Frank Polizzi - Somewhere in the Stars

“No, sergeant!” they all bellowed.

“That’s what I like to hear. I don’t want any lame tank crews. My reputation is on the line. I need one more stripe to make Master Sergeant, so don’t screw up.” He glared at Nick, Paul and Nathan. “Especially you three guys.” The sergeant guffawed. “I’m not mixing you with the others. You deserve each other.” He strode over to the front door and turned around. “Anyone of you jokers here want to join their crew?” After a silent pause, the sergeant added: “Can’t say as I blame you, but at least one of you, sure as shit, will have to team up with this sorry trio. A full crew would be five. But a whole company won’t help them none anyways.” He slapped his leg laughing. “What are y’all staring at? Fix up this pigsty before I come back. At ease!”

The tank training was comprehensive, including classroom and practical runs on the field. They were expected to know everything about the vehicle they would be living in for a long time, how to drive, navigate, load, shoot and maintain their iron hulk. Nick was the designated driver, Paul the gunner and Nathan the commander, but they still needed at least one other member who would be the loader, or the sergeant would send them packing to the infantry, claiming they weren’t fit for a mobile unit. Their break came when Alastar Smith agreed to join their crew, just before ‘lights out’ in the barracks as they stood around his bunk bed.

Nick asked: “So why do you want to go along with us, when you know the sergeant hates our guts?”

“I couldn’t stand his picking on you guys and nobody said nothin’. Anyway, my mom is Italian, so I felt he could have been hassling me too if he only knew. Besides, you guys coming from Frisco must be cool.” He lowered his eyes. “I grew up in a small town. You probably never heard of it.” His eyes beamed. “Roseto, PA. It means rose garden in Italian, my Mom says.”

“Well, wherever you’re from, we’re glad you had the balls to join us,” Nathan added.

“Yeah, welcome aboard Al, you’ll be my loader,” Paul said.

“So how old are you anyway, Al?” Nick inquired.

“Me.” Al fidgeted on the bunk. “Seventeen! Says so right on my baptismal certificate.” His eyes twitched.

“You’re bit taller than me anyway,” Nick said, as he slapped him on the shoulder.

Before hitting the sack, Nick whispered to Nathan: “Do you think that Al’s all wet about his age?”

“Just peach fuzz on his upper lip,” Nathan answered.

Sergeant Acker’s harassment never wavered. He said their crew did not perform at the same level as the others, which made them more determined to prove him wrong. One day, about two weeks after they had arrived, the entire squadron returned to the compound after their first coordinated exercise. Sergeant Ackers pulled alongside their tank and shouted over the windshield of his jeep. “You four are the most harebrained, sorry asses I have ever come across. You’re taking our whole company down. Captain Monroe was shaking his head.” His jeep cut in front of them and sped away. After Nick parked the tank in the shed, they went behind the building for a private smoke.

After a few drags Paul spoke up. “I have had enough of that red-necked sonofabitch.”

“Me too,” Al chimed in.

“Look guys, don’t you see what this is all about?” Nathan stomped his cigarette out. “Our crew can be as good as the others, maybe even better. Ackers wants to prove his superiority over our kind, even though he is as Southern white trash as they come.”

“So we’re supposed to take all this crap from him?” Nick asked.

“There’s only one thing we should do—perfect our skills as a tank crew and train when everybody else is off. At night. On weekends. We got six weeks left and if we work together, we’ll be the best tankers. And Ackers will look like a fool. Are you guys with me or not?” The crew surrounded Nathan and patted him on the back.

Paul spent a lot of his time with Al practicing his moves for firing off fast rounds, while Nick and Nathan choreographed their techniques so the tank acted more like a sports car than an oversized truck. Nick already understood that there was nothing as bad as getting stuck where you couldn’t maneuver, or worse yet, not being able to move at all from a direct hit. Their bunk buddies thought they were crazy for working so hard, but Nick realized it wasn’t just about Sergeant Ackers—it was also about their survival on the war front.

One evening they skipped their own private training to write letters, as they sat on the edge of their bunks.

Nick wrote to his mother:

Cara Mamma ,

You’re still not mad at me anymore, are you, Mamma ? Like I said, I’m sending everything home, except for some cigarette and beer money. How’s Papà ? I think about the both of you every day, but mostly Papà . Credo di no that he is still locked up. I wish Avvucatu Arcuri could do something for Papà now that I’m in the army. Nobody knows where we’re going for sure, and I can’t tell you anything, even if I did know…

Al wrote to his large family:

Dear Mom, Dad & Kids,

So how are things in Roseto these days, Mom? I don’t like to gripe in my letters, but let me get this off my chest. I can’t stand this lousy army chow. You know Mom, I miss your cooking bad and sometimes I dream about playing baseball in the cleared field outside of town with my kid brothers. So how’s everybody…

Nathan wrote:

Dear Mother, Father & Sis,

I hope everyone is well in the family and that you’re not worrying too much, especially you, Mom. Just wanted to let you know, Father, that there are some people out here that don’t like us, like our southern sergeant, you know what I mean, but I don’t let that bother me because we all have a job to do. Anyway, I couldn’t be with a better team—me, Nick and his cousin Paul and Al from Pennsylvania…

Send my love to Sis.

Nick sealed his letter to Lucia and then wrote to Nathan’s sister:

Cara Debbie,

I am sorry about what happened between the two of us. I sent you a bunch of letters during boot camp and didn’t hear from you. I know your father only wants the best for you and I’m not taking it too personal. Mr. Fein is something like my pop, so I know what you’re going through. Anyway, you’re so pretty, the guys will be lining up. That’s not what I really want though. I mean I do love you, sweetheart, but what are we supposed to do, run away from our families? I promised that I would always write to you till you said enough—we would say basta in Italian. Here I am, stuck in a tank! Maybe a miracolo will happen for the both of us. Have a black and white ice cream soda for me and make sure you keep this letter out of sight…

Love always, Nick.

A week later during one of their daily mail calls, a corporal shouted their last names and handed out the letters. At moments like this Nathan’s crew split up into their own private spots to read their lifeline letters.

Paul’s sister, Maria, had written for his mother:

Caru Paolo ,

Figghiu miu , we miss you here. I tell your father it feels strange without you nella casa . I hope you are not getting skinny because you will get sick and die. I pray every night to Santa Rosalia on my knees that you will come home safe… Maria added her own comments. I feel so proud that my big brother is fighting to protect our country. The kids at school look at me differently now. But don’t do anything foolish. You know how you can get. Maybe you won’t tease me anymore when you come home…

Con amuri, la famigghia