christmas tree in a public place?” Dave continued. “Or a Santa Claus? Because they’re triggers, too. Because they’re going to hurt some snowflake’s feelings. Anything like that happening where you are?”
Crosby said he was pretty sure that wasn’t a problem in Ironville.
“Well, good,” said Dave. “But keep your ears open. If you hear anything like that, let me know, okay?”
Crosby said he would. Dave signed off with his usual RaHoWa 14/88. Crosby stood up, stretched, and yawned. It was at times like this when he thought that Ironville might not be such a bad place to live. Yeah, it sucked that the middle school had lost its football team, and that there were a few feminazis like his aunt Mary around. But the town was mostly white, and people could say “Merry Christmas” all they wanted, and nobody gave a hoot where you put a Christmas tree or plastic Santa. Based on what Dave was telling him, it sounded like the rest of the country was going down the toilet.
MATCH TALLY
THE AXIS: 3
THE ALLIES: 3
“Caleb?” Mrs. Arnett called out, sounding perplexed.
Darn, Caleb thought. He’d almost gotten past the kitchen without being seen. “Sorry, Mom. Can’t stop,” he called back. “Gotta catch the bus.”
“Come back here right now, young man,” his father ordered in his “voice of authority” tone.
Caleb stepped into the kitchen where his parents were having their morning coffee. They stared at him with shocked expressions.
“Green streaks?” The worry lines in his mom’s forehead deepened.
The truth was, they weren’t exactly green. Nor were they actually “streaks.” After hearing the night before that the Axis was planning to wear new outfits for today’s match, the Allied squad had all agreed to dye a lock of hair olive green.
“It’s just for the match,” Caleb explained. “It washes out with shampoo.”
“Olive colored because you’re supposed to be the Allies?” Mr. Arnett guessed. That caught Caleb by surprise. He could only assume that his parents had been working overtime on the Hovernet. He hadn’t told them that Emma’s squad was the Allies for the rest of the semester. They’d learned that
somewhere else.
“Is the Axis side dyeing their hair?” his mother asked.
“We don’t know,” Caleb said. “We just heard last night that they were going to wear gray shirts.”
“Gray?” Mr. Arnett’s eyebrows rose above his black-framed glasses.
Caleb nodded. “The Axis colors.”
Mr. Arnett shook his head. “No, the Japanese uniforms tended more toward brown, and the Italians, tan.”
“Uh, okay,” Caleb said. His dad taught history at Ironville Community College, so it was hard to argue.
“Then the Axis squad is dressing like Nazis,” Mrs. Arnett surmised.
“No, not like Nazis,” Caleb said. “Like the Wehrmacht, the German soldiers.”
“And what exactly would the difference between them be?” his father asked.
“The Nazis were the ones who killed all those people in the concentration camps,” Caleb said, repeating what he’d heard. “The Wehrmacht were just the German soldiers fighting the war.”
Mr. Arnett frowned deeply. “That myth has been thoroughly disproved. Almost all World War Two historians agree that the Wehrmacht cooperated fully with the Nazis when it came to murdering Jews. As did many German civilians who informed on their Jewish neighbors.”
From the looks on their faces, Caleb thought his parents were taking this way too seriously. “Let’s not make a big deal about it,” he said. “It’s just a video game.”
“With students who dress as Nazis,” his mother added sourly.
Caleb knew better than to argue. “If I don’t go right now I’m going to miss the bus,” he said, and dashed out of the house. He was used to his parents examining everything he did under a microscope, but they were wrong about this. It was just a game being played in an eSports club that he was responsible for creating. A game being played on PCs he’d written a grant proposal for. And soon it wouldn’t just be the people of Ironville who saw him on their TVs. It would be many, many more.
* * *
In the teachers’ room, Ms. Patrick was telling the others that someone was going through the gym lockers and taking money. “I don’t know what to do,” she said. “I’m the only teacher there, and I can’t be out in the gym and inside the locker room at the same time.”
“I’ve heard it’s happening with the hallway lockers, too,” said Ms. Dean, the math teacher and yearbook advisor.
Everyone agreed to remind their students to lock their lockers. Ms. B had resumed eating her broccoli salad when Mr. Bostwick, who taught eighth-grade English, joined her. “I’m having my LT kids write first-person narratives,” he said. “Half of them want to set theirs in The Good War. I thought they meant World War Two, but they’re talking about a video game? Something from an after-school club you’re advising?”
“LT” stood for “lower track.” They were below-average students who showed little interest in school. Most were biding their time until they turned sixteen and could drop out.
“It’s a video game set in World War Two,” Ms. B explained.
Mr. Bostwick’s forehead wrinkled. Ms. B reminded herself that he didn’t use email and insisted that he didn’t have a computer at home. She expected him to complain that a personal narrative based on a video game was completely unacceptable. Instead he said, “They’re actually excited about the assignment. And these are kids who never get excited about anything academic.”
“Then you’re pleased?” Ms. B asked, surprised.
“Bewildered is more like it,” Mr. Bostwick replied.
* * *
Once again, Nathan was annoyed with the Allied squad. It was true that they’d agreed with his idea of dyeing a lock of their hair olive green for that day’s match. But Emma still insisted that they discuss strategy. It was so stupid. It felt like they spent more time talking than playing. And none of them would listen when he pointed out that as long as they were winning, they didn’t need a strategy. But they were a squad, right? So Nathan held his tongue.
