of Avernii up the valley, attacking his auxiliaries from the rear. Kyler screams in surprise, “What the…? Oh crud, Mikey. Where did they come from?” They’re hacking his guys to pieces, and I’m laughing at Kyler’s face on the screen when I hear Grandpa yelling my name from somewhere outside. It sounds bad. Real bad.
It’s half past midnight, and Grandpa and I are still waiting to see a doctor. We sit in the emergency room of the hospital run by the Veterans’ Administration, or “Vee-Ay” as Grandpa calls it, in a little cubicle the nurse made by pulling curtains around us. Grandpa’s on a bed with his stick next to him. His pants have ridden up, showing a few inches of his metal prosthetic leg. On his other shin there’s a gash and some dried blood. I’m on a grey chair with Dad’s tablet on my knee. In the confusion after Grandpa’s fall, I left my headphones at home, but at least Kyler and I put the game on pause. Now we’ve restarted, I’m still winning, and Kyler’s still cursing me from his corner of the screen because this battle really isn’t going according to plan—well, at least not to his.
“You sure you’re OK, Grandpa?” I ask, looking up as the slimy plastic curtains billow apart. This happens every time the staff run by, which is a lot, by the way. It’s busy at the VA.
“Should’ve picked a quieter night to fall down the steps,” Grandpa says with a wink. “But, I’m fine. Those triage nurses did a great job, Mikey. You keep playing.” He cradles his hurt wrist in an ice pack like it’s a baby, but he doesn’t seem too unhappy about it.
My second band of Avernii attack the remains of Kyler’s cavalry, and it’s a blood fest. Even men on horses are no match for my guys. Kyler cries out and then covers his mouth. His dad still thinks he’s asleep.
Grandpa chuckles as Kyler groans from the screen. “Sounds like you gotta use your reserves, Kyler!” he calls. “Mikey’s got you cornered.”
“Don’t give him any ideas,” I say.
Grandpa laughs, and his whole face crinkles up like a wrung out dishcloth. “Heh, heh, heh.”
Kyler takes Grandpa’s advice and sends in all the legions he’s been holding back at the edge of the forest. Wow! There are way more than I thought. Blocks of red shields march through his shattered troops. And that’s when Kyler says, “Hey, Mikey, wouldn’t you do anything to travel back in time so you could see this stuff for real?”
It’s classic “Kyler Distraction Technique Number Five”: hit me at my weakest point. “Not listening, Kyler,” I say as his men flood into the center of the field.
“Like that guy we saw online who said the government’s known about time travel for years. The one who said he went back to the Battle of Bull Run—”
“Still not listening.”
“Through that electric tunnel invented by Tesla, and then he got stuck in the future for like two years, and all those physicists were saying it could really happen—famous guys not crackpots—”
“Not working, la, la, la,” I sing as my spearmen hurl their javelins at Kyler’s forces again. But the thought of being stuck in the past, or the future, really gets to me. What would that be like? Did that guy really travel to Bull Run?
When I glance back at the screen, I find my men in full retreat. This is so “Celtic armies.” They can be winning one moment and totally routed the next.
“Hold the line, guys,” I yell, but they’ve already scattered. Kyler’s legions re-form and charge. I only have one chance. “This is the end, Kyler, my man. Say your prayers!”
I let loose my druid and unit of berserkers. They’re all in amazing two-wheeled British chariots that can ride over any ground. Each one is driven by a charioteer. His job is to drive the berserker straight into the thick of the battle and then collect him again when needed.
“I don’t believe it,” Kyler gasps, clutching his head in his hands. “How did you buy them? You couldn’t have saved enough…” His voice trails off in shock as the chariots zig-zag to block my fleeing troops. The druid waves an oak branch: it’s a druid thing. The berserkers howl challenges and swing the heads of fallen Romans on lengths of rope: it’s a Celt thing. Then the charioteers storm directly at Kyler’s advancing Romans. The berserkers run along the chariot shafts while the horses are still galloping. They are totally naked. Their red hair is spiked up in all directions. They have large red mustaches, tattoos all over their bodies, and torcs—great twisted ropes of pure gold—around their necks and arms. They are magnificent.
They leap off their chariots, flying over the heads of the leading Romans, straight into the middle of the formation. No one can stop them. They’re roaring and ripping the Romans apart, cutting great swathes through the legions, screaming war cries…when there’s a whole lot more shouting, and it takes me a second to realize it’s not coming from my screen.
I look up. Down the hallway, furniture—or something—is crashing to the floor. People are running from all over the place. Someone’s screaming for medicine, and a woman is shouting for help.
“We can’t get near him,” she cries.
Two VA police officers sprint past the cubicle, shoes squeaking on the floor. They’re running so fast the curtains billow right open and I see their uniforms.
Then, over the top of the noise, a man yells one word as loud as any battle cry. “Cuckooland!”
At least that’s what it sounds like from where I’m sitting. He holds on to the last bit for a really long time, his voice deep and growly like a lion’s. “Cuckoolaaaaand!”
Everything falls silent for a moment. Kyler asks, “Wow, what’s up, Mikey?”
Then everyone’s yelling again, and the guy keeps shouting, “Cuckooland!”
“Cuckooland?” Grandpa asks. “It sure is ‘round here.”
“What’s that, Grandpa?”
Grandpa shakes his head and laughs. “Heh, heh, heh,” he goes. “Gotta love the VA, Mikey. Gotta love it.” It’s the same laugh he always has on poker night when he’s drunk a few beers. “Still, I should’ve just left the poop ‘til morning, Mikey Boy. I knew it, but I just couldn’t.”
“Cuckoolaaand!” the man yells again, and I can’t help it. I’ve got to see what’s going on.
“I’m gonna go pee, Grandpa,” I say.
“Sure, Mikey. Be quick, and don’t talk to anyone. Knew I shoulda left it ‘til morning.”
Kyler yells for me to come back as I run through the curtains straight into his mom, Dr. Mariko Curtis. She works nights at the ER, just like my mom does at the old people’s home.
“Whoa,” she goes. “Is that you, Mikey?” She stumbles back and, for a second, she looks just like Black Orchid, the scariest lady ninja in Samurai Sunset. That’s the Japanese version of Romanii: Northern Borders. Kyler’s desperate to get it for his birthday, but his mom says one war game is enough. She’s not falling for the “it’s my heritage” argument.
Another doctor runs past. “I’ve got it, Mariko,” he says, glancing
