NOTE: I wrote this many years ago. All the recent snow made me recall the story, so I decided to post it. Maybe it will bring back memories of your childhood and major snow battles...
My brother and I grew up in a small town in West Virginia. And while we had woods all around us, I wouldn't call it "backwoods". We all had nice modern homes (for the time), and grew up with families who were doctors, big business owners, etc - some were even from different countries. It was a simple time - much like you see when you watch shows like "Leave it to Beaver". Parents always knew where you were - and everyone looked out for everyone else.
Looking back I can't think of a better environment for young boys eager to explore and challenge the laws of the universe. Here there were no real fences. Oh, they were there, but they were only there to detain an enemy in pursuit should you need to duck into your neighbor's yard. I'm Todd, the youngest of six children. My brother, Scott, is only two years older than I and as the youngest boys in a family of six we became quite close.
Scott's best friend, Eddie, was a fellow that had a unique talent for creating literal masterpieces on his piano (named Harold), and for seeing the magical wonders in a snowflake. I was the young one of the group, the tag-along, the dreamer, and the inventor of strange and sometimes useful devices. Scott was the leader. Whether by default or by design, he became the captain of the many adventures that came our way.
It was during the winter of '77, when school had closed due to the unusual amount of snowfall, that we found ourselves in the midst of a neighborhood sized snowball battle. How it began, no one knows, but to this day it is the favorite topic of conversation when snow is on the ground and a warm fire is crackling in the fireplace.
The "armies" were clearly defined. One was a rag-tag, undisciplined band of kids from the upper region of town, and then there was our battalion. We were a small but disciplined group. Scott, Eddie, a couple of other friends, and I came together to confront a troop that numbered at least twice our size; but we had the strategy, teamwork, and a secret weapon named... "Alice". The first day of the battle was quiet except for the occasional skirmish. We devoted most of our time toward the designing and establishment of our forts. Spies and destroyers were routinely sent out from both parties but we took great care to build our walls fast and strong to hide and protect the ammunition...and "Alice".
On day two, it became terribly obvious to our captain that our position was greatly compromised by the fact that we were downhill of our foes. From the beginning they quickly began taking advantage of this fact. Swiftly, came the sleds down past the fort and fast and hard came the blows. One ambitious fellow, Steve, even tried to crash through the rear of the fort, only to find himself pitched from his sled and into the wall. Fortunately, we were prepared; but we had neither the manpower nor the supplies to defend against constant and random attacks. We needed a plan...
Scott and Eddie decided to hold a "Summit" with the leaders of the other group. They met in the yard of Bob Stevens, who much to the chagrin of his parents, donated the necessary land upon which they built their fort. Although they had no real leader, we were able to come to a consensus on the terms of war. "Slush-balls", a snowball packed with ice and sometimes rocks, were outlawed at the very beginning. Both sides also agreed that while minor attacks would be keeping in the nature of warfare, major campaigns should to fought on alternating battlefields. Thus, we solved our major problem of tactical maneuvering, for now.
Inside our fort, while Varoose (from Armenia), Greg, and I busied ourselves with the making of ammunition, Scott was preparing his post. In the early days of preparation he and I had constructed a snowball that was over four feet round. We rolled it through yards and roads until it was big enough and then finally pushed it beside the fort built beside Varoose's house. It sat on the right front corner beside the large pine tree. In the top of the snowball Scott made a hole that would later hold a torch (actually an old broom wrapped with rags) that we would need for the night battles. Earlier, I had dug into the walls of the fort several indentions in which we placed candles. These would serve to illuminate the fort at night and help us in making extra ammunition in the midst of battle.
All went smoothly as the battles began. Eddie provided tactical support as Scott called orders to the troops. A small problem did develop overnight in our fort however, when a pile of snowballs had been placed too close to a rain down spout. During the night water dripped onto the snowballs which then became solid ice by morning. Although the temptation was there, we did destroy and replace them with fresh, but well-packed snowballs.
The time had come for our army to attack the fort on top of the hill. They, of course had the best strategic position, and there was very little chance to gain a good vantage point. In fact, to reach a small plateau we had to pass within feet of their camp -- fighting all the way. This would put us above them, but weaponless. Even if we gained logistical leverage by fighting our way up with armfuls of snowballs, once there we would be defenseless -- what snow had not been used to build their fort had been used to make snowballs. The answer was of course, "Alice"!
"Alice", as she was lovingly called by Eddie, was a sled. Oh, not just any sled, she was the queen of all sleds. Four to five large boys could sit comfortably on her and have the ride of their lives. No one in Rivertown had a sled that could rival "Alice". With loving hands and inventive minds we fashioned "Alice" with a large metal trash can full of ammo, a box for extra supplies, and "Alice The Snow-Tank" was born.
