The Squirrel Boys

Chip and his acquaintances marched to battle. He tried hard to look bold, but with every step he assured that he would never return. His comrades stood high and proud, almost honored to be leaving.

Chip knew something they didn't. They thought that they would get an honor for serving in the great war of Jamma, that the battle would be quick and painless. Chip knew that this was wrong. He knew how messy things would get.

As they marched, he wondered if he would be injured.

He wondered how many comrades he would have to drag to the medical center.

He wondered if he would be the one to be drug.

His heart pounded in his chest.

They were there.

The phantoms stood there in a long queue. Heavy phantoms and spitters, normal phantoms and phantoms snares that barely poked out of the ground In the far back, the Phantom King stood.

There was a moment of silence. He was waiting to see who would make the first move. At this point, even the bravest soldiers shook in their boots.

As the silence went on for far too long, he seemed to see the stages of the battle. Chip put his paw to his heart, listening for its familiar rhythm.

Sir Gilbert signaled.

Not a soldier dared to move.

Sir Gilbert signaled.

Chip reached into his satchel. He clutched the spiky object, put on his game face, and released his grip. Nothing seemed to happen as the explosion effect rippled the tall grass. Sounds of bursting phantoms filled the air. He chucked boom seeds for his life, hurling one after another at the phantoms. They began to invade each-other's territory.