Emma went first: “We need to keep communicating. Give callouts. Let us know where we’re getting shot from and by how many people. And where they’re deploying smoke grenades. And if you hear a sniper shot, don’t keep it to yourself. Tell us where a drone jammer is if he kills you, and where they’re spawning. We need to know right away if someone is flanking you. Don’t wait until you think a squad mate needs to know. Just assume they always need to know.”
“How am I going to hear anything with you guys constantly talking?” Nathan asked doubtfully.
“Just call out who and where,” Caleb said. “Keep it brief. No extra chatting.”
“And hold your angles,” Emma added. “The only way to win consistently is with teamwork.”
Nathan groaned inwardly. There was no point in reminding them yet again that they already were winning consistently. “Anything else?” he grumbled.
“Actually, there is,” Emma said. “Thanks to Zach.”
But at that moment, Nathan’s phone buzzed with an Instagram message:
UnPlug2gether Sat 7 PM
@WillBet17 @CPtendo @ShaProctor05
Get pumped!
Nathan stared at his phone in disbelief. Bethany Willis, Callie Potendo, and Tanisha Proctor were the most popular girls in the grade.
“Hey,” he said to the squad. “Anyone just get something on Instagram?”
No one else had. Nathan studied the message more closely to make sure it wasn’t fake. But everything about it appeared real. He felt a rush of excitement. The popular girls know who I am! They invited me to a party!
* * *
It was lunchtime, and Emma was at her locker when she saw Nathan talking to Tanisha Proctor. Tanisha was tall and shapely, and she wore beautiful clothes. All the boys were gaga over her. Of course, Tanisha knew that, and she usually laughed at them. Emma had heard that she had a boyfriend in high school!
Nathan had dyed all the hair on the top of his head olive green, not just one lock. He caught Emma’s eye and called out, “Hey, Emma, come here.”
Emma bristled. What am I, his dog? But she went. Tanisha gave her a friendly smile. Their lockers were close to each other’s, and she and Tanisha had been in school together since forever. While Tanisha had never expressed an interest in being friendly with Emma outside of school, she was always nice.
“You see the Axis today?” Nathan asked when Emma joined them. “They’re wearing gray shirts. With medals.”
“Metals?” Emma repeated, not getting it.
“Medals. The things they give to heroes,” Nathan continued as if she were a moron. It suddenly hit Emma that this was an act. She knew what a medal was. Nathan was just trying to impress Tanisha.
“Okay,” Emma’s eyes met his, and didn’t waver.
“No, it’s not okay,” Nathan snapped, continuing with the act. “It’s gonna make us look stupid. Kids’ll be watching on Twitch. They’re gonna see the Axis decked out in uniforms and medals and us with this stupid green stuff in our hair.”
Apparently, Nathan had chosen to forget that the green dye was his idea. But Emma knew that if she reminded him of that, all she’d do was embarrass him in front of Tanisha. And as much as he deserved to be embarrassed, it was Emma’s job to keep the squad unified. So she said, “Let’s talk about it in the cafeteria.”
“But—” Nathan began.
“I said, we’ll talk about it at lunch,” Emma repeated firmly.
The bell rang. Nathan made a face and left. Emma opened her locker and dumped some books inside. When she closed it, Tanisha was standing there. She winked at Emma and said, “You go, girl.”
Emma felt herself flush. Had anyone ever said that to her before? She didn’t think so.
* * *
To prepare for that afternoon’s match, Emma asked the Allied squad to meet in the computer lab during ac
tivity period to practice. As Caleb walked down the hall toward the lab, he had a lot more than that day’s match on his mind: Would this be the day he heard from Brooke Ford?
Brooke Ford was famous. She was a reporter for KFKN, the CBS affiliate station in Franklin, and you could see her practically every night on the six o’clock news. A few days ago, she’d called Caleb and said she’d seen the ITV story and wanted to do a report about him and the eSports club. But before she proposed the idea to her boss, she needed to know if Caleb was interested, and whether he thought his parents would grant KFKN permission to interview him. Caleb had assured her that his parents would be agreeable. Great, Brooke had said. She would speak to her boss and get back to Caleb soon. In the meantime, she suggested that Caleb not say anything to anyone about it. She didn’t want a competing network to get a jump on her.
Brooke Ford! Network television! Every time Caleb thought about it, he felt giddy. KFKN reached millions of viewers. Being interviewed by Brooke Ford would be the biggest thing that had ever happened to him.
When he got to the computer lab, Emma and Zach were already there. Nathan hadn’t shown up. Caleb made himself calm down and practice until the last bell. Soon the Axis squad filed into the lab. Each one of them had a black Iron Cross pinned to the left pocket of a long-sleeve gray shirt with epaulets. Tyler had even brought a toy model of a German soldier with a submachine gun that he placed on the table, aimed at the Allied side.
Now Caleb felt a little silly that all Emma’s squad had done was dye a lock of their hair olive green. But he reminded himself that the match was about who were the best gamers, not what they wore.
Nathan finally showed up, and Ms. B followed a few moments later. When she saw what the Axis squad was wearing, she froze. “Stop casting,” she ordered the casters. Caleb felt his insides tighten. She sounded really serious.
The Good War Page 8