The plan called for me to pull the newly outfitted "Alice" up the hill while Scott, Eddie, and the others covered our maneuvers with a shower of snowballs. Some minimal damage was sustained but we gained ground with relative ease. Night was falling and as flashlights and candles were lit the silhouettes of figures could be seen jumping in and out of the igloo fort below. How many there were we couldn't see; seven, eight maybe? Or had they added to the ranks since last we fought, we couldn't be sure in the faint light. As we pelted the faceless forms with snowballs, two of them, Kevin and Chris, crept in behind us. Scott called for a divided attack -- Greg and I turned to face the rear attackers and they soon retreated to obtain more ammunition. We, likewise found our supplies waning so Scott called for Secret Weapon #2., the Bombs.
Reaching into the box on the back of "Alice", Scott pulled out quadruple sized snowballs. He handed one to each of us, and upon command we hurled them toward the dimly lit fort. The darkness may have hidden the damage, but the noise that ensued let us know that our aim had been true, the fort had been crushed (later, we were told that in the spring thaw, Bob Stevens finally recovered a flashlight that he lost in the battle).
Quickly, we planned our retreat and as they endeavored to follow, we were able to cover ourselves in the midst of a late-night Senior Citizens sleigh ride. Thus, we made our hasty get away. The battle seemed far from over, however, for minutes later the opposing army began down-hill raids on our fort. It was late, however, and word reached us that our parents wanted us to come in for the night. In order to protect our fort from any looting, we all walked back up the hill to announce a cease-fire for the evening. Back on the hill, the house lights were on and plans were being discussed outside as we approached. What was left of their fort was well lit, and we could see that it had all but been destroyed. Surprisingly enough they took our news as a sign of defeat. They figured that if we couldn't fight anymore that night, then they must have won! We were frustrated and embarrassed... until they all stood up to cheer their "victory"!
In the well lit yard we could now see a dozen or more, where we assumed only half that many! Our small band of fighters had beaten a large number in battle -- and on their own turf! We left them to their "celebration" and went to bed that night with smiles on our faces.
That next morning found Varoose at our front door with grim but predictable news: Bob had not honored the cease-fire and had attacked our unmanned fort later that night. Varoose wasn't sure what damage had been done, in his excitement he wanted us to hurry over just in case they were planning on a full attack early that morning, with or without us. Scott, Varoose, and I were cleaning up when Eddie arrived. The damage to the fort was slight thanks to the simplicity and solidness of our design. Our snowball stockpile was destroyed but that was trivial. All-in-all, the only damage done was to our egos. We had beaten them in war, and they claimed victory; then to top it off, they invaded our fort. This meant WAR!
A meeting was called to discuss our position. My first question was, "How do you defeat an enemy that doesn't know when they're beaten?". Even Scott wasn't sure about that, but... he had a plan.
Night fell upon us as the next planned battle began on our turf. The torch flickered and sputtered in the crisp night air. An eerie glow filled the fort as the candles burned in each wall. As we looked out into the night we could see the shifting forms of anxious fighters across the road and somewhat hidden by a large ditch. Scott summoned everyone's attention and in the aura of the torch's light called for fair play and even tempers. Then he lifted the torch above his head for a dramatic climax, and exclaimed, "Let the battle begin!"; the first snowball hit the fort as he doused the light in the damp snow-covered ground. All at once a blizzard of snowballs filled the air. Someone kept hitting the large snowball behind which Scott was standing, and with each "thud" exclaimed, "I got him!". About fifteen minutes into the fray Scott gave the "Charge!" command.
Our enemy had been keeping their distance behind the ditch, and had resorted to lobbing larger-than-usual snowballs at us. When they saw us coming, arms full of ammo, they fled into the parking lot of a nearby church. There they would find of little snow but even less cover. Fighting with all their might, they managed to hold the uncertain ground for a brief amount of time until we ourselves ran out of snowballs. We were surely done for. Out numbered and out gunned, there was only one thing left for us to do, "RETREAT!" Scott called.
As we ran swiftly back to the fort, through the parking lot, over the ditch, and across the road, our enemy was in close pursuit. When we jumped over the wall of our fort we looked like sitting ducks. They laughed out loud now as they came streaming across the yard forming a sort of Eskimo firing squad several feet away. "Fire!", came the word, but not from Bob, from Scott!
His plan had worked beautifully! We all stood up in unison and assaulted them with the large stockpile of snowballs that we had spent most of that day preparing. They were stunned and embarrassed. We had successfully forced them out of their hiding place and tricked them into standing like easy targets at point-blank range.
As the fury died down, parents began calling children in, and laughter could be heard from those departing. But not so on the battle field; Bob and his cohorts were screaming and fuming. They insisted that our tactics were underhanded and dangerous. Why, even Betsy had been hit in the eye with a snowball and sent home. She had, unfortunately, been struck. During the first part of the fight Scott noticed a small group of the enemy huddled about 40 yards away, taking aim he lobbed a snowball toward the center. It was a lucky shot, but an unfortunate one. She wasn't nearly as upset as Bob seemed to be, though.
Bob was mad - no, he was furious. Trying to make peace, Scott said that if it would make him feel any better he could go ahead and destroy our fort. As we departed, we heard him laugh and then yelp; for in poetic justice he had injured his foot while trying to kick in the front wall of our now - ICE fort.
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